Six Feet Under Chapter 20: The Trade-Off, a don't starve fanfic

Chapter 20, everyone—that's right, IT LIVES! It's been 84 years…but the good news is, my dissertation is finally done and over with, I am a DOCTOR now and after over a year of waiting I can finally knuckle down on this fic and finish it. ;v;/ Preferably without taking another decade about it *bricked*

Wilson's one quote is in reference to one of TFresistance's Don't Starve pieces over on DeviantArt—they've got gorgeous art and that one line has always stuck out to me, so go check their work out. :)

Oh yeah—just to show just how long it's been: this fic was started BEFORE Klei revealed that the name of the place was the Constant. ^^;

Shiny Eeveee, thanks for the review! Glad you love it, and hopefully you'll be pleased with the final handful of chapters as well. TvT

SpectralDreamer, thanks for the review! Glad you liked the turn of phrase those two had. :D

Wilson watched as Maxwell lofted the flower a little bit before stalking back over to Wendy, waving the book he was holding at her.

"Let me guess," he said. "You tried to bring your sister back. And it failed, right?"

He was looming over her now; she nodded, falling back a step.

"I thought so," he said. "And you two," he added, glancing at Willow and Wilson. "Tried to leave this house but couldn't—kept running into a world that wasn't there, right?"

Willow nodded, Wilson noted out of the corner of his eye.

"Congratulations, you found the Shadowlands—where ghosts go when they're ripped out of their plane of existence from a botched summoning."

Okay, that—none of that made sense—

"Now," Maxwell hissed, pacing to the center of the room with arms outstretched in a showman's pose. "When that happens, the only way to get someone out is to send someone in as a replacement—but I think a five-for-one deal would do just nicely, don't you think?"

"You said—" Wendy began.

"That I'd send you to your sister, not bring her to you," Maxwell said, rounding on her. "And thanks to you, that's where she's at. But don't worry, you'll be joining her soon."

Wilson's blood ran cold as Maxwell fanned open the book he was holding, not even taking any note of Wendy except to send another 'art' sculpture heading after her—whatever he was cooking up would mean the end of all of them, he had to do something move darn it!

But his body wasn't wanting to obey his mind, he could hardly feel himself, couldn't drag up that itch, couldn't hardly twitch his fingers—whatever they had done to them had drained just about everything out, and by the time it came back it would be far past too late—

"You could at least explain things before sending us off to our doom," Willow said.

"I could," Maxwell agreed, stopping the book and flipping through a few more pages before scanning one in particular, running his finger down its length. "But that would be monologuing, and that would give you too much time to recover and try something stupid."

Drat it all, he had a point—wait.

Wilson managed to shift his arms, get enough under him that he could prop himself up by an elbow.

"Seeing as how the Deetzes are still in the house, that means you're still under our employ," he ground out—good gravy, even talking hurt. "Which means you are obliged to answer our questions."

"Well I beg to differ," Maxwell said, coming back over to loom over them. "Because if that were the case, you could have questioned me at any time and never did. We've also established that I'm older than you and owned this place before you did. Plus there's the fact that you are still there on the floor while I still have all my juice, so I must do nothing. Except finish this up," he said, lofting the book. "So let's get started, shall we?"

Wilson tried to struggle upright—froze in horror as the whole room darkened, the fireplace lit up with flames that defied logic in their light-casting darkness, black oozing out of Maxwell's book as he went back to the center of the room and held it up—

Held the flower up—

Some of the blackness snatched the flower away—

Wilson really didn't like how the house started groaning and shifting then.

"There, that's done," Maxwell said, snapping his book shut—it disappeared in strange wicks of shadow as he leered at them. "Now I'll do the gloating monologue."

Marvelous—except Wilson had gotten his wind back finally.

"Sorry, you missed your window," he spat—

And he did, back slamming against the wall instead as Wilson surged forward, slamming his free fists into him as a clawed hand pinned him—

Went tumbling over the couch when Maxwell kicked out—squawked as a heavy weight landed on him—

"Ah, pal," Maxwell said, tone light and conversational—like he was getting ready to explode at him for spilling a drink on his shoes, but wanted to lull him into a false sense of security first. "No one said you had to go to the Shadowlands in one piece, dontcha know."

Ugh—try to twist out of the way, kick and punch at the dragon weighing down on him—oh come on, this stupid shadow-monster stuff could at least be useful!

Something screamed and tackled Maxwell off of him, heat searing close—scramble upright just as Maxwell kicked and bucked, slapping a wing out before snapping his tail around, knocking said flaming-something away to hit the far wall with a squeak—

Willow fell to the ground, seemingly unconscious.

Blankness buzzed through his head for a few brief seconds as he processed—no—

"Oh, let me guess, leave the girlfriend out of it," Maxwell said, perched on the couch, tail lashing as Wilson slowly turned to face him. "I should feel terrible about that, sure—oh alack allay, remorse remorse!"

"Remorse?" Wilson ground out—flexing claws that he knew without looking were razor-sharp, savoring how quickly Maxwell's expression changed. "Remorse is a light word for what you're going to feel."

It occurred to Willow, upon feeling hands shaking her shoulders, that she had lost a few minutes.

It took the crashing and the screaming and the groaning of the house a few moments to register, remind her that she had been having a really sucky evening thus far and Maxwell coming along to kick them all out of the house was not an improvement.

"Willow, please!" Wendy yelped, feeling like she flinched away from some particularly loud and close noise. "Wake up, wake up—"

"I'm up, I'm up," Willow groaned. "I just don't feel like it." Push herself up—

Shadow-dragon Maxwell and shadow-whatever Wilson were fighting, snarling and hitting each other as hard as they could, some damage evident on Maxwell, more on Wilson—and doing enough damage that Maxwell had lost anything approaching calm, if the way he suddenly slammed Wilson away (narrowly missing the Deetzes) was any indication.

"YOU INSIGNIFICANT ANT!" Maxwell bellowed. "YOU THINK YOU CAN TAKE ME, THE MAGNIFICENT MAXWELL!"

Oi vey—get up, push Wendy behind her. "I don't know about that—less magnificent, more blowhard."

Maxwell's attention snapped to her—

Wilson slammed into him again, knocking him off his feet, sending them both rolling—

A slithering scraping noise made them all startle to a halt.

"What was that?" Wilson asked, slightly muffled by the paw in his face.

"Ah," Maxwell noised, suddenly sounding vaguely terrified. "That would be ah…I know I didn't do it wrong this time this has to be your fault—"

"What is it you idiot!" Willow hissed at him.

"Ah—that would be…it probably took too long that's what it was—that would be…well…him."

Him? Him who—

Oh no—the monster they were told that lived in the Shadowlands—

The Shadow Man.