Wow...I didn't know writing this would turn out to be so much fun. :O

Oh no.

"Mr. Wonka," Charlie said quietly, almost unable to talk; he was still recovering from a traumatic experience that happened not but two minutes ago. "Are you alright?"

Willy turned his back to Charlie and wiped his eyes, playing it off like he was wiping his nose. "The question is, dear boy," he replied, kneeling down to retrieve his hat and leaning over the seats to get his sunglasses back-knowing his voice almost betrayed him just then, "are you alright?"

Charlie nodded, not even caring that the head nod couldn't be seen at the moment. Something caused Charlie's stomach to lurch when Willy called him dear boy just then….

Willy put his sunglasses on and looked at Charlie over the top of the seat he was kneeling on. "Charlie, are you alright?"

Charlie stood up, his knees nearly giving in. "Let's get a pair of parachutes. We're not getting down any other way…"

The minute Charlie's feet hit the ground (quite remarkable given they'd just fallen through a large canopy of trees), Willy snapped the parachute off himself, falling the few feet he had left (he'd jumped after Charlie). "Okay," he declared. "Let's make base right here."

Charlie tripped as he tried to get the parachute off himself. "Mr. Wonka…."

"I'm aware it's a bit abrupt, but we need to make camp…and we're right here. Therefore, we make base…right here."

Charlie's hands were shaking so badly that he couldn't get the parachute unhooked. "Mr. Wonka…."

Yet again, Willy had started the deed before Charlie even asked the question. It took a moment for Charlie to realize that Willy was unhooking the parachute for him, and he was unnervingly close. Charlie was almost thrown into oblivion; he was hit with the smells of dark chocolate and marshmallows…and graham ers. Blimey, Charlie thought, he smells like a s'more….

He realized his thoughts and recoiled.

Willy stopped and looked slowly up at him, raising an eyebrow over his sunglasses in question.

"You pinched my arm a little…."

"So sorry," Willy said cheerfully, all traces of ever having been crying completely diminished. He continued to unhook Charlie's stubborn parachute. "I was wondering why you had a paroxysmal moment."

"A paro—"

"Spastic," Willy answered, starting to get vaguely frustrated at the blasted parachute clasp. "You know, erratic. Convulsive…your average, ordinary, everyday Spaz Attack."

Charlie laughed.

Willy finally got the parachute unhooked, and he patted Charlie on the shoulders. "There you go. Now…I'm off to burn this evil, evil thing…."

The furthest distance Willy compromised to go for that night was down to a rather large clearing against one of the mountains about a mile away from the plane. He only compromised, however, when he saw Charlie was about to collapse from exhaustion.

Charlie, apparently, had fallen asleep the minute Willy had drawn out the sleeping bags he had in a large, purple bag that had been on his back. He was so tired, he didn't even care how or where Willy had gotten the bag.

But apparently sleep didn't want to stay with the poor boy. He woke up rather abruptly to see that the sky-which, when he fell asleep, was starting to turn a deep orange-had finally turned dark, and countless stars were peppered across its entirety.

He sat up and looked behind him.

Willy was sitting in a portable recliner near a large tent, his right ankle on his left knee, and he had, sitting on his lap, what looked like a red-velvet-covered hardback notebook. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and he was gnawing on the ring finger of his left hand. He was writing vigorously, and he was using the light of a royal purple lantern sitting on the ground beside him. The orangey light illuminated the absorption in Willy's eyes, which told Charlie that he was either writing in his diary or writing down ideas for his candy.

Willy stopped writing, and he slowly cast his eyes up, catching Charlie's fascinated gaze. "Why are you awake?" he asked softly, his concentrated frown changing subtly into a concerned one.

Charlie shrugged, drawing his knees up to his chest and hugging them. "I had a nightmare…that ruddy snake won't leave me alone."

Willy closed his notebook down and went over to Charlie, sitting next to him and looking up at the sky. "Wow," he said. "There's a lot of them, isn't there?"

Charlie looked up at the sky and nodded, laying down and staring at the stars. When Willy did the same, Charlie felt himself blushing. "Mr. Wonka?"

"Yes?"

"Have you ever had a crush on someone?"

Willy was silent for a moment. "Yes," he murmured.

Charlie's heart stopped. "Really?"

"Yep. When I was younger--about your age, I reckon--there was this girl that lived a few houses down from me and my father. Her name was Lilly. Boy, she was pretty."

Charlie sighed and looked back up at the stars. Then, suddenly getting over his slight disappointment, he grinned. "What was your most embarrassing moment?"

"Besides running into the glass elevator?" Willy laughed. "Well, the way I got my cane was slightly embarrassing."

"What happened?"

"Well," he said, "I was going to go and examine the gates because they'd been making a strange clicking sound, but when I stepped outside, I tripped and fell head-first down the stairs."

Charlie felt a pang of worry.

"I didn't get severely hurt, except for the destroyed ligament in my ankle...when it healed, I couldn't exactly walk the same again."

There was a small silence.

"Were you crying?"

"No," Willy chimed, "because when I was found by the Oompa-Loompas, I was laying face-down on the ground, unconscious."

"No," Charlie interrupted lightly. "I mean in the plane."

Willy sat up and looked at Charlie, frowning and slightly narrowing his eyes. "I didn't even cry when I was a baby." He stood up, looking pretty much insulted. "I didn't even cry when my older sister died."

When Willy grabbed the notebook and pen and disappeared inside the tent, Charlie sat up, the confusion plastered across his face.

"You had an older sister...?"