"These will be just as dusty as the other ones, I'm sure of it," Wilson when he finally found the box and dragged it out. "Sorry about that."
"E... Ex... Thro... Exthro..." Wurt was interested in the new item and had promptly squatted by the box to try to read the faded marker on it.
Wilson smiled at her. He ran a finger through the word slowly. "Extra pillows. It says 'extra pillows', Wurt. For those of us without Merm scales, we'll want these to stay comfortable tonight."
Wilson's home was lacking in furniture, to say the least. Wolfgang helped lift the couple of chairs that it did have into the center of the den. The den was now becoming an impromptu slumber party, something that made Wilson laugh.
"I slept in a tent all the time! Don't worry about me, I'll give these to Ms. Wickerbottom," Walter said cheerfully when Wilson gave him blankets and a pillow.
"I don't think I'll be doing much sleeping tonight dear. But thank you anyway," the aforementioned librarian said.
Once comfortable on a few blankets folded and laid on each other for a pseudo sleeping bad, Webber lied on his stomach and kicked his legs. Wendy slowly made a place next to him.
"Hey, did I ever tell you guys... The story of the Gourd Lord?" Walter asked.
"Eek! ... Wolfgang mean... Maybe little scout boy could not tell scary stories tonight?"
The later it got, more people settled in. Wolfgang took a chair, the children camping out on the floor, and Wigfrid traded spots on a chair with Warly - she grinned, happy to not sleep on the floor.
"I'll make my nest right here, so don't fear - Wortox is near," Wortox was pawing at the wood flooring as if it would do much, then he curled up on himself a bit like a dog.
The more people settled in, the more obvious Willow's absence became.
"Willow?" Wilson called her name as he ascended the stairs again.
Willow gave him no mind. Wilson sighed with relief to find her lying on his bed, holding Bernie above her and idly playing with the bear.
"There you are!"
"Where else would I be, Wilson?"
"I guess I should've figured you'd steal my bed."
Something about this was cute. To an extent, Wilson had come to regard Willow as a younger sibling figure. She was only 10 years or so younger than her - probably? She never would give a straight answer on her age - but once she met Wilson at camp she'd firmly cemented herself into that role. Mischievous, but well-meaning. Selfish, but able to work together for the benefit of the whole.
Wilson chuckled at first at how insanely domestic the whole situation was. They were almost acting like -
"How can you laugh right now?" Willow asked, not even looking at him.
"I don't know what you mean. Willow, look around you..!"
"I see some big dumb jerk's dusty bedroom. And a broken portal."
"And what DON'T you see," Wilson encouraged. But Willow snapped back: "Wilson, you don't get it."
"...Maybe I don't, then? Come on Willow. You're usually the first to tell me how you feel. What's going on?"
Willow went quiet again. She glared silently at him.
"Willow...? Come on," Wilson insisted, leaning over her. She slapped his face lightly with Bernie, and he relented, backing away.
"Alright, alright. I won't pry! But... If you think you're getting that whole bed to yourself, you've got another thing coming."
"Your bed sucks anyway. What's with your house? You've got less furniture than those smelly pigs."
"...In storage," Wilson explained with an awkward hand motion.
Willow sat up, huffed, and hugged Bernie to her chest.
It wasn't nearly as awkward to sleep with two people to a bed as Wilson had feared. Although at the same time... It had been quite a long time since he'd been in a bed - a REAL one - anyway, so Willow could be as spiky as a Tentacle and Wilson figured he'd still enjoy the comfort.
Willow and Wilson were both short enough that Willow slept with her head at one end, and Wilson with his head at the other. Willow pulled out her lighter. Because of course she did, Wilson thought.
"Don't burn my house down, okay? Or at least wake me up before you do."
Willow just grunted in response.
For a time, Wilson laid there in bed with his eyes closed, but mind buzzing. Just to be home in and of itself was amazing, but he couldn't help but think about the many creations he'd put together during his time on that unfortunate trip. The machines of science, along with the less than scientific ones... He imagined their components, and became eager to try them out with tools he could get in this world and see the results. How wonderful it could be, if he could present something amazing to some board, or patent a machine! The recognition he could get...The royalties.
The food it would buy. The furniture. It was delightful to imagine.
It began to rain, and Wilson smiled. It was always easier to sleep when it was raining. And you weren't outside, sleeping on the ground, Frogs dropping on your head.
There were no clocks in Wilson's combination bedroom/workshop, but when the first loud banging jolted him awake, he looked around and guessed by the darkness it must be sometime after 3 AM.
Willow instantly got out of bed, and placed herself in the center of the room with her lighter lit.
Wilson opened his mouth to say something, but startled when another loud bang impacted with the house.
"It's coming from downstairs," Willow said. Wilson was very shocked to hear genuine fear in her voice, and slid out of bed to approach her...
Something moved.
Wilson froze, feet not even yet touching the floor. He blinked, holding himself in place. No. He didn't see that. He didn't see that. That couldn't be. That wasn't real.
He saw it again. In Willow's shadow, a shape moved. It moved again, and then broke off. Within an instant, it had risen into a three-dimensional form. Willow screamed when she caught sight of it, swiping her lighter into it. The Terrorbeak dissipated, and reappeared behind her.
"Behind you!" Wilson shouted, scrambling out of bed. But Willow's eyes were wide and darting around, and she'd already detected it somehow, and drove a fist into its midsection. Her punch didn't properly land, and instead the Terrorbeak struck her with its jaws. Willow yelped out in pain, and tried to step backwards to recover.
Wilson joined her, grabbing her by the shoulders to steady her. "That REALLY hurt," Willow said with an uncharacteristic shakiness in her voice. Wilson swallowed and tried to steel himself, feeling very cold despite being so close to Willow's still-lit flame.
"We need to get downstairs and get the others."
The Terrorbeak began to move towards them. "Now!" Wilson shouted when it was close enough they could kite its next attack. Both of them frantically ran down the stairs, and the scene down there wasn't much better.
"C'mon Luce, let's help him out," Woodie was shouting. He ran across the room to where Walter was cowering from a Crawling Horror, and swung twice at the beast. The second swing missed as the beast had already moved behind him, but Woody flipped around with fury in his Canadian eyes and brought the axe down again. It cut right through the beast, ending it, and became stuck in the floorboards.
"It's right there," Willow said of the pursuing Terrorbeak behind her and Wilson. Abruptly, Warly appeared - pressing himself against the wall with a metal ladle in hand, he remained unseen until the Terrorbeak was close enough before smacking the creature with it. The hit connected and the beast split apart to reform elsewhere. "Not the most effective weapon, but I think it'll do."
"Flurp!" Wurt made a small jump, and brought both fists down upon the Terrorbeak right after it'd reappeared.
"Wilson, Willow - Are you alright, dears?" Wickerbottom was to one side, standing protectively with Wendy and Webber. Wolfgang was nervously cowering behind her.
Willow immediately ran to Wickerbottom. "PLEASE tell me you have flint, or something! I need a spear right now!"
Wickerbottom grimaced. "I can no longer craft items."
"Abigail would know what to do," Wendy said miserably.
Willow's flame had gone out in her mad dash to Wickerbottom - as others joined the group, including Wilson, she lit it again, holding it out.
Wortox appeared from a corner. "Sneaky, sneaky," he said as he slinked around, looking for enemies. The entire den was slowly becoming covered in darkness, permeated only by Willow's flame.
"Wilson, that you?"
"Winona! Here I am," his outstretched hand met not with Winona's glove as he expected, but with a wrench.
"One for you too, ma'am," Winona said as she offered a ball-peen hammer to Wickerbottom.
Another loud thud made the group of survivors jump, and Webber yelped in fright.
Then, another. Thud. Thud. Thud. Willow couldn't take the stress - she was breathing heavily, the sound of it almost overshadowing the frightened sounds of the others.
"He's at the door, I'll get this hoser when he comes through," Woodie said.
Another thud, an inhuman screech, and then a very decidedly human scream of pain after that.
A different thudding began, fists rapping at Wilson's door.
"Higgsbury I know that you're in there! Let me in! This is urgent!"
Winona gasped sharply, and instantly broke from the group. She ripped the door open and early morning light flooded the house. Wilson followed, shocked at first to realize his time estimate was so off and then even more shocked at first to have Maxwell's spindly frame fall onto him like a dead weight. "Wh - Maxwell? Hey!"
Wilson literally crumbled under trying to hold up the taller man, and didn't realize until he'd fallen on his ass and was trying to lift Maxwell by the shoulders that the asshole had fainted. He was completely out.
"Hey, Wolfgang?! Help me please!"
Maybe a bit of overkill, the former king didn't weigh THAT much, but it seemed right in the moment. Wolfgang ran over at once, and thinking quickly pulled Maxwell's limp body off, and then lifted the taller man in a bridal lift.
Winona's eyes went wide, and when Wolfgang stepped back with the former king, she followed.
"Here you are - a blanket," silently as they come, Wendy had ran and retrieved her blanket.
"Hey, thank you kiddo. Wolfgang, uh... Why don't you put him in that chair over there, actually?"
The rest of the survivors remained in their messy circle for a moment. Wickerbottom was especially shocked, her eyes wide open for several moments. She wasn't sure how to process what had just happened. But... A cursory glance around told her the sun was rising. The shadow monsters were gone.
"Willow, dear, you can snuff your lighter now."
Willow did no such thing.
Wilson voiced the thought first. "What... was that?"
Woodie was scratching his hair, having carefully wrenched Lucy from the floor. "Ms. Wickerbottom called them Terrorbeaks, eh?"
"And here I thought we'd left all of that behind," Warly lamented before tossing his ladle in the sink. The crashing sound of it hitting something else in there made Willow jump. She gritted her teeth, glaring at the chef.
"That was fun!" Wortox said. He poked at a small black mass on the floor. "No souls for me, unfortunately."
"...Nightmare Fuel?" Wilson wondered out loud. There was no denying it. He leaned over, looking at the disgusting blobs of shadow. Yep. He unfortunately had come to know this substance well.
Speaking of disgusting blobs of shadow...
Wilson glanced over, where Maxwell was sat in a chair. Winona was attending to him, while Wolfgang looked over nervously.
Wilson blinked. Once, twice, and then realized there was red leeching from somewhere in the magician's right leg and into the chair. Wigfrid had torn a strip of fabric from one of her battle items to quickly hold out to Winona. "Is this clean enough?"
"I think it's fine, thank you." Winona wasn't exactly the best "medic" type, but she was motivated and worked quickly.
"Oh, hey, I took a first aid class," Walter offered, but Winona didn't answer - she was already in the zone.
Watching her wrap up the magician, Wilson found himself feeling cold again. He wrapped his arms around himself, a shiver spreading down his spine.
Willow stepped towards him, and without saying anything, she lit her lighter once again and held it in front of the two of them as if it were their only light in winter.
Maxwell kind of looked like shit. The decision was made to put Maxwell in Wilson's bed, and as much as Wilson disliked that suggestion he also prided himself on being logical, and he understood the reason why.
The workshop was slightly crowded now. Very interesting, Wilson thought. In any other situation, it would be a fun new experience to have people to work with. But not like this.
The Shadow Creatures attacking them despite the exit from The Constant had filled him with dread, and a sense of urgency - but no clear goal. Wilson wasn't sure what to do next.
Weapons had already been taken care of. So that was done. Wigfrid had collected rocks from the yard and sharpened them with Woodie's help, and despite dropping her Viking shtick otherwise had methodically crafted each person a spear with a determination in her eyes.
Not much, in the long run, Wilson worried, but at least it would be something.
Maxwell lay in Wilson's bed - probably getting blood and magician germs all over it, Wilson lamented... Wilson cleared off one worktable so he and Winona and Wickerbottom could have a surface to start working... And Willow had remained firmly attached to Wilson since the morning.
She sat on the floor at the end of the worktable, idly playing with her lighter.
To be honest, Willow looked kind of bad, too. Her expression was hollowed out with a very deep tiredness.
And unfortunately, after thinking on it some more, Wilson realized that there was still more to be ventured when it came to Willow.
"Willow?"
"Yeah," she grunted. She was repeatedly lighting her thumb on fire.
"How did you know that we'd be attacked?"
That made Willow stand up. When Wilson met her eyes, he was met with a surprising sadness he didn't think Willow was even capable of. If he didn't know her so well by know, he would've assumed she'd start crying at any moment.
"They always do."
"...What do you mean, dear?" Wickerbottom asked, her tone very gentle.
"The shadow stuff. It always shows up. Every night," Willow continued, switching to idly picking at loose strings on Bernie. "My whole life, those stupid things have always come after me. You guys thought that coming back here would fix it, but... It's just not going to. We're not going to get rid of them."
Winona was placing items from another desk into a plastic crate, trying to clear out more space. She paused and looked at Willow.
"Quit looking at me like that," Willow snipped, and looked down at the floor. "You guys are stupid. I'm going downstairs," she began - but Wilson practically jumped in front of her.
"No! Willow," he started to grab her shoulders but felt awkward about the motion and stopped midway through, "I REALLY need your help right now. If there's anything you know about these things, it could really help us right now."
Willow stared at him a moment, and then raised her lighter to his face. So close, she could light him aflame if she wanted to.
"Fire's a good way to make sure the lights stay on, you know. If you let me light this whole place up, they'd -"
"Burning the place down isn't really an option," Winona said tiredly.
Willow took the chance to continue walking away, and Wilson didn't try to stop her, unsure if upsetting her like that was even worthwhile in the long run.
On one palm, there was a scar. Wilson's used to being so covered in sweat, goop, or poop he can't even detect it. But now, in this awkwardly quiet moment, he ran the fingers of his other hand across it.
He thought about the blood shed. As part of the process to build that blasted portal, Wilson had taken a kitchen knife and almost split his hand in two. His blood helped to bring that machine to life.
His mind was hazy the night he built the portal. It greatly resembled some of his worst nights - the nights where he hadn't been to sleep for a week on end and would become so frantic for something worthwhile to come out of a research project that he'd be frantically putting together half-done research and calling it a completed a blueprint. As if that wasn't bad enough, the feeling when he'd return to his "new invention" after finally getting some shuteye, and see the blasted thing for what it really was - something incomprehensible that couldn't even power on... That was worse. The shame and frustration that would run through Wilson's tiny body at those points felt like more than one man could ever hold.
Wilson ran his hand over the scar repeatedly. He continued thinking, not letting the gears of his mind rest, but by evening he'd not come up with anything useful. It wouldn't actually be until he did something by chance that anything remotely helpful happened - something that would later frustrate him.
He approached Maxwell. Looking over the man, for a second Wilson wondered if he was seeing things or something. Maxwell's hair wasn't always salt and pepper. Was it? No. It was black as night before, always.
Maxwell's eyes opened, and Wilson yelped.
"You're alive-!"
"I should hope so," Maxwell said in a strained voice.
Winona took notice, and set her tools down on the floor. Pulling one glove off and casually approaching, she looked over Maxwell with faint concern.
"Hey, welcome back to the world of the living. You okay?"
"In... A sense of the word," Maxwell wheezed, and then raised a hand to his mouth to cough.
"Now that you're up," Wilson said, one hand upon his chin, "I've got some questions for you, magician."
"I wouldn't call him 'up'," Winona said lightheartedly.
Maxwell vaguely turned his head to Wilson. Wilson frowned a bit. The man really did look horrible. Always a pale sort, he looked even moreso now. It was actually a touch disturbing, seeing someone who held such power at one point... Reduced to this.
"What happened out there?" Wilson asked. "You showed up on my doorstep while were being attacked by Shadows, so that doesn't exactly give me confidence in you."
"Were you lot... Also being attacked by them at the time? I... I was running."
There was a very sickly wheeze in Maxwell's voice, and Winona knitted her brows in concern before mouthing a "keep talking" to Wilson and leaving, heading downstairs.
"We were. They ambushed us while we were trying to sleep," a touch of annoyance seeped into Wilson's voice as he continued, "and then you showed up."
"I assure you... I didn't have anything to do with them."
"You sure about that?"
"They attacked me as well... I don't... Think that would be a smart battle plan."
Wilson suddenly felt very stupid, and it only added to his frustration. He decided to move on quickly.
"How did we get home?"
"I don't have... An answer for that one, either... Unfortunately. Just... As lost as you are."
Wilson quirked a brow. "Really?"
"Indeed." Maxwell frowned. "I woke up... Face-first..! In the dirt... Haven't really the slightest."
"You look like garbage," Wilson said, accidentally voicing his thought out loud.
Maxwell smiled. "I'm sure..."
Maxwell's stupid self deprecating smile was making it worse. Wilson realized he was suddenly balling his fists at his sides. Frustration was building, and whereas the apprehension before made him feel terribly cold, this frustration was making him feel miserably warm. Warmth ran through his veins and shook him to his core. Wilson glared at the ugly skinny piece of garbage that was lying in his bed, and for a moment wished for nothing more than to wring his neck.
Winona came back up the stairs, carrying a red mug very carefully. Her reappearance broke the "seal" of Wilson's frustration, and he released at least some of it in a long exhale.
"Warly made this," was the first thing Winona said, gently moving past Wilson to bring Maxwell some leftover tea.
It was a little exerting for Maxwell to sit up, and Winona tried to help by stacking the pillows beneath him upwards.
"I think this'll fix that rumble in your engine!"
"Smells heavenly," Maxwell said quietly before gently taking his first sip.
Wilson watched them for a moment, then felt restless. He started to think that if he didn't find something productive to do soon, he might lose his mind. For real, this time.
He found himself back at the desk where the blueprint for the portal had been pinned down. Winona had also taped several notes over it. In one spot, she was asking for clarification on Wilson's handwriting. In another, she'd noted that the gears Wilson used in the opening mechanism were covered in rust, so they'd need to find new ones.
Having someone nearly as smart as you definitely did make these things easier, Wilson thought.
He continued thinking, and then wished he hadn't, because he had an awful realization when he re-read the note from Winona.
'Found all 5! All rusted through. Needs replaced.'
"Maxwell," Wilson spoke up from the other side of the room. "...How long were we in The Constant?
Maxwell paused after another sip of tea. "The answer depends on the person. Remember... Not all of you entered at once."
Wilson began slowly walking back to Maxwell. The gears in Wilson's head were turning. "How long was I in there, then? ...Relevant to the normal world's time."
"Hard to say," Maxwell admitted. "I'd estimate between 5 to 10 years."
