Disclaimer:
I, Aslansphoenix declare that I do not own 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory', or anything that you may find familiar.
The only thing to come from me, are my head canons.
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Author's Note:
This story follows the canon from the books – Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, AND Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator. Although there are influences from most other versions – I also do not own these. It is … I guess a mostly a pre-book story with parts that will be in book time; but form both Willy Wonka and Grandpa Joe's perspective.
This story shows Willy Wonka being in a former romantic relationship with Joe Bucket (Grandpa Joe), and hopefully shows that when they meet later that there's still feelings there. But there will be no cheating involved.
Grandma Josephine is going to be called Josie by Joe because he calls her that in the second book. She; and George and Georgina, are also going to be presented … as nice as they are in Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator. This is not an insult to them; I am trying to stick purely to the canon of the books; but it is different to other interpretations. It's also a fun challenge that I am enjoying.
Charlie might accidentally come across as … the despised 'perfect' character; but that is because this story is from the perspective of both Grandpa Joe and Willy Wonka – and they both absolutely adore Charlie; so yeah.
Also Warning – This story shows a Willy Wonka who is NOT a psychopath. He is the character I read him as; an enthusiastic, eccentric man who does not like confrontation, does not fully understand other people and is ultimately a good guy. If you want a dark Wonka you should go read some other fanfiction.
12/12/23 Update: Corrected ages so that Georgina is the youngest as per the Great Glass Elevator book.
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Prologue:
Silence filtered through the little crooked house. It was pierced by moonlight that danced in and out of shadows; as clouds passed in front of the moon.
All the inhabitants of the little house were sound asleep. Well; all but one.
Joe Bucket, the oldest inhabitant of the household (96 and a half), was awake and gearing himself up for his nightly routine. He gave a cursory glance at his bed-mates; his wife Josephine snoring soundly. At the other end of the bed lay George and Georgina; George as rim-rod as ever and Georgina drooling slightly on her side. He couldn't hear the other adults in the other room, but he knew they were asleep as well.
Slowly he pulled back the bed covering and swung his legs out of the bed. He took a deep breath and stood. As he had done every night for the past many a year; Joe bent and stretched his leg muscles and then he tried to take a step. And, as with every night for the past many a year; Joe failed to take even a single step.
The sense of despair settled over Joe. There he stood in the darkness and night-time silence. He could walk – he knew he could walk; he knew that his problem was not physical … Joe knew that if he could just take that first vital step, that he would then be able to walk almost anywhere. Maybe he would need a walking stick, but he would be able to walk. But in the twenty years since Joe had become bed ridden; he had not been able to take a single step.
There was no need to ask for help from a doctor, Joe knew it was psychological. He knew that he had some sort of mental block that was preventing him from taking that step. Every night he stood and tried to walk, every night he failed.
The closest that he had come had been when Charlie was a young toddler.
The boy had taken to pulling himself up on and standing on his legs. One day; while the boy's parents had just momentarily stepped away, Charlie had been playing in full view of his doting bed-ridden grandparents. They had been watchful; but a midday sun, with a Charlie who had been playing peacefully; and Joe's bed-mates had started to doze.
Joe himself had been close to falling into a doze, when young Charlie, with determined look on his face, had pulled himself up onto his feet. Charlie had tettered where he stood, and Joe, feeling suddenly wide awake and worried as only someone in charge of a loved young one could. Joe had almost leaped from the bed ready to catch Charlie should he ever fall. But Charlie didn't fall; instead he took his first wobbly step. And then he kept going. Just in time for his Mum to come back in and see him walking.
That had been a good day.
Joe sighed and pulled himself back under the covers of the bed. Tonight was not the night, but maybe tomorrow it would be.
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Josie grumbled something in her sleep and Joe shot his wife and fellow bed mates a slightly disgruntled look. He was sure that they would be able to walk; but none of them seemed willing to try. Joe was the oldest out of all four of them, yet sometimes he felt like the youngest. His wife frequently accused him of it as well – mentally at least; but Joe had always lived by the motto that 'Growing old didn't mean having to grow up'. He liked a laugh.
He liked it all the more for the fact that this brought some much needed lightness to the eyes of his son and daughter-in-law, and often a smile to young Charlie's face.
Josie was the second youngest of the four, having only recently turned 80 years old. Joe knew she could walk. Her frequent kicking in the bed surely proved that her legs still worked. Unlike Joe; Josie didn't have a mental block preventing her from taking that vital first step. Also unlike Joe, she didn't have any interest in trying. She enjoyed lying in bed. Joe's glanced at the other couple. George had initially been bed-bound by his back problems; and eventually he probably would (and definitely could) have gotten up again; if it was only him that was bed-bound. But he was stubborn old goat who liked to be included; thought Joe fondly. Everyone else was in bed so, so was George. And then there was Georgina. At 78 she was the youngest of the four, she had been sick; and once better, she absolutely could have gotten back up. Only she never did.
Joe felt his head hit the threadbare pillow at his head. There was, as ever a small coil of distaste at his Bed-mates lack of drive. But until he succeeded in taking that first step; he was stuck with them. Literally; this one bed in this little crooked, drafty shack was the whole world of the four grandparents.
The routine would continue.
In the morning; they would wake up and have a disappointing breakfast, then Charlie and his parents would leave for the day. Joe and the others might doze for a bit, but eventually one of them would wake up (usually Georgina – she was the early bird of the four), and would wake the others up out of boredom. And then usually they would dissolve into an argument. Sometimes it would be couple against couple, or it might be males versus females, or the emotive thinkers Joe and Georgina would team up against the logical thinkers of George and Josephine.
Other times it may just be a free for all; each individual out for themselves. It would be feisty and loud and would continue until they ended it in a huff and everyone trying to give everyone else the cold shoulder. Most of the time they wouldn't even remember what the argument was about.
An argument was always a good way to wile away a couple of hours.
When you were stuck in bed with the same three people for years on end; there wasn't much to do, but sleep and argue, and wait for their grandson to come home.
After the argument they would probably doze the afternoon away. Helen would probably show up in the afternoon and she would try to engage them in discussion. Sometimes she would succeed, sometimes she would just have to let them sleep. It would only be when Charlie returned from school that the four would be roused to full wakefulness. Whatever arguments the four had had in the day would disappear.
Charlie was their light, their joy, and their reason for waking up each day. That he was to be loved and cherished was the only thing they could always agree on. Charlie loved them all – he had such a big heart, and was so good. And Grandpa Jo could help but feel a tinge of smugness at a regular thought he had.
It was extremely well hidden, and hardly noticeable – but deep down Joe thought that he was Charlie's favourite.
Oh Charlie loved them all and had a 'something special' with each of his grandparents. George always helped Charlie with mathematical or logic puzzles; and the two enjoyed solving riddles together. Georgina helped Charlie with his art activities and his English homework. And Josie was always the first person that Charlie went to for help with history.
Oh; Charlie definitely loved all his grandparents. But Joe knew that he shared something slightly deeper with his Grandson. Joe was the one that Charlie sought out for stories, for 'sneaky' discussions, and for sharing hopes and dreams. Joe may also have had the advantage of knowing the most stories about Willy Wonka.
Charlie adored Willy Wonka; he was Charlie's hero, and the young boy loved hearing all the tales of wonder to do with the chocolate-making-genius. And Joe; happened to know all the stories. For he was as much a fan of Willy Wonka as Charlie. And combined with that - Joe had actually known Willy Wonka – as much as someone could know that marvelous man. Joe had worked for him, and so he knew more truths than the others who knew only the legends. The truth was sometimes more mind-blowing than the legends.
Charlie reminded Joe of Mr. Wonka. He had that wonderous way of looking at the world, a mixture of imagination, of hope and with the determination to make it real – to bring out the best and give the best to the rest of the world. It was a twinkle in the eye, a way of behaving that Joe had only ever seen in Willy Wonka. Charlie had that something special, but he also had it wrapped in his own unique Charlie way. Charlie who liked people and who was willing to stand up and face adversity; something that Willy Wonka had never been that able. When Joe ever thought that – he always a tad guilty because he did adore Willy Wonka. But he had to be honest about the man; and Willy Wonka always shrank back from confrontation.
The moon had moved while Joe lay contemplating his life; now he could see the shadows lingering around Charlie's school bag. Joe watched the shadows idly as he felt sleep close in on him. Charlie was Willy Wonka's biggest fan, and he loved listening to Joe tell Wonka Stories. But he didn't know the whole truth.
Not even Josie knew how well Joe had known Willy Wonka. For a moment Joe wondered if he would ever tell Charlie; but he quickly dismissed the thought. Some truths in life just had to stay private.
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Across the road from the little crooked house, and just a bit up the street stood the most wonderful factory in the world. Somewhere near the top; a figure stood by the window watching the world outside.
Willy Wonka was nervous. Tomorrow morning the news would break about his Golden Tickets, and he was terrified – What if he had made a mistake? What if all five of the children were horrible? What if no one was interested in finding the Golden Tickets? What if …?
Willy Wonka took a deep breath and breathed out slowly as he watched the outside the world. His gaze fell to the little house down the street, and as it had done for the past many years; the sight filled him with a peace. A stillness that calmed his active mind, and a source of stability that soothed his worries. Most buildings in their town had changed; been modernised over time; but not so that little shack. It was old, and crumbling, and crooked – but it stayed, and provided him stability in his life.
Breathing out, Willy Wonka let his thoughts settle. He was old now, so very old and could no longer keep running his wonderful chocolate factory. It was time to find an heir. Willy had never had interest in having his own children, and he had always struggled with dealing with people. Humans were consistently confusing. And beside he hadn't interacted with anyone outside his dear Oompa Loopas – as himself in almost 20 years. He had interacted in disguise; but interacting as an old Tinker or Bill the odd Shop Keeper was vastly different from being Himself.
So unless he wanted to go out and interact with people; the best option for Willy was his Golden Tickets;. And he hope that luck would be as much involved as it was in creating his splendid chocolate. Which was far more than his competitors ever believed. Willy ignored the voice that hoped for a certain child to find the ticket – That would require more luck than what even Willy could manage. And bedsides even if the boy did find one; Willy had no way of knowing if the boy was actually decent, even half-way decent. All he knew was that the boy was too tiny for what was probably his age, and liked to stop every day both before, and after school just outside the Factory gates and seemed to look at the place with the same wonderment that Willy felt whenever he thought about his beloved factory. And that the boy lived in the little crooked house down the street; so was probably Joe Bucket's Grandchild.
But being (probably) related to Joe Bucket was no guarantee of being a good child. So Willy Wonka shook his head and pretended to ignore the thought his mind created. But now that his mind had mentioned Joe Bucket; his thoughts strayed to the man he had known many years ago …
