Chapter Text
The wind is too loud in Wilbur's ears, his heart beating too quickly in his chest.
He hears the howling laughter of the creature that's been following him for days now.
Terror rips its way into his chest, nestling deep inside of his heart.
Wilbur tears himself away from where the laughter is coming from, forcing himself to keep walking.
It's all he can do - keep walking.
Wilbur drags his feet along the ground, shivering as the cold bites at his ears. Snow flutters down from the branches, settling on his coat and hair. He listens to the snow and leaves crunch under his boots, and he winces every single time a stick snaps under his weight. Wilbur pauses, going completely still when he hears an all too familiar cackle, followed by high-pitched giggling.
He turns ever so slightly, his heart thudding in his chest when he catches sight of yellow eyes behind him from the corner of his own. Wilbur sucks in a breath, feeling himself start to shake, and not from the cold. He slowly turns his head back to face in front of him, taking in a shaky breath.
He listens as the maniacal giggling gets closer and closer to him, the creature's laughter flooding his ears. Fear grips him, his legs refusing to cooperate with him. Panic signals flare louder and louder in his head, and Wilbur doesn't quite realise that he's already began to run. He sprints through the forest, desperate to escape the cackling and laughter of the beast. Wilbur knows that running doesn't do anything.
The creature has never gotten close enough to him before, and running just depletes him of his much needed, and limited, energy. Still, he can't help but sprint through the forest, cold biting at his face. The wind is harsh and bitter, and Wilbur knows that he's going to regret running. He always regrets it, but he can't help it. His survival instincts kick in, and he has to run, he has to. If Wilbur gets caught..
He doesn't want to think about getting caught.
Wilbur doesn't know what the creature is, but he knows that it's always able to follow him. He doesn't know if he's gone insane or not, if that creature is just a figure of his mind, something he's created on his own. Wilbur doesn't want to believe that his own mind is so capable of creating such a thing, but he knows that it's a possibility. He's so nervous all the time, he's constantly paranoid. Ever since he heard the creature laughing, he stopped all rational thought. The only things Wilbur knows for sure are that he needs to survive, and that he needs to get out of this forest.
He gasps for air, keeling over. Wilbur plants his hands on the ground, his knees hitting the snow below him. He needs to stand back up, to keep running, but he can't. He wheezes, feeling cold air go straight to the back of his throat, making him cough and wheeze even more. He feels so lightheaded, so cold. The giggling starts to fade, and Wilbur feels his anxiety slowly start to straighten back out, adrenaline starting to disappear.
He drags his knees up to his chest, feeling his head spin. Wilbur can't get up. He's so, so cold. He closes his eyes, pressing his head to his knees, his entire body shaking harder than it has before. He feels an ounce of warmth in his chest, slowly spreading to his entire body. Wilbur feels himself stop shaking, but he's still locked in place, unable to get off the ground.
He keeps his eyes shut, figuring that he can rest for a little while.
Wilbur is annoyed.
He's woken up to a blanket thrown over him, in an entirely different area than where he was last night. The giggling has subsided, which is the only bonus. Wilbur fully expected himself to die in the cold last night, an he wouldn't have minded. Now, he's somewhere else, and all of these goddamn trees look the exact same. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he walks, listening to the snow crunch under his boots. He shudders in his coat, wishing that it was warmer.
He wishes that he was warmer.
Wilbur isn't sure how long he's been here, out in this hellscape of a forest. He knows that it's been a week, at least. He doesn't remember much of his past life before here. He knows that he was on an island before the forest. That he had pets, that he was always angry and arguing with someone, until the end. Wilbur doesn't know why it ended, but it's too late to care now.
The name New Milo haunts him, and he wonders if that's the cause of the laughter. Wilbur wishes he knew what the laughter was coming from. It only gets louder at night, loud enough for him to actually hear and be worried about.
In the day time, it's always subtle. He can hear it, sometimes, but it's never worrying. Wilbur thinks that it might be a forest demon of some sort, something that is here to protect the forest. It would make sense, but he doesn't know. Wilbur hates not knowing, especially when it directly relates to him. He keeps walking, smiling a little to himself when he hears birds chittering. He looks up at the pine trees, halting his steps when he spots a snowy owl, staring directly at him. Her eyes are nearly human.
Wilbur knows that he should feel unnerved, but he doesn't. He feels..safer. Like he's being protected, almost. "Hello," Wilbur laughs, watching as the owl shifts on her feet. "I haven't seen you before," the owl stares at him, tilting her head. "Do you hear the laughing, too?" Wilbur asks, leaning back on his feet. He pauses, narrowing his eyes. He's really gone insane, hasn't he? He's talking to a fucking animal like it's a person. "This is dumb." He mutters, turning away from the snowy owl. He keeps walking, shivering as he does.
"I'll pick up my hiking boots when I am ready," Wilbur sings softly to himself, enjoying the noise. He used to play guitar. He doesn't remember if he stopped or not, or if he just lost it. "And I'll put down my roots when I'm dead," he murmurs, ignoring the soft chittering of the owl. "The distance is futile, come on, don't be hasty," Wilbur smiles, feeling less and less alone. He's always loved singing, it's one of his favourite things to do. He hasn't had a reason to sing in a long time. "You'll get that feeling deep inside your bones," Wilbur thinks he should sing more often. Even if he's alone, he can perform for himself. "I'll be gone then, for you must be al-"
Wilbur flinches, seizing up at the sudden laughter that fills his ears. He breathes in, the cold settling into his lungs.
He starts to run once again, desperately trying to escape the joyous cackles behind him.
The snowy owl doesn't leave him alone.
Wilbur doesn't mind at all.
He relishes in the company, and he finds himself talking to her more and more. Wilbur doesn't bother naming her, figuring that it would be weird. He thinks that she likes it when he sings, so he does it more often. He doesn't want to be alone again, even if his only company is an owl. "I think this time I'm dying," Wilbur grins, watching as the owl dives down to stand at his feet. "I'm not melodramatic, I'm just pragmatic beyond anything reasoning for thinking I've got fuckin' rabies or something," he stands still, smiling as he shifts in the snow. "Do you like it when I sing?"
The owl stares at him. Her eyes are blue mixed with green, and they're so, so human. "I don't sing much anymore," Wilbur explains. He crouches down to be at eye level with the owl, figuring that he should stop for the night. He has his bedroll on his back, even though it never helps keep out the cold. "I haven't had much of a reason to," he smiles, tugging the bedroll off of him. He rolls it out under one of the less snowy trees, brushing away some of the stray snow that falls down onto it. "I've been alone."
"And I still am," Wilbur snorts, shifting to lay down in it. He doesn't hear the laughter, thank god. "You're just an owl, aren't you? I'm going fucking insane," Wilbur stares up, wishing he could see the sky. The trees block out nearly all light, but he can still see the sun sometimes, if he looks hard enough. He doesn't know what time it is now, but he hopes that it's not quite night time. Night time is when the laughter comes back full force, and he fucking hates it. "You can fly off now," Wilbur turns, smiling at the owl. She's gotten a lot closer to him, standing directly in front of his face. "It's okay. You don't have to protect me."
She tilts her head at him, moving to perch on his shoulder, her talons surprisingly soft and gentle. "Okay, okay," Wilbur giggles, closing his eyes. He lays himself back against the ground, his back aching. The ground of a forest has never been nice to sleep on, less so when it snows. How long has it been winter for? God, it feels like it's been forever. "Goodnight, then. I'll talk to you in the morning."
Wilbur keeps his eyes shut, curling up in on himself. He hears giggling in the distance, terror striking his heart. He forces himself to stay, feeling himself start to shake. The laughter slowly starts to get closer, and Wilbur jerks up, startling the owl. He has to go, he has to-
The owl coos softly, her eyes meeting his own. He watches as she jerks her head around, emitting a nearly feral screech that he's never heard before. The giggling subsides for a second, before it starts to disappear. "You.." Wilbur watches as the owl waddles back towards him, resting her head against his shoulder. "Thank you," Wilbur whispers, feeling the panic in his chest start to disappear. "Thank you so much." He wants to cry, and he..he is, he is crying. He buries himself back under the bedroll's blankets, sobbing gently to himself. It isn't out of sadness, but out of joy and relief. He can sleep. He can sleep without worrying, and he..
Wilbur smiles, feeling less cold than he has in a while.