Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wilson had always wanted to ride in a hot air balloon .

Never mind the flashy new airplane, the hot air balloon was a real marvel of science, not to mention his childhood obsession. His father had always promised he'd get him in the sky one day, promised that they’d explore the world together in their own little floating ship.

That was before the explosion.

The cool air of the night whistled in his ear as he looked around. The fluffy white clouds were lit up by the gentle moonlight. Everything was so… tranquil. He closed his eyes, breathing in the night air and sighing. He could definitely get used to-

BANG.

He jolted up and looked where the sound came from. Behind him, there were other balloons with other figures. He was too far away to see who was in them. He called out for someone to hear, but his voice got drowned out by the wind. One of the balloons was going down like it had been… shot out of the sky. 

BANG.

Another balloon was shot. And another. And another.  Something-no- someone was shooting them down. Wilson frantically looked around in his paradise-turned- personal- hell. He pulled at the ropes, trying his best to steer, or make this thing go faster, despite not knowing how. He had to remember what those old books said, or what his father had told him. Problem is, it’s a little hard remembering things from 20 years ago…

BANG, BANG, BANG.

Whoever was shooting the balloons down was almost at him now. He released the sandbags at the sides of the balloons, getting his higher in the air. He was hoping- praying to make it out alive. He had to escape. His hands were sweaty, his breaths shaky. The rope slipped through his hands, rubbing them raw. He balled them into fists to stop the stinging-

BANG.

He didn’t need to look up. The fire went out as the balloon went limp, leaving Wilson falling.

Down,

       Down, 

             Down.

<->

Everything hurt.

His entire body aches, like he had been hit by one of those fancy cars everyone had been going on about back at home. He didn’t want to move, much less get up, but it wouldn’t do him any good to lie here all day and rot. At least the sun wasn’t in his face…. He groaned and rubbed his eyes.

Oh god.

What is that.

After a not-so-manly shriek, the plant creature blinked, still looming over him with wide eyes. He looked around and saw a machete in the grass nearby, but it was between him and the plant thing. 

“Who are you and what do you want?” Wilson said, trying his best to sound intimidating. 

The creature blinked. “Name Wormwood. Are you friend?"

“Am I… what?”

“Are you friend?” Wormwood repeated, cocking their head to the side.

“Um… maybe? No? Look, as long as you don’t hurt me, then we can be friends. Also, get off me,” Wilson said, shoving Wormwood away and standing up.

Wilson looked around, finding himself in a grassland with all sorts of strange creatures- what appeared to be a dung beetle, glowing fly-like creatures, and white dog-cat things with huge eyes, eating almost everything in sight. To his left, there was a lake with hippopotamus-moose hybrids, frogs,  and some teal platypus-porcupines. How… odd. And scientifically interesting. 

He could already think of performing numerous experiments on these new creatures- he had finished his research on nearly everything in the world before in his notebook-

Drat. 

There goes all that research he had poured months into.

Whatever. Science later, survival now.

He picked up the machete near his broken balloon- had he really fallen out of the sky? No wonder he felt horrible- and began hacking at the tall grass and flipping over stones, Wormwood following close behind. 

Wilson didn’t particularly mind the company, even if Wormwood wasn’t much of a conversationalist. Years of being alone in your house with nothing but your own science experiments did that to a person, made them crazy enough to listen to the strange voice of a dapper gentleman on the radio.

As he continued, Wilson wondered about the weird… dream? It couldn’t be a dream if it actually happened. The memories of last night were fuzzy, and it hurt his head trying to remember it all. Were there other people? Other survivors maybe? And if so, were they here in this new tropical world?

He managed to collect a good bit of grass, flint, stones, and sticks, just from the grassland and stone slabs on his journey. Crafting himself an axe, he went to chop the nearest rainforest tree but was stopped mid-swing by Wormwood, trying the pull the axe away.

<--O-->

Maxwell hated this Rainforest.

Everything smelled like petrichor, which he usually found at least tolerable. And sure, there was enough food to last him a while if you really enjoyed beets and red caps, but the problem was in the danger. There were horrendous toothy plants, both big and small, and spider-monkey hybrids all trying to kill him, not to mention the fact that even the hanging vines could be hostile. He had already gotten his suit torn twice by the fiendish foliage.

His main goal at this point was to escape this treacherous forest to have a chance of surviving to the next day. He trudged along, avoiding the numerous dangers as best as he could until he heard a rather familiar voice.

“No Wormwood, if we don’t get wood, we can’t have a campfire tonight, and we can’t survive in the dark, so could you please give me-”

It was definitely Wilson.

“No hurt friend!” Another voice said, with a strange vibrating quality.

Maxwell went over to the sound of their voices. Whoever the other person was, they had to be friendly enough. And if Wilson was chopping a tree, he must already have an axe, and that meant twigs.

He managed to stumble out of the deep rainforest and found Wilson wrestling an axe from some sort of plant-creature with a green gem in its chest. Upon seeing the magician, Wilson stopped, letting the plant gain control of the axe.

“Maxwell?”

“In the flesh,” He took a small bow, then came closer to the duo.

Wilson folded his arms and smirked. “Looking good there pal, love what you’ve done with your suit,” He said, motioning to the tears.

Maxwell brushed off the sarcastic comment in favor of a question. “What is that thing?”

“Oh. Right,” The scientist motioned to the plant, “This is Wormwood. Wormwood, this is Maxwell.”

Maxwell put out his hand for a handshake, to which Wormwood cocked their head to the side.

“...Do you not know how to shake?” He said after an awkward silence.

“Shake?” Wormwood repeated.

“You know, like shake his hand,” Wilson offered.

Wormwood smiled, switching the axe to their left hand, and with their right, shook Maxwell’s hand rapidly, disorienting the frail man. “Friend!” They excitedly said.

“Not that hard!” Wilson stopped them, “you're going to break him.”

Wormwood let go, “Oh,” They said, before patting Maxwell on the head, effectively mussing up his hair and adding even insult to injury.

“You know what Max? I take it back, you look better like this.” Wilson chuckled. 

Maxwell huffed and smoothed his hair back down, trying to save himself from further embarrassment. “You know what- weren’t you trying to cut down a tree before I arrived?” He said, pointing to the axe, now in Wormwood’s possession.

“Oh. Right,” The scientist turned back to Wormwood, “We really need to make a campfire for tonight.”

Wormwood shook their head, hiding the axe behind their back.

“What if… what if we planted two trees for everyone we chop down? Then there’s more friends for you, right?”

Wormwood paused, then hesitantly handed it back to Wilson, “Plant more friends.”

Wilson handed Maxwell another axe, then they began their work. Maxwell, Wilson, and Maxwell’s shadow clones doing the chopping, and Wormwood planting trees afterward. Maxwell didn’t like work, but this was necessary for survival. He made sure to complain the entire time.

They worked until dawn until Maxwell’s hands were sore and filled with splinters. Then, the three of them sat around their campfire, the fire cracking and popping, illuminating the unusual posse.

“So Max, did you see anyone else when you were in that rainforest?” Wilson asked, cooking a radish over the fire.

“If I had, wouldn’t I have been with them?” The magician dryly answered, digging his heel in the dirt.

Wilson frowned. “You aren’t the most sociable person though.”

“Touché”

It was rather odd, but Wilson was one of the only- if not the only- person who could tolerate him, regardless of their scuffles and altercations. Everyone else could barely stand him, especially a certain pyromaniac. Maxwell didn’t care much about their personal opinions. He didn’t want to or care enough to be liked. He didn’t care about their silly friend groups and didn’t need their trust, and everyone else knew it.

Except for Wilson.

Wilson was friendly. He seemed to like the little banter they sometimes had, otherwise why would he still stick around him? Maxwell couldn't pretend to know why after everything he'd put Wilson through, even giving him the perfect camp for any survivor, Wilson had still decided to release him from the hellish nightmare throne.

He took a peek at the scientist and caught his eye. Wilson gave him a small wave. Maxwell turned his gaze to the floor.

Whatever Higgsbury was playing at was his own problem. Maxwell didn’t owe him anything, and didn’t need his pity or sympathy or whatever he chose to call it.

<--O-->

“So, Wormwood… I’ve got a question for you- a couple actually,” Wilson admitted, munching on a beet.

Wormwood was currently playing with a white flower that was at their feet “Ask.”

“How exactly do you exist?” The scientist began, “I’ve never seen a sentient plant, alive ones sure, but never one enable to talk and understand human speech and do tasks. Why is there a green gem in your chest? And is there more of your kind?”

They shook their head. “Only Wormwood. No other.”

“Then how did you come to be?”

“Moon,” Wormwood pointed to the sky, “Wormwood vine. Moon gave shiny. Monument. Wormwood here.”

“...Huh?”

“Higgsbury, you’re attempting to have an intelligent conversation with a shrub on the nature of their existence, I don’t think you're going to get clear results,”  Maxwell said.

“Well I can at least try to figure it out,” Wilson frowned, “Haven’t you ever wondered how stuff worked? The inner mechanisms? The how’s and the why’s?”

Maxwell shrugged. “Not since I was a child. Might you be thinking of dissecting them then?”

“Dissecting Wormwood- I would never! Why would you think of something so inhumane?”

“If I recall correctly, you had no problem doing various “scientific experiments” on various creatures, both inside and outside this world for that same reason- to find out the inner mechanisms.” Maxwell said cooly, Wilson’s face turning pale.

Wormwood glanced at him nervously, then turned his gaze back at the flower;

“I never experimented on anything sentient for heaven’s sake, I would never-”

Maxwell scoffed. “Higgsbury, please. I distinctly remember you doing a vivisection on one of my beloved hounds and the same fate befell a pig you decided wasn’t worth your time, and they’re sentient enough. The only reason you haven’t done any science experiments on yourself recently, is due to the fact that you’d lose all your memories if you did die of it.”

Wilson opened his mouth to say something back to defend himself but was silenced by the sound of a rustle of leaves close by. He grabbed his spear and he heard Maxwell summon his dark sword- Wilson hoped it wasn’t another viper. There was a snap of twigs when he realized that this could be no snake. Snakes slither, whatever this is was walking. He peered into the darkness but couldn’t see a thing.

A mysterious stranger emerged, wearing green goggles, a blue collared shirt, and a dirty apron. He had a full beard and wild hair, like it had never seen a hairbrush as long as he’d lived. If this was a survivor, Wildon had never seen him before. He kept his grip on the spear, pointing it under the stranger’s chin.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” Wilson demanded.

The stranger looked to be in a state of shock, his mouth wide open. “It… can’t be.” 

“Can’t be what?”

“Look at you!” The man smiled, “It’s been so long and you’ve grown so much! How did you get here? Is your mother okay?”

“You know this man?” Maxwell whispered to Wilson.

“Um,” Wilson turned back to the stranger, “...Have we met before?”

“Wilson my boy, I’m hurt you don’t remember your own uncle,” He said, switching the green goggles for clear glasses.

It took a minute for Wilson to put the pieces together, but then it all made sense.

“Uncle Wagstaff?” He asked, dropping the spear to the floor with a soft thud.

“The one and only,” The inventor smiled.

Wilson quickly hugged him, squeezing him tight and grinning ear to ear.

“You can… let go now,” Wagstaff wheezed.

Even after letting go, Wilson could barely contain himself. “All this time you were here? How did you get here- when did you get here? I thought- everyone at home thought you were dead!” He turned to the rest of the trio, “Guys, this is my Uncle Wagstaff! He’s super cool, and he also is an inventor, and he made those radi- oh. I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I.”

“Uncle, this is Wormwood,” Wilson gestured over to the sentient plant. Wormwood went over and shook Wagstaff’s hand, not quite as eager as he had before.

“New Friend!” They excitedly said.

“They have a… limited vocabulary,” Wilson explained, “And they also like calling people friends.” 

“Nice to meet you Wormwood,” Wagstaff responded with a smile.

“And who might you be?” Wagstaff turned to the magician.

“Maxwell.” They shook hands.

“If I may ask- the sword you had earlier- may I see it?”

“If you must…,” Maxwell gave him the sword, “Although, it can make you go insane if you hold on to it too long.”

Wagstaff studied the shadowy saber in awe. “Fascinating… Is this your creation?”

“No. I could make one, however.”

“With what materials, may I ask?”

“A living log and 5 nightmare fuel, if I remember correctly."

“Ah yes, Nightmare fuel…” The inventor nodded, thinking to himself.

“Uncle?” Wilson interrupted, getting the inventor’s attention, “I was wondering how you made it through the dark without the grue catching you?”

“Oh my dear boy, it was simple. It’s the goggles I made,” He said, holding them up for Wilson to see, “I call them infroggles, short for infrared-goggles. They allow me to see in the blackest of night, and even let me see heat signature! Remarkable, is it not?”

Wilson inspected the green-lensed goggles. “It really is.”

“Sun up,” Wormwood said. 

The sun was rising- days in the constant were fickle, some were unbearably long, and others were ridiculously short. Wilson had previously tried an experiment on it with little results, finding that time didn’t pass linearly, it passed when it wanted to and wouldn’t when it didn’t, regardless of where the sun was.

Wagstaff suddenly clapped his hands together, startling Wilson out of his thoughts. “Well, I can’t have my nephew and his companions living out in the wilderness. I’ll show you all the city.”

“City?” Wilson gasped excitedly, handing his uncle back the goggles, “As in-?!”

Wagstaff shook his head. “It’s not much of a real civilization. There aren’t any people, just stuffy aristocratic pigs. It's still far better than out here, though.”

Wagstaff led the group through the plains into a cultivated lawn with Pig farmers, miners, and guards. Wilson wondered why these pigs were so much more civilized than the pigs from the previous world… these ones wore clothes and could even perform complex actions and speech. Perhaps he should research it... 

Wormwood bounced around excitedly, talking to the pigs and plants, but before they could pick up a pitchfork lying on the ground, Wagstaff yelled “Don’t!”

Wormwood froze in a panic.

“They don’t condone stealing, the pigs. Stealing requires you to pay a fine of 10 onic’s- their currency- or the punishment of death will ensue,” Wagstaff explained with a wave of his hand, “It’s really not worth the hassle, and you’ll be needing the onic’s for later.”

“Wormwood sorry,” They dejectedly said, stepping away from the pitchfork.

“There no need to be,” Wilson reassured with a pat on their shoulder, “You simply didn’t know.”

Maxwell stayed uncharacteristically silent, eyeing the town. He had been rather quiet since Wagstaff had joined them. Wilson passingly wondered what he was thinking, but he didn’t have the time to be worried when his Uncle was here. He had never been this excited for a long time, perhaps since he made contact with the mysterious radio in the first place.

They continued on into the bustling city, pigs on every corner, with vendors requesting gems, berries, feathers, and various other items. There were shops on the street side, houses, towers with guards, and even decorative shrubbery and roads. It was no real city of course, but it was definitely close enough for Wilson.

“Many Twirly Tails,” Wormwood said in awe.

“There certainly are,” Wagstaff said with a chuckle, “But right now you three need to get some onic’s- at least 50 of them. That way, you can buy houses to store items and rest in. I’d suggest you get the items that the vendors want, it’s the easiest way to get a lot.”

This gave Wilson an idea. He always knew that Maxwell could never resist a good challenge.

“Hey, Maxwell!” Wilson said, a playful glint in his eye, “I bet you I can get to 50 onic’s faster than you can!”

“We’ll see about that, Higgsbury,” Maxwell retorted.

And with that, the two of them headed back out of the city to find stuff to sell.

Chapter Text

“Are you seriously still chasing that peacock?” Maxwell smirked.

“Shut it Maxwell, I’m still going to make more onic’s than you!” Wilson yelled back, the multi-eyed bird slipping through his grasp again.

“I’m surprised you didn’t make them anyway, based on how they resemble you so much.” Wilson said, chasing the bird into a corner and plucking its feathers.

“The only resemblance is our regality.”

“And the fact that you both are proud, stuffy, and cowardly.”

Maxwell’s smirk fell.

Their competition of who could get the most onic’s fastest was still underway. Maxwell didn’t know how many things the scientist had stuffed in his pockets, but he had managed to find himself a nice collection of resources and oddities, such as a gold nugget, flower petals, iron, sticks, and wood to turn into boards. Not too shabby…

Simple onic’s wasn’t the only thing occupying his mind, however. As he swung his axe at another tree, his mind wandered back to his niece. How was she faring in this tropical landscape? He knew that Wendy was smart and resourceful, and could handle herself, even more so with Abigail by her side. But he knew his mind wouldn’t rest until he at least knew where she was, and this put a damper on his mood.

“I don’t get it!” Wilson abruptly said, throwing his machete into the ground with a soft thud and startling Maxwell. “Why the hell are you so sour? You’ve been acting like a stick in the mud all day- why?”

Maxwell eyed Wilson coldly. “Why do you care so much about it? How I act is my decision, and if you can very well go on to Wormwood or your uncle. And your snide comments aren’t particularly welcomed either.”

“It was just a joke, Max, I don’t know why I even try with you sometimes…” Wilson said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “ I don’t understand why you can’t just be a decent human for once- the only time you’ve ever not been a total prick is when you were on the thro-”

“Do not finish that sentence,” Maxwell growled, stepping closer to the scientist, “I am not the person you saw on the throne. I am not weak, I am not controlled by them, and I definitely don’t need your pity.”

“Pity ? Is that really what you think this is?” The scientist shot back, “Is it such a crime just to want to talk to you? To hang out with you?”

“But why would you want to? I have nothing to give you Wilson- I can’t get either of us out of the Constant, otherwise I would have done so already! All I have is the Codex, which you can’t even read- I haven’t got anything else!”

“Who says I want something from you? Not everyone is out to get you! People can just be nice without wanting stuff from you- but people won’t want to be nice if you’re just being a proud bastard all the time!”

There was a long silence between them as they stared at each other, Maxwell’s aggression quickly subsiding. Unfortunately, Wilson… was right. Pushing away everyone was what had gotten him on the throne in the first place, and even if it was easier to do, it certainly didn’t help the situation.

 “Fine,” Maxwell sighed, “I’ll tell you why.”

“Back in the real world, I had a brother” He started, “And that brother had two twin daughters. And it just so happened that those two daughters ended up here.”

“Wendy and Abigail are your nieces?”

“Yes.”

“I’m… not as surprised as I should be. Now that I’m thinking about it, you do share some similarities, a fixation with the macabre and magic… And does she know?”

Maxwell shook his head. “Of course not. They may not even remember me- they were just barely creeping when I last saw them before the constant.”

“Oh.”

“Why didn’t you just say that instead of being a prick? All it would have taken is a few words; I’m Wendy and Abigail's uncle and I'm worried about them, and the whole argument we just had could have been averted. It’s called basic communication Max.” 

Maxwell crossed his arms and frowned, “Because I'm not required to tell you anything.”

“You just did.” Wilson smirked, hands on his hips.

“You know what, I’m starting to question who’s really the prick here..:”

“It’s still you.”

Maxwell rolled his eyes, but he had to admit; He did feel a little better, if only slightly.

The duo continued on with their journey, picking up things of value on the way. A part of Maxwell wanted to know… why Wilson had even cared how he felt. All things considered, it was likely because it’s not enjoyable pestering someone who’s already pissed off, doubled with the fact that bothering a pissed-off Maxwell increased your chances of death by shadow saber by at least 70%.

Getting back in the city just after midday, Wilson and him split up and began to try to trade with the locals. It didn’t take too long for Maxwell to accumulate 33 onic’s, but after that, his inventory began to grow thin.

Maxwell much preferred the comfort of the city than being outside of it, even if it was populated with pigs, and if he went out again he wouldn’t make it back before nightfall, and he would be surrendering to Wilson, and Maxwell was far too proud for that. He was running out of options…

“What do you mean come back tomorrow? I have more feathers- why can’t you just take them now?” It was definitely Wilson… at least Maxwell wasn’t the only one facing problems right now.

He walked over to the scientist, who was too busy to notice, due to him currently harassing a saleswoman in a pink and white striped dress.

“I don’t get it, why can’t you just buy more now instead of tomorrow? It’s not going to make any difference in profit, so why can’t you just accept it?”

The lady shook her head. “Come back on the ‘morrow for more trade.”

“Say pal,” Maxwell said, causing Wilson to jump, “You seem real desperate to make a trade…”

Wilson turned to face him, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Geez Maxwell, someone ought to put a bell on you or something… And I’m not that desperate.”

“How many onic’s do you have?”

“Why don’t you tell me how many you have first?”

“Because I asked the question first.”

They both glared at each other until Wilson finally spoke. “I’ve only got 37,” He sighed, “I asked Uncle Wagstaff to borrow some of his, but he just told me I need to learn the value of “buying things myself”, like I’m a teen again.”

“You managed to get 4 more than me… I’m almost impressed. It is getting quite late however, and the Mayor’s office will be closing soon.”

“You’re right about that…”

“Look, I would have never asked if I wasn’t truly desperate,” Wilson stated, “But I’d rather not sleep outside, cause I heard the pigs talking about a bandit that goes around at night and steals your onic’s, and I really can’t be bothered to collect them all over again… So, would you mind if we… bought a house together?”

Maxwell stared at him in utter disbelief. Of course, he had also been thinking about it, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Higgsbury of all people as a roommate. He would technically be the best option out of all the survivors, but still.

“This arrangement will only be temporary” Maxwell finally agreed, crossing his arms, “We buy another house as soon as possible.”

“Agreed.”

<--O-->

It was nearly dusk when they got to the Mayor’s office. The Mayor was asleep on his desk when they got there, jolting awake at the sound of the door closing.

“Er-How may I assist-eth thee?” Mayor Truffleston asked, straightening the top hat on his head.

“We’re looking to buy a house,” Wilson responded, putting his onic’s on that desk and Maxwell doing the same.

The Mayor began going through a stack of paper sitting on the shelf behind him. “A house for both of thee?” 

“For now, ” Maxwell frowned.

“I see-th,” The pig retrieved a deed of ownership from the pile and handed it to Wilson, “Thy house be past the grocer’s on hath left.”

“Thank you sir,” Wilson said politely.

“Thou art welcome-th. Take-th care” 

Wilson held the door open for Maxwell to leave. “We will.”

The pigs were all scurrying to their houses now that the sun was setting below the horizon. Maxwell was taking his lovely time, so Wilson went ahead to find Wormwood finishing the paint job on the outside of their lovely turreted home.

“How did you get that so fast?” Wilson said, bewildered, “And with decorations too- How many onic’s did you even get?”

Wormwood sheepishly smiled. “Sold the hedge-hair and plop picking.”

“And you got enough for all that?” Wilson motioned to the well-decorated home.

Wormwood nodded.

“Damn, now I think I really wasted my time…” He muttered, a finger tapping his chin, 

“Wasted my time too,” Maxwell frowned, standing next to the duo, “Higgsbury, you really are an impulsive idiot sometimes…”

“Well, you decided to follow an impulsive idiot, so what does that make you?” Wilson shot back with a smirk.

Wormwood laughed as the scowl on Maxwell’s face deepened.

A raindrop landed on Wilson’s shoulder and he looked up at the dark clouds in the sky. Downpour would start soon, and Wilson didn’t particularly feel like getting wet today.

“Well then, we’ll be seeing you Wormwood,” Wilson waved and turned on his heel.

Wormwood waved eagerly, “Bye friends!”

They got to their house just as the sun set, the wooden walls and red shingled roof was lit up by the yellow street lights. It wasn’t… extremely horrible.

Maxwell shook his head and sighed. “I don’t know what I expected… it’s dreadful.”

“Agreed. Utterly deplorable.”

Maxwell opened the door of the creaky house. “Absolutely revolting.”

“Completely disasterous,” Wilson said back.

“Calamitous.” 

“Wretched."

There was a loud clap of thunder outside, grabbing both of their attention.

Maxwell sighed. “In all seriousness, this place is a real shame.”

“We could always decorate it,” Wilson shrugged.

“That's not a bad idea.”

Soon, Maxwell was sitting in his horned armchair reading the Codex, while Wilson was scribbling in a set of papers. He had to redo the research- although his memory was good, he knew he would forget it if he didn’t, and that only accounted for what he remembered at the minute. There was so much he’d have to do again- not that he minded. It was just more for him to do.

Wilson was just a bit distracted though. He peeked at the Codex again, hoping to get a glimpse. Sure, Maxwell called it magic, but it had to have some sort of scientific elements to it. Magic didn’t exist. Science did. There had to be an explanation for splitting yourself into shadowy fragments. Who even made it? How did it even work?

Wilson put the quill and paper down and crept over to Maxwell as quietly as he could. Sure, Maxwell had never let him see it before, but Wilson was too stubborn to stop trying. He peeked over the back of the chair, nothing that some of the words were actually in Latin.

Mens humana potest disiungitur in diversis partibus, prout in users arte et sanitate- The human mind can be fragmented into different parts, depending on the users skill and sanity.

Beyond that, was instruction in a language Wilson had never seen before. He squinted. He wasn’t even sure if it was a human language-

Maxwell slammed the book shut.

“Awfully nosey, aren’t we?” He said.

Wilson shrugged. “Not nosey, just curious.”

“Have you ever heard of the phrase curiosity killed the cat? ”

Wilson ignored his last comment. “What language is that? I didn’t recognize any of it…”

“And I wouldn’t expect you to, you didn’t spend nearly enough time to understand the language of the ancients.”

“How long did it take you to learn?”

“Years . Decades, even, time has no meaning on the throne… and every bit of it was pure hell.” Maxwell said.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Wilson mumbled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Wilson barely remembered his own time from on the throne- mostly because he had consciously blocked most of it out-but from what he did remember, it had been terrible. They would constantly whisper into your ear, mocking you and taunting you. They had even less respect for Wilson than they had for Maxwell, so there wasn’t much respect to begin with.

“So, uh…” Wilson shifted from one foot to the other, “Could you maybe… teach me a little? You know, for scientific research purposes.”

“Me? Teach you?” Maxwell let out a chuckle, “Have you finally lost your brilliant mind?”

“Huh?”

“Need I remind you that I brought you to this wretched world? That I’m the cause of your misfortune? I specifically recall you calling me a demonic bastard when I first arrived, why you would even suggest me teaching you is beyond me.”

“Maxwell, you really are an idiot,” Wilson retorted.

“...I beg your pardon?”

“Sure, at your best you’re tolerable, and at your worst you’re insufferable, but I wouldn’t say I completely despise you. We’re long past that point now, we just annoy each other and argue on occasion. No real harm done. And besides,” Wilson added, a little softer, “It’s not like I was doing much in the real world anyway.”

The magician knitted his eyebrows and thought for a minute. “That’s an… interesting viewpoint.” 

“So…?” Wilson pried.

“So... what?”

Wilson rocked on his heels. “So… you could always say you don't hate me too.”

“Now why would I do that?” Maxwell smirked.

“Aw, come on Max!” The scientist pouted, “There’s tons of things to like about me!”

“Oh, really? Like what?”

“Well for starters, I’m a gentleman. I’m funny, and charming- and I have a brilliant mind, you said it yourself!”

Maxwell raised an eyebrow. “I said you had a brilliant mind, whether you’ve retained it is debatable.

“I’ll have you know that I’m sharper than ever!” Wilson said triumphantly, hands moving to his hips, “And besides, after that whole speech about not hating you, that must have swayed you a little.”

“Are you sure about that-”

“Max!”

The older man crossed his arms and sighed. “While you are a nuisance, you aren’t... completely unbearable. There. Happy now?”

“Aw, I knew you had a heart in there somewhere!” Wilson nudged the other with his elbow, “Just extremely deep down.”

“Very deep down.”

Just outside, the sun was just beginning to rise, but Wilson noticed rather familiar-looking figures by the streetlamps talking among themselves. He peeked out the door.

“What are you looking at?” Maxwell asked, getting up from his chair. 

But by then Wilson was already out the door.

“Willow!” He yelled, running up to the group.

Willow turned around and gasped. “Wilson?” She yelled back.

They ran towards each other and collided in a hug, Wilson turning her around before finally setting her down.

“You're actually here!” She said in bewilderment.

“And so are you!” Wilson grinned.

“Mister Wilson!”

“Webber!” He ruffled the spider child’s head, “How have you been?”

“We’ve been good! This big bird nearly gobbled us up, and we got chased out this fancy pig village!

“Sounds very… eventful.”

Wilson turned to Wigrid, who lovingly punched him in the arm. “Wilsön! Have yöu götten any strönger since I last saw yöu?”

“Unfortunately not…” He winced, still smiling.

“And I don’t believe we’ve ever met,” Wilson said to the brown woman with short, coffee brown hair and a red coat. 

“Wheeler. Dorothy Wheeler,” She extended her arm.

Wilson shook it. “Wilson Percival Higgsbury. A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Dorthy.”

The sun finally rose, and the pigs made their way outside. Webber quickly put on his pig mask as to not cause a mob, but something else was bothering the pigs. Their usually merry greetings were replaced with tithings of doom.

 “Doomsday is near-eth!” One said.

“Woe, destruction, and decay!” said another.

The final one wailed, “Something wicked this way comes!”

“Are they always so… gloomy?” Willow asked, hand on her hip, “The ones we met were far more cheery.” 

Wilson scratched his head. “No, not usually…”

He approached an uncharacteristically skittish worker pig. "Excuse me sir, do you have a momen-”

“The aporkalypse approach-eth! Take heed!” He frantically said, shaking Wilson by the shoulders before turning on his own tail and running away.

“Huh… that’s weird.” Webber frowned, although it was hard to tell under the mask.

“Indeed. I wonder if Uncle- oh! You all haven’t met my uncle! Come on, follow me!”

He saw Wormwood emerging from their house on the way to his uncle.

“More friends?” Wormwood asked when he saw Wilson,’s companions.

“Yes! Guys, this is Wormwood. Wormwood, this is Webber, Willow, Wigfrid, and Wheeler.”

“Hello new friends!” The plant said, flashing a smile that Wilson couldn’t decide whether it was creepy or cute.

“Hellö to thee, öne blessed by Yggdrasil!” Wigfrid said, crushing Wormwood’s hand in a handshake.

“Ygg...drasil?” Wormwood repeated, confused.

“It’s a viking thing,” Wilson whispered, “Don’t worry about it.”

The group got just outside the door when they heard a huge bang, and a crash from inside, followed by a crash and a frustrated groan.

Wilson hesitated before knocking on the door. “Uncle Wagstaff? Is everything alright in there?”

There was some shuffling inside before Wagstaff cracked the door open. “Wilson, my boy, I was simply- Who might your companions be?” The inventor gasped, “Your friends, perhaps?”

“Yeah, that’s what I was-”

Wagstaff already began greeting the other survivors.

“What might your name be, lovely lady?” Wagstaff said, giving the back of Willow’s hand a kiss.

She didn’t look too thrilled with this gesture but forced a smile anyway. “Just call me Willow.”

“A willow like the tree… what a lovely name,” He turned to his nephew, “Wilson, I suggest you make a move on her before someone else does.”

The comment caused a “What” from Wilson and a “Yuck, no!” from Willow.

“Uncle, Willow and I are close, but not… like that. She’s more like my little sister, if anything.”

“In that case, you’re a very annoying older brother,” Willow smirked.

Wagstaff didn’t seem convinced, but settled on saying “I’m sure you’ll find a nice husband in the future regardless.”

"I wouldn't count on that," She said with a smile.

Wagstaff continued down the line of people, and Maxwell emerged from his house, awkwardly standing a distance away from the rest of the group. Wilson caught his eye, then had an idea.

“Well, if introductions are done, Maxwell and I were going to explore a bit and get some resources. Would any of you like to come?”

“We are?” Maxwell asked.

“Of course we are,” Wilson walked over to him, “We need more onic’s, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

“You and... Maxwell?” Willow folded her arms, “As in Maxwell the no-good cheating bastard that brought us all here, or are we talking about some different Maxwell?”

“Aw, don’t be like that Willow. It’ll be fun, and I’ll even let you burn stuff.”

Her eyes lit up. “Alright, I'm sold.”

“Please don't burn friends!” Wormwood said, worried.

“Oh right, just make sure not to burn any plants, for Wormwood’s sake.” Wilson corrected.

“No promises,” She grinned wickedly.

Wormwood looked particularly distressed.

<-O->

Several days went on with more and more survivors arriving at the city. WX-78 immediately insulted everyone upon arrival, except for Wormwood, who they deemed as “different”, Woodie greeted everyone with a warm smile, and Wes showed up, then immediately died via bat raid, which only served to lighten Maxwell’s mood a little.

The only persons who were notably missing were two twin 10-year old blondes. Maxwell got especially worried when Woodie mentioned that he had seen them, but they were separated along the way. Every day seemed to have him more anxious.

Strangest of all, even though Wilson’s friends were back, the scientist still insisted on keeping him company. Maxwell couldn’t pretend to understand why he’d choose him over the rest of his friends if it wasn’t pitying, but Maxwell never fully understood the scientist anyway.

Wilson wasn’t with him today, however, leaving the former king alone to walk about the city and ponder.

He had never cared for the pigs- within this world or otherwise- but with their new skittish nature paired with their speak of a supposed doomsday arriving was enough to concern even Maxwell. 

Even They were acting strange. They were unusually quiet instead of stalking the shadows, which led Maxwell to believe that something truly terrible was on its way. He could sense it.

It was nearly dusk when Wilson and his posse of survivors returned. Wilson had asked if he would join earlier, but Maxwell had refused. He wasn’t in the mood for Willow’s nagging today. 

He was just in his room, reading the codex when Wilson burst into the room.

“Max!” He yelled, tugging on Maxwell’s arm, “You’ve got to come outside! Like, right now!”

“Higgsbury-! What has gotten into you?”

“Come on you big oaf! This is important!” the scientist continued.

“Alright, fine!” Maxwell put down the codex and got up from the chair, allowing Wilson to lead him outside.

Wilson dragged him to the center of town. The pigs we’re already hurrying home and night would be upon them soon, what was so important that it couldn’t wai-

It was them.

10 years old, pale blue eyes, blonde hair with a red flower in it, one a little on the undead side. His nieces, Wendy and Abigail. Wilson took him over to them, a wide grin on his face, and it took everything in Maxwell to not start smiling like an idiot.

“Hey Wendy! Maxwell was worried about you and Abigail,” The scientist said, making Maxwell’s face turn red with embarrassment.

“I most certainly did not!”

“He moped around town all week,” Wilson continued, “You both should feel very lucky, knowing that he cares about your well being. It’s more than I can say for me.”

The magician frowned. “You have absolutely no proof to your accusations-”

“So you care about my well being then?”

“I never said that.”

Abigail was practically rolling on the floor with laughter, and Wendy politely covered her smile with her hand.

Maxwell liked seeing them both happy.

Chapter Text

Fear. 

The sky was a dull red. Wilson couldn’t hear a single thing besides a crackling hiss. He stumbled, fell on his knees in despair. Something was here- filling him with existential dread he just couldn’t shake.

He heard the sounds of laughter, an omnipresent, all accompanying sound that seemed to come from everywhere, and nowhere all at once.

It was them. He could feel it.

Then there was a being. It wasn’t Charlie. It wasn’t them. It was different- familiar, oddly. It towered over Wilson, at least 10 feet tall in height. A blood-red cloak and shiny, bone-white eyes. It reached a shadowy hand towards Wilson…

He woke up, gasping for air, and shot up from his bedroll. The whole dream was so vivid, and he never got dreams in the constant. Only when they were plotting something.  Only when something was coming.

He put on his shoes and looked out the window.

A blood-red sky.

He sighed. This was going to be quite the day…

Opening the door, he was immediately hit with the faint smell of smoke in the air. Ignoring it, he went over to where Willow, WX-78, Ms. Wickerbottom, and Maxwell were talking.

“D’ya think it was the new shadow queen or something?” Willow suggested, her hands resting on her hips.

Maxwell scoffed. “I should hope not, Charlie would be far classier than simply turning the sky red.”

“Classy? Really? You were supposed to be dapper, but ‘cha still went an’ made hounds, so that doesnt say much.” She frowned.

“Hounds are amazing creatures, easily my best creation.”      

“That jus’ further proves that fact that you’re a son of a bitch, Maxwell,” Willow grinned wickedly.

“Let’s leave the name calling for later, and focus on the situation at hand,” Ms. Wickerbottom said.

“Yeah, what exactly is going on with the sky and everything?” Wilson interrupted.

“THAT’S WHAT WE ARE ATTEMPTING TO FIGURE OUT, SCIENTIST,” WX-78 responded.

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out,” Maxwell crossed his arms, irritation in his voice, “It’s the “Aporkalypse” the pigs were fretting about.”

“Ragnarök is here…” Wigfrid muttered.

“RAGNAROK IS A MYTH,” the robot said, “THIS IS REAL.”

“Ragnarök be as real as the blade of my battle spear!” the Viking said, pointing said spear under the chin of the robot to prove her point. WX-78 was unfazed by this action.

“I thought this was supposed to be an adult conversation, but I’m beginning to have my doubts,” Maxell sighed, rubbing his temples.

“I WILL END YOU, FRAIL MAGICIAN.”

“Alright, enough of the death threats,” Wilson said, “What we need to focus on is-”

“Wait!”

Wilson turned around to see his uncle running up to them, his hair as wild as ever with sheets of paper in his hands.

“What is it, Uncle?”

The inventor slowed to a stop, huffing and puffing for a bit to catch his breath. “Sorry… legs aren't… what they used to be, “ He gasped, “Now where was I? Ah, yes.”

He proceeded by handing his notes to his nephew, who began reading them over.

“A… doomsday device?” 

“No no no, not a doomsday device. A calendar that predicts and controls doomsday, an Aporkaylpse calendar, if you will.”

“I have reason to believe, through what I can decipher from the ancient ruins, that a calendar such as this exists on an island adjacent to this one,” The inventor continued, with Wilson passing the notes to the other survivors, “This calendar was used by the ancients to control their doomsday. If we are able to locate it, we would gain complete control over the aporkalypse.”

They muttered to themselves. Wilson was proud to admit that it all looked to be nice and orderly, and perfectly sensible too. Sometimes he couldn’t believe his uncle was so smart… maybe one day he could live up to that.

“This is a lovely theory and all,” Ms. Wickerbottom said, breaking the silence, “But it is just that, a theory. I’ve never particularly encountered a situation where this was plausible. There’s no telling if this structure legitimately exists, if the Shadow Queen destroyed it, or even if this event is simply a part of the seasons in this world. I do enjoy your dedication, but all of us cannot leave due to a theory, Mr. Wagstaff.”

“LESSER BEINGS, THERE IS AN UNIDENTIFIED CREATURE APPROACHING,” The robot pointed to a shadowy figure in the distance.

It had to be at least 10 feet tall and jet black, its skin pulled tightly over its bone, and had a shawl the color of blood, sharp teeth and claws, and bone-white eyes. Just like the dream. Wilson felt a shiver crawl down his spine. 

“Is that… a shadow creature?” Willow asked.

“Nöt öne I’ve laid me eyes ön,” Wigfrid clutched her spear tighter.

“Whatever it is, it looks dangerous,” Maxwell frowned, “We should kill it.”

“Who died and made you king?” Willow fussed, receiving a glare from the former magician.

Ms. Wicker put her hand on the young firestarter’s shoulder. “Willow, could you be a dear and fetch Wolfgang for me?”

“Arlight, miss, will do,” Willow went off to Wolfgang’s shanty.

Wagstaff went over to Wigfrid. “May I borrow your spear, young lady? I shall need it for battle.”

Wigfrid shook her head. “I shall use it myself.”

“But my dear, we wouldn't want you getting hurt now. The battlefield isn’t the place for a lovely young lady, such as yourself.”

Oh, he did not go there.

Wilson shot her a silent look of apology as Wigfrid’s face went beet red in anger. She looked as if she was about to say something, but opted to turn around and stomp away in a huff.

Wilson rubbed his temples. From being here so long, he forgot that society was rather… misogynistic. Wigfrid could fight far better than he could, and that was a fact.

And besides, his uncle wasn’t exactly… battle-ready. Especially with those glasses, and Wagstaff wasn’t particularly skilled in the art of combat, not that Wilson knew of.

“Uncle, how about we look over your science notes together?” Wilson offered, twiddling his thumbs, “Maybe you could, I dunno, teach me a few things?”

His uncle stroked his chin before nodding. “There is a lot of things I have yet to teach you.”

Wilson glanced over to the other survivors. “And will you all be alright?”

“You won't be missing much, besides blood gore when someone inevitably slips up.” Maxwell said.

“We can handle it just fine, Wilson.” Ms. Wicker reassured him, “Now go do your scientific discoveries with your Uncle.”

Wilson gave a weak smile before being led away by his Uncle into his house. Paper was strewn about the room with messy scrawl written all over, Half-finished inventions were strewn across the floor, and a wooden desk with notebooks on them. 

What caught his attention wasn’t the disheveled state of the room, it was the bulky machine partially covered in a white shawl. From what he could see, there was a gold round base and a sun symbol. He reached to uncover it, but his uncle stopped him.

“It’s a surprise project I’ve been tinkering with, you’ll see more about it later,” His uncle smiled, “Now, there's something I’ve been meaning to give you…”

He shuffled about in the notebook piles until he found one with a grayish-brown cover with the spine peeling off. On the bottom of the cover in messy black scrawl was property of Robert Wagstaff.

“Here it is!” He excitedly said, handing it to his nephew.

Wilson quickly flipped through it. “Your science notebook?”

The inventor smiled. “The first one I ever made here in the constant. I thought it might inspire you, in your own inventions. After all, Great science is- ”

“-Built on the Shoulders of Giants- Sir Issac Newton, Wilson finished, grinning from ear to ear, turning the book over in his hands, “Uncle, this is- this is amazing, thank you so much!”

Wagstaff stroked his chin. “Well, it cannot be truly yours until you write your name here,” Wagstaff tapped on the cover of the book and retrieved a quill from inside his desk drawer.

Wilson felt positively giddy as he signed his name right below his uncle’s.

Property of Robert Wagstaff and Wilson P. Higgsbury.

“Now, my boy” His uncle tapped his forehead, “Let's get started, shall we?”

<-O->

The fight wasn’t going well in the slightest.

It was thought that it would behave similarly to a typical shadow creature, save a few tricks, so with the aid of Wigfrid, Wolfgang, and Were-Beaver Woodie, the fight was as good as won. They were very wrong about that.

When the black beast summoned a horde of Ghosts from underground, the nonchalant attitude immediately began to dissipate, as they realized this was like no mere Terrorbeak. Wolfgang and Wigfrid did their best to avoid the ectoplasmic and focus on damaging the monster, but Woodie soon became overwhelmed by the ghosts and Terrorbeaks, taking a few blows.

Willow, WX-78, and Wormwood joined soon after, but Willow’s preferred method of setting the beast on fire proved to be useless. It then proceeded to do a shockwave that knocked the firestarter off her feet.

The creature shrieked, then there was a pause. Maxwell heard it before he saw it, two red-hot dragoon eggs plummeted from the sky, one setting a lawn ornament afire and the other putting a hole through Wormwood and WX-78’s turreted home.

“Home!” Wormwood cried while fighting off a few poison dart frogs.

WX-78 took their halbert and slashed at the crawling horror to their left. “THAT MONSTER WILL PAY FOR DESTROYING OUR HOME.”

Willow got distracted by the burning shrubbery, which allowed for a dart frog to knock her lighter out of her pocket.

Maxwell ignored this as more terrorbeaks surrounded him. He quickly dodged its beak as it lunged at this, then managed to strike the other.

There were just so many, and as of current, the only one who was damaging the monster was Wigfrid. By the looks of it, she was already half-insane and dealing with her own shadow creatures. The Shadow beast didn’t look even half defeated, as it screamed and summoned more ghosts.

“A little, uh, help over here? Anyone?” Willow yelled, now running from a swarm of frogs at her heels.

“I ALSO REQUIRE SLIGHT ASSISTANCE,” WX-78 announced, facing an onslaught of specters.

Woodie huffed, shaking frogs from his brown, blood-stained fur, and barreled over to help Willow, and Wormwood inched over to help the robot. Still, they were spread far too thin.

Maxwell quickly pulled out the codex amidst the chaos, summoning 2 shadow duelists to help even the odds. His vision swam and he could feel his sanity drain, but he picked up his dark sword and continued fighting.

A scream signaled more dragoon eggs, one narrowly missing Maxwell. Wigfrid was no doubt insane now, slashing erratically with her spear and just barely avoiding its shockwave. Wolfgang was desperately trying to fight through the swarm of shadow creatures around him, trying to get to the monster.

It shrieked once more, and Maxwell winced, finally allowing the terrorbeak to break through his shadow armor. Another just barely grazed his arm, drawing a faint line of blood. He struck back, killing one of the creatures in a single blow, then handling the other.

His eye caught something white and transparent and thought it was another ghost, but then he noticed the red flower on its head.

What were Abigail and Wendy doing out here? He fought through the shadow creatures harder to try to reach them both. All the children were supposed to be with Ms. Wickerbottom, not in the middle of the fight.

Abigail used her ghostly white energy to assist him, and Wendy did the same with her halbert, fighting against the shadows.

“Wendy, Abigail, you both were supposed to stay inside!” He said as they came close, slashing at another shadow creature with his sword.

“Abigail wanted to help,” Wendy simply said, “She’s much better equipped for the swarms.”

Abigail quickly nodded before returning her attention to the shadow creatures.

There was an animalistic yelp- not from the monster, from Were-Woodie. He now had a sizable gash down the side of his furry face, blood leaking out of it. Woodie ran to the monster and gave a sharp bite to its side, before shrugging him off and releasing a shockwave, which Woodie dodged.

Thanks to Wendy and Abigail, the sheer number of ghosts, frogs, and shadow creatures attacking the survivors diminished, and they soon found themselves with a good damage strategy. WX-78, Wormwood, Abigail, and Wendy helped with the swarms, and Maxwell, Woodie, Willow, Wolfgang, and Wigfrid focused on dealing damage to the beats and avoiding its shockwaves.

It had to be close to dead, Maxwell could feel it.

The monster screamed once more as Maxwell struck it. His eyes were heavy, he could see shadows forming out the corner of his eyes, his sword was nearly broken, but he didn’t care.

Abigail expertly handled a new wave of poison dart frogs, killing them left and right. The creature screamed, raining itself upward to prepare for another shockwave. It was then, within a few seconds where Maxwell noticed one thing.

Within the fray, as Wendy began to run, her foot caught a stone, causing her to trip onto her stomach with a thud. She landed right near it, do doubt right in the hit zone for its attack without even a bit of armour to protect herself. Helpless to the impending attack.

Maxwell didn’t think. He simply acted.

He ran over as quick as his legs would take him and pushed her out of the way to safety. In just another second, he felt a sharp pain in his back, the force knocking him onto his knees. He could feel his warm blood leaking down his back after it broke through his skin. He hissed in pain.

“Mr. Maxwell!” Wendy cried.

The magician coughed, blood dripping past his lips. Something might have been cracked, but he didn't have time for that right now. His vision swam as he brought himself back to his feet with the aid of the sword.

Summoning all the strength left in him, he held the hilt of his sword, white-knuckled, and delivered the final blow. The beast gave a distorted shriek as it dissipated, leaving nightmare fuel, a bloodied blueprint, and the remains of its cloak. He sighed in relief. 

It was over.

He felt Wendy’s eyes on him before she was whisked away by Ms. Wickerbottom, who began to lecture her about leaving the other children. Wigfrid was given a cooked green cap for her sanity by Wolfgang. WX-78 and Wormwood tended to each other's wounds. Willow helped Wolfgang.

Maxwell received no help. He didn’t care- he was used to it anyway.

His head was spinning from the blood loss, so he decided to walk home, one slow step after the other. Opening his door with a creak, he dragged his feet to the horned chair and flopped down in it. Wilson was going to kill him for getting blood all over the floor, but that was a problem for later. Right now, he needed to clean his wounds, despite the fact that his head was pounding and he was exhausted. He let his eyes close for a second… maybe two.

He heard the door open. He slowly looked up to see Wilson.

“Gee Max, you don’t look so good,” The scientist immediately said.

Maxwell groaned, deciding not to answer.

Wilson shuffled about, getting items from various chests and rummaging around. He then came over with a box of supplies and a bucket of water.

“Could you remove your shirt for me?” Wilson asked.

Maxwell rubbed his eyes. “I will do nothing of the sort.”

Wilson frowned. “Come on Maxwell, you can barely keep your eyes open, much less dress a wound.”

“I can take care of myself, Higgsbury."

“I literally studied medical science in college, just let me-”

“Can’t you see I’m in a bad mood?” Maxwell snapped, glaring at Wilson.

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re always in a sour mood, that’s nothing new.

“But I can-”

“Would you stop being a prick and just let me take care of you?” Wilson huffed.

Maxwell paused before sighing, giving in to Wilson’s request. He removed his suit jacket and white collared shirt, keeping on his gloves. He silently hoped Wilson wouldn’t point out the scars on his back, or the blackened skin on his arms. It wasn’t too long ago when he realized that nightmare fuel, or the excessive use of it had lasting effects on his appearance. 

If Wilson was surprised, he chose not to say anything as he wet the rag to clean the wound. The water was cold against his skin, but Wilson’s hands were warm and gentle. Sometimes Maxwell forgot how warm people were after being on the throne for so long. He decided to focus on breathing and not the warm hands on his back, taking care of him. How long had it been since he was treated like this...

“...I heard you did well in the battle,” Wilson softly said.

Maxwell nodded, not trusting his own voice at the moment.

“You know, if you need something you can just ask me, right?” Wilson’s thumb traced his ribs, “It’s really no issue.”

Maxwell, in a rare moment in his life, had nothing to say, so he stayed silent as Wilson wrapped the wound. Then the scientist put away his things, leaving Maxwell missing the warmth of his hands.

Wilson folded his clothes. “I’m going to go wash these out, alright? Feel free to have some rest,” He said, before giving Maxwell a small smile.

Under his breath, Maxwell muttered a quiet “Thank you,” before Wilson left. He wasn’t even sure if Wilson had heard him.

<-O->

Wilson was concerned, to say the least.

He wouldn’t go and say he was carefree or anything, because that would be a blatant lie, but he wasn’t usually too concerned in general. But he was definitely concerned about Maxwell. Which admittedly was odd, as Maxwell always made it abundantly clear he was capable of doing anything that needed to get done, even if he complained about it the whole time.

No, it was more that Wilson was now aware of just how fragile Maxwell was. He knew he was no Wolfgang, but under the suit, Maxwell was little more than skin and bones. And the black markings and the scars- he didn’t even have an explanation for it, but he doubted Maxwell would readily tell him about what happened. He was still incredibly proud after all, but maybe that proudness wasn’t all genuine.

It just made him realize he didn’t know how far it would take until Maxwell broke, how much he could handle before he died, and that almost scared him. Even in Maxwell’s dying breath, he knew that bastard would rather just kick the bucket than ask for help.

He washed the last of the blood out of the magician’s clothes and sighed. He’d just need to look out for him more, that’s all. It’s the best he could do right now anyway.

He hung them to dry near the back of the house, then peeked his head through the window. Maxwell lay still, asleep. Wilson smiled. He was way less annoying when he was asleep for sure. Besides, Maxwell needed the rest.

Walking down the road, he caught the other survivors laughing, relaxing, and telling jokes around the bonfire. Woodie seemed to be having a riot, as his thunderous Were-beaver laughter was ridiculously loud. Wilson sat next to Willow, pulling out his Uncle’s notebook.

“What’s that old thing?” She asked peering at the journal, “Looks flammable. Could I burn it by any chance?”

Wilson chuckled, “I’m afraid not, my pyromaniac sister. Uncle Wagstaff gave it to me, it’s the first notebook he ever filled completely here! Isn’t it grand? There’s practically science leaking out of every page, or literally science in every page, and even organized by category, and there’s even a part just for the anatomy and bone structure of the creatures here, and- Oh,” He smiled sheepishly, “There I go, blathering on about science again…”

“Naw, I don’t mind,” Willow shrugged, “I mean, I go on and on about how pretty a beautiful open flame is all the time. Or a tiny flame, those are nice too, but open flame? Yessir, I want some of that.”

The duo chatted about the beauty of fire and science until Wolfgang tapped Wilson’s shoulder.

“Ms. Wickerbottom would like to see you, tiny scientist,” The strongman said, “It is something about Wilba.”

Wilson got up and put the book away. “Alright, I’ll check it out. And for the record, I’m really not that small.” He huffed.

“Whatever you say, Wilson!” Willow giggled.

He went over to the pig princess’ manor- the pigs in the city had practically built it for her- where he was Ms. Wickerbottom impatient waiting outside.

“Wilson, could you be a dear and try to get Wilba out? She’s stuck herself in there all day, and nothing I say will convince her to come out.” She said.

“WILBA SHALL NOT LEAVETH HER HOUSE,” came from inside.

“Why not?” Wilson asked, leaning on the doorframe to hear her better, “We all miss seeing you, especially Wendy, Webber, and Abigail. Don’t you want to play with them instead of staying inside all day?”

There was a pause. “WILBA WISHES, BUT SHE CANNOT. SHE HATH FORGOTTEN HER NECKLACE.”

“A necklace? Wilba, we won't punish you if you forgot a necklace, it really is okay.”

“FATHER GAVETH WILBA THE NECKLACE TO PREVENTETH THE TIMETH OF THE HAIRY PIG, BUT WILBA FORGOT TO WEARETH IT.”

Hairy pig? The gears slowly turned in his brain.

“...Wilba, might you have werepig-ism?” Wilson said quietly, but just loud enough that Wilba could hear through the door.

“INDEED,” She softly said, “IT MAKETH WILBA A MONSTER.”

“Now that simply isn’t true,” Wilson tsked, “I’m 100% sure that no matter the form you’re in, you will be the prettiest little girl around, and that’s scientifically proven.”

“...DOTH THEE TRULY BETHINK SO?”

“I don’t just think so, Wilba. I know for a fact.” He smiled.

There was a shuffling coming from inside, then the pig princess slowly opened the door. Her usually meticulously curled red hair was now wild and unkempt, she sported tusks protruding from her lower jaw, her eyes were red, and her frilly dress was torn.

“HATH THEE CHANGED THEE MIND?” She sheepishly said, fiddling with her thumbs.

He gave her a hug. “Science never changes its mind.”

She hugged him back, and afterward, he gave her a pat on her furry head. “Now then, would you like something to eat, or are you ready to play?”

“WILBA ISN'T FILLED WITH THE PANGS OF HUNGER YET.”

“Alright then. You don’t mind me carrying you, do you?”

Wilba shook her head no, and Wilson picked her up into his arms, carrying over to where Abigail, Wendy, and Webber were playing a game of tag.

“Wendy, Webber, Abigail! Look who wants to play with you three!” He called.

The children trotted over. “Hullo Mister Wilson!” Webber excitedly said.

“How do you do, Mr. Wilson?” Wendy said.

Abigail waved hello.

Wilba hid her face in Wilson’s neck.

“It’s alright Wilba, they just want to play with you,” He reassured her.

“Wilba looks... different.” The spider-child noticed, tapping his chin.

“I must agree...” Wendy agreed.

Wilson shot them both a look.

“We think it looks cool!” Webber said with a smile.

“Could you mind playing tag with us, Wilba? Webber isn’t the fastest…” Wendy asked.

“Am too! Abigail is just extra fast ‘cause she’s a ghost and everything!”

Wilba peeked her head up to see Abigail's smiling one. Wilson lowered her down.

“You have sharp teeth like us!” Webber gasped, “We like them!”

“THANKETH THEE!” She smiled.

“Oh and before we forget-” He tapped Wendy on the shoulder and began running, “Tag! You're it!”

She chased after, “That wasn’t fair! I’ll get you for that!”

Wilba waved goodbye, then ran off with the other kids in their game of tag.

Chapter Text

The survivors were all gathered around a bonfire that had been burning for hours, with Willow diligently keeping it lit. Some still had sleepiness behind their eyes, the abnormal day and night cycle starting to catch up with them.

Maxwell sat near Wilson, a bit less prickly than he had been before his rest. He had to admit, Wilson had done a good job bandaging him up, but he expected nothing less from someone who studied medical science. And despite his innate curiosity, the scientist hadn’t even asked about the… scarring.

Wilson clapped his hands together. “Alright, now that everyone’s here, let's get this started, shall we?”

Wilson turned to his Uncle, who had several notebooks and journals sprawled out across the grass.

“Uncle, could you explain your theory on the Aporkayse calendar?” 

Wagstaff frowned. “It’s no mere theory .”

“Oh, right, sorry,” Wilson sheepishly mumbled, putting his hands behind his back, “I misspoke…”

“Right. Regardless, the Aporkalypse Calendar was an incredible device created by the ancients of this Constant, with the ability to control the very doomsday we are experiencing right now. I have reason to believe it resided on an island adjacent to this one, and upon finding it, we’d be able to control the aporkalypse itself,” The inventor said, showing diagrams of his research and findings.

“And again, that is all great in theory,” The word theory seemed to irritate the inventor, but Ms. Wickerbottom continued, “But can we really afford for everyone to leave camp, just on the basis of a possibility.”

“I AGREE WITH THE LIBRARIAN,” WX-78 said, “YOUR PLAN IS FLAWED AND SO ARE YOU.”

Wagstaff crossed his arms in frustration. “Is that any way to speak to your creator?”

“I AM THE BEST THING YOU WILL EVER MAKE WITH YOUR PUNY MORTAL HANDS, OLD MAN.”

Wormwood took the robot's hand and shook their head. “Not mean,” they scolded.

WX-78 sighed but decided to keep quiet.

“I get that, but we canne jus’ be sitting ducks either,” Woodie said in a strained, grave voice, due to his were-beaver form, “Somethin' is better than nothin’ in my book.”

Willow nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we need to take action.”

“Look, I’m usually all for adventuring and cave exploring, but have you seen out there?” Wheeler said with a frown, “Even the pogs want to bite our ankles, and when I tried to go spelunking, there were ghosts riddled all throughout the cave.” 

“It might be dangerous, but we’ve faced similar dangers before, this is no different.” Maxwell said.

“Half of us could go, and the other half could stay here and protect the base,” Wilson offered.

“What a wonderful idea, my boy,” The inventor said, his irritation already gone, “So who chooses to accompany Wilson and I?”

There was a pause of deliberation.

“I will, I suppose," Maxwell said first.

Wilson gave him a small smile.

“Perfect- you can read the ancient language, right? We can go over my notes- or the runes in the caves,” Wagstaff mused.

“Even though the offer got a whole lot less tempting, I guess I’ll go,” Willow shrugged.

“And we!” Wormwood said, raising both their and WX-78’s hands.

“Could I go too?” Wendy asked, and Abigail floated beside her.

Maxwell instantly shook his head. “Absolutely not. You both- along with the other children of course- need to stay here.

“But Abigail can protect me if I really need it,” Wendy protested.

“Wendy, Abigail, it’s simply too dangerous,” Wilson said, “We’d much rather you both stayed here.”

“Oh, alright,” Wendy sighed with disappointment.

Abigail crossed her arms and pouted her lip. She always was the more adventurous twin, while also being much more stubborn.

“I shall alsö jöin this glöriöus missiön!” Wigfrid cheered, “Yöu children must gröw möre beföre accömpanying us, but we shall have a glöriöus victöry in yöur name.”

“Then it’s settled,” Wilson said with a smile, “We can set off tomorrow.”

The survivors began to chat among themselves, getting up to leave and prepare for the upcoming journey.

“Wilson?” Maxwell found himself saying before the other could walk away.

The scientist turned around. “Hm?”

“Say pal…” He began, trying to keep a shred of normalcy, “What you did yesterday, helping me out… thanks,” He said, avoiding Wilson’s eyes.

There was only one other time Maxwell had ever said thank you to Wilson, and that was when he was released from the throne. It felt… odd to say, but it only was fitting.

Wilson paused, an incredulous look on his face. “Wow… the great Maxwell saying thank you to little old me,” He said with a smile.

Maxwell crossed his arms, already regretting his previous words. “Would you rather I didn’t?”

“No no, I’m just surprised, that's all,” Wilson rubbed the back of his head, “You’ve changed, Maxie.”

“I could do without the ridiculous nickname.”

“Then I’m definitely keeping it,” The scientist said with a mischievous grin, “And uh, no problem, anytime.”

<-O->

Wilson had decided to head out and take a walk after the meeting, he could always start preparing later. He waved to Wormwood, who eagerly waved back, while WX-78 just frowned. He wouldn’t be going far- the piko’s were really annoying- but he just wanted a bit of fresh air. Or as fresh as he could currently get, anyway.

He had discovered earlier that Wilba, in her new form, had an enormous appetite, but she was getting along swimmingly with Wendy, Abigail, Webber, and even Woodie.

Wilson walked around and began whistling a familiar tune before he caught himself. It was that ragtime tune again, it really was an earworm… He wasn’t that bothered by it, but then again, he hadn’t heard it playing nonstop for years.

A shrill scream brought him out of his thoughts. He whipped his head around and saw it- the same shadowy creature from yesterday. How was it back? And so quick too- it didn’t make any sense. 

The creature stared blankly with its glassy eyes. His breath caught as it inched closer. He hadn’t brought anything more than a spear, and he didn’t like his chances with just that.

It was much closer now, Wilson was paralyzed with fear. It smelled like death, like rotting flesh. He could faintly see something poking through the thin black skin on its chest, ridges lining the sides. It was bones- a ribcage to be exact. And now that he saw, he couldn't help but notice the other bones under that thin flesh, pressing again't the skin, black as tar. The humerus, ulna, radius, they were all where the creature's arms were as it formed into claws at the end. But how? The bones looked distinctly human, while this thing clearly wasn't.

His gaze went up to the creature's face and he found it difficult to swallow. If it had a human skull underneath, it must have been warped somehow. Jagged, misshapen teeth lined its mouth. Its eyes shone like gemstones, pushing out its sockets in a twisted fashion as it stared at Wilson.

What was even worse was the screams, they seemed ragged and unnatural like its vocal cords were stretched beyond belief. It gave a series of shrill screams almost like… it was trying to talk.

Just what was this thing?

The edges of his vision blurred. The scientist in him wanted to know why- why was it trying to talk? What happened to it to cause it to be… like this? But the survivor told him to run, to get as far away from this thing as he could.

He heard the sound of a blow dart. It landed on the creature's neck, slowly seeping into its dark flesh. It broke its gaze, turning to face its attacker.

“Leave him alone,” Wagstaff growled, his eyes fixed on the beast.

If the creature had facial expressions, it definitely seemed angrier upon being disturbed. It let out a long scream, and Wilson took this opportunity to run as fast as his legs could take him to his uncle.

“Are you alright? Did it hurt you?” His uncle asked, his eyes flitting over his nephew.

“I’m fine,” he answered, his heart still pounding in his chest, “It was just kinda staring at me…”

Wagstaff took a look back to the herald, glowering at the beast. It almost seemed… personal.

The Ancient Herald began to follow the two, slowly but surely. They both made their way back to the village in a rush.

“The Herald is back!” Wilson yelled as he got to camp.

“Already?” Willow groaned, “But we literally just killed the damn thing!”

“I'm well aware of that…”

Willow frowned and readied her halberd, muttering under her breath. “Damn nightmare creatures… don’t know when to stay down…”

“We shall just fight the wretched beast önce möre!” Wigrfid said, already starting to sharpen her spear.

Abigail floated over to him and tapped on his shoulder, and Wendy soon caught up. “We want to fight this time,” Wendy said tenaciously, “Abby and I helped you out so much last time, it only makes sense that we do it again.”

“SO DOTH WILBA,” The pig princess said.

“And don’t forget about us!” Webber added.

Wilson tapped his hand on his chin. “Well…”

He was met with a chorus of pleases from the children, and their wide eyes caused his confidence to waver.

“Oh all right,” he sighed, as the children began to cheer, “But I want you all to be fully armed, alright? And if you need help, don’t hesitate to take a seat. Deal?”

“Deal!” The children said excitedly before bounding off to get supplies.

And to think, usually children were the last people you’d want with sharp things.

Smiling and shaking his head, he went over to Maxwell, who was at the bonfire making a dark sword. He tapped his shoulder.

“Can I help you, Higgsbury?” Maxwell said without looking up.

“Yes actually, you can,” Wilson sat down beside the magician, “When this fight is over, I don’t want to see you in a state like yesterday. There is no good reason why you should fight until you’ve nearly kicked the bucket. Just step out like a reasonable person, and no one will judge.”

Maxwell pursed his lips. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“Well even if they do judge, it’s better than you dying.”

The magician handed Wilson a shadowy sabre before beginning to work on another. “I suppose you have a point. If I were to die, there would be no one to pester you.”

“Yes yes, that, and the fact that all my medical work would go to waste.

“And who would want that,” Maxwell said, the ghost of a smile on his face.

When the Herald did arrive, the survivors were more than ready with various weapons and armour. Abigail masterfully handled the swarms with her ghostly abilities, Woodie, Wigfrid, and Wolfgang were joined by Wilba with keeping damage on the beast, and the other survivors fit in where they could, save a certain inventor.

Wilson saw his Uncle peeking out the window at the destruction, an unreadable expression on his face. He almost seemed hesitant as the fight progressed, and finally went to his study to write in his notebooks.

The creature cried out in pain as Wigfrid slashed at it one more, driving her spear into its knotted flesh. Nightmare fuel oozed out of it as it drew its last breath, collapsing into its blood-red cloak as it dissipated. The survivors cheered in victory.

As the other survivors began to part, Wilson picked up the tattered red cloak, still thinking about his encounter from earlier. It just didn’t make any sense, but he would figure it out.

He was a scientist, after all.

<-O->

He hadn’t gotten hurt this time besides a couple of shallow scratches on his left arm. He couldn’t help but feel triumphant after this victory, but he was sure it wouldn’t last if the beast kept returning.

He put away his dark sword and walked over to Wilson, who was studying the tatters of the Herald's cloak.

“I’m afraid that won’t do you much good against the elements, pal,” He said.

“Maybe it could if we repurposed it,” Wilson responded, “It seems to have some odd properties to it that I want to test out.”

“If you want to experiment with it, be my guest, but I’d advise you not to spend all night on it.”

Wilson folded the cloak and held it under his arm. “Oh I won't, I’ll just experiment a little.”

Maxwell knew Wilson tended to take little experiments and work with them for days on end, but he decided not to push it.

He noticed Wendy and Abigail in the corner of his eye, and Wolfgang and Wigrid were complimenting the two girls on their fighting skills. He almost… wanted that kind of thing with them.

“You know, you could always give them a compliment or two,” Wilson suggested with a shrug.

Maxwell paused, then thought the better of it. “I can’t just do that, Higgsbury. That’s not how it works.”

“But you complimented me just fine, and I get on your nerves.”

“And when exactly did I do that?” Maxwell asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well for starters you called me brilliant,” The scientist stated, “And you said thanks after I patched you up, and you never say thank you to anyone.”

“You’re never going to let go of that, are you?”

“Not in a million years. And um, I know it's hard getting back into the swing of things, especially since you didn’t tell them they’re your nieces but… a little step goes a long way sometimes,” Wilson said, patting Maxwell on the shoulder.

Maxwell thought of the comment as they returned to their house. Hopes of moving out had been dashed when the pigs had turned tail and boarded themselves inside their houses, but the magician didn’t find it as much of a nuisance as he had previously.

Except for Wilson’s decorating abilities, that was atrocious.

Upon entering, Maxwell quickly got himself prepared for the journey ahead, packing essential items in his bag. Nightmare fuel… food... spelunking gear, just about everything was accounted for. Wilson however, began experimenting with the cloak, making hasty scribbles in his notebook and muttering to himself.

He found himself peeking at Wilson instead of diligently studying the codex like he ought to. He could almost admire him- his curiosity of course. It reminded him of days before the constant when magic was still fun and the world was filled with wonder. He almost wished to go back.

Almost.

Despite the hostile environment and beasts that stalked the land, at least here there was no family to hate him. There was no rent money to worry about, no society, no one to tell him he was a disgrace. He was almost content with this constant, with the survivors and his nieces and Wilson.

Wilson…

He looked back at the codex and considered, then sighed, A little step goes a long way, and he could do with making the smallest step. Just for tonight. Just for Wilson.

“Higgsbury?” He called out, getting the scientist's attention.

“Yeah Max?”

Gosh, what was he doing… but it was far too late to turn back now.

“...Did you still want to learn about the language of the ancients?”

Wilson immediately whipped his head around, his eyes wide and bright. “Really? You would teach me?”

“Well… I considered our previous conversation, and decided that it’s pretty disgraceful for a former nightmare king not to know the language of them,” He said, giving a weak insult in an effort to make this seem somewhat normal.

Wilson gave a soft chuckle, then sat on Maxwell’s right, eager as ever to learn. Maxwell decided that Wilson, despite everything, wasn’t half bad after all.

“So, to start we have the W, which is thier symbol for power…”

Chapter Text

Wilson grinned in excitement, inspecting his new creation. It had only taken a night of painstakingly hand-sewing when he was supposed to be sleeping, but who needed sleep anyway? Coffee would be nice though…

He shook his head. Regardless of bad sleeping habits, he was sure this was his best invention yet. This was sure to make Wagstaff impressed, he just knew it! He put on the cloak, not even resisting to do a little spin. The cloak was jet black, rippling with shadowy blues and purples underneath.

“Did you really stay up all night making a cape?” Maxwell yawned as he walked into Wilson’s room.

“It’s not a cape, it’s a cloak,” Wilson corrected, “And besides, it’s not just a cloak, I made it from the tatters of the Herald’s cloak, and, just as I suspected, it did have rather unusual properties-” He stopped himself, rubbing the back of his head, “Um, didn’t mean to ramble, sorry…”

Maxwell paused, putting his hands in his pockets. “...I don’t mind your rambling, you know, even if you do get off-track. It just means you’re passionate about your work.”

So it hadn’t been a lie. Those nights so long ago, when he talked endlessly to the man over the radio, going on about whatever scientific thing came to mind. Maxwell saying he didn’t mind had never been to trick him. The thought made him feel warm inside.

“Oh. Well um… I could tell you more after I show it to Uncle Wagstaff if you want?” Wilson suggested with a shrug.

“If you so choose.”

Wilson left the house with a smile on his face, and headed straight to his uncle’s house, waving at his neighbors along the way. He excitedly knocked at the door, and there was a sound of rustling paper and clinking metal coming from inside.

“One moment please!” Wagstaff called from inside.

There was a loud crash, followed by a string of curses. What was going on in there?

After a minute, Wagstaff opened the door. “Ah, it’s you, Wilson. Can I help you?”

“Not help me exactly-”

The inventor frowned. “And what’s with that ridiculous cape?”

Wilson immediately took it off, holding it up for his Uncle to see. “ It’s my latest invention, I’m calling it the vortex cloak! I took the tatters of the Herald’s cloak, and, as it turns out, it did have magical properties to it! In fact, it actually has a ton of pocket space within it- far more than it shows, as if the pockets are literally dimensions deep-”

“You’re showing me a glorified backpack?”

Wilson’s face turned red in embarrassment. “Well um, it- it has functionality as armour at the cost of-”

“Wilson,” Wagstaff put a hand on his shoulder, “I understand that you aren’t nearly as experienced as I am, but I do expect more from you than just a cape, my boy. You can do better, I know you can.”

Wilson stared blankly, first at his Uncle, then at his creation. Just moments before it seemed so wondrous, a glorious invention in his book. Now, all that stuck out was the frayed edges and the little holes- it seemed… inadequate.

“Hey hey, keep your chin up now!” Wagstaff gave him his usual grin, “You understand why I push you, right? I just want you to reach your full potential, Wilson! We've already lost so much time.”

Wilson forced a smile. “I know, Uncle.”

“Now then, I’m betting you still have some preparations to be made for our odyssey, no?”

Wilson nodded, crumpling the vortex cloak in between his hands. “Yeah, I um, probably should get to that now,” He said before turning on his heel to leave.

It hadn’t been impressive, not even close. Of course, it hadn’t, not to world-renowned inventor Robert Wagstaff, creator of the Voxola Radio. Of course not.

“What happened?” Maxwell asked, walking up to the scientist.

“Nothing,” He sighed, “Nothing at all. We need to leave soon.”

Maxwell looked at him in surprise, then back at the crumpled cloak between his hands. Then, without any warning, he took it.

“H-Hey! Give that back!” Wilson tried to swipe it, but the magician held it just out of his reach.

“Hmm, it’s a lot roomier than I expected…” He said, inspecting the garment, "What other properties does it have again?”

Wilson stopped himself from trying to grab it, a look of confusion on his face. “Um, it absorbs damage taken and redistributes it, at the cost of 30% of the hit to your sanity- b-but it’s not really much to talk about…”

“I can’t say I agree with you, pal. It’s practical, and it's almost as if it was tailored with me in mind…”

He was right. Wilson couldn’t even pretend he didn’t have Maxwell’s abilities in his head while he had been making it- it was just too perfect.

“But I shall return this to you, though I think this to be far from commonplace.”

“You can keep it,” Wilson said, a smile stretching across his face, “You're right, it suits you anyway.”

Maxwell hesitated, then held the cloak close. “...If you insist. Thank you.” He said in a hushed tone.

“Wow Max… I really have to get used to this whole “thank you” thing…” Wilson said with a chuckle.

“Perhaps.”

Wilson headed back into his house and packed the last remaining things he needed into his bag- some food, the darksword Maxwell had made for him, spelunking gear- but then he stopped on the inventor notebook. He turned over the leather-bound book in his hands.

Property of Robert Wagstaff and Wilson P. Higgsbury.

He opened the metal clasp and peered inside, the pages crunchy from time. Skimming through the pages he looked over his uncle's messy handwriting and diagrams of possible inventions. He really was a genius…

But near the end, he had noticed the writing was different. It was frantic and rushed, barely legible even to Wilson. All the diagrams were of portals, eerily similar to the one the scientist had made to get here. 

And there was a constant talk of him, getting him back, finding him. Who was this him he was always writing about? They always addressed themselves as such, so it couldn’t be the shadows… but who else could it be?

“Wilson? Where are you?” He heard Willow yell from outside, snapping the book closed and shoving it into his bag. 

He could always ask his uncle about it later, he decided. He swung his bag over his shoulder and headed out the door to meet up with Willow.

“Oh, hey Wilson, about time you showed your face,” She said with a smug grin.

“Hey Willow.”

“You know what really sucks? How everything smells like a fire, but there aren’t any. I mean, what’s up with that? Don’t tempt me with fire smells if you’re not gonna give me any,” She mused, her hands on her hips.

“Well, the Constant’s never been known for being fair,” Wilson offered with a shrug.

“Well it should be. And you know what also isn’t fair? How you have to live with Maxwell. If you hadn’t I woulda burned down his house ages ago.”

Wilson raised an eyebrow. “And burned down the whole town along with it?”

She shrugged. “Maybe, but so what? A little fire never hurt nobody.”

Wilson decided not to point out the very obvious flaw in that argument.

“I really do feel bad for you Wils'… I mean, how do you deal with that prick so often anyway?” She continued with a frown.

“In all honesty, he’s not as bad as you think he is.” He said with his hands in his pockets.

She looked unconvinced. “But it’s Maxwell we’re talking about. Has he tried to kill you in your sleep yet?”

“Not that I know of, no,” He said with a light chuckle.

“Hmmm… did he try to poison you?” She tried again.

“Nope.”

“Rearrange your organs?”

“No.”

“Gag you, tie you up, and torture you?”

“What? No way!” The scientist said, shaking his head.

The firestarter eyed him suspiciously. “Hmm… he probably used his creepy magic to make you forget or something…”

“In all seriousness, I severely doubt any of that happened,” Wilson said cooly, “Besides, if he had really tried anything, he wouldn’t still be here.”

“Oh really?” Maxwell said from behind them, cursing them both to jump and turn to him.

Damn, Maxwell really needed that bell. But he was wearing the vortex cloak, and Wilson couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride.

“Speak of the devil…” Willow muttered, shaking her head,

“Killing Higgsbury wouldn’t have nearly enough benefits,” Maxwell continued, “The entire camp would be after me for one, which would be extremely inconvenient. And besides, he’s useful enough alive, so I’d rather it stay that way.”

“Um… thanks? I guess?” The scientist said.

“But for some... other people, who don’t have any useful skills, maybe I would go through the trouble,” Maxwell concluded, glaring at Willow.

Before Wilson could tell them both to knock it off, he felt a little person hug him from behind.

“We wish we could come with you, Mr. Wilson,” Webber said.

Wilson turned around to return the hug. “I won’t be gone for too long now, I’ll be back before you know it.”

Wilba joined in on the hug session. “AND THEE SHALL RETURNETH THE HOUR THOU ART DONE?”

He nodded. “Yep, the very moment.”

The two children let go, leaving Wendy and Abigail. Wendy paused before deciding to extend her arm to shake. “If you meet your death before we are reunited, I hope it is a favorable and painless death. This goes for all of you,” She said, her eyes glancing to Maxwell, then back to the scientist.

Wilson decided to ruffle her hair instead, then gave Abigail a high-five. “I’ll try not to die, but I’ll keep your words in mind. And you both are in charge, by the way.”

Wendy smiled and Abigail excitedly pumped her fists into the air.

“What?” The spider-child protested with a frown, “That’s no fair!”

“WILBA DOESN’T LIKE-ETH THIS ARRANGEMENT.”

“Well they’re the oldest, so they're automatically in charge,” Wilson explained.

“I guess…” Webber said.

“We’d better get going now,” Wagstaff announced, walking briskly past the group onto the cultivated lawn.

Wilson hugged the children one last time before catching up with his uncle.

<-O->

Maxwell was glad he hadn’t created pogs because he was just about ready to kill every one he found.

His dark sword was already dripping with the blood of a few of them. Why were there so many of the darn things anyway? Moreover, why did they turn into aggressive beasts during the aporkalypse? 

It was shoddy craftsmanship really, Maxwell would never design such a thing. His hounds were far better, consistent behavior along with bloodlust and sharp teeth, as the best things had. He really did miss his hounds.

When they reached the thick forest, he switched to a machete and began hacking at the hanging vines.

“So what’s with the cape?” Willow asked, “You doing some weird vampire impression or something?”

Maxwell gave an exasperated sigh. “No Willow, it’s not a vampire impression.”

“Kinda wish you were a vampire though, then I’d have more of a reason to kill ya’ and all. Wilson’s way too trusting of you, we’d probably catch you sucking his blood or something, then I’d get to save him by putting a steak in your heart and burning your corpse. You would make a lovely bonfire, don’t you think?” She smiled wickedly.

Maxwell rolled his eyes, but his mind entertained the idea anyway. Him, stealing the warmth, the very blood in Wilson’s veins? Taking his precious life and feeding off it? The thought alone was disheartening, he knew he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’d much rather starve than take that warmth away.

Drat. He hoped he wasn’t going soft.

“Don’t you have someone else to bother?” He wearily said as he slashed through another hanging vine.

“Well I could… but I’d much rather bother you,” She said with a grin.

“YOU HUMANS ARE ALL EXTREMELY ANNOYING,” WX-78 said, squishing the cavalier of a rabid beetle beneath their foot.

“Thanks for the input you bucket ‘o bolts,” Willow said.

“I AM NO “BUCKET OF BOLTS” YOU IMPATIENT, RASH, PYROMANIATIC, ILL-TEMPERED-”

“Say’s the one yelling,” She pointed out, her hands on her hips.

“Can we ever have a decent adult conversation?” Maxwell groaned, rubbing his temples.

“You’ve picked the wrong people for that,” The firestarter shrugged, “And besides, I haven’t been in a real society in such a long time, I barely remember what decent conversation is supposed to be like.”

“I suppose.”

They reached the ancient ruin covered in leafy green vines, where Wilson and Wagstaff stood waiting. There was a rock sculpture of what looked like an artichoke adorning the top of the entrance.

“Ah, there you all are,” The inventor said, switching his goggles and heading inside the cave, “We haven’t got any time to waste.”

The ruin was cold and damp, water dripping from the ceiling. Maxwell frowned as he felt a drop land on his head, he hated run-down places like these. It always reminded him of times where there was barely enough money to even pay rent.

He traced his hand over the markings on the wall. It was in their language, he realized, then began to read. Ferocious Guardians of the waters, thieves take heed…

He heard a mechanical clink and quickly stepped back, a dart whizzing past him and lodging itself in the spot he just stood seconds ago. He turned and glared at the person laughing on the other side of the room.

“Oops, my mistake!” Willow giggled without the slightest hint of remorse.

Maxwell turned to Wilson, a scowl on his face. “Higgsbury, if you fail to restrain her I cannot guarantee that no harm will come to her.”

Willow’s expression changed to one of irritation. “Oh really, huh? Well bring it, I can take you on in my sleep.”

“Alright, alright, enough of the quarrelling,” Wilson said, attempting to make peace, “And you both are not going to fight each other. We wouldn’t want to see anything happen to either of you.”

“I PERSONALLY WOULD LOVE TO SEE THAT,” WX-78 offered.

Wormwood shook their leafy head. “Fights bad. Cause pain.”

“See? Wormwood agrees with me,” Wilson said, shooting a look at the unhelpful robot, “Just don’t bother each other and we’ll all be fine.”

They heard a cry from the adjacent room. “Take that yöu fiendish föes!” Wigfrid yelled.

Arriving in the room they were face-to-face with a swarm of hostile spirits. Maxwell instantly retrieved his dark sword and began cutting them down, taking them out in just a few hits.

“It would be a good idea to split up,” Wilson suggested, “Then we could cover more ground.”

“Brilliant idea, my boy!” Wagstaff said, patting Wilson on the shoulder before taking off down one of the corridors.

Wilson followed his uncle, and Maxwell decided to follow Wilson to avoid getting stuck with an irritating pyromaniac or a robot that detested humanity.

Maxwell and Wilson fought off the ghosts on their path, as Wagstaff barely acknowledged the specter’s presence. Maxwell found it odd that someone who was as distracted and lousy at fighting as Wagstaff had survived so long by himself. It was truly an enigma.

“Hey, nice work there, Max!” Wilson said as Maxwell quickly took care of another ghost.

Maxwell decided not to point out the nickname. “The same to you, pal.”

Wagstaff suddenly stopped a carving on the wall with a long scaly brute with jagged teeth and writing on the side. He quickly got out his notebook and began scribbling in it.

“Maxwell, could you translate that for me? He asked without looking up.

“The one who steals the drop of youth shall fall by the claw of the mighty guardian, ” Maxwell read aloud, “The mighty basilisk’s reign lay eternal by the magic waters.”

“So it is true,” The inventor muttered, scribbling down more in his notebook.

“Wait, drop of youth? As in the fountain of youth?” Wilson asked, “I mean, I personally would prefer a fountain of knowledge, but what does that have to do with the aporkalypse calen-”

“Patience, my boy,” Wagstaff interrupted, “All will be revealed in due time. Now, we must keep going, the Aporkalypse isn't going to fix itself!”

Wagstaff got up to leave just as before, but Maxwell lingered at the carving. The eyes of the beast seemed to watch him although they were just etched out of stone. He had a bad feeling about this, and usually on these things, he was proven right.

<-O->

It seemed like Wilson had been chasing after his Uncle all day, which was just starting to get under his skin. The inventor was constantly rushing to look at something, whether that was a clockwork, a surrounding set piece, or a feral snaptooth. Wilson could understand the giddy thrill of scientific research better than anyone else, but the constant rushing about and fishing his Uncle out of harm's way was beginning to tire him out.

“Uncle, don’t you think we should get back with the others?” Wilson asked as Wagstaff jotted down a few notes next to a setpeice.

The inventor continued writing. “Yes, but not right now, my boy. I need just a bit more notes for Maxwell to translate- science comes first after all!”

In Wilson’s experience, science did not come first in the constant, survival did. But he nodded his head anyway as if his Uncle made perfect sense.

His scientific side and his survival side often conflicted on objective, though in this day and age, his survivalist side usually won out. Right now, however, he was itching to prove himself after what occurred this morning. He sighed, not able to shake that grawing feeling of failure.

They returned to the other survivors before he felt a tap on his shoulder and looked up.

“Say pal, you don’t look so good,” Maxwell started with his usual catchphrase, “Is something the matter with you?”

“Oh wow, Max, you’re really asking little old me? Didn’t think you cared so much about my well-being,” Wilson smirked.

The magician frowned. “You know, sometimes you really are insufferable....”

“I’m just throwing you for a loop, that’s all,” He said, his previous dejected feeling melting off him like candle wax. “But in all seriousness, I’m fine in any way that matters. Do you need anything?”

“Yes, I’ve been meaning to chat with you…”

“If you’ve been meaning to chat with me, then what have we been doing this whole time?”

Maxwell glared at him before continuing. “Does your uncle truly know what he’s doing? Not that I doubt his research, but if you haven't noticed, this isn’t the island with the Aporkalypse calendar. And I don’t enjoy being sent off on a wild goose chase, you know.”

Wilson paused, considering a bit before saying “I’m sure this is all part of his plan, even if we don’t quite understand it.”

“I can’t foresee his plan being adequate if even you can’t understand it,” The magician responded.

Thinking on this statement, it dawned on Wilson that Maxwell legitimately thought him to be intelligent, and he couldn’t help but feel prideful of that.

The two suddenly felt a chill on the back of their necks, and when they turned around, they were face-to-face with a familiar ghost.

“Abagail?” Maxwell said in surprise, “What are you doing here?”

The ghost shrugged and motioned for her sister to join the fray and explain.

“Both of you? And after I left you two in charge?” Wilson said, folding his arms.

“It isn’t our fault!” Wendy protested, “We were playing with Webber and Wilba, when suddenly we were both taken into the gaping maw of the BFB, then we traveled here through the caves.”

Abigail nodded earnestly in agreement.

The scientist sighed, already softening. He had never known the twins to lie. 

“Alright, alright, I believe you,” he said, “But you both are going back first thing tomorrow morning, alright? It’s already been a long enough day as it is… or at least I think so, it’s impossible to tell in this state.”

“That is fair,” Wendy said evenly, but the scientist suspected she enjoyed being able to stay for a bit.

They soon caught up with the others who were standing at a stone fountain surrounded by ruined stone arches and pillars. The fountain had a large serpent-like creature with a large head and sharp teeth, the same as in the caves. It didn’t take a genius to figure out this was the fountain of youth.

“Wait, when did Wendy and Abby get here?” Willow said, pointing to the two girls in question.

“They were taken up by the BFB,” Wilson explained.

“Or so they claim..” Maxwell added.

“We didn’t follow you guys!” Wendy repeated.

“Well, regardless of the twins making an appearance,” Wagstaff started, taking things out his backpack until he found a beaker, “All we require is some of this magic water-”

“Wait!” Wilson quickly said, stopping his uncle from taking the water, “I mean, we just got here and all, shouldn't we take a rest first before taking the water and engaging the basilisk?”

“Then we can prepare for a fight, and the victöry shall be even sweeter!” Wigfrid cheered.

Wagstaff just stared at him, his expression entirely unreadable before his usual smile returned to his face. “Ah, I suppose that makes sense. First thing tomorrow morning then?”

“Yes, of course,” Wilson nodded, “Right after Wendy and Abigail return home.”

“PERHAPS I SHOULD START IT WHILE YOU HUMANS AE SLEEPING SO IT CAN SMITE YOU IDIOTIC FOOLS,” WX-78 said.

Wormwood frowned and shook their leafy head. “No hurt friends, remember?”

WX-78 sighed. “FINE. I GUESS I WON'T SET OFF THE BEAST ON YOU ALL, LEST I OR WORMWOOD GET CAUGHT IN ITS CROSSFIRE.”

Wormwood responds by hugging their robotic partner. “Better…”

“H-HEY! NOT IN FRONT OF THE FLESH BAGS!” WX-78 attempted to get out of the plant's leafy grip but to no avail.

Willow giggles. “Aw look, WX-78 has a heart after all!”

“WX-78 does not have a heart, only an Empathy Module,” Wagstaff corrected.

“I don’t think it’s working,” Wendy remarked, “Save for Wormwood.”

Wagstaff scoffed at the notion. “My robot is in tip-top working order! A Wagstaff invention never goes bad.”

“I AM NOT YOUR ROBOT YOU EGOTISTICAL FOOL! I BELONG TO NO HUMAN!”

“No humans, just to Wormwood,” Willow giggled.

The robot actually growled at her, a deep mechanical hiss, before taking thier leafy partner’s hand and setting up their own camp a ways away from the other survivors.

“Well I’ll be…” Wilson said in astonishment.

He certainly hadn’t expected those two to be acquainted, but the world had a habit of surprising him. Then again, it was far from the strangest thing he’d seen, so he didn’t mind.

“They do have the right idea, though,” Maxwell said.

Wilson nodded. “Yeah, we should probably start making camp.” 

They set up a campfire near the fountain, pulling out tents and log rolls. Wigfrid soon fell asleep to “prepare för the next glöriöus battle”, Wagstaff stayed in his tent, and WX-78 and Wormwood stayed a bit away from everyone else.

“Isn’t fire just so pretty?” Willow mused dreamily as she pushed another log into the pit.

“We prolong the death of the flame via the death of an innocent tree,” Wendy somberly said, “All to prevent our own demise.”

“Such is the vicious cycle of the world,” Maxwell remarked, sitting near a fallen pillar and flipping through the codex with Wilson at his side, “In this one or the one we originated in.”

“Oh, you two are so gloomy sometimes,” the firestarter huffed, not taking her eyes off the flame, “Spoiling a beautiful thing like fire…”

“And besides, with new innovations we can use less energy and be even more effective, no death involved,” The scientist added.

Maxwell sighed. “Do you really have to bring your science into this?”

“Yes, absolutely! Anything to inspire young people to pursue the noble endeavor of knowledge,” Wilson grinned, “And it’s way better than magic too.”

“Better than magic ? Don’t make me laugh. You haven’t even permeated her drive for magic.”

“Oh really?” The scientist shot back, “Well then, why don’t we let Wendy decide which one is better.”

Wendy just stared blankly at the two men. “...They’re both fine.”

“Oh come on Wendy, you have to give me more than that!” Wilson said with the shake of his head, “There’s gotta be one you like more.”

“But they’re not even that different,” Wendy started, “Magic could just be science that doesn't have an explanation yet, or science just the magic we can understand. New discoveries are made every day, pushing the limits of what we think as magic into something explained, but that doesn’t mean either practice is better. What about alchemy, which is known as the culmination of both?”

“And on that note, you two cross over so many times without even knowing it! That Vortex cloak was created from something magical, yet you took your science and fashioned it into something useful. And you Mr. Maxwell, to me, the Codex Umbra simply shows you procedures to various experiments, which falls back to the scientific process. And the two co-existing forces are what created a door to a different world, which is thought to be impossible. So what does that really say about science and magic?”

The group was silent as the argument was processed, besides Abigail’s ghostly applause for her sister. Wilson turned to Maxwell, who wore the same bewildered expression.

Honestly, he couldn’t be more proud of the girl.

“Well, I’d say it explains why those two have been so chummy as of late,” Willow said, breaking the silence.

“Maxwell,” The scientist suddenly said, “You've got to tell her. You’ve- you’ve got to do it, or so help me, I will.”

“Tell me what?” Wendy asked.

It wasn’t fair, not after that. She couldn’t not know the truth, she deserved it and Wilson knew that Maxwell knew it too.

He contemplated before slowly nodding his head in agreement, closing the Codex. “You’re right. Wendy, Abigail, I’ve been meaning to tell you something...”

Abigail floated in front of the magician, sitting down in the grass. Wendy scooted closer as well. Maxwell looked to Wilson nervously, who put a hand on his shoulder and smiled.

Maxwell took a deep breath before he started. “...I am a person with many regrets in life, which is evident. But the greatest regret I ever had was that I missed seeing my brother’s two daughters grow up. I was so caught up in other things that I missed the most important one… then I lost that chance altogether. But Jack taught you both well, I expected no less. I'm grateful I have the chance to see what my two nieces have turned out to be.”

There was a pause as the message sank in. Maxwell turned his face, as to not see the looks on their faces.

“N-now, in saying this, I don’t expect anything more from you,” the magician explained, “It’s just high time that you both knew the tru-”

Maxwell was stopped short when Abigail rushed over and hugged him, his eyes wide with disbelief. Wilson’s heart swelled with bliss at the sight, but even he wasn’t prepared for what was next.

Wendy sniffed, tears falling from her light blue eyes. She tried to wipe them away with her hands.

“I’m glad it’s you,” She said in a hushed voice, reaching over to hold his hand.

And that only served to make Wilson happier.

Then there was this horrible sound.

The grating noise of stone scraping against stone flooded Wilsons ear's as he turned to the sight of the noise; the fountain. His Uncle stood there with his beaker filled with magic water as the ominous carving on the floor slowly opened. For a moment, there was nothing.

Then a long, scaly purple beast slithered out the ground, its jagged teeth curling over its lips and its yellow eyes fixated on the inventor, towering over him tenfold.

The Basilisk was unearthed.

Chapter Text

The survivors watched in horror as the beast let out a loud hiss, its yellow eyes entirely focused on the inventor that had released it.

That idiot!

“We agreed that we’d do this tomorrow!” Wilson yelled, grabbing his dark sword and running over to wake the sleeping survivors.

“It is morning!” Wagstaff shot back, avoiding the snake’s head as it burrowed underground, “It’s half-past 12!”

“...Are you serious right now? Do I need to explain to you that people are sleeping ? That Wendy and Abigail aren’t back yet? That waking everyone at half-past 12 because you couldn’t wait to start a fight is extremely idiotic and selfish?” Wilson said hotly, his voice bristling with anger.

Wagstaff seemed shocked at the comment, but his attention diverted back to avoiding getting killed by the Basilisk. Maxwell could think of many other words to describe Wagstaff right now, but he had more pressing matters at hand.

“You two stay out of this,” He told his nieces as he got his own sword, “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Okay,” Wendy said, “ ...but this isn’t the place for the sweet release of death.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” He said with a small smile, patting the girl on the head before heading off.

The other survivors were already chasing after the beast, but their efforts seemed futile as Wagstaff kept drawing it away. The Basilisk only focused its attention on the thief of the fountain’s water, ignoring the other attackers as if they were nothing but harmless flies.

Its purple scales were sharp and almost indestructible by the looks of it, as not a single hit seemed to even damage the beast. Wigfrid took her spear and forced it through the middle of a dark scale, but it barely left a dent before it popped out.

This was all going terribly.

“WHY DID YOU HUMANS STEAL MY IDEA BUT MAKE IT WORSE,” WX-78 groaned as the robot was smacked back by the beast’s tail, falling with a mechanical crash.

The basilisk plowed after Wagstaff, who was currently running into the forest. With each tree it fell, Wormwood got increasingly frantic. The beast accidentally slammed its head into a particularly thick tree with a loud crack. It reeled back, blood leading from its wide mouth. Maxwell stared in shock as one of its giant fangs fell out its mouth, just to have a similar tooth grow back in its place.

“Damn it,” Maxwell frowned, avoiding the beast’s tail.

“It can regenerate? That’s complete bullshit!” Willow protested.

“Circle back around so we have a chance to hit the damn thing!” Wilson yelled in annoyance.

Wagstaff circled back around, leading the basilisk back to the other survivors. Willow took out her lighter in an attempt to set it on fire, but the snake just wouldn’t light. The beast roared, clouds of smoke rolling out its mouth, freezing anything in its path, which happened to include the firestarter.

His attention turned to Wilson as the scientist ran forward, seemingly coming up with an idea. He dodged through its long body until he reached a particular spot where the scales were a slightly lighter purple. Then, he used his dark sword and plunged it underneath, causing the scale to fall off and exposing its soft skin.

He was absolutely brilliant, Maxwell thought.

Then, Wilson jabbed the sword in its flesh, resulting in black blood spurting from the cut and a pained roar from the beast. It diverted its attention from Wagstaff for the first time since it was unearthed, circling its long body back around to find who hurt it.

“Aim for its weak spot!” Wilson yelled as he avoided its icy breath.

This filled the survivors with newfound confidence. Everything in the constant was beatable, and once you figured out how to do so, it was usually only a matter of time. 

Falling into a new routine the survivors now fought their hardest, slowly chipping away at its scaly exterior and driving the beast mad. It growled, performing a ground pound attack to try to shake off its attackers, its black blood staining the grass beneath it.

The inventor was unsurprisingly, absent in aiding with the takedown of the great snake, opting to investigate the carnage and making notes in his book. Maxwell decided the old man was barely worth the effort.

The Basilisk roared, shaking its mighty head and its yellow eyes refocusing on the thief of its waters. It barreled over to the unsuspecting inventor, its gaping maw open to try to swallow him whole. 

Before Maxwell could get over to Wagstaff, Wilson was already there, plunging his sword into the snake’s mouth and cutting its tongue in half. Wagstaff scrambled away to observe at a distance as it screamed in pain, black blood spurting everywhere.

Oh.

For most people, being covered in blood, sword in hand, with your face a few days unshaven would be a rather unnatractive look. But for Wilson, it seemed to be quite the opposite, having a sort of debonair charm to his look.

It was probably just the adrenaline making him think strange things.

But the excitement soon soured as Wilson tripped on one of Wagstaff’s inventions that had fallen from the inventor’s bag, landing him in a face full of dirt. The basilisk took this opportunity to circle Wilson, allowing the scientist no way out and Maxwell no way in. 

Wilson just barely missed the brunt of the beast’s head slamming into the ground, but his side was caught by one of its sharp horns. Maxwell’s blood ran cold as a scream ripped out from the scientist, his red blood added to the black blood and nasty gash now across his side. The snake seemed pleased with this just before it left to follow Wagstaff once more.

Maxell rushed to Wilson’s side, frantically searching through his pockets for his life-giving amulet. 

“Hey… Max. You came all the way over here… to see me?” The scientist weakly said with a chuckle.

“Of course I did,” Maxwell said, clasping the red amulet around Wilson’s neck, “I’m not going to let you die here of all places…”

The amulet was already beginning to work its magic, slowly closing the wound on Wilson’s side. Maxwell noticed Wilson’s fingers gently curling around his own. His hands may have been covered in blood, but they were certainly warm…

“...Don’t scare me like that again,” Maxwell whispered just so Wilson could hear, his heart beating rapidly, “Especially not by nearly dying due to your Uncle’s idiocy.”

“I thought you didn't get scared,” Wilson said, giving him a weak smile, “And besides… if I did die there wouldn’t be anyone to annoy you.”

Maxwell smiled and shook his head. Even on the brink of death, Wilson would wisecrack, which was so terribly in character for him. The magician couldn’t ask for anything more than that.

A hiss broke through his moment with Wilson, as the basilisk had managed to run itself into the very fountain it fought to protect. Its eyes widened as it saw what it had done, and it barrelled towards the survivors, faster and angrier than ever.

Although he didn’t want to leave Wilson’s side, he let go of the scientist’s hand, abandoning that warmth once more. He had to help out with the fight, after all.

“Wendy, Abigail, could you keep an eye on Wilson for me?” He asked as the two twin girls walked over.

“Of course,” Wendy said, smoothing down her skirt and sitting next to the scientist, Abigail floating beside her.

“And make sure not to die,” Wilson said with a wink.

Maxwell smiled. “Wasn’t planning to.”

<-O->

Wilson’s head was swimming.

The amulet felt cold on his skin, but the fact that Maxwell was the one to give it to him made him feel warm inside.

“Thanks,” he said, as Wendy offered him some feijoada, “But are you sure I shouldn’t just let the sweet release of death take me?” he joked.

The girl shook her head. “Not here, no. You’d waste Mr. Maxwell’s life amulet, he’d be upset if you did.”

“You do have a point.”

Abigail said something in her ghost-like voice and looked up at him quizzically.

“She asked how long you’ve known about us being related to Mr. Maxwell,” Wendy clarified.

“Not long, just before you came here… I mean, I practically forced him to tell me,” He said with a chuckle, “But he really does care about you both, believe me.”

“I do believe you,” She said, “It… explains why I’ve always felt a strange kinship with him.”

Wilson smiled, relishing in the fact that they had such a great uncle. But his smile soon faltered as he thought about his own situation with his uncle. He had not only put himself in danger today but all the other survivors as well, just because he refused to wait a bit longer. Wilson had learned that togetherness in the constant could literally mean life or death. He couldn’t put that aside, even for his uncle.

He brought out the book his Uncle had gifted him. 

Property of Robert Wagstaff and Wilson P. Higgsbury.

It felt so much plainer now like he was finally seeing it for what it truly was.

He switched it out for his dark sword, helping himself to his feet. “I say you three would make quite the family.”

“I guess we would,” She agreed, smiling.

Abigail waved goodbye as he headed back to the battle, where the basilisk was currently moving frantically about.

“Good to see that you’re okay,” Maxwell said upon his return.

Wilson tucked the life-giving amulet back into Maxwell’s cloak with a fond smile. “What, did you think I was going to let you be the one to get the last blow like before?”

“Of course not. You’re far too stubborn to be kept down by some serpent.”

“Not some serpent, and not even by the king of snakes,” He agreed, “ My stubborness is just tenacious charm, Max.”

“Could you two stop flirting and actually help us kill this thing?” Willow said, shaking the frost out her hair.

Wilson’s face turned red, suddenly finding it hard to meet Maxwell’s gaze. “We weren’t-”

The thought was interrupted as the Basilisk charged forward, Wilson dodging the head and striking at its exposed flesh. Wigfrid escaped her icy prison, also taking a stab at the beast. It hissed in pain and sent out clouds of ice to freeze anything in its way.

It soon found itself back at the inventor, crazed by the destroyed fountain and the blood loss. Wilson’s breath caught as it backed the inventor into a corner, the literal edge of the island. It seemed like slow-motion as it bit Wagstaff, a loud crunch coming from his bony frame as it threw the inventor’s body into a stone pillar. The inventor let out a sharp gasp as he fell over, his head lolling to the side.

No, no, no.

In a blind rage, he drove his sword into the creature’s side, cutting through its flesh to eviscerate the snake. It hissed in pain, but he only repeated the action, drawing blood until the basilisk was nothing but a corpse. Its head fell to the ground and the scales turned to bust, leaving the fleshy insides and its skeleton. 

Wilson didn’t have time to consider the spoils as his attention went back to his Uncle. But the old man wasn’t there.

Or at least, not completely there.

He seemed to flicker in and out of existence without a single visible wound on his body, much less any blood. Wilson inched closer but didn’t touch him in this distorted state, as his uncle seemed no more solid than air. The other survivor’s caught wind of this, their cheers hushed as they stared open-mouthed.

The inventor groaned and slowly lifted his head, getting some blue caps and cooked green caps out of his bag and munching on them. He barely seemed like he noticed all the stares directed at him. As he ate, his appearance slowly returned to its usual solid state. He picked himself up, then faced the other survivors.

“Valiant efforts, everyone! We’ve successfully obtained a drop from the fountain of youth!” He said with the same friendly tone as always as if he hadn’t just caused an unnecessary fight.

Willow gaped at the inventor before turning to leave. “You know what? Piss off, I’m going back to sleep. If you know what’s good for you, you wouldn’t bother me.”

“How rude,” Wagstaff said with a frown.

“NOT AS RUDE AS YOU, YOU INSUFFERABLE PLEBEIAN,” WX-78 shot back.

“You are not friend,” Wormwood said, shaking their head before heading off with their robot companion.

Even Wigfrid was upset. “You are nöt a fair man, nöt at all,” She said before leaving Wagstaff, Wilson, and Maxwell by themselves.

“Well I’ll be… Where’s their winning spirit?” The inventor mused.

Wilson felt like a kettle boiling over. “Winning spirit? Winning spirit? You nearly get everyone killed and you want us to have a winning spirit? ”

“No one died,” Wagstaff said as if that somehow fixed the problem.

“That doesn’t change anything ! You- you couldn’t just wait a couple hours for everyone to get ready- no, you had to do what Wagstaff does, which is being selfish and not waiting for anyone else! I nearly died, Uncle! And I feel like that doesn’t even matter to you as long as you get what you want!”

“Now that simply isn’t true-” The inventor started before he was cut off. 

“And! And don’t think I forgot about your- your- whatever that was over there! What the hell was that? You were translucent! And don’t you dare try to pretend like it wasn’t anything, because I know what I saw and I’m not crazy!”

Wagstaff’s smiling facade crumpled, and it was like Wilson was seeing him for what he was. Not as great inventor, or creator, just his uncle. Nothing more.

“I suppose I could tell you, but there’s no use getting this upset about it. And besides, this information isn’t for just anyone to know,” He said, glancing at Maxwell.

“Well good thing Maxwell isn’t just anyone,” He said clasping Maxwell’s hand in his, “Now, care to elucidate what that was?”

The inventor sighed. “Right then.... It started when you were just a boy and the voxola radio was rising in popularity. I picked up an intriguing frequency on my radio, you see, with a garbled message coming from it, only at a particular time of night. After a while, however, the sound would just return to static as if nothing had happened.”

“I listened night after night, slowly deciphering a hidden message within the audio, the instructions for a machine that would merge worlds, as it said. Naturally I wouldn’t pass up an opportunity such as this, so I began work immediately, sensing it would be my next success. I finished just at your ninth birthday, and I took my brother to the workshop to see my genius.”

“He had his doubts, so I opted to show him. But he- he flipped the incorrect switch and the machine went haywire, sucking in everything in its path and finally… my brother. The machine destroyed itself after, shadowy hands ripping it apart and I couldn’t do a thing to stop them.”

“So I focused on my studies. I worked tirelessly, making adjustments and trying to recreate that same portal, so I could save him. This time however, the voice on the radio wasn’t unidentified, it was him . He wanted me to save him from a horrible place where monsters roamed the day and shadow’s ruled the night.”

“Each message got shorter and shorter in length as he spoke of a mysterious them watching him, getting closer and closer, telling him about an escape. I didn’t hear from him for weeks, then I finished the second gateway. It wasn’t nearly as stable as the first, but I thought it would suffice, to bring me in and allow us both to escape. I… miscalculated.”

“That error in judgement meant the portal began to collapse on me mid-way through, and to this day, I live with those… consequences.” He finished.

“But what about dad? If he’s here, then why aren’t we finding him?” Wilson frantically said.

“Wilson, my boy, we’ve already found him. You’ve seen him multiple times… or what he is now… what they turned him into. He remains to be their messenger, a herald, if you will.”

<-O->

Wilson looked stunned from the comment, which Maxwell thought was an appropriate response to a bombshell like that. To think, the monster that has stalked them from the shadows, the one they killed twice without hesitation, that was what was left of Wilson’s father. Maxwell squeezed the scientist’s hand in his, unsure of how to further support him.

“... And you were just going to keep this from me, weren’t you?” Wilson said, his voice rising in anger, “Just- just leave me in the dark, just as you left me when I was child?”

“Wilson, it wasn’t that simple,” The Inventor frowned, “I left because I had to focus , I explained that-”

“Focus? You- was I not good enough for you to focus on? I was 9 years old, and just lost my father, and that wasn’t important to you? You left Mother and I alone, thinking Father died in an explosion! Mother had to marry this starchy old man who abused her, just to make ends meet! I- I was put out at 19, and never once did you show up to help!”

“You can't possibly blame me for that, and of course it mattered to me,” Wagstaff scoffed, folding his arms. That’s the reason why I was trying to make the portal to bring him back.”

“No, you wanted to bring him back for your own pride!” Wilson shot back, his temper flaring, “Bringing back Father isn't going to fix all the problems left behind, it wouldn't magically fix our broken family. You deny responsibility when your actions put anyone in danger, you only look at the end result or what you can benefit from, and you don’t care about the people you hurt in the process! People are not data- they have lives and connections, and families, but that doesn't matter to you! ”

“Do not raise your voice at me, young man!” Wagstaff warned.

“I’m not a young man anymore!” Wilson yelled, throwing his hands up in disbelief, “You missed that part of my life because you were too busy listening to voices on the radio rather than care for your own family!”

“It was a revolutionary breakthrough,” The inventor hissed.

“And look where it got you! Trapped in this hellscape with your brother turned into a shadowy beast!”

“Oh, and you’re so different then, hmm? Tell me, how did you arrive here on the constant again, because I’m pretty sure you built a portal from listening to a man on the radio!”

“Maybe if I had the right guidance, if I had Dad, if I had money, I wouldn’t have had to resort to shady deals promising everything I wanted! Maybe I wouldn't have made the same mistakes as you if you had been there for me! At least Dad had enough sense not to mess with dangerous otherworldly forces and to care for his family!”

“You know what, if you want your father’s guidance so much, you don’t need my notebook, now do you?” Wagstaff’s voice iced over, plucking the notebook from Wilson’s pocket, “You and him really are the same, unable to see innovation when it’s right in front of you. Because I’ll go down as a hero of science and innovation, a creator and champion in my field. But you? You’ll go down as nothing but a failure and a disgrace, both to the family you care so much about and science as a whole.”

Wilson faltered before turning on his heel and stomping off. Maxwell lingered, staring daggers into the offending inventor in question.

Wagstaff pulled out his notebook from his bag. “Now that he’s gone, Maxwell, could you translate some-”

“How dare you. How dare you be so tactless, to speak to him like that and expect me to come around and help you afterwards,” Maxwell snarled.

“He’s my nephew, I’m permitted to speak with him any way I see fit,” Wagstaff retorted, “Now if you would-”

Maxwell turned and began walking off. “If that’s how you view things, consider our little arrangement over.”

He soon found Wilson sitting at the edge of the island, his knees drawn to his chest and his arms wrapped around himself. Had he been… crying?

“Why aren’t you with him, translating hieroglyphics or something,” He mumbled coldy.

“I can't be the tool of someone who insults your skill,” Maxwell responded.

The two sat in silence for a bit, Maxwell’s conscious telling him to say something to make Wilson feel better, but his usual eloquence seemed to be failing him.

“Look…,” He started, opting to look at the horizon, “You are, in every essence of the word, the greatest and most talented scientist I’ve ever had the privilege to meet. I chose you for that, you know, all those years ago over the radio… The things that you’ve managed to create I would have never thought possible. You aren’t a failure, not even the slightest bit.”

Wilson paused. “But I’m not-”

“Good gracious Wilson, when will you stop focusing on what you’re not and focus on what you are? You are a survivor, able to face the hellscape that we call the constant. You are an expert in your field, entirely self taught. And you are spectacular, I would know.”

His cheeks grew warm as soon as he said it, and Wilson immediately turned his head to face him. He hadn’t meant to say it, it had just… slipped out. His heart began to thump loudly in his chest as Wilson stared at him in shock, and he wondered if you could die from a heart attack in the constant.

“You do care,” A warm smile broke onto Wilson’s face, “I knew you did.”

Maxwell took a sigh of relief, knowing his friend’s mood had been lifted. “I suppose you finally cracked me... congratulations.”

To his surprise, Wilson actually wrapped his arms around him in a hug, resting his head on Maxwell’s shoulder. The magician froze in shock. Wilson knew about his disdain to being touched, my would he-?  Though to be fair, he and Wilson had been making contact more often as of late. But what should he do? The only other hug he’d received in years was the hug Abigail gave him this morning.

He hesitated before hugging back, practically melting into this warmth and hoping that Wilson couldn’t hear how fast his heart was racing. It felt strange, receiving a hug from someone who had practically despised him just months prior, but now? Oddly enough, it felt right, like he was meant to rest in Wilson’s warmth like this. It was an exhilarating, yet terrifying thought

The hug lasted for much longer than Maxwell had initially expected, yet he found himself relishing in it. He even missed Wilson’s warmth when the scientist finally moved away, wishing to pull him back closer and hold him forever.

What was with him today?

"Thank’s Max, I really needed that,” Wilson smiled, his features so much brighter than before, “You give some pretty great hugs.”

Were Wilson’s eyes always that warm, inviting chocolate brown?

“I’ve… never been given that compliment before”, Maxwell chuckled.

Or maybe not just his eyes, as his whole face has handsome charm to it…

“Well, people should give you more compliments then, You really aren’t a bad person, Max. Or maybe you're just nice to me.” Wilson added with a wink.

Was he coming down with something? Because the cheeks shouldn’t feel this hot.

“I suppose I am personally biased, you always were my favorite,” He found himself admitting, self-control be damned.

The scientist stared in shock, his cheeks red. “I am?” 

“...Who else would it be?” 

“Wow um… you sure know how to flatter a guy,” Wilson said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Mhmm,” Maxwell nodded, not trusting his voice due to one-too-many slip-ups today.

They sat together, looking at the sky. Wilson’s hand lay next to his, and Maxwell found himself wanting to reach out and hold it in his own, to nestle in that warmth and kiss Wilson on the forehead just to hear his amazing laugh-

Wait a minute.

He wanted to… kiss Wilson? That was a truly terrifying thought, yet one he couldn’t just blame on insanity or something of the like. No, he found himself really and truly filled with a sense of longing, wanting to kiss Wilson on more places than just his forehead.

He realized he liked this, the warmth, the rush, all of it. Because it made him feel alive, Wilson made him feel alive.

And that, combined with his rollercoaster of feelings of Wilson as of late meant that… 

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

Chapter Text

“GET UP YOU USELESS FLESH BAGS,” A far-too-familiar voice yelled from the other side of camp.

Waking up to WX-78 yelling... what a great way to start the day.

Wilson yawned, still a bit tired from his late-night codex reading lesson with Maxwell. Speaking of the magician, Wilson noticed his hand was intertwined with Maxwell’s own. He smiled at this, giving the gloved hand a gentle squeeze.

The older man looked nice sleeping, Wilson thought. Less burdened by the world, calmer, which made his sharp features stand out more.

“Hey Max,” Wilson said, tapping his shoulder.

Either Maxwell didn’t hear or simply choose to ignore him because the magician didn’t respond.

It was then he came up with a brilliant idea, one that surely would have gotten him killed back when Maxwell was king.

“Looks like sleeping beauty still is taking a little rest,” Wilson smiled to himself, removing Maxwell’s glove from his hand, “Maybe a little kiss will wake you up?”

Maxwell groaned and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “Wilson, what are you doin-”

Wilson pressed his lips against Maxwell’s exposed hand, giving it a quick kiss. The magician’s hands were cold, but Wilson barely minded. 

Maxwell’s eyes shot open, his face coloring in an instant. Wilson softly chuckled as he let go of Maxwell’s hand, the older man returning his glove to his hand.

“You’re going to be an irritating prick today, aren’t you?” Maxwell huffed.

“Maybe.”

Wilson got up and folded his blanket roll with Maxwell following to do the same at a slower pace. Maxwell then put on the vortex cloak.

The mere fact that Maxwell still kept it made Wilson’s heart swell with pride. He had made that, he came up with the idea and made it with his own hands. 

Wendy and Abigail came over, offering them both a cup of hot tea. “Abigail thought you both might want something to drink,” Wendy said.

A distorted sound came from the ghost that sounded suspiciously like “It was your idea.”

Wilson took the cup from the blonde girl. “Thanks, both of you,” He said, smiling at both of the twins.

It was a strong black tea, just sweet enough for Wilson’s tastes. He drank the whole thing in a couple of sips, starting to feel more awake already.

“Yes, your offer is appreciated,” Maxwell stiffly said, not facing either of the girls.

“You both are welcome on our behalf,” Wendy responded.

The tension grew thick, it was almost as if Wilson could cut it with a knife, though he couldn’t exactly say he was surprised. After a moment of awkward silence, Abigail let out a ghostly groan in annoyance, pulling on her sister’s arm and pointing at Maxwell before crossing her arms expectantly.

“Ah, alright Abby,” Wendy sighed, “When I said that I was glad that you’re my uncle… I really meant it. While I don’t understand everything that took place, I know that if you had the option, you would have visited us, and I don’t hold that against you.”

“...While I was on the throne, I thought of the many regrets I had,” Maxwell started, “And the biggest regret was always missing out on you both growing older. But you both grew into wonderful young women, I’m just sorry I couldn’t be there to see it.”

“It’s more important that you’re here now, in the time we need it the most. And.. you certainly aren’t the worst option for an Uncle, even if Ms. Willow wouldn’t agree with that statement,” She added.

Maxwell hesitated before ruffling the top of Wendy’s hair. “I appreciate that, dear.”

Wilson felt as though he’d melt like candle wax, his heart feeling absolutely full. “Aren’t you three a happy family,” He said.

Maxwell removed his hand from the little girl’s head and cleared his throat, obviously not used to the word quite yet.

They continued to pack up their things, Wilson’s backpack feeling slightly lighter without the presence of his Uncle’s book. The lovely feelings he had waned like the moon as he pondered his situation with Wagstaff, guilt weighing heavy on his shoulders to replace the book. He shouldn’t have yelled at him- he had a reason to be upset, yes- but that was still his Uncle. Though he knew he should apologize, he almost didn’t want to, anger coiling up and sticking in his heart like gum.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts, he barely heard Willow calling out to him.

“Hey Wils, did one of your experiments blow up and cause you to go deaf, or are you just ignoring me?” The firestarter frowned, tapping her foot impatiently.

“Oh! Ah, sorry Willow,” He apologized, fidgeting with his backpack straps, “ I just uh… spaced out there.”

“Nah, it’s okay, I’m just messing with ya. ..So uh, you okay after your whole uh…” -she made an elaborate hand motion- “...thing last night? The argument?”

The scientist shrugged. “I’m fine, Willow.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, We just had a... disagreement, that’s all. I’m fine now.” He insisted.

“Alright, your loss. ‘Didn’t know you were a blueblood, though. Hope I didn’t, ah, offend you or anything’.” She dug the heel of her shoe into the soft earth.

Now it was Wilson’s turn to laugh. “Oh, of course not! Please, I’m barely even considered noble by other nobles, most of them are starchy and annoying anyway. Besides, they don’t like my scientific experimentation. Apparently, it’s ‘too reckless and dangerous.’ They're just scared of progress.”

“Well, screw them then! Who cares if some stuffy twits think you're reckless and dangerous- we like you, and I think you could do with being more reckless and dangerous!” She said, lovingly punching him in the arm, “Doesn’t really matter what anyone thinks about you Wils, not even your Uncle!”

Just as she said that the uncle in question walked briskly past the two. “We’ve got to go,” He mumbled, so quiet it seemed like he was talking to himself.

He looked exhausted, dark circles around his eyes as if he had been fiddling about all night. Wilson bit his lip, words blooming in his head like flowers and dying just as quickly.

The other survivors soon followed, and the unusual posse headed back to the ancient ruins from where they came. There was a gentle chatter coming from the group for all except Wagstaff. The old man stared straight ahead and ventured into the cave, his eyes obscured by those same green goggles.

Wilson caught up with the magician, nudging his shoulder. “Hey Max, are you sure you didn’t bewitch me at all in these past few days?”

Maxwell rolled his eyes. “What, are you starting to believe Willow’s ridiculous theory? I could have sworn you were smarter than this, Higgsbury.”

Wilson’s smile didn’t fade. “No, it’s just that I’m starting to believe that you're actually really nice under that brooding persona,” he gave Maxwell’s nose a gentle tap.

Maxwell blushed, his gloved hands covering his nose. He looked away instead of giving a witty retort, and Wilson couldn’t help but find that charming.

Charming? Maxwell? Those were two words he’d never thought of putting together before. But he didn’t mind it either, he really did find Maxwell dashing in his own way.

Maybe Maxwell really had hexed him...

<-O->

Today was shaping up to be dreadful, in Maxwell’s opinion. 

This was mostly attributed to a certain scientist who simply would not stop messing with him. Usually, it would be a mild annoyance at most, but due to these… unnecessary feelings he now had, it made his heart race and his cheeks grow red in a way he found dizzying.

The scientist was practically stuck to Maxwell’s side, which wasn’t great because he was supposed to be avoiding him. He didn’t want to have to feel… like this, he didn’t even know how it started, but he had to stop it as soon as possible. This wasn’t.... right, not for Wilson, not for another man.

But of course, the scientist wouldn’t make it that easy.

Throughout the ruin, Wilson made it a habit to crack jokes that Maxwell couldn’t help but laugh at, the scientist simply oozed charisma and raw charm. If only Wilson wasn’t so charismatic, then this wouldn’t be a problem at all.

But of course, life had a certain way of making itself difficult for him.

“-Max?”

Maxwell turned to look at the shorter scientist. “Hmm?”

“Oh, you spaced out. Sorry, I kinda rambled there, I know you don’t really care about this stuff.” Wilson apologized.

“No no, it’s not that. I just- well, have a lot to think about.”

Wilson sighed. “Come on Max, there’s nothing for you to be worrying about right now! You’ve got your nieces here with you, we’re on our way to end the Aporkalypse, and we just defeated the basilisk! You’ve got to learn to lighten up a little.”

“Ah, about the Aporkalypse… how have you been taking the- er, recent news about the Herald?” He asked tugging on his gloves.

Wilson shrugged. “Just about as well as any person who discovers that their father was sucked into a hellscape dimension and changed by ancient beings to become a giant shadow monster.”

“Which is?”

“Trying not to think about it, then thinking about it more until your spiralling in a circle of unanswered questions and doubt,” Wilson said, slashing at a hanging vine.

“...I see.” 

He figured as much, but it didn’t ease his concerns any. They ventured outside the thick rainforest and into the grassy biome afterward, Maxwell’s conscience telling him to at least try to comfort Wilson a bit.

“...I’m always here,” he found himself saying.

Wilson turned to face him. “What was that?”

“I said, I’m always here, if you need someone to talk about it. Not just me of course,” He backtracked, not wanting to seem too obvious, “I’m sure Willow wouldn’t mind either.”

Willow narrowed his eyes skeptically, a hand on his chin. “Is this one of your ‘I'm Maxwell and if someone does something nice to me I feel in debt’ things? Because if it is, I’m insanely disappointed.”

“I assure you, it’s not. It’s more of the opposite, really,” He admitted, “It’s more for your benefit, not mine.”

Wilson shot him one of those heart-melting smiles. “I have to say, Max, this new ‘not a complete bastard’ look suits you well.”

“Don’t get too complacent,” He said in jest, “Perhaps I’ll revert back to being a cold heartless bastard.”

“I highly doubt that,” Wilson chuckled.

They soon arrived back to the village, where Wilson was immediately bombarded with hugs from the children, while Wendy and Abigail got scolded by Miss Wickerbottom.

“We had no clue about your whereabouts, or even if you were still alive!” the old librarian berated, shaking her finger at the girls, “We sent search parties to look for you both, someone could have easily got hurt. I’m disappointed with you two.”

Wendy bowed her head. “We apologize, Ms. Wickerbottom. It won’t happen again.”

Abigail however, didn’t seem particularly sorry. She lazily floated in the air, tilting back and crossing her hands behind her head in indifference. Maxwell really would have to make her brush up on her manners- being undead didn’t mean you still shouldn’t have good manners.

“MR. WILSON RETURNETH, YET THE APORKAYLSE HASN’T MET ITS END. WHY SO?” Wilba asked.

“Well, we ran into a bit of a… detour on our way,” Wilson said, glancing around for his Uncle, but the old man was nowhere to be seen. “We just came to drop off Wendy and Abigail then-”

“No! We want you to stay longer, can't you stay until tomorrow, Mr. Wilson?” Webber asked, tugging on the sleeve of Wilson’s shirt.

“YES, STAYETH TILL THE MORROW,” Wilba agreed.

They both gave Wilson their best pleading faces, their eyes wide and starry. “Please?” They chorused.

 Wilson turned to his other companions for some form of answer.

“You know, we probably could,” Willow said, “Rest up proper after… what happened yesterday.”

“We’d certainly enjoy tha’ extra hands,” Woodie said in a gruff voice, still in his were-beaver form, “These paws aren’t exactly good fer technical things, so we’re a little short on some stuff.”

“Alright, alright, you win,” the scientist sighed, “But just until tomorrow.”

“Yay!” Webber and Wilba cheered excitedly.

Maxwell soon found himself at his turreted home, the space he and Wilson shared with only each other. He paused, realizing just how he liked his living arrangements.. He enjoyed being this close to Wilson, he liked seeing him from late at night to the early mornings- he didn’t want this to end.

But it would.

It was inevitable, like the change from summer heat to the cool winds of fall. But Maxwell would choose to enjoy it, every minute he had left in this dream-like state with Wilson. These feelings- as cumbersome as they were-were still his, and just as real as ever. He wasn’t gullible enough to hope that Wilson might feel the same, but Maxwell did know one thing for sure;

The universe rarely gave him something nice, so he sure as hell wasn’t going to waste this.

<-O->

The survivors sat around their lovely bonfire, a light chatter filling the air as they ate. The mood was downright cheerful, despite the Aporkalypse not being over. 

The children sat in their circle, playing a little game of duck duck goose, Willow and Woodie discussed the most effective way to take down a forest; burning or chopping, much to Wormwood’s displeasure. WX-78 constantly gave them both death threats as his plant companion hung close to the robot, and Maxwell sat next to him, flipping through the codex.

Everyone was here, all except Wagstaff.

Wilson nervously tapped his foot, only half-listening to Willow and Woodie, a seed of guilt sprouting in his soul.

“Come on Woodie, burning is so much better than just chopping down trees! You get a lovely fire and everything!” Willow said.

Woodie shook his head. “Burnin’ gets it done too quick, there’s no enjoyment in that. When you chop ev’ry tree with an axe like dear old Lucy… nothin’ comes close to that. Ev’ry swing is satisfyin’ with her.”

“Says you. Get a lighter and watch the world burn, then you’ll see what I mean.”

“You hurt friends… not fun,” Wormwood whimpered, clinging onto WX-78.

“I SHOULD GO AND KILL YOU BOTH, WOODIE WITH FIRE AND WILLOW WITH AN AXE. THEN I WILL TRULY KNOW WHICH IS MORE SATISFYING.”

“Oh, we don’t mean nothin; by it Wormwood,” Woodie explained, “It jus’, well.. Trees are meant to be cut down.”

“Burnt, actually,” Willow cut in.

“Trees meant to grow!” Wormwood said, their viney arms wrapped around WX-78’s midsection, “Grow big, strong! Roots thick, leaves to sun… no cut, no burn!”

The guilt gnawing at him felt overwhelming- he had never in his life gotten into an argument with his Uncle, he couldn’t start now. This was still a great scientist he looked up to his whole life, he had to apologize.

Because he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t have meant it.

“I’m going to go see him,” Wilson said just loud enough for Maxwell to hear.

Maxwell looked up from his book, giving him a knowing look. “...You don’t have to, you know. If anything, he should apologize to you.”

“Yes, I know, but… I’ve got to make this right.” Wilson said, getting up.

Maxwell seemed unconvinced but didn't prod.

The scientist made his way to Wagstaff’s house, uncertainty twisting in his gut. He hesitated before he knocked on the wooden door. He waited for what seemed like a minute, maybe two. The clanking of machinery continued inside as if he hadn't heard- or was simply ignoring it. Wilson knocked again, a bit louder this time.

The clanking stopped and the door suddenly opened with a crack. From what Wilson could see the room was even messier than usual, but on the desk table was the water from the fountain, the invention book, and something bronze Wagstaff had been working on. The inventor still held his wrench, saying nothing as he stared at Wilson with his thick-framed goggles.

Wilson swallowed the lump in his throat before speaking. “Uncle… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, it was disrespectful and rude. My anger was misguided, I took out my frustration on you and… I can only hope you’ll forgive me.”

There was a pause as Wagstaff mulled over his words. If his face had softened, Wilson couldn’t tell. The old inventor put a hand on Wilson’s shoulder and sighed.

“I suppose you are different from your father, he never apologized for anything. Maybe you’ll follow my path after all…”

Wilson stared, trying to comprehend what he just said.

Follow his path? The same path that caused Wagstaff to choose science- choose his pride over his own family? And he presented it as if it was a good thing?

“Get some rest, my boy. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. Something… revolutionary will happen,” His uncle said before slowly closing the door.

Follow his path. Wagstaff wanted him to follow his path.

Wilson felt like being even more upset, but he was too exhausted to care at this point. He walked back to his house, his hands in his pockets before he caught Maxwell leaning on the nearby lamppost.

At least he could always trust Maxwell to give him a straight answer. On a good day anyway.

“Heya, Max.”

“Hello, Higgsbury.” 

“Gee, I thought you were going to start calling me Wilson now,” He said, “I mean, you did yesterday.”

Maxwell paused before answering. “...That was different.” 

“So… it’s only happens when I’m vulnerable, is that it?” Wilson said with a sly grin, “Is that really all it takes to crack your aloof persona? Honestly, I expected more…”

Maxwell folded his arms. “Perhaps I would rather not see you weeping your eyes out. And besides, I can’t properly pester you if your already upset,” Maxwell smirked.

“Cheeky bastard,” Wilson nudged him with his shoulder.

“Hey, at least I’m cheeky and not heartless,” the magician said with a chuckle.

“Touché.”

“So… did you iron things out with your Uncle?”

Wilson shrugged. “Honestly, I don't know. Maybe he like… needs more time or something.”

“More time for what, exactly?” Maxwell asked, “Higgsb- Wilson, you weren’t the one to abandon your family to save your own pride. I can’t possibly see a reason for him to be upset with you, he should be the one begging for forgiveness.”

Wilson didn’t answer, he just dug his heel into the dirt. It’s not that he hadn’t thought of that, it was just… he was the greatest inventor and scientist he knew, he couldn’t think of him that way.

Maxwell sighed, rubbing his temples. “Good grief, Wilson. I expected you to be the rational one, not excusing someone's unfair treatment to you.”

“...Forgiveness is always a good thing,” Wilson meekly said, “That’s what I was taught anyway.”

“Yes, forgiveness is good, but not when the other person isn’t even sorry. And besides… good things don't exist here,” Maxwell added.

“But you exist here.”

The answer surprised them both as Wilson’s face went hot with embarrassment and Maxwell stared at him, wide-eyed.

“I… I beg your pardon?”

There was no backing out of this now. “Y-you’re good, I think you are. I mean, Wendy and Abigail too, of course. And even if you don’t want to admit it, everyone else is too. Without the Constant, we would have never met.. I wouldn’t even know you. A-and besides, I’m probably considered a good thing, right?” Wilson added, trying to steer the conversation out of the dangerous territory it was currently in with a joke.

But to his surprise, Maxwell didn’t even hesitate. “One of the best things,” He said, his face turning a lovely shade of red.

“Oh,” Wilson said, the heat creeping up to his ears and his heart thumping louder in his chest.

The air hung there, electrified and heavy between the two. Wilson covered his face with his hand, his face surely the color of a strawberry.

Suddenly, he heard whispers behind his back, voices speaking together in a hushed incomprehensible voice. It was them, he didn’t even have to look. But he then heard a loud shriek that caused him to turn around- the Ancient Herald was roaming the plains, shambling around on its malformed body. Its eyes were replaced with jewels, ghastly white and unfocused, limbs hanging loosely from its boney frame. He could barely imagine being stretched and warped into that form, how much pain he would have felt, being turned into their messenger.

That thing was all that was left of his father.

His throat felt tight as the Herald continued past, not spotting the scientist. Did it know who it was- who it used to be? Could it recognize him? He suddenly felt cold in the way a fire can’t fix, his body feeling like it was dumped in ice as a shiver went down his spine.

A gloved hand wrapped around his, snapping him out of his trance. Maxwell’s eyes were knitted with worry as he gave Wilson’s hand a gentle squeeze, then wordlessly led him into their shared house.

“...It won’t find you here,” Maxwell stated.

Wilson went in to hug the older man, burying his face in his suit jacket. “Thanks,”

“...You know, I really should start charging you for these hugs,” Maxwell said with mirth as he hugged back.

“Maybe, but you wouldn’t.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t,” he agreed.

And although the danger and fear still lurked outside in the shadows, Wilson felt safe.

Chapter Text

The first thing Maxwell noticed upon waking up was the pleasant warmth he felt. 

It was so nice as he snuggled deeper into it, his eyes slowly fluttering open to see the source of this heat. 

It was Wilson because of course it was. And a very asleep Wilson at that.

He wished he was more surprised.

His heart began to beat feverishly in his chest as he discovered his current situation. Had he really fallen asleep while reading the codex to Wilson? The scientist’s arms were snaked around his chest and his head snuggled near his shoulder blades, the whole ordeal being nauseatingly cozy.

While it pained him to wake up the scientist in this peaceful state, he could already hear other survivors outside, and heaven forbid if one of them peeked in here…

He lightly tapped the other’s hand. “Wilson, it’s time to wake up now…”

Wilson yawned. “So I’m guessing you only call me that when we’re alone?” He said, his hot breath on Maxwell’s ear.

Maxwell was glad the scientist couldn’t see his flushed complexion. “For now.”

“Let me guess, I have to earn being casual with you in public?” Wilson said with mirth, getting up from his spot, “So what should I do, my king? How may your pawn aid the great Maxwell?”

The magician chuckled. “You’re hardly a pawn anymore, now. You've moved up on the chessboard.

“Wow Max, I’m so honoured, Guess this means I finally caught up with you, huh?”

“I suppose you have. Congratulations, Wilson.”

Wilson gave him a smile, which warmed his heart even more than the embrace from earlier. This soon soured once the realization that he was missing a certain book set in. Sure enough, even after he pawed around for it, it was nowhere in his possession.

“What are you looking for?” Wilson asked while packing things away in his bag.

“...Someone stole the Codex,” Maxwell bitterly announced, a cloud of anger blocking his sunny disposition from earlier.

“The Codex- someone stole it?” Wilson sputtered, “But no one would dare to-”

He stopped short, not even needing to finish his sentence. Someone would dare. A certain reckless inventor definitely would dare.

“I’m going to have a word with your Uncle,” Maxwell growled, storming out the door.

He barely noticed the other survivors as he made his way over to the inventor, who sat on his porch steps, reading and oblivious for what was to come. 

“I think you have something of mine.”

Wagstaff did a double-take before realizing what was happening. “Oh, ah- Maxwell! I didn’t um, see you there!”

“That's evident,” He said coldly.

“Well you see, the thing is- it’s quite the story actually- I needed to borrow your codex for some quick-”

“Listen here, Wagstaff. I will give you the benefit of the doubt, solely because I haven’t known you for particularly long, but nobody touches my Codex, got it? Not anyone here, and certainly not you.” He said, snatching the book from the inventor’s hands.

“But you let Wilson see it!” The inventor protested, “I need it far more than he does!”

Shadows began to swirl around him in rage, rising out of the ground as he spoke. “Wilson far more important than you'll ever be, so keep his name out of your filthy mouth.”

The inventor looked taken back by this, the surviving companion’s chatter coming to a hush. 

Wagstaff looked aghast, a ‘how dare you speak to me that way’ forming on his tongue, but he swallowed it down. “...Fine then. If you want to be so dramatic about it, then take the damn book.” He said stiffly.

“Oh, you haven't seen dramatics yet,” the magician snarled, his voice echoing.

He turned on his heel, stomping away and ignoring the other’s stares.

How dare that- that kleptomaniac scoundrel gave the gall to even attempt to steal his codex! He could care less if you were a blueblood or a pauper, no one stole from Maxwell Carter.

He was so angry, he almost didn’t notice receiving a tap on his arm. When he was Wendy, his anger subsided.

“Ah, Wendy… I apologize for having to witness that.”

“No need, I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it to some extent,” She answered, “ Yet, I would advise you to spend your efforts on someone more… worthwhile.”

Maxwell raised an eyebrow. “I never pegged you to say something like that…”

“I know, I just can’t trust anyone who thinks they can escape death’s grip with science. It’s a foolish wish,” She folded her arms and frowned, “He claims he cares about science so much, yet logic and reason that don’t support his ideas mean nothing to him, it’s frustrating. And besides, focusing on ending this Aporkalypse should be our top priority, not an egotistical inventor.”

“I can’t say I disagree with you, dear.” 

His attention was caught by a ghastly wail coming from the plains near the outskirts of the city. The Herald lumbered about aimlessly, same sunken eyes and listless walk. Here in the constant, that was the only prize for immortality, nothing more. To roam forever as a shadow of your former self, unrecognizable and somber.

“...I do wish death upon the remains of Wilson’s father, for his own sake,” Wendy added in a quiet voice.

“You and I both,” He agreed, tearing his eyes away from the shadow creature, “But as you said, let’s focus on ending the Aporkalypse, hm? And there will be no accidental BFB abductions now, correct?”

“It was an accident, I swear,” She huffed, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Well let’s make sure accidents don’t happen again.”

“Only if you promise to come back with your head attached to your shoulders,” the blonde girl said.

He smiled, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll do my very best, dear.”

<-O-> 

The poisonous gas rainforest was definitely something Wilson had to experiment with later. He assumed the gas was likely sulfur, caused by the frequent smelting of iron ore, but there were so many other mysteries hidden in the thick canopy of the jungle trees. Mysteries that Wilson was going to uncover.

They soon came across the entrance of the cave, donning thick vines and a statue of the ancient herald on the top. Wilson shivered, practically feeling the statue's hollow eyes staring at him.

The question of how long it had actually been here plagued his mind as he entered the cave, removing his gas mask. The scientist knew that time didn’t pass as it did in their world, but his father had disappeared when he just turned 9... and he was 34 now. 

The situation reminded him of the poisoned trees in the forest. They were alive, yes. But they barely hung between the balance, forced to live when it would be better to die in stride.

“Warriörs, it seems that öur adventure is nearly at its end!” Wigfrid cheered, her shoes tapping against the cold stone floor.

“IT'S HARDLY AN ADVENTURE,” WX-78 said, “JUST A FIELD TRIP WITH TOO MANY HOLDUPS. WORMWOOD AND I COULD HAVE DONE THIS IN A SINGULAR DAY WHILE IT TAKES YOU ALL SEVERAL.”

Willow smirked. “You and Wormwood, huh? ‘Thought you didn’t need any help.” 

“IT ISN’T HELP, YOU INCESSANT PLEB.”

“But… I help! Help you!” Wormwood protested, “You say Wormwood good- remember? You say last night!”

Steam hissed from the sides of the robot’s head. “...OF COURSE I REMEMBER, I HAVE PERFECT MEMORY. BUT YOU STILL DO NOT HELP ME.”

“Then what… what Wormwood do?” Their eyes were round like saucers, hands clasped together like they were pleading.

WX-78 hesitated, deciding between saving themselves from embarrassment or not letting down their plant companion. Eventually, they shook their head and sighed, ignoring the way Willow stared at them.

“...YOU ARE MY COMPANY.”

The plant creature began to smile, emphatically wrapping their vine-like arms around WX-78, much to the robot’s dismay. “I company! Wormwood like being company for robot friend!”

Wagstaff cut through the commotion, his eyes covered by his green goggles. “We need to pick up the pace,” He said flatly.

The conversation died down as quickly as it started, leaving Wilson alone again with his thoughts. He traced the cold walls of the cave, his hands brushing the pictures etched into the stone. Pictures of the Herald, crumbling and thousands of years old by the looks of it. Pictures depicting its terrible fate, them taking away his father’s soul.

“Wilson… are you alright?” Maxwell said to him, the magician's gloved hand reaching his shoulder.

“Hm? Oh yeah,,” He said, putting on his best smile. “ Just… tired, I guess. I’m glad this will all be over soon.”

“You and I both, for more reasons than one.”

Wilson took the hand from his shoulder and clasped it into his, hoping Maxwell wouldn’t immediately let go.

He didn’t.

His face grew warm and his heart thumped loudly in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was from his previous perturbed state, or from holding Maxwell’s hand. He couldn’t decide which he preferred.

It seemed like the shadows were watching their every move with hollow eyes, judging them. Wilson didn’t care, he wasn’t scared of them, especially not when he was with Maxwell.

He knew they had reached the 5th island when he saw light peeking through a corridor of the ruins. At first glance, it seemed like any other island, full of lush rainforest with bustling life. But Wilson could feel their eyes, watching, waiting. The corner of his vision was dark, and his head began to hurt.

He found himself being sat down on a tree stump, Maxwell’s hand leaving his. He missed it already. Maxwell was shuffled through his vortex cloak, looking through his cloak until he found a canteen. He uncorked it, handing it to the scientist.

“Here,” He offered.

Taking it, he realized it was a cool sweet tea, a chilled version of the one Wendy gave them earlier. He drank the whole thing, and his head stopped spinning. 

“Do you feel any better?” Maxwell asked, his eyes filled with concern.

Wilson’s heart jumped to his throat, nodding his head in earnest. It was a truly special feeling to be a part of the people Maxwell cared deeply about.

Maxwell helped him to his feet, and no longer was his mind plagued with visions of nightmares and shadows.

As they walked together, hand in hand, Wison realized just how much he liked this. Just how much he wanted this. It was crazy to think- the person who reached out to him, the one who got him here, the puppet king that was just as trapped as they were… the one he saved. That was the person his heart beat for, the one he wished to be with so badly.

And he didn’t mind it.

Possibilities ran amok in his head as he gave the magician’s hand a little squeeze. He smiled, warm, smitten, and genuine, and Maxwell actually smiled back. 

They were a bit behind the group, yes. The Aporkaylpse was real as ever, the danger still rampant, and the Herald was still at large.

But right now, Wilson had the world on a string, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

<-O->

He didn’t know why Wilson was still holding his hand.

It was a small show of affection, yet he only yearned for more, like a sunflower stretching up to the sun for more.

Just what was this scientist doing to him?

They soon reached the final cave with a similar Herald statue on the top. The presence of them inside was something he couldn’t ignore. This was the finale, the light at the end of the tunnel.

Upon entering, the first thing Maxwell noticed was how much colder it was inside than outside. A muffled mechanical clicking noise of gears turning permeated the dark caverns. The light of Maxwell’s lantern barely made a dent in the darkness.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Willow remarked, holding her lantern closer, “It’s way too cold in here…”

Wormwood huddled closer to WX-78. “Bad feelings…”

“This is what we’ve been looking for- there’s no backing out if this now,” Wagstaff snapped, “We split up and find the calendar, case closed.” He walked past the rest of the group, down the winding chasms of the ruin.

WX-78 and Wormwood went down the left, the plant clutching the robot close.

“See ya Wilson, don’t get killed by Maxwell in this creepy dark ruin!” Willow giggled, running off with Wigfrid.

“I’m telling you, that’s not going to happen!” Wilson yelled back before heading off with the magician.

“Hmm, how can you be so sure about that?” Maxwell refuted, “It would be the perfect opportunity after all…”

“Well you wouldn’t because we’re friends now, that’s why,” The scientist said matter-of-factly.

“I’m assuming it’s too late to argue that point.”

“Maxwell, I’ve been meaning to ah, ask you something,” He rubbed his thumb over Maxwell’s knuckles, “What did they do to you on the throne? I- I know it’s a touchy subject, and you don't have to tell me if you don’t want to but… I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Maxwell paused. “It was… torture. Yet, no worse than bringing you here, I suppose.”

“Being here used to be like hell, but that was when I was alone. When I saw you for who you truly were, met everyone else here… it’s not quite so unbearable.” The scientist admitted.

“But Wilson, you were taken out of your life-”

“An even lonelier life, now that I think about it. Secluded in my shack in the woods… when I go back, it will be nothing like that.”

“At least you have a life to return to,” Maxwell said solemnly, “There’s hardly anything left for me there.”

“Then you’ll go with me.” 

Go… with Wilson? He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but it was more than that. To live with Wilson, to stay by his side past the constant. His heart thumped loudly in his chest at the possibility. And it certainly didn’t help how handsome Wilson looked in the gentle lantern light.

“You can’t… You can’t just say that Wilson, that’s not logical.” Maxwell said, drawing his attention away from Wilson and focusing on navigating through the ruin.

Wilson rolled his eyes. “Max, I’m the scientist here, of course it’s logical. Just you and I with a nice little house in the forest. It wouldn’t have to be in the forest, technically we could buy a house somewhere else…”

“No- Wilson, that’s not what I mean. Why would you- why would you want to live with me?”

“Because you're… special , Max. To me, I mean.”

He felt like he could barely speak. “S-special?”

“Of course,” Wilson’s hands went to cup his cheeks, tilting his face down just a bit, “Could I… show you?”

Maxwell dumbly nodded, his eyes transfixed on the scientist in front of him. Was this really happening? Perhaps some twisted dream created by his own loneliness? Would he wake up, alone as ever?

It was warm.

The soft taste of his lips was real, warmth creeping up to Maxwell’s nose and cheeks. It was the most gentle thing, chaste and sweet. He couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes, in fear that it would all disappear if he did.

Even as the scientist broke the kiss, he could still hardly believe it. His eyes fluttered, trying to take it all in.

Wilson’s hands left the sides of his face, bashfully twiddling his thumbs, his face flushed pink. “So um… that’s how I feel about you. Is that... okay?”

Maxwell nodded once more, covering his red face in his hands. 

“Geez, Max,” Wilson chuckled, “I didn’t think kissing you was what would be the thing to shut you up. Otherwise, I would have done it way sooner.”

Maxwell rolled his eyes, tempted to kiss the scientist to shut him up instead.

Before he could lean down to kiss him however, he felt it. A massive, overwhelming wave of them, their energy, their shadows, that turned his blood to ice.

Something terrible was going on.

His eyes turned back to Wilson. “Did you-?”

The scientist nodded, taking his hand. Then they both rushed off to the source, whispers and the metallic sound of gears getting louder and louder.

Reaching a large room, they found Wagstaff standing in the middle of the calendar’s 3 circles that revolved around the middle. He was too wrapped up in his bronze contraption placed on the calendar to care about Wilson and Maxwell’s presence.

Wilson’s voice cut through the thick silence. “Uncle, what are you doing? What is that thing”

The inventor looked up, his eyes covered by his green-lensed goggles. “What am I doing? I’m creating the future , my boy!”

Maxwell didn’t like how that sounded.

“This, this thing as you call it- this is what’s going to save us, save my brother, with my latest invention, the DCSCM- 13; Destruction Cycle and Shadow Control Modulator, another genius invention from Robert Wagstaff.”

“Do you really think you can control the shadows? Control them?” Maxwell challenged.

“Oh, I don’t think. I know. It’s quite simple really, but I’m afraid someone like you wouldn’t get it, you don’t even understand a fraction of the power in your Codex Umbra. But I've done all the research, all the studies. I’ll use their own magic, their own life against them, use it to rip the shadows out of my brother and return him to how he was.”

“Shadows is all that’s left of him, there isn’t anything else except bones!” Wilson protested, taking a tentative step closer, “You can't fix him anymore, he’s gone, Uncle!”

“He isn’t gone - you’re wrong! I can bring him back, I've never been wrong yet!” He growled dangerously.

The inventor clamped the bronze machine to the top of the calendar. He took a knife from his pocket, slitting the palm of his hand before taking the petals from the magic flower of life and crushing them between his fingers. With every step Maxwell took, the shadows pushed him backward. They wanted this, which made this even worse.

“Wagstaff, you don’t understand,” Maxwell tried to explain, “You’re playing with magic’s you can’t control-”

“I understand well enough! Just because you failed to control them doesn't mean I will. I understand the big picture, you want to stop me, you all want to stop me! But the future waits for no one, and those who try to stop progress are left behind, and I will not be left behind.”

“Uncle, please!”

The circles around the calendar began to spin as Wagstaff turned some switches, faster and faster as the wind picked up.

“Remember this, my boy,” Wagstaff grinned, “This is what real power is like.”

And for once, Maxwell could see his eyes, and it was then, he realized this was not the source of a shadow’s interference. No, this man was not insane.

This man was deranged.

Wagstaff began to chant words Maxwell didn’t recognize, not even from the Codex. They crawled out of the cracks in shadowy forms, flickering between opaqueness and transparency, their eyes shining like jewels and their mouth in an awful smile.

Wilson fell to his knees. Maxwell held him close, but couldn’t tear his eyes away from the calamity before him. Echoes of laughter and screams filled the room. He could hear the faint voices of the other survivors in the distance, but soon their voices were swallowed up too.

Then, rising from the calendar as if it were made of air, was the Herald. It screamed along with them, the shadows rippling under its thin flesh. Its bones stretched and twisted with painful sounding cracks, its eyes brighter than ever. Its arms now hung past its torso, its knuckles scraping the ground. Its cloak was a firey red now, tearing in places that exposed more of its barbs and black flesh.

That was the bringer of death.

Then, the world grew silent as the beast stared at the two survivors, it, pale-eyed and monstrous. It stopped for a second, maybe two, before letting out an ear-splitting scream.

Then darkness overcame them both.

Chapter Text

He should be here.

Wilson’s ninth birthday had been doing wonderfully so far. He didn’t have a single friend, so his family came over instead, which he preferred. His Aunt Tracy smothered him in kisses and he could smell the strong perfume on her, his Uncle Benjamin gifted him a shiny metal telescope and even his Grandfather Warbucks gifted him a few gold coins from his adventures. 

But they had all left hours ago, and Wilson and his mother were up waiting for his father to return to end the day off. Wagstaff had taken him with the promise of showing him something wondrous, and Wilson wouldn’t rest until he was back.

“Mother, what’s taking Father so long?” Wilson asked in his nightclothes, sitting cross-legged and looking over his gifts.

“I’m not sure dear, but I’m sure he’ll he back to send you to bed,” his mother replied, giving him a pat on the head, “You know how him and your Uncle get around science.”

“When he get’s back, I can show him the chemistry set Aunt Tina gave me- it’s almost like a real one, see?” He held up the box to his mother, “We could do experiments together, or we could use the inventor’s handbook Uncle Wagstaff bought me! Mother, do you think I’ll be a good sciientist when I’m older?”

“Of course you will, dear! You’ll be among the best of the best, I can see it already.”

Wilson gasped, his eyes lighting up. “Do you really think so?”

“I don’t just think so, I know so.”

Wilson got up from the floor and gave his mother a hug, his face beaming with pride.

“My my, Wilson, look how tall you are!” She said with mirth, “You’re nearly as tall as I am!”

“Yep! I’ll be past you’re shoulder in no ti-”

There was a loud boom that came from outside that interrupted Wilson’s words, reverberating through the house and making his ears ring. When the sound finally ceased, his mother let him go, unlocking the door and looking out into the sunset sky. Wilson peered behind her on tiptoe, trying to get a better look.

A thick plume of black smoke was escaping the windows of his Uncle Wagstaff’s workshop a block away. The windows were shattered, the wood on the outside charred and blackened, curling in on themselves. Wilson’s mind couldn’t even process the sight.

His mother’s hand flew to her mouth as her eye widened. She quickly shrugged on her robe.

“Wilson, I need you to stay here until I get back,” She commanded.

“But Mother, what’s going-”

“Wilson, please listen to me,” Her voice was soft but firm, and she didn’t look back to face him, “Stay here and watch the house for me.”

“...Alright,” he said with a pout.

And with that, his mother left into the new night. Wilson desperately wanted to follow here, to know where the dark, otherworldly clouds came from, where his uncle and father were. But he was stationed here, and he wasn’t going to break his promise.

And so he waited.

And waited.

And waited some more…

He waited for what felt like days on that porch step, his head slumped lazily against the doorframe, science being the only thing keeping him awake. He was listing off the periodic table when he heard sirens. Looking up, there were police cars speeding down the street, parking near the workshop. After a moment, one car backed out, circling back to Wilson’s house. The man who emerged from the car was a tall man with a black broom mustache.

“Hello there, lad, ”The man said to him, flashing his police badge to him, “Might you be Wilson Higgsbury?”

“...Yeah,” he hugged his arms around his knees.

“Well, Wilson, my name is Officer Grant., and I’ll be waiting here with you.”

“Am I in trouble?” The boy asked.

“In trouble? No no, your mother requested me wait with you,” He clarified, shaking his head, “Is that aright?”

Wilson yawned. “...I guess so.”

“Are you tired? You could go to bed if you want.”

He firmly shook his head. “I want to wait for Mother and Father to come back.”

“Ah, I see,” Officer Grant sat next to him on the steps, “You’re mother said it was your birthday today… how old are you now? Seven?”

“I’m nine.”

“My apologies. Erm, happy birthday.”

“...Thanks,” Wilson muttered half-heartedly.

Officer Grant attempted to spark up conversation with the boy a couple of times after that, only for it to be snuffed out in disinterest. Eventually, he stopped trying, the two sitting in silence as the night drew on.

It was well past Wilson’s bedtime when his Mother returned to him, but without her usual cheerful persona. She hugged him tightly, tears slipping from her face.

“Mother, what happened? Why are you crying?” the boy asked.

His mother didn’t respond, just rubbing his back and sobbing.

“W-where’s father?” He asked, his eyes darting to the police officers.

Officer Grant simply lowered his hat near his heart, giving Wilson a solemn look.

His Uncle Wagstaff was further down the sidewalk, walking briskly towards his car. Wilson caught his eye for just a moment, shooting him a look of confusion. Wagstaff turned away, his eyes obscured by his thick-framed glasses.

It might have been nothing but a tick of the streetlamps, but Wilson swore his uncle’s shadow was different. Bigger, Darker, less like black as a color, and more so the absence of light. It felt more like a stalking, smiling beast than a shadow.

Wagstaff piled into his shiny green locomobile, then sped off without a second word.

Wilson didn’t understand this. What had happened at the workshop? Why was his mother crying? Where was his father? Why had his Uncle Wagstaff left so soon?

And though his mother hugged him tight, Wilson had never felt so alone.

<->

“-ilson? Wilson?”

The scientist jolted awake, looking around in a frenzy. Maxwell had been shaking him awake, it seemed.

Maxwell took a sigh of relief. “Oh thank God you’re awake...”

Wilson rubbed his temples. “Was I out? For how long?”

“Long enough for me to get worried,” Maxwell said, “The Herald practically knocked you out with the snap of its fingers- what are we going to do about this thing?”

It was nothing like the survivors had ever seen before. Forget Deerclop’s or Treeguards, not even the Pugalisk could compare to the horror perched upon the calendar. It watched and waited, shadows surrounding it like a shield. The only thing that remained human about it was a blackened beating heart in the middle of its chest.

Science told Wilson that they were outmatched. His heart said they could manage to defeat it.

“We kill it, of course,” He answered with a shrug.

Maxwell stared at him in disbelief. “...Wilson, have you lost your mind? Look at the size of that thing!”

“Then we die trying.”

Maxwell’s hands reached the scientist’s shoulders. “But… don’t you want to see if he’s still in there somewhere? Maybe, by some miracle, he could still be… alive somehow.”

Wilson shook his head. “He’s not, he can’t be. And… I accept that he’s gone. But trying to hold on to him like this won’t do anyone good. We can't let them keep controlling what’s left.”

The magician paused before cupping his cheek. “I understand. We’ll fight it together, then.”

“I adore the sentiment, but we still might need a bit of help,” Wilson chuckled, motioning to the fallen survivors.

“Er- yes, by together I meant all of us together, not just you and I, of course…”

Wilson gave Maxwell a quick peck on the cheek before standing on his feet. The magician followed suit, red-faced.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Wilson took out a dark sword from his pocket. “Let’s slay a monster, shall we?”

<-O->

“All will rot… all will decay,”

The plant-fae had been muttering this nonstop, their body curled into the fetal position. Even Wormwood’s leaves have started to turn brown, crunching up like autumn leaves.

Maxwell took their shoulder, trying to shake them awake. “Well we aren’t rotting yet, so won’t you get up already?”

Behind him, a faint mechanical whirring caught his attention, getting louder and louder as WX-78 began to wake. Their mechanical insides were showing, half of their faceplate falling clean off to expose the wires underneath.

Still, they got themselves up, ignoring the damage to their body and brushing past Maxwell to reach their plant companion. To the magician's surprise, the machine leaned in for a hug, not daring to look at Maxwell’s shocked expression.

“....I SHALL NEVER ROT, NOR DECAY. I SHALL FOREVER STAY BY YOUR SIDE.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Wormwood’s vine-like arms wrapped around the robot.

“...shall not rot?” They asked in a whisper.

“INDEED.”

If they weren’t currently on the edge of death, Maxwell might very well have teased the robot for this display of affection.

The beast roared once more, its cape flapping behind it like fire.

Soon, Wigfrid and Willow joined them in consciousness, leaving the only missing person as the one who started all this mess. Armours were strapped on, and weapons put in hand as they prepared to fight the great beast in the center.

Wagstaff stood on his knees, staring in bewilderment at the Herald.

“B-but… how ? I- I did all the research, all the calculations, why is he not back?” He said in disbelief.

“They don't care about research, facts, or logic,” Wilson flatly said, entering the outer circle of the calendar, “They only breed chaos, sucking people in with their lies. You played right into their hands. To think for a minute that you can control this place, control them … it’s just hubris.”

“H-hubris? Hubris ?” The inventor began to laugh uncontrollably, “Wilson my boy, I’m not some Greek hero flying too close to the sun- I’m an inventor, I invent solutions. It’s my trade. Don’t you see?”

“You’re still playing with forces you don’t know- don’t understand, and pretending you know what you’re doing! You are human, just like the rest of us.” Wilson snapped, drawing his shadow saber.

The first strike on its shadowy bodyguards, and it snarled, pushing Wilson back with a great wind, great geysers of nightmares shooting up into the surface above and shaking the cave. If it were neutral before, it was certainly upset now.

Falling rocks rained down from above, then after the shaking ceased, scorpions emerged, which WX-78 and Wormwood began to fight.

One of the Herald’s black claws grew with their energy, its white eyes focused on the inventor clamoring on his knees. It swiped at him, its swing only halted by Maxwell’s dark sword.

“What are you doing- he can’t hurt me! I... I am in control, I can fix him,” Wagstaff said, although not even he sounded sure anymore.

“Wagstaff, I strongly suggest that you move out of the way, lest you get hit.” Maxwell said.

Ancient spirits rose from the ground, finding their target on the survivors. Halberd’s spears and dark swords clashed against specters, the shadows sending out terror beaks and crawling nightmares to aid the Herald in the fight.

Logic and reason escaped Maxwell as he fought, finding himself in a rhythm between the terror beaks and ancient spirits. He had never considered himself skilled with the blade, but perhaps that would change after this fight. If there even was an “after this fight.” The survivors' efforts seemed almost futile, one wave of vanquished monsters simply being replaced with a new one, barely making progress to the actual Herald of death. 

Slashing through shadows with determined vigor, Maxwell suddenly found something sharp brush past the hairs of his neck. He turned around to face his attacker, stopping as he found his blade near Willow’s neck. The firestarter’s halberd was dripping with nightmare fuel as a terrorbeak dissipated into the shadows.

“Relax dude, I was just saving your neck from a terrorbeak. I’m not tryin’ to kill you… right now, that is,” Willow shrugged, scooting away from his blade.

“Thank you,” He responded, before decapitating a scorpion to her left.

She looked stunned by this, staring at him for a moment before returning to fight. “Don’t uh, mention it.”

The ground shook as another geyser sprung up from the ground by the herald’s magic, shaking the cave. Maxwell wasn’t sure how many more hits his armor could take until it broke, and if that happened he was as good as dead. Blood mixed with nightmare fuel on the ground, and he fought as his life depended on it.

<-O->

Wagstaff was never wrong.

He prided himself on this, every equation, every theory, and every experiment had shown itself to be correct down the line. He wasn’t just successful, he was a marvel in the scientific community, and everyone knew it.

So why wasn't this the same?

Wagstaff couldn't tear his eyes away from the calamity before him, the survivors barely scraping by, only met with more than they could handle. The Herald- his brother, perched in the center of the calendar, directing the chaos.

Things like hope had no place in Wagstaff. They would die like this, and he knew it.

He flipped through his books frantically trying to find some kind of answer to where it all went wrong. He had to be right, for the sake of everyone, for his brother for-

Wilson screamed out in pain.

It was like the whole world stopped. The herald had Wilson in his claws, crushing his body between its hands. Wagstaff could hear his nephew’s armor breaking, then the crack of his ribs as Wilson asphyxiated, gasping for air he would never receive. Blood gushed like a river out where the Herald's claws tore into his skin, sealing his fate. His head lolled back, his attempts to breathe ceased.

The herald threw his body back to the survivors. Maxwell rushed over to the corpse, hurriedly clasping a life-giving amulet around the scientist’s neck, then quickly summoning a few shadowy warriors to aid in the battle as he clutched onto Wilson’s body. The unwavering stillness was apparent.

“Come on Wilson… you’re not done just yet, you can’t be done,” Maxwell clung to him, tears sliding down his face.

Wilson still did not move. Willow choked out a sob, her halberd missing its swing and a terrorbeak slashing at her side.

“...Friend wake?” Wormwood sullenly asked, their leaves shaking with sadness as they tried to continue the fight.

“Dön’t enter Vallhallah just yet, scientist! Yöu must fight it!” Wigfrid yelled, picking up the slack left by the others.

WX-78 said nothing, but even their swings against monsters seemed unfocused.

Wagstaff simply stared, dumbfounded.

His nephew was dead.

No, it was even worse than that. He had killed his nephew. His reckless thinking, his hubris, Wilson had just died for it. And now all of his friends would as well. He had defaced what his brother would have wanted most- to protect his son.

A number of realizations washed over Wagstaff. He closed the book. 

He could not fix the Herald, but he could try to fix this.

For the good of who remained.

<-O->

Wilson woke to the sound of glass breaking.

He tried to get his bearings, his eyes fluttering open, and his head pounding. He found that Maxwell was holding onto him. His fingers drifted into the magician’s hair.

“M...Maxwell?” He croaked, his voice dry.

Maxwell immediately let go of him, staring at the scientist. “Wilson?”

Wilson noticed the tears that were streaming down the sides of his face. “...Did I die again? Damn, I hate it when that happens.”

Maxwell took a sigh of relief, hugging Wilson once more, with the scientist savoring the embrace.

Wilson looked to his surroundings, wincing at the brightness of the torches. He saw his uncle waking up to the Herald, a book in his hand.

Oh no no no-

Wilson tried getting to his feet, but staggered, his headache only getting worse. “Uncle- Uncle wait!”

Wagstaff glazed at him and nodded, but not backing away from the Herald. “Glad to see you’re still with us, my boy.”

“Uncle, you can’t fight that thing by yourself!” Wilson frantically looked around for anyone to help, but the other survivors were all preoccupied in their own battles.

“But see, I don’t have to. You all have done a wonderful job, and I commend you all for that, but there shall be no more deaths on my hands today, I assure you.”

Time stopped as Wilson watched in horror, Wagstaff pushing past the shadows without even attempting to fend off their attacks. His form flickered in and out the more damage he took, his green lenses cracking.

A distorted sound, like radio static, filled the air as Wagstaff went up to the Herald. Their laughter ceased, going completely silent. The Herald looked shocked as Wagstaff lurched forward, dropping the book. 

He thrust his hand into the monster's chest ripping out its back shriveled heart. Every shadow and spirit it has summoned dissipated as the Herald screamed in agony, black nightmare fuel oozing from its body as the connecting veins snapped.

Its eyes turned blindingly white as its jaw went slack, its energy leaving it. With the last of its fleeting strength, it sunk its claws into Wagstaff’s lungs.

“Wilson… I’m sorry.” He said, before sputtering and coughing as breathing failed him.

A bright light filled the room, causing Wilson to shield his eyes.

Then everything was gone. Them, the nightmares, his uncle, the Herald, everything. No one spoke, the survivors simply staring at each other in bewilderment.

“...Thank God that’s over,” Willow sighed, sinking to the floor.

“I AGREE WITH YOUR STATEMENT, FLESH BAG.” WX-78 nodded, sitting down with Wormwood.

“Journey… done?” Wormwood asked.

“Thankfully, it is.” Wigfrid answered.

Wilson stared at the spot where his Uncle had just stood. He had listened. It had cost him his life, but his Uncle had finally listened to him. A solitary tear ran down Wilson’s cheek as he smiled. His uncle's sacrifice would not be in vain.

Maxwell took his hand in his. “Wilson… how are you doing?” 

“You’re asking me how I’m doing as if you’re not the one covered in blood.” The scientist said with mirth.

“To be fair, I think at least half of it is your’s. Never do that again, alright?”

“No promises,” Wilson winked, “Now, we should probably head home, huh?”

And so, the survivors brought themselves back home after their long journey, victory-drunk and thankful.

Chapter Text

Upon their return, the survivors were met with relieved faces from their companions, the sun shining as brightly as their smiles.

"You did it, Mr. Wilson! The sky is back to normal!" Webber excitedly said, hugging the scientist upon his arrival.

"THE CURSE OF THE HAIRY PIG HAS BEEN VANQUISHED!" Wilba cheered, now in her usual non-hairy state.

Maxwell felt a sense of pride with the defeat, despite not expecting any praise for his efforts. Wendy walked towards him, surprising him with a brief hug before her hands returned to her sides.

"You have delayed the icy grip of death once more," she  said, avoiding his gaze, "...Well done."

"Thank you, dear." He said, taking her hand in his.

Abigail floated over, hugging him around his shoulders with a wide grin. Maxwell found himself relishing in the embrace from both his nieces.

"I'm guessing you all got into a bit of a scrape, eh?" Woodie said, motioning to all the blood caked on their clothing. The woodsman was also back to normal, not in his cursed beaver form.

“You could say that,” Willow nodded, inspecting her blood-stained skirt, “Ms. Wickerbottom, you can wash this out, right?”

“I’ll see what I can do, dear.” The old woman said, “Though I congratulate you all for restoring the world to what it was.”

"Where's Mr. Wagstaff?" Webber asked, peeking his head around and searching, "Is he running behind?"

"Webber, he ah… he saved us, see?" Wilson patted the spider-child on his head, "That's why he's not… here."

"It seems the icy grip of death has claimed someone after all," Wendy remarked, not looking particularly sympathetic, "Perhaps, like Icarus, we have flown too close to the sun in expecting no casualties.”

“‘Fore we return to riveting talks of mortality, how about we get everyone back ship-shape, eh?” Woodie said, passing out extra healing salves and bandages.

Maxwell bid farewell to Wendy and Abigail, before heading off to his humble abode with Wilson.

Wilson didn’t look too worse for wear, not like he had died anyway. Though, he found it difficult to look at the scientist after… everything that had happened in those ruins.

“I meant it, you know,” Wilson said, breaking the thick silence between the two, “ So don’t go and ignore me again, alright?”

“I-I’m not ignoring you,” Maxwell protested, wringing out a washcloth and still not turning to Wilson.

“That definitely explains why you won’t even look at me.”

He rolled his eyes and faced Wilson's coy smile. Maxwell’s gaze lingered on the scientist's form, without a shirt and completely unabashed by it.

“You’re indecent,” Maxwell said, his face coloring but coming over to take care of Wilson’s wound anyhow.

Wilson shrugged. “And?”

The magician scoffed. “Is this how you court all your potential partners?”

“Potential Partner makes it sound so official, I like it. But it is rather jaunty to put yourself at the level of a ‘potential partner’, isn’t it Max?” His smile only grew wider, fondness in his eyes.

“I recall you declaring that I was ‘special to you’, going so far as to kiss me, so yes, I do think I’m at the level of a ‘potential partner.’”

“Well then, mister. Guess I’m not kissing you again anytime soon,” Wilson crossed his arms with a playful pout.

The magician took the opportunity to place a brief kiss on Wilson’s forehead, a light touch before he returned to tending to the scientist’s wounds. “I suppose you won’t then.”

Wilson was quiet as Maxwell finished dressing the wounds near his ribcage, trying to adapt to the gesture.

“Do you think it will scar?" Wilson asked, running his thumb over the bandages once he was finished.

“You studied medical science, you should know.”

“Hmm, I guess it wouldn’t make much of a difference regardless,” Wilson continued, “I mean, if anything it would just add to my rakish charm, wouldn’t you agree?”

Maxell found himself studying the scientist's appearance, his wild hair that he was so particular about, the scar and bruises on his arms from various experiments past, the contrasting gentle and sharpness of his facial features that made his heart race.

“I have no opinion on the matter,” Maxwell finally decided.

“Oh, come on Max! Don’t you want to get promoted?”

“Promoted to what?” The scientist asked.

“Promoted from a potential partner… to just being my partner.” Wilson said, his confidence now turning to a bashful smile, “Would you want that?”

“Of course, I would, Wilson,” Maxwell said, taking Wilson’s hands in his, finding the sheer honesty of the statement almost startling. 

He meant it though, with the entirety of his heart that just recently, began to beat once more.

“Good,” Wilson said at barely a whisper before leaning in to kiss Maxwell for the second time.

Wilson always swore up and down to be a man of science and not magic, but Maxwell felt as though he was utterly bewitched by him.

<-O->

Wilson hadn’t felt this good in ages, which was odd because he had just died hours ago.

But despite his life ending prior, he felt no greater enjoyment to be here, alone with Maxwell, onlooking the stars together. Just a brief glance was all it took for them to decide to leave the other survivors, too busy celebrating to notice.

Astrology was not considered a science, but despite this, Wilson cherished the night sky in all its glory, shiny stars burning away millions upon millions of miles away. Thinking of the vastness of space always made him feel whole like he was truly a part of something special.

Now someone made him feel the same way.

He rested his head on Maxwell’s shoulder, filled with nothing but fond adoration as they sat in the cool grass together.

“I’m glad we get to be like this,” he ran his thumb over Maxwell’s bare knuckles, “Partners together. Without the world judging us.”

“I never would have thought… I could have this with another man, even less you of all people. I suppose fate isn’t such a cruel mistress after all.”

“I suppose not then,” Wilson said, punctuated with a quick kiss near his temple.

Right on cue, Maxwell’s face turned a shade of red Wilson had already memorized by heart. He’s never got enough of that color.

“...I’ll never get used to you doing that.”

“Well, if I keep kissing you, eventually you will,” Wilson said in a hushed whisper, absolutely giddy from the kiss, “It’s a little hypothesis I thought of.”

A smile crept onto Maxwell’s face. “Oh really?”

“Yup! So, if I may, I would like to test out my hypothesis.”

Wilson cupped his face in his hands, kissing his forehead and nose before going in for the lips once more. Maxwell’s eyes fluttered closed, enveloped in the soft, saccharine kiss. Nothing existed but them, nothing else mattered but Maxwell’s gentle hand in his hair, the taste of expensive cigarettes and dark chocolate on his tongue. The scientist wanted nothing more but to explore every bit of Maxwell, to know him as he knew himself, to kiss him until he could do so no more.

Then their attention was drawn to the rustle of grass behind them, and suddenly the world mattered once more.

Wendy stood there, her eyes wide in disbelief holding onto a tray with cups and juice, while Abigail had her hands clasped over her mouth in surprise. Wilson’s blood turned icy, turning to look at the twins, then back at Maxwell.

Wilson had never moved away so fast, making space between him and the magician, his heart racing. “It- It’s not what it looks like!”

“So… you weren’t just kissing my uncle?” Wendy asked, raising an eyebrow.

“... No?” Wilson tried.

She shook her head, unconvinced. “The lax amount of effort put into covering up your bluff is insulting to my intellect.”

“Wendy- I would never have hidden this from you, Wilson and I never discussed when or who we would tell of our… relationship.” Maxwell apologized.

“I’m not upset. In fact… I’m very glad you found someone that makes you whole, Uncle, even better so that it’s Wilson. You two make a powerful duo, I must admit,” Serenity influenced her usually monotone voice, “I only have one criticism for you both; if you both are to go on secret romantic rendezvous, I’d suggest you go where the other’s can’t easily find you.”

“That, um… that’s a very good point,” Wilson’s face turned red with embarrassment, feeling silly that he'd overlooked something as simple as that.

Wendy sat on the other side of them, pouring three glasses of spicy vegetable stinger as Abigail whispered in her ear. “Abby says that the love you two share will make us even stronger against our enemies.”

“Abigail, I appreciate the sentiment, but that some… very strong wording,” Maxwell said, taking the glass Wendy gave him, “We’ve only established this today, after all…”

“I’m sure you’ll call it love eventually,” Wendy nonchalantly shrugged, taking a sip of her drink, Abigail nodding at her side, “I just hope this means you won’t have any more science versus magic debates.”

“Oh, there’ll be no need. There’s a clear winner anyway.” Wilson gave Maxwell a smug grin.”

“I agree. And that winner is magic, obviously,” Maxwell retorted.

“Ah, see, you misspoke. You meant to say science there.”

Maxwell gave him a quick peck on the forehead, “It’s magic , dear.”

Wendy smiled, shaking her head at the prospect.

“Hey! You don’t get to get out of this that easily- it’s still science,” Wilson protested, red-faced.

“Can’t you both agree to disagree?”The girl asked.

“No,” They both said in unison.

It was their game, a competition with no real winner or loser, just the way they liked it.

And they sat there under the soft lantern light, until the sun rose the next day, perfectly at peace.

<-O->

Robert Wagstaff was many things.

An inventor? Absolutely. A brilliant scientist? Definitely. He even held the title of an amazing brother and uncle under his belt. But now it seemed he had to consider the title of an explorer because he was in a completely new place without a single human face to ask for help. 

Mysterious jungle flora and fauna surrounded him as he emerged from his damaged hot air balloon. Did he really fly on a hot air balloon? All he remembered was creating that portal to-

Ah, wait.

This must be the place then, the mysterious realm in which his brother was being held captive by a mysterious them.

Brushing himself off, he adjusted his glasses to get a proper look around. It was strangely beautiful for a place filled with danger, for a place that took his brother from him. But would best this treacherous constant, he would return his brother to his home, back to his family, and he would return a hero. He would learn all there was to know in the world, to bring them to their knees. Perhaps he could even stabilize a connection between his world and the constant, creating something truly legendary…

But that all would come later. Every journey started with a single step, and he had not yet made his.

“It’s time to seize my destiny,” He smiled to himself.

The world was ripe for the taking.

<-O->

The throne room was frigid, dismal as ever.

Shadows swirled around Charlie as she peered into the survivor's world. They were… joyous, happily cheering after their so-called victory. 

“How pathetic,” they whispered, “They act as if they’ve won the war. But we have just the thing to set them straight, right Queen Charlie?”

“Of course we do,” she agreed, switching her focus to Maxwell.

How dare he sit there, galavanting along with his new pet, while she was stuck here on the throne? He had done this, it was his fault, the absolute bastard. Her grip on the armrests tightened.

“Allow me to remind them who’s in charge here,” She projected herself into the darkness, just outside the lantern light.

Maxwell flinched impulsively, his eyes searching around. Wilson checked the lantern, making sure it wouldn’t go out.

“I see you’re nice and comfortable, aren’t you Maxwell?” She said, using them to project her voice.

 The wind picked up as Charlie made herself known, accompanied by a shadowy entourage. Abigail defensively floated in front of Wendy, ready to protect her sister from the shadows. Wilson held Maxwell’s hand a bit tighter, as a fearful look befell the magician’s face.

“Relax, I havn’t come here for any quarrel with you,” She circled them, their eyes never leaving her.

It felt great being the most powerful person.

Maxwell finally spoke up. “Charlie, what business do you-”

“Queen Charlie,” She corrected him, “I am a Queen, and I shall be regarded as such.”

“... Queen Charlie-”

“Nevermind, I just remembered I don’t want a word out of you,” She sneered, shutting him up once more, “But it seems you really have it all going for you, hm? Your loving nieces, a brand new pet-”

“Hold your tongue, Charlie,” He snapped.

“Oh, struck a nerve, have I?” She continued, unfettered, “Well excuse me for not thinking you could ever care for anyone, I’m just basing it off my own experience, of course.”

“I said I never meant to bring you here, I’m sorry,” He apologized for the hundredth time.

This only infuriated her more, “You think some measly apology can make up for everything you’ve done? These people are insane for ever letting you near them again, know that you have it extremely lucky." She hissed. 

“But your luck is running out, Maxwell. What happens next, well… it’s certainly going to be interesting,” She smiled, sinking back into the shadows, “So just remember…”

“You haven't seen anything yet.”

Then she was gone.