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Once the ship took off, there was no going back.
They had a destination, a map, a goal- but not much else. They had the Monkey King, but-
Something was wrong. MK could be dense, and was just the worst at reading social cues, but he and Wukong were connected. He still didn’t know how it worked- if it was a spiritual connection, or something more literal than that- but he could feel something was wrong, and apparently so could everyone else on the ship.
Wukong laid out their plan, biting back the occasional wince as his paws trailed over the papers he’d apparently risked his life to retrieve, and Sandy offered to make him- and them all, by that point- some soothing, muscle-relaxing tea.
Wukong’s eyes lit up at the offer, but that same light had gone out just a second later. MK wasn’t sure if he’d misread it for a moment, but a quick glimpse at Mei’s own narrowed eyes (ever the more observant of the two) told him otherwise. Wukong smiled softly and turned down the offer.
If Sandy was disappointed by the response, he didn’t let it show. He’d simply responded, “another time, then,” and left to make tea for the rest of them. Wherever Sandy was, tea could be found- and MK had never seen anybody reject his offer for tea. The sea-acute man hadn’t seemed bothered, but MK could picture him in the ship’s kitchen now, burying it away as he put all his effort into pretending like it didn’t hurt.
It seemed they all did that, sometimes. MK was starting to wonder.
“You know, Sandy makes the best tea,” Tang mentions offhandedly, while Wukong continued to busy his paws with the sticky notes he’d been provided with, scribbling inscriptions he’d memorized from wherever it was he’d been that he’d deemed important enough to parse for the rest of them to access. Tang sat closest to Wukong, watching him write, while Pigsy, Mei, and MK sat across from them on the other side of the dining table, long and freshly furnished. Even the table still managed to have a sort of new-car smell, the kind that gave MK a headache after a while. He noticed Wukong’s nose twitch every few moments. If it was itchy or an indication that he wasn’t the biggest fan of the smell long-term, either, MK wasn’t sure.
Either way, the monkey didn’t slow down as he grabbed for another note and continued to write. “I know,” he says offhandedly, sounding distant. Then, he pauses. Almost embarrassed, he rubs the back of his head with the eraser end of the pencil, nose twitching again. “I mean, ah. MK’s told me, so I’m sure.”
MK frowns. Had he? He wasn’t sure he’d ever brought it up, actually. MK liked Sandy’s teas, especially his sleep therapy ones, but he didn’t necessarily go around telling stories about them. If he had, it would have been before Wukong left for his ‘vacation’, which felt like… ages ago.
He looks away, aching a little, before blinking it away. Tang gives him a look, one MK can’t read and he’s sure it’s not just him (Tang’s mind was far more sheltered from his mannerisms, he’d come to learn), and MK takes it upon himself to fiddle with his hands as opposed to responding.
After a moment, Tang hums. The Monkey King returns to his scriptures, face somewhat shadowed.
They go over their plan a few more times once everyone sans one is settled with tea to yawn into. They’re all tired, but Wukong made a point to ask them all to stay- even Pigsy had argued, however.
“We’re all tired. This is best left for the morning,” he’d pointed out, leaning heavily into the table to make his point. He was right, of course- MK wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get any rest tonight, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to retain any important information right now. Sandy’s decaffeinated tea had them all relaxed and ready to sit back until the morning could give them a better chance at understanding just what it was they were up against. Again, though- this was sans one.
“You wanted to be a part of this, fine,” Wukong says with a paw twirl that feels somewhat pointed despite his calm exterior, “but we’ve gotta dive into a working schedule. That means going over all of this before you get some rest, so you can have the time to recollect it during the night. It’ll give you something to look forward to, as well, instead of something to dwell on.”
Pigsy opens his mouth to argue, but he stops. Sighs. “Look, Monkey King- that might be how you work, but you’ve gotta be accommodating. You made a big point of saying yourself that we’re ‘mere mortals’-”
“I didn’t-”
“So recognize that us ‘mere mortals’ need sleep in order to function.”
Wukong doesn’t look away from Pigsy when he says, “and you think MK is gonna be able to sleep tonight?”
That catches everyone off guard. MK, surprised at being suddenly addressed and half asleep himself, jolts awake. The confusion is tangible in his voice more so than the offense he takes to it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Wukong drags a paw down his face, looking him over, the same exhaustion reflected in his eyes. MK has never seen him look so tired. “Kid, I don’t know if you’ve noticed this or not, but a lot of the things that make you you, now, come from me. It’s a side effect of the power transference, something I didn’t know about when I did it and have no idea how to reverse unless I take the issue to a higher command and boy have I burned that bridge,” he huffs, sounding incredibly bitter before he catches MK’s eyes again and visibly softens. “... What I mean to say is that, well… for better or for worse, you’re a lot like me. And while I’m trying very hard not to treat you as an extension of myself-” he sighs at this point, looking almost rueful, and MK can see a flicker of regret behind those guarded eyes, “I am trying to accommodate. Just… in a way I think will be better for you then maybe your friends, here. Do you think you’re gonna be able to sleep tonight, Bud?”
Being put on the spot flusters him, but he knows the answer right away. Somewhat awkwardly, he twiddles his hands. “... No. I’m gonna be up all night, thinking about… about…”
He shudders. The sewers, the Huntsman, the spiders- Spider-Queen. God, what if she was… she’d defended him from- from her and he’d just- he’d just run and now the staff…
He hadn’t noticed Wukong make his way around the long table until the injured monkey was practically leaning on him, an arm on his back to probably center them both. “Hey. I get it, kid. So, here’s what I was thinking,” he pats his back once before reaching across the table for his notes and angling them towards MK, telling him their meanings and what they implied for their route, what sorts of obstacles they depicted in their fine lines and intense swirls. MK nods along, listening as best as he can, relieved for the distraction but no less tired.
He hadn’t noticed Pigsy take a seat, but he can feel the old man’s eyes on them both as Wukong tells him what he can.
“So if you weren’t on vacation, Mr. Monkey King, Sir, where were you?”
They’d only been confined to their escape vessel for a day and a half, and MK thinks he might have seen Monkey King run his paw over his face to collect his thoughts about half a dozen times now. MK doesn’t think he does that. Does he? Maybe like, on occasion, if he racks his brain, but the monkey seems to do it a lot more often then he. Maybe Wukong didn’t notice. He’d half to ask Mei later, to see if maybe he did it a lot too but also simply didn’t notice. Of course, ‘later’ would have to be after she finishes grilling his mentor for answers to questions he’s too much of a coward (or maybe, something else) to ask.
“I was trying to find this map, so we could-”
“Yeaah,” Mei agrees, waving his answer away already, “but like, where?”
Wukong stares at her. “You’re a dragon, and I hadn’t exactly showered before I klutzed my way over to MK. Can’t you smell it on me?”
She blinks. Then, laughs. “You smelled, alright! I sure am glad you found the showers last night. But I can’t exactly recognize places I’ve never been.”
He narrows his eyes. “But… you’re a dragon.”
Her eyes narrow, too. Her tone becomes less pleasant. “Ya? And?”
The monkey looks around. He catches MK’s eye from where he sits, eating his breakfast on the deck not too far off from them. Pigsy and Tang were in the kitchen, presumably with Sandy, though MK couldn’t say for sure where the latter was. Either way, he was just as confused as Wukong looked and just as uncertain about the conversation as Mei seemed, so he gives an unhelpful shrug.
This, of course, proves unhelpful, if Wukong’s expression is anything to go by. He sighs and puts his paws up placatingly. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just figured, being a dragon and all, your parents would have taken you there. I mean… I’ve met them before, and while they aren’t the most, ah,” he stumbles, looking awkward, “well, I don’t want to offend or anything. I guess I’m just surprised they never took you to at least one of my expeditions.”
She stares at him for a long time. Wukong makes a point of picking at a scratch on his tail to avoid strenuous silence. Eventually, she laughs. “You were going to say they’re not the most hands on , weren’t you?”
He visibly relaxes. “Ya. That.”
She laughs again. “You’re right about that. They used to let me do pretty much anything I wanted so long as it wasn’t adventurous. My dragon powers are… different, from theirs. They’ve only recently let me start doing my own thing, for real.”
He nods. Hums. Flicks his tail, though the movement brings out a faint wince. “Different is good.”
She smiles. “It is.”
MK notices that she doesn’t ask him again where he’s been, but she seems satisfied with what she’s gotten out of him regardless.
“You really know your stuff, huh?” Wukong says at their next planning session with somewhat of a fond coo to his tone. He watches as Tang goes over the monkey’s most recent inscriptions, complete with drawings of materials they may need along the way and signposts he must have memorized regarding where to acquire them. The man had pointed out the names of a few of the artifacts he’d detailed and excitedly explained them away to the rest of the table committee listening in. Wukong had seemed to relax at the idea of having someone else explain things for once, clearly growing tired of his own voice (a feat MK hadn’t realized was possible).
MK watches somewhat despondently as his mentor leans back in his chair, grimacing a bit at the motion before wiggling into it easier. His injuries had been patched up by himself, despite Sandy’s insistence that he had medical training and could help. Again, he’d been brushed off- and though Wukong claimed immortals healed faster and that he’d be fine, whatever- or whoever- had hurt him, it had taken a toll.
MK felt bad. Almost. Really, he was just… tired. Tired that Wukong had lied to him, and still hadn’t… explained.
The worst part was that he still hadn’t been able to properly talk to him. To tell him how he felt like… like him leaving for ‘vacation’ put him in a bad place, made him feel like he’d been abandoned. Like he wasn’t even worth teaching anymore. Like the problems he’d dealt with, he’d made worse in his own head because Wukong hadn’t been there and his ability to judge a situation had become clouded in doubt.
He wanted to say a lot. He wanted to ask a lot, but every time they had a spare moment, Wukong would disappear. Presumably, he hadn’t left the ship, but it wouldn’t change the fact that more often than not he’d be absent. For three days they’d been confined to the airship, travelling to the first destination Wukong had outlined on their ‘Weapon Retrieval Adventure’ as Mei had dubbed it (really, she just liked calling it the WRA, and would claw her hands jokingly each time she said it).
MK was starting to think that Wukong was avoiding him. That… that he’d been right. That he really was a bad decision to him. If MK could somewhat tell that something was wrong with Wukong’s energy, couldn’t he tell the same for him?
He stares into his tea bitterly as the monkey sits back across from him, eyes closed, missing everything.
Tang takes the praise in with a shuffle of his neckerchief. “Before you came into MK’s life as a person, your stories were an excellent way to engage with the world. Of course, while MK followed your endeavours with a passion for your wins and how ‘cool’ you looked while doing it,” MK nearly drops his drink, but nobody pays him any mind, “I’ve always found the ways you won to be of more interest. Mystical trinkets like these are powerful, from what I recall, and if we can actually get a couple of these they might be of use.”
Wukong grins. “Great! Takes a load off’o my paws.”
“Of course, it helps that I know about a few of the things we’ve come across. Seeing as how you have a tendency for leaving us to do the research and get it to MK before disaster strikes where you’ve chosen to omit information.”
Quiet falls over the table. From where he sits next to him, Pigsy chokes what might have been a laugh into his own tea. Sandy, however, looks abashed. “Tang!”
The man shrugs peacefully at his name. “It’s true. I see no harm in saying it.”
MK, Sandy, Mei and Pigsy all sit quietly in wait for Wukong’s reaction. Tang doesn’t seem to look like he cares how he’ll react, picking up the notes and continuing to go over them during the lapse of silence.
After a few moments of the monkey’s awestruck blinking, he lets out a chuckle. It’s entirely humorless.
“MK’s lucky to have you, then,” he says somewhat distantly. Then, to the rest of the table, “-all of you. It’s good that you’re all coming along, even if it is dangerous. This way, you can pick up my slack, huh?”
“Monkey King…” MK starts, putting down his cup of tea on the table. It matches everyone else’s in the line, connecting them all from seat to seat, broken for the gap where once again, Wukong had decided against a cup of anything offered. His eyes trail to that gap as he tries to find the words to say something- maybe dispute what Tang said, or be more specific, or to shout “Prank!” at the top of his lungs and hope for a laugh- but Wukong holds up a paw to indicate there's no need.
“It’s fine, Kid. He’s right. I… I’m really glad he has you guys. If we’re being honest, from what I’ve seen since getting back, he’s learned more without me then he has with. I’m-” he pauses. Sighs. Crosses his arms on the table, tucked somewhat protectively over him. His clothes are still singed and tattered, ripped in places and string aflew in others. His eyes look no better off when they meet MK’s and hold his gaze. “I’m sorry.”
MK stands up. “You-” he groans. “Monkey King, you have taught me. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be Monkie Kid at all. But you-”
You left me. You disappeared. I was so alone, even with my friends, because you were the only one who could possibly understand and you left me to pick up the pieces I didn’t even understand. And I still don’t understand because you don’t- you don’t-
He sighs. “You don’t explain. You don’t tell me things. So much happened when you were gone and I spent the whole time dealing with it thinking- thinking that I was failing. Failing everyone. Failing you. Because you said you were on vacation! And when you leave me in the dark all the time… I can’t tell who you’re protecting.”
Wukong’s eyes close tiredly as he take in his words. After a moment, they open again, somewhat strained. “I can’t tell you everything. If I’d told you where I was really going, you’d have wanted to come, and if you came, you dying would have been an absolute and it would have been on me. I’m immortal and I barely got out of there alive. Kid, when you called me telepathically, I was trying so hard not to get crushed to death I had to brush you off, and then I got a concussion and couldn’t reform the link, and then when I got better I had to be on the move again. On my own, not just because I don’t think you could have handled it with proper training but because sometimes I just-”
He pauses for a second. Looks down at the table. He opens his mouth, then closes it, like he’s not sure how to continue.
Mei seems to know where he’s headed. “You like doing things on your own,” she completes for him, not sounding very surprised. Wukong flicks his ear, not seeming to register her comment for a moment before he groans and rests his elbows on the table. He nods into his paws.
“... Ya. Alone. Because that’s what I’m used to. But you’re not. You’ve got a whole family here. I wasn’t leaving you alone, I was leaving you with them. Knowing I’m the only one in danger is a relief like you wouldn’t believe. But- and there is a but coming, relax- you’re like me. And that’s one thing about me that I don’t want you to pick up on; the part that wants to handle everything alone. You have all these people at this table right now who will have your back, that you can afford to lose with if that’s what it comes to. The fact that you’re learning how to master my powers with them instead of with me is- hell, it’s probably for the best.”
The table is quiet. Deadly quiet. Wukong leans back in his chair, the creak being the only thing to break through the atmosphere his outburst had created. Somewhat selfishly, he continues; “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I left you in the dark. But I’m not a beacon of light for you to follow, Kid. If I made you think otherwise, I’m sorry.”
Pigsy stands, slamming on the table. “Oh, that is a load of crap! You left us to deal with your mess while you went out and made a totally new one, and when we couldn’t defend ourselves together, we ran. And now we’re here, on this ship, put back together with you. This, this, right here?” He indicates at the table perched individuals, making sure to make the circular motion of his hand include Wukong in the demonstration, “This is what together looks like. You’re a part of this, not a subsection of it.”
“The Journey to the West,” Tang adds, holding up a symbol from one of his own sketches. It’s the insignia for the West Headed Nomads. “You didn’t do that alone. And you’re not gonna do it now.”
Wukong all but petulantly whines, shoving the symbol out of his face. “Ya, look, I love those guys, more than you know, actually, Tang, but that whole journey started with me being blackmailed into it and then shackled into staying. It’s a loose metaphor at best.”
“You don’t have to stay,” MK says, then, understanding what Wukong means and feeling somewhat sick to his stomach. “If… if being here is hurting you.”
Wukong’s eyes visibly soften at his reaction. “Oh… Kid, that’s not what I…” he pulls at his hair momentarily before tucking his head into the table face. “See, I need to get out more. I have no idea how to talk to people. I may as well be shoving my foot in my mouth.”
Mei laughs. “Guess you’re picking up on MK’s habit’s, too, then.”
“Mei!”
“It’s true! You wouldn’t recognize a social cue if it hit you in the head.”
“Why would it hit me in the head? Why are you metaphorically throwing things at me? It’s rude.”
She laughs. “My point! Look at it, everyone!”
MK kicks her, but she tucks her feet away, laughing. He does, too, but his gaze catches with Wukong’s before he can wind up another hit.
The look in his eyes is… soft. There’s something there that MK can’t name. Maybe it’s too old for him to understand.
The monkey pushes himself off the table, leaning back in his chair again, sighing into the cushion like it’s the only thing holding him up. “Hey, um. Sandy?”
The blue man, who’d remained entirely silent through the whole ordeal but was watchful enough to step in if it would have become necessary, turns to look at him. “Hmm?”
“... Do you think I could have a cup of tea, after all? I haven’t,” he looks up, and MK follows his eyes to the ship’s blank ceiling. He finds nothing there worthy of such a mournful expression. “I haven’t had one in a while.”
Sandy beams, nodding, and takes off down the hall.