Chapter Text
A step, another step. Hiss. A sudden groan of protest. A second to exert force upon the sticking joint, followed by a horrible screeching and grinding of metal against metal. Step. Step.
“Sure you don’t want to try to see about that knee right now, bud?”
“NO.”
“Real sure? Ya don’t sound-”
“I SAID NO.”
“Sorry.”
Woodie glanced upwards, towards the sky. Resting above them was a stark grey sheet of clouds that seemed to stretch on forever. Interrupted only by the silhouettes of the trees that stood far higher than either could see. It was sometime in early autumn, Woodie thought, though no telling the exact time of year, enough for the air to cool and the summer wildfires’ all-consuming hunger to be satiated for next year. When fruit would fall from trees and the seeds within their rotten flesh would begin their journey to becoming new trees, new plants, new life.
He frowned, remembering that his birthday would have been this time of year. Even if his own life wasn’t at all new, thirty-seven years, last he’d been able to count, surely more now, it was still something he’d have liked to keep track of. Woodie certainly knew how many times he’d dodged when death had hunted for him in closer proximity than the one warranted by the usual, leisurely, pace at which it approached. Snarling with teeth and claws of sharpened silver, smiling politely as it stood on his doorstep asking for directions to the ferry that would take it back to…
He wouldn’t think about those now.
Instead, he took a glance over at his companion, clanking and hissing as they moved alongside him, occasionally pausing to press upon their knee to unstick it when it decided to seize up. An unfortunate encounter with an unexpected meteor shower hadn’t done either of the two of them any serious harm, but WX had taken just enough of a beating to bend the lower section of their leg in such a way that it could no longer smoothly operate.
Woodie, internally, could at least take comfort in the fact that WX-78 couldn’t feel pain. Or, he didn’t think they could feel pain.
He hoped they didn’t feel pain. Even if they weren’t serious, his own wounds ached more than he’d like them to, and Woodie knew they wouldn’t feel any better tomorrow.
Lucy would scold him for trying to work come sunrise, and she’d be right to, he knew she’d be right to. But, as much as he’d have liked to rest, there was something true about both of them that made it hard to oblige. Between pain and idleness, idleness was almost worse.
A sharp crack of lightning shook Woodie from his thoughts, causing him to look up, only to be hit in the eye by an errant raindrop.
“Don’t think we’re makin’ it home tonight, eh buddy?”
“I CAN SEE THAT. IT IS NOT MY OPTICAL SENSORS THAT ARE BROKEN.” WX-78 retorted, pulling their hat further down over their head.
“Mmhm.”
There was a lapse in conversation as the two work their way over a tree fallen in their path. It takes Woodie practically hefting the robot up and over the dang thing to get across, but they manage.
"I DO NOT SEE WHY YOU INSIST ON ME PREFORMING THE SAME ROUTINE AS YOU. STEPPING ONTO AND OVER THE OBSTACLE IS ILLOGICAL. I DO NOT NEED TO WORRY ABOUT VENOM OR SNAKES. IN FACT, I HAVE NEVER SEEN A SNAKE. EVER."
"You never know, bud." Woodie began, as he stepped off the log himself. "It might not just be snakes, an' besides, as much as you might not like it, we're all examples fer the kids. It's best to get in the habit."
His companion seemed less than pleased with that answer, but didn't say anything further. Instead, they chose to change the subject to more pressing matters than what animals they had and had not seen and whether or not they were something to be concerned with in The Constant.
“I DO NOT THINK PLANT MATTER IS GOING TO BE ENOUGH TO KEEP ME AWAY FROM THE WETNESS.”
Woodie stopped, turning to face WX-78.
“Take it you’re wanting to hole up somewhere fer the night?”
“UNLESS YOU WANT ME TO SLOG BACK TO HOME BASE AND RISK CRITICAL FAILURE, YES.”
Woodie decided he was going to ignore that insult. Even if it did hurt. Now wasn’t the time to start an argument.
“I might know a place.”
"THEN LEAD ME TO IT, FLESHLING. NOW."
He was well aware that was the closest thing to a 'please' he was going to get out of the automaton. Asking for one wouldn’t get him far, nor would arguing. Not to mention, they were running out of daylight fast, so Woodie simply obliged without objection. He slowed to stand in place, searching for any landmark he remembered, or perhaps just a mark of his own making. Something he'd made a habit of a long while ago. A pile of stones, an axe mark in the bark of a tree. A way to right himself in unfamiliar territory, should he at some point become disoriented. An especially useful thing, he found, in a place like The Constant.
There. There it was. A tree that was just beginning to rot, chewed off at the base and singed by the heat of summer, fallen against a collection of rocks. A landmark of his own making, but not an intentional one. Either way, he knew it, and from here, the place he was thinking of was….
"....Where d'ya spose the sun's at right now, metal buddy?"
"YOU HAVE EYES."
"But I sure can't tell th' exact position've the sun, eh."
"IT IS DUSK. IT SHOULD BE TO THE WEST."
"And where west is is what I'm tryin' t figure out."
WX reached up to hold the straw hat to their head, a burst of sparks flying from their wrist as they did so. (Woodie couldn’t say he knew anything about machines, but from enough time spent in WX-78’s presence and basic common sense about the wonder of electricity, he could at least say that that fell into the category of ‘probably not good.’) Then, after a moment, their arm juts out, pointing out deeper into the forest.
“THAT WAY.”
“Thanks, eh.
The rest of the walk was fairly uneventful, a left at the graveyard, continue forward at the collection of stones decorated with colorful depictions of an imaginary allied kingdom of spiders and merms (and a slightly disturbing alternate depiction of the aftermath of a war between them on the back of one, which someone else had drawn a swamp monster into the background of), and a little bit of Woodsman’s Intuition, and there was the path. Trampled grass leading into a trail that wound it’s way through the trees, eventually traversing downwards into a dip in the landscape.
“Should be right down here, eh.” Woodie said as he offered a hand to the automaton to steady them. The treads on their feet wouldn’t do them much good on any muddy slope like this. If WX-78 was made for anything, as far as Woodie could tell, it definitely wasn’t hiking, much less hiking in the rain.
Their gaze fixed on said hand, before moving back to his face. Reluctantly, they placed their forearm into his grasp, allowing themself to be led downhill, carefully choosing their footing all the way. Once they’d descended, there before them was an outcropping of earth and stone adjacent to their path. Roots of trees both living and long gone forced their way through cracks in the rock, hanging down like stalactites or burrowing into the single back wall. Grass and undergrowth grew unchecked all around, and on the very edge of the overhang teetered a lone berry bush, swaying in the wind as it just barely clung to the soil in which it grew. Beneath it all was a small, bare-bones camp. A firepit, a tent, and a woodpile. Nothing more of note to it.
WX-78 didn’t hesitate, lurching forward at the sight of salvation from the oncoming downpour. Apparently they’d forgotten their twisted joint, as well as the fact that Woodie was still holding onto them. With a screech, they careened towards the ground, landing flat in the grass, with Woodie not far behind.
“AAAAAAAAA-”
Woodie scrambled to pick himself off the ground, rushing to do the same for his companion. Water damage was the last thing they needed to have to try to handle right now. They didn’t even have a fire going yet, and to have to carry an inactive WX-78 back to camp was the next last thing he wanted to do. Even if they were small in comparison, the robot was, well, a robot, which meant they were pretty well solid iron. Solid iron that landing on top of by no means helped the bruises already forming in the various places he’d been struck by debris and shrapnel from meteor impacts. Not to mention, Woodie wasn’t entirely sure he could carry them if it came down to it. Sure, he was strong, but he didn’t think he was that strong.
Not in this body, anyway.
Getting WX upright was a chore on it’s own. The metal that made up their chassis was slick with rainwater, leaving Woodie to have to heave them up under their arms and practically drag them to safety as they kicked and flailed, desperately trying to escape the water. He practically jumped out of his skin when another shower of sparks shot from a tear in the protective casing surrounding their neck, causing Woodie to drop them just within cover.
WX-78 finally stopped screaming about thirty seconds later. Not a record, unfortunately. It usually took them about an hour whenever the survivors dared venture out on the water for some fishing, and even then they clung to the mast the entire time.
“You okay, buddy..?” He asked as he took a step back from WX.
“WATER LEVELS… SUBOPTIMAL.”
“Sorry.”
WX sat up, craning their head over their shoulder in an attempt to make eye contact.
“WHY?”
The ‘why’ caught him off guard. Why was he sorry? Was that what they were asking?
“What?”
“YOU DID NOT DO ANYTHING. YOU AT LEAST TRIED TO CATCH ME. YOU DID NOT FAIL AS BADLY AS YOU COULD HAVE.”
“Well, I can still feel bad about it. We’ve both already had a bad day, but only one’ve us’s at risk of dyin’ if they get too wet, eh.”
“AND?”
“And I don’t want you dead, yer my buddy, yeah? An’... if I’d caught you, we wouldn’t’ve risked that.”
They blinked. Once, twice, a soft clicking accompanying each, then turned away from him before they spoke again.
“IT WAS A MISCALCULATION ON MY PART,” WX began, wiping a streak of mud from their chassis, “YOU DID YOUR BEST TO CORRECT THE OUTCOME.”
Woodie was quiet, but nodded in response. He supposed he had done what he could, yes. Even if he felt as though he could have done better, they had a point. Trying to help was better than not trying at all.
He reached over to the woodpile, picking out a few dry pieces of timber, and a few more small pieces for kindling. They didn’t have much time before the sun was swallowed by the horizon, plunging them into darkness. And, if they didn’t have a fire before then, it would surely spell their doom. In light of this, Woodie didn’t have much time to be picky about what kind of fire to build. Any fire would do, so he got to work arranging a shelter for the flames. Out of the wind, but not without airflow.
Meanwhile, WX-78 had managed to drag themself over to the other side of the fire pit, where they now splayed out on the ground. Water ran in scarce rivulets down the side of their chassis, dripping off into the patchy grass beneath them.
“YOU DIDN’T HAPPEN TO HAVE THE FORESIGHT TO BRING ANYTHING TO ABSORB MOISTURE, DID YOU?”
Woodie glanced up from the fire pit.
"Uh, I mean, I'd offer ya my shirt, but I think at this point it'd only make it worse."
"A BEDROLL?" They asked, sitting up slightly.
"A straw one."
"UGH."
The robot let themself fall back onto the ground with a clunk.
"We'll have a fire soon enough, buddy."
“HOW SOON IS SOON?”
Woodie threw his rucksack from his shoulder, it’s impact announced by a wet slap. Carefully, he undid the button, silently cursing the feel of the sodden material under his fingers. He hated that feeling. And worse still, all his belongings would be soaked alongside it, meaning he’d have to find a place to dry them out.
Or, most of his belongings, thankfully.
His hands find their prize: A misshapen parcel of waxed papyrus tied with twine, which he undoes swiftly. Inside, there was a configuration of dry grass and cattail fluff, made into the vague shape of a bird’s nest. It was one of Woodie’s better bits of tinder. Cattails weren’t easy to procure, what, with the dangers associated with the swamp and all.
“Just ‘s soon as we can get this to catch, eh. Which eh-”
“IT NEEDS A SPARK, I KNOW. GIVE IT HERE.”
They took it from him, looking it over, before bringing it up to the tear in their neck. They brace themself, and then jerk their head to the side hard, throwing yet more sparks from their damaged internals. Their hat which was miraculously still clinging to their head, skews to the side, they don’t bother to readjust it.
“OW.”
It was handed back with urgency, and rightly so. What gloomy light of day was left, it was beginning to fade away. Woodie wasted no time in nurturing the flame, gently blowing into the nest to give it air. Mindful of his beard, of course. He didn’t want that burnt by any and all means. Or. really any of himself, for that matter.
Smoke began to curl from the bundle, which soon sprang into flame, and into the little shelter it went. Relief was an understatement, though undeserved, Woodie thought. They weren’t out of the woods just yet.
“… did that hurt?” He asked as he fed a number of twigs and a handful of soft, rotten, wood into the young flames’ hungry maw.
“NO. IT IS AN AUTOMATIC RESPONSE.”
“It’s uh, a what?”
They creak when they shift their body around to look at him, crouched there beside the firepit. Soaked to the bone, no doubt looking something like a drowned rat. Not the best look on him, for sure, but it didn’t really matter. So they claimed, WX-78 found all fleshlings ugly anyway. No need to worry about appearances, then.
“PAIN IS A SURVIVAL MECHANISM THAT TELLS FLESHLINGS WHEN SOMETHING IS WRONG. THE RESPONSE TO PAIN IS ‘OW’. I HAVE AN INSTANTANEOUS INTERNAL STATUS REPORT WHEN DAMAGE IS SUSTAINED OR STRESSED. RESPONSE TO CURRENT STATUS IS ‘OW.’”
“...Sounds like pain. A little.”
WX-78 tilted their head, watching as Woodie worked to encourage the tinder to catch.
“I WOULD NOT KNOW, I SUPPOSE. IT IS NOT AS THOUGH I HAVE EVER EXPERIENCED PAIN FIRSTHAND.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know how ‘t describe it. Pain just… it’s pain, eh. Everyone knows what pain feels like, everyone feels it. ‘S just… universal.”
“TRY.”
Woodie stopped to think a moment. How would you even describe something like that to someone who’d never experienced it before. As he’d said, pain was pain. Woodie could hardly imagine what WX was describing. Pain was natural, it was an unshakable fixture of life. Pain was… pain was….
The fire was alive now, licking at the logs which made up it’s crucible, slowly consuming them. Salvation was theirs’, and for it, Woodie allowed himself to sit proper, and busied himself with wringing water from his clothes.
“It’s uh. A little like what you said, except it ain’t no… report. It’s. A feeling, eh? Wherever the problem is, says somethings wrong, or bad, and that you’re hurt an’ should try ‘t do something about it or get away from what’s hurting you.”
“...INTERESTING. YOU ARE CODED TO BE AFRAID OF PAIN?”
Woodie wasn’t sure how to feel about that response. WX-78 had never made good on any serious threat they’d ever made, but that didn’t mean they never would. Selfish as he felt thinking about it, if they ever did, he just hoped he wouldn’t be the target.
“Well, I mean, I’m not sure I’d call it afraid of pain-”
“YOU MUST BE, THOUGH. EVEN THE FEARLESS ONE AVOIDS IT AT ALL COST.”
“Walter’s… a bit of a special case, eh.”
Honest to god, Woodie wasn’t sure how that boy had ever survived a day alone in The Constant, much less two weeks. Sure, he was smart, competent, knew a thing or two from the Pioneers, but with an intense curiosity that at times led to an almost complete disregard for his own safety, it seemed like a miracle. If they changed at all here, Woodie was almost sure Walter would have given him a few extra gray hairs by now. And if that was true, Woodie could hardly imagine how the kid’s poor mother ever fared. Or, was fairing, even… First her son probably worries her half to death, and then he just… disappears.
They’d all disappeared. Himself included.
His own mother was a stern and abrasive old thing, and aside from old, she always had been. A monolith of a woman who ran her household how she liked, and took no suggestions as to doing anything differently. Woodie couldn’t ever recall a time she’d ever seemed afraid to raise her voice (or her cane) to a problem. Unless, of course, that problem was one of her own children. In those times, she’d always been gentler. Still herself, but gentler, more willing to forgive.
Woodie hoped, at the very least, that if he ever did see her again, she’d be willing to forgive him. It hadn’t been right to just-
"WOODIE?"
"Huh? What? Sorry, what were we-?"
"WE WERE TALKING ABOUT PAIN."
"Oh, yeah, uhm... Walter’s uh- different. Think there might be… I dunno, somethin' in his head that ain't quite connected right. Or somethin' like that."
"SO HE FEARS ONLY PAIN."
“Well, not necessarily, no.”
It seemed he’d prompted them to remember something, judging by the way they seemed to straighten their shoulders, just ever so slightly. A subtle thing, but notiicable..
“OH. YES, HOW COULD I FORGET THAT HE SHIES FROM THE WEAKEST FLESHLING HERE? HA.”
Woodie frowned. “Kid’s just got a phobia, bud. Ain’t his fault.”
“A FEAR OF WEAK, BRIGHTLY PAINTED ORGANICS.”
“Wolfgang don’t like the dark, you don’t say anything aboot that.”
“BECAUSE THAT IS A COMPLETELY RATIONAL FEAR IN THIS SCENARIO.”
Woodie grumbled something under his breath, but said nothing more. There wasn’t much of a point arguing. Miss Wickerbottom had tried her best, in the early days, but not gotten anywhere. Now, it seemed she was trying the approach of letting them come around on their own.
Woodie wasn’t quite sure that that was going to happen any time soon.
In the ensuing silence, his thoughts were allowed to drift. Moving from one train of thought to another. It wasn’t often he had the space or time of day to simply… think. Lucy had elected to spend some time with Winona before he and WX had set out on errands, and by the time they had left, both were too caught up in conversation to want to do much else.
Woodie smiled thinking about it, just a little. It was… good that she’d made a friend, other than himself. A friend she could relate to with a talkativity that rivaled her own, and a lady to boot. Overcoming her distrust of the hands of others was a step in the right direction, even if it left Woodie feeling like something was missing. Lucy’s presence had been a constant in his life since… well, what felt like forever. She was a comfort, something to hold onto when all else felt lost, and he was the force by which she could influence the world around her. They were partners, in work and in life, and nothing would ever change that.
Or, so he hoped.
Eventually, his thoughts drift back to family. Were the situation different now, Woodie thinks, and had he all the knowledge and confidence he did now, he’d have wanted to introduce Lucy to the family. Strange and difficult to explain as it might have been, he loved her, and he loved his folks, strained or distant as some of those relationships may have been.
…Or, really they’d all been distant, when he’d ended up here. Woodie himself having been the one to create the distance.
Regret settles in him, like a stone sinking to the bottom of a pond. He should have said something. Should have at least sent a letter, made an excuse. At least given them… some kind of word to let them know he was okay.
And now-
Now-
“IS THERE SOMETHING WRONG?”
Woodie looked up, not saying anything. WX-78 had managed to wrestle themself into a sitting position, good knee pulled up to their chest, the other stretched out in front of them. So it seemed, the joint wasn’t wanting to unstick itself now. Something that would prove a problem come morning.
“YOU ARE MAKING THAT STUPID FACE YOU MAKE.”
He took a breath. They weren’t genuinely asking, that was for sure, but-
It was as good a distraction as any.
“....So uh.”
“SO?”
“Well, not to say nothin about you, but I’d figure it be a lil bit of a longshot but-”
Was he really about to ask them this? On one hand, they were rude and antisocial at best, but on the other, they were a robot, which meant at least someone would have to have built them.
“....Don’t got anyone who’d miss ya back home, do ya?”
They’re not looking at him, instead their gaze is fixed on the flames in front of them, unblinking. Their head twitches to the side, involuntarily, from the looks of it.
“...Buddy?”
“NO.”
“...no?”
“I SAID NO!”
Woodie flinches at the harshness in their tone. Not the usual sort, either. Usually, they were blunt and callous, this was sharp, hasty, and louder than usual.
“......sorry, eh.”
They’re still staring into the fire, when he dares take a glance at them. WX-78 didn’t really have much room to emote, with that metal mask of a face. Learning to get along with them required learning other cues. How they held themself, what they were doing with their hands, a slight movement in their jaw, or a blinking light behind their eyes.
This? This, Woodie hadn’t seen before. He’d seen them staring into space before, sure, but there was a tension in them that changed the meaning. This, whatever it was, was something entirely new.
After a minute, they finally speak.
“MACHINES DO NOT REQUIRE COMFORT. IT IS MORE PRACTICAL FOR YOU TO HAVE THE TENT.”
“...The bedroll’s soaking wet, buddy, yer s-”
“I SAID IT IS MORE PRACTICAL. DO NOT MAKE ME CHANGE MY MIND.”
Their tone was more even, now, but the twitching hadn’t stopped. If anything, the frequency had increased. They were upset, so it seemed, but Woodie couldn’t be sure what exactly about, only that it was something he said.
And so, he found himself retreating, pushing himself to his feet.
“Al.. alright, bud.” Woodie swallowed as he turned towards the tent, taking a few steps, before pausing.
“....Night, WX.”
Silence. Woodie took that as his cue to keep walking.
“....GOODNIGHT, FLESHLING.”