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Wylan had always been a bit peculiar, and the Crows had come to accept it. His absent-mindedness, his tendency to get lost in his own thoughts while tinkering with explosives, his bright, unrelenting optimism—they were all part of who he was.
But this?
This was different.
Wylan was an endless whirlwind of energy. For over a week, he buzzed around the Crow Club, his movements frenetic and his speech rapid-fire.
It started subtly—little things like Wylan working longer hours in his workshop and doodling whimsical plans on napkins during meals. Then it escalated: he began interrupting Kaz during meetings with wildly exuberant suggestions.
During a strategy meeting, he interrupted Kaz five times in as many minutes.
“Oh! Oh, I know! We could add decoy explosives to the west end, and—oh wait, no, that’s not good. Maybe a series of timed blasts, or—what if we just blow everything up?!”
Kaz’s cane tapped against the floor, his jaw tightening. “Wylan.”
“Yes?” Wylan grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“Stop.”
“Right, yes. Of course. Stopping now.” He clasped his hands together, only to start fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve moments later.
Jesper leaned over, whispering loudly, “He’s like a firework that forgot how to explode.”
Kaz ignored him, though he couldn’t deny the observation was accurate.
At first, no one minded.
“Jesper! Nina!” Wylan called from the courtyard one morning. “Look at this! I invented a self-detonating pulley system! It’s—oh wait, it’s supposed to go the other way. Oops!”
An explosion rocked the yard, sending a plume of smoke into the air. When the dust cleared, Wylan stood covered in soot, beaming.
Nina doubled over laughing. “Saints, Wylan, you’re ridiculous.”
“I love this version of him,” Jesper said, throwing an arm around Wylan. “Who knew my merchling had such a chaotic side?”
Even Matthias, usually the stoic one, cracked a smile at Wylan’s antics.
Only Kaz seemed unaffected.
“Focus, Van Eck,” he snapped during their next meeting as Wylan rambled about potential escape routes involving jet-propelled carts.
“But it’s genius!” Wylan insisted, his eyes alight.
Kaz leveled him with a glare, but inwardly, he couldn’t help but feel something close to amusement. There was a charm to Wylan’s enthusiasm, even if it was exhausting.
Then, just as suddenly as it had started, Wylan’s energy vanished.
One morning, Jesper went to their room to find Wylan still in bed, the blankets pulled over his head.
“Rise and shine, merchling!” Jesper said brightly, pulling back the curtains.
Wylan didn’t move.
“Wylan?” Jesper’s voice softened as he sat on the edge of the bed.
“I can’t,” Wylan murmured.
“Can’t what?”
“Anything.”
Jesper frowned, brushing a hand over Wylan’s hair. “Hey, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“I’m just... tired,” Wylan said, his voice endlessly dull.
When Jesper told Kaz, the man’s eyes narrowed.
Kaz found Wylan still in bed, staring blankly at the wall. He wasn’t crying or trembling—he was just empty.
“Van Eck,” Kaz said sharply. “This isn’t like you.”
Wylan didn’t respond.
Kaz sighed, his grip tightening on his cane. “What happened? You were fine a few days ago.”
“Was I?” Wylan’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Kaz frowned. “Explain.”
“I thought I was happy,” Wylan admitted. “But maybe... maybe I was just fooling myself.” He was silent for a beat. “I don’t feel real.”
Kaz didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t good at comfort, and this kind of despair was unfamiliar territory.
All he could do in the moment was sit in the chair beside the bed while Jesper went to fetch some tea.
“You’re real.” He finally said— the hushed statement stark in the silent, dark room.
Wylan said nothing.
After days of no progress, Kaz brought in a doctor from the other side of town, spending an utterly ridiculous amount of kurge. Though he said nothing of the price to Wylan nor Jesper.
Jesper was at his wits end, his nerves frayed. He needed Wylan to get better.
When the doctor entered the bedroom with Kaz in which Wylan lay and Jesper stayed, Wylans eyes widened. For the first time in days, he sat up quickly in his bed, eyes darting between the doctor, Kaz, and Jesper.
“What- who is- is that a doctor?!” He questioned with an energy he hadn’t had for quite some time.
Jesper just pursed his lips and rubbed his hand up and down Wylans back, murmuring quiet words of comfort. Wylan shifted away from Jespers hand, and glared up at Kaz, who arched an eyebrow at him— perhaps to hide his lingering concern and agitation.
“You’re not well, Wylan.”
“I’m not crazy. I don’t need some shrink.” He said bluntly, though weariness bled around the edges of his words.. “I’m just a bit tired. I’ll- I’ll get out of bed tomorrow.”
Kaz simply sighed and turned to the doctor, murmuring something quiet, the doctors eyebrows furrowed as he nodded, then Kaz left the room.
When the doctor finally emerged from the bedroom about an hour later, Jesper trailed behind him, asking a series of hushed questions.
Kaz peered through the door to see Wylan sat up against his pillows, sullenly nibbling at a piece of bread.
As he re entered the room, Wylan looked over to him, this time with less resentment. Approaching the bed, Kaz took a moment to observe the younger boys tired expression and the downturn of his lips.
“You will get better, I will make sure of it.” Kaz murmered, perhaps hoping that no emotion would leak into his tone.
Wylan looked up at Dirtyhands, the Bastard of the Barrel, once more, and gave a soft nod.