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Death did not, in fact, go the way Wirt had envisioned it would. Which was awfully strange, even if he didn’t spend a lot of time envisioning death in his day to day life. It was dark, and cold, and still, but it was still conscious. Was death supposed to feel yanno… conscious? Were you supposed to get random blips of trees with faces? Or hear the oh so familiar, deep lull of singing, so, so far away… yet calling him closer and closer. Were you supposed to feel the push and pull of water against your skin when you died? Or the far away wail of sirens, or be able to almost open your eyes onto to have them be stung by the water…… No, Wirt didn’t learn anything like that in health class, even if he did tend to sleep through the uncomfortable parts. And so, the teen reasoned, this must not be death at all. Just something else, something strange. Something dying-but-not-quite-death. That name was a little too long… He would need to work on it.
In the moments where the push and pull got stronger, and the burn of lake water stung Wirts throat, he could almost see it. Almost reach it, but he couldn;t grasp quite what he was attempting to reach. He only really was able to understand that in those moments his lungs burned and it was dark, and his body felt weighted. In those moments it was so… so cold. Then Wirt could make out blurry forms moving above him, and hear the sirens. Hazy voices called as though they were under water, but he couldn’t ever make them out. Then He’d drift away again, into the other not quite death dream.
There, Wirt was even colder. Yet it was different from the ‘oh hey I'm drowning’ state. In this the cold pricked and gnawed at Wirt’s arms, In this the cold surged with undead life. Here his legs moved forward but he wasn’t the one in control. Here Wirt could hear a deep rumble of a song becoming him. A melody only for his ears, one sung to him so many years ago. The forest was cold, and snow littered his body, and he had no control, but here it was similar. Wirt knew this place and he didn’t fear it. Who could fear home? The lake was suffocating, and pulling him into a watery grave, but the forest sang to the teen and held him safely. It psyched the boy through its wood, leading him further, deeper. Yet, when the voice was so loud his ear drums shook, when Wirt almost saw those eyes…. He was gone again… back into not-quite-death black space.
No, this absolutely could not be death. But hey! At least the scary weird coma was better than being eaten by a demon! Yay!............................... Oh wait. The DEMON DOG TRYING TO KILL WIRT AND GREG. OH GODS OH NO OH NO OH NO.
Death could wait, Wirt’s brother needed him. And then because of this decision, Wirt found himself face to face with the second demon he’d met today. Ita dark form loomed over the teenager, white hole eyes staring dark at him with an expression unreadable. And like any other Coward, Wirt backed away, yet the demon's outstretched hand only drew closer. “ Come home, Prince of the unknown” It spoke in a deep, powerful voice, beckoning the boy closer yet. Pale eyes ever watching as Wirt froze up.
“WHAT THE F-” And then he was rudely awakened by said little brother he’d been very sure was in need of his protection moving his toes around like toys. No more demons for Wirt, just strange little brothers.
The very first thing in his still hazy line of sight was Greg. Sitting at the end of what as very much so not Wirt’s bed at home. “Playing with Wirt’s toes, because he hates me touching his toes. And Maybe dear ol’ brother will wake uuuuupppppp, if I bother hiiiimmmmm” The brown haired child sang, whom was, in fact, holding Wirt’s toes. His voice sounded… maskingly cheerful, even for Greg.
“Greg…?” Wirt muttered softly, rubbing his aching head as he sat up, pulling his feet from his small brother's grabby hands, earning a frown in reply. Although the frown quickly shifted to a look of pure ecstasy and the child ran off with an ear piercing scream of joy Wirt had not heard from him in a long time. The 17 year old flinched from the noise, watching Greg burst from the room at speeds Wirt… was not aware the child was capable of. He’d seen Greg run before but never that fast. Wirt blinked sleep from his eyes, groggily taking in his surroundings with a gentle, “This doesn’t look like my room”
Wirt tilted his head. The memories of what felt like a bad dream lingered in the back of the boy's mind but faded quickly as he instead turned to figuring out where exactly he was. It certainly wasn’t a sleepover. Why would Greg be there in that case? And Wirt hadn’t had any friends he’d wanted to spend the night with for ages. Not since he was… well probably only a tad older then Greg was, if he really thought about it. So Sleepover was off the counter as a possibility. At this point more memories and senses had started to feel the teens cloudy and dark mind. Half remembered the snarling of the dog, the pain in his body…. Stars Wirt hadn’t noticed the foul taste of blood in his mouth until just now. Had his boy always hurt this much upon waking up? No, that wouldn’t make sense. It burned inside of him, like evil darkness had wiggled its wooden fingers into Wirt’s skin and was now trying to crawl out. His lungs screamed like they were full of water he just couldn’t cough up. No that.. That wasn’t normal.
His mind flashed with the sensation of water surrounding Wirt’s form, icy hands of a lake lapping against his skin and tugging him down. The pain in his back surged, he liquid not just around his body but pooling dangerously out of it. Again half remembered memories played and danced in his head, a deep baritone voice whispering in his ears “you choose this, child of the trees.” in a voice that felt of childhood nostalgia, if that was a feeling of danger and like the monsters that went bump in the night where trying to devour your soul. And the watery cold sunk deeper into his fragile body, tearing it apart from the inside out with claws that sunk wildly into his chest. Barely audible Sirens and screams felt like they came from under the water, but in the world so hard and foggy maybe he was the one below the waves? The flash in his mind was dark, and hard to think, and it only lasted a moment. Ended by a small, damp hand on his shoulder.
“Wirt, come on, Brother-o-mine! Mr.Henry Woodsman sir says that he wants to talk to you, come on!” Again those bright, deep, brown eyes bore into his own before Greg’s small hand shot down to Wirt’s own, pulling the sickly feeling older boy. Wirt wasn’t given much option to fight against the younger boy, but didn’t have the energy to do so as much either. His entire body felt so…. Sore…. That strange fever dream had eaten all promise of activity right up from the somber poet’s bones. How dreadful…
Before long, Wirt found himself led out of the strange and definitely not his own, bedroom. Then down the old wooden stairs that creaked under his bare (he didn't remember taking off his shoes… odd) feet. The hallway encasing the stairs opened up into a room at the end. Wirt’s groggy mind began to wake up as he glanced around it. ‘Right… right… We’re in the strange woods… then we uhm… we met the woodsmen’ He recounted internally to himself as the younger boy continued to pull Wirt’s aching body along. Anxiety wiggled its way back into his soul as the dark fog around his mind began to clear. Woods? Why were they in the woods again? Why did every creak of the floor, every whistle of the wind, every muffled sound, seem so similar. Wirt could make out clouded memories of being in this mill before, but they had to have been earlier today…. He’d never been in the woods before.
The thoughts caused the pain in the teens body to rip its claws through his form again. Causing him to lurch forward. Wirt was caught by a very surprised Greg, blinking up at his half brother with huge saucer plate like eyes. “Haha! Careful, Wirt! Old Man Woodsman Mr.Henry sir said you were sick! We can’t have you taking a tumble! Now come on he’s just through here” The child giggled in his permanently happy-go-lucky manner, opening the door before him with a swift and easy movement before pushing Wirt through. Said man didn’t have much time to question anything Greg had just said before entering the new room. Sick? He didn't FEEL sick…. Well maybe he didn’t. His body barely felt like his. The world around him didn’t even feel real from how foggy his head was feeling. Stars, maybe he was sick. Healthy people didn’t feel this crappy, Wirt could figure that much out. But again, he really wasn’t given much time to ponder.
Before Wirt knew it, two old people were staring him and Greg down with looks of pure awe.
“Oh God, you weren’t kidding, Henry” The woman before him spoke. She looked in her mid 60’s, hair pulled up in a bun and pale skin full of wrinkles. The woman tilted her head at Wirt and Greg before turning to the man seated at the other side of the table.
“I had no reason to be dishonest. And my child! I told you not to get your brother up, he is in no condition to be moving, Wirt come sit down.” The elder man spoke. And Wirt listened. He moved quickly, or well as quickly as he could with his beyond sore and unsteady body, and took a seat at the table. Wirt squinted at the man. He’d seen him earlier…. Yes… he definitely had. It was different from the familiarity of the woods, of this house. He had… he had… right, right this was the man in the woods earlier. He’d taken Wirt and Greg into his home and…..
“Sorry, old man Henry woodsman sir!” Greg gasped, shaking Wirt from his unfocused thoughts. The short boy pulled himself up onto a chair next to Wirt and the elder women, patting his on the table. “My dear ol’ brother woke up all on his own! I super mega promise! Mhm! And you said you wanted to talk to Wirt when he woke up.” The child declared, much to the skepticism of the adults, who nodded along with mock belief on their faces.
The woodsman, or well, ‘Henry’ Let out a deep sigh before looking at Wirt, His dark eyes were tired, more so than you’d normally see on a man his age. Something dark lay inside those eyes. “Now, boy… are you feeling alright? I am unsure of all of what your brother told you, or how much of it you were able to follow… but my name is Henry. This is my Mil in case you do not remember.” He paused, then turned his gaze to the woman, who was taking a sip of a honey brown tea. “This is my dear friend, Clara, she-”
“I can introduce myself, Henry” Clara cut the woodsman off, earning a mumbled ‘yes, right’ in return from the older man. She turned her fascinated hazel eyes to Wirt, taking him in. The teen sunk away under her gaze, disliking the feeling of her watchful eye. If she noticed his discomfort, Clara said nor changed nothing of her behavior. “I own an apothecary just outside a nearby town. I’ve helped out this geezer for years now. Ha, he was pathetic when we first met. Regardless, I’ve heard yah got yourself in quite the pickle… Wirt was it? God what kind of name is that?” Wirt… did not like this woman. Those eyes watched him like a predator, boring into his soul. The next thing she did he liked even less…
The greying woman pushed herself up from her chair, putting her hands on Wirt’s face. His foggy mind immediately cleared, hands moving up almost on their own to push her away. “H- HEY!” He barked, descending into a cough and earning a ‘tsk tsk’ from Clara.
“Ha, Kid I’ve dealt with many a unruly patient. You're not gonna win that easily, now let me look at your wound. Unless you want it infected.” Clara snapped. Her rough hands swiftly moved to the back of Wirt’s shift collar, the tall woman peering down. Wirt attempted to pull away, but his sluggish and fatigued body refused to listen. He felt like he was more likely to pass out on the table than get away at this point. Maybe that would be better. His face felt red and hot as the women ‘checked him for more injuries’, muttering to herself as she moved. He hated every second of being alive that led to this.
Wirt could remember it better now, what all had happened. The dog trying to eat him, falling in the lake, Jason Funderberker…. He kind of wished his mind had stayed hazy and painful. Not knowing what in heaven’s name is going on is better than the embarrassment of Jason Funderberker, and some strange rude apothecary treating you like a science experiment. If only his stupid body would listen…
Wirt’s body suddenly felt like it was burning. The brunette teen let out a startled yelp, finally lurching forward and away from Clara’s prying hands. “Oh, hm I think I touched something I wasn’t supposed to” Clara mused as the scorching feeling surged through Wirt’ chest. The gripped his chest with trembling hands, desperately trying to claw the dark. Twisting, burning, sensation away. It popped and fizzled and he needed the poison OUT. “Oh. Hm that was unintentional” Clara muttered casually, but her panic wasn’t heavily masked. Wirt wasn’t aware when his finger nails had gotten so sharp, but he had broken skin before rough, calloused hands, hand gripping his own and pried them away. The burning didn’t subside.
“CLARA! Wirt, my boy? Are you alright?! Clara I swear to the queen of the clouds I am never asking for your help again. As long as I live!” Henry grumbled at the women before turning back to Wirt. He seemed to say something more
But the agonized teen couldn’t quite make it out.
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The fuzz in his mind started to fade away after a long while. Witt blinked his eyes open, not sure when he’d closed them, only to find himself back in his room from earlier. God he needed to stop passing out this was getting irritating. “At least the burning stopped…” the brunette muttered to himself as he sat up, rubbing his head with fatigue as his eyes adjusted. “And there was a lack of…. Creepy death dreams. That’s nice”
“Welcome back to the land of the living, Lad” That… Woman from before spoke from across the room. Wirt groggily tilted his head to the side, squinting his dark brown eyes at her. Her graying hair was tickled up in a bun, hands gloved as she worked with.. Some hand held pot that she set to the side. “My bad for knock’n yah out like that.” Clara leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t have much experience with your kinda infection” She shrugged, much to Wirt’s horror.
“I’m sorry, WHAT?!” He panicked, pulling at strands of his brown hair. “Infection?! I don’t even know where I am and now I’m going to DIE?! This is just my luck, GAH” Wirt groaned in defeat, earning a chuckle from Clara, who shook her head in amusement.
“You're not gonna die, Lad. Hold your horses. I haven’t seen anything like your case, but also I've never dealt with someone who survived an attack from one of them turtle eaters, my boy. Not that yer the first to survive, far from it. I just usually work with fevers or scraps.” Clara cas a grin at the teen but Wirt still didn’t trust her. That wrinkly smile held lies and he knew it. This whole room, this whole house, hell even the whole forest around Wirt. they all held lies. Wirt glared at the women, but she only smiled wider, glaring back with a dark, dark look. Yup, lies.
Clara pushed off of the wall, sitting on the foot of Wirt’s bed. “I know you can feel the infection in your bones, Lad. That kind of wound isn’t normal. Again, don’t get worked up, I know my craft well enough to care for yah. And I owe Henry one anyway.” She leaned over Wirt, causing the damp brunette to lean away, feeling anxious sweat begin to prick his brows as his smile faltered. “Now, tell me how you found your way here, hm?”
Fortunately for Wirt, the door of the room was given a firm knock, causing Clara to straight up with a scowl. “EY! Don’t mess with a working woman, how many times do I gotta say that, geez” She scowled at the door, raising a fist. Wirt watched with still panicked eyes as the aging woman got to her feet. She moved fast and quick, like some kind of prowling big cat. Her hair was always up and out of the way, and just like this whole world around him, she held so many lies. It crept up on him like the rising tide.
The lies were going to drown him. Clara’s darkness was so much stranger than the one in his dreams. At least those felt like family. Clara was as unknown as the woods where, as The Woodman was.