Chapter Text
Wilson stood up from his latest finished bee box, brushing his hands free of dirt on his pants. Another successful project away from camp. “Well, that should keep the bees in! Now to wait.” Wilson looked at them, a few bee boxes in the meadow a decent distance from camp. Fantastic, utterly fantastic, he thought, a grin on his face. He started to gather up his tools, enjoying the hum of the bees settling into their new homes. Now they’d have an easier time getting honey, and with all the flowers around, these boxes were sure to be filled in no time. And no killer bees. That was a very exciting prospect, seeing as the last few welts from the last attempt on gather honey were finally fading. “Hey, Maxwell, are you done with the firewood yet?”
He frowned at the lack of response. There wasn’t the sound of axe meeting wood. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t heard the sound of an axe chopping down a tree in a while. “Maxwell, seriously. We need wood, and if we don’t have it, you know what I’ll burn first? That stupid book of yours.”
That would have netted him a yelling match, if the annoying former ‘king’ was here. He turned around, looking at a few fallen trees and some stacks of logs, but not a sign of Maxwell to be seen. “Great. You’ve wandered off. Again. Just what I needed to make today complete.” He glanced to judge the setting sun. Much too close to dusk for comfort, to be honest. What a wonderful time for that idiot to wander off, too.
He sighed as he dug through his satchel, grabbing his miner hat. He wasn’t taking any chances with the darkness, it’d been getting pitch black quicker and quicker lately. He wasn’t in the mood for trying to fend off shadows and look for Maxwell. “You have got to stop wandering away, I swear to god. It’s too dang late.” He mumbled, checking his spear over to make sure it wouldn’t break on the first hit, if he needed to fight.
Out of all the people he had to get sick with in their little base camp split up (thanks to yet another fire burning down half their stuff, thanks Willow,) he’d gotten stuck with Maxwell since nobody else wanted the nightmare king around despite the fact that out of everyone, he hated him the most. Woody had gone with Wes and Wolfgang, while Wickerbottom, Wigfrid, and Willow had formed another group. Leaving him with the mad king, and Wendy and Weber stayed with whoever was the most well stocked. WX-87 was currently in control of the nightmare throne, the robot having decided that until they found someone suitable from this world to take the throne, as a nonhuman entity, they was the best person to leave on the throne.
Wilson honestly would have just loved to throw Maxwell back on there. He had plenty of reason to want to, besides the fact the man could be a pain in the ass to live with. But, facing the facts, it wouldn’t end very well. Maxwell was bound determined not to be a prisoner of the shadows ever again, and two, Maxwell was the best at making everyone’s life a living hell. So leaving him there was a terrible idea, revenge or not.
Gritting his teeth, Wilson started through the forest, the tall pine trees making the fading light even worse to see through. Flicking on the hat’s light, he kept his ears open for the vaguest sign of disturbance. Knowing Maxwell, he was screwing around with him, preparing a shadow projection to freak him out, just like he used to do when Wilson was the only survivor on the island. That had been fun, wasting hard won blowdarts on nonexistent threats.
Dusk finally set in, as the silence of the forest gave way to a squawking cacophony. That didn’t bode well. Nor did the sudden shout of “To arms!” from Maxwell. Then again, did anything involving Maxwell ever bode well? He tightened his grip on the spear and started dashing towards the noise. The forest broke away into a rocky field, and Wilson spotted the tallbirds first, screaming at the top of their bird lungs. He could see a few empty nest and almost groaned before he caught sight of his fellow survivor. Maxwell’s sword dissolved as he slashed at the tallbirds, and their eyes met as a tallbird crashed their beak into his skull, and he crumpled to the ground.
At any other time this might have seemed comical. The ‘king’ getting his comeuppance, finally. But this wasn’t good at all.
Wilson dashed to a nest, yelling at the tallbirds. “Hey, bird brains!” He shouted, scooping up an unhatched egg. “Come get me!” Adrenalin hit and he laughed, running back to the forest, the tallbird pair following, screaming at the top of their lungs. He stashed the egg away and turned to face them, clutching the spear. When the first one got close enough, he swung up, aiming for the soft flesh under the bird’s beak. The spear pierced through, and there was a breathy squawk as it died.
He pulled it out, and as the tallbird fell, it’s mate fled deeper into the woods. Blood coated his spear and his hand, and he took a few deep breathes before he remembered Maxwell was still where he’d fallen. “Shit, shit, shit.” He puffed, jogging back to the rock field.
He threw the spear to the ground as he reached his partner’s prone body, some blood splattered on the ground. “Hey, Maxwell. You there?” He searched and he found a faint pulse, a surprising sigh of relief escaping him. “Okay, okay. We’re gonna take care of this, I’m gonna get you back to camp and patch you up.”
He grunted, lifting Maxwell up and managing to get him over his shoulder. “God, what the heck possessed you to go off fighting tallbirds, you idiot.” He grumbled, his headlight illuminating the path back. “You could of gotten killed, and we’re not wearing amulets. And I’m pretty sure you haven’t used a touchstone in this world yet. What if I didn’t show up?”
With a grunt, he readjusted his hold. “Now I’m gonna have to break up a chest so we can have a fire tonight. You’re completely useless, you know that? Why couldn’t you just stay and finish chopping wood? Then we wouldn’t even be in this mess.”
He slogged through the woods in silence, passing by the bee boxes, and soon, ended up in their sparse camp; a cooking pit, a fire pit, a few chests, and a tent. Chester bounded over and Wilson couldn’t contain a small smile. “Hey, buddy.” He said, leaning down to peel an unconscious Maxwell from his shoulders. “You got some honey poultice, right?”
Chester’s mouth opened, revealing their stock of honey poultices and healing salves, along with some of the paper bandages. “Good boy.” He muttered, collecting the supplies out of Chester’s mouth and setting them down. “See if you can go get some logs from one of the chests. Or something wooden.”
Chester barked and sat there, and Wilson shook his head. “Keep an eye on him, alright Chester?” He patted the living chest’s head, before walking to a pair of chests. “Let’s see…” He ruffled through, pulling out a hammer and shovel, a bundle of twigs, which he set next to him, tuffs of cut grass, and finally a few loose boards. Replacing the tools and the grass, he closed the chest and carried the twigs and boards back to where he’d left Maxwell and Chester.
The dusk was almost over, and so he threw a few boards into the fire pit, and pulled some flint from his pocket, getting to work on starting a fire, clicking off his helmet. Once he’d gotten it started burning, Wilson sat next to Maxwell, surveying the extent of the injuries. There was a rather bad looking bruise developing on his face, and a deep gash at his temple.
That was not going to be easy to deal with. He didn’t have a sewing kit anymore, so no chance of closing the gash right now, but honestly, that probably wasn’t the best plan of action. “Okay, so all I can do for this right now is sterilize it and wrap it. Tomorrow I’ll see f I can put together a sewing kit and stitch it shut.” Talking out what he had to do was good for cementing what exactly he had to do, even if Chester was the only one listening.
God, he was used to dealing with people’s injuries, but none of them had been unconscious while he treated them before. He was worried about making the injuries worse. For some reason. Honestly, he shouldn’t even really care. Maxwell was and always had been, a major pain in the ass. Especially since he’d been dethroned.
He walked over and poured the contents of his water skin into the crock pot, making a mental note to go get more water in the morning. He’d boiled it before, after just collecting it, but it’d been sitting for a day or two, and honestly, he didn’t need to take any chances. Infection was a real worry out here, and with a head injury? That wouldn’t be pretty.
He sat down and leaned against a chest while waiting, playing with his gloves, trying not to look at that stupid scar on his right palm. Stars, that was even Maxwell’s fault, and yet here he was, about to play nursemaid, since the idiot had provoked two tallbirds without any armor on.
Honestly, who did that? Why would he even do that? It didn’t make much sense at all. Wilson pressed his palms to his face. It didn’t help they were alone, and the closest camp was about a good half day walk if he was avoiding the more dangerous areas, so it wasn’t like he could just carry Maxwell and get help either.
This was a giant fucking mess, and it was all Maxwell’s fucking fault, as usual. And Wilson would bet that if their roles were reversed, Maxwell wouldn’t even care.
But, he was a man of science, and a better man then the magician.
He watched the steam rise from the crockpot for a few minutes before getting a handful of silk from the chest behind him.
What he wouldn’t give for towels and actual cloth bandages. But this is what he’d made do with for months, and would work out fine right now.
It was almost an automatic process, except that this time he wasn’t doing it to himself. Dunk the silk in hot water, fish it out with a stick, wring it out without burning his hands, and apply it to the wound. Rinse, repeat.
It’d at least clean the bacteria that the tallbird’s beak left out, and hopefully keep it from entering the bloodstream.
He cleaned the blood from it again, and wadded up the least stained part. He covered it with healing salve, and with deft hands, bandaged up the gash, using the silk to absorb any more blood that was left.
The honey poultice was applied to minor scratches he’d noticed, and the bruises. By the time he’d finished, Maxwell looked utterly ridiculous.
It was hard not to laugh.
He pulled one of the straw rolls out of the tent and propped the magician’s head up on it. He didn’t really have the energy to drag the man over to the tent, so this would have to do.
Wilson propped himself back up against the chest, and watched the fire through the rest of the night, drifting between sleep and hunger. That’d have to wait until morning, however. He hadn’t had the time to go to the little grove of berry bushes nearby before dark had set in, of course, so there wasn’t much food in camp at all that he could recall.
He’d deal with it in the morning.