Work Text:
How long has it been now?
How long has he felt this way?
So many things plagued the scientist's scrambled mind as he tried to, at the very least, get some form of sleep. He was always one to get sort of crazy whenever he didn't, after all.
Trying to rest in his tent, his mind ran rampant. One would normally conclude that it'd just be formulas and other scientific ideas that would've been bouncing off the walls of his intelligent brain, but this night was different.
He laid curled on his side on his makeshift bed, trying to get comfortable in whatever way he could. His thoughts ran about, thinking about his compatriots and his newfound friendship with them.
That was sort of funny to think about.
He actually had friends now, it was ironic.
How long has it been now? He's never really had friends to begin with, but it was something his much younger self would've loved at some point before he eventually decided that actually trying to have friends would've not been beneficial and scientific, in his eyes. He's never been one to socialize, either.
He grimaced as he remembered the past parties he was forced to go to.
He hated those times, the times when his father would force him to attend. It was all to make his reputation look good, as he never truly gave Wilson attention otherwise.
Wilson tried to curl in on himself some more, shaking his head as if in attempt to throw those thoughts out the window of his mind. No, he won't think about his past right now. Not tonight. Not when he's trying to sleep. He'll just have nightmares, like he always does. It's one of the reasons why he rather be swarmed with his scientific work, after all.
His mind shifted back to his companions. When he first met them, he didn't really know what to think. His brain had rationalized socializing with them in favor of teamwork. It was a great idea, a terrific one even, to team with the others, as the Constant was a never-ending dangerous place.
But after a while, he started feeling... regretful?
Sure, it was good that he was teaming up with them, but then they started trying to get to know him better. They've even gotten into his thoughts now. The scientist couldn't stop thinking about his fellow companions after a while, and it seemed like his mind and heart were at some type of internal war, fighting between logic and yearning.
After a while of pleasantries, the other survivors had started asking him some things. Things he wasn't comfortable with. He didn't want to think back on his childhood, much less tell them of his terrible misfortune of being dealt with a harsh hand by life. Wilson was always one to keep things to himself, to keep things bottled up.
He didn't like the attention, and yet he yearned for attention.
Funny how that works.
He shifted in his bed again, his arms feebly wrapping around himself in some sort of self hug. How long has it been since he's last socialized before all of this? Before the Constant, the scientist has always lived an isolated life, and even during the Constant, for a time. He's hardly interacted with society-
why should he? They all despised him anyway.
Wilson thought back to his life before he was whisked away here. He lived in his dilapidated, little house out in the woods, far away from where society could touch. It might've been a lonely existence for many people, but it was something he was happy with.
But... lately, he's been rethinking about that aspect.
Was he truly happy? He's never really asked himself that.
Science has always been his comfort, and he always believed it made him happy, but lately he couldn't help but think otherwise. Perhaps it was a possibility that his tired yet intelligent brain has been warped in some way, like as if it was putty for the others to mess with.
He frowned at that.
The scientist has always despised being used and tricked. It was one of the many reasons why he left society.
Ironically enough, life decided to trick him one last time,
by having Maxwell trick him into the Constant. There wasn't a time where he didn't grimace at the memory of his downfall.
His mind went back to his internal question from earlier. Was he truly happy? Wilson's brows furrowed at that, trying to think of anything that'll exclaim that he was, but his mind went blank.
Shifting in his curled position further, he thought back to the survivors once again. Despite the hardships, they seem to be doing fine, happy even. Well, aside from Wendy, of course.
How could anyone be happy here? How could anyone enjoy life here?
Wilson thinks back to his observations and interactions with them. Most were so cheery and happy in the Constant- they must've been losing their mind or something, he huffed with a wrinkle of his nose at the thought. They've talked about their past lives, back before the Constant. Most of the survivors talked about the things they were looking forward to for when they got back home. How they had friends and family back home, how they long to hug them and talk like old times, and how they long for the meals these friends and family would make for them.
He thought about it, his mind gruelling over it again and again. At some point, they had asked him if he was looking forward to meeting his friends and family when he got home, and all he could muster was a weak smile and a "yes". The scientist had looked forward to his life of isolation back home, where he could peacefully work on his projects, and hopefully become the best scientist there is.
And yet he felt so empty at the thought of that now.
It should've made him happy, give him solace even, to yearn for his life back home, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized how... lonely he was.
So the questions hit him again-
How long has it been?
How long has he felt this way?
Was he truly happy?
He shivers, pulling up the beefalo wool blanket up and over his head in an attempt to warm himself and block out his thoughts. The scientist curls further, trying to shut his tired, rampant mind off to sleep. His heart felt heavy.
Heavy enough to make his body ache. He couldn't understand why it hurt, and he despised not understanding something. It bothered him greatly.
He must've been growing desperate. Just like how he was when Maxwell had tricked him. He was so desperate, it was pathetic. Years of isolation, of bottling everything up, had caused him to become desperate.
In a way, he truly never was escaping the most humanly and scientific function: yearning.
The yearn for attention, for love, weighed heavily in his heart. Wilson tried to curl further in his bed, hugging himself again, yet tighter this time. His expression pinched to that of internal pain as he gritted his teeth, trying desperately to block it out.
He didn't need it! He didn't need that at all! All he needed was science, that should've been enough!
So why does it hurt? Why does it hurt to feel these pangs of jealousy toward his compatriots?
Why was he even jealous in the first place?
A stifled whine broke through the silence in his tent, the sound even surprising the scientist. He opened his eyes for a moment, grimacing all the while as he hugged himself dearly.
Why did his heart hurt so badly? He hated not knowing why. He wanted to know, and yet, Wilson felt conflicted. The more he thought about this and the feelings he's bottled up, the more that bottle threatened to shatter before his eyes. Wilson wanted to shut his brain off, to get some form of sleep, but he couldn't. He couldn't help but think about it.
Was he scared? Possibly.
Perhaps that was the reason he doesn't know why his heart hurt. It ached badly each time he thought back to his companions. His heart weighed heavy whenever he saw them interacting with each other- it was like as if they were long time friends, family even.
He couldn't do anything but watch them socialize while he worked on his projects. His mind might have been at peace then, but his heart throbbed in wistful yearning. It hurt to think about, but he couldn't help but to think about it. To think about his fellow compatriots. To think about their interactions, with him and themselves.
He couldn't help but think about what they had that he didn't.
Suddenly, his face felt a bit wet. He frowned at his body response as he sniffled, hating how he felt. He hated everything his mind was doing, hated everything his heart was doing. He couldn't get them to shut up at all. Wilson gripped the blanket and buried his face into it for a moment, trembling slightly.
It hurt to think, it hurt to feel.
They all had something he didn't. Friends. Family.
Love and attention. He realized just how messed up his life was. Wilson choked back a sob that threatened to surface.
No, he won't cry. He won't, even if he already is.
He's grown now, he's a grown man. Crying over something so miniscule and unimportant like this was pathetic and weak, and he was done being seen as such.
He swallowed thickly. His throat was dry and yet it was moist. His whole body ached along with his heart. It took a while as he breathed shakily and deeply, but he managed to calm himself enough to wipe away his tears. The scientist sniffled, cringing slightly afterwards at the sound.
It was going to be a long night.