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Two days.
That's how long it's been since he last slept. Wilson wandered around the ever growing camp, putting things away in a chest for future use. His eyes were bloodshot, his eye bags looking worse than usual. In fact, it was so bad that even WX-78 pointed it out in their usual condescending tone.
It wasn't like he had much of a choice, that much he tried to justify. He couldn't, no, he can't sleep. He can't. The scientist could feel his own brain slowly becoming heavier and mushier as time flew by, but he can't sleep. Wilson glanced around the area, taking note of the others going about their business as they worked and chatted. He even noticed a weird figure in the corner of his vision which made him abruptly stop what he was doing as his head snapped in its direction, but it was gone by the time he looked more clearly in that vicinity.
Wilson sighed as he shut the chest, opting to lean on it for a moment to try to think. He was certain the others must be wary of how he is currently. Especially Wickerbottom, who had eye'd him suspiciously the day prior. To be honest, he was beginning to believe that the others were all thinking differently of him, with the way they've been acting and keeping an eye on him. It's like they thought he was some monster- or failure-
The man grunted as he grasped the side of his head, his palm pressing against his eye as he gritted his teeth.
How could he think that-! They've all come together- to work together- to find a way back home-! Surely, they wouldn't think any less of him for not resting... right!?
It's better off this way, anyhow- he can't sleep, therefore, more work can be done. He's productive! Useful! Why waste time tossing about in bed and going to sleep when you could work on something useful for everyone...!?
It's certainly a much better outcome than... seeing that.
Anything is better than seeing that again.
Lately, it's come to his realization that every time he closed his eyes to sleep, Wilson would be bombarded with terrible nightmares. The kind that would make one wake up in a sheet of sweat and a feeling of pure horror burrowing into your very essence. It's been getting worse and worse each night, seemingly multiplied since his short time on the Throne.
Wilson shuddered at the memories, the nightmare still so vivid in the forefront of his exhausted mind. He slowly stood upright, blinking harshly as he tried to remember what he had to do next. Didn't somebody say they were low on honey poultices? Right, maybe he should go make some.
Stay awake, keep working, be useful.
He sluggishly staggered to the icebox to search for honey, only to find there was none. Wilson sighs as his frown deepens in a very drained and disheveled manner.
That dang Canadian must've used the last bit of it for his stupid honey nuggets.
Not like he could blame him, but as of right now, the scientist was really not in the mood.
Shutting the icebox, Wilson turned around with quick glances at the others. Where would one get honey again?
"O'right... bees..." He mumbled quietly to himself as he slumped a bit and pushed himself forward, his legs becoming heavier as time went on. Bees were in the flowers- meadows have flowers, so that must mean bees live there, his mushed brain churned to him wearily.
Keep going, keep working, stay awake.
Wilson continued walking, making his way out of the base before he abruptly paused as his shoulders slumped.
...Where's the meadow again.
He scratched his head for a moment, his disheveled yet fluffy hair flying between his fingers. The man groaned with disdain at his own brain for not functioning like it should be.
Although he couldn't really be mad at it. He's not really sleeping like he should.
Wilson resumed his staggered walk, his feet veering to a different direction in hopes of finding a meadow. His exhausted mind went back to the reason why he wasn't sleeping: the cacophonous, never-ending screams of terror that echoed in his head, the walls that oozed and bled ominously, and the hands that broke through his floorboards and grabbed at him-
He whined softly as he paused again, his hands rubbing his eyes wearily. He was so tired. So exhausted.
Wilson wanted to rest, but he knew he couldn't go back to sleep. He didn't want to see it again, didn't want to hear it echoing and banging off the walls of his skull.
He's always had nightmares, ever since he was young, but it was never this bad. The scientist's body was begging for sleep. Stumbling slightly, the man quickly regained his bearings before he continued his quest of obtaining honey.
He didn't want to see it all over again, didn't want to hear the screams- it was like a relentless montage of everything bad he's ever done, except amplified to extremities. And it gradually grew worse. And worse.
Every time he slept, he'd wake up in his childhood home- in his room most of the time. Without fail, he'd hear her voice, her wails, her screams. The walls would begin to bleed. The floorboards creaked before the hands burst through, trying to grab and drag him down under. Wilson would try to escape each time, but sometimes the doorknob would turn into a massive blood clot and drop to the floor. Sometimes he'd even see his own hands and arms covered in blood.
Sometimes he was able to escape his room, but then the halls would bleed too. The familiar staircase of his home would become slippery with blood- his blood.
He'd hear cacophonous arguments, he'd hear her begging for him not to leave. Hands would break through the walls and floors, constantly trying to get a hold of him. Begging, pleading, wailing-
Wilson would hear himself occasionally too.
He'd hear his own sobs. Sometimes, he himself would sob in the middle of his nightmares, begging to be forgiven, how he never meant for things to turn out the way they did.
Wilson sighed with a groan for a moment, getting too lost in his thoughts again.
In fact, he was so caught up in his trainwreck of a mind that he almost walked past the meadow. Oh right, his little quest of honey extraction. For honey poultice.
The sleep deprived scientist glanced around, slowly noticing the multiple beehives that scattered the field. He staggered his way to one as he watched the bees buzz by.
"...how d'I do this'gain...?" came his slurred mumble, his eyelids drooping heavily. Wilson was pretty certain he shouldn't stick his hand in a beehive.
Eyes blinking in reminiscence, he turned around to face a bee that was minding its business. Killing one drops honey. Or a stinger. It depends on the Constant's constantly fluctuating mood, he mused to himself. He reached for his spear, only to realize he didn't even bring one. Or his backpack, for that matter.
Sighing heavily with his shoulders slumping gravely, Wilson somberly stared at the bee as it buzzed near his face. It was almost as if it was mocking him, laughing at him.
And that seemed to set him off.
"Alright, y'know what-" Wilson growled irritably as he sluggishly stormed over to the bee and gave it a mean meathook into the ground, stomping on it afterwards to make sure it was dead. Looking under his shoe afterwards, he scoffed as there was nothing but a stinger on the grass.
"Useless. Worthless-"
Wilson grumbled bitterly as he scratched his head in annoyance, not noticing the ominously loud buzzing of rage behind him.
Feeling a sudden prick or two of stings, he yelped and jumped forward as he spun around, now faced with an angry mob of red and yellow bees. His brows furrowed as he gritted his teeth.
"Oh, what? You're angry 'cuz I killed a stinkin' bee!?"
He yelled loudly over the buzzing as he maintained his distance for the moment.
"Two can play that game!" Wilson's sleep deprived face suddenly morphed evilly as he rolled up his right sleeve.
Wilson was frustrated. Angry, annoyed, irritated- basically every negative feeling all wrapped into one tiny bundle of a scientist, and the bees were perfect for venting.
He didn't care if he got stung, he didn't care that he was about to use his literal fists. He just wanted to get all of this out of his system one way or another.
"I'm goin' t' make you buzz off!"
Wilson lunged for the bees.
-
"Dear, you do realize the bees here are not to be underestimated, yes?" came Wickerbottom's sigh as she lightly scolded him. Wilson sat slumped on a stump, his left arm hanging low between his legs as his other was currently being wrapped up in honey poultice. The poor man was visibly puffed up in a wide variety of areas from where the bees had gotten him.
"I hate bees." he grumbled bitterly.
The older woman sighed again as she shook her head.
"I thought I told you we had enough honey poultice. There was no reason to pick a fight with them, dear."
Wilson's head tilted down in defeat as he groaned.
"...issat why there no honey in th' icebox...?" He mumbled quietly with a slur in his speech. Wickerbottom nodded in silence as she continued bandaging his arm up tenderly.
The man sighed, his body getting heavier and heavier. He tried to keep his puffy eyes open, but it was somewhat painful due to the stings.
"IDIOT."
Wilson's head snapped up at the familiar robotic voice. He couldn't see very well, but he knew it was WX. Great, just what he needed: someone to anger him even more in his already exhausted and sleep deprived state.
" 'm aware. Not fightin bees an'more." He grumbled as he glanced to the older woman.
"IT WAS AMUSING WHILE IT LASTED. YOU SUCK."
WX-78 replied as they crossed their arms and glared down at him.
Wilson growled quietly to himself, refusing to quip back. He was frustrated for sure, but he was also extremely exhausted. His head lowered again, his eyes involuntarily closing without his knowledge as his body slumped and leaned forward.
"Wilson, dear?" Wickerbottom tried to hold him upright, looking down at him with worry.
He could hardly think much anymore, his brain had gone way beyond it's limit. His surroundings began to blur audibly, and even though he was drained, Wilson knew subconsciously that he was about to pass out.
He just hopes he doesn't have to see those nightmares again.