Chapter Text
(Present day)
“What does Cipher need a pet for?” Wirt scoffed, not looking up from the work he was currently doing. A nice summer breeze blew through, almost knocking the red hat off his head. Outside, on this fine summer afternoon, he was chopping one of the trees outside to store for firewood in the winter. The wood box (separate from the Edelwood box, of course), was almost full, but it never hurt to have a bit of extra wood. Who knew when it would snow again in The Unknown?
He wiped a bit of sweat from his forehead, staring at the God in front of him with a raised eyebrow. The Beast only stared back at him, eyes practically glowing in amusement. “Who knows,” The Beast answered back. “But why should you care?”
“Because kidnapping isn’t right,” he grumbled, setting the axe down to lean against the tree that was now a stump. “You should do something about it.”
“I should?” The Beast cocked his head in mock confusion. “Why should I? The boy he is after is not my problem.”
“It’s better than being kept with Cipher,” he shivered, remembering the things he’d seen and the last time he fought against The Beast. “Jill’s dead now. Who’s to say he won’t kill this human? He’s not stable.”
“He’s insanity; of course he’s not stable,” The Beast countered back. “And as I’ve said before, it’s not your business as to what another God does.”
“It does when they take a human,” Wirt countered back, knowing full well he was probably annoying the God standing before him. “What if he hurts him? I should help; I should do something.”
“You should continue to find and chop down Edelwood,” The Beast snapped and Wirt instantly flinched at the tone. “You will not attempt to help the boy unless Cipher asks you to do something, or I ask you to intervene. The boy he is capturing is our liberation.”
“Liberation?”
The Beast only closed his beautiful eyes briefly, though he could still sense the God was mildly irritated by his questions. “The boy is our liberation from this realm,” was all he said about the matter before stepping closer to Wirt. “Now, enough questions.”
“Fine,” he grumbled, picking up his axe to resume his work. “I guess I can’t be curious.”
If he could roll his eyes in this form, he was sure the God would. “Just resume your work and I will be back later to do something,” his shadowy hand trailed down Wirt’s back, resting at the base of his spine. “A bit more pleasurable.”
He shivered in anticipating, earning a chuckle from the God before he disappeared. Now he was left alone with his work, with the thoughts of a young man named Prince Dipper Pines. When had the area outside The Unknown have a kingdom? He supposed it was only natural for things to change; it had been two hundred years after all. He would be dead by this point if he were mortal; he should be dead, but fate obviously had different plans.
With a final swing of his axe, there was no more wood to chop down. He gathered the pieces in his arms, making his way inside the house to deposit them. Making several trips and carrying heavy pieces of wood was no small feat and it left him feeling rather tired in the end. Grabbing the lantern, he made his way past his front yard and into the rest of The Unknown.
He wandered for a good several minutes, though he supposed it couldn’t be called wandering since he knew where he was going. He walked through the dark, somewhat menacing looking trees and avoided their gaze. The animals all ran away from him; knowing full well who he was and what he could do. What his master could order him to do.
A field of poppies was not far away and if he was being honest with himself, he rather liked the smell of poppies. They helped him relax; helped him sleep a lot better. The red petals glowed brightly in the sun and figured that whoever was the God or Goddess of dreams liked to stay here. It wouldn’t surprise him; it truly was a nice place to rest and have nice dreams. Very rarely did he get bad dreams; they were good ones most of the time.
Maybe good wasn’t the proper word. He dreamed of a life now so far away. A life he could never return to. He would dream up old memories, reliving them as if it were just yesterday. He dreamed of being a small child, resting his head in his mother’s lap as she calmly sang to him and stroked his head. He’d dream of Greg and sometimes Dave. Of Christmas’s and birthdays and other holiday events. When he’d wake up, sometimes there would be tears, but often not. He was addicted to the nostalgia and the bittersweet promises it offered.
He would still wonder what became of his family; how they lived the rest of their lives. He wondered if his mother had given birth to a boy or girl. He wondered who Greg married and how his descendants were fairing or if they even knew they had a Great-Uncle Wirt. Probably not. They would never meet him, so they probably didn’t care.
He leaned back against the ground, closing his eyes to rest.
Even though he was forgotten by the world, he could still dream about a life he once had. The small hope he still held onto that he could one day find them.