Chapter Text
Wilson was just… tired.
He was so tired. Tired of chasing Gobblers away from his berries. Tired of getting home base exactly how he liked it, only to have the Deerclops smash it to bits. Tired of always scrambling for just a bite of food or to pick just one flower before he died of hunger or lost all sanity. Tired of this whole neverending struggle on a hopeless island that spat in the face of every scrap of scientific law that he used to base his entire life around.
He sighed, rubbing his chin and feeling a bit of stubble there. He had died yesterday in the hound attack (“A rookie move,” that he was still embarrassed of) and lost all of his beard. Thankfully, he barely got his Life Giving Amulet on in time and it was currently Fall, so he had some time to grow a bit of the beard back. He knew he had been very, VERY lucky, again. He absentmindedly continued picking grass as he wallowed in self-pity.
He was particularly cynical today (probably still feeling out of it from reviving, he concluded), and although he KNEW he was lucky, he didn't FEEL that way. He just felt tired. Tired of losing his beard AGAIN. Tired of needing it in the first place; it was scratchy and made him look rather undignified. Tired of dying. No matter how many times he did it, dying was always… upsetting, to put it lightly. He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, resolving to go to a psychiatrist when he eventually made it back home, leaving those bottled up emotions to fester and be future Wilson’s problem.
He reached out to grab a fistful of grass, then realizing that there was no more. Hm… he must’ve picked the whole field while pitying himself. Time flies when you're never having any sort of fun at all, he supposed.
After doing a quick scan of the plains and making sure he got all of it, he stuffed his last bundle of grass into Chester’s mouth and started to walk back to the base, noticing the sun going down. He tilted his head toward Chester who was happily bounding along at his heels.
“My my, it would've been a disaster if we'd been caught out here with Charlie again. Why didn't you warn me? You were supposed to be lookout!” He chided playfully at Chester. Chester smiled and licked his lips like a dumb puppy.
“No no no, your lack of eyes is no excuse, we've been over this. I can tell you can see somehow. I'm not stupid. Enough with your excuses, Otto.” Chester panted loudly, understanding that whatever Wilson was saying, it was a joke. Wilson snickered to himself.
“You keep me sane, you silly mutt.” He sighed wistfully. “No wonder Miss Willow worries about us. What a couple of fools,” He said softly.
Willow had found Wilson and Chester on her 25th evening on the Island and Wilson's 144th. The two boys were swarmed with spiders, Wilson trying to fend them off with his nearly broken Tentacle Spike and his last 20 HP. Wilson was thinking that this may be truly the end for them before he saw a bright light out of the corner of his eye and heard the terrible screech. He looked up to see the entire 3 tier spider nest ablaze, the spiders rushing to help their Queen, who was engulfed in flames and writhing in agony. He stood there, frozen in shock and awe until the feeling of a hand grabbing his own and dragging him to run brought him violently back to earth. He and Willow had been surviving together ever since.
He slowly left his clouded memories and returned to the present as he saw the walls of the base in the distance, Willow outside stringing up some monster meat on the drying racks with her back turned to them. He waved and called to her so he wouldn't startle her and get his hair singed off.
“Miss Willow, we're back!” He called, approaching the base. He stopped when he got closer to her, leaning his back against the wall and smirking. “You know, you really shouldn't have your back to the forest when you're preoccupied like this.”
She looked up at him from her kneeling position, then stood up to remind him that she was a bit taller than he was. “What was that, hound snack? I didn't realize that you were suddenly so keen on being aware of your surroundings!”
He rolled his eyes and turned on his heel to walk to the fire pit, trying very hard to keep his usual frown on his face. “Just trying to be a gentleman, is all.”
Willow quirked an eyebrow and scoffed at him. “A gentleman? I'd say you're starting to look like a delinquent with that little scruffy beard that you've got going on.” Wilson gave her a tiny pout as he scratched his chin self-consciously and sat down heavily on their fireside log. “...I know," he said softly, patting Chester as he plopped down next to him.
Willow cocked her head and gave him a gentle smile, tying her last piece of meat up and walking inside the walls of the base to join Wilson by the pit. The fire roared to life as she threw a couple logs in just in time for night to creep into their home. As per their nightly routine, she sat on the ground facing Wilson with her back to the flames, letting them lick at her back while they chatted before bed. It was her favorite part of the day.
“Aww, what's got you down, you poor dear? You normally have something snarky to say when I pick on you,” she teased, shooting him a smirk. Wilson felt his face get a little warm at being called “dear”, albeit sarcastically. He convinced himself that the fire was the cause and tried his best to look as uninterested as possible, feeling his tongue struggle to formulate a reasonable fib.
“I… I suppose I'm just not feeling quite like myself yet, after dying... and… you know. All that.” It wasn't technically a lie.
The flames tickled at Willow’s pigtails as she leaned back, feeling the sanity gain of the fire. “Yeah, I hear it throws you out of whack. Well, I hear from you. I don't know anyone else who's died before. What's this for you now? Four times? Five?”
“Seven.”
“God, Wilson! You die enough for the both of us! We're at seven and zero!”
Wilson slumped in his seat, throwing twigs into the fire. “I'm well aware, Miss Willow,” he muttered.
She leaned towards him and placed a warm hand on his knee, giving him a soft and genuine smile. “Well… what would make you feel better?”
I want to eat real food. I want my equipment back at home. I want to leave this stupid island with you. I want to hold you in my arms and sing to you and give you everything you could ever want. I want-
“I guess I'm hungry,” Wilson mumbled, casting his eyes downward, cutting that train of thought off as quickly as possible. Willow smiled, noticing the tips of his ears reddening. “You don't have to be embarrassed about being hungry, Wilson! Hold on, I have some extra meatballs in the fridge.”
Wilson scowled, burying his face in his hands after Willow got up to walk to the fridge. He was so tired of having to dictate his feelings around her.
He was tired of a lot of things, but he could never see himself getting tired of Willow.