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2021-05-26
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2021-09-02
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Wilting away with you

Summary:

Maxwell hates being indebted, but even more than that, he hates being indebted to Wilson. Wilson hates being anywhere near Maxwell, but it's not like it will last forever, anyway. It's just a temporary truce, right...?

Notes:

Why yes, it is another needlessly long and angsty maxwil fic that nobody asked for. I would say I'm sorry, but that would be a lie.

Chapter 1: Enemy is just a friend you haven't made yet

Chapter Text

Two people sat around a small, weakly flickering campfire in the tense, aggressive silence.

"... You really don't know how to survive alone, do you?" the scientist finally broke the tension.

"...You might say that I could use a hand with... some things." the other man admitted hesitantly.

More silence followed.

"Fine, you can stay. But only because surviving is easier with a little help, and only until I find someone else. That's my deal."

"What makes you think there are others?"

"I've run to one or two people before. And if you are here, then there is got to be someone else too, because I refuse to believe that I'm stuck here with only you."

"... Fine, I accept your deal."

"Good. But this is just a truce, it does not mean we are friends."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Higgsbury."

---

Wilson tried not to think about the shadows wavering in the corner of his eyes, the humming and rattle and whispers that he knew only he could hear. He knew he had been anxious, been staying up too much, been working too hard, haven't been able to take a break... But he still found himself clutching the razor in his hand when he curled under the blanket and shut his eyes.

It wasn't exactly comforting to know his enemy - well, former enemy - was sleeping in the tent only a small distance away from his own. Wilson was exhausted, tired and weary, but he couldn't fall asleep. He couldn't stop thinking that every snap of twigs, every rustle of the grass, every small sound was the Nightmare King coming to attack him. Some rational part in him knew, that these were only the paranoid thoughts of his lowered sanity, but he couldn't help the feeling of dread. 

He couldn't let Maxwell hurt him anymore. He knew the man wasn't in any position to hurt him, he knew it, and the magician hadn't tried any funny business after they'd met, but he still couldn't shake the fear away.

They didn't get along. Not even close. Wilson would get downright furious over every single little thing that Maxwell did, and Maxwell would still make fun of him and belittle his accomplishments all the time, and their care for each other was as minimal as it could get. If there was a smallest, tiniest little reason they didn't have to be close to each other, they weren't. That was how it worked out the best, co-existing in their now shared campsite as passively as they possibly could.

Up until one beautiful, rather warm autumn morning, when they had a very delightful little surprise of Wilson's tent collapsing, and the things just went downhill from there.

They tried getting silk for the new tent, and ended up failing because of the unexpected hound attack, and returned to the camp arguing about every dumb little thing there was to argue about. The bad mood had already started in the morning, and only continued to grow until they were irritated and furious over everything, and did nothing to help Wilson feel more stable.

Meanwhile, Maxwell absolutely shared the younger man's sour mood, minus the lower than low sanity.

It was Maxwell's turn to cook something, and God forbid that Wilson ever appreciated anything he did in this camp, because the moment he was finished, the scientist already started to mutter how little Maxwell helped out around there, and how bad he was at everything, and how it would probably be better if he didn't help at all, and so on so forth.

Even if the older man knew that Wilson had been feeling a bit unstable for a few days, he was still offended, and in the name of his bruised ego and Wilson's childish whining, he had very helpfully stopped helping at anything else for the rest of the day.

So the evening had been spent in passive-aggressive silence, neither of the men bothering to speak to each other, and as they retired to sleep (Maxwell to his own tent, Wilson to the straw roll near the campfire), they both slept very restlessly throughout the night.

Only after the sun rose up, Maxwell dared to relax a bit.

He wasn't sleeping a lot in general, and he definitely was not feeling very comfortable going to sleep while knowing that someone, who was very angry at him and held him in very low human-value already, had been acting a bit more hostile than usual.

Sure, Wilson was as scary as a kitten, but Maxwell knew that the man was far more dangerous if he wanted to be. He didn't expect Wilson to be actually nice to him, but he would've preferred to get back to the point where the scientist wasn't actively behaving like he contemplated murdering the magician at any given time.

As on cue the opening of the tent flew open, startling Maxwell out of his thoughts, and Wilson leered at him with a spear in his hand. For half a second Maxwell was sure that this was it, Wilson was gonna end him, until the man opened his mouth.

"Come on, we need that silk." he only said dryly and walked to ready their backpacks. Maxwell scowled and got up. He would never get used to being bossed around like this, but the faster he got on Wilson's good side again, the faster he could get back to his relative peace.

They headed to the direction of the spiderdens again, hopefully with more favorable results than yesterday.

Maxwell could only wish that Wilson would be able to get himself a new tent as soon as possible. The bad attitude and nasty glares he got would've been fine, except that this time, Maxwell had no idea what he had done to deserve such a treatment. He hadn't taken anything that wasn't his, not that he knew of, not insulted the scientist or broken anything, he hadn't even complained about something that serious!

"Why do you require my assistance with the silk anyway? I thought you'd have already learned how to handle a few spiders..." Maxwell asked, his own mood not that far from sour either. Wilson gave him a quick glance filled with sharpness, and turned away almost as fast.

"There's a big nest... Could be a Spider Queen." the man answered in low voice, and Maxwell stopped.

"You could've told me, I would've preferred not to die today!" he exclaimed in rather indignant voice, not happy to learn about this small little detail only now. Really, Wilson couldn't have revealed it any sooner? He knew how frail Maxwell was, he knew Maxwell needed a better armor in order to stay alive!

The scientist didn't seem to share the worry over his well-being, and kept walking onward like it wasn't a big deal. Well, for him it probably wasn't, but Maxwell felt offended that he didn't even bother to give him a small warning beforehand.

Wilson's thoughts, on the other hand, were racing around in his mind. He hadn't been feeling well for a couple of days, and he didn't want to blame it on the sanity loss, but he knew himself well enough by now to know the symptoms. He didn't just need to make a tent, he needed to craft a top hat. It made him feel a bit better, it felt soft and comfortable... perhaps there was some substance in the silk, that affected the mind that way? Nonetheless, it felt nice. He needed the tent and the top hat.

And, also, Wilson actually hoped that he'd get to kill the Spider Queen. He could make a hat from it's head and feel safer around the spiders, able to require more silk and spider glands easier in the future.

He shot a quick glance at the older man walking just a few step behind him. It might've been just his mental state, just his imagination running wild, but he didn't feel like he could trust Maxwell. He shook his head immediately. No, even if he wasn't feeling paranoid and skittish, he knew he couldn't trust Maxwell. The other man was just waiting to stab him in the back any time, waiting for him to get weak and let his guard down like a fool... Well, he was not gonna pay for his pocket this time!

Wilson felt his heart beating fast, a little too fast, and tried to calm down. He got this. He was smarter and stronger than Maxwell, he could stand his ground. He had to just be careful not to give Maxwell any chance to do... whatever it was that he was planning on doing. Wilson wouldn't fall for it. He knew Maxwell by now, he was prepared.

He shook his head again to clear his mind, but the shadows refused to leave, sticking to his vision, whispering and itching and just making him question things he knew he was sure about - he was, wasn't he? He shouldn't be this paranoid, he knew he was going to be fine if he just got the silk. That's it, the short man reassured himself and swallowed. He needed the silk, and then he was going to be fine. It was a simple task, nothing to worry about, he just had to concentrate on getting as much silk as he could, and he would see this through just fine.

When they arrived at the edge of the forest, Maxwell swallowed inaudibly. The spiderden was huge, easily looming over the other ones, giving even the evergreens a good competition by growing almost impossibly large among them.

Maxwell wondered how many spiders were inhabiting the nest. A few dozen felt like a reasonable guess.

"Why don't we concentrate on the smaller nests, pal? You can't possibly need this much silk."

"No. We need a lot, in case something happens..." the scientist stated shortly, giving Maxwell another nasty look from the corner of his eye. The magician frowned. Like it was his fault that the tent collapsed! It was Wilson's own damn fault for not figuring out the way it would last longer!

The younger man had already marched forward, stepping on the web and waiting for the spiders to come out to see who dared to invade their territory. Maxwell  growled and summoned a clone to help out, staying behind himself. As soon as the first spider got stabbed in half by the scientist, the whole nest seemed to make a violent shake when dozens of glowing eyes appeared in their view, and the whole forest was filled with hissing and gurgling sounds.

Maxwell grasped tightly at his own spear, keeping an eye on the situation. His clone did a decent work butchering the arachnids, and Wilson was keeping his stand well, too - until he stupidly approached the nest.

"What the hell are you doing, Higgsbury? We don't need to disturb the nest, there's plenty of silk already!" Maxwell yelled at the shorter man, not believing how brainless he could be. Had the moron lost the last bits of his mind? There was no need to take this risk!

Wilson scoffed angrily and hardly paid any mind to the fact, that the other nests woke up to avenge their fallen family members, and Maxwell rolled his eyes, letting out a drained sigh filled with irritation.

Really?!

Maxwell attention was momentarily taken away from Higgsbury by the ever increasing amount of spiders around them, but luckily his clone seemed to be enough to help him clear out majority of the six-legged nuisances. Then, there was a different kind of a hiss. A bigger, deeper, more now-you're-fucked kind of a hiss.

Maxwell was horrified but not surprised, when he turned around to see Her Majesty with all of it's glory, glaring the battlefield and trying to bite the small human who run around her and the remains of the nest on her feet, all the while commanding her little spidersoldiers to aid her in the fight.

Maxwell grunted and summoned another clone, and stabbed his spear to the ground in favor of his darksword. This called for a little bit bigger guns, so to speak, and even though Maxwell didn't have a lot of fuel left, he was willing to take the chance of running out - he did not want to die because Wilson was reckless idiot who didn't understand that he was taking a bigger bite than he could swallow. Maxwell could not see any reason for this. Wilson knew there might be a Spider Queen, and he still attacked the nest? Idiot.

Wilson did not even remember that Maxwell was here with him, he was completely occupied on dodging the Queen's attacks and killing the spiders she sent at him. He needed to kill her, it would make it so much easier to obtain silk and glands if he could get the spiders to obey him...

Something yellow jumped at him and Wilson flinched, hitting the spiderwarrior to the ground with a quick slash of his spear, almost getting bitten by another one in process. He quickly realized that he was badly out-numbered. He hadn't thought this through well enough, and the shadows in his vision weren't helping... He felt so very alone and vulnerable, the whole world was against him, always against him, he was scared and everything was going to kill him, hurt him, betray him-

"Higgsbury!"

A familiar voice rose behind him, and although Wilson didn't immediately recognize it, couldn't really place the voice, he knew he had heard the voice many, many times before, an old instinct taking a hold of his body, pushing the other thoughts on the background. He swirled around, eyes wide in panic and confusion and anger, only to see Maxwell - and then something, perhaps hatred, pulsed inside his chest, the heat rushing to his brain at the sight of the man, as he took a hasty step forward, and then-

Then something heavy hit against his head and he lost consciousness.

---

Wilson woke up to a pain on his temple, like a huge claws scratching his head from the inside out. He clenched his teeth together and hissed in a breath, trying to adjust to the pain, hoping it would start to numb soon. He'd need to make sure he wasn't bleeding, he'd need to find his way back to the camp before the dark, he'd need to treat his wound before he would-

"Well well well... Finally decided to wake up, pal? Had pleasant dreams?"

Wilson shot his eyes open and jerked to sit up, and regretted his fast movement immediately as his vision shook and the pain only worsened in his head. Maxwell laughed at his sorry state and pushed him down, which Wilson fought against, but was evidently too paralyzed by the pain that hammered his head mercilessly, and failed at his attempt.

"Wha... what happened...?" he managed to ask, pressing his eyes shut and feeling around the hurting area on his head, finding that it was bandaged thickly. Judging by the way it felt, Wilson could only guess it was a very bad handwork of a very bad doctor named Maxwell.

"You were an idiot, that's what happened." Maxwell deadpanned without any kind of solace in his voice and sat next to him, and Wilson realized that he was laying down on a fur roll inside the tent "What were you even thinking back there? Attacking a nest that hosted a possible Spider Queen? Without any armor or even a decent weapon? Are you learning things backwards? You seem to get dumber every day here!" Maxwell started to sound less like a dangerous force to be reckoned with and more like an annoying parent disciplining their child after an accident. Wilson sneered.

"I was trying to get us silk so-"

"Have you even got any idea how many spiders died there? We got plenty of silk and spider glands, there was no need to attack the nest! You must really have some death wish!"

"I needed more!"

"Why?!"

"Because I can't trust you!"

"Excuse me, what does this have to do with ME?!" Maxwell gasped as if Wilson had just insulted his mother.

"You cannot be trusted! You might steal it! You might break something! That's why I need extra!"

"Why would I- UGH!" Maxwell threw his hands in the air in a most dramatic manner that Wilson had ever witnessed and stood up, huffing out angry breaths "Just do me a favor and get better so I can go back to not taking care of you!"

Wilson narrowed his eyes, tensing up.

"I never asked for your help." he hissed between his teeth.

Maxwell didn't bother answering, instead giving him a scowl with a very theatrical huff and leaving him alone in the tent. Wilson laid down and sighed deep. There, he said it. He didn't trust Maxwell, and he never would. The man had not done anything to deserve any amount of trust from him.

...Although, he did save Wilson's ass back there, he supposed. How else could've he ended up back in the tent- oh, right, he didn't even have a tent. Wilson bit the inside of his lip. So, Maxwell must've either built a new one or carried him in his own. Wilson winced. He despised Maxwell, he truly, deeply despised him and anything to do with him, but if the man had really saved him, he needed to thank him. It was only polite, and Wilson didn't want to be rude, not even to someone as terrible as Maxwell.

Unlike Maxwell, he had standards.

---

Wilson woke up to the smell of food. He turned his head and was surprised to see a plate of meatballs nearby, and a small note folded neatly next to it. He took it curiously in his hand and unfolded it.

"Eat. It's not poisoned."

Wilson rolled his eyes at the paper. Was there anything more suspicious than giving someone food and saying 'Hey, by the way, it's not poisoned'? Did Maxwell want him to be suspicious? Because that's how you made people suspicious! Sometimes Wilson wondered if Maxwell even remembered how to communicate with other people. Maybe he had been stuck on that throne for so long he had forgotten. No matter what his reasons for having a poor communication skills were, it was not an excuse to be a rude piece of shit.

The scientist lifted himself on his elbows, patting the bandage on his head softly. It was very bad work, but it had done it's job decently enough. The bleeding had stopped, and it gave some cover to keep the dirt and filth away from the wound.

The young man sat up and sighed, looking around. He supposed this was Maxwell's tent, since it didn't seem particularly new and it had some things abandoned around the corners - mostly things that were easy to come by, like twigs and logs and - he frowned - evil flowers. Urgh, he hated those. They made him paranoid, something in the smell, he supposed. He looked away in hope that he could ignore them, and his eyes landed on the medical supplies near the bed he was laying on.

Wilson didn't waste any time and pulled the supplies closer, starting to unwrap the bandaging on his head to switch it to a new, clean one, and hopefully this time it would be better done than the sorry excuse for the wrapping Maxwell had attempted.

Wilson furrowed his brows slightly in thoughts. Well, it was an attempt at least, which was more than he had expected.

Not that he had expected anything really, and since his expectations were so low, it didn't take lot of effort to reach them. He shouldn't commend Maxwell for something that anyone with even a little bit sense of decency left in them would've done. It was like praising the murderer for not murdering anyone. Not really anything that they should be proud of.

Wilson cleaned his hands and started feeling around his temple. The man knew he couldn't sew up the wound in his head without some kind of mirror, so he just pressed the sides close together and let the honey poultice stick the wound shut, and then covered it with silky wraps again. That was much better.

He laid back down and took a deep breath, already starting to think what he needed to do today. He had to check out the traps, make sure they had enough grass and logs and twigs, he needed to mine some gold, he should shave a few beefalos to get the fur, a little bit of real meat would be nice too... but now when he was wounded like this, fighting had to wait. He also needed to build more chests and he needed a new fur roll soon, and he had to-

A low growling sound from his belly pulled him away from his thoughts. Oh, right, first things first - he needed to eat. He needed to eat the not-poisoned food that Maxwell had oh so generously left for him. Wilson glanced at the plate and hesitantly pulled it closer. Maxwell had made him food before, and he had not died from it. Although, Maxwell was clearly not good at cooking, so the man didn't expect the food to be poisoned as much as he just expected it to taste very terrible.

How did someone fail at making meatballs? They were the easiest thing to make!

Wilson took a bite and was not horribly disappointed. It was bland and a little bit over-cooked, but it was edible at least.

The man ate, and it actually made him feel a bit better, he had to admit. He rubbed his stomach in satisfaction. Well, he was fed and his wound was taken care of, so he ought to get moving and get some things done.

Wilson jumped up, ready to start the day, and immediately realized how horrible idea it was - his head spun around like he had forgotten what balance was, and now he felt the nausea in his stomach. He froze in place and pressed his eyes as tightly shut as he could. Just wait a minute, it will pass. Count to ten.

When the dizziness numbed down a bit, and Wilson didn't feel like his whole body tried to kill him, he carefully took a step forward, then another, and another, and even thought the pain and the sickening feeling threatened to return at every movement, he pushed it on the back of his mind.

If he could move, he could work. He couldn't afford to just lay down and waste the time doing nothing. He cracked his eyes open and winced.

The camp was empty. In any other day Wilson would've immediately cursed that Maxwell didn't tell him where he had went, but right now, he was just happy to be left alone. The last thing he needed was the ex-King seeing him at the state of absolute weakness, and the absence of the man meant that he had time to concentrate to something else than keeping an eye on him.

Wilson sat down on the ground near the science machine. He sat there, working on new machines, and almost forgot he wasn't camping alone anymore. He didn't realize he had gotten company before suddenly there was amused voice snaking in his ear "What are you playing with now, Higgsbury?" 

Wilson gasped and jumped backwards, his brain swaying inside his head and making him swallow the urge to vomit out of the dizzy sensation. Damn it, did this need to happen every time he moved around?

"Wha-what are you doing here?" the man gasped, pressing his palm over his forehead in attempt to somehow will the horrible sick feeling away. Maxwell huffed condescendingly.

"I happen to live here, in case you have forgotten."

Suddenly there was a hand pressing on Wilson's forehead, just below his own, and the scientist flinched away in horror "What are you doing?!"

Maxwell just scowled at him "Testing if you're breaking a fever. You're looking rather pale there, pal."

Wilson slapped his hand away, clenching his teeth.

"Well I'm not, and if I were, it would not be your concern." he spat bitterly and started crawling away, until he realized that he was, in fact, not alone anymore, and crawling around like a wounded animal didn't really support his point.

"While I am very amused and flattered that you are on your knees before me again, I don't want to take the risk that you end up dying because of whatever you've caught now..." the voice almost snickered behind him, and Wilson felt the heat rush to his cheeks.

"I am  NOT-" he started to yell and stood up, but the fast movement did what it had been doing the whole day, and the man wobbled few steps before he fell back to his knees, gritting his teeth and taking in deep breaths. He felt like he was having the worst hangover of his life and it just wouldn't go away.

"Ah. You're having a concussion, I'd assume."

Wilson had to stop to think for a second. Oh, now that it was said out loud, it was kind of obvious. He received such a strong blow on the head from the Spider Queen.

"Come on now, back to the bed." a voice instructed him like he was a baby.

Wilson rose his eyes at Maxwell, not really sure what he had said "...Uhh... What?"

Maxwell rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue in irritation.

"You, bed, now. I'm not baby-sitting a grown man, and you don't look like you are doing particularly well, pal."

Wilson was about to protest, but when he stood up to prove he was doing just fine and he certainly would be better without Maxwell's help, his coordination skills once again betrayed him, and he found himself very ungraciously falling down. Except that this time he never hit the ground. There was an arm pulling around his waist and the other one on his shoulder, and he was yanked back up.

He didn't know if he wanted to fight the urge to throw up, or fight the uninvited hands first. Maxwell knew he had no business touching him without a very good reason, but in the end Wilson could only groan and whine when the older man forced him to walk the very short distance back into the tent and lay down.

"Stay." Maxwell just told him, and with that he was left alone. Wilson felt his cheeks burning as he started after the man. Stay. Wilson was not a fucking dog, he didn't have to do anything Maxwell told him anymore. He was burning with anger, or maybe it was the fever after all, he didn't know or care when he clamped himself up and walked straight out of the tent to give the magician a piece of his mind.

"You- you can't boss me around in my own camp..." he feebly barked out and pointed his finger accusatively at the other man, who had the look of surprise on his face, which quickly turned to glower. Wilson felt like he had gained some ground again and took a step forward "I... I don't need your help, you are lucky to even be here, without... without me you'd-" he stopped suddenly, as the nauseating feeling finally decided that he had taken too many chances, and Wilson fell down on his knees when something came up his throat.

He gagged, the feeling of something bad swelling on his stomach chocking him, and it tried to get out by force, making him burp the stuffy breaths out and gasp for air. He needed to throw up, but nothing came out but saliva and slimy gastric acid.

"You were saying?"

Wilson wanted to yell at Maxwell, but couldn't do anything but gag what little he had in his stomach and press his head with his hands. Maybe pushing himself wasn't a good idea, maybe he wasn't good enough to work just because he could stand up...

"... Come here." This time Wilson allowed himself to be helped up and be escorted back to the tent. He took heavy breaths and felt just awful. He didn't have time to feel awful, he needed to do things so he didn't die. But he found out that he felt terribly weak, and even thinking about getting up after he had been put back to the bed of soft  beefalofur felt revolting, and he soon gave up the idea. He could lay down an hour or two.

It felt better to lay in the dim tent, in a soft bedding. Wilson immediately sighed out and laid to rest. He didn't have time time relax however, when a hand slipped behind his back and lifted him up.

"Open your mouth." Maxwell commanded, and pushed something cold against his lips. Wilson winced and cracked open his eyes, ready to fight, but was relieved to see that it was only a waterbowl. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but he felt relieved either way. Water felt nice in his throat, and he surprisingly didn't feel so strong urge to just pass out or throw up when he laid down and kept his eyes closed.

Maxwell let go of him and pulled the water away, leaving the tent and Wilson alone without another word. Wilson just let himself fall back down as he clutched the blanket between his fingers, trying to remember what he knew about concussions. He knew it shouldn't take more than a few days to heal, but he didn't have time to waste even a day... he needed to get better, he needed to heal as fast as he could, he needed... he...

With a groan the scientist hoisted himself to lean on his elbows.

"Maxwell," Wilson called out, and waited for a moment, but the other man didn't come back to the tent.

"Maxwell!" he tried again, this time louder, as he sat himself up. Just when he was about to go looking if the other man had left somewhere again, Maxwell suddenly returned to peek inside. The man immediately grunted, rolling his eyes.

"Do I have to tie you down? Just rest for God's sake, it's not going to go away if you keep straining yourself!" Maxwell sounded like he genuinely wanted to strangle Wilson right that moment. Wilson shook his head as little as he could to avoid the headache, and dug a creased paper from his pocket.

"I... I need you to do these tasks. I would do them myself, but..." the younger man looked down with a sorry frown. Maxwell just groaned and ripped the paper away from him, giving it a quick glance.

"I'll see what I can do. Can you please just rest now?"

Wilson scowled, but laid down. There wasn't anything that he wanted as badly as to just get up and do the chores himself, because not only did he have a hunch that Maxwell wasn't trustworthy or capable of doing the things the right way, but he also just really didn't want to do what Maxwell told him to do. If Maxwell would tell him to not jump into the campfire, he absolutely would, just to spite him.

But instead he took in a deep breath, and reminded himself that this was for his own good. He didn't rest because Maxwell told him to rest, he rested because he needed to get better, and he decided to rest on his own free will. He just ended up sighing, closing his eyes to the pleasurable sensation of dim light and warm blanket, and trying to catch some shut eye.

Chapter 2: If you want it done right...

Summary:

Wilson decides to be a bigger man, and takes the first step towards the better relationship with Maxwell.

Chapter Text

"Are you calling that a birdcage?"

Maxwell let out a dragging sigh, that was a little bit too loud. Wilson just sat on the log and tapped his foot on the ground.

"The space between the bars is too wide. Are you planning on putting a tallbird in there? Because anything smaller will just walk right out between the bars."

"If you aren't pleased with it, do it yourself, be my quest." Maxwell threw the hammer on the ground and glared at him with as much hate as he possibly could. Wilson pouted.

"But I can't, I shouldn't stress myself out-"

"You're already better, that's just a bad excuse!"

"Oh, so when I get a serious head-injury it's just a 'bad excuse' but when you hit your pinky-toe you suddenly become unable to do anything at all, and I have to bend over backwards to grand your every little wish?" Wilson spat out, getting noticeably angry.

Maxwell tapped his finger on his chin as if thinking "Well, the obvious answer is yes. Besides, you should do what I say anyway, because heaven knows how terrible you are at making decisions-"

"It was my decision to let you stay, so watch it. I might actually realize how terrible idea it was, if you keep that up..." the young man muttered, but still stood up and took the hammer off the ground, because in the end, he was better at this than Maxwell, and they didn't need yet another new structure that would fall apart after the magician had made it without any idea how to actually make something functional (and God forbid he ever asked for help).

Maxwell clearly had no idea how to build things, which was one of the reasons why Wilson still didn't have a tent. Another reason being that Maxwell had not, like Wilson had suspected, brought nearly enough silk with him. Well, that, and the fact that Wilson had spent the last couple of days so unpredictably light-headed and dizzy, that he didn't want to risk hurting himself by doing something reckless.

And as a bonus, he still had the comfort of sleeping in Maxwell's tent, so there was no real rush.

The young man glanced behind his back, where the older man had moved to inspect the content of their icebox. Maxwell hadn't been sleeping in the tent with him, for what reason Wilson didn't know, but he felt better that he had been able to sleep in his own privacy. He didn't know if Maxwell had been sleeping outside, or if he just hadn't been sleeping at all, but it bothered him a bit. Only a little bit.

Maxwell had been taking relatively good care of him, in his own rude and insufferable way, but still, it was more than Wilson had been expecting. Maxwell made him food and tended to his head wound, and he did the chores Wilson asked him to do. And although the man made a big deal of having to cook (and if Wilson was not absolutely loving the burnt bits that the man called a meal he got pouty and snappy), and got impatient and offended when Wilson tried to guide him to correctly care for the wound, and only did the tasks after Wilson pestered him to the point of suffering, he still did everything the younger man asked, eventually.

Wilson finished the birdcage and sighed, lightly running his fingers over the wound on his head. It'd be only fair to thank Maxwell. Not only was it the right thing to do, but Wilson prided himself for being a gentleman, and a real gentleman would at least attempt to make some sort of peace offering after being nursed for couple of days, no matter if it was someone he despised.

So after the day passed to the evening, he walked to the other man, took in a deep breath, and clapped his hands together.

"Thank you for letting me sleep in your tent and taking care of me. I... appreciate it." It was a difficult thing to say, considering what Maxwell had made him go through, but if he stopped being a gentleman, he feared he'd lost his remaining humanity with it. He had to keep hold of his standards and morals, that was the one thing that Maxwell couldn't take away from him, even as a King.

The other man rose his eyebrow at him, silently, until just huffed: "Took you long enough to thank me, sleeping outside is not very nice. Just so you know what I'm sacrificing for your recovery."

The man held his chin up and looked away, clearly waiting for some kind of further praise for his generous help. Wilson gritted his teeth but smiled, trying to remind himself that he didn't have to stand down to Maxwell's level of pettiness and childish behavior, he was better than that, he was better than that...

"Yes, well" he took in the deep breath and counted to ten, and then let himself relax a bit "I am thankful for that. It's very... nice of you." The words 'Maxwell' and 'nice' weren't going well together, and it sounded plain wrong to even hear them in the same sentence, but Wilson forced himself to say it anyway. Maxwell blinked at him, silent for once, before he just huffed and turned away. Wilson was not sure what that reaction meant, but at least Maxwell seemed to just take the thanks.

"So... do you, um, want your tent back now? I can just sleep outside tonight, I'm sure there is still some silk and glands to be found where they were left..." Wilson wouldn't lie, he really didn't want to go there and have to worry over the Spider Queen, since she was still probably creeping around, but if he went very early in the morning, he'd probably be able to avoid any bigger conflicts, with the spiders heading to sleep and their Queen probably not awake yet. He really wanted his own tent back.

"No." Maxwell stated bluntly "The faster you get better, the faster we can go back to ignoring each other. Keep the tent, I have no real need for it anyway."

Wilson blinked, confused. Well, it's not like he wanted to sleep outside, or that he minded that Maxwell slept outside, but he really had to be a gentleman and pay back for the (questionable) care that the other man had showed him.

"I'm sure it'd be more comfortable to sleep inside, where it's less windy and chilly." he offered again.

"I don't need to sleep."

"Don't be stubborn, of course you do-"

"No, I don't. Not that you'd have noticed, but I really don't have to sleep as often as you do." Maxwell sneered, scowling at him in unimpressed way. Wilson paused. It might've been true that he hadn't paid all that much attention to the other man, because why would he, except for keeping an eye on him in case he tried anything.

"...You really don't?"

Maxwell shrugged like it was completely normal "No."

"Oh... You're suffering form the bad case of insomnia or something then?"

"...Or something." the man muttered.

The scientist shook his head and rubbed his neck. It wasn't so uncommon that the conversation was heading nowhere with Maxwell, but he had his mind made up, and he had some sense of pride to keep. He needed to be the better man regardless of his personal agenda.

"Yeah, whatever, just come inside the tent and humor me a bit, okay? I'm sure the fire is not going to go out, and maybe you'd notice that it might be better for you to relax for a bit."

Maxwell laughed in his annoying, mocking way "Like you're one to talk, Higgsbury."

But the man got up anyway and walked inside the tent without giving Wilson any further retorts. The shorter man just walked inside behind him, deciding to let the comment go unanswered, despite how it annoyed him. He was relaxed enough, it was not his fault he was in continuous danger and had to be up and alert all the time if he wanted to stay alive. Maxwell was the last person who had the right to comment on his relaxation levels.

The younger man just got on the fur roll on his back, and gave a fast glance at his campmate - who sat next to him leaning on his knees - and then sighed deep, closing his eyes. If Maxwell wanted to be stubborn and not even try to sleep, it was not his problem, let the bastard stay awake if he wanted. Wilson did not give a damn. He had at least offered to be nice. He didn't care.

At least he had thought that he didn't, before he woke up in the middle of the night, sky still dark and hours away from the break of dawn, and the taller man was still up and awake. Wilson hoisted himself up on his elbows, and sleepily batted his eyes at the other man.

"You're still awake?"

Maxwell had his book on his lap, eyes glued into the words written in there, but when Wilson spoke, the man flinched a bit and closed the book in an instant, turning to look at him.

"Are you in need of something, Higgsbury?" The man asked, annoyed. Wilson just sat up, rubbing the sleep off his eyes.

"You weren't really lying about that you don't sleep, were you?"

"Didn't we go over this already? Go back to sleep." Maxwell sounded like he grew more aggravated with every word, but Wilson was still a bit too half-asleep to really notice or care. He just ruffled his hair lazily and yawned.

"Can you sleep, though? You said you don't need to sleep, but that doesn't really tell if you are able to."

Maxwell only huffed, already seemingly beyond irritated, and turned his head away and put Codex inside his jacket. Wilson smacked his lips and tried to keep his eyes open "Do you know what's the reason for it?"

"Tell me, how is this in any way your business?" the older man snarled and glanced at him coldly. Wilson shrugged.

"Well... as long as you are in my camp and survive with me, it is my business. I need to know if there is something abnormal or unusual happening, I need to know what is something I should worry about and what isn't."

That seemed to make Maxwell a little less grumpy, at least the man seemed to untense a bit, and his expression got just a hint less sour. Eventually he just let a long sigh out of his mouth.

"It seems that there have been a few... um, consequences, that came with the throne. A changes, that are apparently here to stay. If I'd be you, I would worry less about me and more about yourself."

That, in turn, woke Wilson up enough to straighten his back "...What do you mean?"

"Well, you sat on the throne too, did you not? Granted, your reign was rather short and you didn't do much, but I would keep an eye out on any abnormalities."

Wilson stared the other man, not really sure what to think. Maxwell didn't seem as much worried as he seemed a bit amused, but Wilson didn't like the implication either way. He had sat on the throne for a while, and if it changed Maxwell, why wouldn't it change him, too?

"What abnormalities?" his voice came out as a frightened whimper. Maxwell rubbed his finger on his chin in thought, and then flashed a quick smirk on the younger man, revealing his razor sharp teeth.

"Oh, not to worry, I'm sure that nothing at all is going to to be wrong. You seem perfectly healthy and fine to me." Maxwell took off his suit-jacked and folded in on the ground, then took one of his leather-gloves off, and Wilson's eyes immediately lowered at the dark, claw-like fingers, undoubtedly very inhuman, as Maxwell gave them a quick glance before taking his other glove off as well, placing them over his jacket and stretching his fingers.

"Just something to think about, but I'm certain you have absolutely nothing to worry about. Good night, pal." The man said in a way too calm and light voice, as he turned his back on Wilson and laid down.

The young man sat there, staring at the back of the other man. Suddenly all the sleep was nothing but a sweet, sweet memory, and he was as wide awake as can be.

Changes? He hadn't noticed any changes, at least he hadn't paid any attention to them. He slept like he always did, he ate like he used to, he didn't seem to have any new abilities or lacking any that he used to have. He was fine, wasn't he? Maxwell was just being a jerk and trying to scare him, make him doubt himself so he could have a laugh about it.

Wilson laid back down and stared at the ceiling. He'd have to ask about it from Maxwell again, maybe tomorrow, ask him what changes he had noticed. Wilson gave a quick look at the man laying down next to him. Well, if Maxwell was telling the truth, if he really didn't need to sleep, that was one thing, and he had those claws, and the sharp teeth... what else was unnatural for him? It was hard to tell what was unnatural in Constant, seeing as some people here were half-spiders and were-beavers.

What had been part of Maxwell before the throne, and what after?

Wilson's fingers were curling against the fur roll, an absentminded, nervous movement he didn't even notice as he stared at the ceiling. He was fine. There was nothing unusual about him, he was totally fine. He liked being normal, he didn't need to have anything special in himself, like a superhuman strength or anything like that. Not if it came from some nightmarish abomination that he had sat on for a while. He was perfectly okay being himself without any changes.

He wondered what kind of person Maxwell had been before the throne. Probably still a jerk. Not that Wilson gave a slimmest damn about it, anyway. He was just curious, that's all.

He didn't have a much of shut-eye that night, and just as he was about to get into a blessed cloudy mist of sleep, there became the warning growls, the hellish barking of the hounds in the distance. Wilson opened his eyes and groaned deep.

Sure, why not, he didn't want to sleep anyway. At least it was already getting bright out. The man turned to Maxwell, but the man was already awake (or more likely had not slept at all) and half-way out of the tent.

Wilson didn't waste any time either as he run out, and rummaged through the chests to find a spear. It looked like it was at the end of it journey, but he had no other weapons ready. Add that to his to-do list. More weapons, stat.

"You have any fuel?"

"Not much."

"Okay, okayokayokay..." Wilson pinched his nose and thrust his eyes close, thinking "There should be a beefalo herd close by, it shouldn't take long to run there if we go now."

"That's your plan? Running around a field full of shit and smelling cows, in hopes that the hounds might get distracted?" somehow Maxwell managed to sound less worried of his health, and more of his clothes smelling like wild animals.

Wilson shot him a death-glare "I don't see you coming up with anything, so yes, that is the plan, it's the best bet at the moment."

Sure, it was always a little risky game running around the field like a headless chicken, but it never took too long for the hounds to change the prey they went after, so that was the safest way to handle things right now. It also saved weapons, and prevented possible injuries, so Wilson really didn't see what was so wrong about the plan.

He didn't even wait for Maxwell to complain or refuse, as he started to sprint towards the field, and heard the other man groaning something along the lines of 'this idiot so-called scientist', which he could've perhaps been angry about, if he had any time or interest to start fighting at the moment. But the need to survive was over-ruling his annoyance by the mile. Especially when the baying of the hounds was closer by the second.

It didn't take for long to reach the field, and Wilson wasted no time rushing behind a giant boulder and peeked behind it, clutching the spear in his hand. It didn't take for long, either, to something crash onto him and invade his personal space by pressing on his back. Wilson grunted and leered at Maxwell. The man rose his eyebrow.

"What?"

In some other circumstances Wilson might have got more annoyed that the man was sitting so close to him, but he knew that they had no real choice if they wanted to stay hidden. Gritting his teeth, he turned away and let it go, trying not to care about the feeling of the touch on him. The boulder proved to be barely able to hide two people if they sat uncomfortably close each other, and Wilson reminded himself, that it was not Maxwell's choice to annoy him this time, it was not his fault the boulder wasn't larger.

If the boulder had been able to think, it might have sighed very deeply and regretted the choices that led it to stand here, being forced to listen two grown man acting like children hiding behind it.

"Are they here yet? Let me check-"

"No, no no don't! Don't move, don't say anything, I will tell you when it's safe to leave."

"I don't trust you. I want to see it myself."

"Between the two of us, I should be the one saying that..."

"Shh."

"No you shh!"

"Excuse me, I already was 'shh' enough, you're the one who keeps-"

"Maxwell that is not being 'shh' just shut up okay I don't want to die because you can't keep your opinion to yourself for five minutes!"

After Maxwell had offered him a series of offended huffs and puffs, the silence between them finally settled, and Wilson didn't like how close the barking had already become. Well, the closer the better, since that meant it would be over sooner, but he had no good memories of the hounds. He grew extremely uncomfortable everytime the noise they made got louder and louder, until stopping in eerie dead-silence, and then the hellhounds rushed from somewhere and attacked. Wilson shuddered. No good memories indeed.

The noise echoed in his ears, seemingly coming from every single direction at the same time, and every second he felt the anxiety growing stronger - until it all stopped. The silence fell over the place, the horrible sign that the hounds had found their prey and were about to attack. Wilson leaned over the edge of the rock and saw a few familiar barking creatures close to the herd. Good, they'd likely not even notice him and would instead head straight at the beefalo. That meant no need to risk it by confronting the beasts.

Until, suddenly, a hand grasped his collar and yanked him away behind the boulder in a one quick movement, heading towards the field of grass where the beefalo and the hounds were. Some instinct took over and Wilson started to immediately fight against the hold.

"Maxwell, what the fuck-"

He couldn't finish his sentence when suddenly the pair of large jaws snapped shut, a little bit too close to his ankle, and the hound stopped and barked in frustration of the missed bite. Maxwell let go of the younger man's collar and grabbed his sleeve instead, yanking him towards the beefalo which were already stomping and bucking the hounds to death. The sight was terrifying, it wasn't exactly comforting to head in the middle of the raging, fighting giant creatures, but Wilson knew they were not a threat to them, not if they weren't in heat or provoked.

They ran through the herd and Wilson glanced back, but in the middle of the chaos it was hard to tell if the attention of the hounds had been sifted into the beefalo or not. He had his answer when he turned his head again, and suddenly one of the hounds jumped in front of them, making both of the men stop. The creature barked just once before making it's move.

"Oh no you don't!" Wilson snapped back at it, and wasted not a single second before rushing in front of Maxwell and stabbing the spear on the chest of the hound as it jumped forward. The short man was pushed backwards when the heavy creature landed over his chest, and he in turn fell over Maxwell, whose frail frame had no chance to keep the weight of the other man and a huge beast up, and they all landed in the pile on the ground.

It would never take only one stab from a weapon as basic as a spear to finish off the hounds, and Wilson tried to push the beast back to get the spear out, so he could hit it again, but despite the blood oozing out of it's wound and spraying all over Wilson, the hound just pushed against them, jaws snapping open and close as it tried to get even one of the humans in it's awaiting teeth.

Wilson didn't think he was a weak man. But he was not a strong man either, and he was starting to get tired under the bloodthirsty beast that was, despite the gaping wound in it's chest, fighting like a crazy to get a bite. He could feel his arms shaking when he tried to push the dog away to get his spear out. Maxwell sifted under him, and Wilson felt a weak cough on his neck. He was probably cutting out the older man's breath by laying over him, but it's not like had a choice.

Maxwell just rose his leg and kicked the hound on it's face, which made it finally let out a whine and another growl when it pulled back to gather itself. As soon as the point of the spear was freed, Wilson stabbed it back in through it's neck, and this time the animal ended up in it's back under him, letting out a low, long gurgle when the thick, dark purple blood started to flow out from it's jaws.

Wilson was catching his breath, spear still inside the creature, even as it took it's last breath. He knew the other hounds were dead, they wouldn't have waited a second to try and tear him into a million pieces if they were alive. Thank God they were very easily distracted creatures. He wiped his hand over his face, smearing the remaining blood all over it. He needed a bath, he was pretty sure the monsterblood was not as harmless as regular blood was, and he just felt uncomfortable knowing he was practically bathed in it. Not that it was the first time...

There was a careful touch on his shoulder, and the short man, head still in the rush of fight, swirled around and pointed the spear on the other man, who in turn just held his hands up in unthreatening gesture.

"Geez, okay. I was just going to ask if you got hurt." Maxwell snarled and backed away slowly, before turning around and walking to inspect the ground where the corpses of the hounds laid around, scattered here and there.

Wilson let a long, exhausted sigh through his lips and just sat next to the corpse of the hound and gave it a long, disapproving glare. If Maxwell had a thought process and a reason when creating these things, it better have been a fucking amazing one, because he couldn't find any use for the hounds in this or any other world there might've been.
 
He just tested if this one had any teeth worthy of gathering, and then left it laying where it was. Some creature would find it and feast on it's body until there was nothing left, so no need to try to dispose of it. He only ever got rid of corpses if they happened to be too close to his camp.

The man only helped Maxwell to gather some meat and few teeth, before heading back to their camp. He was so tired. He barely slept last night, and having to deal with the hounds so early and first thing in the morning was not helping. He tried to run the list in his mind of all the things that he needed to get done, but the thoughts get wandering off and he couldn't concentrate. He was lucky he didn't have any injuries, then he definitely wouldn't get anything done for the whole day.

He carelessly tossed both the spear and the rest of his things near the chests and started looking for a cloth he could use to dry himself off. He was not going to do anything until he got all of this blood off of himself. Then maybe he'd get the damn silk and make the damned tent, and a new spear, or maybe he'd head to the swamp and try to kill a tentacle to get a spike. He'd think about it later.

"Thank you."

Wilson stopped. He had to process what he heard for a moment, before turning around and meeting Maxwell's dark eyes for a second, before the other man looked away again.

"For protecting me, I mean."

Maxwell didn't sound like he was making fun of Wilson, nor did he look like it. The younger man was taken aback, just staring at the magician for a moment, until he just nodded, a bit awkwardly "Uh... You're welcome, I guess."

"You know, you didn't need to do it. It'd be easier for you if you just let the hounds kill me" the man glanced at him again, an unreadable, grim expression on his face. Wilson let his eyes lower at the ground.

"Yeah, I've thought about it, and maybe it would be easier to leave you behind to die... But what good would that do? I don't think it would really solve any of my problems in the end. It wouldn't really make me feel any better, either."

Maxwell looked surprised, which was something Wilson could remember seeing only once or twice before. The scientist tried to muster some kind of a smile. Every fiber in his body screamed how wrong it felt to even think about smiling at Maxwell, but he tried anyway.

"Besides, I have to believe you'd do the same for me. I mean, I don't actually think you would, but I hope you would. We're in the same boat now, whether I like it or not, there's no use fighting it. Our chances are better together." he shrugged and turned to leave.

Maxwell didn't try to stop him, nor did he answer. Wilson was okay with that, he was sure that Maxwell was just tired too, he didn't need to dwell into that thought any deeper. It wasn't like he cared about Maxwell, and it's wasn't like Maxwell cared about him. They just happened to be in the situation where they had to put their differences aside for a while, and the man was sure, that if either of them had actually a real chance, both of them would be happy to forget any of this ever happened and go on their separate ways.

Chapter 3: Your problem

Summary:

Winter has arrived, and maybe it's Maxwell's time to try to be a better man.

Chapter Text

The winter never arrived when he wanted. It was always too soon, always when he just so happened to be away from the base, always when he wasn't prepared, even if he had spend all of his waking moments making preparations the whole autumn long.

Previously Wilson had blamed Maxwell without any doubt that it was yet another way the nightmare King had decided to make his life even harder, while sitting on his throne and laughing at him, getting amused of him getting infuriated and scared that the winter had, once again, caught him off guard.

But now, when the tall man was shivering and trembling next to him, complaining about how cold it was and were they there yet and he was above this like the most insufferable primadonna that he apparently was, it crossed Wilson's mind that maybe Maxwell hadn't had anything to do with the winter always arriving the worst possible time, after all.

"Do we really have to go to another camp? What's wrong with the one we have right now?" The magician kept whining, rather loudly, probably because he wanted to make sure Wilson heard every single little complaint he had to offer. The shorter man just sighed without turning around.

"I know you don't listen to me, so I really shouldn't be surprised that you don't remember, but I've told you more than ten times now that the deerclops will come soon, and we don't want that guy to find our camp. So better safe than sorry, don't you think?"

Maxwell scoffed.

"So you've built another camp and we're just going to let it destroy that? Sounds like a waste of time and resources to me." the man muttered, and Wilson refused to address his childish behavior, and counted to ten before answering.

"Well, it's going to be destroying something, so wouldn't it make sense to let it destroy a smaller, more replaceable camp, rather than the one where all of our things are?" Wilson turned to rise his eyebrow at Maxwell, who just scowled and looked away, muttering angrily under his breath. Wilson grinned and turned away again "Thought so."

He couldn't really blame Maxwell for his mood dropping so heavily, the man hadn't experienced the winter in Constant as a human before (if he was a human, Wilson still remembered the... changes, he mentioned), and the scientist's first time trying to will his way through the season had been not only unsuccessful, but had taught him that coldness, darkness, and decreased food-sources could do a surprisingly great deal of damage to your mental health and leave you miserable and malfunctioning mess.

Maxwell's whining was still a tad bit unnecessary though, Wilson thought, as he rolled his eyes to yet another series of mentions how the other man's toes were freezing and he at least had a tent in the main camp and how dare Wilson drag him to some basic camp in the freezing winter morning and so on.

The shorter man really wanted to point out, that at least Maxwell could face the winter with someone who knew what he was doing and had gone through it countless times before, and he was really, really lucky that Wilson didn't leave him to freeze somewhere alone without any clue of how to actually survive the cold season.

But he didn't, and instead of pointing out that Maxwell was free to go and die alone whenever he wished to, the scientist only gritted his teeth and pulled the winterhat lower on his head, and proceeded to ignore the whining behind him.

They arrived to the camp, and Wilson sat down to pull some materials out of his backpack to assemble the tent. Maxwell stopped his complaining to stare at him.

"I thought we didn't want more valuable structures to get destroyed?"

Wilson only hummed shortly "You are free to sleep outside. It's only one tent, and believe me, it's far better to get it destroyed here than get it destroyed in the basecamp and let deerclops destroy all the dryintracks, walls, chests, crockpot, tents, farms-"

"Okay, I get it!" Maxwell groaned dramatically and threw his hands in the air, before sitting down to lit the fireplace. Wilson was about to point out that who was wasting resources now, but when he saw how badly the man really was shivering under his rather light three-piece, with only a pair of earmuffs on his head, he let himself soften a bit. It was ridiculous how much warmth the beard was able to provide, and although he wouldn't complain, he knew that not everyone had that advantage.

Maxwell was getting really irritated and angry at the fireplace that wasn't obeying him and lighting up when he wanted, and didn't even notice the younger man approaching before the earmuffs where snatched off of his head without a warning, and his ears where hit with a sudden cold.

"How dare y-" the man turned around, snarling, ready to give the other man a piece of his mind, but the words died in his throat when something much softer and warmer was pushed on his head instead. The man froze for a second and stared at Wilson with confused face, realizing that the man didn't have his winterhat on anymore.

... That was unexpected. Maxwell couldn't say anything, too stuck on trying to figure out why and where did that come from, and Wilson only flashed him a grin that looked self-satisfied, before walking back to work with the tent. Maxwell stared after him. Then he turned his back at the other man too, and kept fighting with the firepit.

After few hours, and more curse words than Wilson had ever heard in his life, the fire started to burn happily, and Maxwell threw more twigs than necessary in it, so it would stay lit, too. If it dared to die on him, he'd kill it. He wasn't sure how, but he would. He hoped his threatening thoughts got to the small flames, and sat down and pulled himself as close to the fire as possible. He knew it would be cold in the winter, but he still wasn't prepared for it. He should've been, he told himself, but it was so easy to forget that he was a human now, that he could get cold and hurt and tired, and he was no more above the dangers that the world here threw at the survivors.

Deerclops had been fun to watch from afar, but he did not wait meeting the giant in person. The man glanced over his shoulder where his current survivor partner was making a ham bat (the waste of meat, in Maxwell's opinion). Wilson seemed to take all of this rather lightly. It was somehow both comforting and frustrating.

On the one hand, seeing Wilson calmly taking things as they came and making a point that he knew what he was doing, that he had done all of this hundreds of times before, was reassuring. On the other hand however, it infuriated Maxwell that Wilson didn't seem to take his fear and uncertainty seriously, like it was unwarranted, just because he knew what was coming and could handle it.

It made Maxwell lean even closer to the option that Wilson wasn't really that concerned over his companion's safety, and would not bat an eye for his struggle if he ran into it. He turned his attention back to the firepit and, after another shudder ran through his body, tossed a log into the flames. He didn't blame the scientist for his intolerance or even hatred, it was all very justified and understandable. And even if Maxwell was loud and clear of every smallest, tiniest inconvenience that he had to face, he still didn't wait an actual help or advice to better his situation in anyway. He was merely complaining out loud, screaming into the void. The void wasn't supposed to give attention to his whining.

He suddenly remembered the winterhat on his head and cringed. Wilson had done more for him that he needed to, more than he would ever need to, and it made Maxwell uneasy. He knew he had asked for Wilson's help, maybe not in those exact words, but he had made it clear that he was in need of his experience and skill, but when the time came, he hadn't actually expected anything more than the absolute necessities.

If he asked (demanded) something that he really thought they needed, Wilson would help him get it. But he never wasted his time if he deemed Maxwell's requests unnecessary and just threw the  'do it yourself' at him, even if the man knew it would more likely end in injury or worse, death.

Maybe Wilson thought that there was a lesson to be learned there somewhere, that just throwing Maxwell into the trouble and leaving him to find the solution himself would show him what he had made the other people go through. Maybe it even brought some joy to the other man, maybe he thought it was the best way to learn because he was forced to learn that way. What ever the reason was, Maxwell knew Wilson was completely entitled to his feelings and how he chose to react to them.

Maxwell flinched as the man suddenly sat next to him and let out a huff, and started to roast some carrots and mushrooms. He didn't say a word, and Maxwell, very quietly, moved a bit further away. Wilson didn't seem to notice, at least he didn't show it if he did.

"I can go hunting tomorrow." the man said, not moving his attention away from the food "You could use a puffy vest."

Maxwell, once again, stopped everything else he was doing, and turned to stare at the other man. Wilson gave him a careful glance from the corner of his eye. Maxwell narrowed his eyes and snorted, straightening his back and crossing his arms proudly over his chest, sticking up his nose.

"I'm doing perfectly fine without your handouts, thank you."

What was he saying, he could use that vest.

Wilson's face grew sour and he shrugged, rolling his eyes "Well, forgive me for trying to keep you alive."

Maxwell didn't understand what prompted him to act such a way, but his lips moved before he even knew he was speaking.

"Save your energy to things that are your problems, Higgsbury."

That made Wilson threw the food-in-preparation to the ground and jump on his feet, glaring at Maxwell venomously.

"You know what's my problem?! You! You are the end and beginning of every single problem in my life! I hate you! I hate your face and your voice and your clothes and hands and eyes and just- just everything about you! If it weren't for you, my life would be normal, it would be so much better than it is! I could be at home, I could be working on important things-"

"Oh, like playing with your experiments and trying not to explode because your have no idea what you're doing?" Maxwell shot back, rising his eyebrow "Face it, Higgsbury, no one who's going somewhere in life will accept an ominous, obviously evil help from the voice in the radio. You built an entire portal just because I promised some nonspecific forbidden knowledge to you! Does 'forbidden knowledge' sound like something that anyone with half a brain would want from someone they haven't even met?!"

Wilson opened his mouth, his entire face turning red, and he clenched his hands into fists.

"Save your arguments" Maxwell cut in before the man had a chance to defend his piss-poor life decisions " I have no interest for them, they will change nothing."

Wilson stood there, mouth open, eyes full of anger and perhaps shame, shaking like he seriously was only a moment away from attacking Maxwell, and for a few, tension filled seconds, the magician was sure he was really going to. But eventually the man just let out a deep sigh and walked into his tent, muttering on his way about not being hungry and someone having to watch over the fire. Maxwell watched him go, then turned back to the firepit and sighed.

He didn't intent to start a fight. Why did he do that? There had been no bait, there had been no provocation. What was wrong with him?

The man knelt to gather the food from the ground and stabbed a sharp stick through them, placing them to cook over the fire. Maybe he was far more afraid to reveal his weak points than he had originally thought. He knew he couldn't show how frail and fragile he really was, but he didn't know he had grown that afraid of showing it. What could Wilson even do? It's not like the man hadn't had a handful of chances to kill him, if he really wished to.

The tall man glanced quickly at the tent.

Wilson hadn't shown any signs that he wanted to actively kill Maxwell, that much was true, but what if he gave the man a smallest reason to want that? If Wilson suddenly had it in his head that Maxwell needed to die, and he knew how weak Maxwell was, knew how to hurt him, then that wouldn't end up great for the magician, not at all.

Still, even if he couldn't afford the other man knowing how weak and unprepared to survive he was, starting a fight and insulting Wilson wasn't a very good tactic to keep him off of his throat either. Maxwell rose his hands to rub both of his temples in frustration.

Fine, maybe he could try to be a little bit nicer. That was a start to stay on Wilson's good side, lord knows he wanted to avoid the other side as long as he was able to.

With a low groan the man stood up, took the stick with a stabbed-through food, and walked to the tent. A nice little offering of olive branch would do no harm, and maybe, if he was sneaky enough to dance around the real question, he'd be able to get the other man to hunt down the koalefant to get him that vest, too.

He had noticed that Wilson wasn't that hard to convince to do his bidding with some carefully selected words. Old habits died hard, and he would much prefer if the shorter man did all the dirty work for him, if possible.

The man paused at the tent entrance and opened his mouth in intent to clear his throat and ask if he may come in, but a very quiet, sharp breath stopped him. Maxwell furrowed his brows and leaned closer, tilting his head to bring his ear on the fabric and listened.

There was a sound coming from the tent, silent and muffled, almost if it was meant to be inaudible. But it was still there if he listened closely. It almost sounded like... like...

A small sniff made Maxwell stumble backwards and stare at the tent in horror. Was Wilson really crying? Maxwell felt the sudden panic rise inside his gut. Should he go in try to comfort the man? Should he go in and act like nothing is happening? Should he just turn around and go back to the fire and pretend that he had heard nothing?

His eyes dropped at the food in his hand. Think of the olive branch, Maxwell.

The man closed his eyes and took in a far deeper breath than he needed to, in order to buy more time because he really didn't want to do this, and cleared his throat loud enough to almost sound suspicious. He quickly corrected the level of his voice and took a more ordinary, indifferent tone "May I enter, Higgsbury?"

The silence answered him, and Maxwell furrowed his brows. Well, that was just rude, he asked permission and everything this time. The man rolled his eyes and entered the tent anyway, because nobody ever said that it wasn't his tent, too.

Wilson laid on his side, back turned to Maxwell, trying to obviously pretend that he was asleep. Oh dear... Maxwell felt mild discomfort inside his chest. Had he really hurt Wilson's feelings by what he said? He didn't think he could, Wilson had never been anything but sarcastic and stubborn to him. He didn't get sad, if anything, he  got angry.

Maxwell licked his lips and sighed. Not his problem. He didn't actually care, he just wanted to make some kind of peace offering to stay alive. The man walked in and crouched down, gently placing his hand on the shorter man's shoulder, and giving him a small shake.

"You're asleep there, pal?"

His answer was still just nothing but silence. Maxwell shook his head. Fine then, let's play this game.

"Well then, I'll leave this food for you, eat it when you wake up. And um..." Maxwell paused and bit his lip, reminding himself again that this was only for the mutual benefit, and necessary to make Wilson stop acting up like a child "...You're right about one thing: Your life would be better without me." The man cleared his throat again and quickly left the tent, so it wouldn't become more awkward than it already was.

Wilson turned around just in time to see the man's back disappear behind the fabric of the tent, and then he slowly glanced at the food brought beside him. Well, maybe he didn't hate Maxwell as much as he had before. In the scale on one to ten, his hate had decreased to only fifteen. It was still over-boiling sometimes, but at least it wasn't up in twenty anymore.

The man sighed and took the stick to his hand and started to munch on the carrots. For whatever reason, Maxwell seemed to be trying. It might've been just for his own benefit, but at least he showed some willingness to be better, and well, it did make Wilson feel a bit better that he at least tried.

When he had eaten enough, Wilson turned back to catch some sleep, a real sleep this time.

Maybe his life would be so much better if Maxwell had never happened, but it's not like he could rewind the time and start over. He had made his decisions, and now he got to live with them. And besides, surviving with someone was so much better than surviving alone. Even if that someone was the insufferable, snobby man who acted like a spoiled princess for most of the time.

Chapter 4: The winter fight

Summary:

Deerclops comes to pay a little visit to Wilson and Maxwell.

Chapter Text

"Maxwell, do you think I'm stupid?"

The taller man stopped making a trap and rose his eyes to the scientist, who was pretending to cut down a tree, but really only waved the axe in his hand.

"Is this about last night?" Maxwell sighed.

"N-no, I just... thought..." Wilson explained, turning slightly red.

"Why does my opinion matter to you anyway?" Maxwell tilted his head, and Wilson turned to answer, but stopped with a dumbfounded expression on his face, like he now just happened to think about it.

"I don't kn- It doesn't!" he protested, still looking like he was not entirely sure if it did matter or not. There was a small glint of challenge in his eyes, as if daring the other man to prove why it should matter. Maxwell only nodded at him with blunt face and turned back to meddling with the traps.

"Good. There is no reason for my opinion to matter to you in any way. I would be worried if it did."

Wilson had forgotten the tree completely, and his attention was now fully on Maxwell.

"Uh... yeah. Right. It doesn't, I don't give a crap what you think." The shorter man declared, but the words sounded only half-assed as he looked at the ground in thought.

"Good." Maxwell shrugged "Then you must know if you're stupid or not without my partake on the matter."

Wilson furrowed his brows, and let his eyes wander to the edge of the land where the penguls had built a nest, and the cold seawater hit against the shore.

It didn't matter, he knew he wasn't stupid. It just... It wasn't really nice to hear that he had made some hasty and reckless decisions, and had to pay for them now, and he knew, in some deeper level, that Maxwell had a point. He hadn't been going anywhere in life, that's why he was so eager to learn the knowledge he was promised, that's why he had been so desperate to achieve the information that nobody else would ever have. His stupid need to be special and do something remarkable in his life had been his undoing, and the blame for that fell partly on his own shoulders.

"Look" The older man sighed, not bothering to turn to look at him as he spoke, and Wilson rose his gaze from the ground "You're not the only one that ended up here. People do ill-advised things under tough circumstances, and everyone has more or less tripped over their own feet by not thinking straight for a couple of seconds. It doesn't make you stupid just because your judgement wasn't in the right place for a moment."

Wilson blinked.

"Did... did you make some mistakes tha-"

"No." The answer was short, fast and indefinite. Wilson scowled and finally turned his attention back to the tree. Of course, the moment he thinks that there is some humanity inside that wicked and horrid man, he starts acting all high and mighty again...

"I did far worse things. My judgement was not in the wrong place, I just chose to ignore it."

Wilson had to stop himself from turning around and staring the other man again. He just paused for moment and looked down.

"So you're here because of it?" he continued in a conversational tone, trying to push back his anger. It was bad enough that Maxwell had fooled and tricked people in here, used their weak points against them, but he did it deliberately? It made Wilson's blood boil to even think about it. 

"What, did you think it was my own choice to be stuck here until some unfortunate clown would eventually stumble down on me and hope that they had enough heart to set me free?" Maxwell barked out a laughter, and Wilson gave a tree one extra violent chop to prevent himself from doing it to the other tall thing here.

"I guess not. You would never put yourself in the situation like that knowingly." Wilson snarled, feeling more and more spiteful that he had been far too forgiving to the man on his throne. He had enough heart to set Maxwell free. Maxwell would've never done such a thing, he only ever put himself in unfavorable situation either by accident or by someone else's will. He should've stayed on the fucking throne.

"Oh, don't act like you were any better, you had no idea what was coming. If you knew that taking the pity on me would mean that we'd trade places, you would've never done it." Maxwell scoffed. Wilson's scowl darkened noticeably and he gave the tree couple of good hits.

"No, no I wouldn't. For someone else? Yes. For you? No, never."

Maxwell surprisingly had nothing to add, while Wilson chopped the tree, pretending that it was Maxwell, and they continued working in silence. Wilson started to feel better the longer the wordless working went. Even Maxwell's very voice was sometimes enough to break his nerve and set him off.

He was bitter enough before the knowledge that every action had been conscious choice, but to hear him trying to pull Wilson down to his level? The nerve.

The man sighed and leaned on his axe. Well, at least the knowledge, that getting stuck here like the rest of them was not Maxwell's own choice, brought some sense of justice to him. He was stuck here like the rest of them, had probably been here much longer.

Wilson frowned in thought. How much longer? Maxwell had been in remarkably bad shape on the throne, and Wilson knew he hadn't always been the King. He shuddered and pushed the thought out of his mind. Even the mere thought of being stuck on the throne for longer than the short time he had was making him anxious.

"Higgsbury." Maxwell suddenly called with serious voice. The scientist stopped cutting down the tree and turned to give the other man a questioning look, but Maxwell was just standing still, furrowing his brows together and looking like he was concentrating on something really hard. Wilson opened his mouth to ask, but then he stopped and froze in place as well.

A low and deep moaning, a heavy breathing, coming from the distance. Wilson closed his eyes and frowned. Well, better to have deerclops now when it was still a daylight for couple of hours, than in the middle of the night - he had his fare share of those encounters too.

"Let's go back to the camp."

"You have a plan?"

Wilson shook his head "No, the traps were the plan. There's not enough to kill it yet, but we could lead it here and then finish it off when it's injured." the man paused and scratched his chin "You could stay behind-"

"What, you're using me as a human sacrifice now?!"

"No, I meant that you could stay behind and land as many traps as you can, while I run to the camp and get us better weapons, and then I'll lead it here. unless you want to switch places?" He turned to give Maxwell a raised eyebrow, and the man just huffed in annoyance as an answer.

"No thank you. I'll handle the traps."

"Good, now don't run off after you're finished, okay? I will need help to finish off the giant." Wilson gave him one last advice before taking a sprint back to their small camp. The spare camp could be sacrificed, but if they could lead the rampaging cyclops away and avoid any damage to their stuff, all the better.

The groans got louder and longer, scaring the nearby birds from the trees. The cawing of the crows seemed to make the monster only more agitated as it approached, the loud thumping of its feet now clearly audible. Wilson didn't waste any time as he arrived to the camp, and only snatched backpack and two weapons, and after hesitating merely half a second he dashed to the chest and pulled a handful of nightmare fuel out of it before heading back to where Maxwell was.

If he'd been any slower, the beast would've found their camp and him inside it, and when the giant footsteps started to follow him, the groan much louder and clearer now, the man let out both the sigh of relief and huff of determination as he run away from the camp and headed to the place where the traps would hopefully be set now.

He barely made it even close enough to see the traps when the deepclops rushed into the view behind the trees that it crushed down with it's claw, and Wilson could see the trail of destroyed trees behind it. He swallowed. No matter how many times he'd be face to face with the giant, he'd never ever be ready for it. He felt his blood freezing from the sheer sight of the beast, before remembering that standing in place was not part of the plan and broke into sprint to lead the deerclops to the toothtrap field.

It wasn't hard to lead the giant to the traps. As soon as it's one eye spotted the small human, it immediately let out a roar and charged after him, in full intent to no doubt smash him as well. Wilson didn't stop to glance behind him, he didn't need to, the roars of the beast and sound of things breaking in it's path was enough evidence that it was following him, maybe even a little too closely.

"Maxwell, we're here! I brought you nightmare fuel!" The man shouted out a warning and searched for the other man with his eyes "Maxwell? I got a ham bat and a spear! I will need help bringing the deerclops down! Maxwell?"

His stomach dropped when he couldn't see the tall man anywhere, and didn't receive an answer. There was sting of hurt where there normally was anger, and if it wouldn't have been for the giant monster on his tail, he would have stopped in horror.

Had Maxwell really left him to deal with the deerclops alone? How could he, Wilson had made it clear as day that he needed help!

Even if the man knew that Maxwell wasn't the most trustworthy person, it still hurt to get betrayed like this. He had thought that they had managed to make some progress, but guess not, then.

Wilson managed to gain enough ground between himself and the giant before slowing down and pulling out his ham bat. He turned around, still taking steps back, rising the weapon in front of himself. Seeing the deer-abomination racing towards him wasn't very comforting sight, teeth bared and claws out, and the man had to tell himself that he had done this before, it was okay, he got this, repeatedly inside his head to prevent his legs from giving up under him.

The deerclops roamed closer and closer, and the trapfield between them was only a string-thin comfort, and the scientist prepared himself for the fight. He took a deep breath and bit his teeth together. Okay Wilson, you got this...!

The giant stepped on the traps and the few that bit it's feet made the monster roar in agony and anger as it fell down, and even more traps snapped shut on it's fur. Wilson knew the toothtraps hurt like hell and bit deep, but on the outside it looked like they only made deerclops angrier, and soon, far sooner than Wilson liked, the deer-like creature stood up and let out a deep, loud roar that swept the color out of the short man's face. He didn't have time to think when the giant claw swooshed towards him, and the man ducked, barely avoiding the attack.

Well, if he had wanted to infuriate the monster, he sure as hell had succeeded.

The man stumbled back on his feet and stayed the safe distance away, making sure the monster would get hit by as many traps as possible. There weren't enough to kill it, not nearly enough, but even the smallest successful damage counted. Wilson circulated the deerclops, watching it struggle to find it's way to him without getting bitten by another toothtrap, and every time when the hound teeth snapped shut Wilson knew he was one trap closer to having to face the monster head on.

His fingers curled around the weapon in anxious wait, the cold snipping his fingertips. He took in a deep, heavy breaths, eyes not leaving the struggling giant for a second.

The last traps snapped shut, and Wilson let the fast, heavy breath out before gritting his teeth and sprinting to hit the giant with the ham bat.

He hit the thing once. Twice. The third time was aimed at it, but he had to dodge the ice spikes suddenly bursting from the ground, and backed down to look for another opening.

The deerclops roared in rage and rampaged towards him, and Wilson backed down to gain distance before his next attack.

And he stepped on nothing.

Chapter 5: The warmth

Summary:

Wilson is freezing from head to toe, and has to accept help from Maxwell. They are in for a long night.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Wilson's eyes widened as he struggled to balance himself, the raging deerclops still heading straight to him with it's remaining strength, but he felt his body falling backwards, backwards straight over the edge, and he realized in horror that he couldn't stop the gravity's pull on him.

The fall wasn't long, but all the more terrifying. The loud splashing sound was all he heard, and suddenly the world was filled with muffled humming and bubbling sounds, and the icy sensation stroke his body like a knife, every inch of him prickled and bitten by the cold, freezing water when his body fell into shock, as he sunk deeper into the ocean. 

Wilson wanted to close his eyes, the coldness hurting his sight, but he needed to see what was happening, needed to fight his way back to the surface. He knew the deerclops was there waiting for him, and his frozen and dripping wet body would be in no state to fight the giant away, but still his body worked the only way it knew how to, swimming towards the surface, towards the awaiting monster, his lungs starting to burn in need of oxygen, his skin freezing, as he swam upwards to get the air, to get on dry land...

The water spurted when Wilson broke the surface and managed to rose his hand to weakly hold the ground - but only to hold it. The icy water on his skin and his sogged clothes started to immediately claim his body as it met the air, growing ever colder as all the blood in his body retreated to protect his brain and insides, leaving his fingers too weak to pull him back to the land. The breathing hurt. Exhales felt merciful, inhales cut him like a blade.

Then, suddenly, something warm curled around his wrist. Wilson let out a shuddering breath. So warm. He felt so cold...

"Alright then, Higgsbury... get up from there. No time to waste, if you don't want to end up as an idiot-shaped icicle"

If Wilson wasn't freezing to the point he could do nothing else than shiver violently, he might have retorted something back. But he couldn't. He was too cold to do anything at all. Even keeping his eyes open was painful, the droplets already frozen on his eyelashes, glimmering in the evening light and making him squint.

He let himself being pulled up, the icy water suddenly feeling much more appealing when his wet body was bitten by the frozen winter winds, and the man tried to pull himself into a small space inside his own arms to find some warmth, unable to stop his teeth clattering.

Maxwell's hands were usually cold compared to his own, but now they felt so warm and inviting, and the scientist absentmindedly pushed closer to his touch to have that warmth against his freezing body.

"Y-y-y-y--yo-u-u- l-l-le-left-"

"Yell at me later. We have to warm you up" Maxwell muttered, his voice carrying a tone that was mixture of frustration and concern. Wilson only nodded. God he felt so cold.

He was placed on the ground, the cold, hard, snowy ground, and Maxwell started to make something next to him. Wilson closed his eyes, trying to ignore the frozen drops of water on his face and hair, on his arms. His pants felt like they were frozen stiff, closely stuck in in legs, and the sleeves of his shirt were no better. The beard he had been growing out was by far the worst. Every frozen drop of water was pressing against his face, and he felt the need to pull his chin on his chest to huddle into some remaining warmth of his body, but the freezing feeling of his stiffly frozen beard made him pull away. He ended up just sitting and doing nothing else than shivering uncontrollably.

The light in his vision made him crack his eyes open, turning to watch the yellow-orange glow. There was a campfire next to him, flames eating a pile of logs and roaring towards the sky. It seemed like Maxwell had emptied his whole stock into the fire, and right now Wilson had no complaints about it. He leaned towards the fire, but no matter how hot it seemed to be, the warm didn't reach him. It was frustrating, to be covered in ice and snow and hard-frozen clothes so thickly that even the fire couldn't warm him. Wilson whimpered in tired frustration.

Suddenly Maxwell crouched down in front of him and started to unbutton his vest, almost tearing it off of him. Wilson immediately tried to jerk away, not only from the thought that Maxwell had no business trying to undress him, but in the desperate need to keep his clothes on because he was so, so so cold.

Maxwell just yanked him back and growled "Look, normally I wouldn't mind letting you have your way and freeze to death, but I know you have an effigy, and I do not want to face you when you come back. Have you no common sense at all? These will only keep the cold tighter in you, you can't have them on if you want to live to see the next sunrise."

Wilson wanted to protest. He wanted to yell and push Maxwell away, but he knew he had no choice. Maxwell was right. The wet, freezing clothes were only making his looming demise come faster. So the man just sat where he was and helped the older man get the clothes off of him.

The wind immediately hit his bare chest and the man wrapped his arms loosely around himself, because he didn't have enough blood running in his veins to put any strength into his movements. Everything he did felt slow and tense, like his body itself was made of ice.

Even though Wilson had agreed to this and knew that his frozen clothes were only making his state worse, his hand still found it's way to Maxwell's wrist and weakly grabbed it, when the man took a hold of his underwear.

"N-n-o-" the younger man managed to sputter out through his clattering teeth "N-nah-n-not- t-t-t-tha-t..."

Maxwell seemed to consider for a second, but eventually just sighed and pulled his hand away. Wilson had to admit that the boxers that were dripping the icy, freezing water and almost frozen stuck to his skin didn't exactly feel nice, but he had some dignity left that he intended to keep. He was glad they didn't need to fight over this, because he wasn't going to just let himself be humiliated without a fight. Thankfully it didn't come to that.

Soon Maxwell had come back to him, and Wilson felt something falling over him. It was thin, it was sagging over him, but it was dry and it was warm and it was comfortable. The man cracked his eyes open again, and his gaze found Maxwell kneeling next to campfire, digging through his backpack. He didn't have his jacket on. Wilson tiredly took a better look at the thing he was grasping tight with his freezing hands, and it turned out to be the oh-so-familiar piece of clothing that the magician was currently missing. Wilson was about to say something, not sure what, but he had to say something, show his gratitude someway, but then Maxwell was suddenly in front of him again, and somewhat awkwardly pulled him up.

It felt better to get his ass up from the freezing ground, but now the wind felt like it was eating him alive. He took a few shaking steps with Maxwell guiding him, and luckily he didn't need to suffer from the windy air for much longer, because soon he was put back down - but not on the hard ground this time, rather on something very soft and thick and warm. The fur roll, Wilson realized, as he let out a relieved, pleased sigh and huddled deeper into the smelly, rough strands of fur.

Something other that was warm was placed on his feet, and the man happily curled his feet over it, pressing his toes as close to the steaming hot surface, probably a thermalstone, he thought. Soon there was another one, and this time it was put against his stomach, and Wilson greedily grasped his hands over it and pressed it closer. Warm. So warm. He was so cold...

A brief breeze of cold hit against him, and then something different that was warm and big pressed against him, blocking the cold air, comfortably leaving Wilson in the middle of the roaring fire and the soft, warm thing he gladly pressed against.

"Still cold? Have any spare clothes with you?" The thing asked, wrapping arms around him and the fingers left the burning, pleasurable feeling on his back, and Wilson snapped his eyes open  when he realized that 'the thing' he was cuddling against was Maxwell's chest.

The sudden hot feeling rushed to his cheeks, and the younger man was about to pull away, almost disgusted to be laying practically on Maxwell's lap, but the warmth of another human made him swallow his bitterness and pride and just press back, deeper into the fur and closer to the warm body.

It was starting to feel better, if only a little, but the thermalstones, the fire behind his back, the fur roll around him, and Maxwell laying next to him blocked away the wind and allowed his blood starting to flow and spread through his body again. Wilson hadn't stopped shivering, and he huffed the shuddering breaths out of his mouth, trying to clench his teeth together to stop the clattering.

He just wanted to warm up and be comfortable, sleep and escape the cold.

"Don't fall asleep Higgsbury, stay awake. Stay awake" the hands on his back retreated to shake his shoulders, and Wilson whined and tried to get the warm back, and without even really thinking, he slithered his hands to tug Maxwell's shirt up just enough to sneak them under it and press against his stomach. It was warm, almost burning sensation against his freezing fingers.

"Whoa there, pal... At least buy me a dinner first."

That made Wilson burst out a small laughter that quickly turned into the couching fit. The arms around him went back to his back and pulled him closer, and Wilson had already discarded the complaint that it was Maxwell that was keeping him in his arms in favor of just getting enough of that warmth.

One of the arms on his back rose up a bit, and lightly swept through his hair. Then it moved upwards, and returned to place something very soft and warm and comfy on his head. It was the winterhat that Wilson had given Maxwell the day before. He opened his eyes and mouth, but had no strength to move his gaze to meet the other man's face.

"Y-you sure it's n-not too c-c-c-cold for you?" he asked.

"I won't die that easily pal. Just, try not to die on me either." The other man snorted back at him. Wilson didn't answer, only hung his head and tried to bury himself deeper into everything warm around him. He was starting to get better, and he felt tired. Funny how fast the cold can drain you out. The man tilted his head to press closer to the other man's chest. He was so tired. So, so tired. Maybe the battle with deerclops had something to do with it.

Wilson opened his eyes, knitting his brows slightly when that thought hit in.

"What... wh-wh-what happened to the d-deerclops?"

"I killed it, naturally."

Wilson felt offended. Maxwell had left! He hadn't been there waiting for Wilson so they could fight the giant together, he had run, like the coward that he was! And now he claimed he had killed the beast? Ha, yeah right.

"Y-y-you left, you son of a b-"

"Kindly keep my mother out of this, Higgsbury."

Wilson huffed out another offended breath "T-t-that was really cheap thing to d-d-do" the man accused the other one, face frowned in disappointment. Everytime he thought he would start building some sort of trust with the magician, the man did something very unjust and selfish and kept him undecided, and it was infuriating and stressful. He hated that every single time he gave Maxwell a chance, the man treated it like it was nothing. It made the younger man think that he wasn't even deserving of the chances Wilson kept giving him.

"Yes... Perhaps it was." The taller man surprisingly confessed in a muttering voice, as if he was... ashamed? Sorry? Wilson felt a bit taken aback and couldn't really wrap his mind around the fact, that Maxwell actually agreed with him.

"W-why, then?"

Maxwell was oddly quiet, and when Wilson finally rose his head up to see his face, the man turned away stubbornly and sneered. Wilson kept staring holes into his skin, until the man finally let out annoyed groan and gave him a glare in exchange.

"Because I wasn't sure you would come back when the deerclops started to come closer. I can't handle a thing like that by myself, I am not going to fight the giant alone-"

"S-s-so you left me to fight it a-l-l-lone?!" Wilson spat back.

"Well, I did what you asked, I finished the damn thing off, didn't I?! You're welcome for pulling you out of the ocean too, by the way!" Maxwell growled and pulled slightly away, and Wilson was too invested in the moment to notice the warmth that disappeared with the other man.

"Well you could've intervened sooner! You c-c-c-could've helped me bef-f-f-fore I fell into the freezing cold water!"

"Well, you looked like you were handling it fine, I thought I'd come forward if you needed help! I'm not strong enough to battle the God damn giant all on my own, I needed to know you'd take care of the-"

"You could've at least t-t-told me that! I need to know what's happening if I am putting my trust on you, I need t-t-t-to know if I can rely on you or not, Maxwell!" Wilson's voice had rose to almost a scream now, and he had stopped feeling the cold the moment he realized he was becoming angry. Maxwell fell silent for a moment, staring at the younger man in expression that was somehow both offended and sorry, and then the man scoffed and turned his head away.

"I didn't know it mattered."

"Of course it d-d-does. I'm trying to build some trust here, because it seems I'm stuck with you until I find someone else, and right now you're not giving me a lot of reasons to believe I can t-t-trust you."

Maxwell didn't answer, only frowned. Wilson frowned too, but unlike Maxwell, he didn't try to avoid the eye contact.

"Can I trust you, Maxwell?"

Maxwell rose his shoulders up and seemed to have some kind of inner struggle with himself, until he pouted and muttered out some quiet answer.

"Well, can I?"

"Yes." The man tried to avoid his eyes even harder, and Wilson just sighed and pressed back to his warmth, which made the tall man freeze in place.

"Then you have to show it to m-me. I'm not asking anything impossible, just... don't hide things from me and t-t-try to let me know when something's up, okay?"

The answer he got was some incoherent mumble that he knew wasn't anything that he would need to hear, and he just nodded. Maxwell leaned over him to toss a log or two to the flames that ate the wood hungrily and rose up to lick the already dark sky.

Wilson curled up and closed his eyes. He was starting to get comfortable, starting to get cozy and pleasant in his warm spot inside the fur roll and the surrounded by human warmth and thermalstones.

Well, he was comfortable, until there was a soft hit on his cheek that quite literally slapped him out of his comforting mental place.

"Don't fall asleep."

Wilson whined and turned his head to glower at Maxwell "But I'm exhausted."

His plea didn't touch Maxwell's rotting heart and the man only rolled his eyes.

"Well ain't that real sad. I mean it, you can't fall asleep after that dive. Your body-heat will lower too much, and believe me, this is as far as I am able or willing to warm you up."

"Hmp. Then help me stay awake!"

Maxwell frowned and didn't answer, so Wilson huddled back down and sniffed, trying to reach the comfy feeling again.

"...What's your favorite food?"

Wilson blinked and looked at the other man, confused "What...?"

Maxwell seemed to get a bit uncomfortable and Wilson was sure he was even blushing, but it was hard to see with only the campfire lighting the man's face "Well, you asked me to keep you awake, so, I'm just trying to help."

Wilson watched him a moment longer, until submerged back under the fur coat.

"...Bacon and eggs."

"Really? Oh well, I suppose that's as classy as I should've waited from you."

"How about you?"

Maxwell was quiet for a moment.

"Lobster."

"Wow, I knew you were a snob, but I didn't think you were that big of a snob."

"Shut up." Maxwell growled, and his voice was offended enough for Wilson to drop the teasing, because apparently Maxwell was all too happy to share his nasty little retorts around, but couldn't take even one himself without getting his feelings hurt.

"Do you prefer cats or dogs?" Wilson asked shyly. This felt like some weird fever dream, but he decided not to think about it too deeply. As long as he was able to stay warm and avoid fighting, he'd take it.

"Cats."

"Really? I would answer 'Dogs'. They are so nice and loyal and loving. What's not to like?"

"You're kidding, right? The noise, the mess, the drooling..."

"Yeah yeah, okay. It's just my opinion."

Maxwell didn't bother answering, so Wilson just sighed deeply and continued "But I guess cats are nice too. They're just a bit different kind of pets, but they can be as nice and loyal and loving as dogs. I wouldn't mind having either as a pet. It would be really nice, actually, but I'm afraid they could get hurt if they got into my lab. I mean, into my attic, where I used to all my experiments..."

Maxwell held back the urge to point out that there was no need to go in so much detail, nor share things so openly, and he kept his thoughts to himself. He needed Wilson awake, and if the man wanted to babble out his mind, then he could bite his teeth together and take it, just for one night.

"You sound like you're really badly in need of a friend, Higgsbury" Maxwell snorted, smirking teasingly. His words met with the silence, and the man's smirk started to slowly fade when Wilson wasn't giving him the usual hissy fit and yelling protests. The magician lowered his head to look down, and saw that Wilson was staring at his shirt quietly, a small, faint smile on his lips.

"... Yeah, I guess I am. Didn't have many friends at home. The friends I've made here are not around often, surviving in some other world, dying, and... and I could use a friend from time to time." the man confessed, closing his eyes and pressing his head against Maxwell. The older man immediately felt the immense need to run away. Shit. He had meant to lighten the mood, not make it even darker.

"Um. Well, uh. There's a chance you'll run into them here."

Wilson rose his eyes at him, and he looked very tired and lonely, God damn his big, brown puppy eyes. Maxwell had always felt uncomfortable when he wasn't looked with the utter disgust and loathing. That he had grown used to. The somewhat needing, desperate look Wilson was giving him was not what he was used to, not at all.

He cleared his throat and looked away.

"W-well, you said it yourself. If I, out of anyone, am here with you, there's ought to be others, right?" He swallowed and tried to look like he didn't give a damn. He shouldn't give a damn. He told himself he didn't, but when Wilson let out a chuckle and leaned his cheek on his chest, Maxwell pretended he didn't feel the shiver, that had nothing to do with the cold, running through his spine.

"...Right." Wilson nodded, and Maxwell wasn't sure how to answer, so he didn't.

The quiet continued a while longer, until the taller man cleared his throat slightly and looked everywhere else except for the man in his arms "So you... did you have pets, as a child?"

Wilson shook his head.

"Boy, I wish. How about you?"

"I had a rabbit." He felt the man rising his head, but he very sternly avoided meeting his eyes "Um, so..." he cleared his throat again and didn't dare to think about the fluttering feeling inside "When did you find the interest in science?"

"Not sure... It just kind of grew on me over the time. I wanted to dedicate my life to better the mankind, making progress and be of use. It seemed like a worthy goal to have in life."

Maxwell nodded. If only his goals in life would've been even half as noble as Wilson's. He only wanted the attention and admiration. Maybe at the start he had wanted to make people happy, but that had died away with every unsuccessful show and disappointment in his path.

The man glanced very quickly at the younger one. Wilson might've been barely even a decent scientist and certainly not as genius as he liked to think, but at the very least he put his everything into it. It was admirable, in it's own way, to dedicate his life into something he must've known he wasn't the best at.  But still doing something he loved, still keeping up the work, even after he failed time and time again.

Maxwell felt envious. He had given up on himself, and surely would've given up on his dreams to be a magician if he hadn't found Codex. Sure it ruined his life, but at least it gave him something in return, a new life that, for a short while, was better than his last one. Without Codex, he wouldn't have had anything.

"You... you once mentioned being a magician?" Wilson's curious voice slithered into his ears. Maxwell knitted his eyebrows. He didn't want to talk about that too deeply, not about the time before Codex at least.

"Yes, I was a stage magician. The Amazing Maxwell, or Maxwell The Great, I hadn't really settled on the name yet. But I had quite a show nonetheless. I was quite well liked, you know." The man said, trying not to sound too desperate to convince Wilson, but was rather pleased to hear the curious sound the scientist made against his chest where he was pressed, still shivering, but not quite as much as before. The man had a bit of confidence to continue.

"I had a lot of going on for me then. I was liked by everyone and nobody was able to match my shows, it was the best time of my life."

"I bet you were just as overly dramatic and show-off back then, too." Wilson chuckled, and Maxwell wasn't sure if he heard insult in his voice or not, but he just nodded.

"Well, I was The Amazing Maxwell. Gotta give the audience the best show I can pull off, right? I wouldn't want to disappoint them by not giving them everything I got! After all, I was quite famous before Charlie and I got sucked in here-"

"Charlie?"

Maxwell choked on his next words, and made a small gagging sound, his face turning pale and the triumphant grin fading into an empty stare.

Oh no.

He instantly forgot everything else he had been about to say or meant to brag about.

"Was Charlie your friend? Wait, did you get sucked in here with someone else?! How come I've never met them?"

Maxwell tensed up, and his expression hardened and grew colder than the weather.

"That" he snarled between his teeth, swallowing a hard lump that had suddenly grown inside his throat "is none of your business." He wasn't ready to talk about her. He would never be ready. It had all been his fault and his alone, and she was nothing but an innocent victim, a clueless bystander who had done nothing wrong. She had not messed with the shadows or the magic of this world. She had not made deals with ominous shadows or voices in the radio.

Maxwell shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, the small flame of bitterness and guilt burning in his chest. They had no reason or right to drag her down with him. She had done nothing to deserve this, not a single thing that would justify her imprisonment here. Yet here she was, unable to go home, unable to even be a human, and it was all Maxwell's fault. He wasn't only a bad person, he was a bad friend.

Poor Charlie, living in this hellish place, forced to lurk in the darkness like some kind of a monster. Maxwell remembered how the anger used to overtake him when he had been sitting on the throne, when the survivors would talk about the monster in the dark. She was not a monster. If Maxwell could've done anything to prevent her involvement in this mess, he wouldn't hesitate to give up anything to do so.

"Um... Alright." Wilson answered hesitantly, rising his shoulders up "Just, uh, if you ever want to talk about it..."

"I won't." Maxwell was quick to speak over him and make his point clear. He didn't wish to think about something as horrible as what he had done to poor, wonderful, innocent Charlie. He didn't wish to tell about his worst crime to anyone. Let alone to Wilson, who had every right in the world to blame him for everything, and would no doubt waste any time for making him feel even more horrible about what he had done.

"...Sure." the younger man's voice was surprisingly soft, and now it was his time to clear his throat awkwardly "So, uh... What is, in your opinion, the worst monster in here?"

'Me' Maxwell wanted to answer, but settled for something less dramatic "The ewecus, for certain."

Wilson groaned deeply.

"Urg. I was going to say 'tentacles', but I think I switch it to that, too."

"Yes well, tentacles sure are high up on my list as well."

Wilson chuckled, and asked another question, which was given back to him with couple of more questions, and it went back and fort like that as the time slowly flowed by, and the cold faded away, and soon the morning sun started to break through the darkness in the horizon.

"...How about... winter or summer?"

"Winter. Summer is the worst."

"Mhm."

"Which ones are better, fire hounds or ice hounds?"

"Ice. Although I much prefer the classic model."

"Yes, but it was not part of the question, Maxwell."

"Yourself, then?"

"Uh, ice. Fire hounds have burned down too much things that I used to own. I hate them."

"Sure, sure. What's your favorite color?"

"It's-" Wilson stopped in mid-sentence, and looked around them in silence "...It's seems to be morning already."

Maxwell let his eyes run over the barren snowy landscape as well, stopping to stare at the low burning fire and the melted pile of clothes he had put to dry next to it.

"...So it is."

There was a short moment when neither of them moved an inch.

Then, very slowly Maxwell let go and sat up, keeping his eyes away from Wilson. The younger man turned to scoop his clothes from the ground and hesitantly emerged under the fur roll, gave a small shiver, and started to dress himself up again.
Then they left back to the camp without saying a word or daring to look each other in the eyes.

Notes:

No homo, right?

Chapter 6: Mercy

Summary:

Maxwell wants to help Wilson to build a portal. Later, Wilson has a difficult decision to make.

WARNING: Violence, Character death, Assisted death/suicide

Chapter Text

Wilson returned back to their camp from his fishing trip. He had left Maxwell in the charge of the camp, which shouldn't be too much responsibility since there was literally nobody else than the magician there, so he hadn't really worried when he left.

But when he arrived back and saw the man sitting on the ground and lazily going through the blueprints that Wilson had spent quite some time making, he instantly dropped his backpack and rushed over, tearing the papers away from Maxwell, who flinched and turned to look at him, rather confused and annoyed.

"Hands off! These are my important researches and memos, you are not allowed to touch them, you're going to ruin them!" The scientist screamed in worry disguised as an anger. He had really put a lot of work to this portal he was trying to build, and the last thing he wanted was to get everything destroyed by the ex-King again.

"I was just looking, for God's sake!" Maxwell said, rolling his eyes and getting up "Not like it's going to go anywhere like that anyway, I can't imagine the mistakes you've left there."

"...What mistakes?" Wilson furrowed his brows and started to inspect his blueprints, pouting. He hadn't made mistakes, how would Maxwell even know, he didn't know anything about science.

"Well, if I am to be honest they are not mistakes, more like... deficiencies." the tall man stated and walked beside him, hanging his arm over his shoulders. Wilson grunted and leaned away, but allowed Maxwell to point at the paper "This won't work without some magic. I could help with that, if you wish."

"Absolutely not!" Wilson gasped, pulling the blueprint closer to himself protectively "Magic isn't real and even if it was, it won't help with this! This is the work of science!"

"Oh pal, haven't you learned your lesson yet?"

Wilson snapped his mouth shut and stared at the other man questioningly. Maxwell smirked and pulled the blueprint back for both of them to see "Things don't work like that in here. This damn place is made of more magic than science, and it requires corresponding solutions. Let me help, I could be useful."

Wilson bit his lip and considered for a moment. Maxwell could be useful, that much was true. But how trustworthy? The last portal Maxwell helped him built was successful in the most horrendous ways possible. The man sighed deeply and rubbed his neck. Maxwell rose his eyebrow.

"Listen Higgsbury, I want out of here as much as you do. Why wouldn't my help be for the best?"

Wilson had to admit that it sounded like a reasonable explanation. Maxwell had no reason to sabotage his work, and perhaps he knew some things that Wilson didn't, even though the young man would never ever admit it out loud.

"Fine. I guess your help could come in handy-" He hadn't even finished his sentence when Maxwell slapped his back a bit too harshly, and Wilson let out a small 'oof' sound.

"That's the spirit, pal! Let me see what I can do with this little doodle of yours" the man practically ripped the blueprint away from the scientist, and hesitantly Wilson let him take it. He really did try to start trusting Maxwell more and leave the past grudges behind, but he couldn't help the gnawing distrustful dwelling inside his gut. He had worked hard, and it terrified him to let the former shadow King take all of his work from him. Despite his fear, he really was trying to believe that Maxwell was actually going to help.

Wilson wanted to believe he was going to help.

Well, Maxwell had been a bit nicer lately, at least a lot more than he was before Wilson set him free from the throne. Maxwell hadn't earned his forgiveness or trust by any means yet, but maybe he did deserve some credit for his progress. Wilson changed the weight from one leg to another and stared at the back of the other man, watching him working something with the blueprint and his shadow book.

Maxwell had come a long way from the man he used to be. Maybe it had something to do with the sudden realization that he seriously lacked the skills he needed to survive, and he had to swallow his pride and play nice to Wilson for an unspecified amount of time to stay alive, but... sometimes Wilson was almost sure he was being genuinely sorry. That he wanted to make up for his wrong doings, and he really felt bad for the things he had done. And even though Wilson wanted to deny it, he still felt like he had the responsibility to be a bigger man and keep Maxwell safe and alive. Because no matter how bad or immoral or terrible the things the man had done were, Wilson still didn't want to stand so low as to let him die because of it.

Well, maybe he did want to let Maxwell die just a little bit, but he still didn't want to be the reason for it. He wanted to be better than that, he wanted to be the gentleman scientist he had always been, and not let the good in himself wilt away because of his own wrath and bitterness. He could rise above that.

Wilson took in a long, deep breath, and walked to stand next to Maxwell and started to explain about the portal he had been planning to build. Maxwell didn't seem surprised and just listened what the younger man said, and then started to, in his own annoying I-know-better way, to explain why some points Wilson made were obviously wrong and how to fix them. And even though Wilson snarled back his answers and rolled his eyes every two minutes, he found that it was actually kind of enjoyable to work with someone else for a change.

In fact, he had so much fun that it wasn't until the late evening that he snapped out of the haze of planning, and realized that the day had slithered by in what felt like only matter of seconds. He had gotten nothing else done since he returned to the camp and saw Maxwell eyeing the blueprints.

And he realized that he didn't even care. He had fun, for once, and he couldn't believe he was actually enjoying himself in the company of Maxwell. Voluntarily, by his own choice. He just kept working, until he came to found that he was missing some gears to further progress the portal.

"Shit" he breathed out under his breath in mild irritation, and quick-walked to his backpack. The magician looked after him in confusion.

"What?"

"We're gonna need gears for this. It's gonna take a while to find them, but I know a chess piece a day walk away, maybe even half a day If I use the wormhole. It won't take long, I'll come back as soon as I can."

Maxwell stared at him.

"And why does this need to be done now, in the birth of the night?"

Wilson stopped. He didn't have to leave now, but he was too excited to stay around and roll his thumbs when he knew what they needed, and he was just too enthusiastic to wait. He waved his hand dismissively "No time like present, right? I'll be quick."

Maxwell seemed to ponder something for a while, until he sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead "Then I'll come with you. No use for setting oneself up in needless danger when there is backup available."

Wilson gave him a long stare full of suspicion and confusion, but most of all, surprise. A pleasant surprise, he realized. Was Maxwell volunteering to help him out? Really, Maxwell, helping? The same Maxwell who used to leave him dying and laughed at him on his last moments as a King, and was deaf to his pleas of mercy? The same Maxwell who hid behind him and made him do all the hard work while claiming to be doing such as much as him, even though he was basically useless without Wilson?

...Huh. Well that was a bit unexpected. Either Maxwell was sick, or he really had taken Wilson's words about building some trust between them seriously. Either way, he didn't say no to the help. And if Maxwell really, truly wanted to show him that he at least tried to take a step further and be a better man, he'd not deny it from the older man.

"Sure thing. You need something special with you? Armor? A weapon?"

Maxwell shook his head "I have all I need right here" he smirked and pulled the Codex in sight, sweeping his long fingers through it's cover almost adoringly. Wilson frowned. It was not his business, but if he'd have something like that in his possession, he'd burn it down faster than lighting. If magic was real, and it wasn't, then that book held the darkest, creepiest, scariest type of magic that had ever existed. Wilson didn't trust it, but Maxwell seemed to know what he was doing with it, so the younger man did not pry.

But even when Maxwell seemed to be able to handle the book and it's 'magic' (that was just a science that they didn't understand yet, just like everything else 'supernatural' or 'magical') Wilson still stuffed the extra armor into his backpack, just in case.

They didn't waste any time before leaving to find the gears, and during the whole journey Wilson babbled about science, the magic of this place, the resources, the theories, everything that he possibly could even distantly connect to the portal they were building now.

Maxwell kept mostly quiet, allowing the short man run his mouth to fill up the silence of the night. Most of the time he was sure that Wilson had even forgotten he was actually there with the scientist, supported by the occasional sudden pause when Wilson glanced to his direction, before he seemed to remember he was in the middle of explaining something, and so the ranting continued.

Maxwell felt a bit better about himself, knowing he was helping Wilson getting out of here. He was actually impressed that the man had came up with the idea of the portal and that it looked almost functional in the paper, and even though it was just a rough sketch and could be improved greatly, it's not something that Maxwell could create on his own. And well, helping Wilson build the thing was the least he could do.

Of course he wanted to get the hell out of here for himself, too, but he genuinely wanted to help Wilson out this time. He had been the reason the man had been sucked into this hellhole, so he wanted to be the reason he'd get out of here as well. And after Wilson freed him from the throne, spared his life, and then even agreed to help him to survive, Maxwell kind of had to help him out. He owed Wilson too much, he owed the man more than he felt comfortable owing to anyone. Being in debt was not something he liked, and he could argue, that he'd even prefer to have the duns and claimants breathing on his neck, than having to play nice to the man currently walking slightly ahead of him. He'd much prefer to owe Wilson all of his money than something so valuable as his freedom and life.

He sighed tiredly and rubbed his neck, and Wilson turned to give him a questioning look, which Maxwell dismissed with the wave of his hand and mumble about being tired of walking already. Which, to be honest, he was, and it wasn't his fault that he wasn't young and sporty. Wilson shrugged and just told him to walk it off. Oh, ha ha, very funny. Maxwell didn't even dignify him with an answer.

It didn't take too long, a few hours, until they reached the wormhole. Maxwell scowled. He would be more okay-ish traveling through the weirdy inappropriate-looking, mouth-like holes with the sharp teeth in them, but the one thing he absolutely couldn't stand was the slime. Or spit, or whatever the sticky substance inside the tunnel was.

Wilson didn't seem fazed at all, rolling up his sleeves and taking Maxwell's hand on his own. The magician rose his brow at him, glancing to his own hand that Wilson was holding, and then back at the man. Wilson shrugged at him, smiling a little.

"You know, so we won't get separated."

"... It's not like the wormhole leads to anywhere else than one specific place, Higgsbury."

Wilson opened his mouth, stopped when the bright pink color rose to adore his face, and fastly and quietly let go of Maxwell's hand, eyes darting on the ground "Oh, right. Umm..."

Maxwell really liked it when Wilson was caught of guard and went all confused and flustered like a school-girl and was, for once, quiet. It looked funny, the entertainment at it's best- It was almost cute. The older man stopped that train of thought as soon as he caught it, preventing it moving anywhere it wasn't allowed to. He only thought that this was funny, nothing more.

"Go on, after you." he gestured towards the wormhole, which opened up as in command and waited patiently. Wilson seemed to decide that escaping the situation was the only way to handle the obvious embarrassment he was in, and didn't say anything before jumping into the hole without even glancing at Maxwell. The taller man followed soon after.

"We are walking back the whole way after we're done, by the way." He told Wilson as soon as he reached the other side "I've seen how you get when you travel through these things too much, and I am not volunteering to look after you if that happens."

Wilson's mouth fell open and brows knitted together.

"I wasn't even going to go through it again! Besides, I won't need your help if that happens. I've handled much worse, and lord knows you have no idea what it's like when the sanity is hanging by the tread and nobody's there to help, so don't assume you can tell me how to handle it."

Maxwell sneered and turned away "Fine, suit yourself then. Don't come crying if you need my help."

"Hah, as if I would ever do that. You're the one who needs to understand, that if you come crying to me when you need my help, which you will, I'd be happy to show you what it feels like to be left in trouble."

Maxwell stopped and Wilson felt the air getting just a hint colder than before.

"... Is that a threat?" the tall man asked slowly and thoughtfully. Wilson licked his lips and let his gaze drop to the ground. Then he groaned and shook his head.

"No, of course it isn't. I'm just saying that you need to respect the fact that I have offered you help, even when you definitely have not deserved it, and you need to stop talking so condesendingly to me."

"I will make you a deal-"

"No, I want nothing to do with your stupid deals-"

"-I'll stop talking to you condescendingly when you start acting like a sane person. Which, to be fair, isn't going to happen anytime soon."

"Forget it." Wilson snarled and pushed past the older man, purposefully hitting his arm with his elbow as he did. He was starting to second guess Maxwell's importance to the mission of getting the gears. Maybe the back up was needed, but he'd be damned before he'd admit it out loud, and if Maxwell was going to act like a jerk again, he'd prefer fighting the clockworks alone.

They walked the whole night in silence, and even after the dawn had broken the horizon and the world around them spread to life once more, the men kept giving each other the silent treatment.

Maxwell didn't care in the slightest. Silence was always a good thing in his opinion, and Wilson being mad wasn't anything new to him, not something he couldn't handle.

Wilson on the other hand was fuming. Even when he told himself to count to hundred before he said something offensive or mean, he found out that he needed to count to hundred several times, before he started to calm down. Maxwell truly was the master of ruining every nice moment he managed to have. What an impressive yet completely useless talent, that the scientist wished the man didn't have.

When they finally found the clockworks that Wilson needed for the gears, the sun had already crossed the sky, coloring the forest orange and  growing the shadows long and deep. Wilson put on his armor and glanced at his companion. Maxwell had armor on too. It was dark and shadowy, and Wilson got a sick feeling, a headache just from looking at it. The same applied to the sword that the older man had with him, and the younger man made a decision to stay a good distance away to avoid the influence of the shadows.

"Okay. I'll handle the rook. You can take the the knights." Wilson suggested, and Maxwell nodded. The scientist didn't waste his time talking, and sprinted towards the giant rhino-like machine, letting out a battle cry to give himself courage to face the giant thing. Despite his recklessness and ability to fight fairly well, he was not a brave man. He was scared of so many things, so, so many things, but in the face of danger he had to often confront his fears and pretend to be braver than he truly was.

That in mind, the man slammed his hambat straight at the face of the rook that wasn't quick enough to react, and the machine got the mean punch straight to it's nose (horn?) and wobbled back. Wilson heard one of the knights chasing Maxwell behind his back, but didn't turn to see how the fight was going. He'd not dare to turn his back on the rook, unless he was about to start running.

Speaking of which, the rhino-like creature stomped the ground and  huffed the steam out of it's nose, before charging straight at Wilson. Luckily, the thing didn't understand to look where it was going when it rampaged through the checkered flooring, and Wilson was too fast for it's giant body to stop mid-attack and change the direction. He dodged rather easily, and the rook run straight through the pillars and few trees, until it finally stopped again.

Wilson wasted no time running after it to aim as many hits to it's metal body as he could. He heard the knight falling, and he backed down to dodge another upcoming charge.

"You're doing okay there?" he called out without turning to look.

"Not dead yet, but could use some salve" came the slightly distressed answer "My armor broke."

Wilson furrowed his brows "How can that armor break?!"

"Well I've been using it the whole spring ever since the deerclops! These things are not cheap to make, you know!"

Wilson saw another opening and ran to attack again. The more hits the rook took, the angrier it got. Wilson knew he was close beating it, but he didn't want to get ahead of himself, that would only make him arrogant and it would lead to recklessness and failure.

He let the rook ran towards him and dodged, but his confidence died when he heard a gasp and a loud thud, as the rook hit something that didn't sound like an inanimate object.  The man turned around, eyes wide and heart beating, to see Maxwell laying on the ground where the rook had run him over. The young man  swallowed, but the metal-beast had already readied itself to next attack, and was now running towards him again, as was the remaining one of the knights.

Wilson cringed and ran, mind racing, pulled apart by worry over Maxwell and the instinct to survive. He chose the survival, because if he died, there was nothing he could do to help Maxwell.

Luckily the rook wasn't all that good at controlling it's own movements, being way too heavy and large to stop itself, and Wilson easily tricked it to running over and destroying the knight - and now the thought hit him, that perhaps he should've done this from the beginning. Oh well, you can't always think ahead.

After another few successful hits with the hambat the final clockwork monster let out an exhausted roar and crumbled down to pile of metal. Wilson panted, shoulders rising up and down from exhaustion, before he swirled around to see Maxwell still laying on his side, right where he was left after getting run over by the rook. Wilson hurried over, completely forgotten their earlier fight.

"Maxwell? Are you okay?"

At first the man just took a slow, unsure breath, and then he closed his mouth, opening his eyes but not rising to look at Wilson.

"... There seems to be bit of a problem, pal. I can't move."

Wilson stared at the man in disbelief.

"What do you mean you can't move?"

The man grimaced, and gave him a sharp glare.

"Did I stutter? I can't move. I... can't feel my body."

Wilson's insides grew cold, as he knelt down and rose the man from the ground, supporting his frail body on his arm. Maxwell didn't try to stop him, and he felt somewhat heavy, like he had gone completely limp.

"Ah, thanks pal. I see you finished the clockworks... I think you only need to decide what you wanna do, now."

Wilson bat his eyes, not really following. 

"What do you mean?"

Maxwell lidded his eyes half-closed, looking at the ground, and he had never looked so pathetic and helpless. The beaten, almost scared tone in his voice did nothing to dispel the picture.

"Well, the damned thing hit me pretty harsh on the back. As it appears, I'm paralyzed. It's your call what you want to do with me now."

Wilson didn't answer. He had too much in his mind. The earlier thoughts and long-grown hatred and thirst for getting revenge, but also a slight panic, confusion, and the horrid little feeling of peer pressure for having to make the right call. Maxwell sighed.

"Look pal, I'm not going to start walking anytime soon. You have pretty much only three real options here: You can keep me alive and try to take care of me like this, but we both know that neither one of us wants that. You could leave me here, wash your hands from this, and not make a decision at all. Or you can put me out of my misery yourself and end this suffering sooner."

Wilson's eyes widened and he gasped out a horrified, almost offended breath.

"I'm not a murderer!"

"I know. There's no force in this universe that could turn you into such a thing. It'd be mercy to kill me now, before something else does."

Wilson let his gaze drop on the ground.

"...What if... What if I don't do anything?" he furrowed his brows, some old, bitter flame lighting up inside him "I could let you really think things through, keep you alive and let you know how helpess it feels. I told you that you can't come crying to me when you need my help. You would deserve it."

To his dismay, the older man laughed. It was a joyless laugh, but still somehow managed to sound amused.

"Finally decided to grow a pair, huh? I'm proud of you, Higgsbury, didn't think you had it in you."

Wilson swallowed. He was pulled to every which way emotionally, unsure of what he should do, what he wanted to do, what would be the humane thing to do, the rightful thing to do.

Did he want Maxwell to really experience and understand what he had forced the others to live through?

Yes.

Did he want to be someone who would do that to another human?

No.

The man pulled his hair nervously and breathed deeply. He had been in the situation where he was forced to make a decision for someone else on their behalf before, and it wasn't something new to him, but it never got any easier to play the judge. Who was he to decide if someone got to live or die? That was too much power for one person to handle.

"...What would you want me to do?" he asked.

"I though we both had already agreed that my opinion should not matter to you."

"Well it... It doesn't, but..." Wilson couldn't help himself. He took Maxwell's hand on his own and squeezed it. Even if the man couldn't feel it, Wilson made sure he could at least see the gesture "I just can't do it. I can't- I won't... I have never killed someone who isn't already dying." he muttered, almost feeling like crying. He had been forced to kill before. Forced to put his friends out of their misery, because they had already been dying, already a lost cause, and he just made it a bit quicker, a bit less painful for them.

But this was different. Not only because it was Maxwell, who arguably would be more deserving of the slow, painful death, but because Maxwell wasn't technically dying yet. He was alive, not necessarily going to die from this injury, and this time it was entirely up to Wilson how he wanted to end this.

Maxwell had gone quiet and, because he didn't have a choice, let Wilson hold him close. The short man had started to absentmindedly sway a bit as he held the other man, pondering what to do.  Maxwell opened his eyes again and smiled tiredly.

"It's getting dark, Higgsbury. You have to make up your mind soon."

Wilson stopped his slow movement and looked at the other man, deep into his dark eyes, and bit his jaw together tight. He nodded and looked around, spotted a pond, and as he made his decision, he let the tension fall from his shoulders. He hoisted Maxwell to his arms, only briefly thinking how could the man still feel so light when his whole weight was on Wilson, and carried him over to the pond.

"I... I don't want to make it messy, I..."

"It's your choice, pal. I don't have anything against drowning."

Wilson was not sure what to think of that sentence, so he nodded again without giving it a lot of thought, and lowered the man down.

"I... I guess I'll see you soon?"

"Yes, I have activated a touchstone here. I will be back sooner than you even notice."

Wilson knew he couldn't follow through with his intentions, if he stopped to think about it for even for a second too long, so he took a fast, deep breath to clear his mind, and pushed Maxwell's head underwater.

It felt so unnatural that the old man didn't even struggle, couldn't struggle if he wanted to, and the thought flied through the scientist's mind that he could've done practically anything to the former King, and the man was completely helpless to stop him- but the thought passed away quickly.

Wilson was aware that he watched the bubbles on the water, air escaping the lungs that desperately fought to keep the body alive, but it felt unreal, like he was watching his hands doing something without his head's command. He was only partly present when the bubbles on the water started to get fewer and eventually stopped altogether. It was so silent.

He didn't know if it lasted several minutes or only seconds, but he didn't want to think about it. Maxwell had wanted to be killed, it wasn't Wilson's fault, he only did what was for the best. It was not man-slaughter if it was mercy-killing. He was not to blame, Maxwell trusted him to do the right thing, Maxwell trusted him to do something. He had to, he hadn't wanted to, but he had to.

Wilson didn't stay and watch what would happen to the body. He knew it would crumble down unnaturally fast, left only bones behind for someone else to find. He only gathered the gears and walked away.

Out of some weirdly personal, distant feeling of perhaps remorse or compassion, he didn't use the wormhole on his way back to the camp.

Chapter 7: Flowers in your hair

Summary:

Wilson and Maxwell realize they kind of enjoy each other's company.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

After his death, Maxwell had become a bit more humble. At least Wilson thought that he had. He didn't seem to take Wilson's help as granted anymore, and he actually acted like he was thankful for the things Wilson did for him. And even though he apparently just couldn't stop acting like an arrogant jerk from time to time, he was at least really trying to be e bit nicer than before.

Wilson had been upset for a while after the death, but Maxwell had expressed to him that he actually was a bit surprised and grateful for Wilson's decision to end his life rather than leave him suffering in the body that he couldn't use, and it made the young man feel a bit better. It was good to know he hadn't done something bad.

Maxwell had looked a bit awkward when he had found his way back from the touchstone, tired and ruffled up, and Wilson had gotten an uncertain and quick pat on his shoulder, before the ex-King mumbled that Wilson was a great man and walked to rest in the tent. Wilson didn't disturb him for the rest of the day, because he also felt a bit awkward about the whole ordeal. It was kind of awkward having to express any positive emotions towards each other after everything that had happened.

At first they just worked on the portal and did chores separated from one another and avoided talking, but slowly the things eased up to the way they had been previously. Almost.

Something had changed. Wilson had noticed it, but he wasn't sure what it was. The air between them weren't so tense and filled with unspoken insults and awaiting threats anymore. It was not a bad thing, not at all, but it was weird. He wasn't used to getting along with Maxwell this well, even if there was still a lot of fighting and disagreeing and absolutely not anything else than alliance between them, it was still very nice to get to have a pleasant day every once in a while.

And on top of everything, the portal had started to look rather good. Wilson was proud of it. It was his chance to redeem himself, not only in the eyes of someone who had made a fool out of him previously, but he needed to prove to himself that he could do it. He could make it work, create a way out, and restore his pride as a man of science.

The man swept an oily hand (he was sure it was some kind of an oil, at least it came from the clockworks) over his forehead to wipe the sweat away, and looked at the creation that would become a doorway out of here very soon.

They had worked hard. Really, really hard, and he was dirty, tired, and he felt disgusting. The scientist glanced at the other man. It was late spring, and the weather had become pleasurably warm, but after building and working the whole day long, it was starting to feel a bit too warm.

"Maxwell. We should take a break." He said and leaned on the table where he kept the blueprints and other important things. Maxwell gave him a quick glance and straightened his back.

"If it means that you will put your shirt back on, then sure, let's take a break."

Wilson snorted loudly and walked to fetch some water. Maxwell was only throwing out excuses because he didn't want to work. Wilson knew this, because for someone who claimed to be a sophisticated and well-mannered man, Maxwell sure complained and whined over every single little thing he had to do. He still did everything, but he apparently wanted Wilson to know how much it hurt his back and how his hands were getting blisters and his knees were getting sore and blah blah blah poor him.

Wilson had stopped answering to most of his childish mutters. If it helped Maxwell to work, he'd be welcome to whine his heart out all he wanted. As long as he wasn't blaming Wilson for it or pushing more work on his shoulders, it was fine. He was already volunteering to do all the heavy lifting, since it was obvious that he could handle it faster, better, and without crying out about it.

He took a gulp or two out of the water-tin made out of rabbit skins, and offered it to Maxwell. The man took it, but sneered very disapprovingly.

"At least wash yourself you dirty caveman." the magician scowled at his sweaty and oily hand as if it had personally offended him. Wilson just laughed.

"Yes, dad."

"If that's a joke about my age, it's not funny. You have absolutely no talent in entertainment. Thank God you decided to pursue science rather than a career as a comedian."

"Well, I think I'm funny."

"I don't."

"Thank God nobody asked for your opinion, then."

Maxwell huffed and crossed his arms, turning away and scowling. Wilson had to once again wonder how could someone be always saying outright insults to everyone else, but could not take a small joke without acting out like a freaking diva about it.

"Hey, don't be like that." Wilson smiled and sat next to the other man, who only turned further away. Wilson poked him playfully with his shoulder "Come on, let's not fight. I'll go wash while you make us some dinner, okay?"

There was no answer, so Wilson just patted the other man's shoulder and got up, fetched the cloth and walked to the nearest pond. If Maxwell was so upset over some sweat and dirt, then boy was he going to just love summer.

Perhaps they could spend it in the caves. It was cooler down there, and even though Wilson knew he had trouble keeping his head well in the darkness, Maxwell seemed to handle it pretty well. They could spend at least the part of the summer in there.

Wilson decided to suggest it at some point.

---

It was kind of new for Maxwell to be treated some way that didn't include the enormous amounts of hatred, loathing and grudge. He knew that Wilson wasn't his biggest fan, but it had started to feel weird being around the scientist when he wasn't acting like he wanted Maxwell to drop dead every few seconds.

It was never fun to be hated. He was used to it of course, he could live with it, but he didn't enjoy it. It was nice to spend time with someone without either being feared or hated, or both. He couldn't remember the time when he had some company who didn't want to kill him, let alone have company who wanted to spend time with him. Well, he supposed that Wilson didn't really want to spend his time with him per se, but he didn't seem to dislike it either.

Maxwell sighed and got up to carelessly throw something into the crocpot and walked to eye the portal. He truly, genuinely hoped he could send the scientist back home. It wouldn't fix his mistakes, but it was at least something. Wilson deserved to get back to where he belonged, and if Maxwell could help him get there, all the better.

He wasn't going to pretend that they were friends or anything, but he wanted to be a better companion to the other man, too. He wanted to make up some of his mistakes, because the unpaid debts had always rubbed him the wrong way, and he just wanted to do something right for once in his life.

There had already been plenty of chances for Wilson to take revenge on him if he so wanted, and Maxwell guessed that the younger man was just too fair to actually go through with any of the threats. Maxwell wasn't fond of the idea of letting someone hurt him, and he supposed he would always try to avoid it, but he wouldn't hold it against Wilson if he one day would snap, and decided that he needed to have his revenge after all.

Until then, Maxwell was just going to help him build the portal, and try to take what he was given, because in the end it was more than he deserved, and Wilson was a good man to look past his own vendetta to actually let him stay with him. Too good for his own good. Maxwell hoped that Wilson would never lower his guard or start trusting him too much. He knew he wouldn't be worthy of it, and he had spent a lot of time alone on the throne stuck with only his own thoughts. He had got a lot of time to get to know himself, and he knew he was a selfish coward who wouldn't hesitate to put himself above all the others. And he knew that he didn't want Wilson or anyone else to get hurt by him because of who he was.

Speaking of the devil, the younger man returned to the camp, and thank God he was at least clean now. Maxwell understood that yes, they were in the middle of nowhere, and there wasn't exactly any luxuries in the wilderness, but would it really hurt Wilson to at least try to be presentable?

"Hey. Is the food ready? I'm starving."

Maxwell glanced at the crocpot. He supposed the food was as ready as it was going to be, but when he walked to actually see if it was edible, he just scowled at the sight.

"Well don't keep me waiting. My brain needs energy." Wilson pestered him jokingly.

"You're welcome to eat this if you wish." the magician just snarled and pulled the wet goop out of the pot. Wilson stared at it in disgust.

"Oh come on! You can't even make some meatballs? They have to be the easiest things to make! There's meat and vegetables everywhere!" the short man whined and rubbed his forehead.

"You know I'm not the best cook! If my food is so bad, then why did you put me up to it?"

"I put you up to it exactly because you're so bad at it! How else are you going to learn to do anything!? I can't be walking you through everything and hold your hand just because your skills are at the level of a five year old!"

Without any warning Wilson found out that there was a plateful of goop on his face, dripping down his shoulders. Maxwell glowered at him only a second before he turned around and stomped away, muttering something as he went. Wilson was about to yell at him for throwing food on him like a little brat, but then he just took a deep, deeeeep breath, wiped the mess from his face, and followed after the other man. If it was Maxwell's personal mission to make him take baths all day long, he certainly made sure that Wilson needed to.

The short man caught up to the other one, and actually struggled to keep up with him (And it wasn't because he had short legs, it was because Maxwell had freakishly long ones).

"Hey, listen..."

"Why should I?"

Wilson took another deep deep deep breath, and counted to ten.

"Because I want to tell you-"

"Yes yes I know. I'm going." Maxwell snarled without turning to look at the other man even once. Wilson stopped in confusion, then realized he was getting behind, and hurried to walk back on Maxwell's heels again.

"Going where?"

Maxwell sniffed arrogantly "To get more food, obviously! You wanted me to make us something to eat? Well I can't, if I don't have anything to make it with."

Wilson stared at the other man's back.

"And why can't you just take something from the icebox? Wouldn't that be easier?"

Maxwell scoffed at his question like it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard.

"And listen about how much food I have wasted? No, I'd rather not. I can replace what I've ruined, and I don't need you to keep an eye on me, so head back and clean yourself up, Higgsbury."

Wilson resisted the urge bark back, and just ended up frowning deeply. Maxwell sure had a habit of making a big deal out of the things that were small and unimportant, and downplaying things that were actually serious and important. But to be fair, Wilson could've been a bit nicer to him. He was aware that he got a bit mean when he was really hungry, and he wasn't used to spending time with someone who didn't know at least something about survival. Not a good combination. He sighed.

"I wasn't going to ask you to replace the food you failed to make, I was going to tell you that... I get it." he paused for a moment, and since Maxwell didn't retort anything back, he continued "I have been surviving here a long time now, I know what I'm doing. But I wasn't always like this, I failed and ran to dead-ends all the time, I made a bunch of mistakes too when I started. You know I did, you were there to laugh at me when it happened."

"So I take it that you're here to return the favor, hm?" Maxwell's voice wasn't really annoyed anymore, it mas almost just conversational. Wilson wasn't really sure what to make of it.

"No, I was just... Look, I shouldn't have made fun of you. Throwing the food at my face wasn't really necessary, thank you for that by the way, but I could've just asked you to try again instead of yelling at you. What I'm trying to say here is that I, uh, I 'm... I'm sorry?" the man surprised even himself when the words left his mouth.

Maxwell stopped so suddenly that Wilson bumped on his back. The older man turned to look at him, brows knitted together and face in slight frown "...Really?"

Wilson nodded. Maxwell was quiet, eyes wandering somewhere as he thought about something, and then he just shrugged and let his expression ease up a little bit.

"Sure. If you say so."

At this point Wilson had just made a decision to believe that Maxwell hadn't had a lot of practice with socializing with other people. The scientist followed after him, still thinking that there was enough food in the camp to make another meal without having to gather more, but he let the older man get more if he wanted to. After all, better have too much that too little.

They came on the top of the low hill, and behind it was a small meadow with beehives and flowers everywhere, some mole-holes scattered here and there.

"...You're not going to try to gather honey, are you? Please tell me you're not." Wilson cringed at the idea of having to dig the countless stingers out of his arms. Maxwell answered him with a short laugh.

"No. I think I'll settle for catching the moles today."

Wilson allowed himself to smirk a bit. At least it was relatively easy job to do. For some reason he really wanted Maxwell to succeed at something, maybe because he just really wanted to eat, but also because he could remember how bad it felt to try something and not get the results he wanted. It was bad enough without someone being there to scold you for not doing a perfect job. He silently decided that he'd make sure to just kindly offer help if Maxwell seemed to have trouble with something from now on. It was going to be easier for both of them that way.

Also because he didn't want to have another plate of wet goop thrown at his face.

Descending down the hill, Wilson didn't watch where he was going, and suddenly tripped over a small rock, and in a state of startle and panic he screamed out and grabbed the nearest thing to keep his balance, which just so happened to be Maxwell.

The man didn't even have a time to react before he already was stumbling down the hill with the scientist stuck to his jacket, attempting and failing to hold onto something to stop the fall. Luckily the ground was soft, the grass covering most of it, and they landed relatively softly on the foot of the hill.

Wilson groaned and hoisted himself up on his elbows, thanking the heavens that he landed on something soft.

"...Higgsbury. Would you mind?"

Wilson's face turned bright red when he realized that he was half laying on Maxwell, who didn't seem very pleased with the situation. Wilson opened his mouth to apologize, and was about to get up, when he suddenly stopped to stare at the flowers under Maxwell's head, some of which where tangling together with his hair. The smile slowly crept on the scientist face, and he couldn't stop the laughter escaping his lips. Maxwell blushed and furrowed his brows.

"What?" he snapped, annoyed and frustrated. Wilson smirked.

"It's just... it looks kinda funny when you have flowers in your hair. They don't really fit your image" the man managed to explain, holding back his laughter. It did look kind of weird to have a bunch of bright, colorful flowers against Maxwell's dark hair and pale, almost sickly complexion and dark suit. The flowers looked out of place there, or rather, Maxwell looked out of place here.

To his surprise, Maxwell let his face soften a bit and a short, tired chuckle escaped his lips "I guess so. Flowers were more of Charlie's thing."

Wilson's grin disappeared and his face got serious, a bit concerned even.

"...You mean, uh... that friend of yours who ended up here with you?"

Maxwell stopped, face turning into a scowl of discomfort, freezing up and looking towards Wilson, but not at him, rather straight through him, somewhere that nobody else was able to see. Wilson swallowed and readied himself for the fight, before Maxwell surprisingly just sighed heavily and let his body untense, closing his eyes.

"She liked flowers and things like that." His dark gloved hand moved to touch the flower pinned to his suit, a dreamy yet somehow empty expression on his face "Roses were her favorite."

Wilson nodded solemnly, falling silent for a while. He was pretty sure that this was a subject of conversation that he wasn't allowed to know more than Maxwell was ready to tell him. He felt like he didn't have a right to ask about it either, about her, this Charlie who seemed to be very important person to Maxwell. It was kind of strange to realize that there was someone, somewhere, who was important to Maxwell at all. Who had been his friend, whom he cared for very deeply, as it appeared. It made the man seem disturbingly humane, disturbingly likeable and ordinary, and Wilson didn't know if he liked that it awakened a spark of empathy in him.

He realized that it made him feel a different type of pity for Maxwell. Not the type like he felt for the sad man trapped on his throne, not the type he felt for a survivor who was impressively bad at surviving, but a much warmer kind of pity. He felt the alarming need to comfort the man somehow, to let him know that Wilson didn't like it that he felt bad about this thing, to make him feel understood.

He wasn't really sure what to think of that. So he just let a careful small smile return back to his face, as he pinched one flower off the ground and placed it on Maxwell's hair, following some kind of natural instinct, some kind of deeper emotion that told him to do something, something nice and kind, something that would send a message that he cared. Maxwell tensed up again, dumbfounded and baffled, brows drawing even tighter together to an expression that was mixture of anger and something more softer, maybe embarrassment. Wilson just smiled.

"I think they could be your thing too, you know. They make you look alive. I like it." the young man said softly, eyeing the flower with sweet expression.

"Um" was all Maxwell was able to say, turning a shade of pink, before Wilson realized what he was doing, that this felt very intimate and very weird and he was still on top of Maxwell. He practically flew up from the ground and started to dust his pants, aggressively trying to ignore the color that was burning his cheeks as well. Maxwell lifted himself on his elbows quietly, looking rather panicked and avoiding Wilson's eyes - which he was grateful for, because he was avoiding eye-contact as well.
 
"Anyway! We came here to get some food, right? Right! Let's get some food!" the man announced in a panic to get to anything else than what that had just been, and hurried away and chastised himself for being a weird idiot. For some reason, no matter what he told himself or anyone else, he really did care what Maxwell thought of him. He didn't want to always be the weird one, the odd scientist who didn't know how to act around other people.

Just like he had feared, Maxwell seemed a bit weirded out about it, and soon the both of them started acting as if the couple of previous minutes had never happened. Wilson was thankful, and he started to gather some flowers while Maxwell started to throw small rocks on the ground and wait the moles to come straight to his trap.

Wilson managed to make a couple of garlands, taking his sweet time, giving the other man enough time to get what they came here for. He was eager to go back to the camp, he was still starving, and even the thought of food made him drool on his lower lip.

When they finally get to return however, Maxwell started to slow down, and turned to face him, scowling like he always did, but this time he seemed a bit hesitant.

"Are you sure you don't want to make the meal?" There was a bit of desperation in his voice, a tiny plea of taking this responsibility out of his hands and preventing him from making a fool of himself again. Wilson huffed out a chuckle and took the dead moles from Maxwell.

"How about I help you to make the meal?"

Maxwell opened his mouth, an obvious beginning of refusal and maybe even some insult in his tongue, about to protest out of habit, until a growl escaped his stomach and the color flushed on his face. Then the man just let his shoulders drop as he rubbed his eyes, too tired to attempt the fight, too hungry to think about insults.

"If it needs to be done to get us finally fed, then fine."

Wilson supposed that that was Maxwell's way of saying 'thank you'.

Notes:

Wilson be criticizing Maxwell being socially clueless while being a social disaster himself.

Chapter 8: The heart I didn't remember I had

Summary:

Maxwell realizes that he has feelings for Wilson, and wonders what he should do.

Chapter Text

Maxwell watched as Wilson ran around the camp, searching something for the portal. He had no idea what it was that he was looking for since the man was too rushed to stop to explain anything at the moment, so the older man just stood nearby and followed him with his eyes.

He smiled.

Wilson seemed happy, or at least having some fun while running around, a glimmer of hope for getting out of here in his eyes. It made Maxwell feel somehow warm inside, to watch that excitement and plain happiness, watching the smile reach the younger man's eyes. It spread the warm all around his body, little by little.

He didn't like it. He liked feeling cold and miserable and lonely, he was used to feeling like that, he didn't like when there was some knew unknown feeling trying to invade his empty heart.

Sure, those weren't very nice, comfortable feelings, but they were his feelings, he knew how to handle them, and he knew how to live with them. When some other feeling tried to raise their head inside him, he always made sure to crush the damned thing as soon as possible in order to avoid the confusion and uncertainty and insecurity that would no doubt come with it.

He would not let himself grow soft and weak because he had started to remember how it felt like to be glad or comfortable or safe. He was none of those things, and he wanted nothing to do with them. Cursed be his mortal body and the emotions that came with it.

He moved his eyes away from the short man, who apparently had finally found what he needed and was now frantically screwing something on the portal, rambling to himself as he worked.

Maxwell very much didn't like that the unknown, warm feeling had something to do with Wilson.

Why wasn't he more alert about his own feelings, why didn't he eliminate them as soon as he started to feel something that he knew shouldn't be there? Stupid. idiot. Imbecile. Moron. He should've been sharper, should've paid attention. Now it would take much more effort to rid himself off the thing that tried to make him all tingly and warm and fluttery inside whenever Wilson did something nice to him. He didn't want to have those feelings when he looked at the other man.

The magician sighed and walked inside his tent. The portal shouldn't take much longer anymore, soon it'd be ready, soon he could help Wilson get back home. And then these feelings would go away, probably, hopefully.

If there had been anything of William still left in him, he'd already be flustered and ardouring over the scientist and panicking about the obvious nature of these feelings he had started to have. Thank God he wasn't William anymore, so he couldn't embarrass himself and be an idiot and make a mess of the things that didn't need to be changed. William would've tried to chase the feeling and would've believed that it was better to try and fail, than not try at all. Maxwell on the other hand didn't think like that. Things between him and Wilson were fine the way they were, why should he risk it?

Wilson tolerated him, and that was as good as it was going to be, it was enough for him, and he was not going to start pursuing some absurd daydreams of someone who barely even got along with him for most of the time.

... But Wilson was nice to him, the new uninvited feeling whispered. He was patient with Maxwell and helped him and didn't belittle him, and sometimes he was actually even kind, honestly kind to him. He didn't have to be any of those things, but he was, even though he could've been as mean and cruel as he possibly could, as he had all the right to be, and Maxwell was in no position to deny it.

But he wasn't mean or cruel. He could've been, but he wasn't. Why? Why wouldn't he be mean and cruel and make it known to everyone that he was better than Maxwell in every possible way? The magician glowered at the fabric of the tent and sat down, digging his fingers on his temples in frustration.

Some very quiet, stupid and childish part inside him wanted to believe that Wilson could actually even enjoy his company sometimes. That there was actually something more than a temporary truce between them now, that Wilson would actually like him instead of just tolerating his presence.

Maxwell wanted to strangle and choke that part of him away, but every time he was sure he had managed to finally kill it, he accidentally thought of Wilson, something nice he had said or done, and Puff! there the horrible little voice was again, making him feel things he had no right to be feeling and had no need for.

Distraction. he needed a distraction, something to pull his head away from the stupid short man and put it where it belonged. He needed something else to think about, something else to do and put his mind into. That's it, he was just bored, idly standing by with nothing else to do than watch the other man had made him think stupid things he wouldn't have thought about in any other situation.

The man took his spear and dud some nightmare fuel from the chest. He yelled at Wilson that he was going to gather resources, but the other man only gave him half-understood noise and kept fiddling with the machines. That was good enough for Maxwell and the man headed into the forest. He just had to do enough to put his mind on the right track again, to go back to feeling cold and miserable and lonely, just the way he liked it.

He spend his whole day fighting everything he could, mostly putting his shadows to do all the work, but he helped every once in a while, if for no other reason, then just to feel like he was useful. He wanted to be useful. At least for Wilson. Maxwell wanted to help him go home and feel better, be someplace better and- fuck. Why was he thinking about Wilson again? Wasn't this whole thing meant to direct his thoughts elsewhere? Fuck. Fucking fuck.

Maxwell cursed inside his mind and kicked a rock, imagining that it was the little stupid feeling inside him that refused to leave.

God he hoped they were able to finish the portal as soon as possible, so he could pay his debt to Wilson and send him home and get rid of these horrible feelings that he apparently had now. That thought stung him a bit. He had gone through a lot with the scientist, and part of him was almost missing the other man already, when he realized that it would likely be the last time he would ever see Wilson.

He didn't like that thought. And he definitely didn't like that he had started to like Wilson enough to get upset of the thought of not seeing him again.

On his way back he stopped, when he spotted something familiar, red, and bony on the ground. Ah, Chester's eye bone. It had taken them surprisingly long to find it. Maxwell picked it up and not a few seconds later the bouncing approached, and the orange chest hopped to his feet and stopped to pant excitedly at him. Maxwell never really liked the furry thing, but he supposed that he knew someone who did, someone who might get very happy to see the living chest again.

"Okay, let's get you to Higgsbury." he told the thing and continued his way back smirking. Doing something nice to Wilson every once in a while made him feel better about himself, he couldn't lie about that. So, yeah, it felt a bit desperate and undeserved to get his attention this way, but it felt good to have his attention nonetheless.

This time Maxwell caught himself before his head traveled any further, and slapped himself on the cheek. No, bad Maxwell. No thinking like that.

When he returned, Wilson was hitting his head against the table in a slow rhythm, practically laying over the papers. Maxwell rose his eyebrow and curiously walked to the man, stopping to stand beside him and watching his head bob up and down.

"Doing a work of genius here, I see." he said in unimpressed voice, letting the small mockery slip into it as well.

Wilson answered him with a muffled, sluggish and whiny groan, and didn't even bother rising his head from the table. Maxwell bit down the laughter that threatened to escape his mouth, and evened his voice "What's going on here now, Higgsbury?"

"I can't dooo iiiit. It won't get anywhere, I've tried and tried and it doesn't add up. Nothing doessss I'm a failureeee...." Wilson continued his childish groaning that made little to no sense to Maxwell, and the man sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. This sounded nothing more serious than Wilson just overworking and getting tired, throwing a temper tantrum like a four-year-old. They were doing perfectly fine with the portal, and the man was just burning himself out and that was probably the reason he couldn't get anywhere. Over-thinking and over-working, that's all.

"Take a break. It won't do you any good to sit here hammering the table with your forehead, it won't get the portal done."

"No. I need to work, I'm so close..."

Maxwell fought the feeling of irritation and need to grab the man by the collar and shake him to get some sense into that think skull of his, and instead smirked knowingly "Well, could you at least say hello to our guest?"

That got Wilson's attention, and before he could reply anything, Maxwell had already pushed the eye bone in his hands and stepped aside. It took a second, but Wilson's eyes immediately lit up and a big, joyful smile rose to adore his face. Maxwell told himself that he wasn't feeling as warm about it as he did.

"Chester! Oh I've missed you, buddy!" the man cried out in excitement and jumped down from his chair to cuddle the fur ball and pick it into his lap, scratching it behind it's horns and cooing at it. Maxwell smiled and walked to put his loot away. There, that should keep Wilson away from the portal at least for a little while. He really needed to learn how to take a break.

By the time Wilson had stopped baby-talking the living chest and actually got up from the ground where he had played with it, the sun had almost set and Maxwell had lit the fireplace and crockpot to them. He had almost learned how to make a decent meal, though not many kinds of them. Meatballs were fine. At least Wilson wasn't complaining about them anymore.

He sat on the log and watched the sun setting behind the trees, idly wondering to himself, what Charlie was doing right now. Wilson had told him about his rescue from the nightmare throne, and Maxwell didn't doubt for a second that he was telling the truth, and he knew the person who saved him must've been Charlie. He knew it. Everything was too perfectly in place, and the person who Wilson described sounded so much like Charlie that it couldn't have been anyone else than the grue of the night herself.

Maxwell was grateful she had saved Wilson, and sad that she had taken his place on the throne. A small sting pierced his chest. Even though he understood why she wouldn't care a smallest bit about him, it still hurt to know that she had never, over all the years they had been stuck here, tried to free him, not even once. But Wilson had barely been on the throne for any time at all, and she freed him without a second thought in a blink of an eye.

Maxwell hoped she was doing okay. Apparently the throne wasn't keeping her hostage, and she was able to free Wilson without the divining rod, so there must've been something different about her, something that They liked a lot. Maybe, when the portal was finished, he could somehow reach her out, could tell her she was able to go home now. Even if she would never want to see him again, wouldn't she at least give him a chance to fix this whole fiasco and free her from the shadows? He hoped so, he wanted to at least try to help her. She deserved to get out of here more than anyone.

Maxwell's thoughts got disturbed when the food was ready, and Wilson made his way to sit next to him on the log.

"Do you think Chester might be able to go home with me?" the scientist asked with a hopeful little voice, and Maxwell considered lying, softening the blow a little bit, but he wasn't really the kind of person who would try to make things seem better than they really were.

"No. Chester belongs here with the rest of the Constant. Sorry, pal."

"Oh..." Wilson looked down for a while, until a faint smile grew back to his features "I think Chestie would be happier here anyway. He belongs here, this is his home." Maxwell patted his back shortly to give him some sort of comfort and sighed deeply. Chester's home was here. Wilson's home was on Earth. And his home...

Maxwell frowned. He wasn't sure if he had a home on Earth. Not likely. He didn't have a home here, either. He felt like he was stuck between two places, not really belonging to either of them, but he supposed that if he was going to make a choice, he was going to choose the Earth. At least They wouldn't follow him there, would They? At least there was no Nightmare throne on Earth. That was a reason enough for him to leave this horrid place, as soon as he had made sure that Wilson got to go home, and after he had made sure that he'd done everything within his power to help Charlie get home, too.

"Perhaps you'll find another Chester on Earth. I'm sure it's full of drooling, yipping little creatures who'd love to get adopted by someone who doesn't mind that their furniture gets ruined and doesn't mind that their house will be full of fur and messes and likes to clean after them." Maxwell muttered, and Wilson chuckled, gently pushing him on his ribs.

"Yeah, maybe. I think I might actually like it. To have a pet, you know." Wilson cocked his head and smiled faintly. In the light of the firepit his brown eyes were gaining a yellow tint. It made Maxwell think of a wild cat, the younger man's fluffy, unkempt hair and a little start of the bristle just reaffirming the picture.

He tried not to stare when Wilson yawned, and his slightly sharpened corner  teeth showed underneath his lips. They were barely even noticeable, but Maxwell was sure they haven't always been there - Perhaps Wilson hadn't been able to escape the throne without some after-effects after all, even as his reign was mercifully short on him. Maxwell had merely joked about it, tried to drive Wilson to skittish little panic to entertain himself, but maybe he really had changed a bit.

The magician turned his eyes on the ground. In the end they did have a little bit more in common than he had liked to think, him and Wilson. Having both sat on the throne, both so hell-bent and determined to get their own way, both being rather antisocial and still craving for validation of the people around them. Even the things that were not so similar between them, science, magic, and such... in the end they all seemed to be just the other side of the same coin.

And Maxwell had, he let himself finally accept, never felt so nearly home with anyone before. He hadn't felt like someone would actually care about him for a long time, longer than he'd like to remember. It was exhausting, draining, to sometimes just realize that his existence was meaningless, that there was not a single soul who wanted him to be here, wanted him to be happy, cared about him, liked him.

But now he had Wilson. Wilson had chances to leave, chances to abandon him, chances to chase him away. But he didn't. He had always been too good to him, Maxwell supposed.

Wilson had, despite all of his annoying and impossible ways and habits, always felt like a welcoming fireplace in the middle of a snowstorm, and Maxwell yearned to get close to his light and huddle into his warmth.

Wilson had done so much for him, out of his own free will. He offered Maxwell a hand when he didn't have to, helped him when he could've let him suffer in the hell that he had created, denied himself the revenge in the favor of being a good person. Wilson had showed him generosity and support, he had showed him kindness, he had shown compassion.

And now Wilson sat there next to him, shoulders almost touching, laughing at some dumb joke that nobody else than he could ever find funny, just allowing himself relax and genuinely glad to share this moment with Maxwell. It felt right, it felt like some old mechanism locked in place inside him, and Maxwell couldn't stop staring at that handsome, amazing man that had wandered his way and decided to share the last months with him, decided to be here with him, together, close.

Wilson gave him a warm glance, smile of laugh still lingering in his lips. Maybe it was because of the sensitivity of the situation, the silence of the night where they were alone and so close to each other, and just the deep loneliness that nested inside his chest, but Maxwell found the sight of Wilson's lips curling into a smile, his eyes glinting in the firelight and the tint of pink hue on his cheeks after the laughter absolutely Godlike.

He wasn't even sure what he was thinking, not realizing what he was doing, but his hand reached to hold the cheek of the younger man gently as his face leaned closer, to feel, to touch, to know what the only person who had ever made him feel like he was something more than just another monster in here tasted like... He wanted to fill the void inside him that seemed to fit Wilson almost too perfectly, like he was what Maxwell needed, what he had always needed, but couldn't find soon enough to prevent becoming something horrible, and he had wanted this for longer than he cared to admit even to himself-

"What are you doing?"

The voice was frightened, suspicious, and there was a hand that rose to Maxwell's chest to firmly keep him away. The moment broke, the magic disappeared. Maxwell stopped, snapping back to reality of what he was about to do, what he had wanted to do, but Wilson's confused, almost horrified eyes made him freeze in place and just stare.

"I..." There had been something happening between them, he knew it, something changing over the time. There had been something "I just thought..."

"Thought what? That I liked you?" Wilson laughed nervously, almost jokingly, and gave Maxwell a skeptical look. Maxwell couldn't find the right words to answer, he just felt his stomach drop. He lowered his head just a bit, turning his eyes away to escape Wilson's accusing stare. The young man seemed to get uncomfortable, offended almost.

"...Unbelievable. You aren't being serious, right? This is, this is a joke, isn't it?" the scientist rose his hand to grasp his own hair, mouth stuck in distraught smile "You can't seriously think that- Why- After everything you've done to me- Why did you even think- Why would I ever like you?!"

Everything that had felt like a warm and welcoming fireplace turned out to be abandoned shed with broken windows and nothing to keep the cold and dark away.

Some old instinct took control and without even really thinking, Maxwell stood up and, out of the old habit, straightened his suit and made sure he was presentable, before rising his eyebrow at Wilson, smiling lopsidedly.

"My apologies pal " he let the small snicker ran out between his teeth "I was only playing a little joke on you, didn't think it would have that effect" he smirked at the other man, trying to appear sincere with his deed being merely a well-meant joke "I didn't intent it to disturb you so." He rubbed his neck, an honest nervous gesture, but Wilson seemed to be satisfied with his explanation and just huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, pouting.

"Well, don't do weird pranks like that anymore. I was really... I wasn't disturbed, I just..."

"I understand, I'll respect your personal space from now on. I think I'm gonna head to bed now, we have a lot of work to do tomorrow. Good night." He nodded a small goodbye to the other man and turned to leave, and heard Wilson mumble an answer before he closed himself inside his tent.

He could've cried. He didn't. He just laid down and stared into nothing, clutching Codex tight against his chest. As hollow and rotten as he knew he was inside, he didn't expect he could still feel the thing, that pretended to be the leftovers of his heart, breaking so clearly.

Of course Wilson would not like him. Maxwell bit his lip, smirking at the darkness, feeling like an idiot. Of course not. Wilson just tolerated him. He had gotten carried away, had forgotten that this was just a truce, just a temporary peace between them, nothing more and nothing less.

What had he even though, imagining something absurd like that? Thinking that he was allowed to feel better and move on, thinking that someone cared? Maybe there was a little bit more of William left in him than he had thought. He should've stopped when he realized what was happening, right when he had let that kind of a stupid thought cross his mind. He should've strangled the small feeling as soon as it first appeared.

He just needed to make sure he'd help Wilson get home, he'd help Charlie get home, and then he'd get to be alone without having to fear he would embarrass himself like that anymore. Cold and miserable and lonely, just like he liked it. He was not liked by anyone, he sure as hell didn't like anyone, and that's how it had always been, that's how it would always be. 

What kind of an idiot he must've been to think it would ever be any other way. 

Chapter 9: Mistakes we've made

Summary:

Maxwell feels terrible. Wilson is confused.

WARNINGS: nsfw

Chapter Text

Wilson's hands were all around him. The thick beard after the long winter scratching his neck, warm lips huffing against his skin with eagerness to touch, to feel, to be close. Fingers sinking to his hair, brown eyes gazing deep into his own.

Maxwell bit his lip as his hand rubbed his red, throbbing erection.

Wilson whispered to his ear, something warm and sweet, something dirty and suggestive, private, intimate, personal. How he wanted to lay there in his arms, how he wanted to be touched.

The magician pressed his head against the boulder in the silence and darkness of the caves, biting his lip, breathing getting heavy.

Wilson kissed him, panted and moaned and rut against him, his chest heaving with heavy, deep breaths, of excitement and pleasure. The touch of noses lightly shifting together, lips pressing against lips.

Maxwell came, grasping the boulder like his life depended on it. He couldn't believe how pathetic he was. It seemed that as soon as he let himself acknowledge that he had caught feelings for Wilson, he fell deep in that pit and couldn't escape. He bucked his hips into his fist, until the foggy buzz cleared, the  starry sky-like darkness returned to the ordinary darkness of the caves.

Maxwell panted there quietly for a moment, eventually opening his eyes and just staring the boulder in front of him. He needed to stop. He was sick, he was disgusting.

The man cleaned himself off, discarding the dirty piece of silk near the boulder, not bothering to clean away the mess on the ground. There was no reason that Wilson would think anything of it, if he happened to come by it. As long as Wilson didn't know what he thought when he desperately jerked himself off, then everything would be okay.

He couldn't let Wilson ever find out what kind of dirty things ran through his head when he touched himself, what kind of thoughts oftentimes involved Wilson. The scientist would be enraged, disgusted, horrified.

It could've felt less terrible if it was just lust. If it would only be something as simple, something so easily fixable, he might've not felt like there was something so badly wrong with him. 

Maxwell just made himself presentable and slid his hair neatly out of his face, taking the rock- and nitre-filled backpack off the ground and heading back to their current campsite.

---

The caves were cold and dark, but in summer it was actually a much preferred option than the hot, dry air and the struggle of everything dying, everything wilting away, and the difficulty of getting enough sleep. Down here it was easier. And although Wilson was getting a bit paranoid from time to time and the shadows were lurking in his vision a bit too often, he was able to deal with it.

Maxwell had told him that he could always stay on the surface, and if it worried the scientist too much to be apart for the whole season, they could meet from time to time in some agreed place, but Wilson assured him it was fine. It was safer to be together, and for the most part it was easier to live here while the hot, fire-hazardy season was still happening.

So they spent the summer in the caves, and even though Wilson was a bit sad that he wasn't able to work on the portal here, he told himself it was better to let that project rest a little, too. The summer wasn't that long... The portal could wait, it's not like it was going to go anywhere while they were away. Even though he hated when he knew that he had something he could do, knew just what to do, and it killed him inside that he chose to physically stay away from the work in progress, he still forced himself to do so. It was for the best.

Maxwell wasn't talking about the portal much, other than planning what to do when they could get back to it when the autumn would come around. He had gotten a bit quiet as of late. Maybe he just couldn't handle the stress about Wilson being constantly under the weather and needing to be coaxed a bit to get back to his feet, or then the summer was too difficult for him as well. Maxwell didn't appear to be really angry or anything like that, so Wilson was left to think it must've been either the stress of the hard season, or having to take care of Wilson's mental health in the never ending darkness of the caves.

In the night (Wilson supposed it was night), he returned back to their temporary camp setting from the sunken forest were he had found some berries, which were really nice change for the carrots. Wilson had eaten too many carrots lately.

Maxwell was sitting on the rock and reading his book like usual, always a bit too invested in it, forgetting to keep an eye out on the things happening around him.

"I really hope the autumn will come soon." the scientist muttered tiredly, and got just a short hum as an answer while Maxwell turned the page, and didn't even rose his eyes to acknowledge that he had been spoken to.

"I miss Chester, too. It's too bad he didn't want to follow us here" Wilson pouted and rose his gaze towards the roof. Chester had, for whatever reason, stayed behind, not willing to follow them into the caves. Wilson didn't have a heart to force the little creature if it felt uncomfortable, and just left it back at their camp to wait for their return. He imagined Chester sleeping there the whole summer, not caring for the world around and waiting like a good boy.

"I'm sure he's fine." Maxwell commented, his eyes still glued to the book. Wilson frowned and walked to sit next to him, and Maxwell slowly and tensiously sifted away.

"What's with you always reading Codex all the time? You look like you are really concentrated. I thought you knew how to use it already?"

That was enough to tear the older man away from his book, and he sneered at the scientist "I do! It's just not like every secret is in plain sight, there's always more to understand. You ought to be smarter than that, you call yourself a scientist."

"So let me get this straight: You're using a very suspicious, dangerous book on everyday basis like it's nothing, and you haven't even studied it in it's entirety?"

"Says, once again, the man who built a portal from instructions he got from the speaking radio." 

"Will you let that go already?!"

"I won't."

Wilson tried his best not to keep taking the bait, but the blush of the old shame, that he suspected would never really fade away, started burning his cheeks again, getting worse by every single word.

"Well at least I only ended up ruining my own life! I didn't bring down other innocent people with me because of it!" he spat and turned to toss some pieces of nitre to the fire that started to cool the air around them, that wasn't only steaming out of the summer heat but no doubt of their boiling feelings as well.

Wilson's anger lasted for the entirety of ten seconds, before he let out a sigh of immediate regret. He meant what he had said, and it really was Maxwell's own fault for still trying to annoy him with that little mistake he had made, but it didn't mean he had to let it result to petty insults like that. He just... he always felt so betrayed when Maxwell made fun of him for that thing. It felt like it was happening all over again, first the excitement and happiness, then the betrayal and loss of trust. It felt bad.

"Well... let's just hope that this portal will make up for the mistakes we have made in the past" he muttered, staring into the icy flames. He couldn't wait to get back home and forget all of this. He couldn't wait to get back home and destroy the portal for good and disassemble the radio and threw all the little parts away. He couldn't wait to get back to his normal life with his science and... and being alone for the days on end and... not going anywhere in life...

Wilson pried his mind away from the train of thought that was headed to somewhere where he didn't wish to end up in. No, it wasn't going to be like that anymore. He was going to do so much better now, he was going to accomplish so many things once he got back.

"I don't think it will. But Let's hope it does something good at least." Maxwell sighed and still stubbornly eyed the tome on his lap, although it was evident that the man wasn't really reading it anymore. Wilson cocked his head and rubbed his neck awkwardly.

"Hey, uh... I didn't mean it like that."

"You did. But it's quite alright, I know what I've done and who I've been. I don't expect to be forgiven so easily. I'm fine with it."

Maxwell sounded mostly unbothered, his voice matter-of-factual, but Wilson wasn't really sure if he actually was as fine with it as he claimed to be. He had managed to pretend being a big bad villain for far longer than he should've, before Wilson found out he was actually just a really  weak and sad man tied to his throne. If he was able to keep up that image for heaven knows how long, then surely something as small as pretending that he didn't really give a damn couldn't have been that hard. He was a master of deceit, after all.

"You don't really act like you're fine with it, though. I think you actually are sorry for what you've done, aren't you?"

Maxwell sighed once again, and rubbed his eyes exhaustedly, finally closing the book.

"The question isn't if I'm sorry or not, it doesn't really mean anything. I can't change what has happened. It's just the way things are, and I just have to live with the consequences now." Maxwell shrugged and smiled at the Codex, following the shape of the large, red M on the cover with his fingers "I'm not going to pretend that I'm better than I am. It was my choice to do the things that I did, it's not like anyone forced my hand."

Wilson was quiet only for a second, before biting his lip and frowning "... But ending up here with your friend wasn't your choice."

"No, it wasn't. But I could've prevented it, had I been smarter. Like I said,  I made my choices and they led me here. What's done is done. Sending you home through the new portal isn't going to fix anything."

Wilson blinked, leaning closer, which made Maxwell in turn lean farther.

"Why are you helping with it then, if it isn't fixing anything at all?" the younger man questioned. He felt stupid to even ask this, because he knew that the reason was the same as his own; Maxwell wanted to leave, wanted to go home. But Wilson was too caught in the moment to let the thing go, too interested what kind of excuses Maxwell might have for him. The man shrugged.

"It's not like I want to make things worse and ruin everything, you know. At least I can try to do something right for once." the taller man turned to glance him, and then just chuckled, shaking his head "Like I said, It's fine. It's just simply something I have to live with. Excuse me, I'm going to leave and gather us some silk. I'll see you soon."

Wilson looked at his back, and after a bit of hesitation, before the other man was able to disappear into the darkness, he decided to open his mouth.

"I know you were a really horrible person. You were pretty rotten and terrible. But... I don't think you are that person anymore, Max."

Maxwell stopped, snorted, and shook his head.

"Then you're an idiot. For the love of anything that's good, Higgsbury, don't forget why you're here."

Wilson wanted to retort something snappy and wise back at him, but he couldn't find what he wanted to say fast enough, and before he even noticed, the other man had left him alone by the icy cold fire.

Wilson lowered his eyes on his hands. It really seemed like Maxwell wanted to redeem himself and be a good man. Despite being a jerk, he honestly seemed to regret things and wanted to help. And when the portal would be finished, Wilson would go home, and so would Maxwell.

It only now dawned on Wilson that once that happened, there was a remarkably big chance that he'd never see the other man again. Some part of him already snapped, that so what, but the other part, some new part, grew uncomfortably cold over that thought. It was hard to admit, but sometimes he actually found himself enjoying being around Maxwell, and sometimes it felt like there was some new kind of solidarity between them. A friendship, maybe...?

Wilson huffed out a small laugh and shook his head. Maybe not friendship. How could he think Maxwell as his friend after everything that had happened? Even though they'd come so far, even though he liked joking with Maxwell, teasing and messing around, even though he felt nowadays that Maxwell had his back, even though they had shared things, talked about things, opened up a little bit about things that were painful and difficult to think about, even though being around Maxwell made Wilson feel needed and important...

The scientist stopped and scowled at the ground. Well, that did sound awfully lot like a friendship, at least what he had experienced as a kid - he hadn't had many friends after he moved on his own. Maybe they were friends...? No. Yes? It was complicated.

... Okay, maybe it wasn't that complicated, but Wilson was supposed to hate Maxwell, wasn't he? He had always hated Maxwell (despite how much he enjoyed the voice in the radio), and that was a difficult emotion to just get rid of... But he had to admit that, well, he hadn't felt that hateful lately. He knew for a fact that Maxwell wasn't his enemy anymore, but then, what was he? It felt a bit wrong to call the thing between them just a truce anymore. A truce was a temporary cease-fire between enemies, and they weren't enemies, and this wasn't temporary. Perhaps they could be allies? What was the word Maxwell used again, 'acquaintances'?

Whatever they were, Wilson felt uncomfortable realizing that he would miss it after they'd go their separate ways.

Chapter 10: The group

Summary:

The portal brings familiar faces around, and Maxwell realizes he has more consequences to face.

WARNINGS: Minor panic attack

Chapter Text

The portal didn't work. They spent so much time making sure everything was okay and everything in it's correct place, but still, after all the hard work they put into it, it didn't even work.

Maxwell was surprised, but in the end, not really fazed by it. He should've known it couldn't be that easy to escape, he should've known They weren't going to let them just go like that. Perhaps Charlie had her fingers in this, too. Whatever the reason was, they had still failed, and it was admittedly disappointing.

Wilson took the failure much heavier than Maxwell. The man stood still, staring at the portal as if if he waited for long enough, it would somehow spark into life and miraculously start working. Then he threw a fit, cursed and kicked the portal and started to stomp the ground and pushed the sketches and blueprints off of the table and sat there pouting. Maxwell was sure he heard Wilson crying a little that night.

They decided to try again, and headed to find new resources. It got Wilson in a bit better mood to be able to start working on the project in his mind again, but Maxwell was sure he was still sulking over the failed attempt of escape. But maybe it would work better the next time.

It took the whole day of walking to get back to the portal, and if it had been up to Maxwell, it could've taken even longer. He was in no hurry to get back to the failure of their escape attempt, and he knew that Wilson was not in a hurry either. The younger man had attempted to hide his disappointment, but it was almost laughably easy to see how heavily he took the destruction of the thing they had built. Still, his determination was admirable.

But nothing could've prepared them for what waited for them when they arrived. There were silhouettes near the florid postern, loitering around it, a distant mumble of talking easy to hear in the otherwise silent forest. Wilson leered at the sight, until he realized that those were actually real people, and those were the people he knew. His eyes lit up, his lips curling into an excited smile as he took a couple of fast, unsure steps forward, and then broke into a sprint.

Maxwell didn't take steps forward, nor did he run. He just stood still and stared.

This was not good, not all. On the contrary. He knew those people too. And unlike with Wilson, the reunion with him would not be a happy one. He swallowed.

Well, this had been the deal, hadn't it? Sticking together until they found someone else to survive with. Giving a quick glance to every single person standing in the group, now embracing the scientist and in a hurry to exchange the greetings, it dawned on the former King that there was no 'someone else' for him. Not a single person in this world would give him a warm welcome, and he could hardly blame them for it.

The magician felt a sudden cold feeling swirl inside. He didn't fancy the idea of giving the survivors any time to notice him and remember that he was the one who'd brought them all here, and he supposed he had made a good of his word to stick by Wilson until he could survive without him. Their truce was over, the deal had been completed, the peace now broken, and he was an enemy once more.

With a touch of panic in his mind, Maxwell turned around and started to take fast steps to distance himself from the group. He had the dignity of not breaking into a run like a coward, but he made sure to keep up his phase to get as far away and as soon as he could. If he was fast enough, he could make it into one of their old spare camps before dark, and he might have time to gather enough things to stay alive and build himself a new campsite somewhere else, somewhere where the survivors were less likely to find him, perhaps underground. Yes, the caves seemed like a good option...

"Ey! Magician!"

Well, shit. Maxwell turned to glance over his shoulder to see the lumberjack wielding his axe and already sprinting towards him, and the older man felt the color fade from his face. He froze, considering if he should defend himself or run, but both seemed like such a bad options. If he defended himself, they would think he was trying to hurt them and it would be so easy to gang up on him. If he ran, they would see he was scared and he'd make himself an easy target and they would understand that they had the upper hand now. So he froze like and idiot, not sure what else to do, and prepared himself.

Then, as if Wilson had not done enough for him already, as if he needed to make himself a target of their grudge too, the scientist was fast enough to grasp Woodie's arm and stop him, gaining one very confused, very angry glare from the other man.

"Look, I know what you must think about him, but please don't hurt him!" the short man pleaded, and damn it, he actually looked scared for Maxwell. The older man swallowed. If he had been in debt for Wilson before, he had to double it now, when the scientist hurried to stop the lumberjack and tried to calm him down, tried to explain why they didn't have to beat Maxwell senseless right now, right here.

Maxwell could've still ran. He could still make it relatively fast away from them, but as if he could risk running away from the pack of pawns like a scared little prey. He would not be that pathetic, he had at least some pride left in him, and more importantly, he didn't want them to know that he was scared. He would never live that down. Literally. They would probably kill him if they realized how much weaker he was now, how easy it would be to just snap his neck or break his spine... Maxwell tried not to shudder at the thought.

"-And he has helped me a lot, I know we're all a little less than fond of him, but he is just like us now, there is no need to sink so low and be as cruel as he has been-"

"Helped you, eh?" the lumberjack scratched his beard "That's some wild story there, bud."

The others seemed to agree, but luckily for Maxwell, the librarian stood out of the group before anyone else had time to get too murder-happy with him.

"I'm sure we will all get to some kind of agreement that will not require unnecessary violence, gentlemen. How about we set up a small adjustment to keep our mitch-matched group safe from hunger and dark first, and then we'll get back to discussing what to do with the King."

"Former." Wilson reminded.

"Ah, yes, yes. I assume we are under the new management, then?" Wickerbottom gave Wilson a questioning look. The man just nodded. Maxwell felt very uncomfortable. Running to Wilson had been a surprise enough. He had not thought he would see this many people at the same time, and he was in bad terms with all of them. At least he assumed that he was, he hadn't exactly asked them lately, but none of them gave him any reason to assume otherwise.

"Now then" the old librarian adjusted her glasses and gave Maxwell a look that made the man shrink down "let us start making this camp a bit more adjustable for us all, we do not wish to be get caught in the dark." she turned away from the man and begun talking to the strongman and someone cowering behind him. Maxwell didn't have time to leer at the group long enough before he noticed the scientist making his way to him.

"So, uh... I think it's better for us to tag along with these guys" Wilson explained, rubbing his neck. He looked nervous for some reason, perhaps just confused to see a whole lot of people at once, after being almost completely isolated for God knows how long. Maxwell furrowed his brows.

"Why would I want to stay close to them? You might be aware that I'm not exactly friends with them. I would be better off alone." Maxwell didn't want to feel bad about it, but Wilson looked a bit sad. Maybe Wilson didn't think that Maxwell cared, but he did, and he wanted to stay alive, thank you very much.

Wilson opened his mouth to say something, but all of the sudden something swifted through the air and Maxwell felt the stinging pain in his neck. He cringed and yanked something sharp out of his skin, and suddenly realized how the world had started to turn shaky and blurry.

He shook his head to clear his mind, but it made no difference, and he slowly turned his unfocused eyes to the small dart on his grip. Wilson was shouting something to the group and Maxwell couldn't make out the words, and he distantly recognized the young man was keeping him on his legs because he himself sure didn't remember how to stand anymore. He just felt dizzy and the world was fading, the voices muffled and the colors blurred and darkened and slowly everything faded into nothingness.

---

When Maxwell came back to his senses, it was dark. There was a small campfire close to him, keeping him safe from Charlie for the time being, but it was only a small comfort to him. He didn't remember putting it up, he didn't remember doing anything after he...

Maxwell gritted his teeth. He vaguely remembered the sleep dart and felt the memory of the sting on the side of his neck. Sneaky trick... And here he had thought that they'd have some standards and not attack him when his attention was elsewhere. He wondered if Wilson had been in on it. The thought did hurt, and it seemed very out of character that the man would double-cross him like that, but it was very easy to understand why he would do it. 

Maxwell groaned and shifted, but realized, with a sudden panic rising inside, that he could not move. Some old fear rose in him, wrist tied down, stuck and imprisoned for the years and years and years, and Maxwell shook his head, telling himself that he was not there, he was free, he wasn't on the throne anymore. He closed his eyes tight, taking in deep breaths. He was not on the throne anymore, he was not there, there was no need to panic, no need to fear... It was okay, he just had to breathe. Breathe, he was free. Breathe...

It took a while, but after some long, inner reassurance he managed to keep himself calm for long enough to take a better look at the situation he was in. It appeared that he had been supported to sit on the ground, his back against the tree, wrists tied around it.

So, their distrust of him was that deep? He made a couple of yanks to test if he could move, but it was no use, the rope around his wrists didn't budge. An unpleasant yet familiar feeling, but he forced himself to tear his mind away from it, although it didn't make the lingering fear inside his chest disappear anywhere. He couldn't let himself spiral down into panic, he couldn't let himself fall apart. He just had to breathe.

With a dark scowl on his face the man turned his head, and saw that the group had settled over another campfire, not far from his own smaller one, and they were all very much sitting there chatting quietly, eating something, huddled close to comfort and warmth. He could spot Wilson's dumb hairdo among them, sitting there like he had always been with this group. No doubt speaking about him with his new pals. Maxwell scoffed. Not that he expected to be treated with any kind of hospitality, but this was just undignifying.

If they wanted to kill him, there was no need to keep him alive, and if not, what was the use of keeping him tied up? Not like he was going to be useful to them like this anyhow. Unless they wanted to torture him before killing him. Or perhaps they planned on starving him to death, or letting the hounds find him tied up and unable to defend himself, or this was just an attempt to humiliate him, to really make sure he understood how weak and helpless he was now... there was too many possibilities he could think of, none of which he cared to think a second longer.

He just sat up straighter, tried to get comfortable despite the tree trunk very much uncomfortably pressing against his spine, and glared at the other survivors. The one who seemed to speak the most was the old librarian, which did not surprise Maxwell in the slightest. The couple of times he had seen her surviving with a friend or two, she had often been listened and her knowledge and wisdom gave her easily the respect.

Wilson sat next to her, hunched down, speaking almost as often, waving his arms like he usually did, no doubt having a lot of his own opinions to share as well. The fire starter and the lumberjack had a lot to say as well, usually followed by either Wilson or the old woman seemingly scolding them. The strongman was quiet, only occasionally pitching in to the conversation, mostly followed by the viking who didn't have a lot of turns to speak but when she did, she spoke a lot. The children were sitting there next to the fire as well, but neither of them said a thing. Wendy didn't seem to even care, and Webber was concentrating on drawing on the ground with a stick. 

Maxwell had a hunch that the adults didn't want to include the kids to their plans of getting rid of him. Oh, how absolutely sweet of them.

His eyes wandered to the last person sitting by the fire, and his stomach turned in disgust. He knew that slim, twiggy figure and thin, dark hair. Urgh, of course the mime was here. Maxwell glared at the young man, who seemed to notice his staring, because he flinched and stood up, walking to tap Wilson on the shoulder, and sheepishly pointing at Maxwell's direction. The chatter paused for a moment, and the magician scoffed and turned his head away. It didn't take for long when the footsteps approached him, and the short man knelt down in front of him.

"Hey... How are you doing?" Wilson asked, sounding at least sorry that Maxwell had been knocked out and tied up next to the slowly dying campfire. What a dumb question. Maxwell turned to rise his eyebrow at the other man, not even bothering to answer, and Wilson bit his lip "Look, I tried to ask them not to do this, but they don't really trust you yet. And honestly, can you blame them?"

"How kind of you." Maxwell sneered, turning to look away. Wilson sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I'm too tired to fight with you, just... Give them time, they will see that you are not a threat anymore. They'll come around." Wilson sounded like he was really done with Maxwell's bullshit, or at least just really really tired, yet he still tried to encourage him the best he could. To do what? Play nice? Act like he didn't mind being tied up to a tree?

"...I brought you food" Wilson offered, rising a plate of meatballs closer to the older man. Maxwell just sneered, not even bothering to point out that how Wilson expected him to eat with his hands tied back.

"Keep your pity-food and go back to discussing what to do with me with your pals. I'm not in need of your handouts." Maybe it was a bit cold of him to snap like that at Wilson, since none of this was really his fault, but Maxwell wasn't in the mood of acting like he didn't care at the moment. He knew he couldn't defend himself, and he really didn't want Wilson to play some kind of messenger like this. He could handle his own problems just fine.

"It's not a pity- Maxwell I am not your enemy here, I am trying to help you!" Wilson gasped, an offended, hurt expression on his face, like a kicked little puppy. Maxwell had to force himself to stay scowling. Sure, Wilson might have nothing to do with this, but it's not like they were in the same boat anymore. The scientist would end up well, no matter what happened to Maxwell. He wouldn't be under the threat of getting hurt of killed or exiled or whatever they were planning to do with him, so why pretend they were still standing on the same ground?

Wilson seemed to be thinking about something similar, because soon enough he sighed and put the plate away, and instead placed his hand on Maxwell's knee and squeezed it gently.

"I know you must feel very alone right now, but I will try to make them understand. You've helped me, and that has to count for something... And I know that in the end they are good people, they wouldn't do anything drastic, no matter how much they dislike you."

Maxwell didn't need to answer, they both knew he didn't have much of a choice anyway. His ability to co-operate wouldn't change a damn thing, so he didn't bother putting effort into it. He heard Wilson sigh again, saw his shadowy figure getting up and walking away, leaving him to his loneliness again.

---

Maxwell hadn't slept that night, but he shook away from his pretend unconsciousness when there was a kick on his ankle, and very loud, fearless sound above him.

"Up, yöu demön fiend!"

Ah, well this was going to interesting. He couldn't wait to see how they had decided to get rid of him. He'd give them better points if it was going to be at least original. Maxwell rose his head and smirked at the actress, who glowered down to him, spear in her grip. The others were there too, some looking much more uncomfortable than the others. Wilson stood there among them, rubbing his elbow, eyes turned away from Maxwell. The magician rose his brow at him, not really surprised that Wilson was sticking by the group, because truly, what else would've he done? Taken Maxwell's side? Hah.

Instead of addressing his awkwardness there, the man chuckled, turning to face the librarian, since she was clearly the spoke-person for them.

"My my... What gives me the honor to have all of this attention for myself, so suddenly?"

"You don't scare us!" Webber quickly peeked their head in his view behind Wilson, and then disappeared back there, grasping the man's shirt nervously.

"Yeah!" Willow continued "Don't think we're gonna let you hurt anyone here you assho-" 

"Language, young miss!" The Librarian scolded her, and the fire starter was quickly silenced by her stern glare. Wickerbottom turned back to Maxwell and cleared her throat.

"Well. It appears that you are stuck here with us now, am I correct?"

Maxwell rose his eyebrow, then lazily sighed and leaned back "I assume that Higgsbury has told you everything you need to know. Don't take my word for it."

"Yes dear, he told us. I just wanted to confirm." the old woman answered, giving his last comment no attention "And we have thought about what we should do with you, now that you don't seem to be the King anymore. You hurt a lot of us."

Maxwell knew that more than well, he didn't need the other people to constantly remind him of it. He just waited. There was nothing he needed to say to these people, there was nothing he could do that was going to make things any better or worse. The outcome wasn't in his hands anymore.

"A scary man can stay!" Wolfgang suddenly told him, a bit unsure expression on his face, still a bit distrustful.

"Yeah, and if you do something suspicious, I'll get to burn your book to ashes!"

"Willow, nobody has said you can do that." Wilson sighed.

"Of course nobody  said it out loud, but come on, we were all thinking about it! If I listen to everything you guys tell me, then you'll never let me do anything fun." the woman pouted, kicking the ground.

"Nobody is burning his book, Willow."

"Come on, it would be so funny!"

"Dearie, no. We've talked about this."

The raven-haired woman scoffed and stomped to the back of the group to sulk. Maxwell had to at least commend her for her spirit. It was tiresome having to guess what people were thinking about him, so he'd rather hear it straight to his face without sugar-coating the ugly truth.

"As I was saying, we decided that because Wilson is vouching for you so genuinely, we might as well give you a chance to prove yourself. There's no need to result to violence, we are civilized people here." The librarian explained as the lumberjack cut the rope that had tied Maxwell's wrists to the tree, and the man immediately drew his hands close to his chest, trying not to show how relieved he was to not be tied up anymore.

"Now, we do have some conditions for you..." Wickerbottom cleared her throat, and Maxwell closed his eyes and sighed.

He was not going to like his stay here, was he?

Chapter 11: Monsters

Summary:

Maxwell's start with the group is not an easy one, so he ends up seeking comfort from someone who makes him feel more understood.

WARNINGS: Animal death

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Maxwell had just a teensy tiny hunch that people were not very happy with him, nor were they glad that he was here. Sure, he didn't particularly try to show that he wanted to make amends with them, because they wouldn't believe he was being genuine if he did, and it had created even larger wall between them than before (which was a freakishly large wall to begin with), but it's not like he tried making them unhappy on purpose.

It was not his fault that they expected more than he was able to give. It was not his fault that they didn't give him enough time to get things done. It was not his fault that they trusted him so little that his best efforts meant nothing to them.

They had let him stay under a few conditions, one of which were, that he couldn't weight them down and and avoid responsibility, and that if he hurt anyone there, he'd be exiled and then... then, he supposed, he was basically free to kill for anyone who ever run into him again. Well, the last part might have not been said out loud, but it had been made sure that he understood. If he made a mistake, they would not treat him as their ally. He could see the signs of their anticipation already, the whispering, the stares, the weapons in their hands, just idly waiting for him to give them a reason, give them an excuse.

He was in no hurry to learn how it felt to die by their hands. For the first couple of days things had been... tense, to put it lightly. He was constantly under the watchful eyes, always suspected over every little thing he did. People asking what he was doing, what he had been doing, why was he doing this and that, accused of having some devious intentions behind all of his actions. His things were taken away from him all the time, inspected in the case he was sabotaging their supplies and tools, in case he was stealing something.

It was getting on his nerves, badly and quickly. After he had worked so hard to get on the good terms with Wilson, after he had spend all that time trying to build at least some amount of trust, it felt crushing to fall straight back to where he had started. Possibly even lower, because now he didn't just have to defend himself against one man who wanted to pick on every single flaw he had, but now there was a whole group of people doing it.

And he knew that in a group the fear spread like a tidal wave, the similar feelings ping-ponged around from person to person until every bad thought fed the other, and soon they all grew to the hatred larger than any of them could handle, and that was the time Maxwell needed to run, if he wanted to stay alive.

He tried to avoid things growing to that extend, but it wasn't like he could do much about it. It was him against all the others, and it didn't help that Wilson was here with him, not at all, because he knew that Wilson would not stand by him if things came crashing down.

He had known that the man would side with the others in an instant, no matter the situation, but it still kind of hurt to realize that it had actually happened. It hurt to remember that this had been their deal from the very start, and Wilson had no obligations to even breath in his direction anymore. Nobody had any obligations to tolerate him here.

He wasn't allowed to sleep in the tent, his previous one given to someone else, because they didn't trust him to be out of their sight. They had even gone as far as tying him back to the tree for the first couple of nights. Apparently they didn't believe he wouldn't try anything sketchy if he was allowed to roam free, when there was less eyes burning holes to his skin every damn second.

He couldn't fight them even if he wanted to. It would be unwise to displease them this soon, so he had to just grit his teeth and allow himself to be tied down like he was a fucking dog. It was a bit too much for his ego, but he supposed it was better than being abandoned somewhere to die, and if he dared to come back, they'd surely kill him as soon as they would see his face. He had to at least try to play it safe.

So he had suffered through a couple more nights, telling himself that the feeling of ropes over his wrist wasn't going to be there forever, trying to comfort himself by listening the others speaking, watching them doing things, in hopes that  it might be enough to trick the panic and discomfort away. He managed, somehow, to survive those nights, but it left him short-tempered and jumpy, angry for being put in the situation that reminded him of something so horrible.

Well, they didn't tie him up anymore, because Wilson had, once again, assured and promised that Maxwell was not going to do anything he wasn't supposed to. Luckily they listened the scientist, even though not everyone was ready to believe that if he was allowed to be free, he was just going to sit down and eat something for the heaven's sake. But in the end they let it go, after making sure that he understood his position. He did, and he wouldn't try anything either way. Were these people all idiots? Didn't they get that Maxwell would benefit from the peace and some kind of alliance as much as they did? Why would he purposefully sabotage his own odds at survival!?

He supposed that Wilson wouldn't always be there to defend him either, surely the man would grow tired of his incompetence very soon. But for now he seemed to be fine being a peacemaker, and Maxwell didn't wish to make it harder for him.

So, even though nobody had specifically said that he wasn't allowed to use the fireplace, he had built the small campfire near the lonely tree, since it seemed to be his sleeping spot from now on anyway, and he spent his evenings there, away from the group, in his own solitude. He didn't mind. The more he was able to be on his own, the less he would cause some sort of trouble.

Maybe he should've left when he had the chance, after all. But now he was afraid to, because firstly; he really was safer around the big group of people, and secondly and more importantly; he was afraid that if he left, the other's would take it as a hint that he had turned his back on them, and then there was no reason for anyone to let him live if their paths happened to cross.

So he bit his teeth together and tried not to be in their way, and he tried to be useful when he could. But it could've been so much easier if they would at least let him be useful. How was he supposed to prove to them that he had no ill intentions if they didn't even let him? That was like telling him 'welcome, come in' and then slamming the door to his face and getting offended that he didn't come inside.

Yes, he tried, but he had his limits too. So when he decided to get himself some silk to make himself his own tent (even if he didn't really know how) and took his backpack, something in him snapped when there was an accusing voice coming behind him.

"And where are you going with that, hm?" it was the librarian, and although she was one of the most levelheaded ones, it made Maxwell turn around and give her the sharp, angry glower as he snapped.

"What I am doing with my own things in my own time should be no concern of yours! Keep your nose out of my business and stick it into one of those books of yours before I break it!" he turned around and marched out, shoving the mime out of his way rather violently.

Wilson stared after him, and sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead. Well, so much for showing the others that Maxwell was a decent guy. Wickerbottom seemed to be taken aback by the harsh words, but slowly regained her composure as her expression turned sour, and she cleared her throat.

"Well, it appears I have struck a sensitive spot. Still, threatening with violence was a tad uncalled for." the woman stated, adjusting her glasses. Wilson frowned. Damn, why couldn't Maxwell just behave until they saw that he could be trusted? He was not making this easy for anyone if he threatened people with violence over something so small like a question.

"...I can go talk to him. I'm sure he didn't really mean it." he explained, giving the old woman apologetic eyes while walking to Wes to help him up. The mime smiled shyly at him and rubbed his elbow. Wilson lowered his eyes at it.

"Oh, did you hurt that? Maybe use a little salve on it, we have plenty" he patted the man on the shoulder, and got a really thankful, warm smile in return. He offered one back and shook his head. Maxwell didn't have to go out of his way to be a jerk and make things like this. If he could just try for a while...

He understood that it was difficult to have to be around people who didn't trust him, but in all honesty, he had brought this upon himself, and it wasn't going to get easier if he wasn't trying hard enough. It hadn't even been a week yet, and Maxwell was already telling people he'd punch them and pushing people down. How hard it was to just suck it up and behave for God's sake!

The scientist groaned under his breath as he walked at the direction where the older man had disappeared just a few minutes ago. He really wanted Maxwell to learn to be part of the group, and he really wanted the people to understand that he could be, if they were patient enough. It had taken a lot of patience from him at first, so he couldn't really blame them for taking their time.

After a while of searching, Wilson finally saw a part of Maxwell's leg behind the tree. He stomped closer, ready to give the man a piece of his mind, but as he approached, his anger started to fade and his feet slowed down, when he realized that Maxwell was talking, quietly and softly, to someone.

"There, there... It's gonna be better soon." the older man's voice hummed calmingly, almost unrecognizably so. Maxwell didn't speak like that, Wilson had never heard his voice so tender and caring before.

He walked into his view and  was hit with a surprise and disbelief when he saw who Maxwell was speaking to. The man was sitting on the ground, leaning his back against the tree, and on his feet laid a hound. Wilson gasped and swung his spear up, but Maxwell rose his hand to him and gave a warning glower.

"No need for that, pal. She is dying."

Wilson wasn't sure what to say. He wasn't sure what to think. So he slowly, hesitantly let his spear down and just stared at the sight. The hound was resting it's large head on Maxwell's legs, breathing slowly, terrifyingly large fangs peeking out when the creature would pull back it's lip to muster out a growling sound. But it did indeed seemed like it was unable to move. It barely even kept it's eyes open, just occasionally cracking one when it heard a sound.

Maxwell was stroking his hand through the think fur calmingly and mumbling to the creature, looking down at it sadly, almost emphatically.

"Shh, beautiful, he's not gonna hurt you... There you go, don't fight it..."

'beautiful' was not one of the words Wilson would've used to describe a hound, but he didn't point that out. He just silently waited for a moment, before crouching down and watching the thing closer. It let out a weak growl, which soon died down when Maxwell hushed the animal gently, coaxing it to relax.

"What happened to it?" Wilson asked, not able to remove his eyes from the beast that still eyed him suspiciously.

"She got bitten by the Spider Queen. The pack left her behind, poor thing. She's dying." the other man explained. Wilson just nodded, watching Maxwell's hand slowly petting the hound's fur. He had never been bitten by the spider queen before, so he wouldn't know, but he supposed that it would be reasonable to assume that she was venomous and, taking her large posture to the account, probably to the lethal extent, too. The hound seemed to have damp, darkened spots on it's neck where the spider teeth had sunken in, and even when all the fur covered most of the damage, it still looked painful. The hound saw him staring, and made a movement as if to get up, but ended up just showing him it's canines. Wilson furrowed his brows.

"It's a monster, you know. If it wasn't in that state, it wouldn't hesitate to rip your throat open and tear you apart in an instant... Why would you even want to comfort it?" the scientist couldn't help but ask. This was very dangerous, and even if Maxwell had proven to be incompetent at surviving, even he should've known that hounds were vicious and horrible beast that were nothing else than bad news. Maxwell, however, just smiled lopsidedly, his eyes still directed at the wild dog.

"It doesn't hurt to keep her company at her last minutes, does it now?"

"It's... It's a hound, Maxwell. It's a monster." Wilson repeated, not really sure if Maxwell understood that he was holding a giant murder-machine like a pet on his lap and hushing it like a child.

"Excellent remark, Higgsbury, I'm impressed." Maxwell retorted, and didn't even have to spice his words with malice to come across as his usual rude and sarcastic self. Wilson huffed.

"Then why are you petting it like a puppy?"

"She's scared. Wouldn't you like being comforted when you're alone and scared in your last moments?"

Wilson fell silent. He would like that. It would've made  things so much better, so many times before. Dying alone, knowing you were helpless to prevent it, knowing you were done for, feeling the life slipping away breath by breath... It was terrible. Somehow it was always the worst part of things, knowing there was no one by your side petting the pain away and calming your panicked and confused mind down, alone, so alone it almost hurt more than the cuts and injuries and bites and poisons.

"Can I... can I pet her too?" Wilson realized he was asking, getting encouraged by the fact that Maxwell had not yet been attacked, and the hound seemed too far gone to really hurt either of them.

"Knock yourself out."

Wilson reached his hand closer to the dirty fur, and the hound flinched as much as it could, low growly breath rising from it's throat.

"Shh, it's fine, sweet-heart, it's fine." Maxwell continued muttering to the animal when Wilson's hand sunk in it's fur. It was not soft, but it was fluffy, and the skin under the dirty hair was warm. He could feel the heartbeat in it's chest, feeble, frail, weakening by the second as the hound breathed heavily under his touch. If he didn't have so many unpleasant memories of dying in the fangs of the vicious, hostile creatures, he would've almost felt sorry for it now. Almost.

It didn't take long when the furry chest seemed to finally collapse in on itself, and the eyes glazed over with a thin foggy layer. There was no more movement or sounds, just a memory of the warmth that was slowly but surely fading away. Maxwell hummed and run his fingers a few more times on the head of the hound, until he closed it's eyes respectfully.

"Should we... Should we bury it?" Wilson dared to ask.

"Don't be ridiculous, Higgsbury. That would be enormous waste of the meat and fangs. No, let's take it back to the camp so you can skin it." All the kindness and tenderness had vanished in a blink when Maxwell opened his mouth again, and it took Wilson by surprise, a shock even. How could the man act so cold just a second after he had spend God knows how long time comforting the thing?

"Then what was all that act for, if you were just planning to take it to the camp and use it anyway?" he questioned in disbelief of the nerve. He knew it would be waste of resources, but he still had some manners left.

"Oh, don't act like you wouldn't do the same. Everything should be used to it's last potential in a place like this. I thought you'd have learned that lesson already" Maxwell scoffed, but still moved the large head off of his lap very, very carefully when he got up.

"Well, not everything needs to be taken advantage of!" Wilson exclaimed in frustration and got up as well.

"For example...?" the other man just raised his eyebrow and got on his knees to pick up the corpse, cringing from the weight as he struggled to get it off from the ground, too proud to ask for help or back up as usual.

"Well, for example" Wilson rolled his eyes "If, say, you were to die, I wouldn't just cold-heartedly use your corpse. That's not right!"

"Shame on you then for letting my body waste away." Maxwell shrugged with a difficulty as the corpse weighted his arms down, and turned his back to walk away. Wilson frowned, and let a long sigh slither between his lips and walked after the magician.

"I still don't get it, though. I could understand maybe a rabbit, or a catcoon or even one of those noisy volt goats, but hounds are nothing but terrible bloodthirsty beasts with no purpose other than making life miserable for other creatures! They are monsters, why would you ever want to lend comfort to one of them?"

Maxwell was quiet for a while, then lowered his gaze to the lifeless animal he was holding, his gaze lingering in the sight of it's terrifyingly large jaws.

"Birds of feather tend to flock together" he just stated and kept walking. Wilson stopped behind him, slowly lowering his gaze at the ground, furrowing his brows in thought. He would've never stopped to comfort a hound before it's death. He would've just stabbed his spear through it without batting an eye, not sacrificing a single thought to it afterwards.

He had gotten used to just dealing with life like that. Kill or be killed, that's how it was. It's not like he didn't have empathy for the suffering or dying creatures around him, he just had no time to care if he wanted to survive himself. He could only care for his fellow humans, his friends, the only living beings here who would care for him as well. Wilson bit his lip and rose his eyes back up at Maxwell.

The hounds were terrible creatures. They hunted periodically for prey all around Constant, giving other creatures hardly any time to catch a break, before another pack would begin their hunt. They attacked anything on sight, they killed everything they could. Hounds had no empathy or attachment to anything, the only thing they had was instinct to kill and desire to hurt.

If Maxwell got hurt, he wouldn't get any sympathy or care from the hounds, not by a long shot. They might've once been his precious creations, but they held no love or loyalty to him any longer. But he still decided to stay and comfort one, because he still held some care for the things.

He felt some weird kind of kinship with them.

Wilson let that thought circle in his head for a moment, and then looked down, frowning, before picking up his phase and catching up with the other man again.

"You know..." he started warily, trying not to sound confrontational "I don't think you are like the hounds."

"Apparently you wouldn't make any use of my rotting corpse either." was the only snarky answer he was offered.

Notes:

This chapter is mostly filler and I am sorry ;__;

Chapter 12: Why do they hate us?

Summary:

Maxwell makes a friend without noticing it. Wilson does notice.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Maxwell frowned at nothing in particular and clenched his teeth. It had been a good few weeks already. Apparently Wilson had gotten used to living in the camp just fine. Apparently he was getting along with the people there very well. Apparently he had gotten very, very close with Wes lately.

Maxwell turned his eyes away in disgust as the mime leaned over Wilson's shoulder when the man worked on the blueprints on his makeshift table, and the short man smirked at the other one, rising his hand up to gently swept his fingers over his cheek, before returning to his work, starting to explain something.

Maxwell was angrily avoiding them, meddling with the list of supplies he had been given to check. It was not his business what Wilson did with his life, it was not his business who Wilson wanted to spend his time with.

But did it really have to be the mime?

Maxwell would've understood perfectly well someone like the librarian, or perhaps the lumberjack or even the arsonist. But the mime? Out of everyone in this camp, Wilson found his company desirable? Out of everyone in this camp, Wilson wished to spend his time with the mute freak with painted face and no survival skills? Good God, Wilson had to be smarter than that.

Despite telling himself otherwise just a second ago, Maxwell gave a fast glance at the two, and needed to only see how Wes leaned over Wilson, arms wrapped around his shoulders, watching him work. The magician turned away, clenching the paper in his fist. Even the mere sight of them just made him-

The small ounce of confusion rose it's head, making him pause for a second. Seeing that made him what? Sick? Angry? offended?

... Jealous?

Maxwell gritted his teeth. No, he was not jealous. He was not jealous that the damn circus creep got to lean over Wilson so casually and touch him softly and hear Wilson laugh and just be close to him without having to explain himself. He felt something tighten in his chest. It had nothing to do with the fact that he had been rejected by the scientist. It had nothing to do with the fact that he'd been laughed off, shut down so disgracefully and quickly that it had left no room to doubt what Wilson thought about him.

The tight feeling grew even tighter. Wilson had made his point clear. They were not friends, let alone anything more than that, and he knew that now that he had done what had been their deal, the truce was obviously off again. 

But then, why was he even here? It's not like anyone actually wanted him around.

He could imagine that Wickerbottom wanted to keep a close eye on him. Willow, Wigfrid and Woodie probably just enjoyed that he was here for them to point out every single mistake and flaw and fault in him. Wendy seemed to enjoy, that there was someone else whose life sucked more than hers. Wolfgang needed to keep a close eye on him in case he hurt one of the strongman's friends, and Maxwell imagined that Wes felt safer when he knew where the magician was, so he wouldn't happen to accidentally run into him when no one else was around.

But there should've been no reason for Wilson to want him around anymore. It was justifiable in the past, they were dependent on each other and surviving together was just so much easier, and then they worked together to built the portal. But that was not the case anymore. Now Wilson had a whole bunch of people to choose from, plenty of others to help him, many people he wanted to be around.

Maxwell had thought, before Wilson so bluntly and clearly rejected him, that Wilson might have even grown to like him, and that's why he still bothered with Maxwell. But it wasn't the case, as he was reminded. Still, there had to be some reason... Maxwell just had to figure out what it was, had to know what was the motive for it, so he could have some peace of mind. Why would Wilson need him to be here? What on earth would he gain from defending Maxwell to the others and helping him out, making Maxwell feel even more in debt than-

Oh.

The clutching in his chest started to feel suffocating, now that he realized why Wilson still kept him around, and the older man absentmindedly grasped his shirt where the thing, that still pretended to be his heart, was. He was in debt for Wilson, that was why. That had always been why. He was allowed to be around Wilson because Wilson had freed him from the throne, had offered him not revenge but mercy, had helped him to survive when he didn't have to. Maxwell simply owed Wilson too much to just up and leave, and Wilson, wisely, was just cashing out his prize.

Maxwell took a quiet inhale as he stood up, and walked out of the camp. He didn't want to be around people now. As he arrived to the nearest pine tree forest, he summoned shadows to chop down some logs, while he stood there quietly. He'd better start being useful, before the group could get it in their heads that he wasn't worth keeping around and protecting anymore.

Besides, he had not been able to repay the scientist yet, and he knew somewhere inside him that he could not leave before he had, he could not die before they were at least close to being even. Now that Wilson had a choice to ditch him whenever he so wished, he supposed that the younger man would let him know when his services weren't needed anymore.

Maxwell let a dark little chuckle escape him.

Who was he kidding, it's not like Wilson needed him at all. The damn place was now full of people who could do everything he could and then some, and they all got along, they smiled and were fun to be around and they did their share of the work without complaints, unlike him.

And that's it, he supposed. They didn't need him, they just wanted to get something out of him if he had to be there. That's why he was not left to die somewhere alone yet. The truth never seemed to be the one he wanted, but it always made more sense to him. It always hurt when the things suddenly started making sense.

Maxwell stood in front of a tree, staring at it's brown bark. If it was what Wilson wanted from him, he could at least try... He could be something else than pain on the other man's back for once. He had to pay his debt, it was the only way for him to really be free.

Maxwell scowled at the tree like it had personally insulted his mother.

And then what? What was there for him after all of it was done and he wasn't useful anymore, after he had paid back what he owed?

Would he just get chased away? Would he just get killed like any other monster that threatened their group of survivors? He shook when he thought about it. What the hell did it even matter, when there was nothing for him afterwards?

Maxwell didn't even realize what he was doing when he punched the tree, and the sharp pain shot through his knuckles when the bark scratched the skin underneath the gloves, and the pain made him even angrier, even more desperately frustrated, and he just started to punch the tree with his fist over and over until his hand hurt and he could feel the blood oozing out of the broken skin, stinging and warm.

The man took in a sharp breath and let himself fall down, clenching his hurting fist to his forehead and gritting his teeth. Everything was so meaningless. He felt so sad and angry and none of it even mattered.

"Mister Maxwell, are you okay?"

Maxwell shouldn't have been startled by the voice, but he still flinched and shot his head up to glare at the spider boy, who watched him cautiously behind the tree. Webber cowered back, hesitant to approach. They blinked their many eyes at him, black claws clutching tightly at the tree trunk they hid behind. Maxwell turned his head down, letting out a long exhale through his nose.

"Yes, I am fine. Go play with your friends or... or something." he waved his hand to shoo the kid away. He had nothing against Webber, but he was too tired to try being nice right now. Webber didn't seem to mind, as they slowly walked in sight and stopped few steps away from the magician, not really brave enough to come too close, but not so scared they felt the need to hide anymore.

"Why are you hitting a tree? Are you angry?"

Yes, he was angry. He was a whole lot of emotions he was too tired and scared of to identify, and he didn't feel like opening up to a child he had wronged and hurt in the past, and he sure as hell didn't feel like looking weak in their eyes. He could somewhat tolerate the grown ups pitying and loathing him. He could not handle it if the kids would start looking down on him as well.

"Our mum used to say it's not healthy to hide your pain."

This damn kid and their damn big, soft heart. Maxwell shook his head and glowered at the spider boy.

"I said that I am fine, did I not?" he snarled, but found himself making a quick glance to his fists. Webber took a couple of steps closer and crouched down. Maxwell cursed how difficult it sometimes was to read their expression, the monsterly features hiding away some more familiar, human-like signs that were easier to identify.

"... Why don't you tell mister Wilson you're hurt? He always helps us when we are in pain." Webber asked, pure confusion in their chittery, growly monster voice, tilting their head at him. Maxwell scoffed. Right. As if Wilson needed to help him even more. As if Wilson would want to always patch up his injuries and tend to him when he was hurting in some way - he would, he always would help, but that didn't necessarily mean he wanted to. The man shook his head.

"I am not in need of help. I am working, in case you haven't noticed. I'm busy. Stop bothering me." he gestured to the vague direction where his clones were cutting down trees, and Webber followed his hand, but soon looked back at him and scooted themselves even closer. Maxwell had the instant need to back away, an instinct to get away from any potential danger, but some even stronger sense in him made him tense up and not move at all, to stand his ground, do not back down, do not show them you are scared, just take what's coming and turn it in your advantage...

Webber, still a little hesitantly, took his hand on their own claws and bit their lip. Maxwell was balancing between the idea of snatching his hand away, or letting the little monstrosity have his little fun and then, hopefully, leave him be faster. He decided to try the later option, if only in fear of the consequences of scaring the kid. Webber looked stern, concentrated, a similar expression to that Wilson often wore, when he was in deep thoughts. Maxwell briefly wondered if Webber had picked that up from the scientist, they seemed to look up to Wilson quite a bit.

"Sometimes" Webber started, squeezing Maxwell's hand a bit, like asking a permission to continue "...Sometimes when we are feeling bad, we run to hide somewhere. We don't want the others to think we are useless and weak. We don't want them think we are being bad on purpose... But sometimes we get hurt more than others and we are ashamed that we are not strong like miss Wigfrid or brave like mister Wilson or smart like miss Wickerbottom."

Maxwell was not sure if the kid was trying to comfort him, or just needed to get something off of their chest, hoping to get some sort of understanding from him. How dumb of them, as if he knew how to comfort a kid, as if he even cared to do so. Even being somewhat nice to them felt so hard, it was quite a task to even avoid being mean. Maxwell would not be fit to whatever it was that Webber was seeking right now.

"...And?" the man just sighed, not really having anything else he knew to say. To his utter horror the spider child rose his hand to their cheek and purred low chitter out of their throat, snuggling the back of his hand.

"Thank you mister Maxwell."

Maxwell frowned, opening his mouth, without any voice leaving him. It took a while to muster some kind of response, he was so confused of why and where did that even come from "For what? I did nothing, kid."

"For listening to us. We are glad, we felt like you might understand. You know, since you don't like people to think you're weak either."

He did not understand. He did not care. He did not sit here and listen Webber because it was his intention to do so, he didn't even try, he just sat there and did nothing!

"Listen here pal, I don't know what you're thinking, but-" he cut his own words short when Webber looked at him, their God damn big, round eyes staring right to his soul, still hugging his hand and still making that pleased little chittering noise.

"... Do you want to talk about it, too? We will listen." Webber offered, smiling shyly, like they were still a bit unsure, but still very certain that they were doing the right thing. Maxwell was about to yank his hand away, but he just couldn't. Weren't he supposed to play nice to these idiots so they wouldn't hurt him? He just sighed deep.

"There is nothing to talk about. I'm just swell, pal." he muttered, looking away from Webber's big bug eyes. Webber nodded.

"Our mum used to kiss our bruises and cuts when we were little, she always said she will make the hurt go away. It doesn't really help, though... Mister Wilson says it's just a distraction to trick our mind away from the problem, or something."

That said, Webber pecked a small kiss on Maxwell's knuckles, not unlike they'd probably kiss their favorite toy to ease it's imaginary pain. Maxwell didn't feel very comfortable seeing those big, sharp teeth so close to his skin. Nevertheless, it made him feel somewhat different, not better, the pain did not go away, but he felt something else. Like a little heat in his chest, a vague memory from somewhere in the distant, long-forgotten past when someone cared enough to pretend that he'd be okay.

But as fast as it had appeared, the memory stain was quickly shaken away, and the old man finally snatched his hand away. He had no use to this kind of nonsense, he did not want to pretend things were something they weren't. Some childish play-treatment didn't make his problems disappear.

"There there" Webber cooed softly "It will be okay." He gave Maxwell a large grin. Maxwell winced and helped himself up from the ground. He did not want the pity from a little kid, he had some dignity left. Children were not meant to comfort adults, it's supposed to be the other way around. Besides, Webber was far misguided to think they should be getting any kind of understanding or solace from Maxwell. Maxwell was not a babysitter, he didn't sign up for making some little brat feel better about themselves.

And yet. Yet it seemed that Webber had found some kind of conclusion to his problems, whatever they may have been, grinning at him in some mutual understanding that didn't exist, somehow even happy they had this very much one-sided talk. Maxwell rubbed his hands to help to numb the pain, looking away from the monster kid. If Webber gained something out of this, them more power to them, it was not up to Maxwell to decide if they wanted to see something in place where there was nothing. 

"I better keep working. Don't want to disappoint the group..." the magician muttered angrily, and dug his axe from his bag, silently hissing at the pain when he wrapped his fingers around the handle - repeatedly punching the hard tree trunk had not been his best idea, he had to admit.

"Yes, we better work hard so our friends will be proud of us!" Webber declared excitedly and took his own axe in hand, running among the shadows to chop down trees. Maxwell stared after him. Well, he did not have any authority to command the kid to not chop down trees here. He sighed defeatedly. He really hoped this would not become a thing.

---

Wilson leaned on his palm and kept a watchful eye on Maxwell. He didn't know when or how or why, but at some point he had started to notice that Webber had become much more comfortable around the older man, talking to him when they usually wouldn't, tugging at his jacket to ask a question or show him something. It was not a bad thing, not at all. But it unnerved the scientist that he didn't know when it had exactly happened without him even noticing.

Not that Webber wasn't a little ball of fluff and love and kindness who would eventually want to befriend everyone, but even they had expressed their distaste of the former King. So the seemingly sudden turn-around seemed suspicious, and it was concerning Wilson for some reason.

Wilson found himself sucking his lip in thought, frowning while fixing a broken thing that he supposed to be an old hairdryer, watching from afar as the monster kid ran to the magician, who sat on the log reading his book. He was a fair distance away from them, so he could only hear that the words were spoken, but wasn't able make out what was said. Webber poked Maxwell on the arm and the man turned to glower at them, slamming his book shut so hard it made a loud thud. Webber said something, squirming sheepishly, drawing circles on the ground with their feet. Maxwell seemed to take in a deep breath, and then let it out and let his shoulders drop with it.

Wilson realized that there had been a question asked, and Maxwell rubbed his head, until he gave Webber a very pleading, tired and just not-at-all-excited look, and the boy answered with puckered lip, big eyes getting even bigger, letting out a whine. Maxwell let out another sigh and got up, and Webber bounced at their heels excitedly, running to catch their backpack from their tent, then back to Maxwell, who just pushed his hands in his pockets and walked out of the camp, the spider kid hopping next to him in glee.

Wilson didn't even think twice, abandoning his project and walking after the two. He told himself that he was not intruding, he was merely curious, and it's not like they were keeping secrets from him, so he was well within his own rights to go and see where they were headed. He also told himself that he did not feel a bang of jealousy in his chest about the fact that Webber had asked Maxwell for something instead of him. Because, it was just a good thing that they were getting along, right? He wanted them to get along, he did not feel a bit pushed aside, that was not the reason he was concerned over Webber's sudden attachment to the magician... The scientist blushed and frowned while he made sure to keep his distance and avoid being seen.

...Well. Maybe jealously played a small part on the fact that he was, despite what he told himself, practically spying on them right now. But he was not doing anything wrong! He was allowed to be worried, and given Maxwell's past and even his current reputation among the survivors, it should be understandable that the young man felt like he needed keep an eye on the situation.

After a while of walking, the unusual duo stopped, and Webber crouched down to dug his bag, while Maxwell just stood there watching him. Wilson crept a little bit closer, crouching down behind the bushes within the earshot, hoping he had managed to stay unnoticed.

"This is a really bad idea." Maxwell said with a bored voice.

"We don't know until we try. Mister Wilson says that a real scientist will try everything at least once!"

"Well, that may be why mister Wilson has impressively high amount of deaths under his name. Let's not make the same mistakes, hmm pal?"

Webber giggled.

Wilson frowned in his hiding place, cheeks turning pink. He was sure that no one liked to be badmouthed behind their back, no matter how true it might be that he could sometimes be a little, uh, foolhardy with his antics. He expected something like this from Maxwell, but he did not like that Webber apparently agreed. This was exactly what he was afraid of. Maxwell was just a bad influence on the kid!

"... Look pal, I'm not going to tell you what to do, but don't expect anything good to come out of this. Not only will it save you a great disappointment, but I won't need to tell you 'I told you so' when this blows on your face. Capiche?"

Silence.

"... It means 'did you understand?'." Maxwell sighed.

"Ohhh!" Webber exclaimed "You know a lot of fancy words, mister Maxwell!"

"You're beside the point."

Wilson heard more shuffling when Webber sought something from his backpack, followed by triumphant "a-HA!" when they found what they were looking for.

"That's it?" Maxwell's voice was surprised in an impressively bored way "That's what you gonna offer them?"

"We wrapped it by ourselves. Isn't it pretty?"

"That would not be my choice of words."

"Okay, we will go now... We will yell if we need help."

"When you will need help, I'll be sure to be there."

Wilson's curiosity was killing him. He wanted to just pop up from the bushes and see what was happening, know what Webber was holding, ask Maxwell what was doing on, but he kept his cool when he realized, that it wouldn't be a good look on him, giving away the fact that he had been spying on the two like some unruly little kid.

It didn't take long when there was a scream, half human-like, half-monstrous screech. Maxwell groaned, and after a few seconds Wilson saw two shadows running away, heading to Webber's aid. His protective instinct told him that it didn't matter if he would embarrass himself, he needed to help Webber if he was in trouble, yet the other part of him knew that Webber was a though kid, and he needed to give them a chance to protect themselves. It would not do well in the long run if he kept smothering them and shielding them from everything... But if the situation would start to look too bad, he would definitely step in, that was for sure.

After a while of anxious waiting and uncertainty and so many fears of what might happen to Webber, Wilson finally heard a couple of footsteps coming back his way, accompanied by quiet weeping sounds. A worry rose in his chest, and he leaned a bit closer to hear everything he could.

"...Listen kid. It was never going to work. But it's not your fault. Stop crying." Maxwell's voice was stern, but there was a little softer edge at the last part. Webber sounded distraught, weeping quietly. It was silent for a while, until the spider boy finally spoke up.

"...Am I bad?"

"What a stupid question. Of course you aren't."

"Why do the piggies hate us then? We just tried to be nice."

Maxwell sighed loudly, and Wilson got a bit angry. Maybe Maxwell didn't like anyone else but himself, but that didn't mean he had to be rude when someone was being genuinely sad. A kid, for God's sake!

"Pal... the pigs are dumb."

"That's mean, mister Maxwell." Webber sniffed.

"Well, it's true. They are dumb. They don't like spiders because spiders don't like them, and that's just how things are. They don't understand that you want to be a friend. Don't get so down because of it, alright pal? It's not a bad thing to want things to be different, even if you can't change them."

Webber sniffed again, and the silence was there again for a while.

"... Oh, no, look, I don't- um, oh dear." Maxwell spoke again, quietly, and now he sounded slightly distressed and panicked. Wilson could not help himself, and crawled closer so he could move the branches out of his sight, just a tiny bit to see what was happening.

Webber stood on the ground next to their backpack, holding their arms up as if asking to be held, and Maxwell was looking almost horrified, holding his own hands in the air, not knowing what to do. Finally the man bit his lip and groaned quietly, and sat down to lean against the tree trunk, opening his arms just enough to give Webber a very vague permission. Webber didn't ask further questions and crawled on his lap, grasping the man's suit in their claws.  Maxwell didn't hold them, but instead patted their shoulder awkwardly.

"Uh. There there. Stop crying." the man said, the inaudible 'please' almost on his lips.

"But we are not a spider, why do they hate us?"

Maxwell sighed and rose his other hand to rub over his eyes.

"As I said, the pigs are dumb. Not smart creatures in the slightest. You look enough like a spider, so they don't like you. It's not easy to stop hating something when one has hated it for ages. Even if you mean well, they don't understand it."

"So... We can't do anything about it? Even if we try really really hard?" Webber sniffed.

"Not likely."

"...Is that why you don't get along with others? Because it's not easy to our friends to stop hating you?"

Wilson blinked, surprised. Maxwell shook his head and gave Webber a lopsided smile.

"It's not the same thing. I deserve it. I did bad things, and it has led to the hatred that I now have to live with. You don't deserve to be hated by the pigs. They haven't decided to hate you because there is something wrong with you, it's just an animalistic instinct. You're a good kid, don't waste your time worrying about things that you can't change."

"... But you could change the way the others think about you?"

"I'm sorry, when did this thing start being about me?" Maxwell asked, irked "No, they are completely justified to their feelings, I'm not gonna try to bribe them to like me if they don't want to."

Webber frowned, humming quietly in thoughts. They didn't seem to be crying anymore, which was a good thing. Wilson smiled faintly. They were so kind, he almost regretted thinking that Maxwell could have a bad influence on them. As if anyone could ever make Webber have even a slightest bit of badness in them.

"Do you think we hate you, mister Maxwell?"

"Probably, yes."

"...But, are you sorry that you hurt us?"

"Okay pal, I think you have calmed down now. Let's go pack to the camp, okay?"

"We don't hate you. We would like to hear an apology though." Webber looked up at the magician with a firm frown, and Maxwell scowled, but ended up just heaving out a deep sigh.

"Yes, I'm sorry for all of this. But saying it won't make any difference, now will it? It doesn't make up for the things I've made you all go through, it doesn't change what I've done, it doesn't make me a better person." the man deadpanned, holding his chin up proudly, failing to look menacing when there was a small child sitting on his lap.

Wilson felt a small cold in his chest. He didn't hate Maxwell, that was not true. Sure they fought, sure they weren't the bests of friends, sure as hell he didn't enjoy Maxwell's antics lot of the time, but he didn't hate Maxwell.

Had he been so unclear about it? He understood that some of the others would hold onto their hate towards the ex-King, they weren't forced to spend time with him in the Constant like he had, they haven't seen the change. They haven't been able to see how absolutely and thoroughly pathetic and sad it was when Maxwell tried to survive with no skills what so ever... It was very difficult to hate someone when you felt so God damn sorry for them.

"How do you know if you don't try? We could help you to make a gift for them. We know they would want to hear you are sorry. It's a start!"

"Listen kid. Whether they want to forgive me or not is up to them, and I will leave it for them to decide. It's not your problem, so stop pushing it."

"We just want all our friends to get along..." Webber started with a whining voice, but Maxwell stood up and let the spider boy fall from his lap, dusting his suit, letting out an irritated breath.

"If you're not in need of my help anymore, I'll be making my leave then." he announced and walked away, but Wilson was sure he walked just a bit slower to wait if Webber followed. And sure enough, the monster kid pouted only for a second or two by himself, before they took their backpack and sprinted after the magician.

Wilson sat in his hideout for a while longer, thinking. Maybe he could be a bit clearer about the fact that Maxwell was not as hated as he thought himself to be. They were friends acquaintances, and it hurt that Maxwell didn't seem to care that Wilson had given him a lot of chances to prove himself, and he had been much more tolerable than Maxwell had deserved. Didn't that already show that he didn't hate Maxwell?

Wilson sighed, feeling something dark and cold clutching his chest. Truth be told, he really wanted to hear an apology, too.

Notes:

When in doubt, write the spider son in the story.

Chapter 13: Good intentions

Summary:

Wilson tries to make things better. It doesn't go like he planned.

Chapter Text

Wilson had thought a lot about the fact that Maxwell seemed to think that Wilson hated him. At least it seemed like it wasn't anything personal, because Maxwell seemed to be positive that everyone hated him. Still, Wilson would've expected himself to be an exception. He had spent a lot of time with the older man after all, and in his humble opinion, they had grown quite close in those passing months. It actually hurt a little, that after all that Wilson had done, Maxwell still didn't even think him in any different way than before.

Especially since Wilson surely thought of him in a different way than he used to. He didn't like to dig too deep to find out what kind of feelings those different feelings were, but he didn't see Maxwell as a selfish and cruel, heartless monster anymore.

Sure, the old man might've been difficult, rude, indifferent and mean, but he was not a bad person, not after you got to know him. He had seemed very certain of everyone's hatred towards him, and Wilson was sure that there must've been at least someone in the group, who already saw through his mask and realized that he wasn't actually a bad person. Wilson was sure about it.

He realized that Maxwell wasn't very liked by the others for obvious reasons, and it might've been difficult to get along with people who didn't like you, but in all honesty, the man wasn't making it very easy for them to change their minds. He was either isolating himself from the others, or acting rude and mean, and that wasn't really showing the group that he had changed at all and was trustworthy enough.

Wilson decided to do what he was known to do best: To observe the situation closer and then meddle with it, until it fit the picture how he liked. He felt like he needed to do something, not only to help Maxwell to understand, that he could be liked here if he gave people the chance to see it, but also because he wasn't very keen of the idea of having to constantly explain and defend Maxwell's behavior and beg his friends to give him more time.

He decided to start by just talking to people, finding out what they really thought. Starting from the one he knew would have an insight a bit better than the rest of them.

---

"So uh... Webber" Wilson tried to sound casual when they collected the leftovers of the silk and monster meat from the ground "What do you think about Maxwell?" Webber turned to look at him, then looked at the ground, thinking.

"We think he is funny."

Well, that definitely wasn't one of the first words Wilson would pick to describe the former King, but he let the kid go on without interrupting them "We don't really understand a lot of things mister Maxwell says, and sometimes he isn't very nice, but he listen to us when we speak, so we think it's okay."

Wilson suspected that Maxwell didn't as much listen to Webber as much as he just let the spider child run their mouth without snapping at them, but he didn't have a heart to tell that to Webber. Instead he smiled and nodded "Do you think he's a good person?"

"Yes! He is like a burned cupcake! Dark and hard outside but soft and sweet on the inside!" Webber grinned, and Wilson ruffled the fur on their head, making the kid giggle. That sounded more like Maxwell, he supposed. He wasn't even sure what he had expected Webber to say. Of course Webber liked Maxwell. Webber could and probably would befriend everyone at some point (well, everyone expect for the pigs, apparently).

The scientist decided to ask someone who was a bit more wary of the man. Someone who would probably be more afraid of him than Webber who was, after all, very brave for someone his age.

---

"Wolfgang. What do you think about Maxwell being here?"

The strongman rose his bushy eyebrow at him, and then rubbed his neck nervously "Frail man scary and mean, gives Wolfgang same feeling like the bad dogs." Wilson was already prepared to accept that Wolfgang might need a little bit more time to get over the wary nature around Maxwell, until the man suddenly continued "Frail man scary, but weak. Not so scary now when doesn't have power. Mighty Wolfgang would crush in seconds!" The man explained, hitting his large fist to his open palm as some kind of demonstration of his might, which Wilson had no doubt would easily crush any one of them, safe from maybe Wigfrid.

That didn't really answer his question, though.

"Do you think he shouldn't be here with us, then?"

The large Russian let out a mighty laugh and slammed a friendly but a little bit too powerful hand on Wilson's back, making the smaller man almost fall face first on the ground "Weak man one of us now! Will be mighty friend one day!"

Wilson smiled. Well, Wolfgang was a bit like Webber in a sense that he was, in the end,  just a big softie with even bigger heart. It shouldn't be so surprising that he would be able to come around, after Maxwell would give him enough time.

Maybe he should ask from someone who wasn't so soft and sweet to the core. He knew just the right guy.

---

"So uh... How do you feel about Maxwell?"

"Uuurrghh...." Willow groaned loudly and rolled her eyes "Hate that guy! He is super sketchy and snobby and thinks he is better than us. I can't believe that you wanted him to stay. I mean sure yeah, he helped you and you were a team and blah blah isn't that cute, but c'mon. Don't you think he should pay for what he has done, before we just let him in?"

Wilson was, once again, not really sure what he had expected. Willow wasn't exactly the most forgiving person. But then again, she did believe in new beginnings, in her own weird, reckless, let's-burn-down-the-past kind of way.

"I know... But he has struggled a lot, and would that really make us any better than him, if we didn't at least try to give him a chance to be someone better?" Wilson tried, feeling a bit dumb that he had even asked Willow, because of course she wouldn't let go of her grudges so easily. Not that Wilson blamed her, but he had hoped she would have his back on this.

"No, we are already better than him. When he has died from at least once by everything here that we have died from, then I can maybe believe he deserves a chance." The woman crossed her arms and looked at Wilson very doubtfully "Just because he doesn't have power anymore doesn't mean he has changed. He is just a dirty little cockroach trying to survive the best he can, because he knows he can't toy with us anymore. But if he could, I have no reason to believe he wouldn't."

Wilson didn't want to believe her. Maxwell was cunning and sly and knew how to play with people, but Wilson could see how he had changed, at least a little. He knew that in a certain level Willow was probably right, and Maxwell didn't have a choice but to play nice, but he wanted to believe that it couldn't be the only thing there was. Why else would Maxwell be so fixated on the fact that people didn't like him?

 Wilson just sighed and hung his head, shaking it disappointedly. Willow just wasn't ready. She would come around eventually, but right now, it was best to let her run out of her anger on her own time.

Maybe he should ask someone a tad bit more level headed.

---

"Uh, Ms. Wickerbottom?"

"Yes dear, what do you need?" The old woman rose her gaze from the ground, where she had been planting seeds.

Wilson rubbed his arm awkwardly. Wickerbottom was smart and wise, she would help him put the things in right perspective. To see the clear picture of how much people really disliked Maxwell, and how willing they were to give him his own time to adjust to things. She would help him see how much Maxwell really was trying, how much he really deserved the chance.

"Uh, I have a question. It's about Maxwell." The man sat down next to the librarian, and the woman's eyebrows drew sternly together.

"I see. He has been on my mind as well. I think it's time we have a little chat about him."

Wilson suddenly felt like he was in trouble. He forced the nervous feeling away and tried to smile "Uh-huh? What is it, has he done something wrong? I know I vouched for him, and I would do it again, but I realize he can be really difficult to deal with at first, and trust me he has a habit of making things harder than they need to be, and he can be kind of mean sometimes if-"

"You're rambling, dear. But your concern is unnecessary, neither of you are in trouble of any kind. But I have concerns about Maxwell, if you could call it that."

Wilson wasn't sure if he was relieved that they weren't in trouble, or worried because that didn't sound good at all. The old woman adjusted her glasses and gave Wilson a bag of seeds in the here-be-useful-while-we-talk way, and Wilson started to compliantly plant the seeds.

"I do not blame him for having trouble of finding his own place here. It's never easy to face the fact that you have made mistakes and been wrong. But I'm sensing a lot of unsafe hostility around him. He seems to be very easy to trigger and I wouldn't want to chase him away, but we can't have someone here who is potentially a threat to the harmony of our group, or a risk to the well-being of our people."

Wilson nodded, not daring to interrupt. Maxwell wasn't doing enough, Maxwell wasn't going to get them on his side fast enough... Wilson really didn't want him to go. Maxwell couldn't survive alone, not without help. He needed to get his act together so this could all work out.

"I cannot tell what the issue is, and I do not wish to pry. But I have to underline that he cannot threaten people, no matter if he doesn't mean it, and he cannot lash out in a way that's going to hurt someone."

"He really isn't a bad person, I don't think he is-"

"And I'm not saying that he is, either." Wickerbottom continued and got up, starting to straighten her shirt and dust it off the dirt and dust "I'm just voicing my concern on the matter if this is going to work out or not. He has to understand that he cannot act the way he does. I truly hope he is able to solve whatever problem is plaguing him, so we can all move on. Would you be a dear and deliver this message to him? I want him to get along with others, and I'm not going to throw him out because of small mistakes, but I'm thinking the best of everyone here. If he cannot have his act together, then I'm sorry, but we must reconsider the conditions of his stay here..."

"I can talk to him" Wilson offered, pleadingly, trusting Wickerbottom to understand that he wouldn't go out of his way and give himself trouble for defending Maxwell, if it wasn't really worth it. The old woman nodded at him.

"You do that, dear. If you have anything in mind that would make it easier for both him and us, then please let me know. Now; what was it you wanted to ask about?"

Wilson felt like he had already had the answer to his question, so he just shook his head and handed the seeds back to the woman "Never mind. It wasn't anything that important." he mumbled and left to find Maxwell.

What was he even going to say to him? 'Hey, I know there is like two people who are willing to give you a change and everyone else hates you because you don't know how to act like a decent person, but could you fucking try to act like a decent person???'. No. He could see that something had been up with Maxwell, but he had thought it was just because Maxwell was too proud and arrogant to admit he was part of the pawns now, just like the rest of them.

Wilson wanted Maxwell to stay here with them. He wanted Maxwell to be part of the group. If the man could only see that humbling himself a bit wasn't that hard, maybe he would understand that yes, he had been a dick and he deserved the glares and cold shoulders, but the group would be willing to forgive him if he only accepted his mistakes and wasn't acting like a ticking time bomb all the time.

Wilson couldn't find Maxwell for the whole day. The man only returned when the darkness had already fallen, and walked to his own private campfire and sat down there without even trying to greet anyone or make some kind of attempts to communicate with them.

Wilson was sitting with the others around the bigger, shared firepit, trying to have a good time. But his eyes kept wandering to the lonely fire where Maxwell had apparently made himself comfortable, and was reading his book again. There was a small tug on his sleeve, and Wilson turned his head to face Wes's questioning eyes. Wilson offered him a smile and stood up.

"Wait here. I'm gonna come back soon" the scientist smiled at the quiet man, who just nodded trustingly and turned back to follow the compassionate argument between Wolfgang and Wigfrid over who had brought most meat back to the camp with them. Wilson headed to Maxwell's small adjustment and stood there for a while, but Maxwell very stubbornly refused to rise his head and meet the younger man's gaze.

After a while of very loud silence between them, Wilson finally sighed and crouched down.

"Would you like to come sit with us?"

Maxwell paused reading his book, and then finally looked at Wilson, rising his eyebrow at him.

"I don't think your friends would be very happy if I did. Last time I checked, I should feel lucky I'm even allowed to breathe the air here." There was some much unneeded venom in his voice, and Wilson tried to offer him an encouraging smile instead of joining in his petty whingeing.

"You can't be sure until you try, right? Come on, it could be fun. Wouldn't you rather sit there and eat a proper meal and let the people get to know you a bit better, than pout here all by yourself?"

Maxwell only frowned and sniffed arrogantly, turning his head away "I am not pouting."

"Mhm. Sure you aren't. So, are you coming or not?"

Maxwell rose his shoulders up, gritting his teeth, and Wilson patted his arm with his hand gently to show some support.

"You could at least try, you know. I know that avoiding people feels like the easiest option at the moment, but it's not necessarily the best in the long run. I don't want you to get thrown out, okay? Please try to come and spend some time with us, just this once. Please? Pretty please? I can sit here and whine all night long until you agree, you know I can."

Maxwell took a long inhale, a bit unnecessarily long and dramatic in Wilson's opinion, and then the man pinched the bridge of his nose. "Higgsbury. What on earth makes you think it would be a good idea?"

"The fact that we don't know for certain that it isn't." Wilson answered proudly, buffing his chest like a bird "Now come on, time to show the others that you can be a nice guy when you try. And you do try, don't you?"

Maxwell snarled something under his breath, but then just sighed and got up.

"Fine. But this will not work."

"I truly wish that that wouldn't be your answer to everything. Come on." Wilson tried not to push Maxwell, but he was, in all honestly, getting really tired of always having to force him to be a decent person. Maxwell only shook his head and thrust his hands into his pockets, quietly following Wilson back to the circle of happy chatting around the firepit.

The happy chatting got noticeably less happy when Wilson sat back down, and Maxwell took in a deep inhale and sat opposite of him to the other side of the fire. If the air would've been described with a one word, it would've been 'waiting'. Wilson wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not, but it could be, couldn't it? Sure they might've waited that Maxwell started to be a jerk again, but they could also be waiting for things to get better. Who knows, it was worth the try.

"Evening, dear." Ms. Wickerbottom decided to break the awkward not-quite-silence that had landed on them, not moving her eyes away from the book she was reading. That seemed to snap people back to the reality. Wolfgang and Wigfrid had barely slowed down their heated contest of being the best hunter, and returned to their yelling as if nothing had even happened. Webber was eating and fiddling with a broken toy someone had found in the grave, and Woodie was casually sharpening Lucy and whispering something with her by himself.

Maxwell answered Wickerbottom with a grunt and leaned on his palm without even looking at her. Wilson tried to act like he normally would, and not stare at Maxwell to see how he was doing. He kept calming himself down by repeating in his head, that his was a good idea. The others would see that Maxwell was able to be a good company sometimes, and Maxwell could start relaxing a little. And then they all would see that they could trust each other and it was all going to be okay.

A careful tug on his sleeve pulled Wilson away from his totally-not-staring, and the man turned his attention to Wes, who gave a nervous glance on Maxwell's direction and started to sign fastly.

Maxwell clenched his fists and took in a deep, tense breath, stubbornly staring at his shoes. He really didn't like this. He knew nothing good was going to come out of this and he really didn't care to sit here and watch from the close distance how Wilson signed and talked in a low voice with the mime, and Maxwell knew the mime was talking something about him, because the young man kept glancing at him, as if he didn't notice.

He heard Webber let out a giggle, and he had to stop himself from turning to look. There was no reason that Webber would be laughing at him. No reason at all, and they weren't even in on the conversation Wilson and Wes were having.

But what if they were? What if they were in on something they had all planned out together?

No. It was ridiculous, Maxwell assured himself, and took another deep breath. Nobody was laughing at him. Nobody was laughing at him or talking about him or staring at him. He ignored the way the hair on his neck stood up and the small goosebumps ran through his arms when his ears picked up every single small sound and noise against his will, and he started to feel his palms getting sweaty when he concentrated on keeping his breathing steady, repeating the same thing in his head to assure himself that nobody was staring at him or whispering about him or laughing at him.

But why did it feel like they were? What if they really were? Maybe this had been a planned thing, maybe this was some mean prank on him. Maxwell clenched his fists. He wasn't going to let them make fun of him. Nobody made fun of Maxwell and got away with it, he'd made damn sure of it.

But why would've Wilson done something like this to him? Wilson wasn't a mean person, he wouldn't have, he had no reason to.

But then again... The scientist sure seemed to keep having some private and quiet conversation with Wes, and Maxwell knew it was about him, he felt it in his bones. Did the man really come to get him here, just to rub it in his face, that he was not wanted here? Maxwell risked a very fast glance upwards, but almost immediately moved his eyes back down. He tried to think about something else than the sight of Wes sitting there way too close to Wilson, knees almost touching, arms almost touching, too close to one another, and every once in a while Wes would give Maxwell a fast little glance and they would keep talking. About him, he was sure about it-

"Hey, asshole! Helloo-ooo? At least answer!" A very annoying voice snapped Maxwell out of whatever trance he had fallen under, and the man instantly scowled and turned to face Willow, irritated, and by the looks of it, the woman was almost as irritated as he was.

"What?" the man tried not to snarl, but he failed to hide the discomfort from his voice, and the word came out as an angry hiss. Willow rolled her eyes and pointed her thumb to Webber, who sat there watching Maxwell with their giant eyes that were colored yellow by the firelight, all of them blinking in different rhythm.

"We asked you how are you? You were away a loooong time today" Webber smiled.

Maxwell squinted. Webber had been asking him that a lot lately, but he still wasn't prepared that they would ask it now. He somehow had assumed they'd all just ignore him. Truth be told, he would've much preferred that.

He scowled and turned away from the kid "How about you worry more about yourself, hm? The last time I checked, my well-being isn't neither your concern or business."

He didn't fancy the attention when he wasn't asking for it. Being on the stage had been great, all eyes on him when he knew he was delivering everything they expected and more, but it had been chosen attention. Being judged and looked down by people, who didn't like you and you certainly didn't like them  either, wasn't exactly the kind of attention he wanted to be in the center of.

He didn't even know why he had said it, he didn't hold any greater dislikes towards Webber. It might've been the pressure, or the feeling of being an outsider, or the fact that Wilson was still sitting way too close to the mime,  but Maxwell was finding it hard to control his temper.

He wanted to run away. Instead he crossed his arms and pulled his chin up proudly.

"Keep your freaky monster face out of my business."

"Ey! No reason to be mean to the kiddo, eh?" Woody suddenly pitched in, just now taking part of the chit-chat around the campfire. The way the lumberjack fiddled the Axe in his hands made Maxwell lean back a bit, even though they sat a good distance away from each other.

"Yeah, what's wrong with you?" Willow joined in "It was just a question!"

"Children, please. Don't raise your voices" Wickerbottom scolded generally everyone, but her eyes dashed to Willow's direction. The young woman sneered and kicked the ground.

"Well, he should at least apologize... You know, since Webber is a kid and all..."

The old librarian watcher her a while longer, until she sighed and nodded "That's a good point. Maxwell, apologize to young Webber, I'm sure they didn't mean to offend you."

"Oh I'm sure. Still, I don't think I said a word I didn't mean. And it would do that boy some good to mind his own business every once in a while" the magician answered, giving Webber a distasteful glare. The spider child looked down, sad frown on their face, but said nothing.

"Leave Webber alöne! We shall nöt watch you treat them that way!" Wigfrid stood up, as fierce and theatrical as ever, and was seemingly held back only by the fire that happened to flame between her and Maxwell. The old man just rolled his eyes.

"Oh lord... You're always so quick to act, but your hassle is not needed. I'm merely voicing my opinion as a part of the group, surely that can't be wrong?"

"Maxwell-" Wilson started carefully, but was silenced by Willow's screech "You're not part of the group! You're here because Wilson thinks you deserve a chance and you might be useful for getting out of here!" 

"It seems your opinions are not needed here, uncle." Wendy stated shortly without looking at him.

"Is that so?" Maxwell mused, giving Wilson a look. The scientist looked away.

"Well" Maxwell continued, turning his attention back to the others "I'd be happy to leave and eat in a peace, on my own. Truly, I couldn't stand to sit here with you a minute longer."

"The feeling is mutual" Woodie muttered.

"Yeah, take a hike!" Willow quickly seconded the opinion, glaring at the magician.

"Öff with yöu, villain! Leave us be!" Wigfrid continued.

Maxwell didn't even bother answering them, instead standing up and straightening his suit, and walking away.

"Oh dear... I certainly wish he didn't spark discord among the group every time he is present." Wickerbottom sighed, gaining a quick glare from Maxwell over his shoulder, until the man just scoffed and returned to his lonely campfire.

Wilson rubbed his forehead, groaning under his breath. So, yeah... now they knew it wasn't a good idea.

Chapter 14: Part to play

Summary:

Wes wants to understand what's going on with Maxwell, and tries to make amends.

WARNINGS: Non-consensual touching (not sexual)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"- And I just don't get how he's always so against anything nice and- How am I supposed to see how things actually are when he swings like a pendulum from one side to another! How is he able to make me so angry all the time! I mean I, I am not angry at him all the time but he... I- How can someone be so difficult to just think about! He acts rude and selfish, and when people get mad at him, he looks so sad and then I start feeling sorry for him, it's like- Urgh! You know what I mean?" Wilson glanced at Wes, who shrugged - his usual response to things - and the scientist continued complaining and rambling about Maxwell. 

These nighttime conversations inside the tent they shared were quite common, Wilson babbling about things and Wes just laying on his side, smiling faintly, not saying a thing as usual. Wilson had been happily surprised to discover that the mime actually knew sign language. It made their interactions easier, even thought most of the time Wilson had noticed that Wes didn't sign much, relying on his miming more often. A force of habit, perhaps.

"...I just wish he wouldn't keep everything to himself. I mean, it's not like I actually hate him, even though I really don't appreciate that he is acting like an asshole, and now I just feel really bad about this. Something isn't right and I want to know what, but whenever I try to talk about something important, he gets so nasty and mean and I'm starting to think that he doesn't even want to get along with people here." Wilson sighed and rubbed his eyes. Maxwell continued to give him a great deal of headache. He tried to remember that it was probably not on purpose, but it was miraculous how often it happened.

Wes nodded, petting his hair gently. Wilson bit his lip and gave the other man a small, pleading look.

"I don't want to push you, so please do what you think is for the best, but could you maybe consider trying to forgive him, a little bit at least? I feel like things would be easier for everyone if more people were a bit more accepting. I mean sure he can be a dick, but I don't think he is trying to be, and it really isn't helping that everyone hates him so much..."

Wes slapped his hand over his mouth, making aghast face, and started signing frantically.

Oh no, I don't hate him! He just doesn't like me, so I'm trying to stay out of his way.

Wilson furrowed his brows, thinking "You know... I've been meaning to ask you about it." he turned on his side, cocking his eyebrow curiously "I remember when I rescued you from that, uh, prison thing he put you in." Wilson stopped to frown. It wasn't the weirdest thing he had seen in the Constant, but it sure was one of the meanest ones.

"I asked about it once from him, and he just told me that you displeased him. What did you do?" 

Wes's red-painted cheeks got even redder, and the man rose his shoulder to his ears, looking very sheepish with a tiny smile over his face.

Nothing. He tried to kidnap someone else, and by the series of mishapenings he accidentally got me instead. It infuriated him that I ruined his plans. Oh and I also kissed him.

Wilson jumped to sit up, staring at the other man in disbelief, mouth hanging open. He wasn't sure if he was disgusted or confused or what, but there was an uncomfortable sensation in the bottom of his stomach, and some kind of burn inside his chest. He decided that maybe he was just very surprised that anyone would do something like kissing Maxwell voluntarily. He... he didn't know what to think of that.

"Why on earth would you ever do that?!"

The mime made a giggling motion and gestured Wilson to be more quiet, they were at the camp surrounded by sleeping people after all. The scientist fell silent, a rosy color warming his face now. Wes continued signing.

He seemed very upset. And lonely. He probably had not felt a kind touch for a long time, and I wanted to make him feel better. He seemed so sad and hollow... I don't like that, I like making people smile.

Wes hung his head, looking at his hands, a bittersweet smile on his face as he continued.

I guess he didn't feel like smiling.

Wilson reached to place his hand behind Wes's head, and pulled him into a small, soft kiss.

"He can be such a dick sometimes. You did nothing wrong, Wes." the shorter man smiled comfortingly, pushing their foreheads together "Maxwell didn't even deserve something so kind of you."

Wes pulled away from his embrace, tilting his head and frowning.

I don't think he is undeserving of kindness. I think you would see it too if you stopped to listen to him for a while, Wilson.

"I would listen if he ever said anything worth listening to! Sometimes I feel like there is something, that we are close and that he is actually a good person, but then he is always complaining about things and being mean." Wilson pouted "I'm trying to be fair and I'm trying to be nice, but he is always so difficult when I try! It's like he wants to start a fight everytime we speak."

Don't you think there is a reason why he is that way?

Wilson paused.

"What do you mean?" he tilted his head too, genuinely unsure what Wes was after. The mime just shrugged, and kissed his nose.

Never mind, it's nothing. Good night.

---

Maxwell was perfectly fine being by himself, he was not bothered or annoyed by the morning buzz of the camp around him. What he was bothered and annoyed by, however, was the unwelcome hand on his shoulder, and more importantly the person it belonged to. He turned around, sneer on his face, and Wes gave him a careful smile and started signing something, until Maxwell stood up and slapped his hands, which in turn made the boy flinch and cower down.

"Don't touch me. What do you want?" the man snarled, glaring the other one down with all of his will. It was not difficult to make Wes afraid, but by God, Maxwell was going to do his very best to scare him to death - literally, if possible.

Wes just shook his head wildly, hands raised up in inoffensive manner to show he meant no harm, and Maxwell was already so done with him. He turned to leave, but apparently the mime had something in his mind, because his skinny hand once again reached to his shoulder to tug it gently. Maxwell swirled around, and without thinking much of it, he slapped the younger man straight across the face, and watched as he wobbled backwards and fell on his rear end.

The hustle of the camp slowed down, everyone's attention suddenly drawn to the situation. It would not take a lot to make Wes hurt, but that was even more of the reason it looked bad. Had Maxwell been in better mood, he might have actually cared. Instead he took a step closer, gritting his teeth and looming over the mime threateningly.

"If you touch me one more time, I will personally make sure you will loose all of your fingers, and good luck making your little signs with-"

His eye-contact with the frightened man was interrupted when Wilson stepped between them, hand pushing his chest and glaring at him under his eyebrows "Back off, Maxwell." he snarled, and Maxwell gave him a sneer, straightening his back.

"He should know better than to bother me."

Wilson's glower got only deeper, he didn't look like he was in the mood of any bullshit today, either. He just stared Maxwell with flaming glower in his eyes.

"He did nothing wrong. You are just being an asshole... again. You know, I would love to use my time productively rather than keeping you out of the trouble all the damn time, because you just can't even pretend to be a good person, can you?" Wilson took a step closer, forcing Maxwell to take one back, and pushed a backpack on his hands.

"Here. If you can't stand being around people who just try to be nice to you, then make yourself useful for once, and go get me reeds and stop acting like a jerk." Wilson stated in a freezing voice that would make even the glaciers feel warm.

Maxwell opened his mouth, but immediately Wilson's face turned into a warning scowl, just a bit, but enough to send a message. So Maxwell ended up not giving him an answer at all, instead snatching the bag and marching away in fury. Wilson glared after him, and slowly but surely everyone else got back to their own chores. The scientist let his features soften again, and turned to give Wes an apologetic and worried look, holding his hand out to him. Wes took it, gratefully, and let himself be hoisted up.

"I'm so sorry, Wes... I didn't realize he disliked you that much. You don't have to be close to him if it's gonna be like that, it's not your fault he can't behave." Wilson gave one more glare after the man, although Maxwell had already disappeared from his sight. He knew, deep inside, that Maxwell was a good person, but the man seemed to do everything in this world to prove him wrong. If he wasn't careful, one day he might even succeed at it.

Wes shook his head and poked his fingers together, eyes directed at his feet, pouting. Wilson tilted his head.

"What? Don't tell me you think you deserved that?"

Wes shrugged.

I think he is upset.

Wilson placed his hand on his partner's shoulder, smiling lopsidedly "Tell me about it. When isn't he upset about something? It's nothing you have to worry about, he will probably get over it after blowing out some steam. And when he comes back, I'll make sure he never does that again."

Wes squinted his eyes, giving Wilson an unreadable look, until the mime pulled back a bit and tilted his head, rising his hands again.

You really don't know why he's like that?

Wilson frowned.

"Trust me, I've tried to understand him, but he is just being so...!" Wilson grasped the thin air in frustration, let out an exhausted sigh, and hung his head "...I will talk to him when he gets back, okay?" He looked up, patted Wes on the shoulder, and walked back to his project. He really was at his last nerve with Maxwell. He didn't understand what had gotten into the man lately. Maxwell was often rude and arrogant, but not like this. Wilson didn't understand what had happened. Was it really just the pressure of the group? They used to get along almost well, he used to think Maxwell had come a long way, but nowadays he was even more terrible than before!

The young man sighed and ran his hand over his face, trying to clear his mind. Maybe it would be a good thing to have a little one-on-one talk with Maxwell. Maybe, if there was something really bothering the man, he could help him get over it, and things could get better.

Wilson was so focused on his own thoughts and his work that he didn't notice Wes writing a small note, placing it on the chest near him, and heading out of the camp as quietly as ever.

---

Maxwell made his way towards the swamp. He knew that there was a smaller one closer to the camp, but he knew the bigger one had more reeds, and it just happened to be a whole day trip to there and back. The man growled. If they wanted to get rid of him, they could've just asked. He would love to be all on his own here, at least it was quiet and he could sulk in peace, at least he didn't have to be around people who didn't like him and he didn't have to see that horrible mime being so disgustingly sweet with the God damn idiot scientist who had apparently made it to his personal goal to play the white knight to that paint-faced freak.

Maxwell felt a string tugging his chest. He didn't want to see that, and there was no reason for him to act like it was okay. It was not okay, he was not okay. The man briefly entertained the thought that maybe Charlie had seen this as a funny little way to punish him, not only sending the mime here to drive him crazy, but to force him to watch the one person who he cared for to be taken away from him, and all he could do was grit his teeth and suffer in silence.

But he abandoned that thought very soon. How dared he even think of something so foul of Charlie, she would never do something like that. She was far more fitting to run this show than he was, and she'd find a far more dignifying way to punish him. No, this had nothing to do with her. This was just another unfortunate reminder, that he had never been wanted by Wilson, and it didn't matter if there was someone else for him or not, it would still never be Maxwell.

It had really never been him. Wilson had shown him many times now, that he wouldn't take Maxwell's side, not against anyone, not in any situation. He knew it was petty and selfish and pitiful, but for even once, Maxwell would've wanted to be the one Wilson chose to understand or listen or stand by. For once he would've wanted to be the one who would come first, the one who wouldn't have to fight to be noticed, and then fight even more to not be forgotten.

He supposed that some people, people like him, were just meant to exist as a bad example, meant to be there for someone else to look and think 'at least I'm doing better than that guy'.

It was not a nice part to play. He had done so much to avoid being that character, he had done stupid, reckless, despicable things to be so much more than that. He had almost been there after he found Codex Umbra, and even when the shadows placed him on the throne and let him rule over this little world of misfortune and misery, he had, for a while, been the star of the show, he had been important.

But it was short-lived glory. He fell from grace and was reminded that not everyone was meant for greatness, no matter how hard they worked to achieve it. Some people were just meant to stand on the sidelines and watch the others take the role they auditioned for, take the part they wished to play. Maxwell grasped his hand over Codex, hidden inside his jacket, and took in a long, strained breath.

It was the only thing that he had left. Only thing that made him something more than just another creature in this place. The only thing that let him pretend that he had power, that he could make a difference, that he mattered.

They must be pleased with his misery right now. They must be laughing in the shadows, watching their former King hung on to the tome They so generously gifted him, hung on to the extension of Them like a run-away dog wishing to go back home to it's master, but too afraid to face the consequences.

He hated that thought with the every fiber of his body, but he still grasped the book tighter, still held it protectively against himself like it was the only thing keeping his head above the surface, keeping him from sinking down into the depths of madness. Ironically, it was probably the very thing that was slowly pulling him under. But he chose to ignore it, in the favor of temporary comfort, temporary feeling of being more important than he was.

He let his mind wander, going here and there without direction, and when he arrived at his destination and started gathering those blasted reeds to the man he wanted so desperately to please, yet knew he could not, his body was moving on autopilot. He didn't bother summoning shadow clones to help him. Waste of nightmare fuel, waste of his sanity. He just wanted to do his work and dwell on his own misery like he had done so many times before. It was just another day for him, after all, no reason to get useless because of it now. He knew this would take the whole day anyway, so he didn't hurry. The group didn't wait him back before the sunset, so he could as well take his sweet time with this.

He only got pulled out of his thoughts and sent back to reality, when there was a quiet knocking sound behind him.

Maxwell furrowed his brows and turned around, and if is mood had been bad before, it got hundred times worse now. Wes stopped knocking his fist on the nearby tree and wiggled his fingers at him as a greeting. Maxwell groaned and turned around, pretending he didn't even see Wes. Did they really send the mime to keep an eye on him? They could've at the very least send someone who wasn't a living target waiting for trouble to spot him. Maybe the strongman, or the pyromaniac. Anybody else than the mime. 

Maxwell kept cutting reeds and stuffing them in his backpack, trying his best to ignore the person in the corner of his eye, standing there innocently without even trying to hide the fact that he was staring at Maxwell's every move. Oh, if only Maxwell would've still had the powers the throne had lent him, he would've sent the mime into a far worse prison than before to make sure he would never get out this time.

But alas, the the damned travesty of a clown was there. Maxwell truly did not understand why everyone liked Wes so much. They acted like the mime was some innocent helpless little kitten that needed to be protected by all costs, and Maxwell just couldn't see why.

The mime was the worst. Worse than him, but still got to be treated like some precious little creature. Maxwell very aggressively proceeded to ignore the young man for the whole day, until Wes got the courage to come closer, waving his hand in front the magician's face to get his attention.

"What?" Maxwell snapped, and Wes flinched back, looking like he really wanted to just turn around and run way, but stayed where he was and pointed at the sky. Maxwell looked up. Well, it was getting kinda late, and the walk back to the camp would take some time. He sighed and stuffed the last stack of reeds to his backpack and turned to head back to the camp, the mime following him like a shadow.

Of course Maxwell couldn't just return to the camp and give Wilson his cursed reeds, and then head to his own campfire and wallow there in his misery, a safe distance away from the peering eyes and whispering mouths. No, that would've been too easy, now wouldn't it?

Instead he got roughly halfway back to the camp, when the darkness fell, and he had to stop and make a campfire, because Wes didn't have anything to make a torch with, and Maxwell did not want to share a torch with him. So campfire and a break to eat and rest it was, then.

The magician made a point to sit as far from the mime as possible. He had no idea what Wes wanted, but as the man seemingly had done nothing else than stare at him for the whole day long, he supposed they really had sent him to just keep an eye on the old untrustworthy Maxwell, because heaven forbid he got to have any privacy around here.

The magician just roasted a carrot over the fire and did his best to ignore his unfortunate companion, who sat fair distance away from him, but seemed to be getting slowly closer. Or then Maxwell was just imagining things. The quick glance confirmed that he wasn't just suspicious, since Wes pushed himself a bit closer, and shyly offered him a careful smile. Maxwell didn't return it, instead glowering at the other man.

"What now?" he growled, not really up to a conversation, not in the mood of trying to make a small talk or whatever you called it with someone who couldn't talk. Wes started to wave and flail his hands, fingers moving way too fast for Maxwell to even try to concentrate.

"You know very damn well that I don't have any idea what those little signals of yours mean." the older man muttered and rolled his eyes. Wes stopped and bit his lip, frowning. He sat quietly there for a while, tapping his chin with his finger as if thinking really hard, and then shot his index finger up in the air to signify an idea. He then fluffed up his hair, drawing a very peculiar shape with it. It took Maxwell a moment to catch on. 

"What, you mean Higgsbury?" He rose an eyebrow.

Wes nodded excitedly. Maxwell's face grew darker "What about him?"

Wes looked a bit awkward again, and then ended up tilting his head questioningly and placed his hand lightly on Maxwell's shoulder. Maxwell slapped his hand away and snarled.

"Don't touch me."

Wes frowned, determined look on his face, and reached his hand up again. This time it never got to it's destination, before the magician grasped his wrist and twisted it away, gaining a pain filled but still somehow silent gasp from the younger man, as his face turned into a distorted wince.

"What are you here for? You're trying to mock me?! You're here to rub it in my face that Higgsbury has a soft spot for the weak idiots like you? That everyone here thinks you're so endearing and sweet, when you just sit there and smile and do nothing worthwhile with your life?!" Maxwell pretended he didn't feel the burn on his cheeks, and he very much hoped that the darkness hid it from the eyes of the other man. He knew that it was not Wes's fault, he knew it wasn't his decision to be so much more likeable than Maxwell, but that didn't mean he had to like being reminded of it.

"Yeah, I get it" He snarled with a trembling anger in his voice "Higgsbury likes you, and you didn't even have to work for it a smallest bit, you didn't have to do a thing to get all that attention. Well, congratulations, hurrah, enjoy your victory! Don't assume that you can just march here and mock me about how you are so beloved now! The only reason you're not dead right now, is because your boyfriend will kill me if I lay a finger on you, so thank your lucky stars that I don't want to die, and stay the fuck away from me!"

Maxwell threw Wes's hand away from him, and the younger man hunched down, sinking between his small shoulders and staring at the older man in mild panic. Maxwell didn't care. He didn't want anything to do with the mime. This was all some big mockery on him, they send the mime after him because they knew, they knew why he didn't want to see his face or be around him, and they must be snickering in the camp right now. He knew they'd find this so very funny. As if he'd give them the satisfaction of seeing him getting angry about this. He wouldn't, he'd suck it up and try to ignore the other man the best he could, and when he would return to the camp, he wouldn't even mention this. 

But of course Wes just couldn't leave him be, and soon there was, once again, a touch on his shoulder. It was gentle and comforting, as if he needed that weakling's kindness, as if he needed his pity. He turned to yell at the quiet man, but whatever he had wanted to say got stuck in his throat, when Wes quickly grasped him into his arms, pressing his head on his shoulder and petting his back softly, squeezing tight in fear of what would happen if he let go.

Maxwell froze, hands tensing and untensing when his mind blanked out, and he couldn't remember what he was going to say. He just stared into the darkness for a while, not really seeing anything, until he slowly managed to pull himself back into reality.

"...I recall telling you just a minute ago not to touch me."

Wes didn't seem to care, instead just tightening his hold, ever so slightly, still hugging him in an attempt to get across something that Maxwell did not care to know or think about. The magician tried to pull himself away, but Wes just drifted with him and kept running his hand in gentle circulating movement on his back. It was starting to get a bit claustrophobic, and Maxwell was suddenly hit with a realization that whatever he did, his hands were tied.

Wes was probably the only one who was weaker than him, and it would be so easy to kill the younger man with no trouble whatsoever, it wouldn't be hard to hurt or intimidate him, but Maxwell just couldn't. He really didn't want the others to get even angrier with him than they already were, so he couldn't lay a finger on the mime, no matter how he would've wished to.

"Let go. Don't think I won't make you." he tried to sound as scary as he possibly could, knowing wholeheartedly that he couldn't make Wes let go. It wouldn't matter if he told the others he didn't want the man to touch him and the mime still did, because they'd only need one sign of denial from Wes, and nobody would care a shit about his side of the story.

Wes, hesitantly, loosened his arms around Maxwell and let the man pull away, without fully letting go. He had a frown on his face, looking very anxious. Maxwell just groaned and threw his head backwards, deciding that giving in would make this whole ordeal end sooner "What do you want?"

Perhaps it was a dumb thing to ask when the other man was mute, Maxwell didn't care to learn the sign language, and neither of them had a way to have a real conversation with each other, but he just couldn't for the life of him understand what Wes tried so hard to tell him. Wes had an expression on his face that was full of trying and thinking and frustration, but the older man could tell it was not towards him. Finally Wes just let out an inaudible sigh and dropped his shoulders down, pouting sadly. He rose his eyes on Maxwell and, once again, hesitated, before he pulled one of his hands back and placed it over his chest. Then he patted Maxwell on the shoulder and offered a small smile. Maxwell didn't give one back.

"I get it, you don't want to fight. Just leave me alone and I won't come in your way either."

Wes shook his head and moved both of his hand down to grasp Maxwell's hands on his own, and gave him just slightly bigger smile than before. Maxwell turned his head away.

"...If this still has something to do with Higgsbury, then let it go. I know my place by now and I don't need you or anyone else to remind me."

Apparently his guess was right, because Wes stopped trying so hard, and just tilted his head in question. It infuriated Maxwell. What did the mime even want him to say? That he had stupidly thought that Wilson would like him? That he had thought Wilson wanted to be his friend? That he was jealous because Wes made Wilson look so happy after spending so little time with him, while the relationship Maxwell though he had built with Wilson was not even real? That it hurt to be around them, that he was sorry and he wished them well?

There was nothing he needed to stay, nothing he could say that would change a damn thing. But, if there was something he needed to make clear in order to make the young man to leave him be, then he would. The magician let out a long sigh and looked at the ground.

"Listen. It doesn't matter. I've already been rejected and I know when I'm not wanted. Even if Wilson acts like he cares, believe me when I say, he wouldn't think twice leaving me behind if he needed to. Just stop trying to make me feel better about it." 

He didn't want to look at Wes, because he knew the man had some form of compassionate look on his face, and Maxwell really didn't need or want his compassion.

"He has made it clear that he wants nothing to do with whatever I feel for him, and it doesn't matter if he likes you or not, because he would still never want me. I was never a choice, not in a million years would he ever choose me. I don't care about it. I don't. Just let this ridiculous thing go. When we wake up in the morning, you can forget about this, and I can leave you two alone."

He really didn't want to think about this. It didn't change anything, it didn't make things different. He knew very well that he had nothing that anyone would want, and he could cry about it all he wanted, but it wouldn't do any good to anyone. His feelings didn't matter, and he knew he didn't have any right to complain about it, so he had just decided to stand to the side and accept what he was given. Even if it wasn't much, even if it hurt, even if it was difficult to deal with.

The magician almost startled away when there was a forehead pressing against his own, black lips curled downwards in, of course, a compassionate pout. Wes just rubbed his thumb over his hand and didn't try to say anything else, and Maxwell closed his eyes and pretended that the body heat against him belonged to someone else.

Notes:

....Wes knows, he just wants Maxwell to open up a bit.

Chapter 15: The last choice

Summary:

Hounds attack Wes and Maxwell, and Wilson realizes he should pay more attention to the former Nightmare King.

WARNINGS: Suicidal behavior, Doping

Chapter Text

Maxwell poked the cinders of the campfire with a stick, and just tried to forget everything he had discussed with the mime last night. Wes meant well, but it wasn't his business, so he'd better keep his nose out of it. What did it matter to the man anyway? You'd think he would be overjoyed that he got to have someone as great and lovable as Wilson so close to him. Maxwell glanced at the sleeping man on the ground.

Wes had Wilson. Maybe that's why he wanted to ask about things. He just wanted to make sure that Maxwell wouldn't try to break them off, and maybe he feared that Maxwell would try to hurt one of them. That would be understandable. Maxwell would make sure that Wes would understand, that he didn't intend to get in their way. Why would he? He wasn't planning on making things more difficult to himself than they needed to be.

Besides, if it made Wilson happy, then it was fine, he supposed. If Wilson really wanted it, really liked it, then maybe Maxwell could learn to be more okay with it in time. As long as he didn't need to see it, it would be fine. He'd make sure to stay  out of their way, and let Wilson be happy with someone whom he cared about.

Wes stirred in his sleep and smacked his lips, letting a quiet yawn slip out. Maxwell turned his head away. It wasn't Wes's fault that he was apparently very likeable person. It wasn't his fault that he got to have what he wanted and be with someone he liked.

And it definitely wasn't his fault that Maxwell was so unlikable. He didn't really blame anyone here. Perhaps he only held some accountability over them for making stupid decisions based on trust with obviously very untrustworthy person, but that was the only thing he blamed them for. Everything else was on him.

He tossed the stick away and rubbed his face. He just didn't want to think about it. He turned to glance at Wes again, but paused when he noticed that the young man had already woken up and was now looking at him shyly, poking his  index-fingers together, head sunken between his shoulders protectively. Maxwell just scoffed and turned to look away. He had no reason, intention or need to start being any friendlier than just ignoring the man. It was the best he could promise to do.

Wes either didn't understand or care about his obvious distaste in every level possible, because the thin man stood up and walked closer, a little nervously, and patted Maxwell's shoulder in some form of morning greeting. Maxwell only shook his shoulder away and picked up his backpack.

"Let's go." That was all he needed to say. Wes didn't wait and hopped after him, but didn't try to make any further touch-attempts, which Maxwell was just grateful for.

But, just like it was designed to, the world just knew when things were going too peacefully, and decided to send a nice little surprise on their way.

Wes crashed against Maxwell's back when the man stopped on his tracks and went quiet. The mime cocked his head, and brought his hand on his ear to listen as well.

The hounds bayed somewhere close. Maxwell furrowed his eyebrows. Great. Wonderful. Absolutely what he needed right now. At least they were closer to the camp, but not close enough to get there before the hounds would find them, and people who brought monsters in the campsite were heavily frowned upon. Maxwell glanced Wes over his shoulder.

"You don't have any weapons, do you?"

Wes started to frantically dig inside his backpack, but only found a pickaxe, and looked at Maxwell in horror. The man just rolled his eyes and pulled his book out, summoning a couple of shadow clones and a darksword.

"Fine. Try not to get killed, I'm gonna get the blame if you do." the man muttered as the first hound jumped form behind the bushes and got stabbed by the clone, and the rest of the pack were not far behind. Maxwell tried to count the beasts. He had at least six on his sight. It was only a couple of dogs too many for him, but he knew he didn't have a choice, so he just took a defensive stand and a deep breath, and hoped he wouldn't end up dead because of the damn mute mime who didn't even bring his own weapons.

He cut one hound down, knowing full well the strike was not fatal, and moved to hit another one, all the while trying to keep an eye on Wes. The mime had backed up against a tree, trying to stay out of the fight, the pickaxe shaking in his hold. Maxwell stabbed another hound that tried to make it's way towards the younger man, and suddenly there was a quick, sharp pain flashing through his head like a lightning, as one one the clones was ripped apart, falling down to the small puddles of the leftover nightmare fuel.

The man shook his head and barely avoided the jaws that snapped beside him, and he scanned the scene quickly in panic - one clone, four hounds. He could make it, he could-

There was a sharp bark, even sharper gasp behind him, and the man turned around to see the hound grasping teeth around the mime's arm, throwing the poor man around like a chew-toy. The man obviously couldn't scream, but the look of absolute terror was clear on his face.

Maxwell rushed to them and threw down his sword as many times as it took to cut the beast almost in half, and eventually it loosened it's jaws, as it lost it's grip on life. Maxwell panted and rose his concerned gaze to meets Wes's, who was weeping silently and holding his broken arm - but the magician had no time to ask how badly he was hurt, since soon there was a piercing, hot pain on his side, his back, when the giant teeth sunk in and pressed him in between.

The man let out a scream and fell down, swirling the sword on the hound on his back, trying to block out the pain when he was crushed in the beast's jaws. The hound growled and only tightened it's hold on him, not willing to let go of it's prey, even as the sword hit it on the chest repeatedly. Wes made out panicked gasps and weeps and was concentrated on trying to pull his pickaxe out of the death hound, which was, with his strength, already a difficult task even without a broken arm.

Then suddenly, the pain let up, and the grip on Maxwell's flesh got weaker. The fighting of the beast slowed down, until it collapsed alongside him to the ground. The final clone helped it's master to pry the animal away, and Maxwell stayed on the ground, leaning on his knees, gritting his teeth together and taking in a deep, trembling breaths. He dismissed the clone and hastily felt through his clothes, inspecting the taken damage. Bite was always a bad thing, but the bite on the chest was potentially life threatening. It could be worse, the man supposed and fought away the groan as he felt his back with his hand. There seemed to be a fang sunken in. It was just on that one frustrating spot he could just reach if he really tried, but knew he couldn't get a good grip on the thing to pull it out.

"Oh stars, Wes! Are you okay?!"

Maxwell didn't need to look up to know it was Wilson who yelled. He only took a deep breath and sat up straight, and with some difficulty, hoisted himself up to stand on his feet. The other people of the group had probably been fighting with the hounds outside of the camp too, because it didn't take for long for others to come see what had happened, everyone's attention on the poor young man on the ground.

"Why would you leave the camp without a weapon- why would you leave without an armor?" Wilson was asking Wes, or most likely just thinking out loud without actually directing his words to anyone, babbling away in worry.

Maxwell glanced at Wes, who was sitting on the ground and holding his bloody arm, and then Wilson, kneeling in front of the younger man and inspecting the damage in concern and panic. The others had come there as well, everyone fuzzing over the mime who tried to put on a brave face.

Maxwell teared his eyes away and started heading towards the camp quietly. He gave just a quick glance behind himself, and locked eyes with Wes for a quick second, but the second was all that was needed. He knew that Wes got it now.

It didn't matter how he felt. He knew when he wasn't wanted. Even if Wilson acted like he cared, he wouldn't think twice leaving Maxwell behind. It didn't matter if Wilson liked Wes or not, because he would still, not in a million years, ever choose Maxwell. His pain was trivial and his feelings were unimportant. Out of every living creature in this world, he mattered the least. He knew. Wes knew. Wilson knew.

They all knew he only mattered as long as everyone else was fine, as long as nobody else needed help. And as soon as something happened to anyone else in here, they'd all throw him aside in a heartbeat in order to take care of the things that were actually important to them. Maxwell could lose his arm in a battle, but if one of them lost a finger, Maxwell's wound would be taken care of last. He would always come last.

So he only smirked at the mime before turning away, and didn't bother looking back or saying a thing, when he wobbled towards the campsite, and tried his best not to wince at the burning pain on his back, where the tooth was still stuck. He'd have to take care of it in the camp. He'd get it out and patch himself up, and then he'd try to find something to distract himself from the pain.

Assuming he made it in the camp before he'd pass out.

---

Wilson's attention had been fully on the bloody arm as soon as his eyes had landed on it. He knew Wes was as strong and sturdy as a twig, and it wouldn't take much more to break him in half, and the smallest little injury would make his odds at survival shrink significantly. So the man was inspecting his arm and weighting the need of it's care, until Wes tapped him on the shoulder with his healthy arm, and Wilson rose his eyes on him.

"I'm sorry, what is it?"

Wes started to sign as well as he could with only one good arm, but Wilson got the message.

Maxwell's hurt too.

"Oh, right! Of course... This needs healing salve, a splint and an arm sling, and you should rest well for at least a few days. Otherwise you're good to go, you will live" Wilson gave him a warm smile and touched his cheek gently, before turning to look at Maxwell "Okay, your tur-"

But Maxwell was not there. Wilson blinked in confusion. There was another tap on his shoulder, and the man turned to look back at Wes.

He went to the camp, I think. He looked pretty bad. You should go.

Wilson just nodded and got up without wasting his time on the battleground any longer. He was fairly annoyed that Maxwell just up and left without informing anyone, but he was much more alarmed by the amount of blood on the ground that had left a small trail where the older man had walked.

Maxwell was another person in here who would probably need only a one hit too serious, and never recover from it. And since he had been out with Wes, it was safe to assume that he haven't had any backup when he needed. Wilson glanced at the ground. He liked Wes a lot, but the man's fighting skills were, and would probably always be, very nonexistent. Wilson would almost say, that they completely and throughoutly sucked. He wasn't holding that against the mime, but truth be told, he wouldn't trust the man in battle even a little bit. Wes was best to be kept as far from the harm's way as possible.

But at least he was observant, the scientist thought, when the bloodstains on the ground did indeed lead him back to the camp and seemed to go to the infirmary tent. The man furrowed his brows and stopped outside the tent to clear his throat to announce his presence before walking in.

Maxwell only gave him a brief glance under his hair that had fallen on his face, flashing a painful smirk through his clenched teeth as his fingers were grasping the object on his back.

"Morning, Higgsbury... Did you... need something...? I'm kind of in the middle of... of something here, if you don't mind."

Wilson moved his eyes to the man's bare chest from his face. Maxwell had a row of bite marks where the hound had bitten him, each one in need to be cleaned and stitched up. It was obvious he had lost a lot of blood, and who knows if he had internal damage or not.

"Did I need- Did I need something!?!" Wilson almost yelled and rushed closer to kneel down beside Maxwell and shooed his hand away from the wound "You shouldn't just leave without anyone knowing, you know better than that! What if something happened while you were on your way, what if, what if I didn't find you and you bled to dead?! You can't do that!" He scolded the taller man while looking carefully over the wound where the fang stood stuck in his flesh.

"What would it-" Maxwell yelped when Wilson took a firm grip and pulled the tooth out in fast movement and pressed his hand over the wound so the blood wouldn't pour out "-What would it matter? It's not like the death is permanent here, anyway."

"Of course it matters, death is not something to be taken lightly. I don't know what possessed you to leave with Wes with only a weapon for yourself, but-" Wilson paused when Maxwell pushed him away, even though the movement made the tall man hiss from the pain.

"I didn't invite him along, he came on his own! If you're so worried, then tell him to stay here where you can keep an eye on him. I'm not responsible for him, you know."

Wilson only sighed and rubbed his forehead. It was always a fight and argument with Maxwell, wasn't it? Just for once he'd want to have a normal conversation without one of them getting annoyed.

"Nobody is saying you are. I just got worried, that's all" he calmly explained and pushed Maxwell down so he'd be able fix the man up before the idiot would bleed to dead "I know you don't like to hear it, but you aren't exactly the strongest one here, you know... I don't want you to end up dead because there's no one to got your back if you need it. Wes is nice and he means well, but he is not... exactly someone who is able to protect you. Just saying." Wilson kept talking when he closed the wounds, feeling his neck getting a bit hot.

"Okay, turn around. Let's take a look on your chest."

Maxwell complied with a grunt and leaned his head on side, staring the wall of the tent "Wes wasn't so badly hurt, if you have time to pester me here, then." he muttered quietly, and Wilson raised and eyebrow at him. Maxwell didn't elaborate his sulking words further, so the younger man just sighed and kept treating his wounds.

"He will be fine. He might be weak, but he is not going to die because of an broken arm." The scientist glared at Maxwell accusingly "It would be an entirely different story, if he got bitten on the chest and lost a lot of blood, and didn't even care to alert anyone about it."

Maxwell huffed at him and was about to turn his back on the man, but Wilson pressed his hand down and kept the magician laying where he was "I'm serious. You can't do that. How am I supposed to know if something happens to you, when you keep hiding every little small thing from anyone else?"

That fished the reaction out, and Maxwell shot a nasty glare at him "I don't need to tell you anything, and if it's not your business anyway, then there is no need for you to worry over it."

"It is my business if you get hurt because I don't want you to die, and if you are going to live here with us and continue using the healing items and eat our food, then you are going to have to co-operate with the rest of us!"

There was a hint of red over Maxwell's face as he snarled at Wilson, and lifted himself to sit up "Well, excuse me for being such a problem! I can just leave and stop making you so uncomfortable then, no need to use your food and healing items on me since it's obviously such a waste!"

Wilson just really wanted to scream out of frustration, but instead he just pushed Maxwell back down and glared at him.

"Oh no, you're not going anywhere! As your doctor-"

"You're not a doctor, you never even graduated."

"As an acting doctor here, I hereby order you to rest and stop being an idiot. If I come here to check on you after an hour or two and you are not resting, so help me I'll swear I'm gonna get some nails and hammer you on the ground myself. Is that clear?"

Maxwell just scowled and turned his head away.

"Is that clear, Maxwell?"

"Fine! I will stay here and rest if it will make you shut the hell up." the man growled and crossed his arms over his chest. Wilson huffed out a breath and swept his hand through his hair.

"...Look. I don't mean to yell at you, you just..." he carefully placed his hand on the older man's arm and bit his lip "You scared me, okay? I got scared." Maxwell wasn't looking at him, but neither was he scowling so hard anymore. Wilson patted his arm gently before pulling away and wiping his bloody hands together "I'm gonna go clean up and make some food, and I'll be back soon, okay?"

Maxwell just shrugged, which Wilson guessed was the only answer he was going to get. He made sure Maxwell seemed comfortable enough, before leaving the tent and going to find a pond to wash the blood away from his hands. He could probably use the water bowl, but he'd better save the clean water to the injuries he'd no doubt need to treat for a few days.

---

Maxwell waited until Wilson had left. Then he took the fang to his hand, and swirled it around. It was large, dirty with his own blood, and yellowish, slightly ragged on the tip. It was terrifying to think that a bunch of similar looking teeth almost crushed him to death not that long ago. It was a bit unnerving.

But Maxwell had no reason to care about it. He still had a lot of debt to repay, and he'd be damned if he dared to try to escape it this time. He had tried to escape the debt he couldn't pay back in the past, and it didn't turn out well for him. He was only lucky that Charlie was left out of it. She didn't need to know what kind of trouble he had gotten himself into, and neither did anyone else.

Only this time around, everyone knew. They'd no doubt be happy if he was gone, but not yet, not when he still owed them.

The man almost considered getting up and just doing something worthwhile with his time, but he thought about Wilson's threat and just sighed, closing his eyes instead. He had no doubt that the man would carry out his words. Better not push him too far... And maybe a little rest was gonna do him some good, he'd get better faster and God knows he hated to be taken care of, as if he even needed it.

---

Wilson was done washing the blood of himself and found his way back to Wes. The young man was chatting with Wickerbottom and Wolfgang, sitting on the later one's lap. Wolfgang seemed very worried, very concerned, and held Wes's hurt arm gently behind his large hands, clearly very protectively. Wilson smiled. Poor Wolfgang, he might have been strong and mighty, but not very brave. He was probably the most sensitive one here, not very considerate of people's personal space or capability to receiving his bear hugs, but always thinking about the best of other's and putting their feelings first.

"Hey, you okay here?" The scientist walked to the trio and sat down with them. Wes waved at him, smiling, and gave a thumbs up, and Wickerbottom nodded a greeting to him.

"I was just giving this young man a little soup that would lessen the pain." She rose her gaze up, rising her eyebrow "How's our oldest gentleman doing?"

Wilson shrugged "Maxwell is... Well, it looks painful and he is complaining, but I don't think it's nothing to worry about. If he's well enough to whine loudly about it, he is just fine." He tapped his fingers on his knees.

"...Maybe he could have something to numb the pain, too? Maybe something calming. It wouldn't do any harm to help him to be a bit more comfortable" Wilson suggested. He knew that despite Maxwell's refusal to just accept help when it was actually offered to him, he usually got in noticeably better mood, when he wasn't stubbornly suffering by himself. Go figure.

"Oh, I'm certain we can cook something soothing for him. There was quite a bit of blood on the ground." Wickerbottom stated, giving Wilson a look under her brows, questioningly. Wilson sighed and shook his head.

"He was bitten through the chest. There was a huge teeth stuck in his back, and he just apparently didn't think that we needed to be informed. He is fine, just tired and weak."

The librarian huffed and tsk'd a few times, rising her hand on her forehead "Ai ai ai... That poor boy will be the end of himself one day."

Instead of pointing out that Maxwell was as far from 'a boy' as possibly could, Wilson just nodded and crossed his arms. Maxwell was going to be the end of himself at this rate. There was no telling when something was truly wrong, if the man continued keeping even the most life threatening injuries to himself, and what would happen if they had no more touchstones to use? No amulets to save himself in dire situation? Maxwell was gambling with his life, and Wilson didn't like it.

He decided to build a meat effigy for the older man, that was at least the minimum precaution that needed to be taken, and as soon as possible too. When he came to think of it, why didn't Maxwell already have an effigy? Everyone else seemed to have one, always at least one, just in case. Some more prone to get killed had even two, like Wigfrid due to her daring and temerarious attitude, and Wes because he was just a disaster waiting to happen.

Wilson blinked. Had he really gotten carried away by other things so much, that he didn't even think to tell Maxwell to make an effigy? He knew that Maxwell wasn't the most experienced survivor, and he had long ago taken the responsibility over the other man when it came to staying alive, but now that there were so many other people around...

Perhaps he had assumed that someone else was going to share the responsibility of looking after Maxwell's incompetent ass now. But why was he assuming something like that, when most of his friends seemed to still hold some grudge against the man? He was leaving Maxwell behind, without even thinking if someone else would take care of him every once in a while. That wasn't very thoughtful of him. It was just reckless, it was irresponsible, it was-

Wilson furrowed his brows, staring at his feet in thoughts.

It was not what he should've done as an ally. Or, as a friend? He did consider Maxwell to be more than just someone he didn't intent to kill. Was that why Maxwell thought Wilson hated him? Because he had stopped spending time with the magician and didn't take care of him anymore?

He didn't hate Maxwell. He felt sorry for him. It had happened somewhere along the way when it dawned on him, that the man couldn't keep himself alive alone, even if he didn't fully admit it. He needed help, and he needed someone to tell him what to do, and someone to have his back.

Wilson frowned. He had just thought that Maxwell was being his own annoying and insufferable self for whatever unimportant reason he had, but maybe he was acting up because Wilson had stopped spending time with him, and now he felt like Wilson wasn't having his back anymore and wouldn't help him or that... or that he hated him.

Wilson sighed.

"Wolfgang, would you do me a favor?"

The man nodded enthusiastically and buffed up like a balloon from a joy that he was able to be of help again, and Wes almost fell down from his lap "Of course! Wolfgang is always help tiny science man!"

"I'm not ti- Never mind. Could you build a meat effigy?"

The eyes moved at him, curiously.

"For Maxwell, I mean. I just realized that he doesn't have one. We should build one while he rests, and he can activate it when he gets out of bed." Wilson explained, a bit ashamed to admit that he only just now noticed the obvious problem, that the magician had no certain back up in case he happened to die.

"Why? Is frail-man going to die?! Wolfgang no let friends die!" The strongman looked horrified, and Wilson shook his hands in air calmingly "No no! Maxwell is okay! It's just for the case of emergency, you see."

That seemed to calm the man down a bit, but he was in no less hurry to build the effigy, it seemed. The man nodded and carefully placed Wes down, and ran to get the resources he needed. Wilson looked after him, and then turned back to Wes "Does it hurt much?"

Wes shook his head.

"No need to lie, dear." Wickerbottom told the mime, and turned her attention to Wilson "He cried when we tended the injury. He's in pain, but the soup I made will lessen it a  great amount, I'm sure."

Wes pouted and glared at the old woman, as much as he was able to. Wes had trouble looking malicious in any way, shape, or form.

Wilson just chuckled.

"Well, I'll see what I can do for your you" he smiled at the other man, who returned his smile just as gladly.

---

Afterwards Wilson returned to Maxwell's tent to see how the man was doing. Like he had expected, the magician was doing like he always was: Whiningly and grumpily.

"About time! Have you got any idea how uncomfortable it is to be forced to lay still for a whole ass day!? Please tell me I can get up now."

Wilson couldn't help but roll his eyes "No, you still need to rest. Here, I brought you some soup" the man answered and sat next to the other, offering him a bowl. Maxwell sneered at it, and Wilson sighed "Don't give me that treatment. I promise that you can go for a little walk after you have eaten. Okay?"

"And then I can return to my prison, also known as this bed? Thank you, so very nice of you. Give me that!" the man snarled and snatched the bowl of food from Wilson's hands and took a spoonful. The younger man smiled tiredly.

"You know I'm only doing what's best for you."

Maxwell just snorted in annoyance and kept eating the soup. It was not up to Wilson to decide what was best for him. Maxwell could take care of himself as much as he needed to, and the scientist shouldn't waste his time trying to tend to him like some wounded animal. He wasn't going to get much better anyway. He was already plagued by sicknesses and aches most of the time. Wilson was basically wasting not only his time, but the resources as well.

Although, Maxwell sighed and put the half-empty bowl down, he felt a little bit better after getting something to eat. Wilson seemed to be satisfied of the amount of food he had managed to eat, and nodded to himself.

"How are you feeling? I should change your bandages again. Take off your shirt, please" Wilson told him and already rolled up his sleeves, pulling a clean bandage roll to his lap.

Maxwell knitted his brows together in hesitance.

"There's no need. Better save the supplies for emergencies, I'm sure that my wounds have already-" The man's words were cut off by a sudden sharp pain when Wilson, without any warning, stabbed his finger to his injury.

"Oh, so this doesn't hurt, then?"

Maxwell only gave him a razor sharp death-glare, and the scientist in turn rose one of his eyebrows, waiting. Eventually Maxwell just grunted and started to undress. It seemed that no matter the situation or circumstances, there was no winning against Wilson. The younger man made concerned and scolding noises while starting to clean his wounds, and Maxwell couldn't help but think that he was still doing a meaningless work.

"We are making a meat effigy for you" Wilson said suddenly. Maxwell scoffed and turned away, and the scientist frowned "I don't know if you really care, but... I'm sorry for not making one for you sooner. I should've. I'm s-"

"Stop apologizing about everything, would you!?" Maxwell snapped and laid down, feeling really tired all of the sudden, but never too tired to argue "That's not your responsibility. Nobody has asked you to look after anyone or keep them alive, so quit worrying about it." The man snarled between his teeth and turned his head away. Wilson sighed and shook his head.

"Maxwell. Have I... Have I been mean to you?" He felt really bad for abandoning Maxwell when he had reunited with his friends here, and he admittedly was losing his temper around the older man a lot more often, too. But he was sorry about that, and sincerely hoped that Maxwell wouldn't hold a grudge, although he would completely understand if he did. Maxwell sighed and blinked, tiredly.

"Not that I can think of, no." he stated, shrugging. Wilson licked his lips and nodded.

"Then uh... How are you feeling? Lonely? Unsteady? You have been acting a lot more hostile, ever since we found the group. I realize that you don't get along with everyone, and it's quite a big change, so..?" The scientist asked, and watched Maxwell take in a deep breath, closing his eyes, rubbing his hand over them.

"No, I'm not tired... I mean lonely, I'm not lonely, I'm just... It's nothing. I understand that thisssis... best for everyone, I don't.... mind." the man muttered, voice bit sluggish. Then he seemed to realize something, furrowed his brows, and opened his eyes "... Higgsbury. What was in that soup?"

"I asked Wickerbottom to put a mandrake in it. It's going to help you rest and numb the pain."

Maxwell's eyes widened and he looked panicked, frightened almost, and looked at Wilson in disbelief.

"You drugged me." The man had trouble getting the words out, his voice was almost a whisper, and the betrayed tone in it stung Wilson a bit.

"Nonsense, it's just like medicine, it's good for you" Wilson answered, but Maxwell tried to get up, looking at him like a small scared rabbit in the trap, realizing it was already done for.

"I knew you'd try to get rid of me, I... you'rrre going to-to...to kill me when I'm defenssllwess..." Maxwell hardly even got the sentence out before he fell back down, his body already getting limp and heavy, and Wilson caught him, shaking his head and hushing the other man gently.

"Heyyy, no one's going to hurt you, don't be ridiculous. This is to help you rest, you're just going to sleep for few hours. Everything's going to be fine." It was not Wilson's intention to scare Maxwell, but lord knows the man would've never agreed to any kind of help beyond the most necessary one, and Wilson was tired of watching him suffer because he was too proud. Maxwell was getting to the point where he struggled to even keep his eyes open, but his fingers were digging into Wilson's arm, trying desperately hold onto the consciousness.

"I... I knewwh... Youhwhould...getttired... of...mmmh"

And then Maxwell was out. Wilson held him a bit longer, hushing him in comforting voice until he was sure that Maxwell was asleep, and then placed him back on the bed, pulling blankets over him. He did feel a little bad for tricking Maxwell like this, but it was for the best. He hoped Maxwell would understand.

Chapter 16: Maybe tomorrow

Summary:

Wilson realizes that he's made a mistake, and does everything he can to try to fix it.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The next morning Wilson got up early, checked up on Wes, went to wash himself, and then went to check up on Maxwell. Since the man was still sleeping, Wilson let him be, and headed to do some chores not too far from camp, so he could be close to both of his patients.

When almost everyone had awoken and Woodie had started to make breakfast, Wilson treated Wes's arm and left to bring Maxwell something to eat as well. The man was still asleep, and part of Wilson wanted to leave him to rest, but he knew that Maxwell still needed to eat something.

"Wake up, Max, I brought you food!" Wilson announced loudly enough so the other man would wake up, but Maxwell didn't react. Wilson pouted and sat down, putting the bowl on the ground and shook the other man's shoulder gently "I give you my word that this time the food does not have anything additional in it. Come on now, get up."

Wilson's teasing smirk slowly faded away when Maxwell  didn't give a smallest reaction to being shaken. The man started shaking him a bit firmer this time.

"Maxwell? I think you've gotten enough sleep now. I need to change your bandages, and you have to eat something."

Maxwell shook along with his hand as if he was a lifeless corpse, not reacting, not putting any effort to make him stop or getting up. Wilson started to get the bad feeling about this.

"Come on Max, you made your point, I shouldn't have tried to trick you to rest. Get up, wakey wakey now." his efforts were met with a slight knit of eyebrows, but then Maxwell just exhaled softly and continued sleeping.

"Maxwell, I'm going to tell something really embarrassing about you to everyone if you don't get up right now. I will, you know I will." Wilson threatened and shook him almost violently now, but the taller man just swung like a rag doll with his touch. Wilson stood up.

"Okay, here I go, prepare to be embarrassed!" he sprinted out of the tent. Then he hurried back in and knelt down, distantly recognizing that his own breathing had started to get thin and fast, but his attention was fully on Maxwell, not caring a bit of his own condition at the moment.

He carefully checked the man's pulse, his temperature, his breathing, his wounds, but nothing was off, nothing like it shouldn't have been. Maxwell was completely fine, except for the fact that he wasn't waking up. Wilson bit his lip. There was one thing that would wake up anyone, from any state they were able to be awoken from; Pain.

Wilson burrowed his hand under the clothes and found Maxwell's armpit, and pinched as harshly as he possibly could, almost breaking the skin with how hard he pressed. Maxwell remained unmoving and silent.

The scientist didn't wait a second longer and rushed out of the tent.

"Ms. Wickerbottom! How much mandrake did you put in to Maxwell's soup?!"

The old woman seemed confused and rather startled from the yelling, but regained her composure quickly "One. It's very strong and rather rare, so I don't think we should waste it unless it's absolutely needed. Why, is something matter, dear?"

"Yes!" Wilson threw his hands in the air and didn't even try to mask his panic "Maxwell won't wake up! I've tried everything, but it's like he's under some kind of spell! He won't wake up from his sleep, like he's fallen to some kind of-"

"Some kind of coma?" Wickerbottom finished for him, her face in a stern frown, and Wilson froze, lowering his arms, his face getting pale.

"... a coma." he squeaked out feebly. What had he done.

"Let me take a look." Wickerbottom said, and her calm voice was the only thing that prevented Wilson from spiraling into the state of complete mental breakdown. How could this have happened, he knew Maxwell wasn't sleeping very often - Maxwell had told him he didn't need to sleep, and he had tried to make Maxwell sleep anyway, so he could rest even a little bit... Oh God, what if he had messed something up inside Maxwell's brain and now he was going to sleep forever?

...Well, they could kill him and then he could wake up, but he had no active effigy yet and Wilson didn't know if he had a touchstone he could use... And besides, he didn't want to kill Maxwell. The little guilt bit his heart when he thought how Maxwell had, in his delirious state before falling asleep, thought that Wilson was going to kill him. He wouldn't do that, he would never do that, if it wasn't the last possibility to help. Below that thin layer of guilt was a bit of anger, the little thought of how dare Maxwell even think that, when Wilson had time and time again done everything to keep him alive...

But his anger blew away with the wind the moment Wickerbottom came out of the tent, and Wilson hurried to her "Did you manage to wake him, is he okay?" he tried to sound more stable than he felt, and failed miserably. Wickerbottom smiled at him kindly.

"No dear, he is still asleep. I must confess that I don't really know what is happening. Constant doesn't always work the way our previous world did, but the good thing is that Maxwell seems to be well and isn't in danger at the moment... The best we can do is wait and see." The librarian's hand landed on Wilson's shoulder gently and squeezed, as the woman gave him a empathetic smile "I'm sorry dear, I know you two are good friends. I'm going to see if I can help in any way. Why don't you take a little break today?"

Wilson just stood there and, without knowing what else to do, nodded.

Was he good friends with Maxwell? He had thought that what he was feeling was just pity, that he thought Maxwell was too weak and sad and pathetic to be left to survive alone... But maybe they were friends. Maybe he did care about Maxwell more, maybe there was a real reason, why it felt so important to him that Maxwell would be part of the group and accepted.

Maybe Maxwell had thought that they were friends, too, and then Wilson had left him behind, and now Maxwell didn't think they were friends anymore. Wilson didn't know what to think, he hadn't realized that Maxwell was so important to him. But maybe Maxwell really was his friend, just like everyone else here. Just a different kind of friend. Not any better or worse than the others, but Wilson had to admit, there was something that made the relationship with the magician feel very different.

And now Maxwell wasn't waking up, and Wilson couldn't tell him how he felt.

The man sighed and walked back inside the tent. Maxwell was right were Wilson had left him. The scientist sat next to him and looked at his pale, almost lifeless face. There was no need to panic. Maxwell had only slept, what, 12 hours? That wasn't so long that it should be alarming yet, there was still a good change that this was just particularly strong mandrake and Maxwell would wake up in no time. He had to wake up, at least when he got hungry enough, no one's body would let them sleep to the point of starvation, right? It was going to be fine, it was going to be okay.

... But what if it wasn't? Maxwell had lost a lot of blood. He was already in weaker state than normally. What if his body couldn't keep up and stopped supporting the vital functions?

Wilson shook his head furiously. No, he shouldn't panic. He shouldn't let his nerves get the better of him. He had to make sure Maxwell was okay, and then the man would wake up, and everything would be fine again.

Wilson tried to force his mind away from Maxwell for the time being, since he couldn't do much for him now. He helped Wolfgang to build the meat effigy and tended the gardens with Webber and Wendy. He treated Wes's arm and made some dinner. All the while thinking that he shouldn't think about Maxwell, and it wasn't helping anyone that he just worried over it when there was probably nothing to worry about.

The day sluggishly went by, and when the darkness fell, Wilson finally returned to the tent. He bit his lip and sat down. Okay, it was definitely not normal to sleep this long, something was absolutely and horribly wrong. The man furrowed his brows, and even though he knew it was useless, he reached his hand to gently grab Maxwell's shoulder and shook it.

"Max, could you please wake up now? I have something to tell you."

Unsurprisingly, the older man offered no answer. Wilson let his shoulders drop and felt the helplessness take over. He really did have a lot he wanted to tell Maxwell. For starters, he wanted to clear up this misunderstanding, that he hated Maxwell. He wanted to say that he was sorry that he had caused this, and he needed to tell Maxwell that he really did care about him and he did think they were friends, and he didn't want Maxwell to feel scared while he slept because he thought Wilson wanted to hurt him.

He heard the tent entrance flap open as someone entered, and soon there was a hand landing on his shoulder carefully. He felt his chest getting tight.

"What if he won't wake up? He thinks he is alone, he thinks I would let someone hurt him while he's unconscious, he's... I don't want him to be scared."

The hand petted him gently and the familiar body leaned down to sit next to him and gave him a hug. Wilson leaned into the Wes's soft lap, but didn't dare to move his eyes away from Maxwell, just in case the man would wake up, any minute now. Any minute...

"...I've been a really bad friend." he mumbled "I didn't think it mattered to Maxwell, I didn't... I thought... I..." he let out a strained sigh "I don't even know what I was thinking. And now he won't wake up because I drugged his food, and the last think he said to me before he fell asleep was that he knew I'd try to get rid of him and, and what if, what if he isn't going to wake up ever again and now he's scared and I can't comfort him, and I can't tell him that I would never do that to him..."

Wes's hand found it's way to Wilson's cheek and rubbed it softly and comfortingly. It helped, although only a little bit. He turned to finally look at the younger man, brows furrowed together in concern "He thinks I hate him. Did he mention anything about it when you were out yesterday? Anything at all?"

Wes got a bit uncomfortable, suddenly very much avoiding Wilson's eyes and biting his lip.

Wilson swallowed "Wes? What did Maxwell say to you?"

The younger man shook his head and shut his mouth with an imaginary zipper.

We need to talk. He signed, and looked even more awkward and nervous. Wilson furrowed his brows and immediately grew anxious. He didn't like how this looked, and he wasn't sure he was up to hearing something upsetting right now. But he still nodded, slowly, and stared at Wes, waiting.

I don't think Maxwell hates you. But maybe he needs you a little bit more than you think. The mime signed, wearing a very unsure, hesitating expression on his face. Wilson blinked at him.

"... I know. I just got so happy to see you guys that I forgot that Maxwell is basically incapable of even making his own food and that I should've kept my eye on him in case something happens..." Wilson started, feeling the need to explain himself, to get some kind of reassurance that he was not a bad person for forgetting that Maxwell wasn't exactly the most experienced survivor here, but Wes shook his head and held his finger up to Wilson's lips to silence him.

That's not what I mean. Wes smiled at him and continued; He protected me from the hounds and he let you take care of me first, even when he was badly hurt. I think he can survive if he has to. But he still needs you. Everyone needs someone. He doesn't have anyone.

Wilson slowly blinked again. It all seemed to come around to the fact, that Wilson had left Maxwell behind. The scientist sighed defeatedly and rubbed his eyes. He just had to make sure to make it up to the old idiot somehow, when he would wake up.

"Yeah, I guess... I guess I should try a bit harder to let him know that I don't hate him, and I am still his friend and I still have his back, even if he is acting like a brat having a temper tantrum sometimes." Wilson chuckled joylessly and glanced at Maxwell's unconscious face. It really looked like Maxwell didn't have anyone, but it wasn't true. He had Wilson. Wilson just needed to remind him of it, and maybe he had needed to be reminded of it himself, too.

Wes tapped him on the shoulder and signed You want to go eat dinner?, but Wilson shook his head and smiled.

"No, I think I'll pass. I better stay here and keep an eye on Maxwell, in case something happens."

Wes nodded understandingly and blew him a kiss, before standing up and leaving him alone with the man who silently laid beside him. The scientist sighed and moved the blanket just enough to see the bandages, but for his relief it seemed that the wounds weren't bleeding through anymore. He tugged Maxwell better under the fur, made sure nothing was making him uncomfortable, and then he dug a handful of hay from his backpack and started weaving a rope to give himself something to do during the long night that was ahead.

---

The night had, indeed, been long and boring. Wilson did everything he could to keep himself busy and awake, stopping to just check on Maxwell every once in a while, gently pushing or shaking him, checking his bodily functions, but without any new results.

The morning was cold and sunny, but it didn't help to sweep the tiredness away. Wilson hadn't even realized how tired he was, until Wickerbottom popped her head inside the tent and started scolding him for staying awake. Wilson had to hear every little 'nothing you can do now' and 'just pushing yourself for nothing' before the old woman almost forcefully chased him to eat something and do a little work before he could, as she put it, 'take a little nap before he would hurt his head'.

When Wilson finally was allowed to return to Maxwell's temporary tent, he was surprised to hear voices inside. He pulled the fabric out of the way to see Webber and Wendy sitting next to the unconscious man, leaning over him.

"What the- what are you doing here? Stop bothering the poor guy!" the scientist scolded the two kids, who in turn turned to look at him, confused a bit frightened of the sudden yelling. Wilson immediately took a breath and tried to act calmer - being worried was not a reason to yell at the children.

"We... we weren't doing anything bad, we swear!" Webber hurried to explain, looking almost too sorry for not actually doing anything wrong. Wendy didn't look anything else than her normal nonchalant self.

"Webber and I just wanted to see if we could wake him up." the blond girl turned to blink her disturbingly empty eyes at Wilson "Is he going to die? Abigail says it isn't fair to take everything away from me. But I guess it can't be helped, the death follows me like my own shadow-"

Webber looked like he was just  about ready to start crying. Wilson crouched down and ruffled the spider kid's head and placed his hand on Wendy's shoulder.

"Hey, no one's gonna die here. He's just really really tired, he will wake up. Eventually." he hoped he had sounded a bit more reassuring than he felt. The truth was that he didn't know if or when Maxwell was going to wake up, and neither did anyone else. And although the man had been unconscious only a little over 24 hours, it was still unnatural, even in here.

"We tried to tickle him and bribe him and make a deal with him and everything, he isn't even reacting to us."

"Oh, no. No deals with Maxwell, that should be the first rule in here" Wilson muttered absentmindedly, and Wendy nodded in agreement "Yes, we are aware that he has tricked us all here. But in this case he doesn't really have a lot to gain. Perhaps we could try threatening him next."

"Oookay, I think you two have had your fun now. Come on, off you go, I have to check on my patient."

"Mister Wilson?"

Wilson sighed "Yes, Webber?"

Webber hung their head and pouted, as much as a spider can pout, and started nervously kicking the ground "Some time ago we talked about something with mister Maxwell, and... and we were wondering if you could maybe give this to him when he wakes up?"

Wilson turned to look at Webber, who was holding a small, carefully and oh so thoroughly wrapped little package. The scientist blinked, soft smile rising on his face. He had almost forgotten Webber's sweet but rather unsuccessful attempt to befriend the pigs, and he had definitely forgotten that Webber didn't know that he had been listening to their conversation with Maxwell (and he absolutely didn't want the kid to know that he was spying on them).

"How about you give it to him when he wakes up? I'm sure he would like it" Wilson answered, even if he wasn't really sure if Maxwell would like the present at all. Maxwell didn't seem to like the touchy-feely things like that.

He expected Webber to look happy, but instead the kid got squirmish and uncomfortable.

"No, we really want you to give it to him. But, don't tell it's from us."

Wilson rose an eyebrow suspiciously, and moved his eyes to Wendy. The girl shrugged.

"Webber thinks it would make my uncle happy if you all gave him presents to show him that there's no bad blood between you. I told them that Maxwell is far too smart to fall for something like that. It would be nothing but a sweet deception."

"Wendy!" Webber hissed in offended tone, and Wilson was sure he saw the kid blushing under their fur. Oh boy.

"Listen... It's sweet that you worry about Maxwell, and that you want everyone to get along. Your heart is in the right place, but you shouldn't make decision on behalf of someone else. You can't force them to like Maxwell if they're not ready." Wilson hoped that Webber understood, and wouldn't try this with other people. While they definitely meant no harm, it could go horribly wrong. Not only would people get angry that Webber had tried to fake their forgiveness, but Maxwell might think it as some kind of a mean prank. It might lead to the totally opposite outcome than intended.

Webber nodded and looked down defeatedly.

"We're sorry. We just wanted to help."

After once again swearing that it was okay and no harm was done, Wilson chased both of the kids out of the tent to let him have some peace when he worked.

After a while he came to the unpleasant realization that it was too peaceful to tend to someone who wasn't conscious - He almost missed Maxwell's whining and complaining, making snarky remarks on his skills and critiquing him at every given opportunity.

He wouldn't even have to take care of Maxwell this much, really. He just wanted to. The man was in stable state, had no injuries that required immediate or constant attention, no reason to be keeping him company. Wilson only did this because he couldn't escape how guilty and worried he felt. He kept trying to do other things, but he just ended up coming back to check on Maxwell, keeping watch on his bodily functions and making sure his wound was dry and clean.

Then the night came, and Wilson gave up on pretending he was going to be able to do anything else, and dragged his fur roll in the tent and laid it next to Maxwell's.

The sudden knock on the tent post made him jump and turn around with a guilty expression covering his face, as if he had been caught doing something wrong. Wickerbottom rose her eyebrow at him, but then let the kind smile take over her expression.

"Did you remember to eat today, dearie? You've been very restless" the librarian asked with no accusation in her voice. Wilson sighed and rubbed his neck.

"Y-yeah I did... I'm just, um... I-if I'm going to be the closest thing to the doctor here then I have to keep and eye on my patients-"

"Wilson, honey, there's no need to explain yourself. It's completely normal to be worried, and it's natural that you'd want to be close to him now. I'm not here to judge you, dear boy."

Wilson let the relieved smile replace the guilt in his face. He didn't even know why he felt like he shouldn't be doing this. Like Wickerbottom said, it was completely normal and understandable to behave like this, when someone you cared about was in unclear condition.

The old woman sat down next to him, turned her attention to Maxwell, and Wilson followed after her. He tried to tell himself that it hadn't been that long, that it was not anything to worry about, but the uncertainty, the unanswered question of 'how long' was gnawing his mind and freezing his chest.

"I understand that he doesn't sleep much?"

Wilson shook his head "No, he told me he doesn't really need to sleep. At least, not as often as normal people do." he let the small laughter run through his lips. Who the hell here could even be called normal? "He thinks it has something to do with the time he was on the throne... It changed him somehow."

Wickerbottom nodded, and suddenly leaned over Maxwell and tugged her hand inside his clothes. Wilson was too surprised to react, and just confusedly watched as the librarian pulled Codex out and held it in her hands, eyeing it sternly.

"Do you suppose it might have something to do with this as well?"

Wilson had never really thought about it. But it would make sense, and sounded possible that something in that book was affecting Maxwell. At least the man used it frequently enough that the effects wouldn't have time to fade after they'd started.

"What do you suggest?" the scientist only asked, his gaze glued to the black opus the woman was holding. Wickerbottom scratched her chin and hummed in thoughts.

"We all know that this is important to him, but do you happen to know how important, exactly?" She turned to give the young man a look, which Wilson answered by furrowing his brows in confusion. The librarian tapped her finger on the cover and sighed "Let's say we wouldn't let him have this book for a while. Would he get sick, or would he get better? Does his health or life depend on it? Is it some kind of a safety blanket, or does it control his physical or mental state?"

Wilson blinked "Are you saying we should take it away?"

"Not completely, no. That would be stealing. But it could be an interesting experiment. I must confess that knowing what kind of power this book possesses and how terrible things it can do, it doesn't comfort me to know how lightheartedly he uses it and keeps it close. Maxwell has built bonds to the darkness that we shouldn't mess with, and it could be possible that his health is as bad as it appears, because he cannot get better as long as he relies only on this."

It made sense. Maxwell used a lot of dark magic and he practically lived with the shadows, sometimes literally. It couldn't be healthy, not even if Maxwell was used to it. The scientist nodded.

"Yeah, you're right. But only if we give it back to him as soon as he asks, okay?"

The woman nodded back at him, and stood up "So glad that we have an agreem-"

"The book will stay with me." Wilson deadpanned, a little bit harsher than he had meant to, and reached his hand out to receive Codex. Wickerbottom blinked at him.

"I assure you, Mr. Higgsbury, there's no one else here who has more respect and care for the books than I-"

"I don't doubt that, ma'am. But there is also no one else here who has more respect and care for Maxwell than I do, and I think that if there is someone he would give his book to, it would be me."

For a short, tense second they stared at each other. Then Wickerbottom laughed lightly and offered the tome to Wilson "Why, you certainly make a point. Be a dear and report to me if his health is improving in any way, whether it has something to do with the Codex or not."

Wilson huffed out a laughter "Will do, ma'am."

Then he was left alone with Maxwell again. The man lowered his eyes on the book in his hands. It felt heavier than it looked like, as if there was something very big and old and ancient inside the pages. He ran his fingers on the cover, like he had seen Maxwell doing so many times before, wondering just how much did this book actually mean to the man. Hadn't it ruined his life? Hadn't it been the very reason why he was here, why he had lost someone he cared about, why he had become someone who he now regretted ever being?

And yet he held onto this book like his heart would stop beating as soon as he'd lose his grip. How upside-down, twisted and plain wrong someone's life must be to so fondly hold onto the thing that destroyed their very life... Wilson was filled with curiosity, with the dire thirst to open up the book and dig into it's secrets.

Tell him what you did to Maxwell.

Tell him where you came from.

Tell him how this world works.

Tell him, he wants to, no- he needs to know.

Wilson jerked away, horrified, and let the book drop on the ground. He shouldn't even think about it! Last time when he had pursued the knowledge he was not ready for, he had ended up here with the rest of the unfortunate and confiding souls. With careful, strong grip he held the book again and tugged it in his backpack, under his clothes and other items, where he didn't hear it's calling anymore.

Was it calling to him? He didn't hear any words or voices, he didn't feel a pull or gravitation towards it. But there had been a sudden whim that hit him out of nowhere. It was more like a sensation than anything else. A sudden desire that took over before he had even time to realize it. Wilson shook his head and put his backpack inside the chest, and put several items over the lid so the book would get the hint. Wilson didn't want it, and he would not listen to it's call.

He wondered if this was why Maxwell kept it close all the time, if he felt like this when he held it. If it called him to care for it, made him feel some sort of desire that wasn't really his own. Wilson might ask about it, when the time was a little better, when Maxwell was able to answer his questions.

He watched the magician's calm face, expression empty and tranquil, still and silent. He laid down next to him and pulled the fur cover over himself, and made sure that Maxwell was tugged under his own blanket as well. They hadn't slept in the same tent for a long time. It felt nice, would've felt nicer if Maxwell wasn't in the state he was in.

The younger man hesitantly rose his hand, and very carefully run his fingers through the other man's hair. A brief memory visited his mind, and he couldn't help but think of how much better it would look if there were some flowers tangled in the magician's hair again.

"You must be very hungry. I wish I could help you, but you know... I just have to wait that you wake up. You're gonna wake up tomorrow, right?" Wilson crawled a bit closer and let his eyes flutter shut, leaning on the other man's arm "Tomorrow. Tomorrow will be good."

Notes:

For that one anon who said that they feel like it might be better for Maxwell to get out for a while...: Well, he did. Kinda.

(I'm sorry lol)

Chapter 17: Into the light

Summary:

Maxwell would follow Wilson anywhere, if he only could.

WARNINGS: Suicidal thoughts

Notes:

This chapter's a little short, but it be like that sometimes I guess.

Chapter Text

Maxwell didn't mind walking behind Wilson and watching his back. The young man didn't like leading, but he knew what needed to be done and trusted no one to handle it as well as he could, so he often took the lead without even noticing it. Maxwell didn't care. He'd follow Wilson either way, wherever the man decided to go, he'd be there. He wanted to be there.

Besides, he didn't have anyone else, and Wilson was kind enough to let him be there with him. Maybe Wilson didn't like him, but he never turned Maxwell away either, never left him behind no matter how much they disagreed or argued or fought. So Maxwell silently followed him, in the dark that was all around them, where the world had ceased to be, swallowed by the inky blackness.

But Wilson still walked forward, and Maxwell started to feel a little bit uneasy. They had no light, no map nor warmth available. They were easy targets to anything in the darkness around them, as well as the darkness herself. Maxwell was too afraid too stop and think about it for too long, comforting himself with the thought It was going to be okay, Wilson would find a place for them to rest a little, he'd lead them somewhere safe.

The man hurried closer to Wilson and glanced nervously around them.

"Where are we headed?" he asked, and Wilson rose his head and stopped.

"...You're still here?"

Maxwell didn't know how to react. Hadn't Wilson noticed him before? Why did he sound so annoyed? Maxwell nodded, and even though Wilson's back was turned on him, couldn't actually see his nod, the short man scoffed, and then kept walking. Without anything else to do or anywhere else to go to, Maxwell once again set to follow him further into the dark.

The dark didn't get any less darker, no sign of the break of dawn, no distant glow of the fire anywhere in sight. It disturbed Maxwell. Were they in Charlie's world? In the level of the board where the eternal darkness reigned, and only source of light was the man-made one? The magician shivered, and once again closed the distance between him and the man who walked just a few steps ahead. He didn't remember how they get here, he didn't know when or why, but he wanted nothing more than to get out of this place.

"Should we make a fire?" he dared to ask, and Wilson let out an irritated sigh.

"Stars, your voice is so annoying. If you have to be here, then at least be quiet."

Maxwell was nothing of the sort "Where are we going?"

"I'm going home. I don't give a shit where you're going."

Maxwell didn't understand. Had he done something to offend Wilson? Had he insulted or hurt him in some way? He didn't think he had, he had no idea where this attitude, that the other man was giving him, came from. 

He didn't follow Wilson to annoy the man. He just didn't know what else to do. He didn't have anything else he could do, he had nothing else left for himself anywhere. But he had Wilson, he trusted Wilson, and he knew (he thought he knew) that Wilson would let him tag along if he just could show him that he could be trusted.

"I want to go with you" he managed to say after a small silence, and only then did Wilson finally turn to face him, a disgusted glare in his eyes. The man didn't say anything, but his expression was enough to tell Maxwell everything he needed to know. Still, he decided to swallow and take a deep inhale.

"It's just that I... I don't have anyone else but you." he explained, but gained no sympathy from Wilson. In fact, nothing in his expression changed one bit, as the man stared him down with oh so familiar hatred flaming behind the brown of his eyes.

Suddenly there was a third voice, familiar as well, but it rang much different in his head, like Maxwell had not heard it in ages, almost forgotten how it sounded, how the words and syllables weighted and flowed. It sounded a lot like his own.

"And whose fault is that, Will?"

Maxwell didn't want to turn around, but he was so aghast to hear the voice of his own brother in here, that he had to, was almost impossible not to turn around, to see if he really was here and why was he here?!

"What?" he could only ask, staring at the face that resembled his own, a bit healthier, a bit different due to the different way they had lived their lives, but there was a very familiar sadness and grief in the demeanor. Jack didn't look annoyed like Wilson, but much more judgemental.

"First you left. Do you know how it feels like to lose a brother? Then we lost our sweet little Abigail. I was so heartbroken, I was so... lonely. And then-" the anger, the pure wrath in the voice that had once sounded so gentle and trustful made Maxwell flinch back "Then you took Wendy away from me, too. You took everything I loved away from me. You don't do things like that to your family, William!"

Maxwell had no reason to try to defend himself. It wasn't as if he didn't know what he had done, but it was something he had deliberately decided not to let himself think about. Jack never deserved to lost as much as he had, and Maxwell had no reason not to feel guilty, because maybe, had he been smarter, his brother could still have a family, unbroken and alive, happy even. But no, things never went well for them, did they?

Maxwell watched as Jack shook his head disapprovingly, and turned away from him. He started to feel panic rising inside.

"I'm sorry, things didn't go like I planned, I... I was in debt, to some very dangerous people, I couldn't go home, I had to do something... I thought it was under control, I just wanted to be a magician, I didn't want to hurt you or the twins or anyone-"

"But you did, didn't you?"

Oh, this voice was way too familiar to Maxwell. Even though Charlie never spoke to him, never showed herself to him, he could still remember everything about her so well. Her voice, her face, her touch, her laughter...

Maxwell wrapped his arms around himself, lowering his gaze on the ground. He didn't see her, but he could feel her claws grasping his shoulders in agony and pure loathing.

"I trusted you, Maxy. I thought you as my friend. I put my confidence on your word that you knew what you were doing, and you'd never let Them hurt me. And look what happened to me, look what happened to all of us. Just goes to show that you cannot be trusted."

"No, I can still fix this, I can still send you all home and I can-"

There was yet another new voice, a fifth one, joining the conversation now. It was the youngest of them all, another voice Maxwell knew well.

"Maybe you can send us home, but you cannot undo the damage. What's hurt is hurt, what's broken will stay broken. Wounds will heal to scars, but scars will remain." Wendy's shrill, cold voice explained. Somehow hearing it from someone so young hurt the most. He could have prevented all of this, he could have stopped while he was ahead. He could've done something, he could've at least tried.

And now everyone was turning away from him, leaving him standing there, grouping together against him. The darkness felt heavier on his shoulders, weighting him down, pushing him lower. The pulling of the earth caught his knees and his legs gave out under him, letting him fall down and hunch over himself.

The others were here, too. Wes, Woodie, Willow... It didn't matter when they all had arrived or how, but Maxwell felt it, felt the glares and judgemental stares and the silence of their presence said enough of what they thought about him.

And then, there was a light.

Maxwell couldn't believe it at first, blinking his eyes and staring at the ground, until he apprehensively rose his head to see the white, burning, inviting light shining from the distance.

Everyone else had turned to watch is as well, and after the short moment of surprised staring, they started heading towards it. Maxwell panicked, tried to stand up and run after them, to go into the light too, but his legs felt too heavy to move. The sensation was similar to the throne, similar to the way it had once held him. It wouldn't let go.

"Wait!" he yelled, but his voice was nothing but silence. He reached his hand out to people who were disappearing into the light one by one.

"Higgsbury!" He called, and even though his voice still wasn't audible, Wilson turned to look at him, surprised and confused look on his face, as if he wasn't really expecting to see Maxwell when he turned around.

"You're still here?" the surprise in his voice was somehow even worse than the disgust.

The older man just kept reaching his arm out to him, palm turned up to ask Wilson to take it, take him with him, pull him out of this darkness.

"Don't go, I need you" he pleaded, arm shaking as he was pushing it forward, to reach a bit further, to somehow reach Wilson if he just tried hard enough. The young man just blinked in confusion, face clear and blank.

"Why do you think I care?" His voice wasn't even annoyed anymore, just very genuinely taken aback that Maxwell somehow thought that his opinion mattered to Wilson, so confused that Maxwell thought that Wilson would take him with him. Maxwell felt all of his willpower disappear, and his arm slowly lowered, until it swung to hang on his side uselessly.

Why did he think Wilson cared?

Wilson looked at him a bit longer, face lack of any emotion, any feeling that was something else than disinterest and nonchalance. Like Maxwell wasn't even there, like he was nothing at all.

Then Wilson turned his back on the older man again and left, just like the rest of the people, into the light.

Maxwell didn't reach out to Wilson anymore, too aware that he couldn't follow, couldn't be heard, couldn't take his hand like he wanted to. He wasn't going to get out of the dark, was he? Now he didn't have anyone, not even Charlie. She had left with the rest of them. Maxwell knew, he didn't feel her presence anymore. Now he was completely alone, left with nothing.

They weren't there with him, either. They had followed their Queen, not giving Maxwell a slightest bit of recognition, not bothering to validate his need to belong somewhere again, to have someone with him, to be something.

The man hung his head and hugged himself tighter, seeking some comfort of the touch. He found none. His touch felt cold as ice and hard as stone, it didn't offer him any kindness or gentleness. He wished he could go into the light with the others, so he, too, could leave himself behind.

But he was stuck with himself whether he liked it or not. He stayed behind. He had no right to leave this deep pit that he had dug with his own two hands. He couldn't even feel angry at anyone, he was out of things to blame, and the fault only fell upon his own shoulders, and his alone.

He had always known that the other survivors wouldn't accept him, he had always known that his place was not with them. He had given up on getting Charlie back a long, long time ago. Jack he had never even expected to see again.

But Wilson. Wilson, he had thought, was someone who he could rely on, someone he could trust. Wilson let him be around. Wilson let him stay with him. Wilson could maybe one day even forgive, maybe even let Maxwell get closer to him, get to be someone else than the villain in his heroic story arc. 

Why had he ever thought that? Why did he think Wilson cared?

Why would he?

How could he?

How could anyone ever again care about someone like him? He didn't deserve it, he wasn't worth of their pity, he wasn't worth of anything. Even the darkness had abandoned him to suffer in his own loneliness. Misery loves company, but even misery had gotten enough of him. 

Maxwell grasped himself tighter until his claws broke the fabric and dug into his skin, his flesh, and the blood started dripping out. It was see-through and colorless. His mouth tasted like ashes. He could feel something dry and dead trying to hurt him inside of his chest, trying to bump the life into him, trying to deliver blood that was nothing but grey and transparent goo. He was void of life in every way possible, nothing else than an empty shell, nothing else than a shadow.

The world kept getting larger around him, or then he was getting smaller, disappearing into the darkness where not even the death wanted to take him, where he was denied any company he wished for, where he was forgotten and left behind without any hope of salvation.

William cried.

Maxwell was out of tears to cry.

He just stared the ground and felt the void growing in his body, swallowing everything inside it's greedy maw and sucking him empty and hollow, leaving behind only his rotten and defective heart that was already as good as nothing anyway.

Chapter 18: Out of the dark

Summary:

Wilson continues to watch over his sleeping friend.

Chapter Text

The days were as busy as they ever got in Constant. Wilson wasn't feeling any easier after clearing a pack of hounds with Wigfrid, knowing they were safe from them for the next few days at least. He couldn't find any joy in the glimmering red gem they got as a bonus treat alongside with the usual teeth and monster meat. His thoughts were elsewhere. He couldn't pry his mind away from Maxwell, even in the heat of the battle his thoughts were continuously darting back and fort between staying alive and wondering if Maxwell was awake yet.

Four days. It had already been four days, and the magician was still unconscious. If Wilson had been worried on the day one, then he couldn't even describe how absolutely devastated he was now. He knew that he had caused this, and the guilt burned his chest everytime the thought crossed his mind. It didn't help either that right before Maxwell had fallen asleep, he had seemed very genuinely scared for his life. And on top of everything, Maxwell, an already weak and frail older man, was slowly starving in his sleep. Sure, his body functions might have slowed down and he wasn't wasting any additional energy or calories by sleeping, but it didn't stop the human body's natural need to be fueled with food.

But the worst part of all, the absolutely most terrible and terrifying and just depressing part was that Wilson could do nothing to help. He couldn't apologize for his admittedly selfish little trick to force Maxwell to rest just a bit. He couldn't comfort the man and tell him that no one here was going to hurt him, and if they were, Wilson wouldn't allow it. And as long as Maxwell was sleeping, Wilson couldn't make sure he ate or drank enough, either. He was useless. What good was a scientist in this group, if he couldn't even find a solution to something as serious as this?

Wilson only offered a quick greeting to the kids when he made his way back to the tent, and sat down next to Maxwell. He felt better returning to care for him every night, and tell him what happened during the day. It was very one-sided conversation, but it made him feel better, to do at least something, even if it wouldn't help much anything.

"The hounds attacked this evening, but nobody died, and only Wickerbottom and I got hurt badly enough to need medical attention. I got bitten on my arm." the man explained, rising his hand to show up the spot under his elbow, covered in salve and bandaging "See, even I have the common sense of telling someone when I'm hurt. It's not that hard, Maxwell. The faster you let people know you need help, the faster we can make sure that everything is okay, and we save a lot of time and avoid needless messing around."

The man sighed and rubbed his forehead, and then proceeded to unbutton Maxwell's shirt to do his daily routine of treating the wounds and making sure his body was functioning the way it should.

"You seem to be healing up well at least. That's good. The sleep has surely sped up the healing process... Not that I should've forced you to rest like this, heh..." Wilson scratched his neck and gave a long sigh.

"Hey." He started, and hesitantly placed his palm on Maxwell's cold cheek "Can you wake up today? I still have something I have to tell you. I would really like to talk. You know, for real." Wilson withdrew his hand, his eyes lingering on Maxwell's sleeping face for a bit longer. Were his cheekbones getting higher? Was he already losing weight that much? Wilson shook his head. No, it was probably his imagination, the paranoia and worry making him over-analyze the smallest of things.

Still, he couldn't help but think that Maxwell did look rather pale, the color of his skin almost closer to grey, his eyes shaded with sunken-in eye sockets, even his lips looked dry and purple compared to the unhealthy color on the rest of his face. Had he always looked so sick and close-to-death, or was it really just Wilson's mind playing tricks on his eyes?

The scientist scowled at nothing in particular and turned his attention to the chest in the corner. It was difficult to tell if Codex affected Maxwell's health when the man was asleep, but somehow Wilson still wanted to blame the book. He kept it inside the chest, under all of the other things in there, and only checked on it every morning and night to make sure it was still in one piece and safe. He really didn't want to carry it with him. He felt uncomfortable about it, like it somehow knew he was nervous, and Wilson was sure it was giving him some signals, calling him to just open up one page and take a look, the knowledge there could've been more than he ever hoped to learn. If he'd just take a quick, teeny tiny teensy look, surely it wouldn't hurt anyone...

Wilson quickly slapped his cheek and shook his head furiously. NO. He had gotten enough of that kind of knowledge for the rest of his life, thank you very much.

"Just so you know, I'm onto you" the man hissed at the chest, and even though nothing could be heard, Wilson could feel the thing inside laughing at him. Letting Willow burn the damn thing started to sound oddly alluring. Wilson sneered and turned his attention back to the other man, and laid down next to him. He had, without really even noticing it, pulled his fur roll closer to Maxwell every night, now practically almost on top his own roll. He wanted to be there when the man woke up, and he was afraid something bad would happen if he wasn't there to keep and eye on him as often as he could.

Still, it felt kind of intrusive to be so near to him. Not that he had never been this close to Maxwell, but something about the fact that Maxwell was unconscious, that he couldn't demand his own personal space from Wilson, made the younger man feel almost rude to do this, to lay beside him so close without permission.

He almost let himself think that not that he even wanted to be this close, but some rational little thought replaced it quickly by adding that if he really didn't, then why was he voluntarily, willingly and by all means of his own accord being so close, then? He couldn't fight the logic. Whatever the reason was, he wanted to be here, he chose to be here, close.

He just really missed Maxwell, he mused by himself, lowering his head on his shoulder and rising his hand to gently fiddle the fabric of the suit jacket with his fingers. He wondered if Maxwell missed him. He wondered if the man was completely out cold, nothing running in his mind but blissful nothingness, or if he was dreaming, if he was someplace else inside his head. If he maybe could even feel or hear, despite being unable to respond.

Wilson sighed and got up, adjusted the blanket over Maxwell better, and started to make a list of things he needed to do. It was the easiest task to carry while still allowing him to stay near Maxwell, so he gladly tried to make use of himself and his time by writing down things that needed to be taken care of, and handing them to Wickerbottom every morning. The old woman, surprisingly, didn't scold Wilson for being lazy or accused him of avoiding the chores. She seemed almost worried for him, and thus let him spend his time in the medical tent with Maxwell.

Wilson was grateful that she seemed to understand, that she respected the way he handled this. Still, it made Wilson feel better that he could be of some use like this, easing everyone's days by giving them already well-planned lists of chores, saving time and nerves by doing so. And it also gave him something else to put his mind into, so he could occasionally tear his thoughts away from the nagging feeling of when when when was Maxwell going to wake up and would he wake up and how his health was and if he needed something-

He gave himself an aggressive head shake, chasing the train of thought away, and the scientist returned to his list. He couldn't do much, so he just concentrated to the little things he could do.

The time ticked on, light falling down the drain and making way for the night, and Wilson only lit up a lantern to keep the nightmonster a bay, and kept writing the lists. Although the darkness had never gotten anyone inside the tent, nobody was willing to test their luck with such a powerful and unknown force. And it's not like the light would bother Maxwell anyway, the younger man thought, and put another paper to the pile and started the next one.

The nights were never fully quiet here, but sometimes they were almost peaceful. Tonight was apparently one of those nights when not many people stayed awake, nobody had anything important that needed to be done right away, and since the hounds came in the evening and their camp was a good distance away from the creatures such as spiders, moleworms and beefalo, hardly any nighty noises were heard in the darkness outside the camp walls that stood here and there, not fully shielding them, but giving a moderate sense of safety either way.

It was so quiet. Wilson turned to watch Maxwell, and then, very, very slowly, risked a quick glance at the chest.

Maybe... Maybe there was something more he could do. Maybe he could wake Maxwell up. Against his better judgement, that was a little more than a nagging whisper in the back of the storm of his other thoughts, he opened up the chest and dug up Codex Umbra. If his eyes didn't tell him otherwise, he would've sworn the tome was smiling at him, as if it knew, as if it was aware that it could offer him a solution. All he had to do was give in.

Wilson licked his lips and touched the cover carefully. It never seemed to hurt Maxwell when he was only reading the book, but then again, he had been using it for who knows how long, he was used to it. Still, if it could help... If Wilson could wake Maxwell up with it somehow...

He cracked open the cover, just an inch, and already felt his neck hair stood up and shiver rushing through his back. He really shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't. He knew it. But it couldn't hurt anyone if he just took a quick peek, right?

A quick peek ended up hurting Maxwell.

But, Wilson was not Maxwell. Just because Maxwell had royally fucked up, didn't mean that the same thing would happen to Wilson. He could handle it, he could keep himself in check, and unlike Maxwell, he would know when to stop.

... Besides, he only wanted to wake Maxwell up. That's all, that's all he was gonna use the book for. When he would succeed, he would put it away, right back in the bottom of the chest. He was gonna do this for Maxwell. That's all.

The air felt static, somehow heavy, when he slowly started to creak open the book, when the anxious anticipation and curiosity banged in his chest, and he was sure that Codex felt the same way, that it felt anxious and ready and it couldn't wait to be used-

"Higgsbury"

The quiet mumble almost startled Wilson, and the man jumped up and stared at Maxwell in disbelief and surprise. The man laid still, lips slightly apart, and the only thing Wilson could think of was that Maxwell's lips haven't been apart before!

He immediately threw the old tome away and scooted closer to Maxwell, lowering on all-fours to stare at the man, to wait for something, some other word come out of his mouth. But nothing else came, not a slightest flicker of eyelids or move of the lips. The little glimpse of hope dimmed down when the realization settled in, that Maxwell was not awake, just talking in his sleep. Just dreaming, having some activity inside his brain and traveling through whatever place his mind had taken him into.

He was not awake. Just talking in his sleep.

He had called for Wilson.

The understanding took over him slowly, and when it did, Wilson was grateful for the darkness of the night and the absence of the others in the tent, because he wasn't sure how brightly the blush started to burn his face.

Everyone needs someone. He doesn't have anyone.

Wilson bit his lower lip. He just really wanted the man to wake up so he could tell him that he had Wilson, tell him that he wasn't alone and that he was Wilson's friend, and Wilson wouldn't let anyone here to hurt him under any circumstances. He cared about Maxwell, he felt so lost without him, he... he really didn't know what feeling he was trying to describe, but he was feeling it a lot.

Funny how you only ever noticed how much something meant to you when you were in danger to lose it. Hearing Maxwell being able to get just one word through, and that one word being Wilson's name, made him simultaneously warm and cold inside. It was kind of sweet to realize that he was in Maxwell's thoughts, and that it wasn't just a word, it was a name, his name, maybe a call for him, some kind of plea for him that he couldn't answer. 

Yet.

And still, even the warmth inside his chest couldn't keep away the cold claws of worry, of guilt. If Maxwell was really so sure, really so absolutely certain that Wilson would try to get rid of him when he wasn't strong enough to defend himself, then why was he still calling for Wilson? Was it a cry for help, or a beg to not harm him? Wilson couldn't be sure, the call of his name had been so sudden that he didn't really even have time to grasp the tone, the tint of emotion that had been in the voice. He hadn't heard the way the word had been said, only what it had been.

He glanced at the Codex over his shoulder. If it would've had a face, Wilson was sure it would look disappointed. Wilson had almost given into it, to Them, and Maxwell had ruined everything. He stood up, and grasped the book tight to his grip, bringing it close to his face.

No. Not tonight, not tomorrow. The idea was to keep this away from Maxwell to help him, not to mess with it behind his back and possibly cause even more harm than before. With a firm, heavy inhale, Wilson shut his eyes, and then exhaled the pressure out. Then he buried the angrily quiet book back inside the chest, and turned his back on it, returning to Maxwell, crawling close to him, watching, waiting, expecting something.

The world got ever so quieter the more Wilson stared at Maxwell, in anxious anticipation to hear something more, some kind of confirmation that Maxwell was still in there somewhere. He was, Wilson knew he was, and this was exactly why he needed to spend every possible moment here with the magician, to have the reassurance that he was still alive and he was going to wake up again, soon, perhaps tonight, perhaps tomorrow, but he-

"Don't go I need you"

The words were once again sudden, and this time so very quiet, barely even a breath, that had Wilson been even an inch farther from the man, if he had not seen the lips move this time, he might've missed the words completely. Instinctively he crawled even closer, petting Maxwell's hair frantically with unsure movements to bring some sort of comfort to one of them, either of them.

"I won't, I'm here. It's okay, I'm not leaving anywhere, I'm here." he started to mumble comfortingly, although he got no answer back. Wilson didn't know what to make of that little request, not necessary even meant to him directly, to not go, to not leave. Where would he even go, why would he? He could stay.

"I won't go anywhere, I'm here. I'll be here once you wake up. I swear." He knew the words were heard by no one but himself, but he still said them, still tried to comfort Maxwell in someway.

Slowly the minutes turned to hours, and Wilson was dozing in and out of sleep, every once in a while rising his head to see if Maxwell was awake, if he might say something else. Eventually he slipped into the deeper state of sleep, having to make up for the dreamless nights he had stayed awake keeping an eye on the older man, and the next time he would wake up, would be only when the morning sun rose up from the horizon.

---

Maxwell almost didn't want to open his eyes. He almost missed the darkness. It wasn't often when he got to sleep, and he would've much rather stayed unconscious without having to deal with all the pesky real world problems. But he was awake, irreversibly conscious and aware of the world around him, and he knew he had no say in the matter. It wouldn't be so soon when he would get to have a bit of shut-eye again.

His body felt weak, weaker than he remembered, and moving even an arm sounded like a task. His mouth felt dry and his throat somehow itchy. Did he really have to wake up...?

After sacrificing the sleep one last longing thought, he reluctantly cracked his eyes open and let his pupils adjust to the light slowly - how long had he been in that dark? It felt like years. The magician blinked, exhausted from the sleep, and moved his gaze around. He was in the medical tent, and Wilson sat close to him, legs crossed and elbows leaning on his knees when he wrote something down on the paper.

Maxwell blinked again. Yes, he remembered... Wilson had taken care of his wounds, and then the little bitch had put something in his food, and he had fallen asleep. He didn't remember much after the realization had hit in, only that he had felt very frightened, very unsafe, and Wilson didn't seem to care about his distress at all.

Why do you think I care

Maxwell grimaced silently. Maybe staying awake was better than sleeping, after all. He tried to call Wilson, but his mouth felt so dry that he could barely get out a sound. He swallowed and tried to wet his mouth a little. Why did it feel so dry?

"Wilson" he finally croaked out in a low, raspy voice, and had to hold himself back to fight a cough. Wilson jumped back and gasped loudly, then proceeded to look at him with eyes wide as plates, mouth hanging open, frozen in place.

Maxwell swallowed again "Wilson... water" he forced out the words, this time not without a couple of dry coughs. Wilson just blinked like he didn't understand the request. What was he, deaf? Eventually the man seemed to get hold of himself, and after moving his jaw up and down in silence like a fish on dry land, he closed it before finally speaking.

"Y-yes, of, of course, I'll just... You're awake."

The man sounded so amazed by the fact that it made Maxwell furrow his brows. Yes, he was awake, he didn't need Wilson to tell him that. He opened his mouth to answer, but couldn't get as far as making a single sound when the other man suddenly lunged at him and grabbed him inside the tightest hug he had received since he was a child.

"You're awake! Oh thank the stars you're awake again! I can't even tell you how- oh boy I missed your angry glares, I'm so so glad you woke up!" Wilson started to ramble, and Maxwell had bit of a hard time breathing in his bear-hug.

"Wil-son..." he coughed out, but his words stayed unheard.

"You can't believe how much I have worried about you! If there's anything you need, anything at all, just ask away and I will help, oh geez, how glad I am to see your eyes open again!"

"Wilson..."

"Hm?" the man pulled back, finally releasing Maxwell from his grip, smiling at him warmly "Yeah, what is it?"

"Water... please." Maxwell was amazed that he was even able to get this many words out, it felt like his whole mouth was a wilted houseplant. Wilson nodded quickly and pulled a makeshift leather-tin from the chest, and then very carefully helped Maxwell to sit up better, holding the water up for him. 

Getting water to his mouth was a relief, and eventually Wilson had to almost force the man to let go of the tin so he wouldn't make himself sick. Very grudgingly Maxwell loosened his grip and allowed Wilson to put the thing away, and instead lowered his gaze at his chest, realizing that surprisingly, it hurt hardly at all. Well, that at least was a good thing, the less days he had to spend in bed the better.

"I'll bring you food, wait here." Wilson promised and jumped on his feet, and before Maxwell had any time to react, the man had already disappeared out of the tent. The older man spend a second or two staring after the scientist, and then groaned, hoisting himself up. It turned out to be harder than he remembered, his body felt weak and every extra movement made his joints ache and his muscles cry out of the lack of use.

But standing up and stretching his legs a bit felt so much better after a while. He wasn't fond of staying put for a long periods of time for certain reasons, and he couldn't wait to get back to his daily life without an overly nurturing man-child whining about every single little thing to his ear.

It didn't take long for the man-child in question to come back inside the tent with a bowl of food, and immediately he wore the familiar worried expression on his face "Maxwell, you shouldn't be up so soon, you should take it slowly. We can't let you-"

"If I may, Higgsbury, you or any of your friends can't 'let' me do anything. Or do I have to ask permission for walking now, too?" The magician snarled, and then lowered his eyes on the food bowl on Wilson's hands "And I'm not hungry, thank you."

Wilson face fell somewhere between an angry glower and a worried frown.

"You have to eat, your body needs sustenance. After being unconscious for that long you must-"

"How long?" Maxwell lost any intended anger from his voice. Surely he couldn't have slept more than few hours, maybe a bit more than usual, but not that long. Wilson bit his lip and momentarily put the bowl on the ground, and started to rub his arms nervously, eyes only meeting Maxwell's own briefly before looking away again.

"Um... You... You were asleep for five days."

"Five days?" Maxwell opened his mouth and stared at Wilson, slowly taking the information in. Five whole days? Had he really been out cold for five whole days?! Something, perhaps the bit of anger he had felt just a couple of seconds ago, returned weak and strengthless to his voice when he stared at the other man in disbelief "You drugged me... for five days."

Wilson started to squirm, grimacing silently, very clearly uncomfortable. His eyes were moving all over the tent, landing everywhere else except for Maxwell.

"W-well... uh, you see-"

"Am I really such a burden on you?"

That made Wilson pause, and he shot his eyes up to Maxwell. The older man's voice had been empty of it's usual snark or tease, empty of even the anger that had just been there.

For a few seconds that felt longer than they actually were, they just stared at each other in silence. Then Wilson opened his mouth to speak, but Maxwell found his voice first.

"Well, it seems that I have been healing quite well." the man had a quick look on himself "I better go to do... stuff. If I've really been out of order for several days then there must be a lot of things that require my attention. Pardon me." Me the man said in a totally-not-awkward-and-in-a-hurry-to-leave-way, and proceeded to walk past Wilson, but the smaller man held up his hand and grabbed Maxwell gently by the arm, stopping him.

"You still got to eat. The food is getting cold." Wilson looked up at the other man, who didn't turn to meet his eyes at first, but then gave him a raised eyebrow and a very suspicious look. Wilson sunk between his shoulders in shame "... I promise it has nothing in it that shouldn't be there. I promise."

Maxwell let out a long sigh, walked to take the bowl and sat down. Wilson sat down against him, looking down at his hands.

"...You're not a burden, Max. I didn't do it on purpose-"

"Yes, mandrakes are well known to just cut themselves up and crawl into the soup when no one is looking."

"Will you for once in your life let me finish without interrupting me with annoying retorts?" Wilson gave the man a quick glare, and Maxwell just huffed out an irritated sound and kept eating.

"Look, I thought you would just sleep through the night. I didn't put you to sleep for that long on purpose, I, I never intended to do this to you... I was really worried, you know." Wilson was nervously curling his fingers, and glanced at the taller man again. Maxwell just ate without having anything to comment. Wilson sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Believe me, I've been trying to wake you up, every day, but you just kept sleeping." He let the heavy exhale huff out of his mouth, but his chest wasn't getting any lighter "I didn't want this. I was keeping an eye on you and taking care of you even when there was no guaranty that you'd even wake up again. And every day, all I could think about was that I just really really wanted to tell you that... I'm sorry. I really am."

Maxwell let out a long sigh, and without a word, handed Wilson the empty bowl. Wilson looked at it, still waiting for an answer, and slowly took it from the other man's hands. Maxwell gave him a quick look, rising an eyebrow.

"May I leave now?"

Wilson blinked, then scowled "Is that all you have to say?"

"I'd rather not say all the things I could, so let's leave this unfortunate little mishap behind us and concentrate on the important things, right pal?"

Wilson's scowl got only deeper.

"You're angry at me, aren't you?" His question was met with another curious look and raised brow.

"Do I seem angry?"

"N-not really, but you..." Wilson bit his lip and looked away "I can tell, okay? You're angry at me. It's okay, it's... It's fine, I don't blame you."

All of the sudden there was a hand patting on his shoulder (and Wilson proceeded to ignore how much he wanted to stay in that quick touch forever), and Maxwell got up, looking a bit dizzy, and then gave him a small smirk.

"I'm not angry, Higgsbury. Just a bit surprised."

Wilson got up from his knees as well.

"I'm still sorry. You know... You're my friend. I... I don't want you to feel unsafe around me." the man said, really hoping that Maxwell wasn't angry, but he had a suspicion. Maxwell was not known to be the most honest person around, and half of the time Wilson had to guess what he really meant or thought.

The older man turned his head away and shrugged.

"If mister doctor will allow, I'd like to leave now. I have things to do."

Wilson just sighed and shook his head. Maxwell was angry or hurt, one of the two, and Wilson knew it. Maybe the man was avoiding this conversation because he really did feel unsafe around Wilson, and whatever little trust Maxwell had for him had crumbled down now. The younger man really hoped it wasn't true, he had never intended to make Maxwell feel like he was in danger of some kind here. And it stung, because he didn't want Maxwell to think so lowly of him, to think that he'd actually want to hurt him.

"You can leave if you want to, but it would really be great if you let me take a quick look at your body, you know, to make sure there isn't anything wrong after that little nap you took." Wilson tried to lighten the mood a little, but Maxwell only gave him a sour scowl.

Wilson had imagined that this would've gone smoother, that the moment when Maxwell would wake up would be happier. He knew that he had been more than generous and patient with Maxwell and he had no obligations to apologize if they really put everything in perspective, but if he really wanted to remind Maxwell that they really were friends, he needed to step down of his high-horse and let Maxwell take his own time to forgive. He had done wrong, and he knew it.

The magician eyed him for a while, then turned his gaze away.

"I'm as swell as can possibly get, pal."

After those words the man left the tent, leaving Wilson to gaze after him with a frown on his face. He had thought that maybe he could apologize to Maxwell, maybe sit down and actually talk about how they had come such a long way and how he thought them as friends, and he had wanted to tell Maxwell that the man was actually very important to him and he wouldn't let anyone hurt him, and he could trust Wilson with anything he needed. But it seemed that Maxwell was not in the mood for talking.

Wilson lowered his eyes to the empty food bowl on his hands. At least he was able to feed Maxwell a bit. They could talk later, when Maxwell had been able to calm down a bit. He really didn't believe that Maxwell got it, that Maxwell believed him when he said they were friends and that he cared. Of course they were friends. Of course he cared. He should really try to remind Maxwell of that.

But later, when Maxwell had got to have a little time to calm down first.

With a heavy sigh, Wilson cleaned the tent, and then left to find Wickerbottom to inform her that Maxwell had finally woken up.

Chapter 19: The reasons

Summary:

Maxwell is, once again, confused over the reasons of what he is here for.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Maxwell returned back to the camp with a backpack full of silk, a few small injuries covering him here and there. The spiders where nasty, sneaky little creatures. Not so difficult to handle when there was only one or two, but it was easy to get overwhelmed by the pack that had suddenly gathered from every nearby nest there was.

Maxwell tried not to pay mind to the couple of stinging wounds in his leg, few others around his torso. The last thing anyone needed right now was taking care of him so soon after he had just been in the bed for days. Even the mere idea made him shudder. Well, at least the spiders were fairly small. It could've been worse, he tried to comfort himself, he could've gotten attacked by a much deadlier group of monsters that passed as animals around here.

He returned back to the camp when it was an early evening, only thinking how he'd hopefully get to finally make himself his own tent. He might need help making it, but he knew he couldn't claim the infirmary tent for himself, and he had no business even asking to share tent with someone else here. He needed his own tent, he wanted his own tent. Not only because it was uncomfortable and unsafe feeling to sleep alone on the strawroll on the cold hard ground, with only source of light, safety, and warmth being the campfire, but also because he missed having some privacy around here.

The magician noticed the people (usually gathered around the campfire at this time of the evening) all gave him a look and quieted down on his arrival. He ignored them completely and sat down near his own place, starting to unpack the loot he had managed to get. He had no idea how to make a tent, but he was sure he at the very least knew what materials to use, and that was a start. Perhaps it would be a good thing to figure this out by himself. Nobody could complain that he pestered them about something so unnecessary, and he didn't have to damage his already beaten ego by asking for help.

He was only half-surprised when a shadow appeared to the corner of his eye, and he, once again, decided to ignore it. If Higgsbury was going to ask him to go and humiliate himself at the campfire with the others again, he'd give the idiot a piece of his mind...

"Good evening Maxwell. I see you're already busy working with-" Wickerbottom adjusted her glasses "-With whatever you're doing there. May I have a word?"

Maxwell was puzzled that the voice was not Wilson's, and even more so when he rose his head to see that the person who came to spoke to him was, indeed, not the scientist this time. Unsure of how else to react, he nodded. Wickerbottom dusted the ground a bit while making 'oh my' and 'all this dust' comment before sitting down on her knees. Maxwell tried not to lean away from his sudden company.

"You were out of commission quite a while. How are you feeling, dear?"

Maxwell furrowed his brows and shot her an accusing glare "I'm able to work, if that's what you are asking." he muttered and gestured for the silk he had gathered.

"Oh dear, no." The librarian quickly corrected him and rose her hand up in denying manner "We just want to know how that long sleep affected you. Are you tired? Perhaps light-headed? Is your appetite normal?"

Maxwell only looked away. He supposed that 'we' meant the group, and that meant they needed to know if he was going to be even more trouble than usual. Well, he was not gonna give them a reason to kick his ass out just yet.

"Everything is fine, as you can see." he snarled and started to meddle with the silk to appear busy, in hopes that the woman would stop accusing him of being lazy and go away. Wickerbottom only raised an eyebrow and shifted closer, a little bit too close.

"And does that mean you are well, or perhaps even better than before?" She started to sound less like a worried old lady, and more like Wilson when the man couldn't wait to stick his annoyingly curious nose to the other people's business in the name of science. Maxwell turned to look at the old woman properly, giving her a poisonous stare.

"I am just the way I have always been." what a dumb lie, he hasn't always been this disgusting waste of the human life "which is fine. Is there anything else you need, ms. Wickerbottom?"

The woman sighed, and her face returned to the compassionate small smile.

"Dearie, I do hope that you understand that none of us saw this coming. I only gave you that soup in full and only meaning of helping with your recovery." She didn't sound like she was lying, not at all. Maxwell still kept his face as sour and bitter as before, sticking up his chin.

"Well you could've asked if I wanted that, instead of giving a poor unsuspecting man a-"

"What? Did Wilson not tell you?"

Maxwell was taken aback by confusion and sudden worry on the old woman's voice. For a second he just stared at her, until he slowly shook his head "No. Higgsbury never told me you added something in the soup, he just gave it to me."

"And you didn't ask for something to relieve the pain and help you to rest?"

"Would I be so surprised by it if I did?" the man scoffed and turned his head away. He heard Wickerbottom mumbling something, but he didn't pay attention to it. At least it apparently wasn't some big plan made by everyone here. Just by Wilson. Maxwell furrowed his brows and looked at his hands.

...Wilson must've really wanted him out of the way for a while. He had thought they had built up some sort of companionship, some kind of understanding between them, but obviously he had been wrong. Obviously Wilson saw him as a nuisance and was sick of having to care for him. He curled his fingers and looked at the silk he had gathered. Was he really that badly in the way? Was he really making things so much harder just by existing near the man?

"Well dear..." Wickerbottom's voice sneaked it's way through his thoughts "It seems that both I and Wilson owe you an apology. The communication in this mishap has been poor, and you suffered the consequences. I hope you can forgive me for my lack of inspection."

Maxwell just sighed.

"Higgsbury already apologized to me. Not anything that can be done about it anymore." with those very unhelpful words he stood up and was about to leave, until there was a discomforted huff and a silent mutter, and he turned to see the librarian hoisting herself up, pained scowl in her face. Maxwell only rolled his eyes. He wasn't apparently the only one who the age was catching up to. He sighed with a little bit irritated tone, and turned to held his hand out for her, if for no other reason, then to just make her leave faster.

"Thank you dear. I'm afraid I'm getting a bit old. This weather does tricks to old bones, you know."

Maxwell wanted to bark some nasty comment about her age and how it was in no way his business nor something he cared about, but in the end, he just ended up nodding and watching her dust her knees and skirt.

"Would you like to join us for dinner?"

As if he needed to be there, hearing the people whispering about him and seeing them glaring at his direction and knowing that he was being the obvious unwanted guest there.

"I think I'll pass. I have a lot of things to do" he turned away and muttered. Wickerbottom lingered there beside him for a while, until she nodded and hummed understandingly.

"Well, if you change your mind, you're welcome to join us."

He knew he was anything else than welcome, but he nodded again and walked to check out the chests. If someone came to throw a hissy-fit because he wasn't allowed to, he didn't give a crap at the moment. He was out of nightmare fuel, had been all day, and he needed to have more so he could be at least useful enough to not get kicked out. Maybe if he had had his clones aiding him in the fight with the spiders, he would've saved himself from some very painfully stinging bites. He just hoped the wounds would heal on their own, because he certainly was not fond of the idea of going back to being bed-ridden again because of some minor injuries.

It didn't take for long when another shadow appeared to the vision in the corner of his eye, and Maxwell fought against the long irritated sigh. He turned his face to see this time two persons, neither of them still being Higgsbury, surprisingly enough. Rather his eyes met with the two children of the group. Huh, it seemed that he had suddenly become popular around here.

"May I help you two?" He asked, irking a brow at Webber and Wendy. 

"We are glad you are awake again! We were worried!" Webber exclaimed, grinning widely, sharp teeth in sight. Wendy nodded and took a step closer, rising up her cupped hands which held up the familiar red flower.

"Abigail was afraid you would join her. I am surprised but relieved to see that my luck with losing a family has not been the worst this time around."

Maxwell's face stayed hard and uncaring, but his eyelid twitched.

Wounds will heal to scars, but scars will remain

It's wasn't like he intended to harm his own family, but he had done very little to prevent it. Maybe he had just stopped caring back then, followed the easy path and made the choices without thinking, because thinking hurt. Wendy was way too young to have lost as much as she had, and Maxwell felt the unseen blaming finger pointed at him, the accusing stares that were not real burning his skin. He turned his head away from the kids. Perhaps things might've turned out differently for his niece, if he'd made different choices in life. If he only had been more careful, smarter, better...

It was too late to fix any relationships he might've had in the past now. He had no reason to try to defend himself, or pretend that he had not been the worst possible uncle for the twins. Jack must hate his guts for what he had done.

"Mister Maxwell? Are you okay?" Webber asked cautiously, obviously prepared for the backlash or yelling, hunching between their small shoulders and watching the magician with tense yet still genuinely worried expression. They seemed to grow ever more tense when the answer didn't come immediately, and exchanged a look with Wendy, who shrugged as an answer. Maxwell sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

"I'm quite alright, kid. Is there something you two want?"

Webber started nodding enthusiastically "Yeah! We want you to come eat with us! Ms. Wickerbottom said you didn't want to, but we thought we can still ask. We won't bother you, honest! We promise!"

Maxwell had no idea what he had done to deserve this weirdly clingy attention from Webber, and he almost snapped and told them that he couldn't care less. He just wanted to find some nightmare fuel and go sit in his own lonesomeness and fake-sleep the whole night, until he felt somewhat more rested. He might've slept for days, but it only seemed to have made him more tired and weary than before.

But when he made an eye-contact with his niece, who still just silently waited, holding Abigail's flower close to her chest, he realized that he couldn't find any strength to fight back right now. He didn't want to get ever further on the bad side of the group, and starting to yell at kids with no reason was probably one of the fastest ways to get there. So the man sighed again and rubbed his eyes.

"Fine."

Webber grinned wider than they ever had, if that was even possible, and reached to take Maxwell's hand to take him to the firepit, but stopped and drew their hand back. Maxwell wasn't sure if it was out of fear, politeness or uncertainty, but he made sure to ruffle the kid's furry head a bit as he walked by. He didn't remember if he used to like kids when he was younger, but now he found them quite tiresome and exhausting, annoying even. Still, he could at least try to be nicer to them. It seemed to make Webber quite happy, and the spiderchild chittered under their breath as they and Wendy followed Maxwell back to the presence of the others, who were chatting around the firepit.

Maxwell took the place nearest to the edge and furthest from anyone or anything else, and silently stared at his feet. Although the chit-chat around him didn't halt or quiet much this time around, he could still see it from the corner of his eye, the glances paid to him when he sat down. Perhaps people didn't want to chase him away because it was obvious the kids had wanted him here, but he was quite grateful that he seemed to be mostly ignored.

When Wendy walked to the icebox and returned to him with a plateful of food, he rose his hand up in refusal. He wasn't that hungry anyway, but even if he was, he still wasn't really sure if he was allowed to use the icebox. Most of the food there was not gathered or caught by him, and he really wasn't in the mood of starting a fight over how much he'd deserve to reap what someone else had sown.

Wendy didn't seem offended, but then again, it was hard to tell what she really thought when her way of expressing emotions wasn't that easy to read. She just pulled the plate back and took it back to the icebox, and walked to sit next to Wes who was having a conversation with Wigfrid, or rather just nodding along very curiously while the later one was telling stories of her glorious battles (which Maxwell knew for a fact to be fake).

"Oh, hi. You uh... decided to join us tonight?" Wilson's surprised voice pulled Maxwell's attention away from the rapidly moving arms of the viking, as the younger man sat next to him. Maxwell only rose an eyebrow.

"The spider one asked me. I just didn't want to upset them."

Wilson made very short sound that sounded like a badly held back snort, and the grin rose to his face "That's nice of you."

Maxwell just scoffed denyingly, and turned to look away.

"You know, I was thinking..." Wilson continued, unbothered "Could you help us to build a new portal?"

Maxwell turned to give the other man a questioning look. After that last disaster? Anyone must've been either very stupid or very stubborn to try it again this soon. The magician knew for a fact that Wilson was a bit of a both. The man in question didn't seem even a single bit discouraged, leaning closer and giving Maxwell a large grin.

"I mean, I'm sure we can do it this time if you help. Failure is bound to happen, that was just the first try! And I'm sure the people here would really appreciate it if you gave us a hand."

Maxwell took a fast mental note that Wilson was, probably without even noticing it himself, drawing a line between the group and Maxwell again. He seemed to often talk about 'them' and 'Maxwell' separately. Not that the man thought he was part of them anyway, not that he thought he would ever be, but it made him feel something foul and unpleasant inside his gut. Why should he bend over backwards to show the people here that he was one of them, if he really wasn't? That sounded like a waste of his energy, time and effort.

"You know, because I've also been thinking for ways for you to be useful around here, so you wouldn't need to worry about being thrown out. This would kill two birds with one stone. I mean, I don't know if you worry about it but I do-"

...But then again, Maxwell wasn't really here because of himself, was he? He was here because of Wilson. The man really seemed to be determined to get as much use out of him as he could, probably because he had wasted so much time being unconscious, being taken care of.

"-And you know, since you seem to be the only one here who knows something about that 'dark magic' or call it whatever you will, we kinda need you for that anyway-"

Maxwell lowered his eyes on the ground. At least Wilson found him useful for something. Well, too bad for him, Maxwell was still out of fuel and he couldn't be useful if he had none. Wilson would need to wait a bit longer, if he really needed Maxwell for the portal (that would no doubt  fail again. Maxwell had a strong suspicion that the Queen wouldn't allow them to leave that easily. Replacing their portal with the one of her own which only brought more people in this particular dimension was pretty solid evidence of her wanting to keep them here).

"Are you listening?"

Maxwell flinched and took a while to gather himself up again.

"Of course, pal. That sounds good."

Wilson eyes widened in surprise "Really?"

"Sure." Maxwell sighed. Wilson didn't seem entirely convinced, but he ended up just giving Maxwell a confused little smile.

"Um, yeah... I didn't expect you to agree so effortlessly, uh..."

It wasn't even as if his opinion seemed to matter. Wilson didn't even think he would agree, yet he still had obviously planned this for some time now, with the mindset that Maxwell would help, because as he said, there really wasn't anybody else who could handle the magic part of the portal as well and reliably as he could.

"I think I'm heading to bed, I'm a bit exhausted" the older man excused himself and stood up, but before he was able to go and lay his straw roll next to his own little firepit in the corner of the camp, Wilson suddenly clasped his fingers around his wrist and stopped him.

"Actually, I think it would be better if you slept the night in the infirmary tent with me. You know, so I can keep an eye out on any unexpected after-effects and such."

Did Wilson ever rest? Maxwell took a step away, but the hand around his wrist didn't let go, and the younger man stood up as well "I know you must want some time on your own, I know you don't really care for my help, but just for this one night... It would really ease my mind a bit. I promise, if you tolerate me just for this one night more, then I will leave you alone again."

Did Wilson really think that Maxwell didn't care how he felt? He felt like he had done less and less things for himself, and more for Wilson. Apparently he wasn't doing enough, then. He wasn't trying enough if he still came across so uncaring.

"If that really is that important to you, pal" he let out a snarling sigh and yanked his hand away, and marched to the tent. He was just never doing enough, was he? It wasn't enough to come out of his comfort zone, and try to play nice to the people who hated him, and only kept him around because Wilson had asked them to. It wasn't enough that he tried to stay out of the way. It wasn't enough. It was never enough, nothing he did was ever enough.

Maxwell sat down on the roll and leaned his face down on his hands. So what. So what if it wasn't enough. There wasn't anything else for him to do, there wasn't anywhere else for him to go, there wasn't anyone else he could even hope to be able to count on for protection or help. He had grown so very fond of Wilson, he had softened up and grown needy for his attention, and he needed to get rid of this weight that was crushing his chest, needed to pay back what he owed.

It didn't take for longer than fifteen to twenty minutes for Wilson to come inside the tent with him, and Maxwell just laid down and turned on his side. Wilson could keep an eye on him all he wanted, as long as he could just rest. He just wanted to rest.

The younger man sat down next to him and started to write something on the paper again, just like he had done in the morning when Maxwell had woken up. The magician rose his eyebrow curiously.

"Already making plans for the portal?" he teased. Wilson shook his head.

"No, I'm doing a list of tasks and chores that need to be done. I did that a lot when you were unconscious. It kind of helped me to feel useful. I guess it also helps me to stay awake" he laughed quietly, and tilted his head to give Maxwell a small smile. Maxwell tried not to blush as he turned his own head away.

"You know... I know I already told you, but I really am glad you're awake again. I missed you."

"Well, after I've gotten a bit rest I'm going to be a lot more useful, so don't worry about it." the older man muttered, and Wilson looked a bit uncomfortable again.

"... That's not why I missed you."

"Then why, if I may ask? The last time I checked, you didn't exactly need me around."

"Uh, yeah, I just..." Wilson let his lower lip curve under his teeth as he stared at the paper and furrowed his brows "I just like being around you. We might not always get along, but it still makes me feel better to at least know that I can be near you. Because uh... You know, even if I am a brilliant scientist and my inventions here have been functioning great and I am appreciated for what I do, I still..." the long sigh slithered through his lips with a bit of difficulty.

Suddenly Wilson looked very small and nervous, and Maxwell watched as he started to fiddle with the featherpencil awkwardly.

"I know everyone here still thinks that I am not really that good at what I do." Wilson confessed quietly "And, not that I mind, but I know they think that I must feel bad about myself because unlike them, I don't have any special talents and I- I know I am a bit hasty and shortsighted from time to time, and I have died probably a lot more times than anyone else because of it. And I just know they feel sorry for me."

Maxwell blinked slowly without saying a word. That must've been bothering the younger man quite some time know. He sounded like he really had been burning to get to vent out to someone about this, about how he felt. Wilson turned to give him a wary smile, not without a small blush on his cheeks.

"But when I'm with you, I don't feel like that. You might've been a horrible, terrible person and God knows you are a huge jerk, but you have never felt sorry for me. You have never thought I'm incapable."

"...I have belittled you a bunch of times in the past, Higgsbury. You know that."

"Ah, yeah... That's true. But you were just taunting me, weren't you? You never pitied me."

That was true, Maxwell had never pitied Higgsbury. Even when he had mocked and teased, he had never done so because he though Wilson wasn't good enough.

So, that's why Wilson liked keeping Maxwell around? Not only because Maxwell was indebted, but because Wilson liked feeling better about himself? Because with Maxwell around, he wasn't the one being pitied and felt sorry for?

...Well, Wilson had always liked rubbing it in, how bad Maxwell seemed to be at basic survival, and how far he had fallen from any real power he once had. Perhaps Wilson liked being reminded, that what ever he was, at least he was better than Maxwell, at least Maxwell was below him.

It was true that the older man was weak, lacked skill and experience with survival and mundane chores he hadn't needed to do for a long time. It was true that he had difficulty getting used to new things and understanding the world he had created, now that he had to be part of it. It was true that he wasn't going to survive alone, when he hardly had any knowledge of even how to make himself a decent winter clothes. He was weak, he was frail, he was inexperienced and incapable.

A little though invaded the dark cloud that had started to infest his mind, a little though, that Wilson also liked being around Wes, who arguably was even worse at survival, the only one who was worse than Maxwell, and Wilson still genuinely liked the mime-

The old man quickly shut the thought down, beat it down to where it had dared to come from. It was because Wes was special to Wilson. It was because Wes was, unlike Maxwell, actually someone worth sacrificing time and attention for. It was because Wilson actually liked Wes.

The difference of their piss-poor survival skills and strength was small and unnoticeably insignificant, but that was not the point at all. Wilson wasn't spending time with the mime because he liked feeling better than Wes, he spend time with Wes because he cared about the young man.

Maxwell's case was completely different. Wilson wasn't spending the little time he did with Maxwell because he liked him, no, he spend the bare minimum of his time with Maxwell because he liked feeling better than Maxwell.

Wilson kept writing things down on the paper, occasionally making a small pause and staring at the pen with thoughtful look on his eyes, then continued writing. Maxwell watched him, suddenly feeling like he shouldn't even be here. Wilson was not here to keep an eye on him because he'd care, he was here to vent out his feelings, and because around Maxwell he was able to feel better about himself. Maxwell was amazed that he was still able to feel the horrid little thing inside his chest aching, but somehow it still found the strength to hurt.

"I don't have any nightmare fuel left." He stated tiredly, which made Wilson stop his busy writing, and the man rose his eyes at him.

"Oh. No problem, I can help you get some more tomorrow."

"Could you craft me a nightmare amulet?" Maxwell asked and closed his eyes. He needed the nightmare amulet. If he had it, he'd be able to get the fuel with much less effort, and didn't need to bother people about it so often.

"Uh... I don't know... I think we should spare the gems to something more essential, like life-giving amulets, don't you think? Besides, Willow had already asked me about a firestaff, and Woody needs a chilled amulet for summer..."

It was hilarious how many excuses Wilson could get up with, just to avoid saying out loud that making an item that would help Maxwell's life on daily basis was just a waste of materials. The old man groaned and turned his back to Wilson, and listened the featherpencil scratching lines on the paper. Why did he even ask.

"Never mind."

"Hey, don't get all pouty about it. We can just go to find some nice area far from camp, and then I will eat some green mushrooms and we can slaughter all the shadows that come after my sanity together. How does that sound?"

Like a lot of needless effort, but who was he to make demands around here.

"I suppose I can work with that."

Notes:

Maxwell no that's not what Wilson meant!

Chapter 20: A noose

Summary:

Even the deepest cracks will eventually reach the surface.

WARNINGS: Suicidal thoughts, Heavy references to depression

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It wasn't very difficult to make Wilson lose his mind. It was easier than one would've guessed. It was almost hilarious how little Maxwell would ever have to do to push the scientist over the edge, to make him paranoid and unsure, hearing voices and seeing things and attracting more and more shadows as his sanity slowly slipped away.

Ghosts, the darkness, monsters, evil flowers and  pouring rains... Wilson was so easy to break. He prided himself for his strong mind, for being able to use the power of science stored in there, yet he only needed one small push, and went spiraling down in the depths of insanity. Oh, how weak willed the men could be. Yet still... Still, no matter how many times his mind broke, it never fell apart. How curious it was, that even after everything, Wilson managed to keep all the shattered pieces strongly together.

Maxwell had often wondered about that on the throne, every time Wilson took a step closer to him, every time Wilson got closer to what would eventually become his disappointing victory in this game. Wilson was so broken, yet still together. It was strange, fascinating. Maybe it was why Maxwell often felt so weak compared to him.

Maxwell was not so affected by the monster or nightmares, not the darkness or bad weather. His mind didn't waver and wilt from the panic and terror, not the uncertainty or paranoia. His head was, more or less, always sharp and clear. That's why he felt so defective when he watched Wilson. Why didn't it break? What was wrong with his head, so much so that all the terrible things around him didn't even affect him? Had he grown to be so evil, that he just couldn't be bothered to get upset over the things that normal people would?

Wilson's head was kept together with ropes and string and glue, but it was still together despite everything. It was admirable. How far one man could fall, and still get back up to continue.

Maxwell never fell, but he feared than when he would, he couldn't get back up anymore. And he had started to feel his legs trembling ever so slightly, and he knew his path back up from where he had sunken was full of obstacles, and the people who accompanied him were all looking for the opportunity to push him down.

He knew that when he would fall, when he would break, he wouldn't know how to keep himself together, wouldn't know how to pull together the pieces that fell apart.

"I am feeling very bad" The man he had been thinking about whined next to him, and Maxwell lowered his eyes at him. Wilson was holding his arms nervously, eyes darting here and there in alarm. It was what, only the second mushroom, and Wilson was already slipping away? Poor guy, Maxwell truly felt bad for him, despite his lack of understanding.

All this useless thinking filled with over-dramatic metaphors was getting him nowhere in the end. He could've just made a quick note that his mind didn't feel as strong and steady as it used to be, and he wanted to know how Wilson dealt with that. But he couldn't ask, not after he had caused so much harm to him, so much harm that no doubt was part of the reasons the scientist had his mind cracked and pierced, and still, still somehow together.

"Hate to say it Higgsbury, but I see no shadow creatures yet."
 
"You don't?" Wilson's voice was trembling slightly and he swallowed nervously. Maxwell was sure Wilson was already seeing things, but still sane enough to prevent the physical manifestation of the shadows. It would take so very terrible mental state for them to attack him, worse to attack others than the one they were drawn to. As long as Wilson had enough sense to eat the cooked shrooms when the situation got bad enough, they were not in any terrible danger - well, Maxwell wasn't. Wilson was another story, but if the situation came to that, Maxwell was prepared to force-feed him the cooked green caps if he needed to.

Just when Wilson dug another mushroom out of his pocket to weaken his already weak mind, Maxwell spotted the large, transparent, round creature wavering in the field of his vision.

"No need for that, there's one." he said and pushed Wilson's hand down, and the relief in younger man's face was evident. They both took out their weapons and approached the crawling horror that lived true to it's name, as it horrifyingly crawled closer.

Maxwell wasn't really scared of the shadows. He had been on the throne long enough, that it would be a miracle if he still wasn't used to them. But he was still very aware that the creatures were dangerous, so he avoided them as long as he possibly could. Being so insane that the shadows actually appeared wasn't very pleasurable either, but at least it was Wilson's head that was slipping to unstable paths. As long as the other man was able to fight and protect him when needed, he wasn't going to complain.

Killing one shadow together was no problem. The problem was when there were multiple shadows starting to gather, and Maxwell noticed to his own horror that Wilson was, as he had feared, a bit too far gone to realize which terrors were the product of his own mind and which were real. The scientist hit the thin, empty air a bit too many times to be just a missed attempt of an attack.

"Higgsbury!" Maxwell called to the man "Eat the green cap!"

Wilson nodded in panic and dug his hand in the pocket of his pants and pulled out a green mushroom.

"No, not- The cooked one, you imbecile!" How on earth was this the man who had won the game? How? Why?

Maxwell didn't have time to stop and scold Wilson further, because he got busy defending himself against the shadows, trying to kill as many as he could. If he would manage to kill even one or two of them, then he could gather the fuel and summon a couple of clones to aid him, and the battle would go much smoother, in case Wilson's state of mind got even worse.

He glanced over to the scientist, and saw that there was already a few dark puddles on the ground around the man, who kept wielding his weapon to every direction wildly. Maxwell dived down and snatched a handful, and burrowed his hand inside his suit to open Codex and cast duelist to help him - except that when he grasped his fingers to the place where the book usually was, his hand found nothing.

Maxwell paused. He tried again. Nothing. The puddle dropped on the ground as the man kept seeking Codex, but it wasn't anywhere inside his jacket, not inside his vest, he knew it wasn't in the backpack. The panic kept rising and the magician had completely forgotten that he was in the middle of a battle. The only thing he could think was that he had lost Codex Umbra, and he didn't know when or where, and the cold feeling or terror took over him.

"Maxwell, duck!"

Out of some instinct, that Maxwell didn't realize he had developed here, he dropped down on his knees as Wilson slashed his tentacle spike through a terrorbeak, and another, couple of crawling horrors, even more terrorbeaks...

Apparently the younger man had found the cooked green caps, because the creatures that weren't already attacking them started to waver away, turning more and more transparent and eventually blinking out of existence altogether.

Maxwell sat on his knees, eyes moving from one nightmare fuel puddle to another, shell-shocked and mind running in one desperate circle of thoughts. He didn't have Codex, he didn't know why, he didn't have Codex, he didn't know why, he didn't have Codex, he didn't know why-

The hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his head, as Wilson leaned down, giving him a slightly worried frown.

"Hey, what happened? You just stopped fighting all of the sudden?"

Maxwell blinked at him and opened his mouth, staring at his eyes for a moment before speaking "I don't know where Codex is."

"Is that all?" Wilson seemed relieved, which made Maxwell instantly irritated. This was not a small thing, didn't Wilson even understand how much Maxwell needed that book? Didn't he get how useless and helpless he was without it? Wilson just kept smiling at him.

"It's back in the camp, Maxwell. In the infirmary tent, inside a chest." Wilson's voice was very calm. It made Maxwell even more irritated.

"Why is it there? I don't remember placing it anywhere." he snarled.

"We decided to put it away until you woke up, we thought-"

"Well I am awake, aren't I? So why isn't it in my person yet?"

Wilson furrowed his brows, and took a small step back.

"We agreed to give it back to you if you asked for it, and to be fair, you haven't even noticed it was gone, before just now."

Maxwell scowled and started gathering the fuel, turning away from the younger man. Why did Wilson think, that they had the right to decide to take or give him something, that was rightfully his? He could somehow understand the resources and items that were shared mutually, but Codex was his and his only, and they had no right to touch it without his given permission.

Was that really how little they trusted him? Was it really warranted to take his only real way of protecting himself away, just because they had suddenly decided that he shouldn't have it? Had he really been so untrustworthy that they needed to restrict him by taking away Codex, without even informing him about it?

"Maxwell, we didn't mean to steal it. We were always going to give it back as soon as you wanted..."

"It wasn't yours to take. Not even when I wasn't using it."

"... You really don't need to be so hostile about it, we were only trying to-"

Maxwell cut his words short as he turned to face Wilson and backed the younger man against the tree, glaring at him furiously.

"I don't care about your sad excuses! You cannot just go and take things from other people when they aren't aware! Did you really think I wouldn't notice, that I would just let you keep it!?"

Wilson had tensed up and his fist was grasping the handle of his weapon tightly, yet he kept the eye-contact with Maxwell, face in his usual stern scowl. Maxwell bared his teeth and seethed with rage.

"When were you going to inform me about it, huh? Were you just going to wait when I'm in trouble to let me find out that I can't summon any shadows, because I have no Codex?! I could die without it, is that what you were waiting for?!" Maxwell's voice had rose up, threatening and growling, and he could almost feel the discomfort in the short man. Still, Wilson didn't look away or try to stop him from yelling.

"Maxwell, we took it because we were worried..."

That only made the magician slam his hand against the tree trunk, black claws sinking in the bark, and this time Wilson flinched and rose the tentacle spike between them. Maxwell only snarled at him.

"That's not an excuse."

"I agree. But it's the reason. And really, did you actually think we would just steal it? I don't know about you, but I for one am not the kind of a person who would just take someone else's property without asking!"

"You did take it-!"

"No, I didn't! It was not kept away from you at any point! It was always somewhere where you could access it, and all you really needed to do was ask! Maybe the group isn't warming up to you, because you are not giving them a chance to even start believing that you're worth of the second chance because you keep treating everyone like an enemy! And if you're really going to keep doing that, when you're the only one at fault here, then maybe I should rethink about my vouch for you!"

Despite glaring at him under his brows and grasping the weapon in his hands tight, Wilson wasn't attempting to push Maxwell away or move away himself, so the older man scoffed and pried his claws away from the bark, turning around.

"Whatever."

"Yeah, whatever, that's how much you care about anything. You're welcome for the nightmare fuel, by the way."

Maxwell didn't even dignify that with an answer. He just listened Wilson huff and mutter something under his breath, as the man stomped away in anger. Maxwell felt just as angry. There was this big swirling tangled mess in his stomach, lines and lines of anger and disappointment and sadness and he didn't even know where all of those things had came from.

Wilson was being unfair. Maxwell gritted his teeth. He hated that he deserved to be treated unfairly. He couldn't even complain, he couldn't even protest. If he did, they would surely chase him away to fend himself alone, outcast him and make him their enemy for real, and then he'd have no chances to survive an encounter with any of them. He might have his shadows, but the group was bigger and stronger in every way. He wasn't going to win that fight. And that was only if they settled for just banishing him. For all he knew, they might see him as a threat and just kill him off when he gave them a smallest reason to suspect his motives.

The man walked back to the camp, deep in his own thoughts. He felt defenseless without Codex, so he wanted it back as soon as humanly possible. He was physically relieved to find out, that Wilson had spoken truth, and the tome was inside the chest in the infirmary tent. The second he saw it, he snatched it in his arms and huddled it close to himself desperately, curling his arms around it like a long-lost friend.

It was really his only way to protect himself and survive, it was really his only chance of staying alive, but there was something else, too. It was all he had here. All he had for a vague resemblance of a friend. All he could trust. All he could really turn to when in need.

Maxwell knew that Codex was just as deceptive and cruel as Them, he knew there was nothing loving or kind in it's whispers of promises and compliments. Still, it was all he had. To not have it with him, to not know where it was at all times, it frightened him. He was very aware that not only was the world against him, the creatures and plants and occurring events just here to end his life, but so were his campmates. All of them. He couldn't survive without Codex, and even the knowledge that he had already almost gotten hurt because he didn't have it with him made chills crawl up his spine.

The magician exited the tent and looked around. The few people that were in the camp weren't paying much attention to him. Perhaps they didn't even see him returning, seeing as the tent wasn't exactly in the middle of the camp, and people usually had better things to do than keep an eye on everyone who walked past their vision. So Maxwell left, heading back to the forest. He could still gather more fuel, and if he was honest with himself, he kind of wanted to make up with Wilson. Not apologize to him, since how Maxwell saw it, he had done nothing wrong, but he didn't want to fight with the scientist.

The tall man slowed down when he heard quiet words coming from close by, a clear conversational tone in them. He was sure he heard Wilson's voice, annoyed and fractious. It wasn't uncommon at all that the man was speaking to himself, often muttering things under his breath. It was even more common to hear him growl silent curses in anger instead of escalating the fights, so Maxwell wasn't surprised to hear his snappy voice when he walked closer.

Until he heard that there was another voice, answering the man.

"-Jeez, what's his problem?"

It was Willow. Maxwell stopped dead on his tracks.

"Wish I knew. Believe me, I've tried figuring it out for ages..."

Maxwell crept closer and knelt down behind a boulder. He knew they were talking about him, and he quietly sneered. As if he was going to even attempt to make up with Wilson after this.

"I know he is Maxwell and like, evil demon and a total asshole, but does he realize that he's literally not in any position to throw a fit for being treated 'unfairly'?" Willow's voice was very annoyed. Wilson sighed, sounding as annoyed as her.

"I don't know what's wrong with him. Really, sometimes he acts as if he is sorry and tries to be a better person, but it's very rarely and very shortly, and I'm starting to think he hasn't changed at all and he's just angry because he can't push me around now that there's actual back up for me."

"Yeah, I'd like to see him try. Boy would that go well."

"I'm just so tired." Wilson groaned, weighting the word much more than needed.

"So, why don't you just let it go then? You know you don't have to bend over backwards for him. You never have. I don't get why you bother."

Wilson sighed in very exasperated way.

"I don't even know... I always think that 'hey, maybe this was the last time' or, 'It was probably for a good reason", but no, he never gives me a reason of any kind. He just keeps acting rude and treating everyone like trash, and I actually used to think he could learn to be part of the group, but I'm just so tired of his behavior. I'm tired of trying to see something good in him when he's making it so hard, I wish he wouldn't be so difficult all the time. He just feels like, like... Like a noose around my neck!"

Willow and Wilson kept complaining about Maxwell, but the man had stopped listening.

A noose around his neck.

Was that really what Wilson thought of him, how Wilson really saw him? An object of torture, slowly choking him to death, suffocating his very life out of him? Strangling with no remorse, threatening, trapping. Attached to him like a leach, only tightening and never getting any better, never easing up, never letting him breathe unless... unless cut away completely, unless gotten rid of entirely.

A noose around his neck.

Maxwell turned around and sat his back against the boulder, still aware of the conversation going on behind him, but not hearing the half of it. Whatever it had been that was somehow keeping him sane, whatever had kept his mind together for all those years, finally cracked like a glass smashed with a hammer.

Why did he think Wilson cared?

Wasn't it obvious. He had still kept hoping, kept holding on to some small thought, some false belief, that he might still mean something to someone. That there might've still been at least one person who looked at him and saw something. That despite everything he had done, there was an ounce of hope to be forgiven.

No. There wasn't. There had never been. He had never been anything else that a problem, a obstacle in the way, an illness to get rid off.  Nobody wanted him. Nobody needed him. Nobody cared what he did or where he was. He was only as valuable to them as he was useful.

... Well then. If paying back his debt was truly all he was good for, then he might as well just give up on trying on being anything else. Knowing that there was nothing to wait for, nothing to fight for, nothing to conquer or gain, it made this all seem so worthless. He was really that worthless.

And that was what he was seen as.

There was nothing he could do to make things better, he was not able to change anything. He could only ever make things worse, for himself and others. So why not just submit to his fate, and have at least some purpose in life? Why not just accept what he was here for and why. It didn't do any good to fight it. He was so tired of fighting it.

Suddenly everything that had been building up inside him crumbled down, and what was left was just an empty space, dust hovering over the ruins of what had once stood tall. 

Maxwell quietly got up, but when he meant to walk away, he couldn't move. It felt like he was nailed to the ground. He couldn't stop returning to the only thing left in his mind, that Wilson didn't care, had never cared, that he was just a noose around his neck. He was here only to be useful. He was here only to be looked down on. He was here only to get punished for what he had done.

What he wasn't here for, was to be part of the group. He wasn't here to learn to be better. He wasn't here to fight towards some sort of goal, he wasn't here to escape the Constant with them. If they somehow found a way out, they wouldn't allow him to use it, not if he hadn't done everything withing his power to be useful to them. If even then. And he couldn't blame anyone for it. He would've done the same, if he had been in their shoes.

Maxwell pressed his hand on the book inside his jacket. All he had. All he would ever have.

The only thing he had was the book of shadows, that didn't care nor love him in any way, and would not weep for him should he destroy himself. But it was all he had.

After a while the man felt that he could move his legs again, and walked away. Wilson and Willow had left a good while ago, but it didn't really matter to Maxwell. He just walked to the rocky lands and mined the gold and nitre the whole day. He didn't think much of anything, just that he had to mine, and when he had done that, his shadow puppets helped him to carry the minerals back to the camp, where he put them in the chest and headed to his own campfire, sitting there until the evening turned into the night.

Wigfrid commented his laziness, clear of her dislike for him just sitting there doing nothing. Maxwell didn't have any strength to retort back, not even glare at her, not even frown. He just sat there until it turned dark, and he threw a couple of sticks to the fire and kept staring into the flames emotionlessly. At some point, when the quiet chit-chat was heard from the bigger firepit, he rose his gaze and watched them.

That was really all he was allowed to do, wasn't it? Watch. Just like on the throne. He could only watch from afar, follow the lives of these people and keep an eye on them, making small remarks and notes in his head, alone.

Unlike back then, he now felt a cold, gnawing feeling lurking inside. Perhaps he had, besides his temper and distance, wanted to be part of them. That had been very childish, he saw that now. Why would they welcome him? Why would he ever get to be part of the group, part of the family?

They all liked each other, despite fighting or arguing, despite that some got along better than others, they still cared for each other. There was strong bond between them. There was respect and understanding. There was unity.

Maxwell could never belong there. He could never be part of that, whatever it was. All he could do, all he was allowed to have, all he deserved, was to just watch. Watch something he'd never have. And then, accept that he deserved all of this, deserved to be shut out and pushed aside, deserved to come last and be looked down on. That was his part to play. That was his place. That's where he belonged.

At some very late hour Wilson came to ask him if he had already activated the meat effigy they had built, and Maxwell just nodded, not bothering to engage the conversation. He didn't care that he hadn't done that yet. What did it matter. As soon as someone else was in danger, they would just hand it away, because it was never a waste to have an extra, just in case. It's not like Maxwell's life was worth an effort anyway.

Wilson didn't stay and talk with him, noticing he wasn't in the mood for company. It was okay. Maxwell just wanted to sit here and let everything really sink in, let himself really understand, really accept where his place was. When he had internalized everything, he would start doing what he was meant to do from the very start, and be of some use for once in his life.

Notes:

You've done did it now, Wilson..

Chapter 21: Experiment

Summary:

Wilson find out that something is wrong with Maxwell.

Chapter Text

It took Wilson a while to notice that something was a bit off in the camp. The mood had lifted, people didn't seem to be on edge as much as they had been, and fights didn't occur as often as they used to.

On top of that, there seemed to be a lot of resources in the chests now, no need to go picking reeds or chopping trees, gathering grass or mining rocks. There seemed to be plenty to go around. Not to even mention that there never seemed to be a fight over food or tools, there was always enough for everyone.

And so, he could happily go about his day for a few weeks, concentrated on building stuff and inventing new things for the camp, running experiments and being as happy as a kid in a candy store. There didn't seem to be any need pulling him away from his playground of science, and he expected that if there was, people would inform him about it.

Things had been going well, and Wilson hadn't even noticed when it had started, and he hadn't stopped to think why things suddenly seemed to go smoothly for them for a change, he just enjoyed it while it lasted, he didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Until he one day walked past Willow, Webber and Wolfgang, crouching behind a fence and obviously trying to remain unseen. He immediately grew suspicious and curious, and walked closer.

"Hey, what's going o-"

"Sssshhhh!" Willow hissed like a cat and yanked him down, making the young man grunt when he fell on his knees.

"What the heck Willow?" he asked, irked, scowling at the young woman. Willow looked at him curiously.

"Stay down. Watch." She instructed and turned to face back at where the other two were peeking behind the wall, and Wilson confusedly followed her lead. There didn't seem to be anything weird going on, just Woodie and Maxwell having a fairly calm-looking conversation.

"Wow, people." Wilson stated sarcastically, and Willow elbowed him on the ribs, making the man 'oof' and give her an irritated glare, but the woman glared back.

"Just watch."

Wilson continued watching the scene that didn't seem any type of abnormal to him. Woodie said something. Maxwell answered. Then Woodie said something else, and Maxwell nodded, and the same continued for a while until the Canadian slapped the magician's back and the tall man left who knows where doing who knows what, and Woodie headed back to their way.

"...Yyyyeah... I still don't get why that was worth of watching."

"Tiny science man has not noticed anything strange about Maxwell lately?" 

Wilson blinked in confusion "I haven't even seen him around that much, really. He's been looking really busy every time I've seen him, so I haven't had even a chance to chat."

"Yeah, exactly! He has been acting super weird lately, and we are having an experiment on it. You should join us... It's actually a bit worrisome, and you know I don't worry for nothing." Willow explained.

Wilson absolutely knew that Willow didn't worry for nothing. Most of the time she didn't seem to know what worry even was. It annoyed Wilson, but also made him a bit jealous. Life would sure be easier, if he would be able to worry as little as Willow did.

... But nonetheless, it really was very worrisome if Willow was worried about Maxwell.

The scientist immediately found interest in the situation.

"What do you mean?"

Willow opened her mouth to answer, but paused and turned her attention to Woodie, when the man walked to their little group, and everyone's eyes went on him immediately.

"Well, ain't gonna lie. Didn't think it would be so... easy." he stated, scratching his neck and frowning deeply. Wilson frowned as well. What the hell?

"Frail man not angry?" Wolfgang cocked his head.

"Nope. Didn't even scowl. It kinda creeped me out how easy it was. Lucy, too." The woodsman told them, awkwardly starting to scratch his neck now. He seemed a bit worried as well, and Willow huffed out a surprised 'huh' and Wolfgang looked down on his feet, just like Webber.

"We should ask mister Maxwell if he's tired. We don't want to overwork him!" Webber said after a small silence.

"Overwork? Can someone please explain to me what the heck are you four talking about?" Wilson groaned, pouting. He didn't like the looks of this, not one bit.

"Well, it started when I was feeling a bit lazy and happened to walk by Maxwell one day- oh come on, don't give me that look. As if you never slack off." Willow started, and then snapped at Wilson, who in turn blushed and looked away.

"I'm not... It's called taking a break. Besides, my mind is always working!"

"Yeah yeah, we know. Brilliant scientist and all that jazz. Do you want to know or not?"

Wilson snapped his mouth shut and nodded enthusiastically "Yes. Please go on."

Willow nodded back.

"So, I wasn't really feeling up to gathering beefalo shit, because one; it's shit and it's disgusting, and two; it's shit and it's disgusting... Plus I'm not even allowed to burn it. But I was going to pick it, and Maxwell just happened to be there gathering grass, and I just thought 'You know what? He's already here, so he can as well pick up the shit because it would be really funny to watch him be all 'ewww my shoooes' like a damn princess and-"

"Willow!"

"Yeah yeah. So, I just kind of asked if he happened to have anything to do after gathering the grass, and I kind of expected him start making excuses, but he just said no, and I took the opportunity and told him that he can fill the buckets up then, and he just kinda... looked at me and said okay."

Wilson stared at her for a second.

"That doesn't really sound like Maxwell."

"I know right! Suuuper weird."

"So... What happened after that? Did he do it for you?" Wilson tapped his finger on his chin. Maybe Maxwell just didn't want to start a fight, it was always possible. It wasn't like him to not make a ruckus and complain loudly about everything, but maybe he was trying really hard to change his ways.

"Yeah. I just kinda forgot all about it during the day, until Maxwell returned back with the full buckets and he even had bunch of grass in his backpack. Then he just kinda put them away and left again." Willow bit her lip and frowned "I was expecting that he would maybe yell at me that he did what I asked and I should be grateful or something, but he didn't even seem to care about that. It was weird."

"You sure he wasn't just feeling ill or something?" Wilson asked as he looked down. So, Maxwell had an off day. Maybe he had just been feeling under the weather, that might explain it.

"I thought about that too, but there's more." Willow's frown grew. The subject seemed to make even her a bit uncomfortable, and it wasn't easy to make Willow uncomfortable.

"Mister Maxwell has been very nice to us now, but he seems very tired. He isn't as fun as he used to be, and we're worried." Webber chirred sadly, tugging Wilson's shirt to get his attention. The man crouched down and patted Webber's back.

"Maybe he just tries very hard to be kinder to you? Could that be it?"

To his confusion, Webber only pouted and shook their head, many eyes blinking at him "But mister Maxwell doesn't seem to try anything. He looks like people do after someone plays the panflute. We don't want to sound mean, but he looks bad."

"Wolfgang told frail man he is mighty scared of shadow men! Shadow men never around Wolfgang anymore." The strongman continued. Wilson frowned.

"...How long have you guys been doing this?"

"Around a couple of weeks." Willow shrugged "we're doing detective work to find out what's going on."

"And why in the name of science haven't you just asked?" Wilson didn't see a point to this foolery. It was mostly time-wasting if nothing else. Willow only rose an eyebrow at him.

"Uh, have you ever tried asking Maxwell something? It's not like he usually gives any sort of actual answers or tries to make sense. But for your information, I actually did ask him."

Wilson paused "You did?"

"Yeah. I asked if he's feeling well and if there is a reason why he isn't acting like he really wants a trophy for being the biggest asshole in the universe, but guess what? Of course he didn't tell me! He just said that I don't have to worry about it."

"Okay... Okayokayokay..." Wilson thrust his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to gather his thoughts "Tell me everything. from start to finish."

It was kind of a ride to hear it. Apparently, Willow had told Maxwell to do her chores the next day after she had realized that something was off. Then Willow told about it to Woodie, who wanted some proof and asked Maxwell to do stuff for him too, and after that Webber had realized something wasn't right and Willow and Woodie had taken them in for their little experiment, and Wolfgang happened to just catch them making a list of ideas of what they could try to make Maxwell do for them, and they all had continued testing how far they could push their luck and how much they were able to make Maxwell do for them.

Wilson was absolutely shocked.

"He hasn't said no even once? Or complained about anything at all? Have you made sure he isn't doing anything dangerous, that he isn't being reckless?"

"Well..." Willow bit her lip as smiled sheepishly.

"You know..." Wilson scowled and crossed his arms, looking at the four of them sternly "The more I hear about this, the more it's starting to sound like bullying."

"Oh come on, you know it's not. Don't try to be all goody-two-shoes here, like you haven't ever experimented on someone else just for the hell of it with some lousy excuse." Willow rolled her eyes "If you're so worried, why don't you see it for yourself? Go ahead, ask him for anything, I guarantee you, he isn't going to say no."

Wilson sighed, irritated. Just because Maxwell was being nice and helping out, it didn't mean there was something wrong with him. So, he didn't complain about every single little thing? That didn't make it a bad thing, that itself wasn't anything to warrant this kind of idiocy. Although, he had to admit, he was kind of worried that Willow was worried. So, maybe just in case, he'd take a look himself. 

"Fine. I'll do it. For science, not to humor you guys."

"Oh trust me, the humor has nothing to do with this."

---

It turned out that Wilson had to wait quite a long time to even get to see Maxwell. The magician returned to the camp late at night, walking straight to Woodie and handing him a backpack full of whatever the man had asked for. Wilson sat on the side and eyed them, and as soon as Woodie awkwardly walked away, Wilson sprinted to Maxwell.

"Maxwell! Hey, there you are! I've been looking for you!" God damnit he was so bad at pretending he was acting natural. The other man stopped when he spoke, but didn't turn to look at him.

"...Um, haven't seen you around that much. How are you doing?" Just act casual Wilson, don't be a creep.

"Do you want something?" Wilson expected the irritated, annoyed or even outright enraged tone, but instead Maxwell's voice was colorless, empty of any audible emotion. Even though Wilson had not really thought that anything serious was going on, he immediately got worried.

"Um, yeahhh, I..." he glanced around, trying to come up with something quickly. He had the whole day to look up a reason to talk to Maxwell and, like oftentimes, he did absolutely everything else than the actual thing he was supposed to do.

"The portal, yeah, the blueprints! Would you care to take a look at them? I really would like your help, the last time your assistance was very useful, so maybe you could give me a hand with that again? If you have time, I mean. Not like we have nothing but time here anyway, right?" Wilson tried to joke around a bit, ease his own mind and get Maxwell to answer something Maxwell-like, but the man only turned to give him a look over his shoulder, until he sighed almost inaudibly.

"Sure."

Wilson couldn't stress enough how much the lack any kind of tease or arrogance or even pride in the man's voice unnerved him. He tried to assure himself, that maybe Maxwell was just trying to act a bit better, but hadn't quite gotten used to it yet, and that's why it seemed a bit weird. He decided not to panic yet, despite the need to panic howling inside his chest, as he walked with the taller man to the table where the papers laid scattered all around. Maxwell took some of them in his hands, slowly eyed them without a word, and then, after a while, placed them back on the table.

"They look great."

Wilson blinked, frankly very surprised to hear that in such a toneless voice.

"...Really? I thought that maybe there could be something to improve on or extend or correct...?" despite leaving room for Maxwell to reply, the man didn't offer him any kind of continuation for the conversation. Wilson almost missed to even hear a sarcastic remark for his hard work. That could've been at least some response.

"...Oh. Well, uh, okay. Good." He barely had let the words leave his mouth, when Maxwell had already turned around and started heading away from him.

"Wait!"

The man stopped, once again, not turning around to look at him. Wilson was quiet for a second. It was true that technically Maxwell did what he asked, and it could've been a proof enough, but it wasn't really anything that Maxwell would normally be opposed to. Wilson needed to ask him something else, something that would be a bit more difficult to pretend to be okay with, something that Maxwell would normally absolutely refuse to do...

"I want you to apologize to Wes for being so mean to him. And, and I want you to actually mean it and do it properly, not just grit your teeth and spat it out." That was sure to pull some kind of reaction out of the older man. Maxwell had brought his distaste towards the mime up quite often enough, so the depth of it hadn't stayed uncertain to anyone.

"Okay." The complete lack of even smallest bit of resistance in that voice was starting to creep Wilson out big time. Without knowing what else to do, he followed the magician to Wes's tent, and stood on the side when the old man cracked the opening aside and peeked inside.

"Wes?"

Silence.

"I have something to tell you. May I enter?"

More silence. Wilson had learned to listen different sounds, and there stillness in the silence told him that Wes was, probably, frozen in place from either surprise or fear.

"...Higgsbury is right outside the tent, if that helps."

"Yeah, I'm here" Wilson called, just in case. Apparently it did help, since there was sound of movement, and Maxwell turned to give Wilson a glance, before he slipped inside.

There was a bit more silence, before Maxwell spoke up, very quietly.

"I haven't been nice to you. Quite the opposite, I have been mean and cruel, and I know you don't deserve to be treated like that. You're a good person. You're better than I'll ever be. I won't ask you to forgive me, but I apologize for my ill temper and terrible behavior. I know my word isn't worth much, but there's nothing else I can offer you. I'm sorry."

Silence again.

"You don't have to accept it. I just came to tell you."

It was a bit more than Wilson had expected, really. It was much more than he had expected, and he couldn't help but feel like it had actually been genuine apology, rather than just a half-assed attempt to ease things up because he had demanded so.

Suddenly a tent was opened again, and Maxwell walked out, giving Wilson another, way too fast glance, and started heading away. Wilson stood there, confused, cold and unsure.

Willow was right. Something was wrong with Maxwell.

Chapter 22: Use

Summary:

Maxwell tries to be part of the group without being in the way.

WARNINGS: Suicidal behavior, Suicidal thoughts

Chapter Text

It was not that Maxwell didn't know they were playing some kind of game with him. Oh, he knew, he could see them from the corner of his eye, heard them whispering and watching him and planning their little plans. He knew. He just didn't really care. Why would he care? It wasn't within his rights to complain. They could make up stuff for him to do, and he would do it alongside the other work he needed to do. Everyone would win, everyone would be satisfied. It was all fine.

Maxwell was aware that Wickerbottom had been keeping a very close eye on him as well. She knew when something was up, and she had right to be concerned and suspicious of his sudden change of behavior. That's why Maxwell had told her he wanted to just make up for the trouble he had caused, and in turn asked her to just let him do what he did, as long as he wasn't causing any harm. The librarian had seemed very uncertain, but eventually agreed.

Well, Maxwell had done his best not to cause any trouble. At daytime he avoided being in the camp at all, made sure he wasn't in the way, and instead worked elsewhere, gathering resources and whatnot, and at nighttime he would quickly come by to bring back what he had gathered and left again, after a quick update with the old Librarian. Wickerbottom had seemed very glad for the outcome so far.

Maxwell let a small huff, that somewhat resembled something like a laughter might've been, out of his mouth.

Webber had been a bit more difficult to deal with, the magician had to admit. The kid was too kind-hearted for their own good, and it took him a while to learn how to stay away without upsetting them in some way. That would've been the complete opposite of his intent.

Webber was so bubbly and gleeful, and Maxwell knew he would only suck that positivity out of the child by just being himself, because being around him was like inhaling toxic air, and the outcome was the same. It was not a good thing for him to get close to someone as innocent and good as Webber. But avoiding the kid wouldn't be much better, it would be like a slap in the face for the already abandoned, lost kid, if Maxwell just suddenly started to act like he didn't care at all. 

He had decided that the best course of action was to just go with whatever Webber was planning. If Webber wanted something, he'd just do his best to make sure they got what they wanted. It was hard at first, but eventually Webber started to seek his company less and less, and Maxwell couldn't wait for the day when they would stop trying to befriend him altogether.

Wigfrid was going to be difficult, but for entirely different reason. There was very little he could do to please her, beside just trying to stay out of the way. He tried his best not to appear in the same places as the actress.

Woodie seemed mostly just uncomfortable around him, so he avoided the Canadian too, in hopes that it was what the man wanted.

Maxwell sat on a rock, fixing some winter-gear that had gotten a bit shabby and worn out. He remembered someone telling him once, that he had good hands for things like sewing or sculpting. Long thin fingers were apparently better for delicate small tinkering.

Despite the cursed needle poking his palm a few more times than felt dignifying, he thought he was doing a fairly good work. At least the clothes started to look like clothes again, and his stitching was very neat and almost invisible. He hoped it would last, too. Looking pretty had nothing to do with practicality, after all.

He packed the clothes to his back to carry them back to the camp. He could make a few thermal stones next. Willow needed a lot of protection from the winter finds, and the more she had, the better. Maxwell shivered when the autumn breeze hit his back.

The firestarter had been a bit odd since the magician had started to finally get his act together, and Maxwell didn't really know what to do with that. But as long as she was not displeased, he supposed it was fine. She didn't need to understand, she just needed to benefit from this somehow.

Wolfgang was asking Maxwell to do a lot of things now too. The strongman was friendly, he always was, and Maxwell felt a bit bad about it. Wolfgang didn't need to pretend to like him, he didn't even need to be polite. But Maxwell couldn't complain. He had decided that whatever they made him do, however they treated him, he would not complain, would not say anything against it, whether they treated him kindly or cruelly.

Maxwell returned to the camp, sure that he wouldn't run to many people, if he just quickly brought back the clothes and then left to make thermal stones. He hoped he wouldn't run to anyone. Sometimes it felt like his mere presence was enough to cause trouble and bad mood, and well, better safe than sorry. As long as he wasn't in anyone's way, as long as he didn't stay too long in anyone's sight, he could keep them happier.

Everyone seemed so much happier without him. It didn't surprise him. He was Maxwell, after all, they all ought to hate him, otherwise they'd be fools.

Maxwell didn't really think anything when he dropped off the fixed up winter clothes and left again. He could've taken some flint and rocks out of the chests, but he decided it would be best to leave them there in case someone needed them to something else. There was limited amount of them after all, and he shouldn't waste anything that was not his. So he headed into the caves, where there was much larger amount of rocks to be picked and mined.

He felt more home in the dark, gloomy, lonely environment of the caves anyway. It reminded him of the throne room, and even if majority of his memories were bitter and terrible, they were something he was used to. It was something he knew, something he was accustomed to. He felt the strange kinship with the darkness. The lack of life, the isolation and darkness of the throne room was something that came to his mind often inside the caves, when he ventured there. The only real difference he now felt, was the very real awareness of his own mortality, which came with the lack of protection from the throne, and the wonderful lack of gramophone music playing an endless loop to drive him crazy. 

Sometimes he could swear he still heard it, when he was lost in thought and the silence felt like infinite void around him. In those times he would startle and try to chase  away the memories, as his heartbeat increased in his ears and breathing was getting difficult, all the while when there was a faint sound of Ragtime echoing from somewhere.

That was one good thing about being around people. It was easier to avoid those memories and feelings, it was easier to start drowning in comfort of normal, secure voices and sights. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to interact with people and live with them, and perhaps he wanted to relearn how to, but he shut that feeling down before it had time to take proper form in his mind. He wasn't allowed to even think about being part of something. He shouldn't forget what he had done, he shouldn't forget who he was, what he was. He shouldn't try to act as if he was better, he shouldn't deceive anyone by pretending he wasn't a terrible, horrible person who only ever caused misery and pain.

If it meant that he had to sometimes get the sudden rush of fear from somewhere inside of himself, if it meant that he had to press his claws on his arm to check that the pain was still there, that he was in fact really off the throne, then he just had to bear it. It could've been much worse. He deserved much worse. He had no right to complain about something that he had initially caused himself anyway.

At least he was allowed to watch the others from afar. At least he was allowed to listen to them. He'd probably go insane if he had to be all by himself, without even a glimpse of another human being.

But that was exactly what he had forced the other people here to go through. He couldn't imagine how terrible it had been, what deep wounds it might've left in them forever. And they still came through, they still survived without losing their humanity.

Maxwell knew that he had it easier, his problems were nothing compared to theirs. He shouldn't feel even a bit of pity towards himself, it wasn't earned, it wasn't allowed. The group was being far more merciful than he'd ever deserve, and he knew it. He knew they had no reason to treat him better than the scum of the earth, yet they did, for some reason that he couldn't grasp his head on. Despise their clear disgust and hatred, they still treated him with some amount of decency.

All he could do was try to show his gratitude to them by accepting his guilt and remaining in his place. If he could, he'd send them all home, or turned back the time and never kidnap them here at all, but he couldn't. So he did what he could to make their life easier now, to keep them from harm and let them have a break for once. If he had to work trice as hard to make it happen, if he would gain only the basic sense of safety of being protected if something happened, he wouldn't voice any complaints.

After spending the day gathering some resources in addition of mining the rocks, Maxwell walked into the small summer camp near the cave entrance. He sat down and started making thermal stones.

It made him feel a bit better about himself, to do something that would in no way be seen as bad or mean. It wasn't really easy for him to just stop being like that, he had fought his way to the better life and as a consequence, he acted like he was better because he lived better, and old habits died hard. Maybe he had been very defensive and tended to react very offensively when he felt pressured and threatened, and people didn't exactly expect him to start being any different... So it wouldn't surprise him if everything he did was seen as shady and suspicious. He only hoped that the others would take his efforts as they were, and if they didn't, well... he just had to accept that he was never going to be trusted again.

He was never going to be anything else than what he'd always been to them. The enemy, the antagonist in their story, the villain planning to ruining their lives, the irredeemable bad guy. 

Maxwell had already accepted it. Maybe he had briefly thought that he could be something else, that he could change if he really wanted to, that he could be allowed to be something more than this, in some weak, delusional moment, but he had fixed that issue now. He knew better now. He had decided to back down and just let things be how they were meant to be.

So he sat there in the darkness and silence, an occasional bunnyman coming to inspect him before leaving again, and only when he started to grow uncomfortably hungry, he packed up his backpack and headed back to the surface.

It was already a very late evening, the sun barely providing light anymore, when Maxwell returned near the camp. He saw that there were several people gathered there, and decided that it was too early to go back yet. He saw several faces there that he knew wouldn't be smiling if they caught a glimpse of him. Wigfrid and Wes for one, and of course, Wilson was there too.

Maxwell sighed and headed away to find some berries to eat. Wilson was by far the biggest issue for him. He had tried to avoid the man as much as he could, but even accidentally seeing him for the short moment was enough to send a bang of guilt and self-hatred in his heart that, against all the odds, was still beating.

Maxwell tried not to be around Wilson anymore. He knew Wilson didn't want him to be anywhere near him. Wilson wasn't acting displeased with him, not more than usual, and Maxwell knew Wilson genuinely tried his best to include him and be nice, but that only made it worse.

He knew it was an act. Wilson was far better man than he'd ever hope to be, and he was acting out of some form of pity, because he thought that Maxwell was pathetic, and good people needed to take care of those who were incapable of doing it themselves. But Maxwell knew that it was just a surface act to keep him in line. He knew what Wilson really thought about him, and he knew it was anything but nice.

He felt the great deal of shame for ever thinking that Wilson could have cared about him in any way. He had been childish. How did he manage to convince himself that it would ever be possible? For all he knew, from the moment the man had first showed him pity, it had been just that. Pity, plain and simple.

And that pity was at it's minimal. It had nothing to do with empathy or forgiveness, not affection or respect or care or friendship, let alone anything else. Wilson had made that very clear in multiple occasions in multiple ways, and it wasn't his fault that it had taken Maxwell this long to finally get the message.

He just wanted Wilson to be happy, he wanted Wilson to feel better, to feel safe and loved and secure. To catch a break, to be able to drop his worries for a while. Wilson deserved it, he'd deserve so much more than Maxwell could ever give him. He tried his best to avoid Wilson, to give him at least what little he could.

He got it now, he got the message. He wouldn't try to intrude anymore. He tried not to be a burden, he tried not to be in the way, he tried not to be a dead-weight. He didn't want to be a noose around Wilson's neck. He didn't want to be Maxwell. He didn't want to. He really didn't.

After finding a berry bush and eating them without bothering to even cook them, Maxwell realized it had gotten pretty dark. He waited a while longer, let the darkness fall further, before lighting up a lantern and heading back to the camp.

There weren't that many people up anymore, so Maxwell walked straight to the chests and dropped the thermal stones inside. There should've been enough for everyone, but just in case, he had made a couple more. Then he turned around, and walked to the icebox, placing the rest of the berries inside and giving fast, longing glance to all of the food in there. He knew he could survive on berries, at least until the winter would stop the growth, so he shut the icebox and headed away. He wasn't taking a possible meal away from anyone else. He could survive on berries just fine.

The magician sighed quietly, heading to where Wickerbottom was cleaning dishes from the meal. Maxwell had sometimes washed them too, even though he didn't use them, not lately at least - he never ate in the camp.

"Evening, miss."

"Oh, good night, dear. Nice seeing you around."

Lies.

"I've fixed winter clothes and made thermal stones. I was wondering if there perhaps was something you need help with."

It wasn't as difficult to speak to Wickerbottom as it was to others, for some reason. Probably because she treated everyone the same way. Regardless of the age or gender, everyone was nothing but clumsy little children in her eyes. She didn't mean anything by it, it was just the way she was.

She had never really tried to be nice to Maxwell, but she hadn't been mean, either. She just made sure that Maxwell knew where his place was and what was expected from him, just like she did with everyone else, and it made interacting with her so much easier.

"Hmm... Why won't you take a seat." Her voice was very calm and without a hint of blame. Maxwell frowned slightly, wondering if she wanted to talk about something specific. Very reluctantly he sat down, not daring to talk back to her.

Wickerbottom took her sweet time putting all the empty bowls away and cleaned her hands to the cloth, before sitting down next to the old man, a sigh heaving out of her mouth.

"You've been quite helpful lately."

It was an obvious statement, not in need for an answer. Maxwell didn't know if it was sincere, or if she was condescending him.

"It's great that you want to be of use."

Of course it was, it was literally the only reason why he was not being cast out to fend himself and struggle to stay alive.

"I wonder what's changed your heart?"

What changed his heart? What heart? He had just finally come to terms with who he was and what was his worth here.

The old librarian turned her head, not commenting on his lack of answers. For a while Maxwell only felt her steel stare on his skin. He felt like he had messed up, but he didn't know what he did, he wasn't sure if he had unknowingly crossed some unspoken line, broken some rule he wasn't aware of. Perhaps she thought, that his occasional reports were because he was seeking attention and wished some kind of praise for doing things? Maxwell faltered slightly on his seat. That wasn't his intention, he hadn't thought it would come out that way.

But of course it would. Of course they'd thought he only ever did anything because he wanted to be thanked and worshiped for the bare minimum he did. That's what they all thought of him, he should've expected it.

"I only came to tell you, in case you have something you want me to do." he said in quiet voice. He wanted to clear things up, even if he knew he shouldn't complain. They were right about him. Wickerbottom only hummed lightly, in that I-know-what-you're-thinking-and-I-know-that-you-know-way she did, and very briefly brushed her hand over the back of his hand.

"You might want to take a little time to rest, too. Running yourself in the verge of exhaustion won't do any good to anyone in the long run."

As if anything he did was going to do any good, anyway. He was only preventing himself from doing something terrible, it wouldn't magically make the things he did good. Maxwell hung his head, trying very hard not to frown deeper than he already was.

"I should go. I have a lot of things to do." he quickly decided, and stood up. If the librarian had nothing she wanted to make him do, then he'd better find something else to put his time into, before someone would catch him being lazy.

"Yet you came here to ask, if I would have a task in mind for you."

It was almost annoying how she didn't just plain accuse him, but just let him know that she wasn't happy with him. He really tried his best, he didn't know how he had managed to disappoint her this time. Sure, she told him to rest, but she didn't really mean it, did she? No, she just laid out an easy path for him, and sat down to inspect if he'd go back to his old ways if given a chance.

He stood silently there for a while, contemplating if he actually should take the bait and allow her to express her disappointment, so when he'd try to better himself again, she would at least have a reason to call him out if he started to slip. He knew she was waiting for him to slip and make a mistake, she was waiting for a chance to rip into him. Perhaps he'd let that happen, but if the point of exhaustion was going to come up anyway, he would save it for that.

Meanwhile, he shouldn't let himself stray from his path. He had done enough harm already.

He gave Wickerbottom one last glance, making sure he wasn't needed by her, and then walked away. He might as well go and make a use of himself. There was still a lot of time left for him to work. A lot, lot of time.

Chapter 23: The new survivor

Summary:

A familiar face appears in the Constant to stir the pot even more.

WARNINGS: Violence, Suicidal behavior, Heavy references to depression, suicidal thoughts

Chapter Text

It was an early morning, when Maxwell returned back to camp. He knew that if he was on the move early enough, he'd not have to run to many other survivors, and he'd cause a lot less stress by keeping his distance. It had worked well so far.

But when the man approached the camp, he found out that a big group had gathered around, a chatter rising among them. That was odd, even if there were early birds among them, and those who were awake on odd hours, it was rare to see everyone awake so early together. It usually meant that something noteworthy had happened. Cautiously Maxwell walked a bit closer. He wasn't very keen on the idea of getting closer, but he had to know if something was up.

Before he could get even close enough to be noticed, he saw what all the ruckus was about: There was an unknown person, standing in the middle of the hustle and bustle, answering to the questions and asking  bunch of her own. It was a woman, with a short hair wrapped away from her face by a red scarf on her forehead. She was well-built, and looked rather confident, even in middle of confusion.

What interested Maxwell the most however, was the fact that he had no idea who she was. He didn't remember bringing her here, he didn't remember ever seeing her in his life. But there was something rather familiar in her, something that reminded him of someone else. Was it her chin, her eyes, her cheeks? Her nose, her body-built? Maxwell couldn't get it in his head, just what was it that was so familiar. He was certain he had never seen the woman before, but he just knew there was something in her that was familiar to him.

Then the woman turned her head, locked eyes with him, and her face fell, color draining from her skin. Maxwell paused. Either she knew him from somewhere, or the others had told her about him, because something changed in her expression as soon as she became aware of his presence.

It happened rather fast. Before anyone had even a second of time to react, she had risen up her hand to point at Maxwell.

"You!"

The next thing he knew was that she had sprinted to him, clenched up her fist, and given a hard right hook on his face. He fell down, and the woman immediately stumbled to sit on him, punching him with all of her strength - which Maxwell realized was quite a lot.

"Where is my sister, what have you done with her!? You motherfucker, I'll kick your teeth in if you've harmed even a single hair on her head-"

Maxwell had curled up on the ground, trying to shelter himself from the furious punches aimed at him. Even if he had no doubt he had deserved this sudden burst of violence, he couldn't help but rose his arms over his head to at least save some part of his weakened body from the vicious attacker's anger.

"Miss! Stop at once!" Wilson's startled voice invaded his ears, and he felt the man trying to tug the woman away, but from the feel of it, Wilson was rather effortlessly pushed away.

Then, all of the sudden, the weight over him lightened and the punches stopped. He didn't dare to move, trembling on the ground, waiting the attack to continue.

"What the-" The unfamiliar voice - the new survivor - gasped in fear and awe. Maxwell dared to crack one of his eyes open to see what had caused her to back away, and there was an unusually big beat of his heart against his chest, when he saw the red and white striped socks and similarly colored shoes in front of him.

"This is my sister Abigail" Wendy's shrill voice answered coldly, colder than usual "Our bond overcomes the meaningless obstacles of death. She is rather protective of me, and I am not happy with how you've hurt my uncle."

"I... What..." the woman's voice was wavering in bewilderment and shock, the anger draining out as she was staring at the glowing red ghost hovering in front of Wendy, who in turn was standing between Maxwell and the newcomer.

"I understand your anger, I too have felt that in the past. But if you ever attempt to hurt my family again, I won't hold Abigail back." there was a surprising amount of threat in her usually so colorless voice. It only made the guilt in Maxwell grow stronger. After all he had taken, after all he had destroyed, she was still willing to call him her family? He was terrible, how could he betray his own blood and flesh like he had, he didn't deserve the mercy she showed him now.

"Now, why won't we all calm down and take a deep breath?" Wickerbottom pitched in with a stern, motherly voice "I won't blame you for your...hmm, temper with him, but Maxwell is one of us, and we don't harm our own. Why won't you come to sit here, and I'll make you a cup of tea while we chat."

Maxwell wrenched himself off the ground with the help of Wilson and Woodie, and rose his gaze to watch as the woman very confusedly and uncertainly walked in Wickerbottom's footsteps away from him. Maxwell winched in pain and turned his head away. Sister, huh? She couldn't be, he didn't want to believe she was...

"Come inside the tent, I'll take a look at your injuries-" Wilson started, and Maxwell immediately shook his head and pried himself away from the two other men's helping hands.

"No, I... I better leave for a while."

"Your nose is bleeding, you old hoser! This ain't the time to be proud." Woodie scolded him, but Maxwell just kept shaking his head.

"She is clearly upset with me. I'd like to avoid making another scene like that, and the best way to calm things down is to not force her to see my face for a little while, don't you think?"

Woodie scoffed and Wilson let out a sigh. Maxwell didn't wait for them to make demands or objections as he limped away, feeling a great amount of pain in his ribs and stomach, as well as in his aching face. He had really gotten quite a beating in that short time the woman had attacked him. Well, if what he thought was true, if she looked familiar to him because she was Charlie's sister, then he would've deserved much, much worse. He almost felt sorry that Wendy had to intervene.

But why was she here? He sure as hell hadn't brought her in the Constant, he was sure he would remember if he had. Could she had ended up here by accident?

Maxwell stopped dead on his tracks.

...Could Charlie have brought her here? Why would she do that, she was better, she knew better! He didn't want to believe she'd do that. unless she was really that far gone, in which case Maxwell was the only one to blame for her actions. She wouldn't have ever hurt anyone, if he hadn't ruined her life and let Them turn her into a monster. And now her sister was here, and Maxwell didn't know what to think of that.

He decided to let her have a day of peace, perhaps even two. The longer she got to get in terms with her new situation, the better. When the worst shock was out of the way, perhaps he'd even be able to give her some answers, if he had any she wanted to hear.

The old man's mouth turned into a silent snarl. He didn't feel all that good. He would've wanted to sit down, better yet, lay down, but it was too dangerous outside of the camp, for longer than a short while. Besides, he had no time to be a slug. If he was able to stand, he was able to be useful.

What had they needed again? He couldn't remember if the camp was lacking something essential. Perhaps he could play it safe and gather something that was always needed, like silk or logs or something like that. He really couldn't keep his thoughts together, not for long. His head hurt. Well, everything hurt, but the pulsing hot pain in his forehead felt almost unbearable.

Maxwell decided to ignore it as much as he could, and do something worthwhile while the others were getting to know the newcomer.

---

Wilson cleaned his hands from the dirt and let out a heavy sigh. Maxwell was slipping away from him every time he tried to catch the man, and the one time he would've had a chance, something major happens that takes away the attention.

Wilson had grown immeasurably worried. Whatever had happened, it must've been something very bad. Maxwell didn't even seem like the same person anymore, at least not in those rare short moments when Wilson actually managed to catch the man, usually by accident. He would've wanted to do something about the situation, but it was hard to even start when Maxwell was like a ghost, always present in some way, but never seen or heard, and when he was, it was like a blink of an eye, and the man was gone again.

The scientist groaned and rubbed his forehead in frustration. Now Maxwell was going to be gone for lord knows how long, since Winona - as she had introduced herself as - had been fairly upset for seeing him. Apparently she had tried to reach out to her sister, Maxwell's former assistant, and had ended up in Constant. She didn't seem as upset about that as Wilson would've expected, but instead seemed rather okay with her situation. She had said that if Charlie was here, she must find her.

Wilson wasn't sure what to say, so he had told her that Maxwell probably knew the best about that particular thing... and since the man had gone somewhere, she needed to wait a while. Winona took the news pretty well, and immediately started to fix things in the camp and work on machines. Wilson happily let her. He was used to the manual labor by now, but if he didn't have to do that, he'd gladly let her take the work out of his hands. Work smart not hard, that's what he liked to think. 

Most of the others had taken Winona in quite well without much hesitation, all except for Wendy and Abigail. Wes seemed a bit skittish around her as well, but it would pass when he saw that she wasn't (hopefully) a violent person by nature.

Wilson Sighed deep,  starting to make lunch. It was going to rain today, and it might even last through the night, so he held some hope that in order to escape the freezing cold rain, he might be able to trap Maxwell in some of the tents with him so he could dig to the root of the problem, what ever it was.

Because there clearly was a problem that was making Maxwell behave so strange, and Wilson couldn't let it be, not if there was a possibility to help instead. If Maxwell only could stay within his reach for more than two seconds, it'd be much easier to start unraveling the big tangled mess that was Maxwell.

Wilson had a feeling that Maxwell had been heading the right way at some point. He had been trying to be better, he had been acting better, he had seemed genuinely remorseful and sorry for everything, and then, without any real reason, other than having a whole lot of more people than Wilson to deal with now, he started acting like an ass again. And now, suddenly, somehow he had changed his mind again, and made a complete turnaround.

And yes, maybe Maxwell was technically acting better now, maybe he seemed like he felt sorry and regretted his past and that he actually tried to make up for his mistakes, but what ever had happened to change his mind, it had been something big. Sure Maxwell was, in theory, doing a lot of good now and being nice and not picking a fight over everything, but he didn't seem well. He didn't seem well at all, he seemed very much the opposite of well. He seemed like he had lost his spirit, like he had just given up.

Wilson couldn't help but feel like it was his fault. He had been a bit harsh on Maxwell lately, he had been a bit distant, and maybe he had unknowingly driven Maxwell away from him. Maybe Maxwell had needed help with something, maybe he had been feeling a little left out, and Wilson didn't notice soon enough, so now the old man thought that it would be better to stay away.

Or perhaps Maxwell was keeping some terrible secret? He was away from the camp a lot, and he hardly seemed to be around any of the other survivors anymore. Maybe he was doing something when he was away, and it drained all the energy off him and left him too tired and uninterested to care about fighting.

Wilson didn't know what was up with this behavior, but he knew it wasn't healthy and it wasn't who Maxwell was, and he needed to know what was going on, because he felt very concerned about this.

So he decided to wait until Maxwell came back, and he wasn't going to go to sleep until the man returned, and then he would force Maxwell to stay long enough to have a proper conversation with him, and he wasn't going to back down.

---

Maxwell sluggishly turned his head up to glance at the sky. It was starting to rain. The clouds were dark and heavy, the air chilly from the upcoming storm. The man hung his head, directing his eyes back to the piles of logs on his feet. He watched them with displeased expression, that only his one shadow clone was there to witness. It was not enough log, not nearly enough for the whole camp. And they had a new survivor with them now, someone who might've been even more hurt than anyone else here by Maxwell's past actions. He shouldn't go back yet, he shouldn't bother her. He'd rather let her have some time to get used to the Constant, and the people who now lived here, and...

... And he was just a little bit of afraid that she was going to attack him again, so better safe than sorry.

He had all the eternity to be sorry for everything. As much as he just wanted to be given what he deserved, being punished somehow, someway, anyway they saw befitting, he just couldn't help that he wasn't very keen on getting punched and kicked like an animal. The pain scared him, being roughed up with violence scared him. It was only natural. As much as he wanted to ignore the primitive instinct of running away from things that scared him, he couldn't pretend to be braver than he truly was. He wasn't brave, he wasn't brave at all.

He was a coward, had always ran from the trouble with the tail between his legs like a mutt afraid of the stick. He supposed he had never quite had that certain type of courage within himself, it had been more of Jack's thing if anything. No wonder, that despite being taller than most of the people he met, those people tended to look down on him. What a pathetic picture he must've been, quivering, stuttering, nervous wreck who ran as soon as his problems caught up to him.

Maxwell guessed he had it coming. He should've kept running when he still could, when he still was able to escape.  

Well, now there was nowhere for him to run. He was stuck in the cage he had created himself, surrounded by the people he had wronged, and they all knew that among the survivors in this terrible world, he was the weak one. And the weak had to either be of use, or be weeded out so they wouldn't bring the others down with them. The only exception was if the weak was beloved among the strong, if he was adored enough to gain some solid ground to stand on.

The bitter laugh snickered out of his mouth, as the man brought his hand over his face when the small, cold droplets started falling down on him. That exception wasn't going to apply for him, not in a millennia. He supposed he had never been very likeable person, he supposed he had always been just simply kind of wrong in some way. Good enough for fun, good enough for games, but there was nothing in him that could ever be truly, sincerely loved by someone else. Not even liked. And at this point, not even tolerated. Now he was hardly good enough for even laughs, even being ridiculed or yelled at, even being paid attention to.

Maxwell swept his gloved fingers through his thin, dark hair and sighed, listening as his clone kept obediently chopping down trees, uncaring to the world around it.

The magician wondered what it was, that was so badly wrong with him? Why hadn't he ever been good enough to be loved? Was he really just that disgusting? Now it was obvious, now he was aware that he was old and ugly and ruined, his personality left a lot to be desired and he had done terrible things that could never be forgiven.

But surely there had been something else, when he was younger? The must've been other reason for people to find him so unfulfilling and undesirable, so wrong in every way that he wasn't good enough for anyone. Did he even want to know the reasons? Did the reasons even matter in the end? It wasn't like he was able to fix them, not in any meaningful way, anyway. He was beyond any kind of fixing or helping, maybe he had always been.

Maxwell bit his lip and slowly hunched down on the ground, wrapping his arms around himself. It felt so stupid now, that he had ever even thought that Wilson might've been able to love him in some way. If he had been so wrong and unlovable before, what did that make him now? The whole thought left a foul taste in his mouth.

He had always been destined to play this kind of role, hadn't he? Some people were just meant to be alone. Meant to be unwhole, meant to be the work in progress that would never be finished. There was a large, dark hole inside him, something that had been there for decades, and would only remain, would grow and drain him until the end of time.

Because he was just so wrong. So despicable, so terrible. So unable to be loved, unable to love in a normal way. He was toxic, he was tarnished, he was defective. Disgusting. He could go on and on. Maybe he could even ask Wilson to make a list of all the words that described him the best. That way he would always remember who he really was, he would always have a reminder of how the world saw him and how right they all were about him. Perhaps he had always seen himself like that as well, he just had blocked it from his thoughts, forced the feelings and knowledge away, out of sight, out of mind.

It was pointless now, to try to somehow keep himself together when he was inevitably falling apart, and there was no one who was going to see, no one who was going to care. He was living for nothing. He had nothing to work towards, he had nothing to wait for, nothing to live for. He had nothing. He was nothing.

... Except for all those things that made him so completely, deeply and thoroughly unlovable, of course.

Gritting his teeth together, feeling somehow even better in all of this misery that was his entire life, the tall man hoisted himself up from the ground and picked an axe from his backpack.

Since he couldn't feel good about anything, maybe feeling so terrible, feeling empty and void and hollow would somehow fill him up. Filling the emptiness with emptiness, washing the tears away with tears. He had to keep holding onto something to keep his useless old corpse moving, and perhaps finding some satisfaction in his anguish would give him some strength to keep going on.

It made him feel bad, in a good way. When he saw someone turning away from him, when they ignored his pain, when they would inflict violence and hurtful words upon him, it felt kind of right. And feeling so right made it feel good, in a way where the happiness and agony twisted together to some kind of new feeling, a better feeling.

It was better, to be hated than loved. It was better to detach himself from anything that might matter, rather than getting pushed away by someone that mattered. It was better to find gratification in his distress, than pointlessly try to seek comfort from fortune and happiness that was far beyond his reach.

Yes, he was terribly, horribly unlovable and hated, feared and despised, truly a pitiful person, and that's where the world had decided that he needed to find his home, and there was no fighting it. He had tried, oh so many times, to belong somewhere, with someone, but he now saw how pointless it had always been.

It wasn't his part in this world to be someplace warm and secure, it wasn't his part to feel a tender, sweet touch of someone who cared for him, it was not his part to hear someone whispering sweet nothings in his ear in the death of night. He could never find such happiness, no matter how long and far he would search.

But the pain, the fear, the misery and bitterness and all the other terrible feelings that he could spend days naming, they had always been around, hadn't they? They had always been what he was able to achieve, always where he could find himself, always so comfortingly familiar.

And now he saw why. It was his.

It had always been his, the terrible suffering and incurable sorrow, it was part of him like the salt was part of the ocean. It belonged to him. Just like he belonged to it.

And those thoughts kept his rotten, withered heart beating warm, and his freezing, soaking wet fingers tightly curling on the handle of his axe, when he decided to find out how many trees he could chop down before spawning a treeguard tonight.

Chapter 24: Winning

Summary:

Wilson gets to have a good, important conversation.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Wilson tapped his fingers on his knees, periodically stopping to let out a heavy sigh. Wickerbottom had sat beside him for couple of hours, and after the sigh number 105, she slammed the book on her lap shut and calmly crossed her fingers over it, giving the young man a curious look.

"Is something happening to bother you, dear?"

Wilson looked a bit unsure what to answer, until he sighed again, a much lighter and shorter breath this time, and looked at her sheepishly.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Yes. You happen to be very bad at hiding your feelings."

Wilson scratched the back of his neck and stretched it, groaning quietly.

"It's just... I'm very tired after the day. Having Winona here now and all..."

Wickerbottom rose an eyebrow at him, adjusting her glasses "Why not go to sleep, then? It's quite late, and I am planning to stay awake and do some notes, so there's no need for you to keep watch."

Wilson rubbed his neck and gave her a look. He really was tired and he for one wasn't particularly enjoying of sitting in the pouring rain, in a rainhat and a bit worn out raincoat, but he had made up his mind already. He'd be damned if he let himself slip because he wanted to be a bit more comfy. Part of him wanted to leave, to go after Maxwell, but he had no idea where the man had went, and he was afraid he would miss him altogether if he dared to leave somewhere for even a second.

"I'm actually waiting for Maxwell." he explained "He hadn't returned yet and, well, I need to talk to him."

"Do you wish me to deliver a message? If he comes by I'll gladly notify him that you wish to talk."

Wilson shook his head.

"No, I'd rather wait for him myself. I don't know if I'm just imagining things, but I feel like he's been avoiding me." The scientist carefully glanced at the librarian. He wanted to hear her opinion, some justification for his paranoia. Maxwell was avoiding him and he knew it, he just really wanted some proof that someone else had noticed it as well.

Wickerbottom was quiet for a while, stroking her hand through the cover of the book gently, eyebrows drawn into a thoughtful frown.

"Not just you, dear... But I would say that he has been very conveniently coming by just after you've left, and leaving when you return."

"A-HA! So I'm right!"

"Is this about you being right?" Wickerbottom gave him a raised eyebrow, and Wilson clapped his mouth shut, blushing very lightly.

"N-no, it's not... I'm just relieved that I wasn't imagining things-" now that he said it out loud, it actually didn't feel very relieving at all. Why did he think he would be glad that he was right about Maxwell avoiding him? That's not what he wanted. Sure, it always stroke his ego pretty nicely when he was proven right, but about things like this, he'd rather find out he was wrong.

Wilson bowed his head.

"He has been acting weird."

"It is rather strange, but wouldn't you say it's a good thing that he has turned a new page? He hasn't fought with anyone and hardly takes anything from the camp for himself. He has been helpful, and there's always plenty of supplies and resources available. He's been busy making sure that we got what we need here." the old woman said calmly, leaning down to toss a log into the flames. Wilson just watched her.

"I... I suppose so..." he stated, a bit confused.

"What a sweet boy, isn't he? Very thoughtful of him to pay more mind to our needs nowadays. He seems very eager to keep the peace and stay out of trouble, and for what it's worth, I think it's quite working." She paused to fix her hair-bun a bit, and then adjusted the umbrella to shelter the book in her lap better.

"Isn't it better this way, dear? You vouched for him, and now he's finally proving that you were right about letting him stay. I know that it must feel odd not to see him around even though he's one of us, but think about it this way: You won't need to spend your time keeping him out of trouble and playing a peacemaker, if he's not around to cause any problems. We don't need to struggle so hard to survive when he's working so well to make sure we have everything available. Don't you agree, that this is almost the perfect situation? We can have all the benefits of having him in the group, without having to suffer of him being around and being in the way."

Wilson jumped up and clenched his fist.

"How on earth can you think like that?" he gasped, horrified "Don't you see that something is wrong with him?"

Wickerbottom  gave him a glance under her brows "And how is that our problem?"

"He deserves to be treated equally, if he's part of the group!" Wilson raised his voice, feeling the heat rising to his face "I can't believe you are willing to use him like that without giving even a thought to his well-being! Maxwell is avoiding me - avoiding us - for a reason, and he is clearly not doing well! Even if he's just trying to make up for being an asshole before, this isn't how anyone should treat him! I'm not gonna stand by and do nothing while something is happening, and I'm not gonna let you guys mistreat him like this! If you're not gonna do anything to help him, then I have gravely misjudged your sense of justice!"

Wilson heard his loud, fast breaths running out of his mouth, panting, realizing he had started to shout in anger - but how could he let this stand? He couldn't, he couldn't let these people gang against a weak, troubled, very defenseless man.

For his utter confusion, Wickerbottom smiled widely at him, feeding another log to the flames.

"I'm glad to hear you feel that way. I have been a bit concerned of you, Wilson, sweetheart. When you pleaded us to give Maxwell a chance, you seemed very sure of yourself, but you haven't seemed very interested of how he's been doing afterwards."

Wilson opened his mouth to continue his yelling, but only an empty wheeze came out of his throat, as he stopped to process the information.

Wickerbottom saw this quiet pause as a chance to explain more.

"You probably want to say that you have been concerned of how he's getting along with us, and I don't mean to chastise you too hard since I know you haven't meant any harm. I'm sure you just got excited that you got to see your friends again, and I know a change of company does good to people sometimes." She paused, and her calm, warm look turned a bit colder "But after you asked us to take Maxwell in, I couldn't help but notice that you immediately left him behind to figure things out on his own. For someone who was so determined to have him with us, you sure were fast to forget about him."

"I... I..." Wilson opened and closed his mouth, the growing need to defend his actions starting to take a hold of him, trying to make himself feel better, it's not his fault, it's not- "I'm not his babysitter, I'm not responsible fo-"

"Of course you aren't. But I'm sure you're his friend, aren't you? You sounded very sure of it a minute ago."

"I... I am! I am his friend!" Wilson realized his voice had hitched in panic, while the heat rushed all the way to his ears. Wickerbottom only hummed in agreement and nodded.

"Good. I wasn't always sure about it. You didn't seem too concerned about how he was going to get by, and although you clearly care about him and I can see that he means a lot to you... you were his sole defender. Yet instead of standing by him and helping him to start over with us, you seemed rather impatient to get to have any other company than him. I'm very sorry for upsetting you earlier, dear, I do not really feel that way. But I wish you would've put as much heart into helping him deal with us, as you put into defending him to me just now."

Wilson deflated and practically fell back down, hunching to sit on the log and staring at the ground. He had realized that he hadn't been a very good friend, but... he hadn't realized he had been that terrible. No wonder Maxwell was avoiding him. He hadn't been there for Maxwell when the man had needed his support, and now Maxwell was trying to figure things out without any help, because Wilson had made him feel like he should. He had sent a clear message that Maxwell's problems were not his concern, and Maxwell had backed down, accepted that Wilson wasn't there for him, and decided to deal with his problems however he could manage, alone.

"I... I never meant to... I thought he didn't need it, he, he always seemed so angry when I tried to offer help..." Wilson heard his own voice mumbling out, barely audible over the rain and the rattling fire. Wickerbottom moved from her seat and sat next to him, bringing a calming hand to his shoulder. Wilson rose his eyes at her, not able to hide the lost and regretful look from her piercing eyes.

"There there, dear, you don't have to take this so hard on yourself. You aren't supposed to carry his burdens for him, but it doesn't mean you can just leave him to carry them all alone. I never dared to assume anything of your relationship, but am I wrong to think that you two were getting along rather well before we met?"

Wilson sniffed and nodded.

"It started as a truce, but we grew closer. Maxwell was opening up to me, he was nicer and it felt like he realized that he doesn't get anywhere by being difficult. He seemed genuinely grateful for everything I did for him and he was sorry for what he had done. Yeah, sometimes he had bad days, and I think that sometimes he just forgets that he doesn't have to act like he's better that everyone, but he started to drop his defenses around me, and I actually got to see that there was a human underneath all that messy Shadow King act."

Somehow getting all of this out of his mind, speaking the thoughts out loud, it was making his chest feel a bit lighter, helping to clear out the picture. He had whined and complained about Maxwell before, but he hadn't really talked about him to anyone.

"So, he was only acting up in self-defense?"

"I don't know, I don't know what happened... I think that because he was so kind and easy to be around before, I got really frustrated when he stopped being like that. He started to act like he used to be at the start, and I... I was so frustrated about it, I just wanted to have a nice time, but he was acting like I was his enemy again!" Wilson shook his head. He knew that it might've been partly some defense-mechanism, but Maxwell's anger was so random and unpredictable that it was hard to guess where it rooted from. Sometimes it felt like Wilson could do anything he can to anger Maxwell and the man didn't even care, and sometimes Maxwell snapped from the smallest little irritant, even if it was accidental.

"Wilson?"

"Huh?"

"What do you want from Maxwell?" Wickerbottom asked, gently rubbing the young man's shoulder. Wilson looked down on his hands, furrowing his brows in thought.

What did he want from Maxwell? He knew he was looking for something, he just... he wasn't sure what. Maybe he wanted to be close again. Maybe he wanted to talk, really talk about everything between them. If nothing else, then at least he wanted to apologize, he wanted to let Maxwell know that this time he was not to blame. Wilson was, he was a bad friend, but he wanted to fix it. He wanted Maxwell to be... He wanted something. It was like a little burning feeling in his chest that was always nagging at him, telling him to go get it, find it, take it, and he got angry for not understanding what it was saying, what he was looking for, but he knew he wanted to have it either way. It was confusing. Confusing was frustrating. Frustrating made him angry.

"I think..." He started, carefully "I think I want to be closer than we are now. I want him to talk to me. I want to know what he thinks and what he feels, and I want to tell him that I'm worried and I want to help him. I want to be close with him, I want him to want to be close, too. That's, that's why I'm waiting for him." Wilson gave a side-glance to Wickerbottom, and when the woman had no judge in her expression, he continued "If I can somehow make him speak with me about whatever it is that's going on with him, then maybe I can fix this. Maybe we can speak about what happened to us. I know that he knows how close we were, and I want to know what he thinks about it, I want to know if he wants to get that close with me again."

"Well, I truly hope you two can settle out these problems that have been pulling you apart. Both of you can be as stubborn as mules and neither of you wants to admit defeat, and it's rather sad to see how it has only made the wall between you grow higher."

"Do you think I should just, uh... let him win?"

"Oh, dear no, that's not a solution. There's no winning in life. What I mean is that sometimes the pride can be both your best and your worst quality, and sometimes setting it aside isn't a sign of weakness. Both of you have this peculiar need to prove that you're more than meets the eye, and you have the tendency of getting angry when you feel weak, but in the meanwhile you often forget that beating someone in the thing that isn't a competition doesn't make you a winner, it just makes you a person who pushes someone else down for now reason."

Wilson looked at his hands, fiddling his fingers nervously.

"Ms. Wickerbottom... Am I a bad person?" He felt like a bad person.

The delicate, bony arm curled over his shoulders, and a hand pressed his head against the old librarian's chest. Wilson didn't fight it, accepting the embrace and let himself be held gently, as the thin, long fingers gently brushed through his neck.

"No, dear, you are not a bad person. You are bright, sensitive and very ambitious boy, and there's nothing wrong with pursuing your greatness to it's fullest. The only thing I'm saying is that you don't have to make it a competition. You are appreciated as you are." Wickerbottom explained and lightly patted his shoulder "Maxwell is very similar. He doesn't seem to understand that everything isn't about being either better or worse than the others. It looks like it affects his view of himself quite a deal. You don't have to, as you said 'let him win' in anything, but instead, try to make him understand that he can be valued and appreciated for who he is, as well as you."

Wilson nodded. He felt very guilty for everything, and he knew that he definitely should feel that way. He knew that both he and Maxwell were like that. Maybe that's why they fought so much, they didn't want to be better than each other, they just wanted not be worse. It was a difficult thing to want to be equal to someone.

Wilson knew that Maxwell had... issues. He knew that Maxwell felt bad for having those issues, but he had been so concentrated on his own issues that he hadn't really cared what Maxwell was going through.

Wilson bit his lip.

"I... I want him to get along with people and I want him to feel like he's part of the group, but I'm just so tired. Every time I think we've made some progress, he does something that resets everything. I just... I don't know what to feel. I don't know what to think. I know that have been unfair, but I can't help that he makes me so... so angry, and, and frustrated, and...Confused!" Wilson ended up letting out a long, deep sigh. Maxwell was so good at making him feel angry and frustrated and confused. He knew, deep down, that the blame was not always on Maxwell. Wilson was the one who reacted badly, and he was trying to work on that, but it was difficult at times.

"Remember dear, that giving up is always an option. If he burdens your mind that much, perhaps it would be for the best to let the rest of us deal with him. You are allowed to give up and live your life without him, you know."

"Then why are you encouraging me to be a better friend, if you think that it would be for the best if I gave up on him?" Wilson asked, confused, a little bit scared. Wickerbottom smiled at him.

"Because you want to be his friend, dear. Don't get me wrong, this is your choice, I'm merely showing you your options. You have to either accept that he has issues, and it might not be easy to deal with it, but sometimes relationships are that way. Or, you can wash your hands off of this and live free from the burdens of having to deal with him at all. But there isn't some perfect middle ground where you can have the better side of him without having to bother with the worse side. People have issues, and while it's not your responsibility to fix them, it's definitely a part of a good relationship to at least try to be there. Lend him an ear, a shoulder to cry on, if nothing else. Maxwell isn't an exception. You can't abandon him every time he shows signs of trouble, and come back when he's masked them up again. You either are his friend, or you're not. But you can't be his friend only when he behaves like you want him to."

Wilson had tried to ignore the lump in his throat for a while, but now it hurt so much when he swallowed down a bitter taste of undeniable facts. Wickerbottom saw this, and her face softened a bit, just enough to keep him from spiraling down in feelings of guilt.

 "... And of course we are here to share these burdens with you, Wilson. But the rest of us are not as close to him, and we don't know him like you do. I think he might accept your help easier than the rest of ours. Although, I'm sad to say, it's quite clear that he used to lower his shield around you in the past much more than nowadays."

"...Used to...." Wilson breathed out weakly, feeling his own defenses crumbling down when he had to come face to face with the truth. He had not been a bad friend, he had not been a terrible friend. He had not been a friend at all. Wickerbottom was right, he should've either properly been there for Maxwell, or stopped giving him half-hearted attention only when he felt like it. It wasn't fair of him to claim to be Maxwell's friend when he turned the man away every time he clearly needed some kind of help.

And Maxwell had noticed it, too. Wilson was giving his friendship to Maxwell only when he saw it convenient and he felt like it, and Maxwell had noticed that it wasn't about when he needed Wilson, it was about when Wilson had time to be needed. And Wilson felt terrible now that he allowed himself to realize it.

"I didn't mean to be cruel, I just- I, I thought he didn't need me, I thought he could handle this just fine, I... I... It's my fault he doesn't want to be around anymore, I made him think that we're friends only when I have patience to be his friend- He thinks nobody wants him around... he thinks I hate him, because I pushed him away... I... I did push him away, it's not fair, I'm not fair..." Wilson swallowed a thickly, and the hand in his neck tickled his skin comfortingly.

"Shh, dear. Why did you push him away? Is there a reason?"

... There was a reason. Besides his tiredness of Maxwell's antics, there actually was another, real reason why he had been drifting away from the man.

He wasn't sure how to feel about Maxwell, despite being very fond of the man. But he had not given Maxwell any reason at all, had he? How cruel it was to not be given an explanation of any kind, not even a hint of why he was suddenly pushed aside? It must've been very heavy to carry those questions in his mind, left to guess what he did wrong, what had changed, why he was left behind.

Wilson bit his lip and huddled himself in Wickerbottom's arms. He had been terrible, he had been horrible and nasty and mean. He was glad there wasn't any mirrors here, because he didn't think he could look himself in the eyes anymore.

"I... I have a lot of confusing feelings about our relationship." He answered, warily, carefully "I used to loathe Maxwell with every fiber of my body. But then I started to realize that I don't actually feel like that anymore, that I like his company, that he's grown to be very important to me, and he... he is very dear to me. B-but we were building a portal out of here, and I didn't even think about that when I just thought of getting home. And then I got confused when I realized that the thought of not seeing him again kind of scared me, a lot? And then we ran into you guys, and it felt so easy to not think about him anymore, relieving to know that he was still around without being around around, and... and I always feel so weird around him." Wilson let out a long breath. It felt freeing to talk about this. He had tried to shut these feelings away. For a long time he had fought to forget them, hoping they'd dim down and disappear eventually.

He should've taken a break just for himself to get his thoughts together, but instead he never even stopped to think of why he was pushing Maxwell away, and just kept pushing and pushing and pushing, ignoring the reasons and only concentrating on how good it felt to not have to think about it.

To think that now he didn't have to sort out how he felt about the fact that he had grown to like Maxwell, now someone else could deal with the man instead of him, now Maxwell wasn't just his problem anymore, he was everyone's problem. Wilson had been so glad that there was a possibility to be around someone else than Maxwell, so glad that he didn't have to think too deeply of his own feelings and what they meant.

And perhaps it would've been okay, if there actually was someone else around who'd let Maxwell be their problem, but there wasn't. Maxwell only really had Wilson to turn to, only ever came to Wilson when he had needed something, only ever confessed small, seemingly unimportant things to him, only to him, and nobody else.

And Wilson had just turned his head and looked away, in favor of staying in the comfort of not having to always think what the little feelings inside him meant.

Why didn't he just tell Maxwell that he needed some space? Would it really have been too much to just sort out his own thoughts without abandoning the man? Just because Wilson wasn't there all the time, didn't mean that he had to turn his back on Maxwell completely. 

But no, he hadn't told Maxwell anything. He had just convinced the group to let Maxwell in, and despite of knowing very well that Maxwell would not immediately get along with them, he left the man to figure things out alone, and then got irritated and annoyed and blamed Maxwell for having trouble adjusting to things.

"I have been terrible. I... I really care about Maxwell, I like Maxwell, but it feels weird and wrong and there's..." Wilson's fingers reached to grasp his shirt "there's this little part inside that tells me that I shouldn't let him too close, and that I'm supposed to hate him for everything he's done. It felt like a breath of fresh air to not have to think about it, about how I feel and what to do with it. I hadn't even really noticed how much I cared before that hound bit him through his chest, and I realized that I really feared for his life. I thought that he wouldn't care if I'm there for him or not, I thought our friendship didn't actually matter to him all that much..."

Wickerbottom was quiet for a while, before she spoke again, this time much more thoughtfully.

"You said that you like Maxwell, did you not? Yet you seem to talk about a lot of how he makes you angry and how you're tired of his behavior. What is it that you like about him? Surely you don't enjoy being frustrated and confused all the time, dear?"

Wilson's grip on his shirt tightened. He wasn't sure why he was like this. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he had never really understood people, never really fit in. He didn't know when he was allowed to get angry and when he was supposed to show some affection. He tried to act normal, he didn't mean to be rude, he just didn't really understand how people worked on a social level. Anatomy? Oh, piece of cake. Psychology? Not a problem. Interacting with someone you liked but didn't know how to be honest about it? Error, run, hide, get angry because you have to defend yourself because you aren't dumb and you aren't worse than anyone. Fight, bite, attack is the best defense, bite bite bite.

The hand pet his neck hair gently, and Wilson let a small weep out of his mouth. Of course there were things he liked about Maxwell, even if he didn't say it out loud. He liked Maxwell's looks. He liked how calming Maxwell sounded when he talked about things he cared about. He liked Maxwell's watchful eyes. And he liked the way Maxwell buffed up when he was proud of himself, he liked the funny way Maxwell's face wrinkled when he smirked very wide, he liked how Maxwell made him feel tingly and weird sometimes. He liked the way Maxwell was always kind of a mystery, he liked Maxwell's infinite retorts that weren't really insulting but actually kinda clever, he liked how Maxwell didn't push him down, how Maxwell actually thought he was smart, how Maxwell looked impressed, how he smiled, how he laughed, how he was sweet in his own strange way sometimes...

"I just want to fix things... I, I want to be there for him." Wilson said, swallowing yet another guilty taste down. He didn't know how to show Maxwell all of what he felt. But he would learn, he would get himself together, and he would do his best to show Maxwell he cared about him a lot.

"There there... It will be fine. You still have time to be there for him if you want to. It's not too late to patch things up. You'll do a right thing, I know you will." Wickerbottom hushed him gently, swaying a bit as she held him in her arms. Wilson held tight onto her, feeling rather torn apart by his feelings. On the one hand it was freeing to finally realize what had been happening, that he had been scared, that he had been selfish, and it was relieving to understand why Maxwell was avoiding him now.

But on the other hand, it made him feel so terrible to realize that he had been very, very ignorant, cruel and mean. That's not what he had meant to do, that's not who he had meant to be.

"Perhaps it would be better to head to bed, dearie. I promise you, I won't let Maxwell slip away if he comes by."

Wilson looked at her, then looked at his feet.

"Maybe I should go looking for him."

"While I think it's not a bad idea, it could prove to be a tad difficult to find him in the middle of a night, while it's raining cats and dogs on us."

"At least it's not raining frogs" Wilson chuckled awkwardly, and despite the exhausted smile lingering on his face a while longer, he soon turned silent again, gazing in the darkness. Maybe he should go looking for Maxwell, but not now. Tomorrow, when it was less dark and wet, when he could actually see what he was looking for. 

He ended up nodding and pulling himself away, and the librarian leaned to give his forehead a small, gentle kiss.

"Go on and rest. Things will be better in the morning."

Wilson truly hoped they would.

Notes:

Yes Wilson sometimes when you push people away, they go away. Who would've thought.

Chapter 25: About Charlie

Summary:

Wilson leaves to look for Maxwell. Maxwell has a talk with Winona.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

In the morning the rain had let out a little bit. Maxwell had not come back, which Wilson had already expected and had prepared a backpack to go looking for the man. Part of him feared what would happen when he left, because at this point he was worried that if Maxwell came by when he wasn't personally present, the man might slip away again and he'd lost another chance to speak with him. He didn't want to think how many chances he had left.

"Morning! So, how we start the day 'round here?"

Wilson turned to look at Winona, who stood there, not seemingly tired at all, stretching her neck and arms. The scientist was a bit jealous that she seemed so okay being here. His own start had been terrible, scary and traumatizing - whereas she looked like this was just another thursday for her.

"Uh, well... Usually we wake up on our own accord and then eat some breakfast, though not everyday, and then we start doing chores." He explained, and a big smile rose on the handywoman's face.

"Great! Can't wait to get to work- although I'm not really a campin' kind of gal, but hey, what can ya do. So, what's on the list?"

"Um... Well we don't have anything specific to start with, but if you don't know what to do, you can ask around if something needs to be done, maybe clothes need to be repaired or icebox filled or something of the sort. I'm going to leave for a bit so I can't really say what's there to be done today, but you can do what you think you'd be good at. Like mining, chopping wood, hunting..." Wilson started to list things on his fingers, but Winona just groaned.

"Isn't there anything, I don't know, to built? Fix? Grease the mechanisms, update the machinery...?"

"Look, I get it, manual labor in the wilderness is not my cup of tea either. I would rather sit inside and experiment on la-brats, but here we can't always choose what we have to get done in order to survive."

Winona frowned, looking a bit guilty.

"... Sorry 'bout that. I didn't mean to complain. Just thought I'd volunteer to do somethin' I'm good at." She scratched her neck and gave him a quirky smirk. Wilson smirked back.

"Hey, uh, it's okay, I get it! I usually get to do everything even vaguely scientific in the camp. I'm sure that you get to do all kinds of fun things with the machines later on. You seem like a very handy woman to have around." Wilson smirked carefully, and for his glee, Winona burst out laughing and slapped his back. 

"Ya bet I am! I'm gonna take a stroll around here, see what's there to do and stuff. See ya later, scientist!"

Wilson rose his hand as a goodbye, even if Winona had already turned around and went her merry ways to bother someone else. She really was quite a character. But Wilson was sure she would fit in just fine. They all did.

...Well, most of them did. Wilson kicked a rock and threw his backpack on, heading out of the camp. The goodnight sleep had helped him to get his thoughts together a bit, and he wasn't feeling as terrible as the previous night, but he was still very worried about Maxwell. He was afraid that now that Winona was here, Maxwell would drift even farther away. The woman had obviously some bigger issues to solve with the magician, but could the timing of her arrival have been any worse than it was?

It wasn't enough that Maxwell already thought that he was not wanted in the camp, but then Winona had found her way in, attacked the man, and made it very clear that his past was not behind him yet - maybe it would never be.

'Once bitten, twice shy' they said, but how about repeatedly bitten? Wilson wasn't sure. He really just hoped he would manage to catch Maxwell today, either out searching, or when he'd return back.

---

It was still mizzling small drops from the sky, but practically speaking, the rain had stopped.

Maxwell was soaking wet. His suit was ruined for sure, his shoes as well, and he wasn't even going to attempt to do a thing about it. He could feel the cold, damp fabric laying heavy over him, sticking against his skin. He was sure that if he took one of his shoes off and turned it around, a waterfall would come right out. That's what you get when you don't wear anything to protect yourself from the rain, he supposed.

But at least he hadn't managed to wake any treeguards, miraculously. It was actually bit of a shame. Not only because there was a small part of him that had wanted, hoped, to run into harm's way... but also because he was sure there would be use for living logs, and it would've been great to add them to his piles off logs he had to carry back to the camp. But it just had to wait for the next time.

The shadow clone had been dismissed a while ago. Maxwell hadn't given it any new orders, he couldn't quite keep his thoughts together. He was cold. And aching. Although the cool water felt rather nice against his bruises, he had soon found out that it was only a little comfort compared to the freezing effect it had on him afterwards.

He felt a bit shaky... weary. If he didn't concentrate enough, he realized he started swaying himself like he was about to fall asleep. Only that it was absurd, he didn't sleep (Well, not if Wilson didn't drug him). Maxwell groaned and rubbed his eyes with a lot of pressure. Pressure felt good, it made the banging in his skull dull down a bit.

There was so many logs he had to carry back, lot of twigs as well. If he could only take them in the camp without running to anyone, he could quickly leave to gather something else. What would they need? He didn't remember, he didn't feel well.

He really didn't feel well.

Maxwell shook his head again, little drops of water flying everywhere from his hair. It was sticking to his skin, dripping water down his face. He should keep going. He had taken a small break now, he should keep going, he had things to do.

"Slacking off, ya old lug?"

Maxwell flinched a bit hearing her voice, but didn't have enough strength to look at her, not that he would've even dared to. He just sat there, eyeing the backpacks full of logs and twigs. He heard footsteps coming closer, stopping next to him.

"Think your too good to answer to the likes of me? Listen here lug, I've eaten bigger weasels than you for breakfast, so don't you go actin' like ya better than me!"

Maxwell really just wanted to run away from her. But Winona was here now, and she had probably found him for a reason. He rose his eyes to glance at her, trying to look as harmless as he possibly could, although he was sure he had forgotten how. If only there was more William left in him, it would've come naturally.

"Pardon, miss... I didn't mean to offend you."

Winona rose her eyebrow, clearly unimpressed and unconvinced.

"Care for a lil' chat, pal?" she asked in a voice that indicated that he really had only one option.

"If you wish." he sighed, already feeling too defeated.

She scoffed and took a couple of steps closer, until she was standing directly next to him, close enough to kick him - which he was kind of afraid she might do. She hadn't given him much of a reason to believe she wasn't going to beat the shit out of him at any given time.

"I was getting to know the people at that camp. Nice, honest, hardworking people. But they can't answer my questions, and that scientist told me that you can."

Of course Wilson told her that. Why not send her to tear him apart? Less dirty work for the others, and she'll probably get something out of it as well.

"I'll tell you all I can."

"Yeah you will" Winona said matter-of-factually, and casually lifted her weight from one leg to another "So. You're Maxwell, huh? I used to read a lot about 'Maxy' from her letters... Nice to finally get to meet ya in person."

"... You're here to know what happened to her, aren't you?"

"Bingo." She sounded very composed, not bothered about the subject at all. Perhaps her anger was giving her more confidence than she would've had otherwise. Whatever made her so confident in herself, she deserved to know the truth, even if she wasn't going to like it.

Maxwell sighed and begun to tell her. In some points of the story he contemplated on saving her from some of the more terrible, heart-breaking details, but decided to tell her everything exactly how he remembered it, all the way from hiring Charlie to the moment she had taken her place on the throne after Wilson. He only briefly mentioned finding Codex and his life before meeting Charlie. This wasn't about him, and he only shared the things Winona needed to know.

Previously only knowing what she did from Charlie's letters, she surprisingly had very few questions and didn't seem to doubt his words. Maxwell wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed, but initially it didn't matter. She got what she came here for. After he had told her everything, she stood there silently. Maxwell didn't dare to look at her, not even move. The silence was suffocating, and after hearing what had become of her dear sister, Winona had all the reasons to attack him again.

"Queen Charlie, huh?" was all she eventually said. Not knowing what else to answer, Maxwell just nodded again. Winona huffed out a heavy breath and then fell to sit down next to him, rubbing her hand over her face. Maxwell finally gathered some courage to give her a quick look, and was a bit surprised to notice that she didn't seem nearly as outraged as he had expected.

"...Ya know, knowing that she is here and alive... I'm relieved. I thought she might've died. Was kind of afraid that I saw a ghost back then" the woman laughed nervously, but her voice was light, as if a huge weight had been lifted from her chest.

"If I may ask... How did you get here?"

"Charlie reached out to me. I saw her, all pretty and young like she hadn't aged a day... I tried to pull her out of this door or, portal thing... but ended up being pulled in instead." Winona hummed and took off her scarf to sweep her hand through her hair "Makes kinda sense when you know she's in charge. Where can I find her?"

"I don't know."

"Bullshit. Where."

"I don't know, I swear." Maxwell turned to look at her properly "She's in the throne room, but it's not the same, it's not- I don't know if you can even get there anymore. I'm sorry, I told you all I know. Trust me, I want to save her too."

"Yeah, no, I don't trust you."

Ah, of course. Why would she? He was the reason Charlie was here, he was the reason she had suffered so much... Why would Winona give a chance to him when he had caused Charlie nothing but pain. He was worse than any other monster here, he was worse than Them, he was worse than anything. He was only capable of hurting people around him.

"I hope you find a way to help her." He said quietly, hanging his head "I'm sorry for everything."

"Well if you're so sorry, then what are you gonna do to make it up to her?"

"... I don't believe there's anything I actually can do. But if she ever asks me for anything, I wouldn't deny her a single thing in this or any other world."

Winona was quiet for a while, before poking him with her elbow.

"Hey, no need to get so grim. This is Charlie we're talking 'bout, she will forgive ya." The woman said, sounding almost like she was joking, mood much lighter than before. Maxwell huffed out a sound that he hoped would appease her.

She was wrong. Charlie wasn't going to forgive him, it was just a fact. He would have to live with the guilt of her fate and grief of losing her for the rest of his life. He couldn't be forgiven, not by her, not by anyone. He had dug the hole he was in deep enough to never get out, and it was what he deserved.

But he really hoped, from the bottom of his heart, that Winona could help Charlie. That she might be able to save her, somehow, some way.

"...You're kind of wet, buddy. Forgot your umbrella home?"

Why was she trying to suddenly strike up a friendly chit-chat? What did it do for her? She could just ask what she wanted to know. There was no need to butter him up and trick him to reveal some information, he would do it nonetheless.

He didn't answer her. What did it matter if he was still dripping water from his clothes and cold to the bone? It wasn't skin out of her back. It would be a waste to have an umbrella with him, the resources could be saved for someone who actually mattered.

"You know, you're a bit different than I expected. Also, I saw a giant statue of you on my way, and I can't say you look alike that much. Something matter, big guy? Where did ya lose that confidence, huh?"

Maxwell wondered what good would answering her even do. What did she care, why did she ask? Was this an attempt to get under his skin? Dig some deep dark secret out of him? Whatever she was after, he would just give it to her without these games. He was so tired of games, all of them. There was no use of playing anymore.

"Is there something else I may help you with?" he simply asked in a quiet voice. Winona was in the middle of tying her scarf back on, and she kind of paused, tilting her head at him.

"Not one for a chat, hey? Is okay, I speak enough for both of us. Ha!" she elbowed him again. Maxwell was very uncomfortable with these sudden friendly touches. He knew they couldn't be that, he knew there was some other reason she was acting like she didn't want to rip his organs out and break every bone in his body.

"... Hey. I didn't come here to hurt ya. We both love Charlie, we have something in common that no one else here does. I will help you save her, I give you my word."

Maxwell wanted to push her away. He wanted to yell at her. He wanted to summon a darksword and cut his own throat just to escape this situation, to escape this joke.

They both loved Charlie? No, no they didn't. He didn't know how to love people, he only knew how to hurt them. He couldn't save her. Even if he somehow found out how, she wouldn't let him. She didn't want anything to do with him, and neither did anyone else, and he couldn't help anyone even if he wanted to. He just wanted to help. But he couldn't, he knew he only ever destroyed everything he touched. It was for the best if he stayed away from everyone else. That was the only way to help, that was the only way not to hurt them.

A careful hand on his shoulder startled Maxwell out of his head, and he stumbled backwards, leaving confused Winona looking at him curiously, her hand still hovering where his shoulder had been.

"Whoah there bucko! I just said I'm not gonna hurt ya." she sounded a bit alarmed, taking a couple of cautious steps closer. Maxwell  was too confused to react, before she was already kneeling beside him, supporting his back with her hand "Seriously tho', somethin' wrong with ya?"

Maxwell moved his lips inaudibly for a couple of second, before he quickly shook his head, avoiding her eyes the best he could. He didn't feel good, he didn't feel well. But it wasn't her problem, it wasn't her burden, he shouldn't bother her with his own issues.

"No. No, everything is fine." he assured her in very unassuring voice.

"Yeah, I still don't trust ya, you old lug." Winona rolled her eyes and tilted her head "Want to tell good ol' Winnie what's going on, or should I go back to the camp and ask the others?"

That sure healed Maxwell quicker than any actual medicine would. He sat up straight and turned to face her, fighting to keep a composed look on his face.

"It's probably just the rain, I'm tired from work... Something like that."

"Mmmhmm, yup. Sure thing. To the camp it is."

"No, I'm really fine, just sleep-deprived."

This time Winona just rose her brows and frowned in very unimpressed way. Maxwell sighed.

"... Look. I have done terrible things. I have hurt people. I'm not a good person. Just ask literally anyone here, it's the truth."

"...And?"

Was she really gonna make him say it out loud? Who was he kidding, of course she was.

"-And whatever is happening with me, it's not your concern. Just do like the others and pay no attention to it. Now, is there something you want from me?"

"Yeah. I want to know what's wrong with you?"

Maxwell wanted to hit his head with a large rock or something. Why was she so persistent on this? He was Maxwell! He took Charlie from her! He hurt Charlie, he hurt Winona, he hurt everyone! What did it matter to her, if he wasn't feeling well or not!

.. Unless she just really wanted him to suffer. Yes, that was probably why, it had to be. She just wanted to know how miserable he was, and she wanted to be here to mock him over it and make him feel even worse. Why else would she need so badly to find out what was wrong with him? This was an opportunity for her to find out his weak points, of course she would take advantage on it.

Maxwell sighed and let his shoulders drop, defeated frown on his face. Winona only waited.

"I... I have quite a history with Higgsbury."

"The short fellow with that goofy hairdo?"

Had Maxwell still been the same asshole he used to be, he might've laughed at that. Now he just nodded.

"Yes. He despises me, probably even more than anyone else here, so I'm trying to stay out of his way and doing what I can to repay my debt to him. I owe him more than just my life and freedom. I'm only doing my part. That's all."

"...Sooo... You're trying to impress him or something?"

Maxwell couldn't believe he still almost blushed at that. Instead, he let out a joyless, short chuckle.

"I'm merely doing my part, making up for the lack of work I did in the past."

Winona scratched her cheek, humming.

"That's what's wrong with you? Working past your limit to catch up?"

"If you want to put it that way, then yes; that's the reason I'm a bit distracted at the moment. It will pass."

Winona made an almost inaudible 'hmh' sound, and started tapping her fingers on the man's back in thought. Maxwell just sat there waiting for her to either leave or start berating him for being so useless and weak when he clearly wasn't doing enough for Wilson yet. He should've worked until his hands bled and his back broke and he passed out due to exhaustion. He should work harder to make up for everything, he should work until he couldn't, and there was no excuse for being this weak and pathetic.

Instead of snapping at him or leaving him to his work, the woman sighed hard, and slapped his shoulder "Look here bud, slacking off can only be excused by tree things!" She held her other hand up, three fingers raised, each one going down as she listed a reason "Dying, pregnancy, and being sick. You're lookin' real bad there, Maxy-"

Her voice was too similar to Charlie's, he couldn't help but wince when he heard her calling him by that name with the eerily similar way, similar tone, similar vocals-

"- And, well, I did beat you up pretty bad yesterday. Uh, yeahh... Sorry for that one. I reckon that you should take a break today."

Take a break? He was already taking a break, he was already doing nothing worthwhile, he was already being lazy and avoiding what he should be doing. He had no excuse, he wasn't sick. Maybe he was cold and wet and his head hurt and he had hard time staying up and focusing, but he had seen the other survivors work through much, much worse.

He was worthless. Every second he spend up doing something that wasn't being of use to the group, to Wilson, he was just as worthless as a broken shovel or dull axe. He was worthless, he had always been so utterly and helplessly worthless, and he wasn't going to be of any worth if he wasn't doing anything to gain it. And taking a break wouldn't help.

"Hey, ya heard me?"

Maxwell flinched and realized that Winona had asked him a question. He looked at her with clear confusion in his eyes, trying very hard to make a guess what she had said, but he had already revealed his sorry state to her. Winona shook her head.

"Whhooo boy... Can you even get any more dense, old man? Let's go. You need a hot meal, some medicine, and a good full eight hours of sleep. Maybe more if you're really that bad out of it. Let's go, buddy."

Maxwell let her hoist himself up, all the while running his thoughts over every reason or excuse he could use to get out of this, to make her leave him be. If he let her take him to the camp and waste anything on him, it would invalidate everything he had managed to do so far. Not to even mention how the group would react, seeing him being taken care of again, as if he was too good to work, as if he deserved to be treated better than them, as if he hadn't learned a single damn thing about gratitude and earning his keep.

He couldn't let her do that to them. She didn't understand, he had to prevent her from making the mistake of pitying him.

Maxwell twisted himself away, and before Winona was able to react fast enough, he summoned a shadow duelist to his side and stepped back. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open, as the shadow took it's place between Maxwell and her. She took a step closer, but the shadow immediately drew it's sword out and took a battle stand. Winona stopped, her expression turning from confused to cautious.

She thought he was going to attack her, Maxwell realized. Understandable, she had no reason to trust him, as she had already stated. It was probably for the best. That way she would see how foul he truly was, and give up her pointless acts of fake kindness to him.

"I'm sorry for taking such measures..." Maxwell sighed and put Codex back on it's place under his jacket "But please go. I have a lot of things to do, and I've already wasted more time than I can afford."

Winona was quiet for a while, eyeing from him to his shadow and back, measuring if she could take them on. One of them she probably could, but not both. Not when she had no experience with the shadows yet. Winona seemed to get to the same end result as well, and just let out an irritated sigh.

"... I know what Charlie saw in you now. She always liked dramatic and theatrical stuff." The handywoman said, shaking her head, smiling. Then she gave him a glance, and crossed her arms on her chest "Okay, I'll go. But I better see you at the camp soon, or I'll come back and drag you there myself, and don't think that I fear that silent guy enough to be stopped."

Maxwell didn't answer. He knew an empty threat when he heard one. He had heard many threats in his life, enough to know when he had need to fear for his life and when it was just intimidation tactics. This threat held no weight to it's words, it was just reminder that Maxwell's actions wouldn't be forgotten, but the consequences weren't going to be as bad as he was lead to believe.

So when Winona finally left, he just headed to examine the forest, now full of short tree stumps. He could dig them up, replant some pinecones, and then perhaps continue gathering twigs and grass until his bags were full. He had wasted so much time, he couldn't waste any more.

He was worthless, but that was not one of the excuses Winona had listed to stop doing his work

Notes:

I don't think Winona really hates Maxwell, she just, you know... gives him a hard time because she is suffering, and that's the only way she knows how to awkwardly bond with him. She teases him like a sibling, is a bit harsh and demanding, but only because she cares.

Chapter 26: We all hate Maxwell

Summary:

The issue with Maxwell gets confronted.

WARNINGS: Mental breakdown, Suicidal behavior, Heavy references to depression

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Wilson's search for Maxwell hadn't gone exactly the way he had wanted. He ended up returning back to the camp empty handed, hoping that Maxwell would be there when he came back. He was not. But, although Maxwell had not returned back yet, at least Wilson was comforted with the information that someone had seen him around.

But there was worry in the comfort as well. Winona had told him about her encounter with the former King, and what she had said truly worried Wilson more than anything.

Maxwell was already frail and weak, fragile, and an illness could be fatal even for a healthy young person in the place like this. Maxwell needed to accept some help, and Wilson was going to make sure he got it, whether he wanted it or not. Whatever was going on, it was dangerously unhealthy and it clearly took a great amount of strength from Maxwell to keep himself going.

Wilson had decided that this had to change. He had to fix things, and to fix things, he had to be on the same page with everyone. So when the evening came, he had gathered everyone around the firepit, except for Maxwell who still hadn't shown himself, to explain his concern about the man in question and the worry over his health.

It went relatively well, he supposed. Everyone had noticed the change in some way, and everyone agreed that it was concerning at the very least. Even though not everyone was ready to forgive Maxwell, and likely not going to for a long, long time, it was at least reassuring to know that they had no great desire to watch the man suffer.

"Even if he is a demön and a trickster, he is part öf us. And we dö nöt abandön öur öwn" Wigfrid had said hesitantly. She was very loud and clear about her distaste of Maxwell, and was known to hold grudges. But Wilson had a faith that if she was able to look past her own issues with the magician, she might even get along with him quite well one day.

He already knew that Wickerbottom was on his side, and Webber also considered Maxwell their friend, so he could count on those two at least.

He didn't intent to force anyone to like Maxwell, he knew it was their own right to dislike him however long they felt like, he just asked them to be nicer, or at least civil about it. After all, they were all good people, and Wilson refused to believe that they couldn't all try a bit harder to better things around here.

"-So all I'm saying, is that I would really appreciate if you guys could be a bit more, umh, nicer with him from now on. Just try not to make too much fun of him, or-"

"Oh, boo! It's not our fault if he can't take a joke!" Willow whined, clearly not very excited of the idea of having to play a good girl. Wilson sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I know you don't mean anything bad by it-"

"Yea, keep telling yourself that."

"-but I would appreciate it, if you would just tone it down a little. Just a bit" Wilson held the tips of his fingers close together to show how little he expected from them. He knew that they all made fun of each other, he knew that Maxwell was not the only one who was the victim of bad jokes and teasing, but what made it different was the fact the others were all friends. It was a completely different feeling to get teased by someone who liked you, than someone who you knew didn't. Even the small, light-hearted jokes had a chance to sound horribly hurtful when they came from someone who clearly disliked you.

Besides, they weren't just jokes. Some people (Wilson didn't point any fingers) were not been nice at all, some were downright cruel. And he knew that he had not been the best person around either, but that was a discussion to be had in  the future.

Willow mumbled a couple of complaints, but didn't actually disagree to Wilson's request.

"Tiny magicman going to be alright, yes?" Wolfgang asked. He had been worried ever since he had realized that Maxwell had no effigy. He had even bigger heart than he had biceps, and despite being as wary and distrustful of Maxwell as the others, he showed no signs of actually holding any ill-will against the man.

"I hope so. Since none of us knows what's really going on, we have to find out before he can get better. But he will. I think." Wilson gave a glance at Wickerbottom, who sat beside the strongman, holding Webber on her lap.

"Yes, we will do our best to handle this issue correctly. I believe that Wilson is the main key to solve things, but we will all help. We want Maxwell to know he is part of the group now, don't we?"

"We do!" Webber agreed, nodding their head wildly. Wendy gave them a glance, then rose her eyes to Abigail who silently hovered behind her, making ghostly sounds as she lifted down, and pressed her mouth on Wendy's ear. A quiet, otherworldly words were exchanged between them, before Abigail finally lifted back to hover slightly above Wendy's head.

"Abby wants to know if this means that uncle Maxwell is going to be safer than before." Wendy said in her monotonic voice "I don't- I mean, Abigail doesn't want our family to keep losing the loved ones before it's time."

"Don't worry, Wendy! Mister Maxwell will come back!"

Wendy nodded solemnly, and then held her chin to her knees, a bit sadness slipping into her voice now "... Although the death will take all of us sooner than later, seeing him die brings me undesirable memories. I have watched family die before. "

Everyone had turned silent, looking at the young blond girl with worried, empathetic faces. Wendy blinked at them, then turned her head away, a hint of blush on her cheeks.

"It's just what Abigail said."

"Ah, but of course dearie." Wickerbottom hurried to save her from embarrassment, smiling gently at her "We will try to protect him the best of our ability. Perhaps miss Wigfrid will even be helpful and teach him how to fight?" She gave the actress a questioning look, to which the woman answered by a big grin, smashing her fist to her chest.

"I wöuld be hönöred tö put mine knöwledge tö the prötectiön öf öur allies!"

"Great!" Wilson exclaimed, relieved that finally the things were moving along, and people where getting to the same conclusion of how was the best way to achieve the peace between the survivors and their former enemy. It was clear that most of them had wanted Maxwell to take the first step and hear that he was sorry, but since the man obviously had trouble showing how much he really had changed and how much he regretted things, it was better if they all would take a step and show him that they were ready to give him a chance.

Besides, now Maxwell clearly was doing his best to make up for his mistakes, and tried to do his best to show them he could be relied on and trusted, so it was only fair if the group accepted his contribution to the survival and cut him some slack.

And Wilson, well, he should come clean and admit his own mistakes as well, so Maxwell would see that there was no need to separate himself from the rest of them, and so he could start being one of them in the right way, not in this weird way he tried to be. And also, so he and Wilson might get to be on better terms again, like they had been before the portal brought the rest of the current survivors here. Wilson really missed that.

There was a light tap on his shoulder, and the scientist turned his eyes to see a bit shy looking Wes, who immediately started signing.

You should know something that Maxwell told me some time ago. But it's very personal, I would rather speak with you in privacy.

Wilson immediately grew a tad bit concerned. Maxwell had left Wes alone after his apology, probably even before it actually. If Wes had information that was important, why hadn't he made it known sooner? Well, it was personal, so that would explain it... but if it had something to do with Maxwell's odd behavior, the mime shouldn't have kept it a secret this long.

Sure. We will discuss it later. Wilson signed back and gave the other man a reassuring smile, before his attention was snatched away again.

"So... what are we gonna do when Maxwell comes back?" Winona asked. She had been a bit unsure how to deal with Maxwell, and Wilson was sure that they all understood how hard it was to turn a new page this early on in her new life in the Constant. Still, he had been surprised how worried Winona had seemed about the man after her brief encounter with him. Wilson expected her to be more hostile, that she would hold on her grudge for longer, but she didn't seem nearly as upset after the shock of being imprisoned here had passed.

"What do you mean?"

"Well" Winona leaned forward "I get that we're gonna be nice, but how do you want us to go about it?"

"Uh... I guess I just want you to, um, not be mean to him. And just try to include him in things more often, like, take him with you to do chores or ask him to help with something? And for the love of god, be gentle with him. He's fragile. Trust me, I've seen him getting hurt from the smallest of stuff, he's like made of glass. So please, nobody beat him up again."

Winona snorted, but nodded and promised not to do anything harsh. On her left side, Wendy gave her a death-glare, and Abigail momentarily turned slightly red, before both turned their attention away from the woman. They clearly were a lot more fond of Maxwell than they liked to lead on, and Winona's violent first meeting with the man had left a bad taste in both of the twin's mouths.

Wilson inspected the group quietly for a while. He was more than pleased how this meeting had gone, and everyone seemed to agree to at least try their best.

Still... Maxwell had made sure there was more than enough supplies, resources, food and items available for the group, and the survivors had much more time to do something they wanted instead of what they needed, since the chores were being done regardless of their involvement. Even Wilson had been given exceptionally much time to attend to his own little experiments and to enjoy the wonders of science, and he couldn't deny how nice it was to know that his lack of work didn't initially cause them any harm.

So the man was a little bit of afraid that the others wouldn't like that this meant that Maxwell wouldn't be carrying their workload on his back any longer, and they had to start laboring once more.

Not that he didn't trust that his friends would be reasonable and make the right choice, but he knew how strong feelings the anger and bitterness were. He knew how hatred could blind your sense of judgement and reality. He knew how difficult it was to resist the intriguing opportunity of revenge and justice. It would be so tempting to leave Maxwell suffering, especially when it made their life so easy. And in the world of Constant, where nothing was easy, it sounded far too good to let go.

He couldn't help but wonder if the others had similar thoughts about each other. If perhaps Willow felt like she could do what was right, but was doubtful that Woodie was able to do the same. If Wickerbottom knew she was going to do what was right, but couldn't trust that everyone else might be as wise as her. If Wigfrid thought herself to be a martyr to treat Maxwell better than he deserved, but suspected that Wes disliked the man too much to try as hard as she would.

Wilson knew that they would all at least try. Maybe it would be enough.

Then everyone suddenly got really quiet, and the air instantly felt tense and heavy. Wilson didn't have time to open his mouth to wonder what was going on, before Wickerbottom cleared her throat and smiled, her eyes gazing somewhere over Wilson's shoulder.

"Why, good evening, Maxwell."

Wilson turned around, and immediately realized just how bad Maxwell looked. His suit was wrinkled and dirty, clearly never taken off between being soaking wet and drying off. His hair was partly out of shape, strands of dark grey and black laying over his eyes carelessly. And his eyes were dull and unfocused, barely even blinking when the man watched their little group scattered to sit near the firepit.

It seemed to take a while for Wickerbottom's greeting to register in the man's head, but eventually he made a strained sound, almost a groan and nodded to the librarian as a response. Then he quickly turned away and started to walk towards the chests, until Wilson rushed to stop him.

"Wait! Maxwell, could you come here for a second?"

The man stood still for a short while, before looking down at the heavy and full backpack hung on his arm, and muttered under his breath "I have to put these away."

There were two shadows behind him, both carrying backpacks as well. Wilson sighed.

"Max, come here. We would like to have a little chat with you."

The man slowly lowered the bag on the ground, and left his shadows to stand there with it, as he made his way to the yellow-colored circle of light where the rest of the survivors sat waiting for him. Wilson tried to give him a reassuring smile to show him that everything was alright, but Maxwell avoided facing him, instead stopping to stand a few step beside him, eyeing the ground.

"Do you want something?" There was hardly any emotion in there, even less than before. Maxwell sounded just tired. Wilson couldn't help but notice how raspy his voice sounded as well.

"Yes dear, we wish to talk to you about your current situation."

That made Maxwell shot his eyes up, face turning pale, expect for his cheeks that seemed to be burning.

"Have I done something wrong?"

"No, but we're very worried of you."

"I... I just came here to bring these logs, I will leave after-"

"Maxwell, that's the problem." Wilson walked next to him and tried to press his hand on his cheek to finally turn him to look him in the eyes again, but immediately snatched his hand back in horror "You're burning! Do you have fever?!"

"He was pretty soggy when we were chattin', pretty sure he was developing fever already back then." Winona told him. Wilson rubbed Maxwell's arm, trying to comfort him somehow. The man didn't look like he realized he was touched at all, just staring ahead without really focusing his eyes on anyone.

"You need to get rest immediately" Wilson panicked quietly.

"That's what I told him before the damn fool refused to come to the camp!" Winona almost yelled, throwing her hands in the air in frustration. Maxwell looked from her to Wilson, then back to her, until his eyes wandered their way to Wickerbottom.

"That's what this is about?" Maxwell asked, confused tone in his voice "I- I didn't hurt her, I swear. I just- I had to keep working, she didn't want me to so I had to make her leave, you understand, don't you?" he looked at the librarian pleadingly "You understand why I had to do it, I just wanted to keep things going now that they're so well, you- I'm sorry, I will make it up to her."

Wickerbottom watched him silently, until she sighed and shook her head, clearly in concern, but Maxwell seemed to take it as something else, perhaps disappointment. He let out a nervous small chuckle.

"No, I swear I can do better, I can make it up to all of you, I will be better, I will work harder, I will make sure you won't see a glimpse of me, I, I will deliver anything you need I won't be in your way-"

His rambling got cut off when Wilson clasped his wrist between his fingers, and the magician snapped his head to him, eyes wild and delirious. It occurred to Wilson that he was very ill, lost in somewhere of the unclear, fevery fog, the untreated mind and body turning on him in his weakest moment. The younger man wanted to help him so badly. Had they really driven Maxwell to think he had to even suffer the sickness and hurt by himself without telling anyone? That he couldn't come to the camp and ask for treatment or help when he was so clearly barely even able to stand straight?

Was that why he hadn't notified anyone about the hound tooth stuck on his back, either?

The old man watched him for a while longer, once again probably needing a moment to catch up to the situation, until the eery, frantic smile rose on his lips slowly.

"-I, I will be invisible, you won't even notice me... I will make sure you have everything you need, I will make sure not to bother you, any of you, you can all keep living like I'm not even here..."

Wilson shook his head and bit his teeth together to stop himself from shouting "Maxwell, that's not what any of us want."

The man's smile froze in place.

"... Ah. I have been doing it all wrong, haven't I. I see. I understand. Thank you for telling me." despite still smiling like a madman, Maxwell's voice stayed strangely hollow. Wilson got the feeling that whatever Maxwell understood, it was not what Wilson had intended him to understand.

"I shouldn't hide form you like a coward, I shouldn't  keep running away... You want me to be here, to make sure that I get exactly what I deserve... I understand now, I know how much it means to you to be able to put me in my place."

"No! Mister Maxwell, we want to help you!" Webber almost yelled, starting to break tears in their eyes. This situation was too emotionally overwhelming for them already.

"No no, I see what I was doing wrong now! You just wanted me to be here, right? It's easier to make me pay when I'm available, isn't it? I was hiding from you like a rat in my hole... But I will make it up to you now that I know what to do! That way we can all be better, we can all have a good time!"

"...What the hell...?" Willow whispered under her breath, looking almost disturbed. Maxwell just let out a high-pitched, panicky laugh.

"We can all get along if I just do what's for the best. You... you all hate Maxwell, right? See, I hate Maxwell too! That's something we all have in common, isn't it? That's something we can all bond over. It doesn't matter who we are or what we're like, we can all agree that Maxwell is a terrible person and deserves to suffer the fate worse than death and shouldn't be given a chance before he deserves one."

Wilson let go of the other man, too shocked to concentrate keeping a hold of him, instead letting his hand fall limb to his side, as he stared at the older man in confusion and worry. Maxwell turned to give him a big, unhinged smile.

"I know! Why don't we all sit down and talk about what we hate about Maxwell the most? That's something everyone likes to do, right? That's something we enjoy laughing about behind his back!"

"Dear, I believe you're not feeling very well right now..." Wickerbottom said sternly, holding now absolutely horrified Webber in her lap. Maxwell chuckled.

"Yes, that's a good start, but we can do better... There's no need to hold back. I know; Maxwell is just a free-loading jerk who doesn't work for his keep and thinks he's better than everyone else! He's hurting everyone and never does anything right, he should fall off the cliff and die... Or better yet, we could throw him out and watch him struggle to stay alive, and when he crawls back to beg for forgiveness, we can all laugh at him and watch him struggle even more! Doesn't that sound great?!"

Wilson exchanged a look with Winona, who nervously shrugged her shoulders - she had absolutely no idea where this came from or what to do with it. Wilson bit his lip and carefully tugged Maxwell's sleeve, gaining the attention of the other man to himself again.

"Maxwell... Let's get you to bed, okay? You seem like you really need a rest right now."

Maxwell's grin just grew, and he chuckled darkly, almost shaking from the laugh.

"That's right, yes... Let's chase Maxwell away, it's always so terrible when he's around, he makes everything worse just by existing... Who would want him to sit here with us and ruin everything like he always does? Let's tell him to leave, as if we wanted him to stay around, as if we wanted him near..." Maxwell muttered between the unsteady, empty laughs, as Wilson kept tugging him to follow.

He exchanged a look with Wickerbottom and Willow, the former pursing her lips and drawing her brows together in concern while comforting Webber, the later biting her lip and nodding in agreement to put the poor bastard to sleep as soon as possible. Wilson nodded back to both of them, and started to drag Maxwell with him towards his tent - until the man started to wander to the different direction. Wilson staggered in surprise and gave the taller man a look of confusion.

"Uh... Maxwell? The tents are this way."

Another eery, unstable laugh that sounded way too giddy.

"Oh but don't you remember? Maxwell doesn't have a tent, that would be a terrible waste to give him such comfort! He sleeps on the straw roll over there" the man pointed at his own, small campfire, where the worn straw roll, that was barely even together anymore, stood alone leaning against the tree. Wilson swallowed the bitter taste down his throat.

"Well, how about Maxwell sleeps in the tent tonight?"

The other man physically froze and gave him a wide-eyed look.

"... No, he doesn't deserve to sleep in the tent."

Wilson stared the man for a while, having to gather his thoughts for a second. This wasn't a situation he had ever had to deal with in the past, even thought he had comforted and nursed the others a bunch of times in the middle of a mental breakdown or low sanity.

"Maxwell, come to sleep inside the tent. Please, I ask you as your friend." He spoke in a steady, calm voice. He had learned that the more calm you were, the more it calmed down the others. And Maxwell really needed to calm the fuck down right now. The man just stared at him for a while, lips moving in attempt to answer but not managing to get the words out of himself.

"... I'm sorry. I will." was eventually what Maxwell said in a quiet voice, the smile almost gone now, thank the heavens, Wilson felt really uneasy watching it. He was about to start leading Maxwell to his tent, when a sudden tug on his shirttail stopped him. Wilson turned and lowered his eyes on the red flower and blond hair, covering the face, as Wendy hung her head.

"Please help him."

Wendy wasn't very open about her feelings, let alone sensitive or tactful, so the sudden vulnerability in her shook Wilson quiet for a couple of seconds. It didn't surprise him however. Maxwell was Wendy's uncle, and despite the two not being very close with each other, Wendy clearly cared for him.

"I will." Wilson promised, gently prying her small fingers from his shirt, as he crouched down on her level "We all will. Go to Wickerbottom, I'm sure she knows what to do. She can help you, while I look after your uncle."

Wendy nodded, still hiding under her hair, and slowly turned to walk back to the firepit. Wilson stood up and took Maxwell's arm again, dragging the quietly muttering man with him to his tent. There he stripped the man off his clammy piece of clothing, and sat him down on the bed, while he started to look for the medical plants to make a cup of tea.

"Is that to knock me out again?" Maxwell asked.

Wilson sighed. He had absolutely no idea what to do. But he knew he had to do something, and maybe he could figure it out as he went. He turned to look at Maxwell, smiling carefully.

"No, it's not. I'm trying to make you something to lower the fever."

"It's okay, you can be honest with me." Maxwell grinned again "I know it's so much better when Maxwell is out of the way, it's much easier to get things done when you don't have to think about how much trouble and burden Maxwell always is-"

"Why do you keep referring yourself in the third person, Maxwell? You do realize it's you, you're talking about you." Wilson suddenly snapped, mostly to stop the man from entering to another desperate ramble of how terrible Maxwell was.

The other man froze up, eyeing Wilson like he was the crazy one.

"I... I know, I just...I thought that maybe if I could show you how much I hate Maxwell too, we could have something in common, and... we, we all hate Maxwell, don't we? Why can't-" Maxwell suddenly seemed to snap out of some line of thought he was having, and lowered his gaze to his lap "Oh... I see. I thought we finally had something in common, something to share..."

His crazy grin had faded to small, insecure smile that was held together by some kind of last remaining will power "... It's because I'm not part of the group, isn't it, I don't have a right to share this with you. I was out of line, I... I'll shut up."

Wilson's features softened as he knelt down in front of Maxwell, moving his hair out of his face.

"Max... It's okay, we want you to talk to us. We're all very worried, I'm very worried. But I will fix this, I will help you. I won't abandon you like I did, not again. You're my friend and I will prove it to you."

A pitiful remains of smile tugged the corner of Maxwell's lips upwards, never quite achieving the actual emotion it was aiming for.

"It's fine, Wilson. You don't have to keep pretending. You're doing your best to be good to me, to treat me as if I matter... But there's no need anymore. I know my place now, I know where I belong. It's fine, you can stop playing this game with me. I know I've lost."

Wilson frowned, rising his hands to hold Maxwell's face gently "I'm not playing with you, I'm really trying to help you."

Maxwell only laughed at him, tiredly.

"It's okay, you can be yourself with me now! No need to keep up this play, I've finally realized how things are meant to be, I finally see the reality the way it is, the way it has always been..."

"Max, no! You're very important to me, you're my friend!" Wilson snapped and tugged the other man's head, causing Maxwell to finally look at him eye to eye. The older man stared at him for a while, until he lowered his head, taking Wilson by his wrists and pulling them away from him.

"... There was a short time... when I actually somehow managed to think that the reason you wanted me here was because I mattered..." Maxwell started in an empty, drained voice, letting go of Wilson and bringing his arms close to hug himself.

"I fooled myself to believe that when you looked at me, you saw something worth of saving, that you saw something behind the shadows... I used to think that I was here for some other reason than just pity, than just to pay my debt back to you. I used to hold onto the hope that you might even care about me" Maxwell laughed, rising his hands up to claw his scalp in distress, still staring at the ground.

" -But I was wrong, I had forgotten what I am. Now I know better. Now I know exactly what you see when you have to look at me, now I know what I really mean to you, now I know what kind of an idiot I was to ever think that I had a chance to be anything else than a noose around your neck all the time. I have always been, I will never be anything else... Just a burden, just a problem... just a noose around your neck... I know my place now. I won't forget again."

Wilson was struck silent, feeling like he had been hit straight across his face, like someone had thrown cold water over him, when the horror of realization hit in, that Maxwell had heard what he had been complaining to Willow. But he hadn't even meant it! He had been only half sane, he was just getting his frustration out someway, he hadn't meant to Maxwell ever hear something so terrible.

Was that why Maxwell was acting like this? Had Wilson pushed him over the ledge? He felt horrible when he sat there, watching as Maxwell kept pressing his sharp claws on his head, smiling at the ground, heaving unsteady, irregular breaths like it pained him to breathe.

"Max..." Wilson whispered, trying not to let the cold feeling of regret take hold of him. He still needed to take care of Maxwell. Especially if he had been the one to put him to that condition in the first place.

"Maxwell, I- I'm so sorry for saying that... I didn't mean it, I said it in the wit of anger, I was tired and frustrated and didn't know what to do, it was just mindless whining..." Wilson started to explain himself, hoping to convince Maxwell that it wasn't what he really thought of the man - because it wasn't, he didn't really think that Maxwell was a noose around his neck, he didn't think that Maxwell was a burden or a problem. The man rose his eyes back at the younger one, grinning again.

"Oh it's fine. I was so lost and confused before, but now it's all clear, everything finally makes sense, everything finally feels right."

Wilson was taken aback.

"Maxwell... What are you talking about? This isn't right, this isn't how things are mean to be, this isn't healthy or good-" he tried to gently explain, but Maxwell only burst out giggling like Wilson had said something especially funny.

"Exactly! That's why it feels so great!"

"... Maxwell?"

"Doesn't it just feel like the pieces have finally fallen in place? Like things are finally the way they were always supposed to be? It never felt quite right when I tried to find my place beside you, when I tried to fit myself in... And now it's clear why! It's because all this time I was trying to reach some kind of happiness, I was trying to belong here, and that's not meant for me." Maxwell slowly lowered his hands and brought them to cup Wilson's face, staring the scientist in the eyes intensely.

"It was never meant for me." he whispered in a raspy, desperate voice "The bad guy doesn't get to have a happy ending. The bad guy will always pay. And I have a lot of debt to pay, Wilson. Let me do this for you, let me show you that I can be used for something."

Wilson said nothing. Instead, in the state of despair and panic, in the verge of heartbreak and regret unlike any other he had ever experienced, he leaned forward and pressed a desperate kiss on the other man's lips.

Notes:

The others: umm... whachu got there?
Maxwell with his severe massive issues, holding a backpack: Logs.

Chapter 27: A new start

Summary:

Maxwell is still sick. Wilson grows more and more worried.

WARNINGS: Self-harm

Chapter Text

The kiss was deep and heavy. Wilson tasted how dry Maxwell's mouth was, he felt the cracked and cold texture of his lips. Maxwell slowly breathed out of his nose, frozen in place, quiet like a statue. Wilson still felt the hands on his cheeks, frozen in place as well.

Then it suddenly hit him, just what he was doing, just who he was doing it with. He snapped his eyes open and flinched away, startled by his own actions. Maxwell looked at him quietly, just as lost and unsteady looking as before - but at least he had stopped talking so horribly about himself, so it kind of worked, Wilson thought, as he was trying to put the rest of his thoughts together.

Maxwell blinked at him, looking confused and unsure. Wilson was quiet for a while, just staring at the other man. After a while Maxwell's mouth slowly pulled into a smile, that wasn't any more joyful than before.

"... Is this how much you despise me?"

Wilson gave him a very puzzled look and shook his head, unable to answer with words, too confused of what had just happened. Maxwell  let out a soundless laugh, more like a very shaky breath, and hung his head.

"I see." was the last thing Maxwell said before he reached his arms over his head and huddled into himself. Wilson didn't know what to say. He just quietly made sure Maxwell's bed was soft and dry, his clothes put to dry on the side, and, just in case, that there was no sharp objects near the man. At this point he was rather afraid of what would happen if Maxwell was left alone with something sharp.

Wilson made tea for him and checked him up for injuries or unusual body functions, and after seeing that despite having a fever and few bruises from Winona's attack here and there the man was alright, he finally pushed Maxwell on his back and lifted the blanket over him.

Maxwell had stayed silent, blinking slowly, barely able to stay conscious. His body must've been in dire need of rest, in need of care taking and break. Wilson felt another bang of guilt as he carefully swept his fingers over the man's hair and watched his eyes finally flutter close when the exhaustion took over.

The scientist stood up and walked to inform the others that Maxwell was asleep, and asked one of them to check on the man after a couple of hours, which they awkwardly agreed to.

Then Wilson walked to Wes's tent and poked his head inside, smiling sheepishly.

"Hey. Can I sleep here tonight?"

Wes nodded and made room for him on his bed, smiling at him tiredly.

Soon the younger man had fallen back to sleep again. It wasn't surprising to Wilson, the night had been emotionally or at least mentally exhausting to all of them, so no wonder the mime was out like a candle. Wilson on the other hand was not. He was exhausted, he was tired, and he was weary.

And he was wide awake, staring at the ceiling of the tent.

He had kissed Maxwell.

Only now did the thought finally settle in, lit a light bulb in his head and make itself known loud and clear. Wilson felt the hot burning under his skin, and he couldn't help but bit his lip in some confused mix of emotions. He had kissed Maxwell. He, Wilson Percival Higgsbury, had kissed Maxwell Carter on the mouth. 

It had been a fairly deep kiss.

Wilson let an accidental whine escape his lips, until he remembered that he had a man sleeping next to him. That send another bang of different kind of guilt to his chest.

... It's not like he and Wes were exactly together together, but they certainly had something going on. They both found some comfort and pleasure in their late-night conversations and their private, tender moments. There had been no rules or boundaries made clear, it had just been them needing a touch, allowing themselves to ease that need together. Needing something soft, something sweet and gentle.

Wilson gave the other man a sad little look. He hadn't even thought about Wes when he had kissed Maxwell, but now he feared that he might've hurt Wes by doing what he had done.

How serious even were they?

Wilson wasn't sure. He liked Wes. Wes was very dear to him, very sweet and loving and easy to be around. Wilson really liked Wes. And that's just it, he supposed, letting out a sigh and turning to stare at the ceiling once more. No matter how much he searched himself for those deeper, lasting, intense feelings of something more than just liking someone, he couldn't find them.

And Wilson supposed that he had always known, that he would never feel those kind of things for Wes, no matter how dear the man was to him. It's like his heart was only halfway in it, like he already knew that one day he would discover that this had never been for him, it was never meant to last.

'It was never meant for me. The bad guy doesn't get to have a happy ending.'

Wilson frowned and started sucking his lip. Why had he kissed Maxwell? Was it really just to shut the man up, because Wilson couldn't bear to hear more of those cruel words he spoke about himself? Was it some desperate sudden need to prove to Maxwell, that someone really did care for him?

Wilson had always wanted to think himself of  being in control and aware of what he wanted and needed. But that sudden kiss didn't feel like some random act of desperation or kindness, not like something that had hit him out of the blue. It felt like it had came from a feeling that already existed inside him, like some suffocated emotion, that had slowly developed in the back of his mind, suddenly gained a footing and rose above everything else, demanding to finally be acknowledged.

The burning heat was now spreading to his neck and ears, and Wilson shifted uncomfortably. He couldn't help but to think back on the times with Maxwell. He thought of the time they built the portal, he thought of the time Maxwell saved him from freezing, he thought of the time the man laid on the ground surrounded by flowers, he thought of the time Maxwell had pretended to give him a kiss to mess with him-

Wilson felt like his skin was melting from the heat of the flush that rushed over his body.

He shook his head. God damnit, he was so, so stupid.

Wilson turned on his side and released a long sigh. His conversation with Wickerbottom had made him realize that his attempt to bury his feelings towards Maxwell was useless. Well, nobody could say that he didn't at least try. Boy, did he ever try to push his own feelings away and bury them somewhere deep deep down, in refusal that he might've caught some warm feelings towards someone who he once thought as his enemy.

But Maxwell was not his enemy, was he? He hadn't been for a long time, so why should Wilson try to hang onto the old, bitter hatred and heavy, crushing spite? Those were the feelings of the past. He had no need to try to drag them with him and cling to them like they were the the only feelings he was supposed to feel when he was around the magician.

But letting them go was kind of terrifying. What if it turned out he couldn't let them go? That he was too far gone, swallowed by anger? What if he let them go and it turned out that Maxwell would immediately go back to his old ways when Wilson let his guard down? If he couldn't keep the distrust and grudge as his shield, did that leave him completely vulnerable?

... Would it be worth it to try?

Yes. There was no hesitance in the answer he gave to himself. Maxwell had ran into corner and given up the fight, allowed the weight of his actions crush him like an ant. Maxwell wasn't going to turn against him, not anymore. Maxwell had gone beyond his own limits to prove to Wilson he wasn't who he used to be, and the scientist still had the nerve to fear that the man would betray him?

Wilson felt the shame start to compete with the awkward heat of embarrassment he felt before. Was he really that petty? Was he going to really look Maxwell in the eyes, and tell him that he didn't trust him and he couldn't stop hiding his true feelings behind the bitterness, in fear of getting hurt?

Perhaps they all were guilty for pushing Maxwell away and rejecting him, perhaps Maxwell still needed to make an effort to understand and try, but Wilson knew that he held more responsibility over this than the rest of them.

Because after all, Maxwell had expected the group to treat him like an enemy from the start, but he hadn't really thought the same way about Wilson for a long time. He had trusted Wilson, he had expected Wilson to do the right thing, he had thought that Wilson wouldn't see him as an enemy anymore. And Wilson had betrayed his trust, had pushed him away and done the wrong thing.

Maxwell didn't deserve to suffer like this. No matter what he had done or who he had been, it was in the past, it was behind them now, and Maxwell was one of them. And as one of them, he deserved to be treated as such, because it really looked like he genuinely tried to be better and fix what he had broken.

The problem was how he tried to fix things. There was something wrong, and Maxwell tried to pretend it didn't matter and tried to solve his problems all by himself, because he believed that it was the only way things could be. Worse, he believed it was the only way the things should be, that people should treat him badly and ignore his needs and problems, and that would somehow make everything better.

The worst part was that in a way, it actually did make things better. Wilson hadn't had to go searching for gears or mining or scavenging for the whole time while Maxwell was trying to set things right. He always had what he needed in the camp, and he had actually time to relax now. He knew that the rest of the survivors had similar advantage of the situation. Everyone had it a bit easier, everyone except for Maxwell.

And it wasn't right. It didn't feel right in any way Wilson tried to look at it, and he needed to make Maxwell see it as well, that this wasn't the way, that this isn't what they wanted, that he was trying to please them at the cost of his own health, and it was the  wrong way to go.

Wilson closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep. If he wanted to take care of Maxwell, he'd need to take care of himself first.

---

In the morning the first thing Wilson did was running back to his own tent to see how Maxwell was doing. It appeared that the man was awake, swaying a little when he sat on the bedding, sweeping his fingers on the cover of his beloved book like it was a cat.

"Maxwell" Wilson breathed out, not even sure if he was trying to call the man or just say his name out of the need to say it. The magician paused and rose his eyes to him, not bothering to say anything. When their eyes met, a heat flushed through Wilson, as he remembered the events of the last night.

"How-" he cleared his throat and tried to sound composed "How are you feeling?"

"Good."

For obvious reasons, Wilson didn't really trust his word, and knelt down to press his hand on the man's forehead. Still hot, still sweaty. At least he was in the bed and inside the tent now, where Wilson was able to take care of him. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

"I'll bring you food, wait here." He didn't wait for Maxwell's answer before sprinting to the icebox and grabbing a plateful of fish sticks. After only a moment of hesitance, he also snatched some small pieces of ice with him, before returning to the tent. This time Maxwell didn't meet his eyes, hardly even reacted to his presence. Wilson sat down and huffed out a nervous breath.

"Umh, when was the last time you ate?"

"Yesterday."

"I've been told that you haven't used crockpot. Have you taken something out of the icebox?"

Maxwell shook his head "I haven't stolen anything."

"No, I didn't-" Wilson sighed "I want to know when was the last time you ate a real meal."

Maxwell hung his head, thinking before answering.

"Yesterday."

"Okay... What did you eat?"

"Berries."

"Maxwell, that's not a meal. You need to eat real food. Staying alive with only berries is not healthy." Wilson placed his hand on Maxwell's shoulder and leaned down in hopes off getting some eye-contact or at least seeing the man's face, but Maxwell stared at his hands stubbornly.

"When was the last time you ate something else than berries?"

"A few days ago."

"What did you eat, then?"

"Seeds."

Wilson wanted to bang his head on something hard to fight the frustration. He took a deep breath, and tried to remember what it had been like when he had only started his truce with Maxwell. Breath in, count to ten, and breath out.

"You're gonna need to eat more than that. I brought you this" He offered the plate closer to Maxwell. The man finally rose his head, at least enough to give look at the food. He cracked his lips open, then closed them again and turned away.

"Give it to someone who needs it."

"I'm pretty sure that you need it." Wilson answered sternly, holding the plate in front of Maxwell. The man gave it another look before rising his eyes slowly to Wilson.

"Why would you waste it?"

Wilson blinked.

"Waste?"

Maxwell nodded, a small smile starting to form on his face again, as if he was glad that Wilson understood "Don't give it to me, that's practically the same thing as just throwing it away. If nobody else wants to eat it, why not offer it to pigs? Or catcoons, or spiders. Something will eat it."

Wilson rose his hand from Maxwell's shoulder to his cheek, giving him a pained smile.

"You're worthy of getting better, Max. You deserve to eat."

"...I am eating."

"I meant that you deserve to eat real food, actual meals, Maxwell, not only something you've quickly picked up from the forest!"

Maxwell shut his mouth and bowed his head down. Wilson lowered the fish sticks on the ground and scooted closer, and while Maxwell wasn't trying to get away, he froze up again. Wilson sat there and softly started to pet Maxwell's face with his hand.

"Look, I... I'm sorry I haven't been there to support you like I should've been. I can't tell you how much I really regret for being so mean to you. I left you to think that nobody cares and nobody listens, but I'm going to be here from now on, I will help you to get along with everyone, and if you can't, if we won't find a solution that's good for everyone, I'm still going to stand by you. If the others want you to leave, then I will leave with you."

Maxwell shot his head up, looking almost afraid, his eyes wide and lips curled into a small frown, as he started shaking his head.

"That won't happen, I won't let it." He whispered, starting to look around, as if he only now realized he was sitting inside the tent "I... Don't worry, I won't let them throw you out, I, I... What was it that you needed again? Pardon me for burdening you with my illness, I will see this won't ever happen again, I must-"

Wilson hushed the other man gently and took his hands to his own, pulling the man out of his head, as Maxwell slowly turned to face him again.

"Hey, heyy... Max... Calm down. You're here to rest. All you have to do is eat a little, and try to sleep, okay? Would you do that for me?" Wilson stroked the other man's skin softly, trying to hold back his own need to start opening up about his feelings and how worried he was and how much he just wished he could show Maxwell that he lo--- cared about him a lot.

Maxwell eventually agreed to eat the half of the food in the plate, but unfortunately the food was not known to stay well in the sick stomach, let alone the neglected stomach. Maxwell hardly had even swallowed a last piece of fish sticks, when Wilson could already see it from his expression that this food was going to come straight back up.

He tried to rub comforting circles in Maxwell's back when the man threw up the little he had been able to eat behind the tent, where Wilson had dragged him as soon as he knew what was about to happen. Maxwell coughed and spat there for a while, heaving weak breaths in when he could. It was a pitiful sight, something that some old part of Wilson before the throne would've probably enjoyed seeing, but now he only saw a weak man who needed his care and attention, but was so stubbornly trying to get away from it.

He helped the man spit and gag every last lump of vomit out of his mouth, and then hoisted him back on his feet and put him straight back to bed. He made sure to clean Maxwell's face, and instead of trying to feed him again, he took the pieces of ice from the bowl and held one of them up to the other man's lips.

"Put this in your mouth, it'll keep you hydrated and fill your stomach at least a little. We can try eating again later."

Maxwell at least appeared to genuinely feel relieved to have the ice in his mouth. Wilson let out a short sigh, pleased to see that Maxwell didn't fight against the ice cubes, and stood up to walk to the tent entrance, before stopping and turning to glance at the other man.

"I'm going to go out for a while. I will come back soon, okay?"

Maxwell just nodded at him sluggishly, and Wilson gave him a quick smile before leaving the tent.

He barely managed to step outside, before quite literally crashing straight into the group of people loitering before the tent. They all ended up falling down on the ground. Wilson lifted himself up and glared accusingly at Willow, who just shrugged her shoulders innocently.

"What? We were going to come to check on Maxwell."

Wilson  just stood up, eyeing the pile of people on the ground (pretty much everyone else except for Winona and Wickerbottom), eventually holding his hand up for Wigfrid, then for Willow, then Wendy. Willow dusted her dress, then leaned her hand on her hip, looking at him with oddly mild expression.

"... Hey. We really were worried, you know. We just didn't want to come inside uninvited."

Wilson sighed and pinched his nose, hanging and shaking his head.

"Please, just- He's really not well, don't go in there and play with his head. I know you don't think it's really hurting anyone, but believe me when I say, he really can't take it right now."

"I wasn't even going to! Geez, what do you take me for?" Willow snarled and turned her head sideways, offended. Wilson sighed, and tried to offer her an apologetic small smile.

"Sorry, I know, I just... I'm very worried of him and I don't know how much of this is just feverish nonsense and what's part of some bigger, deeper problem. And I really want him to get better."

"Uh, yeah? So do we? Why do you think we're all here?" Willow rolled her eyes, rising an eyebrow at him. Wilson looked at all of them. He had to admit that he hadn't really believed that the others would actually take this as seriously as he, but looking at their concerned faces and their anxious body language, he saw that he had been wrong. It moved him to know that he wasn't the only one who cared about Maxwell after all. Wilson just leaned forward to give the Willow a hug.

"Hehe, okay you big softie." the woman laughed and pat his back "You can count on us, we will be nice to His Highness."

Wilson pulled away from her, still smiling, but a bit more seriously "Yeah... Try not to throw those kind of jokes around too much yet."

Willow just rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out "Whatever. He will learn to appreciate it. Some day."

---

Maxwell watched as Wilson left the tent. He heard sounds outside, but he didn't really care nor pay attention to it. He was so tired, he hurt, he felt bad, and everything was like a static buzz. He was cold, yet he couldn't help but sweat, and his head was banging like someone had decided to hammer his skull to little pieces.

Maxwell sat up and turned his head to his neatly folded clothes, before leaning closer to search them, digging out a little sharp fang still inside his chest pocket. He turned it in his hand, watching it with only little interest.

After everything he had tried, after all the effort he had put into pleasing Wilson, it wasn't enough. Wilson despised him more than ever. Nothing he had done was right, nothing he had done had helped. He had only wanted Wilson to be happy, to get to live a little bit easier life. And he had done it all wrong, had caused Wilson to take care of him and bothered him with unnecessary burdens once more.

Still, he couldn't believe that Wilson hated him enough to actually kiss him. It was by far the most cruel thing the man could've done. Maxwell chuckled out a pitiful laugh.

It was nothing else but a mockery for his feelings. It was Wilson's way of showing him what he could never have, letting him taste how it would be like to have Wilson's love for himself, knowing all along that he could never gain such a thing. Wilson just wanted to remind him of his place, to give him a taste of a treat, knowing it would only make him yearn more, and then reminding him that it wasn't for him, that he could never have it. It hurt more to know what he was missing than never having it at all.

Maxwell knew he deserved it, he just didn't understand why. He wasn't sure what he had done, why had Wilson went as far as humiliating him like this. He could only believe he hadn't done enough, and Wilson was upset that he hadn't been able to deliver what he had wanted.

It was Wilson's own way to slap him across the face. How dared he even think he could ever do enough. No matter what he did, no matter how he tried, no matter his effort or attempts to do right by the younger man, he would never succeed. He could try all he wanted, but none of it meant anything to Wilson. Because why would it? Maxwell knew very well what he was. Wilson had made it clear to him.

But he had to keep trying. He had to. Because if he didn't, Wilson would think even worse of him than before.

Maxwell watched his dark, shadow-ruined hand for a while. He pulled the hound tooth over it, teasing the skin with ticklish sensation for a while with it's cold, hard surface. Then he hit it against his palm, gritting his teeth, pressing it deeper and deeper, watching the way it ate into his skin and flesh. Blood started to ooze out. Maxwell wondered if he could pierce his hand with it, burrow a hole in the middle of his palm.

With shaking fingers he let go, and rose his hand to watch the teeth sticking from it, examining the ruined skin and torn flesh quietly. It hadn't felt as fulfilling as he had hoped. It didn't feel the same as getting hurt by someone else. The man let himself fall on his back, staring at the ceiling of the tent with disinterest. He didn't bother taking the tooth out of his hand. Let it stick there, let it get infected, who cares. Not him. Not Wilson. Not Charlie. Nobody.

Maxwell closed his eyes and felt a cold feeling washing through his body. He wanted to hurt. Not feel sick like he did, not keep stabbing himself with the tooth, but hurt, truly, deeply hurt, to his very core. It was the only real way to feel better about anything. Since he couldn't achieve happiness, he needed to achieve the absolute and complete misery. It was the only thing that felt right anymore. It was the only thing he knew would always be there for him.

But he couldn't help it, he didn't know how to hurt right. He wanted to just keep dwelling in his own sorrow and jealousy and agony and grief, and he wanted it to be deep and dark and comfortless.

"Hi, asshole." the sudden voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Maxwell opened his eyes and lifted his head to see Willow standing at the foot of his bed, drumming her fingers on her arm and eyeing Maxwell's hand, the one with a tooth stabbed half-way through it "Can I come in, ooor...?"

Maxwell nodded and sat up, pulling his hand under the blanket. Willow walked closer and sat down "I'm gonna take a guess and say you just reached in your pocket and that accidentally got stuck there?"

Maxwell looked away. He had no intentions on lying to her, but he didn't want to have this conversation with her, either. He didn't know why she was here or what she wanted, but he was too tired to play games anymore.

"Can I help you with something?" he asked tiredly. Willow rolled her eyes, leaning to grab his arm and pulling it closer. Maxwell let her - he was way too weak to put up a fight, and if she was here to make fun of him, well, who was he to deny it.

"Let's take care of this first." the woman muttered and pried the hound tooth away. Maxwell winced and closed his eyes, but didn't try to pull his hand away. Willow started to wrap honey poultice over the wound, before she finished the treatment with a piece of silk, making a neat bandage over his hand.

"Okay, listen. I should prooobably tell Wilson about this-" Maxwell jerked his head up, giving her a terrified look, and Willow shrugged "-But, if you tell me what the hell was this for, I can cover for you." she gave him the eyes that he could only describe as consipiratory, as Willow swirled the tooth in her grip a couple of times, before putting it in her pocket.

Maxwell blinked in confusion. Willow huffed and let go of his hand, taking a more relaxed position on where she sat. The magician watched her for a few seconds longer, before eventually turning his head away, frowning tiredly.

"I don't know. I wanted to hurt, I guess."

"Did it hurt?"

Maxwell shook his head. It hurt, but not the way he wanted. Any kind of physical suffering couldn't make him feel as terrible as he needed to feel. He had been a fool to think he could relieve his agony by a simple wound on his flesh.

"Huh. Well, did it help?"

Maxwell paused, before shaking his head again. He waited Willow to start making fun of how weak and pathetic he was, to mock him for trying to hurt himself in some sad, pitiful need to feel like things were right. Instead the woman started to flicker her lighter.

"You know, you were acting pretty crazy last night. I always knew you liked an audience, but damn, I didn't expect you to pull off that kind of a show."

Maxwell rose his head to watch her curiously. Willow gave him a quick, indifferent glance, and then moved her eyes back to her lighter "It's not like we want you to, like, go completely insane or something. You're been a pretty big asshole, and you aren't my favorite guy around, but at least you're not trying to kill us anymore."

"I never tried to kill anyone." was all Maxwell was able to say. It was true, his intentions were never to kill anyone. He had just been selfish and cruel and didn't care, but he had put absolutely no effort to actually trying to hurt someone. He let the Constant do his dirty work.

"Yeah, I guess." the firestarter shrugged once more "I want to ask you a question. Why are you trying to be nice to us now?" The woman flickered her lighter one last time, before leaving the flame waver it's little dance on her hand, as she turned to squint her eyes at the former King. Maxwell didn't know what to answer. He hadn't expected her to be this calm, but it was probably because she didn't want him to be even more of an inconvenience to them. He shrunk between his shoulders, feeling the need to disappear. Was she really here to make him tell her all about how worthless he was? Was that what she came here to hear?

"I... I have to be at least a little bit useful. It's the only reason I'm here."

"Uhh, aren't you here because you and Wilson are like, close buddies or something?"

Maxwell let out an empty laughter, making Willow actually flinch back in surprise.

"Wilson has been joking about it, hasn't he? No, I know I'm only here because he freed me from the nightmare throne. I'm here because I'm indebted. And if that's the only reason I'm worth of keeping around at all, then I might as well just pay my debts."

Willow stared at him "Well that's a load of bullshit."

It was Maxwell's turn to look surprised. Willow tilted her head, frowning.

"I know we haven't been super nice to you or anything, but it actually was a bit hard to watch you fall apart yesterday. I mean, nobody was amused by it, we didn't actually know you felt that way, we didn't realize you were that messed up..."

Maxwell wanted to very much just die away to escape this situation. He couldn't for the life of him understand what Willow was after, why was she here just talking to him like he was a person.

He ended up just bowing down his head and falling quiet, not seeing any reason to continue this pointless exchange of words. If she wanted something, he'd do what he could, but he was too tired to try to take part of this little play. He couldn't understand why Willow asked him these question, if she didn't care for his answers, he couldn't understand why she didn't yell at him, if she wanted him to suffer.

Willow let him sat there in silence for a while, before she stood up and put her lighter away.

"Yeah, I see you need more rest now, so... Bye." She turned on her heels and walked to the entrance, but stopped right before opening it. For a short while the silence between them felt heavy, until slowly, thoughtfully, Willow spoke again.

"... You know something? I'm still fucking pissed at you for kidnapping me. Nobody likes to be tricked and taken away against their will."

Maxwell knew. He would've been more ashamed of his actions, if he just possibly could.

"But you know... It's not like I had much going for me back there anyway. I wasn't exactly living a dream-life. I've always thought that this was a new start, you know? A change to live my life by my own rules, the way I want to live it, without my past following me around. Plus, I have these cool fire powers here, so, that's a bonus." Willow didn't face him even once as she spoke, and her voice was oddly quiet. She paused for a while, and then gave a small shrug.

"Just... if it helps at all to hear; you didn't really  ruin my life at all."

She didn't bother looking back as she walked out, leaving Maxwell staring after her, very confused and puzzled.

Chapter 28: Talk to me

Summary:

Wilson does his best to take care of Maxwell.

Chapter Text

Wilson knocked on the post of the tent, before clearing his throat.

"May I come in?"

The silence answered him. The young man sighed, before walking in carefully, a bit worried, but initially relieved to see that Maxwell was laying on his side, eyes closed, curled in a small huddle under the blanket. Wilson walked closer and knelt next to him, carefully shaking his shoulder, as gently as he could.

"Are you awake?"

Maxwell opened his eyes.

"Do you need something?" his voice was still very hollow, and Wilson fought against the stinging in his chest.

"Willow told me you two had an, uh... accident, that you fell over and... well. I'm glad only your hand got hurt." the scientist tried to strike up a small conversation, but Maxwell didn't seem too eager to chat, so he just continued after a small silence "Are you feeling better? Has the fever gone down? Do you think it might be safe to try eating again?"

Maxwell shook his head. Wilson only assumed it was the answer to all of his questions. He sighed and started to absentmindedly rub Maxwell's shoulder, watching as he turned his eyes away.

He knew his worry was completely necessary, and he knew that he had to do something to help. He just didn't know what. Sure, he could make Maxwell eat and drink and take better care of himself, but that wasn't going to fix the real problem, the problem that had birthed all of these other problems.

And the problem with that problem was, that Wilson had no idea of what it exactly was. He knew that Maxwell had heard what he had said, about being the noose around his neck, and it only led him to wonder what other things Maxwell had heard them say, when they didn't think he was listening? Wilson could take responsibility for his own mistakes, for saying mean things when he was angry, for taking a side against Maxwell more and more often, for not even noticing how Maxwell had worked himself to the verge of sickness, before the man had finally snapped.

It really rubbed him the wrong way. He wanted nothing more than to fix his mistakes now, to nurse Maxwell back to health and then show him that he did belong to the group and Wilson really cared about him a lot.

"... I'm sorry. I'm very, very sorry for everything I've said about you... Or to you. I really care about you, Max. I don't want you to collapse like this."

To that, Maxwell managed to form a small smirk.

"I know." the man plainly said, and Wilson blinked in confusion, his hand halting.

"You do?"

"Of course. Don't worry about this, I will be back on my legs and working in no time."

Wilson bit his lips and felt his cheeks starting to burn. He hunched down to lean his forehead against Maxwell's shoulders, still holding it under his hand.

"No, I don't think you understand, Max. I care about you. I care about your happiness, I care about your health. I don't want to see you work yourself until you hurt, it's not what I want..."

"What else am I good for? I understand you want to be a good man, but it doesn't make you any less of a good man to treat me like I deserve. You don't have to house a cockroach for pity, you don't have to feed a rat for compassion. No use to being kind to the devil." Maxwell moved his tired, dull eyes to look at Wilson, a hint of sadness in his almost empty voice "You enjoy rubbing it in my face of how much better you will always be. It's... it's earned, I know I can't undo the things I've done. I know you're just taking what's rightfully yours. But please... I won't ask anything else, if you'll just grant me one thing."

Wilson didn't know what to say. He had too much to say, and instead of getting a single word out, the things he wanted to tell Maxwell got stuck in his throat, everything fighting to get to his tongue first, the mess of sentences and thoughts piling there like a particularly bad meal that Wilson tried to gag out.

He ended up just staring at Maxwell, nodding without able to say a thing. Whatever the man wanted, Wilson would do his best to give him. Maxwell rose his hand just a bit, to softly sweep over Wilson's wrist, light like a feather. He smiled.

"Stop pretending that I matter."

"You DO matter!" Wilson jumped up, frustrated and terrified and so, so worried. If he couldn't spat out any other words he so wished to say, at least he was able to say this. Maxwell grimaced as if Wilson had just hit him, and turned his head against the ground, closing his eyes and pulling his hand against his chest again.

"I see... I apologize for asking such a thing." the man mumbled, curling up even more under the blanket. Wilson stared at him. He rose the blanket up and sneaked underneath, huddling himself close to Maxwell and wrapping his arms around the man. Maxwell tensed up without saying a word. Wilson swallowed and started to stroke his fingers through his hair, trying to look him in the eyes, but they were closed up tight.

"You do matter. You really do, Max, you matter to me..." he whispered, low voice and soft tone, trying to somehow make Maxwell understand.

Wilson knew, it was one of the loneliest, cruelest things, to feel that you didn't matter, that there was no meaning to your life, that there was nothing worth of value you could say or do, that nobody cared, nobody heard, nobody noticed. As if you weren't even there, as if you had never been there in the first place.

Wilson knew how that felt. He didn't want Maxwell to feel like that, he didn't want anyone to feel like that... and it wasn't even true, Maxwell did matter, he mattered to lot of them, he mattered to Wilson. He mattered more than he thought.

The older man just let him brush fingers through his hair and laid there in his arms, not fighting back or pushing him away, but not really accepting his tries of comfort either. He didn't even bother to open his eyes. Wilson wanted to think that it was probably because he was still sick. His skin felt hot, he had red hue on his cheeks and he was shivering a bit. He was just tired, he was just ill, that's all... That's all.

They laid there for the majority of the day.

Maxwell blinked in and out of restless, uncomfortable dreams, only to wake up and realize that Wilson was still there. Whenever the young man would catch his eyes open, he immediately started asking if he needed something, if he was hungry or too hot or too cold, was he feeling okay, was he in any pain and so on. Maxwell answered him, but didn't try to conversate. He was tired, he still felt chilly and he had a bit of a hard time telling what time of the day it was - or what day, even. Had he slept over the night? Or just a few minutes? No matter the time spent unconscious, Wilson was still laying there, holding him. Maxwell shut his eyes once more.

He wanted to so, so desperately believe that he mattered to Wilson, that Wilson really cared about him... But he couldn't. He couldn't allow himself to believe something stupid like that. Wilson had grown so important to him, so dear to his pathetic excuse of a heart, but he knew that someone like Wilson could never care for something like him. His skin crawled when he even thought about the kiss. What would he do to get to kiss Wilson again... What would he give to hear, that Wilson felt as strongly for him as he did for Wilson.

But the memory of the sweet kiss tasted bitter. If he didn't know how deeply Wilson despised him, he would've almost believed that the kiss was a genuine act of some warm and dear emotion towards him. It was a genuine act for sure, but the intent in it had been anything but warm or dear. It was purely to belittle him, to make fun of him for thinking that Wilson could ever find him desirable in any way.

Wilson had given him something he wanted more than anything, only to take it away, only to see him lose it. And Maxwell could feel the cold burning inside his chest, when he once again reminded himself that he had no right to deny Wilson any chance for a revenge, and that he deserved to hurt like this.

"Maxwell? Are you awake? Do you want to, um, maybe try eating again?"

Wilson sounded so worried of him. Was it really that important to the scientist to prove that he was too good to leave Maxwell to dwell in his own sorry state?

Maxwell had only asked for one thing, only one small favor, and he would've been content for the rest of his life. He would've always been invisible, he would've given Wilson all the man asked, he would've made sure Wilson would never run out of food of healing items or anything else his heart desired. The only thing Maxwell wanted in return was a simple little promise, that Wilson would stop playing pretend. If he could only grand him some peace, tell him the truth...

But no. Wilson had denied him that one request, because he wasn't worth it. He didn't deserve it. So he had to keep living with the knowledge of how much he burdened and hurt Wilson, how much he weighted his mental health, how he strangled the man with every moment they spent together, and still having to watch Wilson smile, a lie on his lips, telling Maxwell that he mattered.

He knew he didn't. Wilson knew it, too. It was just like the kiss, it was mean to kick his knees and push him on the ground, meant to give him some terribly sweet hope, meant to offer him salvation, while knowing that he could never have those things. Waving the treat in front of his face while his hands were tied behind his back.

It felt cruel, and perhaps it was. But cruelty should be expected, when one was so foul and despicable as Maxwell.

The hand pulling away from his hair, landing on his cheek instead, pulled him out of his thoughts. He opened his eyes and looked at Wilson. The man had his face drawn in a frown, concerned and unsure, eyebrows sternly together and lip pouting lightly.

"...I think it would make you feel better if you ate a little. At least try, please."

Maxwell shook his head, closing his eyes again. Wilson tried to smile a bit, sweeping his thumb on Maxwell's cheek. It felt nice... Maxwell didn't want it to feel nice. He didn't want Wilson to make him feel good things, he didn't want to start believing he could have good things. He only wanted to be cold and miserable and lonely, the only way he knew how to be, the only way that worked out for him.

"Do you want me to bring you more ice? Does eating it feel easier?"

Oh, Wilson tried so hard for some reason. Maxwell shook his head again, opening his eyes to watch Wilson in his bright, brilliant eyes. Wilson stopped caressing his cheek, only to rise his hand back to his hair and start fondling with it instead.

"Maxwell... I... I wish you would talk to me."

That made Maxwell open his mouth, to answer, to talk, but this time it was Wilson who shook his head, and gave him a lop-sided, comfortless smile.

"No, I mean... I want you to tell me how you feel. I want to know what's hurting you this much?"

Maxwell didn't understand. Why was this bothering Wilson so much? Was it because Maxwell was being a burden again, because Wilson was so sick of taking care of him? Why did he look so sad about it? It shouldn't matter to him, Maxwell didn't matter to him, he knew he didn't.

He tried to speak up, to say something, but couldn't find the right words. Or rather, couldn't find the words that would matter.

What's hurting him this much? His dirty disgusting want for Wilson, his meaningless filthy love for him, his ungodly horrible desire to have some whisper of an echo to answer his feelings... and the undeniable truth, that his feelings would remain uncared for, for as long as he would live.

But could he say all that out loud? Could he tell Wilson what a sickening despicable freak he was? No, he couldn't humiliate himself like that. To actually see Wilson's face turning in horror, to hear his voice full of revulsion and disgust, it would be more than Maxwell could take.

"I... I'm..." He waited Wilson to start laughing at his face, waited him to mock him, as if Wilson actually wanted to listen to his pathetic excuses, as if he would even care. But Wilson didn't laugh at him, didn't sneer or scowl. He only pet Maxwell's hair carefully, watching, worry in his eyes. Maxwell shut his mouth and bowed his head down, prying his eyes away from Wilson.

"I'm just being the same old, terrible Maxwell. Who knows what's wrong with me."

Wilson sighed and leaned closer.

Very softly, very slowly, the man pressed his face on Maxwell's forehead. Maxwell blinked. He could feel Wilson's nose huffing warm air on his skin, he could feel Wilson's chin ever so lightly against his nose, he could feel Wilson's lips pressed over him, warm and soft and touching him again. Maxwell was frozen in place. He knew that Wilson had been laying there for a while now, probably almost half a day, but he only now felt lucid enough to really understand how close Wilson was to him. How Wilson was holding him and... stroking rough hands through his hair, and, and pressing his lips on his forehead...

He didn't dare to move. He didn't dare to speak. He didn't dare to open his eyes. He could only lay there and let himself be held, as the cold feeling spread inside his gut, the heavy, dark choking smoke rising from his lungs. There was some old part of him that just barely remembered how it felt when someone brushed fingers through his hair, how it felt when someone curled their arms around his chest, just to hold him, how it felt to lay in bed so close to someone, that he was able to feel their breath on his skin, feel their warmth around his body.

It was frightening to remember. Maxwell realized that this was one of those feelings he needed to kill before it started to grow, before it would take over his thoughts. He needed to get rid of anything that wasn't making him feel terribly miserable and alone.

Yet still... he found himself unable to move. Because no matter what, he had always been weak. He knew there wasn't any type of love in this for him, that whatever this was, it wasn't meant to comfort him. He was tired of pretending that he meant enough to someone to be cared about. He was tired of pretending that people felt such things as compassion or worry or affection for him. He wanted to, maybe he wished he could, but he couldn't deny the cold hard facts.

But just for this little while, just because some memory had pressed a warm hand on his chest, he wanted to lay inside Wilson's arms, and lie to himself that he could be loved, even for a short, unreal, dreamlike moment that would leave with the rest of his feverish, pathetic delusions, as soon as he would wake up tomorrow.

Chapter 29: Awakened

Summary:

Wilson has a talk with Wes.

Chapter Text

It had been a long, long day. Maxwell had finally fallen asleep, and Wilson felt only slightly relieved as he walked to the icebox to catch himself something to eat. He was tired and worried and confused, but he could at least be all of that with a full stomach. He sighed. He hoped that Maxwell would eat something tomorrow. It was understandable that the fever might've taken away his appetite, but Wilson felt the sting of concern in his chest. If Maxwell had been starving himself even before that, he probably might try to starve himself after. Wilson promised himself that he must make sure that it won't happen.

The man ate, deep in his thoughts, too tired to concentrate on anything. He wished he could just make Maxwell understand... But if the man wasn't hearing what he said, how was he supposed to tell him? Maxwell kept rejecting his attempts of apology, rejecting his kindness, clearly disbelieving what he said, and it was frustrating and concerning and... and it hurt. It hurt Wilson's feelings that Maxwell didn't believe him.

Although he supposed that he deserved it. He had let Maxwell down, broken his trust and ignored his cries of help. It wasn't any wonder that Maxwell felt like all the nice things Wilson had ever said were lies, and all his kind actions were nothing but pretend. Wilson would've done anything to fix it now, and he was going to do anything he could.

Head still buzzing with thoughts, he didn't notice a person walking closer, stopping right beside him, until there was a tap on his shoulder that snapped his back to the reality. Wilson turned his head to see Wes's smiling, always a bit worried face, as the man rose his hand up and waved. Wilson returned the smile.

"Hey. What is it, is something wrong?"

Wes shook his head, but his smile had shrunk down.

Remember what I told you right before Maxwell's meltdown? The mime signed. Wilson nodded. It was about time that they got to talk about it. They also needed to talk about how he had caught feelings for Maxwell, and... Well, Wes deserved to know the truth.

The mime let out a small sigh.

This might be personal. Do you want to go in the tent?

Whatever feels better, Wilson signed back, and Wes nodded, taking his hand and leading him to his tent. Inside the man sat down, starting to nervously tap his fingers on his knees, and Wilson gave his shoulder a quick, soft squeeze to calm the younger man down. Wes smiled, not very widely, and heaved out a sigh before rising his arms.

I went after Maxwell when he left to gather the reeds you asked for. You know that he doesn't bother learning to sign, and his temper is short with me. But I tried to ask him if his anger and hostility has something to do with you.

Wilson scowled.

"Me?"

Wes nodded, giving a small, unsure shrug.

He didn't really understand what I was trying to tell him, but he ended up opening up to me a little bit. I haven't wanted to snitch, but now I feel like I have to tell you, Wes lowered his hands for a while, an apologetic frown on his face.

"It's okay, I'm sure you did what's for the best." Wilson comforted him, rubbing his hand on the younger man's arm gently. Wes nodded, not seemingly very comforted by the gesture. His delicate small hands rose up again.

Maxwell told me that you had rejected him. I don't know what he meant by it... But he seems to feel very strong feelings for you. He said you act like you care, but you wouldn't hesitate to leave him behind if you needed to. He said that it doesn't matter if you like me or not, because you would never choose him. He was very upset, he asked me to leave that conversation be, and he would stay out of my way, as well as yours.

Wilson slowly lowered his eyes, not really knowing how to react. It was true that Wilson had rejected Maxwell by leaving him behind and not being there for him when he had needed Wilson's support... And he knew there had been that... that one moment, back when it had been just the two of them, when he had snapped at Maxwell for getting too intimate.

"That is... something that Maxwell seems to think, for sure" he managed to mumble out. He felt like someone had poured sand in his lungs "Today he said that he'd never ask anything from me, if I would stop pretending that he matters." Wilson started nibbling his lip in thoughts "He matters to me. I really do care about him. He is my friend as much as any of you."

A hand landed on his shoulder to catch his attention back to Wes, who tilted his head, rising an eyebrow.

Is he really your friend?

Wilson blinked.

"Of course he is! Why would I have bothered with him for so long if he wasn't? Yes, he can be difficult and egotistical and annoying, but he has his moments, and I don't enjoy seeing him like this-" Wes's finger pressed against his mouth, effectively silencing him, as the mime shook his head, and gave Wilson an odd look.

That's not what I meant. Is he really just your friend?

Wilson let himself sat there quietly for a moment, staring at the other man, before that one meaningful extra word slowly hit in, and the traitorous blush started to wash over his face. He opened his mouth, then closed it and looked away, before turning back and opening his mouth once more.

"...He... He is... it's complicated..."

Wes just shook his head, You like him, don't you?

"Of course, I like all of you-"

Wilson, you aren't that dumb.

That finally dropped all the excuses out of Wilson's tongue, and he felt the burning in his cheeks only worsen, and when he realized he didn't have anything to defend himself with, he hung his head in shame.

"I'm sorry. I, I didn't mean to, I just... I can't help it, I... I like who I like..."

A hand started to gently pet his head, and Wilson was almost scared to look up to see Wes's face. Wes was sweet, he was nice, he didn't deserve to be betrayed like this. He had now hurt two people he cared about, without trying to hurt either of them. Wilson hadn't meant to, but he had. Maybe he really was bad person, after all...

He inhaled a shaky breath, and rose his eyes back at the other man, giving him a very guilty look. Wes shook his head, smiling much more gently.

It's okay. I think I have known for a while now. You should be with him.

Wilson bat his eyes, lost and dumbfounded expression on his face.

"But, but I- W-what about you?" he asked, unable to hide the worry and regret from his voice. Wes only kept smiling, lowering his eyes down on his feet.

I don't mind. I just like making people happy... Even Maxwell. And I think you would be happier with someone you like so much. It would make me glad to see both of you finally get what you want.

"But he... he doesn't seem to even want me to-"

He's done all of this for you, Wilson. He wants you. But he has built up his walls so high, that now that they're crumbled down, he doesn't know what to do.

Wilson had to sit still for a while, glancing down on his hands, curling his fingers in discomfort.

Maxwell had done all of this for him. All of this overworking and staying out of sight and starving himself, all of this ignoring the dangers and effects of nature and weather, all of this talking about giving him all he needed and not having to see or hear about Maxwell, all of this ridiculous careless behavior that was making Maxwell suffer. All done for him.

The scientist bit his lip. Maxwell wanted him. Maxwell wanted him and somehow, by some logic that only Maxwell could ever think made sense, tried to turn him away and insisted being treated like he wasn't even a person. All because he thought that he was in debt for Wilson, out of some misplaced belief that Wilson might be pleased by this, that he wouldn't give a shit about Maxwell, as long as he could live a relatively nice and easy life.

And it hurt, but perhaps Wilson needed to hurt a little to really understand how bad he had treated Maxwell, how Maxwell had been hurt by him. The man released a sigh and leaned down to rub his forehead.

"What should I do...? Maxwell doesn't want to hear anything I say, he doesn't take seriously my worry or concern... I just want to tell him that I care, but he thinks it some kind of sick game of pretend and watching him getting hurt is like, fun for me? How can I prove how much I care, when every word I speak is met with denial?" Wilson grasped his hair in deepest frustration he had felt for a while.

It was already hard enough to get past Maxwell's defenses, and now it was harder tenfold. If saying nice things made Maxwell unhappy, would saying mean things make him feel better? That was not only absurd, but also useless, Wilson could already tell. Maxwell heard his kind words as an insults and would prefer 'the truth', but if Wilson started being mean, Maxwell would only see it as a confirmation of his own stubborn belief that Wilson hated him.

Wes rubbed his back comfortingly.

If he doesn't want to listen, then why not show instead of tell?

Wilson pondered it for a while. It might be worth the try. If his words were only going to hurt Maxwell, then maybe he could replace them with actions. He was going to be helping Maxwell anyway, so why not take it a step further and really show how much Maxwell's stupid incompetent rude ass meant to him.

Wilson let out a huff and smiled, turning to face Wes properly.

"...You're too good for anyone, you realize that?"

Wes just formed a heart with his fingers and smiled warmly. Wilson couldn't help but still feel guilty, still feel like he had betrayed Wes somehow, but the mime was so set on his decision of breaking things off so Wilson could be with someone wanted, that Wilson couldn't fight him even if he felt like he should. Wes really was too good for anyone, and Wilson hoped that he could find someone he felt happy with as well. Wes deserved much better than Wilson could ever give him anyway.

"If you ever need anything...." He started, but his words were shut down by Wes who snatched him forward and closed him into a tight hug. Wilson blinked in confusion, before slowly returning the embrace "Thank you."

There wasn't much else to say. He could spell out his whole vocabulary trying to explain how grateful he was for all Wes was for him, for all Wes had done for him, for everyone, but he knew there was no words to describe the amount of warm feelings he had for the mime. And Wes, of course, didn't need such praises - he was happy just to make others happy.

Wilson made a side note in his head to be angry at Maxwell for imprisoning someone so entirely pure for lord knows how long, but he would save that argument for some distant day in the future when things were less chaotic and fragile between them.

Eventually the two men let go of each other and leaned away, and Wilson rose his hand to scratch his neck awkwardly "I should, uhh... Should I head to sleep in another tent? Now that we're not, you know... a thing...umh..."

Wes made an 'I don't know' face and shrugged. It wasn't really a bother, but Wilson felt just kind of weird sleeping next to Wes, after he had just not-really-but-kinda confessed that he had feelings for someone else. But Wes just leaned to give his cheek a small kiss, fluffed his own pillow a little, and curled down and closed his eyes. Wilson blinked, and for a while, considered staying instead.

But he couldn't. It felt just wrong, right now. Maybe it would feel less wrong in the future, but now he felt like he had to end this properly, not leaving things to linger in some uncertain territory. So he knelt down to brush his hand through Wes's stringy, thin hair, and stood up and walked out.

There was a sense of closure in hearing the tent opening flapping shut behind him. It felt done, resolved. So, there. He was no longer bound to anyone else, nothing stopped him from doing what he wanted with whoever he wanted. And he knew what he wanted, and who he wanted it with.

... So, now what? Should he go into his own tent, where the certain someone was still sleeping off his fever? Should he give the man, as well as himself, some time to think things through?

Wilson knew he wasn't the best at waiting. He often grew annoyed and frustrated, nervous when he couldn't just do and had to be patient. Stars and atoms, he hated when he had to be patient... Was there even a need to be patient? It would be respectful to Wes, sure, but Wes had already made it clear that he held no ill will for Wilson nor Maxwell, and wished them to sort out this thing.

Wilson ruffled his hair and growled in irritation. It was late and he was tired. Maybe he'd just sleep on the strawroll tonight, and take the matters in his own hands in the morning. That sounded like a plan, that might be just what he needed. A goodnight sleep as a man of his own, before he would start pursuing some kind of agreement or understanding with Maxwell.

As he laid down a strawroll and settled on his back, staring at the starless, inky black sky, he couldn't help the feeling of warmth creeping in his chest. He had not let himself to think Maxwell as someone he liked, someone he wanted to like, and now that he had admitted it to himself, admitted it to Wes... the next logical step was admitting it to Maxwell. But the problem was that Wilson hadn't even said it out loud to anyone yet, that he didn't think he only liked Maxwell, didn't only care about Maxwell, but he... he... he knew that he felt something much stronger and steadier, something firm and stable, a feeling that he had not felt many times before in his life.

He had felt lust before, albeit rarely. He had just driven himself forward with work and things that were more important, he had never had time to think like that. But he had to admit, Maxwell had touched something inside him, awakened some ungodly part in him, that had lurked in his subconsciousness constantly, always sneaking behind his thoughts, never in a plain view but still there, like a terrible secret that he had locked in the closet but was distantly always aware of.

And now he guessed that he had to come clean to himself, as well as Maxwell, for both of their sake. Wilson wanted Maxwell to like him, he wanted attention and admiration, but in the end, it didn't even matter at this point. He just wanted everything to be clear between them, he just wanted them to be okay. He wanted to speak about their feelings, just to know where they stood, to have some kind of understanding between them of what they wanted from each other.

So many complicated, messy feelings were always in Wilson's mind when he was around Maxwell. He felt the great need to be someone to Maxwell. And not just a man who saved him out of the goodness of his heart, although he had done just that. His relationship with the former King had developed far beyond what it had started as. He could admit, that for a long time now he had wanted Maxwell to pay him attention, to notice him in some way, respect him and be impressed. He wanted Maxwell to look up to him, to feel that Wilson wasn't only better than he had thought, but someone who Maxwell could admire.

And Wilson realized it was a bit egoistical, that it was a type of selfishness that had nothing to do with how he felt for Maxwell, it was something he had in some level always longed for, always wanted from the people around him, but with Maxwell, there was something else in there, as well. There was the feel, the want, for Maxwell to pay mind to his words, to hear him and just actually care about what he said, what he did. He wanted Maxwell to want him, he wanted Maxwell to look at his way and not be able to look away, he wanted to be something that Maxwell genuinely cared about.

Wilson let out a long, drained sigh, and rubbed his forehead. He wanted, he needed, to apologize to Maxwell that he had been so selfish, that he had never really noticed to care what Maxwell wanted from him. He had not been fair, at least not the way he had claimed to be.

And perhaps Maxwell deserved it. Perhaps it was justified that Wilson had drifted away and forced Maxwell to take care for himself, perhaps Maxwell had deserved to come to terms with what he had done and live with the consequences of his actions. Perhaps it was right to push Maxwell to make up for his mistakes.

But the point of every punishment was to teach a lesson. To make things better, not to destroy them. And it seemed to Wilson that Maxwell sure as hell had learned a lesson somewhere along the way, and if he was honest, Maxwell had suffered enough for his actions by now.

Wilson turned on his side and shut his eyes, closing himself inside his own thoughts.

In the Constant, you needed to be selfish to survive, but Wilson had always been good at finding a new use for the old things. He might've been selfish, but he could use his selfishness to make things better. He wanted to be happy with Maxwell, so he had to make Maxwell happy. He wanted to feel better of Maxwell's situation, so he needed to make Maxwell feel better. He wanted to be with Maxwell, so he needed to make up for pushing Maxwell away, and show him that he was wanted. It was selfish, but it was the kind of selfish he could use to benefit someone he cared about a great amount.

He didn't want to lose Maxwell. He wanted Maxwell to feel safe and protected, he wanted Maxwell to be close to him again. Wilson wanted to chat with him, make him laugh and watch him be proud and self-important. He really wanted to learn what it was like to touch him, how close he was allowed to be, how deep inside Maxwell would let him sink in-

The small blush made itself known in Wilson's face, and the man squirmed, letting a weak whine slither out. That last thought was a bit more intimate than he had intended it to be.
 
...But he couldn't deny that he was selfish enough to want it as well.

Chapter 30: Out of the bed

Summary:

The fever has gone down, and Maxwell can't hide in the bed forever.

WARNINGS: Issues with food

Chapter Text

Maxwell lived through several unpleasant dreams that night, which was just a norm if he ever slept anyway, so it didn't upset him any more or less than usually. But it made him tired. It was tiresome to rest, only to wake up exhausted. So he avoided resting in general, because he was going to end up exhausted anyway, and why would he submit himself to the fangs of every horrible memory mixed in with some fears and abstract horrors of dream lands? No, he'd rather not.

But he had to admit that this time around, he at least felt somewhat better when he woke up. The strong shivers of cold weren't there anymore, and his head didn't feel like someone was throwing rocks at it every second.

The man rose to sit up, scratching absentmindedly his injured palm, staring at nothing in particular. His head wasn't as hazy and buzzy as it had been for latest few days, and now that he could think somewhat straight, he wasn't sure what to think about everything that had happened in those feverish, weak moments he had been lucid enough to remember. He didn't know what to do after he had embarrassed himself so badly and broken down in front of the others.

He supposed there wasn't much he could really do. He could refuse to move or eat and let himself waste away, or he could run away and hide from all of his problems, like he was so experienced at doing.

Or he could pretend that the last couple of days never happened at all, and hope it would all just go away.

After all, what else there was for him to do? He had nowhere to run, he had no reason to be anywhere else. He might as well keep up paying his debt, since it seemed to be the sole thing that he was good for, since all of these people, Wilson, they deserved to have some sort of compensation for everything.

"How are you feeling, mister Maxwell?"

Maxwell didn't really get surprised by the voice, and didn't have a reason to react to it by rising to look at his visitor. Webber was a good kid, but Maxwell had no strong need to play some kind of a good guy just to appease them.

"Good enough." that was an answer that would preferably turn the kid away and satisfy their curiosity.

"Oh. Can we come in?"

Maxwell sighed internally, but only ended up waving his hand as an accepting answer. Webber hurried in and dropped to sat on their knees, big eyes staring into Maxwell and making him wish he would've mastered the disappearance act when he still used to be William.

"We made you this" Webber said shyly, and offered something small in their claws closer to the magician. Maxwell rose his head, and there was a small sting in his chest, when he laid his eyes on the small gift, wrapped in spider silk and beefalo fur. He tried not to swallow too loudly.

"This is, uh..." it was hard to find out the words to express how he felt, how meaningless and unneeded this was, how bad he felt about everything and how this wasn't what Webber should be doing with their free time... but he still rose his hand and heedfully took the small package from the boy, pulling it close to his chest, eyeing it silently.

He glanced at the kid, and then back to the gift. He told himself that his hand wasn't shaking as he pinched his fingers on the ribbon (a weakly weaved strands of hay), and gently pulled it off. Webber swayed back and forth in anticipation, making small jumpy movement as their eyed Maxwell.

Besides the uncomfortable staring of his one-person-audience, Maxwell managed to unwrap the gift. Then he just stared.

It was a purple gem.

"We know you like magic things, so we got you this! Now you can do whatever you want with it! You can make another shadow manipulator, or a nightmare amulet or telelola... telecateto... the moving-things-staff!" Webber excitedly explained, eyes shining in glee, as they waited for reaction.

Maxwell didn't know what reaction to give them. He just stared, blinking his eyes slowly at the gem, glimmering in the dim light of the tent, deep, intense color reflecting a shadow of it's hue on Maxwell's hand.

"Mister Maxwell...?"

Maxwell shook his head in silent shock, and lowered his head against his knees, hunching over himself, curling his limbs to his body. He felt the hairy claws reach to his shirt, tugging it carefully.

"Mister Maxwell, are you okay? Should we go get an adult?"

Maxwell shook his head and blindly fumbled his hand somewhere around Webber's direction, until he touched a hairy shoulder, and grabbed it in his hand, squeezing feebly. This God damned kid, with their big heart and sweet soul... How was Maxwell even supposed to answer to this?

"... Do you want us to leave? We didn't mean to upset you."

How was Webber able to feel such genuine compassion? It was insane that they were even able to accept him, that they were able to move on. Maxwell didn't know how to move on, he didn't know if he wanted to. He shouldn't be given gifts, he shouldn't be given understanding or kindness. He shouldn't be given anything but pain.

"We have been really scared for you. We thought this would make you feel better. Because you're not like the piggies, you can change who you are. And we like you, we want to be your friend, because you're part of our family now."

Oh, damned be everyone and everything. Maxwell wasn't good enough to be someone's family. Not even close. He  was foul, despicable and terrible creature with nothing good and nothing redeemable in himself, he was just like the hounds that everyone so loathed and wasted no compassion for.

Webber's small claw suddenly, very cautiously and warily, landed on Maxwell's hair to pet through it with light, almost unnoticeable movements.

"We we're hoping that if you feel better, you would come eat breakfast with us. We want to help you feel better."

... Well, Maxwell supposed that even the hounds had their packs. Even the bloodthirsty, cruel creatures like them had bonds formed among their own kin. He shakily only squeezed Webber's shoulder stronger, telling himself that whatever was itching behind his eyes was only an exhaustion, it had nothing to do with the feeling that made him swallow thickly and find it hard to breath with a steady, even draws of air. Webber had settled for sitting next to him and stroking their claws through his hair, clearly unsure of what to do, but not as unsure as to make them leave.

Maxwell kept grasping the shoulder of the spider kid with his hand, the purple gem in his other one. It took a while to get a grip of himself enough to sit steady, to push the pressure in his chest back to somewhere were it had come from, and convince himself that he was not being torn apart by some fond emotion, but instead of guilt and sheer weakness.

Eventually he slowly rose up his head, and hesitantly glanced at Webber form the corner of his eye. The monster kid drew their mouth into a wide smile that revealed all of their sharp, inhuman teeth, and Maxwell shuddered about the thought of them, even if he knew that Webber wouldn't bite him. The petting of his hair had stopped a while ago, and Webber's small hand had fallen on his shoulder, so they just sat there, hands resting on each other's shoulders.

Then Maxwell cleared his throat and withdrew his hand.

"Forgive me, I suppose that I'm still a bit unwell." What a see-through excuse, but an excuse of any kind was better than admitting that he would ever accept anyone's kindness here. Webber giggled, smile as wide as ever.

"You're not unwell, you're Maxwell!"

"Oh, haha. Did Higgsbury tell you that one?"

"Yes!"

"Of course he did. Look, I really am a bit... "

"It's okay! Are you feeling good enough to come eat with us? Do you like the gift?"

The gift was... disgustingly sweet. Maxwell almost considered throwing it back at Webber and barking how he didn't want their stupid pity-presents, but instead he bit the inside of his mouth and forced himself to swallow the shame down.

"It's... it's fine." he muttered, avoiding Webber's eyes. The kid squealed in happiness and patted Maxwell's shoulder.

"You're welcome! Come on, it's still morning! Let's eat something!"

Reluctantly Maxwell let the kid help him up, and tried not to think that he was being stared at when he dressed into his pants and shirt, and lazily pulled on his waistcoat, without even bothering to button it up. It was good enough, he was too tired to bother making himself presentable - what a new low for him, not even caring for his image. The knowledge of how little it mattered anymore, since everyone would sneer at the sight of him anyway, was comforting him a little bit.

The man quietly followed Webber out of the tent, keeping his eyes on the ground, sluggishly letting the kid lead him to sit near the firepit as they ran over to icebox to decide what to eat.

"Good morning, dear." Wickerbottom's voice came from close by, but Maxwell didn't rose his head up to face her. He didn't have enough guts to do so.

"Good morning, miss. May I be of help to you?"

He heard the old woman click her tongue.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, ignoring his question. Maxwell shrugged. Good, bad? What the hell did it really matter. He was well enough to stand, so he supposed he was well enough to do some work. After all, there was no need to keep a dead-weight around. And he had been in bed for a couple of days now, he was already slipping too far from counting as useful.

Soon enough Webber hurried over to him, pushing a plate of meatballs on his hands. Maxwell's stomach turned just from the sight of them. He was still feeling the effects of unhealthy diet and sickness, and the meatballs were not good at awakening his appetite. He swallowed and started poking the food. He felt obligated to eat what Webber had given him, but such as much he felt obligated to refuse it. He had done nothing to earn this, it was good, well-made food. What good would it do to give it to someone as weak and worthless as him? He wasn't going to be of any better use to them with a meal like this, he could manage with berries and seeds like before.

"Oh... morning." Wilson's surprised voice slithered into his ears, and Maxwell almost dropped the plate in sudden shock. Oh God, why did he agree to this? He'd rather be anywhere else than here right now. He only hummed out a sound and decided, that the best way of surviving this was just toughing his way through it. If he just pretended to eat a little and then left to do something, everything would be okay, no need to worry at all, it was going to be fine.

A hand on his shoulder froze the blood in his veins, and he grasped the plate on his lap as tight as possible to keep his mind at something else than the sudden burn of the touch.

"Are you feeling any better? Did you get to eat?"

It was just Wilson, just asking a couple of questions. No need to feel so pressured. No need to panic.

"I'm fine, I'm just going to eat this and, and leave..." he was not going to eat this, even the thought of it made him want to throw up. But if he just nibbled a few small bites, it might be enough to turn the unwanted attention away from him...

"Leave? Back to bed?"

Was he accused of being lazy again? That he hadn't done what he was supposed to, and on top of everything, he was stealing Wilson's tent to himself now? He shook his head, still staring at the ground.

"No. Leave to work, to, uh, to gather-" Maxwell started to explain, hoping that Wilson would understand that he hadn't meant to do this, that he wasn't being the continuous problem on purpose, he really tried, he tried not to be in their way, he tried not to bother Wilson, and he hadn't meant to get sick, he had fought against it the best he could but he failed and he knew it was his fault but he didn't mean to- 

Suddenly Wilson sat next to him, his head leveling with Maxwell's, and the older man had to turn his head in order to keep avoiding the eye-contact.

"Maxwell, you shouldn't stress yourself, you're barely even out of the bed."

This was another trap, wasn't it? Wilson was testing him, watching if he really was going to keep up his usefulness, or if he was going to take the first opportunity to slack off. He shook his head as an answer again, in hopes it would satisfy the scientist and make him leave. It did the opposite.

"Max, you must take it easy for a while. I can see that you have been through a lot lately, and you don't have to keep pushing yourself like that."

He has been through a lot? HE?! What a joke, what an insult! As if he has been through even a fraction of what the others have been suffering through. And Wilson dared to tell him that he didn't have to push himself? Did he really think that Maxwell couldn't see the irony of the situation, that he was blind to the way of how hilariously the tables had turned?

Maxwell had not felt angry for a while, but he felt something hot burning his chest, as his mouth curled into a snarl.

"I am doing you a favor" he hissed, unable to hold back the sudden rush or shame and regret that he so often disguised as anger "Just stop giving yourself a headache with unneeded thoughts, go fiddle with your experiments, and leave me to do what I'm here for."

As soon as the surprised, awkward silence took over, he realized what he had said and froze completely. Fuck. Shit. He was supposed to stay in line. Didn't he brag so proudly just a day or two ago how he wasn't going to forget his place again? Yet here he was; as soon as he had regained some strength, he was being rude and mean again. He really was the worst of the worst.

"Max. This isn't a 'favor'. I don't want you to do this for me." Wilson growled back with a stern, irritated voice. That was enough to snap something in Maxwell, and the man jumped up from the log, letting the plate crash on the ground and break, as he started to voicelessly walk away without paying any mind to the voices rising up behind him.

What had he thought? That Wilson would be pleased? That Wilson would thank him, be happy, be grateful? For what?! He had done nothing worth of that kind of recognition! He had just been fixing what he had broken, picking up the pieces of glass he had shattered, and that wasn't the same as doing a favor, that was just taking accountability and cleaning up his own mess. Maxwell was just paying back his debt. That was all. 

Something started to itch the corner of his eye again, and he stubbornly bit his teeth together and forced the feeling to go away. He was angry and he was hurt, and he knew that it didn't matter, he didn't matter. So he just marched forward in a blind rage to his own feelings he hated, and everything around him that refused to just leave him to suffer in peace.

Eventually his path came to a stop, as he came around a small marsh biome. He might've just stormed forward, if he had even taken a backpack with himself, but he had foolishly left the camp with nothing in hand. So he just ended up standing there silently, staring at nothing in the distance, feeling the burn inside his chest cooling down slowly.

He didn't know what to do with all these feelings. He felt fear and anger, he felt confusion and uncertainty, but most of all, he felt shame. It was horrifying to be aware that everyone had seen him pathetically losing his mind, how he had tried to desperately appease them, how he had begged and apologized and rambled in some last panicked attempt to make sure he could make up for everything he had done.

And now he couldn't escape the shame. He supposed he didn't have any other choice than just bite his teeth together and try to survive it, somehow. Another reason to drown himself in the workload that he needed to get back to. The less he needed to be around the others, the less he would have to be subject to their knowing eyes.

It wasn't going to get any better, anyway. So what if people had been acting a bit weird, if Willow or Webber were trying to act nice? It didn't change anything. Maxwell had been behaving like they wanted him to, he had been out of their way and he had done everything he could to make sure that they could have it a little bit easier. No wonder they had some moment of hesitance. If he ever made a mistake, everything would return to the way it was. The right way. And he had already made a mistake, hadn't he? Had lashed out and ran off like a moody teenager.

"Ah, Max! Thank god I found you..."

Maxwell sighed and buried his face behind his hand when he heard Wilson's voice behind him. Of course Wilson had followed him. He was probably angry, furious that Maxwell had dared to leave before he was finished, had wasted the perfectly good food and probably upset Webber in the progress, too.

He stood there and waited Wilson to start yelling at him. Maxwell would deserve to be yelled at, and he wouldn't deny any crude words Wilson would call him. He'd been called many things in his life, he doubted that he could be called anything he hadn't heard before. Wilson himself had came up with some very interesting words to call him in the past, so at least it might be interesting to hear what new words he could use.

Instead of words, there was a pair of hands curling around his body, as the smaller man pressed against his back and squeezed him inside his arms. Maxwell froze. No, no no no, not another weirdly gentle and strangely soft touch! What the hell had gotten into everyone around here?!

Wilson just stood there, holding him firmly, fingers absentmindedly drawing small lines against his shirt and warm breaths huffing on his back. Maxwell furrowed his brows. Wilson was trying mess with his head, trick him to believe he wasn't as despised as he was, and when he had fallen for it, Wilson would crush him so effortlessly it would actually be funny. That must've been what was going on. After all, what was worse than being in love with someone, who loathed the air you breathed and the earth you stood on? This was just another insult to the injury, he was sure about it. Wilson's own little way to turn the knife in the wound. What a creative way to break him. Wilson had always been so resourceful.

Maxwell started to feel the pressure inside his chest again, but not the burning kind this time... this was more painful, the cold grasp of discomfort, of fear, of hurt.

"Max..." Wilson's quiet voice tenderly almost whispered, as his other hand rose up to Maxwell's chest "I know you're trying to do this to make up for the things you've done... but I don't want you to hurt, least of all because of me. I want to help you." his hand tightened it's grip, and once again, Maxwell found out that it was too much for him to handle, and he furiously pried himself out of the hold and stumbled forward on the marsh, turning to watch Wilson with wild eyes.

"Will you stop that! You cannot help me, just let me do this for-" Maxwell didn't get to finish his sentence, when a rising shadow on ground caught his attention, and he recognized that this wasn't a shadow of Their design, but rather a shadow of a living creature blocking out the sunlight. He turned around and saw a tentacle rising up from the muddy ground, lunging to attack.

The next thing Maxwell knew, was getting yanked by his collar and thrown away. The quick motion and the sudden tightening around his throat pulled a choked gasp out of him, as he was slammed on the ground away from the tentacle. Some part of him immediately whined inside his head that great, now his suit was ruined by mud and dirt, but those thoughts were quickly drowned under the panic and confusion.

Maxwell lifted to lean on his elbows, his heart drumming in his chest. He blinked, turning his attention to the tentacle that was now rather wildly wielding itself around, in pain and enraged. Then a smaller figure - Wilson, Maxwell realized -stroke a weapon in the body of the thing, and it swooshed through the air even more furiously, before finally straightening up and shaking tensely, and then, after a one more violent tremble, it fell dead on the ground.

Maxwell just stared. He rose his eyes from the dead creature to it's killer, and watched the man panting heavily, blood splattered on his shirt and chin, face curled into an furious glower as he stared down the carcass, a tentaclespike on his grip - and then he turned his enraged face at Maxwell, and started walking towards him.

The magician felt his heart jump to his throat, then dropping at the bottom of his stomach, as he started crawling backwards in panic. He was afraid that his blood was going to decorate the scientist's face next. But he didn't get far, before Wilson had already closed the distance between them, and in an last attempt to defend himself Maxwell threw his arms up to cover his face and cried out.

"Wait I can explain myself-"

- Before he was suddenly snatched to sit up, and then Wilson practically fell over him, once again closing him inside a hug. Maxwell froze, not sure yet if he was in danger or not. After giving himself a moment to calm down, he decided to speak up.

"...I... I didn't see it..." his voice was weak.

Wilson hummed, surprisingly calmly, as his hand rose to grab Maxwell's hair weakly - a bit too weakly. Maxwell furrowed his brows together as the suspicion rose it's head, and started gently tapping his hands around Wilson's body. Wilson only continued humming in pleasure "Soft hands..." the man muttered.

Eventually Maxwell found what he had been searching, and carefully started to feel around the wound on Wilson's back. It run all the way from his shoulder to the middle of his back. The scientist hissed as the older man's fingers fled through the screaming red flesh, and Maxwell hushed him - he had completely forgotten anything else, now the only thing in his mind was to get Wilson safe and treat his wound.

"Get up, we have to get you back to the camp as soon as possible" he urged, trying to push the other man off of him, and Wilson nodded, but made no attempts of getting up. Maxwell sighed, a bit annoyed "Wilson, you have to let go."

To this Wilson shook his head and only climbed further over Maxwell.

"No, no I won't let you go." he answered, a hint of panic slipping into his words, as he clung to the other man tightly. Maxwell forcefully pushed him off of himself, but didn't manage to pry him off completely. The harder he tried, the tighter Wilson grasped him. Eventually, in order to get help before it was too late, Maxwell hoisted himself up, and after a few attempts, succeeded on lifting Wilson on his arms. Wilson just clung his arms and legs around the man like a koala.

But Maxwell was too worried to care, only thinking how he needed to take Wilson back to the camp right this instant - he could already feel the blood soaking through his shirt. Even if the wound might not be deep, it bled enough to alert him.

The walk had felt shorter when he left the camp. Perhaps a grown man clinging to him like particularly insistent burdock had something to do with it, but suddenly Maxwell wished he had bothered to learn how to ride a beefalo so he could get to the camp faster. He wasn't used to carrying anything heavier than an axe, and what Wilson lacked in height he sure made up in weight. How was someone so short able to even be this heavy? probably the muscles, but Maxwell was sure if he asked Wilson, the man would answer something along the lines of 'my brain is so big it's heavy with all the knowledge'.

Maxwell shook the idea out of his head, forcing his warm small smile to disappear. He was better off not thinking those kind of thoughts about the other man... it was only going to hurt him more.

He made sure to repeat that mantra the whole way back to the camp, where he was immediately spotted by Wigfrid and Wolfgang.

"Tiny science man!"

"Wilsön!"

Maxwell fought against the instinct to turn around and run when he watched the two of the strongest people around rushing towards him. He was surprised of how composed he was able to stay as Wolfgang swept Wilson from his arms, and as the scientist, still stubbornly trying to keep his grip on Maxwell, managed to rip a button from his shirt as the strongman hastily removed his hands from him.

Maxwell was even more surprised of hugging himself, staring after Wilson as the man was carried away. Then he heard a strong sound of throat being cleared next to him. He dropped his gaze to Wigfrid, who eyed him with angry stare.

"What happened tö öur scientist?"

Maxwell lowered his eyes on the ground "A tentacle."

"Yöu just cöincidentally happened tö be aröund? Disaster seems tö föllöw yöu, Maxwell."

The magician shook his head and sighed.

"I didn't see the tentacle fast enough, Higgsbury saved me." that rose the bitterest taste of them all to his mouth: the taste of guilt. Wasn't he already deep enough in debt? There Wilson went again, saving him without any reason to do so. Was it his personal goal to make sure that Maxwell would never run out of dept to pay? Because it sure as hell seemed like it!

"Are yöu wöunded?"

Maxwell turned to give her a puzzled look. Wigfrid didn't turn away her eyes, so he just ended up shaking his head. It seemed to be the easiest answer to give to practically anything. To his dismay, Wigfrid nodded, and slapped him on the back as gently as she probably was able to.

"Great! But that rises a wörry - We shall start tö train yöu för a battle!"

Maxwell jerked away, giving her a horrified look. Battle? Was she going to attack him now?! But Wigfrid only laughed.

"Öh nö! It is nerely öur respectable elder's wish tö shape yöu up, sö yöu may defend thyself in the future!" the warrior explained. That was a relief to hear, but it stung Maxwell a bit to once again realize that he wasn't good enough. They were tired of his incompetence, and the actress's words bared a grave message: if Maxwell couldn't defend himself, he was on his own. Nobody would lift a finger to help him if he ever ran into harms way.

The man turned his head to gaze to the direction of the medical tent.

... Well, nobody but Wilson.

Maxwell felt himself shudder weakly. Wilson was hurt. He'd done the very thing he had worked so hard to avoid, and at this point he wasn't sure if everyone around him just suffered from his bad luck, or if he was somehow unknowingly hurting people on purpose. What ever was the case, it didn't change the end result. He made things worse. He hurt people. He hurt Wilson.

Maxwell got pulled out of his mind, and the man turned his eyes back to the warrior woman. Wigfrid had taken him by the arm, and was now scowling at him.

"Gö see höw he is döing."

Maxwell blinked "What?"

"Gö see Wilsön. He saved thöu, did he nöt? The least yöu can dö is express thine gratitude tö him." The tone was stern, but it lacked the usual venom that it carried when Wigfrid spoke to him. This time it was almost just neutral. Maxwell wasn't ready to think what that meant, so he only nodded and wobbled towards the ten with shaky steps. 

He stepped inside and paused, eyes meeting with Wilson's all too soon. The man sat on the makeshift stool, his upper body covered in bandages, hunching over himself. He was fiddling with his fingers, a small smile on his lips.

For a few, tense seconds, they just stared at each other. Maxwell didn't know if he was suppose to apologize and thank Wilson and just leave the man be, or if Wilson wanted him to stay there and look what he had done. Maxwell decided to at least try the first option. He coughed to his fist, and hung his head.

"I... I came to thank you for saving me again. And to apologize that I've caused such harm... again." it was hard to say, hard to hear, but what else was he to do? Any kind of apology was not going to fix anything, and he knew his thanks were nothing but empty words to the others, but saying nothing would mean that he wasn't any better now than he had been before.

"Max... You didn't cause this." Wilson's tired voice made him knit his brows together and face the other man again. Wilson gave him a weary smile and shook his head "It was not your fault that the tentacle was there, it was not your fault that I decided to protect you. I should be the one to thank you."

Maxwell opened his mouth, only to let out a sound of nothing. Wilson huffed out a laugh and smiled.

"Wickerbottom patched me up.  She told me that I received a pretty nasty wound on my back, and I was lucky that you were there. So, uh... Thank you. It might've been worse without you."

Maxwell didn't know what to reply, so he ended up saying nothing. Wilson had no business thanking him, when this was clearly his fault! Despite that it was true that he had no control over where the tentacle was hiding or how Wilson decided to act... But still! Things wouldn't have been worse if he wasn't there, things would've been much, much better! If he hadn't ran there in the first place then Wilson wouldn't either, and the man wouldn't have gotten hurt at all!

Maxwell gritted his teeth and lowered his gaze back to the ground. Perhaps it would be better if he learned to fight. That way nobody needed to hurt themselves because of his incompetence.

"If I can do anything to make up for this, tell me." he said in a low voice, closing his eyes and clenching his fists. He didn't mind if Wilson's thanks were genuine or not, he didn't deserve it, and he wouldn't accept any thanks for barely even making up for something he had caused in the first place.

"Well, for the starters, I would appreciate it if you'd go and fetch some food here, since it didn't look like you got to eat before. We can eat here. Wickerbottom says I should sit still for a while, to make sure I don't pass out from the blood loss. Plus, she gave me a bit of medicine, and I feel kinda dizzy." Wilson explained and rubbed his neck, smiling nervously. Maxwell just sighed and left to grab something to eat, bringing the plate back to the tent and offering it to Wilson without a word. The man blinked, rising his eyes to look at him.

"Where's your food?"

Maxwell really wasn't in the mood for an argument. The day had barely even begun, and he was already exhausted. He ended up just standing there, scowling and holding out the plate in front of the scientist, waiting for him to take his damn food. The less he took, the more he was able to leave to people who mattered. It wasn't Wilson's problem if he ate or not. 

After the awkward eye-contact continuing a bit too long, Wilson finally took the food and started eating. Maxwell crossed his arms and stood there quietly, waiting for him to be done. Wilson had made it clear that he expected them to eat together, so he didn't really have much else to do than wait.

Once again Maxwell had to be reminded, that Wilson wasn't a slow eater, nor was he a clean one. Holy mother of God, Maxwell swore he had never seen anyone else eat like a hyena before he met Wilson. Wilson was in no hurry to eat, yet it seemed like he was racing against the time itself and attempted to smash as much food in his mouth in as little time as possible. He hardly even swallowed in between his bites, the animal.

"Owh, yawh showhin" Wilson sputtered, his mouth still full of food.

"I beg your pardon?" Maxwell rose an eyebrow, and watched when Wilson took his time chewing, and finally swallowed.

"I said that you're scowling. I... haven't seen you looking like that for a while." the man explained, shy smile rising on his face. Whatever expression Maxwell was making disappeared in an instant, as the cold grasped a hold of his chest again, and the man lowered his head. He had not meant to look angry, or annoyed or displeased or anything. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He shouldn't forget. He should stay in his place.

When he opened his eyes again, his expression was back to the neutral, empty look he had adapted to lately. Wilson immediately stood up and shook his head like crazy.

"No, no no no, I like it! I'm happy you're starting to feel like yourself again!"

Like himself again? That was the whole problem, he wasn't good when he was himself. But it was going to be fine, he was going to kill whatever it was that made him so horrible... he just had to beat himself up about it long enough, and he'd be able to get rid of the problem. Maxwell was the problem. Maxwell needed to go.

The man flinched when there suddenly was a hand on his cheek, and he realized that Wilson was now standing very close to him. He had that stern look on his face that he often did, eyeing him curiously, a bit of worry in his expression. Maxwell wasn't sure what to feel, what to think, what to do. So he just stood there, stiff and unmoving, waiting for something to happen.

"I...I want you to know how much it means to me that you're here... How much I really care about you..." Wilson half-whispered, and begun to lean closer, his eyes slowly fluttering shut and his lips cracking open just a bit, and with horror Maxwell realized too late what was about to happen, when Wilson lightly pressed his lips against his own.

Chapter 31: Infected wound

Summary:

Wilson does his best to help, and ends up finding out just how deep Maxwell's problems are.

WARNINGS: Sexual content, dubcon

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

As soon as his lips touched Maxwell's, Wilson felt his whole body tensing up. But it was a good thing to feel nervous about this, right? The kiss was just a small, light little peck. He didn't want to scare Maxwell. He wanted Maxwell to feel how he felt, know what he knew, he wanted Maxwell to feel important and wanted and safe. He curled his other hand behind Maxwell's lower back, his other hand pressing on the man's cheek softly.

He had to admit that he felt a bit light-headed, no doubt because of the wound or the medicine, but it felt kind of good. It made him feel a bit dizzy, like he was drunk, without the annoying side-effects. Just pleasantly tingly and woozy.

He moved carefully, wanting to offer comfort to the other man, wanting to keep him close and safe and lov   cared for, inside his arms. And Maxwell stood there, nice and soft and... and there, not moving a muscle.

Wilson felt his feet starting to tremble and his back sting from the way he needed to stand on his toes to reach Maxwell's face, and he hesitantly broke off the kiss. Why did the man have to be so tall (It was his fault, not Wilson's, Wilson was perfectly average height).

He took in a quiet breath and leaned back down, cracking his eyes open and gazing into Maxwell's black one's. The man had little to no expression over his face, but he was clearly flustered, and his brows were ever so slightly pulled together in almost a frown of some kind. Wilson blinked and stared at him, warm breaths running from his lips. Maxwell's own were closed.

Wilson expected the man to say something, react in someway, but he just stood there like a statue, quiet and still and watching Wilson with half-closed eyes. Wilson did the same. He wanted to hear what Maxwell thought, he wanted to hear did he get his feelings through, did it make Maxwell feel any better...

But the man just stood there, like Wilson's kiss hadn't even happened. The shorter man waited, but as it seemed, so did Maxwell. After the silence had gone on long enough to be uncomfortable, Wilson bit his lip and leaned against the older man's chest.

"I know I have been harsh on you, and it hasn't been fair... But I want you to know that I really care about you, a lot. I care about you in a very, uh, um... special way..." He squeezed the other man and closed his eyes, waiting for a reaction. Maxwell must've understood, right? He must've put two and two together, he must've realized what Wilson meant with all these hugs and kisses and touches...

"What about Wes?"

Wilson  pulled away to give Maxwell a look, and the man turned his eyes away. Wilson had almost forgotten that Maxwell wouldn't know about him and Wes, he hadn't exactly announced it very clearly to anyone. Then again, he hadn't exactly made their relationship known in the first place either. Despite not trying to hide it, he hadn't exactly told anyone that he was together with anyone.

"We're... we're not together anymore. He broke up with me."

An emotion, that was hard to recognize or identify, flashed through the other man's face, and a resemblance of smile tugged the corner of his lips.

"... Ah. That's... that's fine, then." the man said with something in his voice, some tone or tint that Wilson heard but couldn't understand. He just started to caress Maxwell's cheek with his hand, gazing into his dark eyes that seemed blacker than the nightly darkness. Maxwell met his eyes, but it was as if he wasn't really looking at Wilson at all, as if he was staring into someplace else.

"Maxwell, please... I wish you would stop pretending that you don't feel anything, like you're just an empty body. I like you when you're you, when you get angry and snobby and annoyed... I like your face when you smile. And when you look calm, and I like when you speak and when you show off... I... I don't want to lose everything that makes you you, and I'm going to do everything I can to bring you back."

To not really his surprise, Maxwell shook his head and chuckled quietly, closing his eyes.

"Fine... I'll play along with you."

"No, I... This isn't some game, Maxwell, I'm trying to show you how much I care-" Wilson groaned in frustration, but a small laugh burst out of Maxwell, interrupting him.

"... Yeah, okay." Maxwell opened his eyes and watched Wilson with exhaustion. He looked like he wanted to collapse and give up, like he was drained empty and hollow... And still, he just couldn't rest, couldn't find help by closing his eyes and relaxing.

Wilson knew that feeling. The exhaustion was easy to treat. But the feeling of exhaustion, the weight of thoughts and emotions that harassed your head in every waking moment, were not so agreeable to treatment. He'd have to do more than just force Maxwell to take a break every once in a while.

The scientist let his hands drop down to hold Maxwell's own, as he rested his head to the man's chest once more. He heaved out a sigh.

"Maxwell, what are you after by doing this?" He asked in a low, quiet voice, and felt the other man make a restless movement "What do you want?"

A silence fell inside the tent, and Wilson could almost hear the fast, frantic heartbeat underneath the other man's clothes, the chest rising up and down slowly as he breathed.

"... It doesn't matter."

"It does."

"No."

There was no bite in either of their voices. Wilson was still feeling a bit woozy of the medicine and blood loss, Maxwell was probably feeling whatever he had been feeling these last weeks.

"... Fine. Could you at least eat a little bit?"

No answer. Wilson huffed out a sigh, and pulled away from the hug, tiredly starting to wobble towards the opening, pulling the other man with him.

He led them to the firepit, where he sat Maxwell down and put a piece of dragonpie on his plate, sitting next to him. It took a while before he was able to finally prompt the older man to eat at least a couple of bites, but Maxwell eventually ended up eating the whole piece of the pie. He must've been hungry, but when Wilson asked if he wanted more, the man just shook his head.

Everyone knew that Maxwell wasn't fine. But there was no use trying to  argue with him, not for too long anyway. Wilson knew how stubborn the man could be when he had decided so, and he would rather waste his energy on something more productive than trying to move the unmovable object.

So as Maxwell once more stood up to leave, Wilson hurried to catch him before the man could disappear, and instead of letting him go and overwork himself, he led him to sit at the wooden desk, and placed a large, blank paper in front of him.

"If you want to be useful, make us a map. There are some sketches and notes we have taken, and one rough version of the actual map Woodie tried to make..." Wilson explained and offered a very unsure looking man a feather pencil "If you're not sure, just ask me. I'm not far, I promised to help Wolfgang with something, so... see you later." He patted the man's back, leaving him sit there, staring at the table like he had never seen one before.

The rest of the day went by rather quietly, which helped Wilson let go of his worry for a while. The dizziness in his head and weakness in his body lessened during the light work he did, and every so often he checked in with Maxwell, pleased to see that the man was still sitting at the desk and drawing. It made him feel better to know that Maxwell wasn't somewhere doing something reckless, and that he was able to make sure that the man had at least rested and eaten something today.

When the sun started to set, he wandered around again, stopping to stand behind Maxwell, prying over his shoulder at the map he had been making. Knowing how much Maxwell sucked at everything he did on his first try, Wilson had half-expected the map to look like a particularly wonky drawing that people saw and said 'at least you tried'.

But it wasn't. It was almost beautiful. Wilson could very well recognize the places in it, but Maxwell hadn't only drawn the roads and biomes and marked where the dangerous or useful creatures were located. He had decorated the map with small pictures and notes, and the pictures actually looked rather nice. Maxwell wasn't a great artist, but still, there was something very eye-catching and sympathetic in the little scribbles of hounds and rocks and tallbirds. It reminded Wilson of those very old maps, were people seemed more interested on drawing pictures of imaginary sea monsters eating their ships than actually making a decent map.

"It's amazing." he whispered, and Maxwell jumped and turned to look at him with a mortified expression, slamming his hands over the map to hide it. Wilson gave him a tender smile, and softly removed his arms from the map "I bet that even Willow would use a map, if it's this well made."

Maxwell said nothing, but turned his head away and nodded. His face didn't seem as empty or pained as before, almost just a little confused, as if the man wasn't sure what to answer to an actual honest compliment. Wilson supposed it might've been a long time since Maxwell had heard one.

"You know..." Wilson straightened his back and started to tap a finger on his chin "The camp could use a little decoration here and there. It's therapeutic to be surrounded by pleasant looking things. And it would help us all feel more like home. Do you want to try the potter's wheel?"

Maxwell shrugged, but it wasn't the same tired, forced heave of shoulders as it had been lately - this time it was fast and stiff, like Maxwell was just embarrassed to admit he wanted to try it. Wilson smiled at him.

"Come on, let's go sculpt something." he encouraged the other man, and as Maxwell stood up, a small paper caught the air and flew down from the table. Wilson turned and knelt to pick it up.

"Oh, Wickerbottom won't like if we leave a mess-"

"Don't touch it!" Maxwell's frantic, almost angry growl startled Wilson, and he automatically backed away from the other man, holding the piece of paper on his grip as Maxwell made an attempt to snatch it away.

"Why?" He asked, knitting his eyebrows together. Maxwell bit his lip and said nothing, but his hands shook as he slowly clenched them into fists. Wilson's frown deepened, and he folded the paper open and took a quick look.

It was a list. Or some kind of a catalog of different words. A very negative, unkind words, that were commonly used to describe something or someone unpleasant. Wilson didn't read the whole thing, didn't want to, as he lowered the paper down and gave Maxwell a confused, concerned look.

"What's this for?" he asked, and the other man turned his face away.

"It's personal." Maxwell's voice was almost a whisper.

"What. Is. This. For?" Wilson tried again, firmer.

"It. Is. Personal." Maxwell's voice matched his, as he spat the words between gritted teeth, furiously glaring at nothing in particular. Wilson opened his mouth, realized that he didn't know what to say, and lowered his eyes once again on the paper. He had a hunch who Maxwell had written this for. Maybe making the man say it out loud wouldn't be such a good idea.

Wilson folded the paper up again, and slipped it into his vest pocket. He saw Maxwell make a nervous movement, as the man noticed that he put the paper away, but the man ended up just standing there quietly, fists shaking and brows drawn into a discomforted scowl.

"... It's late. Let's eat something small and then go sleep, okay?" Wilson tried to sound neutral and as unaccusing as possible, when he took a few step towards the firepit, and was relieved when after a while Maxwell followed. They didn't speak as they ate, at least not to each other. Wilson spoke with the rest of the group and Maxwell ate a couple of bites and spent his time poking the food, but at least he was present and actually sitting with them now. Webber spoke to him a little bit, and Maxwell muttered out a couple of answers.

Eventually the hustle and bustle of the survivors calmed down as many headed to bed, and others to work through the night. After a while Maxwell also stood up, and cleared his throat.

"I... I thank you for lending me your tent, Wilson. I will return to my own place tonight, and I sincerely apologize for being inconvenience to you all. Good night." The man bowed his head politely, and turned to leave back to his worn and barely usable strawroll near the lonely tree, but Wilson took his wrist and grinned.

"Yeah, you know what? Maybe you should go to your own place tonight..." He said innocently, tugging Maxwell to walk with him to the opposite direction of his former sleeping place. He led them to the direction of the tents, and stopped near his own, but not before it. Beside his own tent stood another, a new tent.

"Ta-dah! Wolfgang helped me to put it up. It's for you." Wilson tilted his head towards Maxwell, smirking at the man while inspecting his reaction. Maxwell blinked at the sight without a word, dumbfounded expression on his face. He blinked a few more times, before his hand slowly rose to his stomach and grasped his shirt tight.

"You can still sleep in my tent with me, if you want to. But now you can sleep comfortably, safe, and in your own privacy, if that's your choice." Wilson kicked the ground, feeling the little heat under his skin "... Look. There are lot of things that have been unfair to you. I hope I can make up for at least some of them."

"I..." Maxwell stared the tent, wide-eyed and dumbstruck "I don't deserve..."

"You do. It's only fair, and I feel awful for not making you one sooner. If you want..." Wilson tried not to blush and sound too obvious " I, umm... I could, you know... help you settle in?" he glanced the older man from the corner of his eye.

Maxwell stared, uncertain of how to feel. The whole day had been a roller coaster, a lot to take in. Webber and his purple gem, Wilson saving him from the tentacle, the map-making, Wigfrid not wanting to gut him in sight, and now the tent. Everyone had been so nice to him today for some reason. He didn't understand. He told himself that it was some kind of a cruel joke, that as soon as he turned his back, they were laughing, mocking him, making fun of him and everything he did.

But he couldn't help but feel something disgustingly warm and light lift his chest up, clearing some kind of smoke away and making it a bit easier to breath. It felt nice. He just didn't understand.

It was a shame that Wilson took his list away, this was exactly why he needed it. He had to remind himself of what he was, whenever these unwanted nice feelings tried to invade his mind. He shouldn't forget. He had to stay strong, he had to remember, he had to keep holding onto the truth.

"... Maxwell?"

Maxwell flinched and turned to look at Wilson. The younger man watched him curiously, cocking his head slightly.

"I uh, asked if you would like me to help you settle in...?" the hopeful tone in Wilson's voice was almost sad. Maxwell couldn't have denied him, even if he had wanted to. So he nodded, and once again, let the man take his hand and lead him in. There was hardly anything inside when they entered; A lantern, a bedroll, a chest, and Maxwell's suit jacket and tie folded on the self-made pillow.

It wasn't much, but compared to his previous settlement, it was certainly a nice upgrade. Maxwell tried to tell himself that he didn't deserve or want it, but he was tired, he had been feeling tired for a while, and he just... he was tired of fighting against this weird game Wilson had decided to put him to play. Sure, if they wanted so much to just force these nice things on him, he'd accept them, and later hear the complaints and blames for being a greedy selfish jerk.

Maxwell dragged his feet to the fur roll and practically fell to sit down on it. He leaned to open the chest and was surprised to see that it already had something inside, namely a few puddles of nightmare fuel and a life-giving amulet.

"Someone has left their belongings in here." he informed Wilson, and the man knelt down to see inside the chest, and then let out a chuckle.

"No, they're for you. You always tell me you need more nightmare fuel, and, well... The amulet is just an extra safety measure. You are kind of an accident prone." he grinned teasingly, and Maxwell huffed out a sound of offense, before placing the purple gem inside, and after hesitating a while, he carefully lowered Codex inside the chest as well. Wilson quietly watched him, and Maxwell felt a sting of fear as he lifted his fingers away from the cover and closed the lid of the chest.

"Well... that takes care of that..." he muttered and turned to Wilson to ask if this was all the man had come to watch him to do, but stopped dead on his tracks as his eyes met with the scientist. Wilson had a serious look on his face, watching Maxwell in thoughts. The taller man felt something rose in his gut, an uncomfortable feeling grasping his insides.

"...Maxwell." Wilson called, voice solemn, as he leaned closer, and Maxwell had to fight the sudden panic that rose it's ugly head again "There are a lot of things I want to tell you. A lot of things I need to discuss with you... But right now, can I ask you a question?"

Maxwell didn't know why, but he very much felt like a prey chased into a corner. Wilson stared him down with stern eyes, as if he was contemplating on where to strike first.

"Ask." Maxwell answered quickly, mostly to keep his voice as steady as possible, a word short enough to avoid the nervous stutter that threatened to come out. Wilson eyed him a while longer in silence, before opening his mouth again.

"What do you really think of me? Just this once, be honest with me. What do I mean to you?"

Was there anything worse that Wilson could've asked? Anything that might've hurt or humiliated the ex-King even more? It wasn't enough that Wilson knew, it wasn't enough that Wilson didn't care. No, of course he needed to take this even further, needed to make Maxwell admit out loud how disgusting and sick he was. Maxwell was not allowed to feel those kind of feelings for Wilson. He had tried to get rid of them, he really had, but the little feelings that always lit around Wilson refused to leave.

"I... I-I..." Maxwell started glancing around in search of something that would either by him time or let him escape this situation altogether. Should he tell Wilson the truth? Would a lie save both of them from the terrible revelation that was clearly visible, but still safely below the surface? Maxwell would do anything to make sure it would never emerge.

A cold sting pierced his chest when Wilson's words from the past echoed through his head, ripping his insides like sharp claws, the familiar hurt and humiliation crawling into his chest.

Why would I ever like you?

Why would I ever like you?

It felt so long ago, but the wound was still as fresh as could be. Wilson had made it clear, that if Maxwell truly thought he might be able to get his feelings returned, he was not only an idiot but also selfish beyond measure. After what he had done, after how he had acted, was there really ever going to be anyone who could feel those kind of warm, deep feelings for him? No. And even the thought that he'd have to tear the old wound even wider open by confessing it out loud, by telling Wilson how he felt with his own words and voice...

Not many things in his life had actually hurt him. Obviously he had felt his fair share of sadness and fear and anger, embarrassment and discomfort, but those had been nothing but mere scratches on the surface. He had been able to brush them away and move on with no trouble.

But this, this was something that had not only made a wound, but infected it, gnawed it's way deep inside to make a nest, feasting and growing stronger, until eventually Maxwell had realized, that this wound was not going to scar over as the time passed on. It's like the feeling inside always returned to eat a little bit of him away, day by day, never letting him forget.

And now Wilson wanted to see him tear the wound open, split his flesh, spill his blood, with his own hands. Maxwell thrust his eyes close. He reminded himself once again, that this was what he deserved, that he owed this to Wilson, and Wilson was entitled to have an honest answer to his questions.

"I, w-well.. You're very... I, I have... when you're close, I... I, I don't know how to explain it." Maxwell mumbled in a voice so low it was barely even audible. He felt Wilson leaning closer.

"It's okay... take your time."

Maxwell swallowed a thick pressuring feeling down his throat.

"... I, I care about you, a lot, and... I've always admired, I mean... you, you're very important to me, I... I..." Maxwell took in a shuddering breath "I like you very much."

There, he said it. Not as clearly as he could've, but that was the best he was able to force himself to do. He just couldn't go through with the same thing as before. He cringed even remembering how he had somehow thought, that there was something happening between them, that he had seen something in their interactions back then. He couldn't hear it from Wilson again, that offended, terrified voice, suspicion in the warm brown eyes. He just couldn't.

He forced himself to stay still when he felt Wilson's hand touching his chest, and the younger man crawled closer, almost leaning over him, and soon Maxwell felt the warm huff of air against his face. He didn't dare to open his eyes.

"... Would you say you...um, like me enough... to... um..."

Maxwell felt his heartbeat getting louder, faster, afraid. Wilson's lips lingered nearly close enough to touch him, but not quite, not yet.

"... to... to maybe..."

He felt Wilson tilt his head, he felt Wilson's knee brush against his inner thigh, he felt the fingers curl to grasp his shirt. Wilson was waiting for a mark to go ahead, he was teasing Maxwell, pressuring him to break and just say it, just come clean, just pull those feelings up above the surface, so there would be no denying any longer, no matter how he'd wished.

"... Yes" Maxwell let out a shaky whisper, and Wilson immediately pressed against his lips, and Maxwell's heart jumped almost out of his skin.

Wilson kissed him with a passion of a man who had not seen another human being in a thousand years. Maxwell felt him trace the edges of his sharp teeth with his tongue and pushing against his own serpent-like muscle, trying to prompt him to match his own movements, and Maxwell, obediently, followed his lead.

Wilson burrowed a hand under his shirt, feeling around his ribs like he had never touched another man before, and had to feel every single inch with his fingers. It tickled, it itched. Maxwell hadn't been touched like this for a while. He didn't remember how long it had been, who had it been, where had it been. Maybe someone from the theater he had thrown a show in. Maybe someone in the men's restroom at the bar on some night after a few drinks.

But not in the Constant, not like this.

Maxwell swallowed a bittersweet taste down, his heart aching, as Wilson's hands caressed him, pressed and groped and scratched and stroked, the man's lips pecking kisses on his lips and fondling his chin gently.

"I can't tell you how long I've been denying this from myself..." Wilson panted against his ear, and Maxwell cracked his eyes open, staring at the green fabric of the tent. How long had Wilson denied this from himself...? How long had he refused to strike Maxwell where it hurt the most? Too long. Wilson truly had a patience of a saint. This was a long overdue punishment, a form of humiliation that Wilson had been holding back.

It would feel good to Wilson. For Wilson it was just pleasure and play. But not for Maxwell. For Maxwell, it would be another tagger in the heart, turning and twisting and wounding, because Wilson didn't care about him a single bit, and there was nothing in these touches that was meant to be received as fondness or affection. It was just to hurt him, to make him at least good for something, to make sure he could be used.

... Saving the best for last, wasn't that how the saying goes?

But if Maxwell managed to forget everything outside this very moment, he might've been able to pretend that Wilson did this out of something else than a deep, bitter hatred. What a ridiculous thought... what a pretty lie.

So he leaned his head against Wilson and  held him tight, as the short man ran his hands through his body and huffed breaths on his skin, his lips every once in a while pressing to give a small kiss or lick to his neck.

"I want this, I want this with you" more avid words were husked in the air. Maxwell tried to think that Wilson wanted this with him for some other reason than to use it as an opportunity to hurt him, punish him even more, punish him in the worst way he knew how to.

After all, he was so deeply, throughoutly unlovable.

A noose around Wilson's neck.

Why, why would Wilson ever like him, when there was nothing at all to like.

Maxwell let his own hands drop down to rub Wilson's thighs, and the other man moaned, answering Maxwell by pressing himself to the touch.

Maxwell had always wanted to be loved. He had wanted to feel, that the occasional kisses with some eager stranger in the dead of night had some warm emotion behind them. He had wanted to believe, that despite being a shy and clumsy one of the two brothers, his parents would still at least care about his small achievements in life. He had wanted to think, that They chose him, because there was something great and powerful in him that They strangely adored-

His hand happened to briefly touch the chest pocket, where Wilson had sealed the list of the words he had written in.

.. And he had really wanted to hope, that Wilson might have just a small amount of fondness for him.

Maxwell felt the persistent salty drop forming on his lower eyelid, when he exchanged touches with the other man in the stuffy, sweaty air of his new tent. Somewhere along the way his shirt had been opened, as well as Wilson's vest.

"M-max-" Wilson whimpered and pressed his mouth over his neck, kissing him, sucking gently "touch me."

Maxwell did. How could he not? He owed Wilson more than he could ever pay back, and if this was how the man had chosen to take what was rightfully his, who was Maxwell to deny it. It's not like he didn't want it, it's not like he didn't want Wilson. But to know that Wilson wanted him as little as one possibly could made something dark and heavy twist inside him.

Maxwell undid Wilson's pants, and as he started rubbing him, Wilson started to moan and mewl in pleasure, thrusting eagerly into his hand, hands tightening on Maxwell.

Maxwell felt strangely fulfilling feeling rising inside his chest. Finally, he thought, as the knot grew in his throat. This was the kind of hurt he had been longing for, the kind of feeling that grasped the dark, needle-sharp claws around his pitiful heart and crushed it until it bled out all the happiness and hope and pleasure he had ever felt in his long miserable life.

He bit his lip and felt a tear escape his eye. Every husked whisper and breath sounded like nails on a chalkboard, every touch burned like a melted iron. This was what it felt like to be meaningless. This was what it felt like to not matter. This was the touch that didn't love, this was the kindness that was meant to hurt, this was his life, this was his worth, this was what Maxwell was, to his very core.

"M-maxwell...?" Wilson sounded alarmed, broken away from the cloudy bliss, and Maxwell felt his warmth lean away. For the first time since they kissed, he actually met Wilson's eyes. The scientist quickly furrowed his brows, hand rising to gently press to his cheek.

"...What's wrong?" He sounded so confused. Maxwell shook his head and pulled Wilson closer to give him a kiss, fighting away the selfish, cruel need to cry.

"Nothing. Everything is just fine, pal." he muttered against the younger man's lips. A thumb softly swept a trail of salt away from his cheek, and Wilson pressed his other hand to Maxwell's wrist to stop the touching.

"Why are you crying? You're trembling..."

Maxwell let a smile rise on his face as he sat up, softly pushing Wilson on his back, and lowered to lay over him.

"It's fine, Wilson... Let me make you feel good." he muttered and descended down between Wilson's legs. Maxwell opened his mouth and closed the man's dick inside. Wilson jerked back and gasped, letting out a breathy moan as Maxwell let his tongue curl around his arousal, starting to suck him teasingly.

"Oh, ah, Max..." Wilson whispered out a shuddering breath, and his member throbbed inside the other man's mouth. It took a while for the scientist to be able to form another sentence, but when he did, Maxwell was almost annoyed of what it was.

"Ah-are you sure that it, that it's fine?" Wilson mumbled, weakly thrusting into his mouth. Maxwell pulled away, leaving a red, eagerly standing dick coated in precum and saliva unattended for just long enough to answer.

"This isn't the first time I've had to do dirty things to pay off my debt, don't worry. I know what I'm doing."

That snapped Wilson away from his lustful haze, and he tried to pull himself away.

"Wait - Is this the same thing as before? Are you just doing everything you've told to do?!" The younger man shook his head in disbelief and worry, his voice a bit firmer now, but before he was able to continue any longer, Maxwell drew a tip of his tongue on the slit, moving to caress his glands, making Wilson shiver and shudder in a breath.

"I told you... I have a lot of debt to pay. It has never mattered how I feel before, why should it start to matter now?"

"M-max, nah, no... w-wa-wait-"

Maxwell felt a burning feeling in his stomach. Wilson was such a beautiful thing, a shuddering and trembling mess, unable to resist the kind of rush of pleasure that Maxwell gave him. It was so hilariously obvious that Wilson was feeling great, that he was building up orgasm faster than probably either of them had anticipated. Maxwell leaned up give Wilson a short look, massaging his thighs softly.

"I can be useful to you, let me prove that you can have something out of me..." Maxwell closed his mouth around the red, twitching member and worked his magic

"Maxwell no, you- nAh~" Wilson threw his head back, his legs twitching as his dick throbbed and leaked precum down Maxwell's throat. Maxwell gladly let the man thrust deeper, feebly chasing the feeling he was offered. At least Wilson wanted this. He could help Wilson to relax after a hard day, he could help Wilson clear his head when he was too anxious, he could help Wilson to drop his burdens and just enjoy himself for a while. If he was good for nothing else, he could be good for this.

Wilson tried to interrupt him a couple of times, but it was clear the orgasm was building up at fast rate and he had a hard time keeping his thoughts together, hard time fighting against the waves that washed him with bliss. 

Then Wilson gasped in a shuddering, deep breath and bucked up his hips, cumming into Maxwell's mouth, shivering and moaning in ecstasy. When Wilson had spent every last drop that he had in him, Maxwell finally freed his boneless member, and lifted himself to sit on his knees. The tent was quiet, except for the scientist's deep, heavy breaths. Maxwell swept his wrist over his lips and closed his eyes, savoring Wilson's taste in his tongue. It was probably the closest thing to love he could ever get. It was fine, he was fine. All that mattered was that he had been able to do something good to Wilson, that he had been useful and worth of Wilson's time.

Maxwell felt a feeble smile pull on his lips.

Wilson was probably going to make fun of him to the others. They were gonna laugh at Maxwell, laugh that he had told Wilson how much he liked the young man, how much he cared, how much Wilson meant to him. They were gonna talk about how disgusting he was and how repulsive it must've been to kiss him and talk to him like he was a human. They were gonna snicker and mock him for being good for nothing else than this.

And it was fine. If being a laughingstock, a beast of burden and a willing hole to empty his seed in was all that Maxwell was to Wilson, then he was glad that he was at least being of some use to the man.

"... I can't believe you." Wilson groaned in a thick voice, and as Maxwell rose his head up, he hardly had time to meet the storming, glowering eyes when Wilson had already rose up his hand and slapped him across the face. There was only a loud smack in the air, and then the quiet returned in the tent stronger than ever.

"You do matter, I care about your feelings! Why do you think I have been acting like this?!" Wilson huffed after a small, tense silence. Maxwell stared into the middle distance with an empty expression, then slowly turned to face Wilson again.

"... I... I don't understand." the man sputtered in lost tone in his voice "I did what I was supposed to, I... I did what you wanted, didn't I? What did I do wrong?"

Wilson scowled and threw his hands in the air.

"What do you think, Maxwell? What do you think you did wrong?!" the younger man snapped, frustrated and hurt. Maxwell blinked a few times, before his mouth curled into a smile that was anything but joyful. Wilson lost some of his anger when Maxwell's hands rose to tug his thin hair and his shoulders started shaking.

"I try. I swear, I really try to do the right thing, but I- I... I don't even know what I'm supposed to do..." Maxwell's voice shook like he was holding back a panic attack "I try to stay out of your sight and that's not right, I try to be here and that's not right either, I speak and it's not right, I won't and it's not right, I don't know why I'm here or what you want from me and, and I... I feel like I'm going insane..."

Wilson's expression softened as he watched Maxwell trying to keep himself together as another tear slowly rolled down his face, his voice layered with thickness, strained with breaths that only halfly got out of his lungs. The shorter man sighed, and gently rose his hands to cup Maxwell's cheeks, and the man snapped his attention to him again.

"I didn't mean to-"

"Maxwell." Wilson sternly interrupted him, then took in a breath, and continued in a softer, kinder tone "Why on earth would I want you, if I really disliked you so much?" Wilson smiled tiredly. Maxwell lowered his eyes down.

"To... to use me for at least something that makes me worth keeping around. Anything I do, there's someone else who does it so much better. And I know that I owe you too much, it only makes sense to let you do what you want-"

"Let me do what? Abuse you and use you as a personal cum bucket?" Wilson asked in an irritated tone, rising an eyebrow. 

"If you want that, yes."

"Maxwell..." Wilson sighed and let go of the other man to massage his own temples. He felt relaxed and calm after ejaculating, but now he felt a headache coming after dealing with this mess at this hour of the night "This wasn't an act of violence against you, I didn't do this in attempt to hurt you in some way. I really do think you're a great person, deep inside, if you would just let yourself be that person."

"I try to-" Maxwell started, but Wilson didn't give him a chance to go on, shaking his head and giving a sigh.

"Max, you try to be a good, harmless idea of a person that doesn't exist. You must've been a person even before the throne, right? Who was that Maxwell like? Who would that Maxwell like to be? If you want so hard to pay me back this debt that you have made up in your head, then maybe start by being yourself again. Just, try being a nicer Maxwell."

Maxwell heaved out unsteady, rapid breaths, and when Wilson reached his hands to hold the man, Maxwell almost fell over him, leaning forward and bobbing his head down on his shoulder. Wilson hummed and rubbed his hand over the other man's back.

"It's okay, I got you. You'll see... everything will be fine. I won't give up on you."

"Wilson... I'm tired... " Maxwell mumbled against his shoulder when his breaths had calmed down enough to let him speak, and he rose his claws to hang tight to Wilson's vest "I don't know what to think or how to feel, and suddenly everyone is acting as if they don't even hate me... It's so tiring. I'm so tired of these games. How am I supposed to believe that anyone cares, when you all have made it so clear that you don't?"

Wilson sighed gently.

"Well, Webber hasn't acted that way, have they?"

"...N-no... But it's Webber, it's different-"

"How about Wolfgang, or Wickerbottom?"

"Not all the time, but-"

"How about me?"

Maxwell shrunk down and fell quiet. It was a worrisome reaction, but Wilson just rubbed his back gently and gave him time to answer.

"... I don't know." came the quiet, unsure mumble "I have thought a lot of things of you, and many times I've been proven wrong. But I know that people don't describe someone they care about 'a noose around their neck'. That gave me a pretty clear picture. If that is truly how you see me, then it is."

"Max... I know that what I said was... it was very cruel. I was angry and frustrated, I was still recovering, the green caps had hurt my head pretty badly. It all just piled up, I didn't mean it. That's not what you really are to me." Wilson hushed the other man, stroking fingers on his back.

"I... I don't want to make you feel like that, you know." Maxwell turned his face against the younger man's neck "I don't want to make things bad for you. You don't have to tolerate that. You're not obligated to play my friend just because you pity me, and I know... I know you want to do it because you are better man than I am, but maybe it would be easier if you were just honest to yourself."

Wilson opened his mouth to protest, but Maxwell spoke over him before he was able to even start "If I'm not worth the honesty, then at least you are. Let me wilt away. Leave me to rot. I'm sure it would lessen the burden on your shoulders a lot if you just gave up this... this thing you're doing with me."

Wilson bit his lip, feelings himself shrinking down in shame.

"... Remember when I told you that I didn't have many friends before Constant?" he let out a small, pitiful laugh, tightening his careful grip on Maxwell "By many, I meant... any, at all. Not  a single one. I don't do it on purpose, I just, I don't know how to be around other people, I've always been a bit... well, I guess my family would say 'unusual', at least when other people can hear... I'm not hurting you on purpose, I, I never wanted to hurt you. I just, sometimes I'm not sure if it's a right time or place to do something, and sometimes there are feelings I don't know how to handle and I... I guess I always end up messing up when I try to make sense of it all."

Maxwell was quiet for once, resting his head on Wilson's shoulder, waiting for him to continue. Wilson didn't know if Maxwell actually was listening because he wanted to, or if he just didn't think he had a choice. Wilson continued either way, really just hoping it would give some insight to the situation, hoping he would be able to explain it somehow.

"When you spoke to me the first time, I was very flattered, I thought you reached out to me because I was special. You made me feel like I was finally appreciated, like maybe you enjoyed talking to me, like you enjoyed listening to me." Wilson took in a small, shallow breath and tried to wipe the tear away from his eye without alerting Maxwell - this wasn't about how he felt, this was about Maxwell and showing him that he mattered "I guess I should've doubted your motives, but I felt so good with you that I pushed all the suspicion away. You were right to call me out on that, it is my fault for being so stupid-"

"I never thought you're stupid."

Wilson paused, turning his head slightly towards Maxwell, but the man fell quiet once more. Wilson waited a bit longer, but when no elaboration ever came, he warily continued.

"I... You make me feel odd, and it's not a bad thing, I just... You betrayed me before, and I have been angry about it a long, long time. I'm not anymore, but things like that, they don't really ever leave, you know...? I was afraid that what if, what if I stop being angry, what if I stop holding up my defenses, what if, w-what if give in to my feelings and it turns out that I was wrong again." Wilson tried not to let his voice tremble. He didn't want to make this about himself more than he should, and he didn't try to guilt Maxwell by telling him this. He only wanted to let Maxwell know how he felt.

A quiet between them stayed still for a while. Then Maxwell carefully shifted on Wilson's shoulder, hunching up against him and curling up weakly.

"I hurt you a lot. Nothing will ever change that, nothing will ever undo the damage I've done." the man muttered, grasping Wilson's shirt in his hands tight "After all that I've done, after all that I've taken, there is no way to make things better. I'm not worth the trouble, Wilson, I don't want to hurt you. If you could just let me do what I can, I'm sure you would realize that it's not a bad thing. I know it doesn't fix anything, it doesn't change what I am, but at least you wouldn't get hurt anymore."

"Sshh, Max..." Wilson slowly started petting his hair, leaning his cheek on top of his head "I really wish you would understand. I'm not lying to you, I'm not making fun of you, I'm not doing this to hurt you. These... these touches and umh... kisses... I've meant them. I really have. You are important to me, I... I care about you in very, very many ways."

Maxwell's hands gripped his clothes tighter, and Wilson gently started to press him down on his back again, laying beside him on the bed. Maxwell sucked in a breath like he just now stopped holding himself back.

"I want to believe you..."

"I know." Wilson whispered softly and pulled the blanket over them, pulling Maxwell close to himself.

"I've done terrible things-"

"You don't have to do them anymore."

"I ruined your life."

Wilson was quiet for a while. Then he leaned away, forcing Maxwell out of his hiding place from the crook of his neck, and gave him a dreary, tired smile.

"I think I ruined it myself well before you even had a chance." he chuckled, not a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Maxwell rose his hand over his face and bit his lip, and Wilson watched his adam's apple bob up and down when he tried so, so hard to hide how much he wanted to cry. The younger man left a tender kiss on his temple.

"What's done is done. I regret a lot of things, and I know you regret even more. But one thing I've never regretted even once was freeing you from the throne."

Maxwell stayed behind his hand, but he rose the other one up, and Wilson let himself be pulled closer. He closed his eyes as the other man held him tight, unsteady breaths running through his lips quietly. Wilson only pet his hair softly and held him until the morning.

Notes:

I've had an inside joke with myself that half of this fic is just Maxwell trying to put up a tent, and something always comes in his way. But now he has one, yey!

Chapter 32: The last walk

Summary:

Maxwell misunderstands what Wilson wants, and gets very confused that things won't go like he expected.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It had taken a while to help Maxwell find his place, mostly because the man seemed to fight against it rather stubbornly. But eventually, after a handful of misunderstandings, Wilson had managed to find something that the magician liked working with, and more importantly, what he actually seemed to be good at.

Making maps was one thing, but after Wilson had found out that the new winter clothes were actually not new at all, just fixed up by Maxwell, he had put the man up to fix more clothes for them. Maxwell had a good eye for small, detailed work, and his hands seemed steady and  swift when he worked on the clothes.

And like Wilson had promised, he had showed Maxwell the potter's wheel and left the man make sculptures there for the day. It went well, he thought. Maxwell had seemed much more calm with himself afterwards, and he had even confessed to Wilson that it was nice, he had missed creating things.

It sounded kind of sad. But hopeful as well, and Wilson watched as Maxwell made use of himself by fixing clothes and items, sculpting decorations, and making new maps when the old ones got destroyed or needed an update.

Even though he had found something that allowed him to feel more useful without working himself to the point of breaking, Maxwell still mostly avoided the other survivors. Wilson was sure that it wasn't because Maxwell didn't enjoy the attention, he clearly did, but he seemed to think nobody wanted him around, and in fear of causing some harm, tried to stay out of the way. That was one particular sentence he used often, 'staying out of the way'. Whenever there were more than couple of people around, Maxwell seemed to think that he was supposed to disappear out of their sight as quickly as humanly possible. And if someone even tried to imply that it was a good thing that he was there, Maxwell started to expect that people wanted something from him, because obviously there was no way in hell that they'd let him stay around without benefiting from it some way.

It worried Wilson a lot. He tried, from time to time, to drag the older man to spend some time with the group, just to do something mundane, like eat or work together with something. But even if Maxwell came with him, he seemed to find himself out of place, quietly retreating a small distance away, far enough to not get mistaken of intruding. The group either didn't mind, or thought it would be better to let him keep his distance if he wanted to. Wilson on his behalf did mind, and he didn't think it was a good thing that Maxwell felt so unwanted that he had to remove himself from the situation before he even gave anyone a chance to be nice to him.

If Wilson happened to notice that Maxwell had pulled away from them, he came to check if something was wrong, but it never seemed to help much. Maxwell always told Wilson to go be with the others, promising that he'd not go anywhere while Wilson was away. He always said that it was alright, he didn't mind. Wilson could see it in his eyes, then, the beaten look, as if Maxwell assumed that this was a competition he had already lost, accepting his defeat quietly, letting go of Wilson willingly under the belief that it was what he was expected to do.

Wilson tried his best to be patient and understanding. He had to admit, he hadn't been prepared for how exhausting it would be to be there for Maxwell, especially when the man turned away a lot of his attempts of help.

But not all of them.

It took a while to convince Maxwell to sleep inside his own tent, instead of curling up to lay on his worn strawroll at the edge of the camp. Wilson needed to go gather the man away from his adjustment for more than just a few times, before finally, when Wolfgang voiced his worry that Maxwell didn't like the tent he had put up, the man seemed to accept that he was allowed to actually sleep in there. Maybe he assumed that it had been just a one time thing, or that it would be appreciated if he gave it to someone else, but eventually he budged.

Wilson often joined him in his tent. He wasn't sure if Maxwell still hung onto the lie he had fed himself, that none of this was real, that it was all some big joke on him. Even if Maxwell allowed himself to be held and touched and taken care of, Wilson could see the doubt and fear, as Maxwell tried to decide what to believe, sometimes ending up taking a chance, but more often falling back to the familiar feeling of being despised, giving up even trying to believe that Wilson really cared about him.

It made Wilson doubt himself as well. Not his feelings, but his method of showing them. No matter how many times he told Maxwell nice things that he meant, no matter how many times he looked Maxwell in the eyes with honesty, how many ways he tenderly, softly touched him, Maxwell would still sometimes slip out whispered, half-muttered words of his worthlessness.

There would be cruel, hateful words whispered into the air, as Maxwell tried to make Wilson understand why he was so unlovable, why it was impossible to feel anything else and hatred and disgust for him. Wilson always told him that it wasn't true, sometimes with better results, sometimes not.

Sometimes Wilson just laid awake, quietly watching Maxwell when the man thought he was asleep. Maxwell would have his arms tightly around Codex, whispering barely audible words, broken, unfinished sentences as he cuddled the old tome against himself desperately.

You're all I have, the bitter, tearful words slithered out of his mouth, All I'll ever have.

But on some nights, better nights just like this one, Wilson would get Maxwell to try and sleep for a while. The man didn't need to sleep, but sometimes, if he really tried, he was able to fall asleep. And when that happened, Wilson could breath. He could calm down knowing that Maxwell was comfortable enough to sleep next to him, and something warm took over him when he watched the older man curled up beside him, leaning closer, to search some reassurance, a permission to be there.

Wilson knew it was almost a morning by now, but he wished he could lay here with Maxwell for much, much longer. He let his fingers trace the bones under Maxwell's clothes, and the man reacted to his touch by gently shifting, burying his head deeper into the pillow. Wilson leaned down to kiss his temple softly. When Maxwell slept, it was easier to believe that things could be fixed. When he slept, he couldn't say terrible things about himself, he couldn't look at Wilson with the eyes full of regret and guilt, he couldn't do reckless, careless things under the impression that nobody cared if he got hurt.

Well, at least today Maxwell couldn't do stupid, self-destructive things, because today he was going to go trading trinkets to Pig King with Wolfgang. Wilson was very reluctant to let Maxwell out of his sight, and he only agreed because he knew that Maxwell needed other people to show him their support as well, and Wolfgang was a good choice to be send out with him. The strong-man was, well, strong, and could protect Maxwell if needed, but he would also make sure that Maxwell didn't try anything stupid. Besides, as large and intimidating as the man could be, he was like a giant kitten. Maybe he could show Maxwell that the man wasn't in danger around any of them, even if he happened to make a mistake.

Wolfgang wasn't mean to Maxwell by any stretch, but it was easy to see that the old magician felt somewhat threatened by him. Wolfgang had seemed to notice it as well, often hunching down a little around Maxwell, much like a giant dog might do to appear harmless and small to a little creature it was trying not to scare. Maxwell in his end was always frozen in place, very eagerly nodding along with whatever the other man said, clearly just trying to survive the situation alive. Wilson could do nothing to help, since Wolfgang was very much doing his best to be nice already.

He could only hope that Maxwell would realize, after some time, that nobody wanted to actually hurt him. The older man seemed to expect some kind of backlash about everything he did, obsessed with the idea that people were just waiting around like hungry wolves, waiting for him to trip and fall, so they could tear him to pieces at the earliest opportunity.

Wilson watched the man sleeping, feeling the cold feeling swirling inside his chest. Maxwell had been afraid from the very start, hadn't he? He had always feared for his life, always expected one of them to try to hurt him in some way, always assumed that everything he did would be met with aggression and threats. Even if he had been able to hide it before, he had always believed that he was truly safe around none of them. Even Wilson, as much as it stung him to admit it. But that's why it felt so reassuring that Maxwell was able to - willing to - fall asleep next to him. It showed that Maxwell had at least some trust in him.

Under his touch Maxwell stirred away from his sleep, and then slowly looked around, until his eyes stopped at Wilson's own. Wilson gave him a smile.

"Morning."

Maxwell watched him for a while, and then sat up and started to dress himself up.

"... Morning."

Wilson watched him put on his waistcoat, his jacket and his gloves. He watched as Maxwell somewhat carelessly brushed his hair out of his face, and then, as if as an afterthought, started to put on his tie. Wilson started to dress himself up as well. The day wouldn't hopefully be too busy, but he still preferred to get up early, so nothing had a chance of catching him off guard.

Maxwell sat quietly beside him, and gave him a careful, asking glance. Wilson realized, with a bang of hurt in his chest, that this was already one of the days when Maxwell wasn't doing so well. Although Maxwell did his best to put on his emotionless, inoffensive mask to hide himself, it wasn't hard to see: Maxwell had that look in his eyes, lost and comfortless, silent acceptance to be pushed away and used for something, anything to make him feel he was worth of being alive.

Wilson smiled and pulled himself closer, pressing a tender kiss on Maxwell's chin. It was frustrating to not be able to just fix this, but Wilson was dead set to try. It really rubbed him the wrong way that Maxwell held him in so high standard, because he wasn't as great of a person as Maxwell saw him as. But at least it had one benefit.

"Let's go eat breakfast, okay?"

"... I, I am not hungry. I shouldn't-"

"Maxwell."

The man shut himself up. Wilson took his hands on his own, tangling their fingers together tight and pressing his head on the crook of the other man's neck. A little bit at a time. It was fine, it had only been a little while, it would get better in the future.

"It would make me really glad if you ate with me." Wilson said, and although it was transparent what he was doing, Maxwell didn't try to fight it. Wilson was counting on it. If Maxwell really was doing terrible things to himself because he thought that it was what Wilson wanted, what all of them wanted, then he wouldn't refuse if Wilson asked him to do something very simple behind the lousy excuse of making him happy by doing so. Like eating something or taking a break, for example.

Wilson had been a terrible friend, but he was gonna be the best... partner...? He wasn't really sure what they could be called at this point. Maxwell clearly had very warm feelings for him, and he knew he had very warm feelings for Maxwell, but he was still afraid to say it out loud. He tried to show it in other ways, to show just how much he had realized he cared about him, how much he wanted to touch Maxwell and talk with him and listen to him and watch him and just... just be around him. Exist in the same space and time with him.

The scientist guided Maxwell to the firepit, where few people were already eating breakfast and having a conversation. Maxwell, as usual, sat away from them, but Wilson had decided not to push him too hard. It was a good thing that he was there with them at all.

Webber was a big help to bring Maxwell a bit closer to the other people. The kid was always including Maxwell to everything, chatting with him with ease and making sure to tell him how glad they were that Maxwell was here. It didn't even look like Webber only tried to help, Wilson was sure that they were just genuinely glad that people weren't fighting anymore. The magician hardly commented their babbling much, but Wilson could see that whenever Webber was around, Maxwell seemed a little less tense and withdrawn.

But they didn't have a lot of time to sit down and eat, when Wolfgang stood up and threw his backpack on.

"Ready to go?" the man asked and looked at Maxwell, who opened his mouth, and then gave Wilson a confused, panicky look. Wilson squeezed his shoulder gently and gave him a small smile.

"Remember that I told you to go out today? You're going to the Pig village with Wolfgang." Wilson explained, and watched Maxwell's eyes widen, mouth opening, as if there was something he was about to say, until he bowed his head down and bit his lip. Wilson leaned a bit closer, trying his best to act like he always did. He didn't want to draw attention to Maxwell when the man was feeling like this, he feared that it would scare Maxwell even more.

"It's just a small trip to there and back, it's nothing to worry about, Max."

Maxwell nodded quietly, swallowing weakly as he turned his head away.

He knew this moment was going to come sooner or later. He stood up and opened his mouth to say something to the scientist, but he supposed that nothing he said would make a difference. Wilson already knew all that he needed to, there was nothing important Maxwell had left to tell him. Would saying sorry one last time mean anything anymore? No, it had never meant anything in the first place. He wanted to tell Wilson how he loved him, how he had, at least sometimes, felt better being around him. But he bit that back too, because he couldn't say all that in front of the other survivors, and it's not like Wilson wanted to really hear it, anyway.

Before he followed the large Russian out of the camp, Maxwell decided that maybe saying at least something was appropriate, that he should at least try show them that he had tried all he could, even though it had always been meant to end like this. He only quickly swept his fingers on the skin of Wilson's hand, not brave enough to meet his eyes.

"Thank you." he mumbled, and if Wilson reacted to that somehow, Maxwell wouldn't have known, because he had already turned around and walked out of the camp to meet the inevitable, moving as quickly as he could to get this done.

Wilson had finally gotten tired of him. Took the man surprisingly long enough... but Maxwell had always known it was going to happen sooner or later, and although it hurt, it didn't surprise him that he had already outgrown his usefulness. Wilson didn't need him to anything, Wilson didn't find his misery entertaining anymore. Wilson was done with him.

And now Wilson was throwing him away, and he wasn't expecting Maxwell to come back - that's why he was going with the strongman, he assumed. They all knew he had no chance against Wolfgang. He couldn't possibly overpower or outrun the man, he couldn't intimidate or threaten him. If he happened to somehow manage to escape, then that was it. What would he do then? There was no place far enough to hide from the others, let alone from his own mind. He could never hide from Maxwell.

The magician found himself smirking bitterly. He wondered how Wolfgang was gonna do it. If the man was perhaps going to give him a fair warning of what was about to happen, or if he'd try to catch him off guard to prevent a possible fight. Perhaps the man would stab a spear in his back or choke him to death, snap his neck when he was unaware. Perhaps Maxwell wouldn't even notice. He could go out without ever having the time to realize that he was dying. It sounded like a comforting thought...

Maxwell failed to keep a quiet chuckle in, as he walked towards the village with the other man. No wonder Wilson had wanted him to eat something this morning, that was just a gentlemanly thing to do. A Last meal on a death row, wasn't that right? More than he'd deserve, that's for sure. At least Wilson had bothered to acknowledge Maxwell's becoming demise in some way.

Maxwell had to wonder if everyone else had known about this as well, or if Wilson was gonna tell them after Maxwell was already gone. The thought that the others knew that he was gonna die, and nobody acted any different, nobody bothered to say a word... it squeezed Maxwell's chest, the black goo filling up his lungs. He already knew he didn't matter, why did it still feel so bad to realize it? He should've expected that his demise meant little to nothing to anyone. They didn't care if he was here or not, they didn't care at all, and he knew it was how things were supposed to be, he had never expected this to last long.

"Tiny frail man not fine?" Wolfgang's heavy voice pulled Maxwell back to reality, and he quickly straightened his suit and stood tall, nodding and leaning away as the other man leaned closer to him.

"Just swell, pal, just swell" he assured, bit of tremble in his voice that he tried to hide. Wolfgang didn't seem particularly convinced, and furrowed his eyebrows curiously.

"And will tell Wolfgang if not?"

What did that even matter at this point? Maxwell was walking to his death, who cares if he was well or not. Instead of pointing that out, hoping that if he didn't anger the larger man, then maybe his death would be less painful, he just nodded and looked away.

---

... He had not actually expected that he would make it all the way to the pig village alive, but it appeared that he was now standing in the middle of it, not really knowing what to do with himself, as Wolfgang started to offer the junk to the pig king, who squealed in delight and began to throw out all of his hidden gold.

Maxwell turned away and walked around restlessly. So what, they were here to do a job. Perhaps Wolfgang saw it better to kill him after the work was done. Maybe there was some last use to get out of him, maybe he'd get to carry the heavy bags of gold, maybe that's how this would end. His back breaking under the weight, legs giving up, out of breath and out of any strength to continue.

With a soft wheeze of breath Maxwell slowed down his useless phasing, and stopped in front of the statue of glommer. The panflute wasn't there anymore, just the little pretty flowers decorating the ground, one red rose among them. Maxwell hunched to pick it up, wincing as it prickled him.

He wondered if Charlie would resurrect him after Wolfgang was done with him. Would she wake him up somewhere else, someplace lonely and barred, cold and dark? Perhaps she'd not even let him die. Maxwell shuddered. It would be horrible, to hurt and suffer and not be able to escape it, not even for a while, not able to make it stop at any cost.

At least his death in the hands of the strongman could be quick, possibly even painless. Maxwell started feeling uncomfortable, as he eyed the blood red rose in his hand, sure he heard Charlie's laugh coming from somewhere.

... Then again, there must've been a reason why he had been brought here. Perhaps Wolfgang didn't want to dirty his own hands, perhaps he'd just give the pigs some meat and order them to attack him. Maxwell couldn't tear his eyes away from the rose, discomfort and panic slowly growing inside him. He didn't think that the pigs knew how to end someone painlessly. They were vicious creatures when they wanted to be, and their enemies were handled by violence and without mercy. Maxwell would be goner in seconds.

Suddenly he realized that it made too much sense. That he was here because why would the group even bother killing him themselves, when they could just throw him out to any monster they wanted to, and maybe this wasn't gonna be the end at all, maybe they were planning on killing him over and over, with all of the terrifying monsters possible, and that's why he was here, that's why they had built the meat effigy for him.

Maxwell didn't even realize when his breath had started to hitch and get shallow, but the rose looked more sinister by every passing second, and he dropped on the ground with shaking hands, as something started suffocate him, a thick fog of panic and fright blinding his logical thinking. He had always expected the worst, but now that it was gonna happen, he was so so afraid of it-

"Give petal! Me want food!" the voice of a pig babbled to him, as a warm, cloven hoof tapped his shoulder, but Maxwell just swirled around, moving in instinct, because he didn't want to die and he was too afraid and why couldn't Wilson just have done it himself and without thinking, he clenched up his fist and punched the pig in it's face.

The pig squealed in pain, stumbling backwards and massaging it's snout, and suddenly a lot of other pigs had stopped and turned their attention to Maxwell as well. The man gulped and took a step back, realizing his mistake, as the pig bared it's teeth at him and glowered.

"No like bad man!" it declared, and rose it's fists to attack. Maxwell winced and cowered down, shielding himself with his arms, waiting for the pigs to strike and rip him to pieces.

Instead of the claws and teeth, there was something else, something warm and soft and oddly familiar. Maxwell was effortlessly snatched away from the attacking pig, and he only vaguely realized he was being held against a large chest by a large hand that had curled around his body protectively.

"No!" Wolfgang's thunder-like voice boomed with a strength that froze both the pigs as well as Maxwell "Pigs no hurt weak tiny man!"

Maxwell momentarily forgot everything else, just so eager to escape the threat that he pressed himself against the strongman, clinging to the thought of protection, to safety of the strong, musclely arm holding him away from the danger.

The pigs paused, looking unsure, giving one another glances and muttering among themselves. Then one of them turned back to Wolfgang.

"But he mean, hit pig..."

"Wolfgang said NO!" The voice made made the pigs quiver, and few of them took a step back "If try to hurt Wolfgang's friend, has to fight mighty Wolfgang first!" The man pressed his giant hand on Maxwell's shoulder tighter, bringing him uncomfortably close against himself and almost crushing his lungs, as he took  the axe from his backpack and stared at the pigs confrontationaly.

Maxwell felt the anxious feeling dwelling in his stomach, as he watched the pigs contemplating, considering... and then he felt a light breeze brush through his lungs as the pig he had punched snorted and waved it's hoof.

"Fine, no fight. Man stay away now!"

Then the pigs all lost interest, and scattered around to do their own things, completely forgetting about the two men. Maxwell stood silent and still for a while, even as the large hand loosened grip on him. Only when the hand shook him gently, at least what Wolfgang probably considered to be gentle, did he took in a deep breath and let his shoulders drop down as he exhaled. He had not realized how anxious and tense he had been, but now that the threat was gone, he felt like a deflated balloon.

"Is you hurt?" Wolfgang asked him, and Maxwell just shook his head, pressing a hand on his forehead.

"No. No, I'm... pardon me." he heard himself mutter and wobbled away, stopping at the edge of the village and falling to lean against a birch tree. He wasn't really sure what had happened, or why for that matter. He was pretty shaken up about the whole ordeal, and he wasn't sure what to feel. He tried to understand the logic behind the things people did, why they acted so strange, and some part of him wanted to think it was because they cared about him, but it just ended up confusing him more.

He ended up sitting there for a long time, just circling those thoughts in his mind, until eventually Wolfgang walked next to him and very carefully tapped his shoulder, pulling his attention to himself.

"We should head back, gonna be dark soon. Will be scary after dark." The strongman timidly explained, looking nervous, glancing around himself. Maxwell sighed and stood up, nodding. He didn't say a word as he walked out of the village, and neither did Wolfgang as he followed after Maxwell, making sure he didn't drop behind.

They didn't talk much on their way back, not that they had talked on their way out, either. Maxwell was very baffled. He was confused of just what did the people even want from him, he was unsure of where he stood among them. Why did Wolfgang protect him? What was the use, if he was going to die anyway? Why risk his life for someone who had wronged him the way Maxwell had?

"Thank you." Maxwell quietly said, partly to escape the uncomfortable silence, partly to get his thoughts out before they'd start circling around again. He heard the short pause in the other man's walk, the heavy footsteps halting for a moment. Even though Wolfgang had not exactly been angry, Maxwell still felt like he was being a burden again. Did he even do anything else today except for cause a scene? Pitiful. Pathetic.

"Is no worry! Wolfgang is always help his friends!" the other man rumbled, and Maxwell pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What makes you think we're friends?" he asked, a little bit of frustration in his voice now. It was probably unwise to remind Wolfgang of the fact that he shouldn't try to be nice to him, but Maxwell was so tired of this game. He couldn't understand what had made these people act this way, why did they suddenly treat him like he wasn't Maxwell, why did they pretend they cared if he was hurt of sick or scared. He just wanted it to end. Maybe Wolfgang could do it right now, snap him in half and stop pretending, if Maxwell was straightforward and honest with him.

Wolfgang hummed in thought.

"We're not?" he eventually asked, and Maxwell stopped, forcing the other man to stop behind him as well.

"Listen... just because I'm sorry or thankful doesn't mean that I'm not the same person that I've always been. If you're looking for something worth of saving, something that might prove that you shouldn't end me right here, then let me save you the trouble and tell you right now, that there isn't anything."

Maxwell swallowed as he let the silence take over again. He hadn't dared to turn and look at the large, terrifyingly quiet man, and he preferred not to see what his words had made Wolfgang realize, how the man reacted to hearing this. He took in a deep, slightly shuddering breath, and shut his eyes.

"I'm still Maxwell. Do what you have to do. I won't run." he wished he could run "I won't fight. Just make it fast, if you find it in yourself to be so merciful. Let's not pretend any longer. Do what you have to do."

The silence was heavy. Maxwell could only imagine that Wolfgang had nothing to answer, and was now taking his time to decide if Maxwell could be spared the long, painful death or not. He really hoped that Wolfgang would do it fast, he hoped that it would make the group happy to hear that he was gone now. He hoped that Wilson would be pleased with him.

Maxwell almost startled when the large hands suddenly grabbed him, and he was lifted up easily like a paper doll, as Wolfgang brought him on his embrace like he was a child.

"Frail man is forgive! Wolfgang not understand what he mean by that, but Wolfgang always do what has to do! Will carry the small man, so will make it fast! Is not mighty and strong like Wolfgang, after all!" the man laughed, smiling the way his big mustache curled in joy, and Maxwell didn't know what else to feel than absolutely mortified.

At first he couldn't muster a reaction at all, just staring in horror. Then the shame hit in, and he started to squirm, hissing angrily.

"Put me down this instant! I'm an adult, I do not need to be carried!"

Wolfgang smiled and bounced him on his arms, and Maxwell felt his heart jump, clinging to the man tight in fear of falling down and hurting himself, which made Wolfgang chuckle again, his voice very amused and lighthearted.

"Will travel much faster this way, watch, Wolfgang show you!" The man told him, and Maxwell only had enough time to open his mouth to protest, before the other man had sprinted to jog towards the camp.

The rest of the way was much, much noisier. Mostly because Maxwell kept complaining and demanding not to be carried, to be shown some basic respect, and Wolfgang thinking that they were just bantering with each other like friends did, not understanding how unfunny Maxwell wound the situation, and thus paying no mind to his offended words.

Only when they were close enough to see the camp, Maxwell started to really panic about the others seeing him being carried, fearing how they would take it. This time something in his tone made Wolfgang realize that the fun was over, and the Russian man stopped, very carefully placing Maxwell down, mindful not to hurt him.

Once his foot touched the ground, the magician immediately shook himself away and started too tamper with his suit. Wolfgang watched him, and when Maxwell gave him a glance from the corner of his eye, the man grinned widely.

"See? Very fast!"

Maxwell gave up and sighed, his whole posture collapsing down in defeat.

"Let's just go back, okay?"

He didn't have any strength to fight against the mighty slap he had against his back accompanied with even mightier laughter. He thanked the stars and atoms, that Wilson often spoke about, that it was nearly a night as he stumbled to his tent, falling down on his face as soon as he was inside, not even noticing he fell right over Wilson.

The younger man gasped in surprise and stumbled away, and even as Maxwell was laying down, his head buried against the pillow, he could sense Wilson's tenseness. Perhaps he'd better go sleep somewhere else, perhaps he was bothering Wilson. Perhaps Wilson had expected him to never return, and he shouldn't come here to upset the man like this...

"You guys took your time." Wilson stated calmly, and Maxwell felt the air easing up a bit, as the other man laid a tender hand on his back and rubbed him softly, as if to soothe him "Did you have fun?"

Maxwell only puffed out snort, too tired and exhausted to think if it was a retort or a genuine question from Wilson. He just curled up, feeling so tired, but somewhat less unsteady when he felt Wilson laying down against his back.

"Please... Don't ever make me do that again." he just whined exhaustedly.

The last thing he heard before falling asleep was a light, fond laughter form Wilson.

Notes:

These last chapters will take a bit longer to post, sorry for that :< I just want to give the story the best ending possible because to me the ending has always been very important, and every time I am about to proof-read through a chapter to post, I just go "No! Garbage! I must rewrite it!" and it delays the process.

But I hope you've been enjoying (or suffering from) this angst-fest so far!♥

Chapter 33: Family business

Summary:

Wilson listen a conversation that Maxwell has with his nieces.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Maxwell hissed quietly when Wilson put salve on his ribs, and the scientist gave him an apologetic smile.

"Sorry..."

Wilson had seen it to be for the best to take part on the fighting lessons with Wigfrid and Maxwell. If Wigfrid held a grudge against the magician, she didn't let it show, but Wilson was still very against the idea of letting Maxwell fight her alone. They had only had two lessons so far, but Wigfrid had made every second count. She seemed to take some satisfaction out of the fact that she got to beat Maxwell, although only by disarming him. Nonetheless, she assured Wilson that her one and only goal was to make sure that Maxwell would be able stand his ground, even without his shadows.

And Wilson didn't want to think she was being mean on purpose or anything, but after seeing how silent and meek Maxwell had gotten after only two lessons, he decided to shoo the man to do some sculpting for the rest of the day. It seemed to be something that always made Maxwell feel better, at least while he was at it.

Maxwell didn't complain as he headed to the potter's wheel, and Wilson watched his back, smiling, when he took some hay out of the chest and started weaving a rope.

Maxwell was getting along with others a bit better now, but Wilson still worried. He didn't know what else to do. Even if people like Winona or Willow meant no harm, Wilson knew they could sometimes be rather tactless and rude, and it stung his chest everytime when he saw Maxwell taking their words too seriously, and it stung even more that it seemed to make Maxwell somehow glad.

Because Maxwell was getting better, but couldn't let go of the feeling that he was, always would be, meaningless and worthless. Wilson knew it was something that Maxwell had slowly grown to believe, and managing to make him disbelieve it would be a slow process as well. Unlearning patterns and behavior wasn't an easy task.

Wilson was weaving the rope near the potter's wheel so he could keep his eye on Maxwell, when he saw that Wendy had appeared from somewhere, now standing nearby and curiously watching Maxwell. Wilson paused and eyed them.

Wendy had seemed very scared for her uncle, and Wilson had expected her to be the first one to ask questions and stick close to the old magician, but surprisingly, she didn't. She only kept staring at the man from afar every time they happened to be in the same place at the same time, but never tried to approach him.

Until apparently today.

After a while of watching, Abigail floated closer, Wendy in her wake, until the two of them were just a few short steps away. Maxwell rose his head, surprised to see his nieces, but not letting it show anywhere else but in the rise of his eyebrows.

"Greetings, young misses. May I assist you in some way...?" The man asked, clearly a bit confused. Wendy shook her head, but kept staring the wheel. Maxwell followed her gaze, then rose his eyebrow again "Care to have a try?"

Wendy's eyes widened, and shyly, she nodded. Maxwell moved out of the chair, Wendy climbing on the seat instead. The magician gave her the quick instructions, and then stood back to give her some space. After a while Wendy got the hang of the thing, and seemed to be enjoying herself quite a lot, her sister hovering behind her and whispering out excited sounds. Maxwell didn't interrupt, just standing beside her, watching her with tranquil expression on his face.

Wilson watched them curiously. He saw it to be better to not go poking his nose around, but he found himself unable to concentrate on his own task at hand. He had been wondering their relationship a lot, ever since he had figured out they were related. Maxwell had never shown much of a different emotion regarding to bringing his own nieces in Constant, and Wendy, in her part, didn't seem to think much of it either. It had been almost like they didn't even care to acknowledge their relation to one another at all.

Wilson was not sure if it was due to shame or pain in Maxwell's end, maybe anger or even fear in Wendy and Abigail's, but they didn't exactly talk to each other. But for what he had been able to put together just by inspecting, the twins didn't appear to hold any more or less negative feelings towards Maxwell than anyone else here did. It was so interesting to see them finally interacting, especially now that Wendy had revealed that she, in fact, did care about her uncle quite a lot.

Wilson quietly watched the trio around the potter's wheel, and was about to finally turn his attention back to the rope, when he heard a sudden exchange of words.

"Father never told us that you were an artist."

"I've never been one."

The scientist's interest was immediately piqued, and though he kept his eyes away, he proceeded to just idly play with the rope while listening to the conversation going on behind him.

"Hmm. He told us you were never a sporty, physical type. I assumed it meant that you liked things like art and music."

"I appreciate those things a great deal, yes, but I always wanted to be a magician."

"When I grow up, I want to be either dead or a witch."

"Hmm, both very good options. I also wanted to be either dead or a magician."

"...A magician is kind of like a witch, isn't it?" Wendy pondered "There are a lot of similarities - except that witchcraft is real."

"Now that doesn't mean that state magic isn't as good as any. It takes far more skill to pretend to be a sorcerer than to be one." Maxwell sounded a bit irked, and Wilson bit his lip to hold back a laughter.

"I suppose." Wendy continued "But the deception can't go on forever. Eventually someone will reveal the tricks, and the magic will disappear."

"But that's were the true skills lay, little miss. There is always someone who tries to kick you down, and to stay up, you need to be one step ahead at all times. It takes more than just quick hands and deceptive lighting."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, uncle Maxwell, but you never made it big with magic without Them, did you?"

The silence took over for a while.

"I... suppose I could say that my skills were not awoken before They offered me a hand." Maxwell answered, a bit of reluctant embarrassment in his voice, which had gotten a bit more quiet now.

"Father would've helped, you know." Wendy said "I read his letters when he left them laying on the table. He offered you money and a place to stay. It might've prevented all of this. Why did you refuse his help?"

"One thing I've never been, is a liar. Deception and tricks are not the same thing. I meant my words seriously; I wanted to either be a magician, or..."

"... I see. In that case, I think you made a right choice. Father would've been devastated. He almost thought you were dead once, when there was a train crash. He was so relieved when you wrote him afterwards."

"... How was Jack, after I disappeared?" Maxwell's voice cracked a bit, but Wendy politely ignored it.

"He tried to be strong, but Abigail and I could hear him crying at night. He kept muttering to himself that he should've been more persistent, that he should've forced you to come to our house and rest. I think he blamed himself for not helping you enough." Wendy explained, and her tone wasn't exactly accusing, but perhaps a tad bit confronting in a way.

"Ah, well. That's Jack for you, a sentimental bastard." Maxwell almost chuckled, not an ounce of joy in his voice "... I thought I was protecting him by not telling him everything, you know. And maybe... maybe I was ashamed of how poorly I was handling everything, when he was doing so well, and..." A long, heavy sigh "I'm truly sorry."

Wendy was quiet for a while. When she continued, her voice was determined, although she spoke as softly and coolly as ever.

"After Abigail's death, I knew she wasn't really gone. I knew she was with me, I just couldn't quite reach her... I asked for help, I wanted her back. We're happy to be together again, so I don't regret a thing." her voice got a bit solemn "But I feel sorry for father. He's all alone in the big house he wanted to raise his family in. Nobody is taking care of him now. I wonder if he's doing well."

"I shouldn't have... I never meant to, I... I'm so sorry, Wendy, Abigail..."

"At least I can be together with Abby now, and I got to meet my uncle. Losing things is inevitable, but I'm used to it."

Maxwell cleared his throat, a heavy thickness in it.

"... Your sculpture looks fascinating. What is it?"

"My inner turmoil."

"Ah... I see, very expressive."

"Thank you. I hated it."

"Your smile told a different story."

"..."

"OOooOO ooO"

"See? Abigail agrees with me."

"Uncle. Don't force me to make her attack you."

"Miss Wendy, you aren't shy, are you?"

"Of course not. Don't be ridiculous."

"I see. Well, there's still more marble left-"

"I will get rid of it. With this wheel."

"Thank you, very kind of you."

"Don't mention it."

The silence replaced the conversation, broken only by a sounds of pottering. Wilson listened it for a while, before turning to see Wendy stabbing her creation with passion of a murderer, her sister swaying behind her, giggling and trying to haunt her sculpture playfully.

But Maxwell was gone, nowhere in sight. Wilson glanced around before rising up, starting to casually walk around in hopes of 'accidentally' running into the man, but didn't see him anywhere.

It worried Wilson, he couldn't lie. He really didn't like to give Maxwell an opportunity to be alone with his thoughts for too long, but he didn't want to pressure him to always stay in the camp with someone, it would've been too stressful for everyone to handle. He needed his own time, just like everyone else did, but Wilson was afraid of what would happen if Maxwell would have to be alone after something bad - an unpleasant conversation, for example - had happened.

Maxwell had sounded very troubled, and no wonder, it was his own family they had discussed. The same family he had hurt, and the same family he clearly cared about a lot. Wilson couldn't really understand that... He had no siblings, and all of his extended family members were very distant. He supposed that his parents at least used to love him, but it had been years since he had spoken to anyone he was related to. He supposed that his decision to leave and dedicate his life to science might've counted as hurting his parents, but that wasn't really comparable, was it?

Wilson walked back to the potter's wheel, where the twins were still sculpting.

"Hey... Did you happen to know where Maxwell went? I need to talk to him." Wilson asked, scratching his neck.

Wendy turned her eyes to him and tilted her head "You shouldn't spy on other people's conversations. They might think it rude." she simply stated, face unreadable and almost bored, and Wilson turned bright red.

"I-I am so sorry, I didn't mean to-" he started to apologize, but Wendy cut him off.

"I know you're worried about my uncle, but our family business is between us. Although, I should've known that you cannot stay away from any business that is about Maxwell. You really care about him, don't you?"

If Wilson wasn't positive that he was already the most embarrassed he could be, he would've been double embarrassed by now. Wendy gave him a small, almost unruly smile, before turning her attention back to her tortured sculpture.

"He isn't anything like father... But Abigail and I are different, too. It really comforts me that he has you, I think he has been very alone for a very long time. I was very alone too, before Abby came back." Wendy rose her head to watch the giggling, playful ghost hovering above her, and Wilson followed her gaze. He wasn't sure what to say. He didn't want Maxwell to be alone, either.

"... Did you see where he went?" he only repeated, eyes still locked to the ghost that swirled around like she was dancing with herself. Wendy shrugged.

"I think he headed to the tents. Although I didn't pay attention, I don't have particularly strong need to know where he is all the time."

Wilson felt accused, but decided not to take the bait, instead turning his head to look at the direction of their tents. Before he'd start to panic, it was worth checking it out.

"Okay, thanks, girls." he muttered, and didn't notice how long Wendy stared after him when he left. The blond stared there for a while longer, until she rose her eyes back to her sister, squinting her eyes slightly.

"If I ever get a crush on someone, kill me before I turn into an idiot like those two."

Notes:

Little did Wendy know that she will develop a crush on both Walter and Webber in the future, and will have a big, dramatic crisis over it.

Chapter 34: What matters

Summary:

Wilson wants to help, and manages to get through some of Maxwell's walls.

WARNINGS: Sexual content

Chapter Text

A load of stress fell away when Wilson entered the tent and found Maxwell inside, curled up and huddling his precious book to his chest. Without wasting a second the scientist crawled closer, and softly placed a hand on his shoulder.

"... Hey... You okay?"

Maxwell curled into himself even tighter.

"... I didn't mean to pry, but I heard your conversation." he confessed, watching Maxwell's reaction. The man  opened his eyes and stared into nothing.

"I was really rotten throughout long before I even found Codex."

"No!" Wilson exclaimed immediately, shaking his head "You're not rotten, you just... Sometimes, um... E-everyone makes mistakes and-"

"And hurt the people who're close to them and ruin the lives of several other people because they don't care about anything else but themselves?" Maxwell spat out with a bitter, hollow voice. 

"Maxwell, hey... You're not like that anymore." Wilson hushed him, pulling the man close.

"I have always been like this." Maxwell laughed dryly.

"You're trying to be better than you were before. You're not like that, I know you're not."

Maxwell fell quiet and tightened his grip on Codex, not bothering to answer. Wilson watched as the man swept his fingers on the book's dark cover fondly, seeking comfort from it, like a child clinging to his mother after a nightmare. Except that Wilson knew that Codex could not offer Maxwell any sort of comfort. Compliments and praises, but false ones, full of sarcasm and lies. Only more nightmares, only more pain.

And Maxwell knew it. Wilson couldn't understand how the man still held the opus in his arms like a dear lover. He was almost certain it was intentionally doing this, offering badly disguised insults on a silver plate, serving them as a treat. It was bad, it was unhealthy, and Maxwell was very aware of it. Yet he still grasped it tight like he would die without it.

Wilson gently placed his hand over Maxwell's wrist, and the man's petting of the book halted. Wilson inhaled softly, and tried to sound composed and confident when he spoke.

"I'm here, Maxwell. It's going to be okay." he mumbled quietly, leaning down to rest his cheek on the man's shoulder "You're going to be okay."

Maxwell tilted his head very slightly towards Wilson, eyes moving in thought. After a while he leaned his head back down, and continued petting Codex without a word, face as blank as ever. Wilson furrowed his brows, firmly taking the Codex between his fingers, and Maxwell immediately froze, shoulders tensing up and whole body going stiff and still.

"...Don't." he whispered with frightened voice. Wilson paused. Maxwell was clearly afraid, but Wilson wanted to think he was only doing what was for the best. It was clear that Maxwell needed his book, but it worried Wilson to dead that instead of asking help or comfort from people who cared, Maxwell would rather turn to Codex Umbra, to Them, seek attention from something that didn't care about him at all.

In Maxwell's eyes, it was still all he had. Not the last resort, but the only available one. It didn't care, it didn't love, but it was there, like a drug, like an escape route that lead to a dead-end.

Wilson would let Maxwell have his comfort from it, but he couldn't allow it having that much power over him. He gently continued pulling the book away with unrelenting grip, and Maxwell very hesitantly loosened his own hands on it, until reluctantly letting go with a small, tense breath. Wilson could sense the discomfort in Maxwell's whole body as he took Codex out of his reach.

To show Maxwell that he was not in any danger and not being punished for something, Wilson didn't put Codex completely away. Instead he just placed it down next to the magician, a bit further away but still somewhere where he could see it, even take it back if he wanted to. But before Maxwell could even think about it, Wilson curled their fingers together, laying to press against his back and holding his head to Maxwell's neck. Maxwell took a little while to untense, but then just pressed back, probably to reach comfort from Wilson now instead.

The scientist hummed softly and rubbed his thumb on the back of Maxwell's hand.

"I'm here." he murmured "It's okay, Max. I'm with you. I'm here. You don't have to be alone anymore."

He startled when Maxwell suddenly turned around, and had hardly any time to make a comment, before Maxwell moved closer, only a small movement away from his lips, leaving a hot breath against them.

"You want this?" the man asked in a mumbled voice, digging his fingers into Wilson's biceps.

"Uh... k-kiss?" Wilson cocked his head, puzzled. Maxwell had not been initiative, mostly because he seemed to be convinced that nobody would ever voluntarily touch him with affection, and definitely never let him touch them without a very good reason. It was surprising to see him making the first move.

Maxwell nodded silently. Wilson knitted his brows together, unsure if it would be a good idea. On the one hand, Maxwell might've thought that Wilson had followed him here just for this, and he feared that Maxwell would be consenting to something he wasn't really in the mood for, just because he was so damn sure that he owed it to Wilson. On the other hand however, this might've been Maxwell's way to ask for affection, some kind of comfort, and turning him away might push him to feel that he was not wanted or cared about after all.

Wilson ran his fingers through the older man's hair, watching his tired eyes in thoughts. Why did everything always have to be such a jigsaw puzzle with Maxwell...

"I want you to feel-" loved "-cared about, Maxwell." Wilson decided to say, leaning to press a light kiss on the corner of the other man's mouth. He didn't know why it was so hard to say the word, why it got stuck in his throat when he truly just wanted to have it out of him. Maybe because he had hardly ever heard it before. Nobody had said it to him, and he had never had a chance to say it to anyone. He was afraid of it.

He watched as Maxwell blinked at him slowly before leaning a bit back, an embarrassed shade of red on his face.

"Oh, I thought... y-yes, of course. My apologies." Maxwell muttered and avoided Wilson's eyes now, gritting his teeth with a slight, ashamed scowl on his face. The scientist sighed. He didn't know what to do in these kind of situations. He wasn't any kind of doctor of psychology, and he wasn't prepared to help a person who had been broken down so throughoutly. But they were in the Constant, and they had to do their best to support one another in ways that he bet none of them had ever really thought they'd need to.

"Umh... D-do you want a kiss?" Wilson asked, trying to find out if this was perhaps Maxwell's way of asking for comfort, if it was something he needed right now. Maxwell rose his head up, and looked at Wilson with a wary look in his eyes.

"... Yes."

"You want it now...?" Wilson pushed on.

Maxwell lowered his head again, and when he spoke, his voice was so very small "please, Wilson..."

Wilson dropped his hand to gently lift Maxwell's chin, and leaned in to give him a soft kiss. Maxwell opened his mouth to let him in, his grip tightening on Wilson's arms. It hurt a bit, but Wilson said nothing about it. He could feel some kind of desperation in the air, though he didn't know what had caused it.

It wasn't long until Wilson had begun to drag his lips on Maxwell's ashy pale skin, kissing his neck tenderly, feeling distractingly needy for him. It's like as soon as he admitted to himself that he wanted Maxwell, he couldn't stop thinking about the man and wanting to touch him and feel his touch. Maxwell had always had a talent of throwing him off balance, and he both hated and loved it. But right now his main focus was on making Maxwell feel wanted and appreciated, not on meeting his own wanton desires.

"Does this feel good?" he whispered as he unbuttoned Maxwell's shirt slowly. Maxwell just nodded and clung to him tighter, and Wilson traced his lanky body through his clothes "Does this make you feel better?"

Maxwell rose up his head and kissed him again, lowering his own hand to feel around Wilson's hips, and then grab the slowly growing bulge in the young man's pants, making him shudder against his lips. The kissing intensified, before Maxwell pulled away and leaned his head down, and Wilson pressed his lips on the man's hair and pulled him closer. He couldn't understand how he had ever thought this would be disgusting, to get touched by Maxwell like this... now he felt like he could never give it away for the world.

Wilson's mind was getting cloudy and buzzy again, sinking in the blessed sensations that kept rushing through him, until suddenly Maxwell whispered something against his chest that snapped him out of his head almost immediately.

"You could have better..." Maxwell mumbled, rubbing Wilson through his trousers, not noticing how the younger man halted from his pleased grinding "I'm nothing but a waste. Use me, I don't care. I can do this, I want to, I have to... I will... for you..." Maxwell mumbled, almost desperately, not even really to Wilson but to himself.

Wilson paused for a moment, but Maxwell just kept touching him without a pause, kissing his bare chest and trying to prompt him to continue. Wilson pouted, then grabbed the magician's head, lifting his face up, frowning at him.

"Stop saying those things." he pleaded, but managed to sound firm "I won't use you, I won't hurt you... You are not a waste, not to me." He started stroking the other man's hair desperately. What should he do? What would make Maxwell understand?

"It's fine. It doesn't-"

"It does matter."

"Wilson-"

"No!" the younger man almost yelled and clasped his hands tightly around the other man "Maxwell, what do you want me to do? I want to help you, but I can't if you keep pushing me away!"

Maxwell fell quiet, not moving a muscle as Wilson kept stroking his hair, torn between frustration and desperation.

"I... I want to help. I just... I'm sorry, Maxwell." he felt the man flinch at that, and hurried to continue before Maxwell had a change to speak over him again "I made you suffer, I know, I told you that I cared and then I acted like I didn't..." Wilson couldn't help the feelings bottling up inside his chest. He swallowed and took in a breath to help to keep his voice steady.

"I'm sorry, I don't really know what I'm doing. I have no idea how to help you. I just, I just want to be with you, I- I want you to feel safe, and comfortable, and... I won't give up on you, I will never leave you behind again..."

Maxwell didn't seem to know what to say. He stared at Wilson, confusion and maybe even fear in his eyes, like he had just heard his own death sentence or something. Wilson tried to muster up a smile, despite feeling how the stress and frustration was waiting to burst out as soon as he'd make a mistake of opening his mouth.

"I'm sorry" he whispered, hand still stroking Maxwell's hair. The man shook his head and cupped Wilson's cheek with his hand.

"No, you haven't done anything wrong. Let me make you feel better, I want to-"

Wilson just let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob, and leaned in to kiss Maxwell. He just tried to help, he just wanted to be with Maxwell. He didn't give a shit if Maxwell was better or worse than him, he just wanted to be with him, like they had been before. Before the group, before the throne, before the Constant...

Maxwell kissed him back, surprisingly hard. Wilson closed his eyes. He just wanted to be like this with Maxwell. He feared (he knew) that sometimes Maxwell still believed that he was doing this out of spite, that he wanted to humiliate Maxwell in some way... but he didn't.

He pulled away and cracked his eyelids open to gaze into Maxwell's eyes. Maxwell pressed a kiss on his cheek, just below his eyes, then over them. He kissed away the small beginning of the tears, trailing down his jawline to caress his neck. Wilson breathed out shaking, trembling breaths, still stroking Maxwell's hair, and only wrapped his arm around the man tighter.

"I want you." he whispered.

"I know." the other man replied as he burrowed his hand under Wilson's clothes.

"I want you to want me, too."

"I do."

"I would never hurt you on purpose."

"It's okay." Maxwell hushed him, as his other hand slithered back to Wilson's crotch, this time under his trousers, and the scientist gasped quietly, nails digging into the other man's scalp, feeling a swirling sensation of lust in his abdomen.

"W-wait" he stuttered quickly, and Maxwell did, stopping on his tracks. Wilson lowered down, pressing his cheek on Maxwell's chest to snuggle him "You're always making sure that I feel good... It's my turn, let me."

"...Don't have to." was a short mutter he got as an answer. Wilson sighed, shaking his head.

"I know. But this isn't about me, Max. It's not just about me..."

Maxwell was quiet for a couple of seconds, and then let out a weak, reluctant sigh.

"Just... let me do this for you, Wilson."

Wilson shook his head again, then quietly kissed Maxwell's collarbones, his chest, his stomach... He kept pecking a trail of soft kisses on the other man, dragging his fingers on his hips now, and when he had descended on the level of Maxwell's lower abdomen, he paused, giving a nervous glance to the older man.

"Let me show you how much I care. I can make you feel good, too..." he hummed and started to unbutton the pants. Maxwell blushed and turned his face away, staring at his shoulder in silence. Wilson made sure to keep an eye on the man's expression when he pulled his cock out and pressed his lips on the shaft.

Maxwell flinched and took in a fast breath, his hand dashing to grab Wilson's hair. The younger man lifted his hand to pet the knuckles on his head, as he gave his partner a soft, gentle attention with his tongue. He couldn't help but be a bit nervous. He had mostly been relaying on his partners to do the heavy lifting before. Obviously it had changed, but Wilson still felt a bit awkward - Wes had been very nice and wouldn't complain about anything, and Maxwell hadn't expected Wilson to do anything at all, thus was not disappointed. But Wilson was not feeling very confident, especially with Maxwell, because the man was older than him, enough to have a lot more experience than an antisocial shut-in hermit that Wilson had been. He really hoped he was doing well. 

He couldn't lie, it kind of brushed his ego when Maxwell let out a sound that was too close to a moan. Wilson would've asked if this felt good, but seeing as his mouth was a bit occupied at the moment, he just settled to rub the man's inner thigh gently with his thumb.

Maxwell kept his eyes shut, panting against his shoulder, his body jerking so very slightly as it reacted to every little movement Wilson's tongue made, and soon the warm cum started leaking into his mouth. He guessed that meant he was doing alright... 

Maxwell's breath was heavy and trembling, his hard, throbbing cock swollen and twitching deeper into Wilson's mouth, and the younger man drowned in the exciting and pleasing sensation of listening Maxwell's deep, quiet voice as he sucked the other man.

Suddenly Maxwell jerked a bit harder and tensed up, and Wilson was quickly pushed aside, as Maxwell curled his own hand around his red, hard cock and made couple of final strokes, and it wasn't long until he came in his own fist.

Wilson watched the other man pulling the white streaks out of himself, biting his lip and breathing out tensely and heavily. Then he released one last shuddering breath, and fell back down, closing his eyes once more and rising an arm to cover them. Wilson sat up as well, taking a cloth from his pocket and crawled to sit over Maxwell's hips, cleaning off the mess. Then he leaned down to press a small kiss on his nose.

"Did I do good? Did you like it?"

Maxwell moved his arm and slowly opened his eyes, but didn't meet Wilson's awaiting gaze. He looked weary, and after a small pause, he spoke with a quiet voice.

"It felt great."

Wilson frowned. It didn't sound like it felt all that great.

"Oh. W-was it what you wanted...?" he carefully asked, starting to feel the regret crawling into his chest. He hadn't actually hurt Maxwell, had he? He was sure had given enough time to back down, he was sure that this time he had been more aware, that he had shown Maxwell how much more the man really meant to him than he thought.

Maxwell sighed, eyes finally turning to look at Wilson.

"It was. You shouldn't give me what I want. I, I shouldn't want this." Maxwell's voice cracked a bit, and he bit his teeth together, looking away in shame. Wilson cupped his cheek, shaking his head timidly.

"H-hey, it's fine, I want this too-"

"I know there's nothing to want in what I am." Maxwell cut him off, as if he hadn't even heard Wilson speak "I know I'm not something you want to keep for long. I've never been something people want to keep, I'm more suited for a short time entertainment. You don't have to stay around or give me anything in return afterwards, no matter how much you'd pity me-"

Wilson pressed his palm over Maxwell's mouth, silencing the man, and shook his head furiously, a small, panicked expression on his face.

"It's not pity, my pity is far gone. I just... really think you aren't as bad as you like to present yourself as, and I-" Wilson bit his lip, the red color rising over his face as he glanced away in shame "... I haven't always thought about your feelings, I haven't thought you cared enough to get hurt by my actions. But I know that now, and you know, I don't want to deny how I feel about you anymore. I don't know if it's right or wrong, but I like it. I want it. I want to be around you, I want to make you feel good. I really want that."

Wilson hesitantly lifted his hand away, scared to hear what Maxwell would say, if he was going to say anything at all. After a while of awkward, tense silence between them, Maxwell took in a small breath.

"Really?" his voice was hesitant and small, and it barely got out of his mouth as he watched Wilson with bewildered, surprised eyes.

Wilson nodded very carefully. Maxwell looked unsure, a bit cautious, as he lowered his gaze to process what Wilson had said. Wilson swallowed and offered him a smile. He felt like he had finally gotten through to Maxwell, and he felt so, so much pressure to keep heading to the right direction. He was afraid he would fuck this up somehow if he wasn't extra careful, and he knew that he wasn't very careful person by nature. He preferred to act first and think later, but it turns out that there were a few things in life that he should think through a bit more carefully.

"Yes, really." Wilson promised, and sat still when Maxwell lifted up his hand to hover over the young man's cheek, hesitated, and then pulled it back a little bit.

"This isn't... this isn't a joke, is it?" the man slowly asked, doubt in his voice, as if he was afraid the words would become real as soon as he let them out "You really want me to be here and..." the words faded into a quiet mumble, and the man lowered his eyes again, a small twitch in his expression, a brief pain on his face. Wilson let the apologetic, empathetic smile curl on his lips, as he pressed his hand on back of Maxwell's own, bringing it to his cheek when Maxwell hesitated.

That made the magician snap his eyes back to him.

"- I'm just reading into things, aren't I? You couldn't possibly-"

"Maxwell, no. That's not true, you know it isn't." Wilson calmly explained, and watched as Maxwell's chest rose up and down when he heaved in confused breaths. Then there was a small, unsure tug on the corner of his lips, and he furrowed his brows.

"... When there's nothing left that I can give you... you're going to throw me away. I'm not worth of keeping around. Not me."

Maxwell looked unsure, but his voice was more than sure to make up for that. Always so sure when he spoke about himself like he was the most horrible thing to ever happen to anyone. Wilson shook his head.

"Why would I throw you away?"

Maxwell answered by letting out a pitiful, insecure laugh.

"You will remember, all that I've done, all that I've been... You will realize that I'm not someone you really want to touch, really want to listen to or look at, I'm not gentle or kind or someone like... like Wes..." Maxwell turned his head and bit his lip, swallowing "... You'll notice that, too. You'll realize that what I make you feel is just borrowed from someone who made you feel the same but, but better..."

Wilson stared at Maxwell, before slowly lowering his head.

Wes wasn't interacting with Maxwell much. He seemed to genuinely want to help, but Maxwell was always in so much better mood when he didn't have to be too close to the man, so it was propably for the best that the two stayed separated for now.

Of course Wilson had noticed that something in Maxwell's mood sifted whenever he talked with Wes. He had expected Maxwell to be jealous, but not that he'd think himself to be a bandage to heal the sadness of breaking up with Wes. Maxwell thought it was only a matter of time when Wilson was going to leave him and go back to someone he actually liked.

Wilson felt bad about it, but he couldn't stop being Wes's friend just because Maxwell was insecure. He supposed that only the time would show that he had meant everything he had said: He wasn't going to leave Maxwell behind, he wasn't going to give up on him. Maxwell didn't have to be alone anymore.

Wilson smiled and shook his head, turning his face to press against Maxwell's palm, kissing it softly.

"I really, really care about you. A lot more than you think. I don't think I have ever felt like this with someone..." he mumbled gently. Maxwell seemed to have calmed down a bit, and he nodded, petting Wilson's cheek with his thumb. Wilson leaned to lay down, resting his chest on Maxwell's own.

"What about you? Do you want this?" he asked. Maxwell curled his arm around him and pressed closer, hiding in his messy, unkempt hair.

"I have wanted this for a very long time." he confessed with an uncertain, wary voice, then paused for a second, and laughed tiredly "You told me off pretty clearly. You asked me that why did I ever think you'd like me, after all that I've done. And I have to agree; why would you? How could you? I was being ridiculous, it was all in my head. You would never like me the way I want, not me, not Maxwell..."

Wilson sighed, resting his head down and slowly stroking his fingers on Maxwell's skin.

"What would prove to you that that is exactly the way I like you? I'm sorry I turned you down like that... I really was scared, you know." He explained, curling closer to the man "I tried to protect myself, and I ended up hurting you instead. I know that I reacted pretty badly. I wasn't ready, but that doesn't mean that I'm not ready now. I mean, if you still want to uh, to try what you tried back then..." Wilson mumbled nervously, pressing his face tight against Maxwell's soft, cold skin and breathing in his scent.

"I'm really sorry. You've been trying so hard to redeem yourself. This has all been confusing to me, and I really feel bad for not giving you enough credit when you deserved it. I would be glad if- I-I mean, would you ever want to, umh, maybe give me a second chance to answer that 'prank' kiss in a different way...?" Wilson's cheeks were ablaze, crimson red, and he anxiously waited for an answer. Maxwell had all the right in the world to say no, but Wilson really hoped he hadn't pushed Maxwell so far away that the man would never give him a chance to fix this.

Maxwell was quiet for a while, before making a small movement and tightening his grip very slightly "I... I guess I would."

"Could I, uh, c-could I try to answer you now...?" Wilson bit his lip. Maxwell actually huffed out a tiny chuckle, and as far as Wilson could tell, it was genuine.

"Yes."

Wilson felt the heavy weight fall off of his chest, as Maxwell pulled himself away from his hair and gave him a bit unsure smile, placing his hand behind his head and slowly pulling him closer. Wilson's whole body fluttered like it was made of butterflies, and he closed his eyes and cracked his lips open as they met with Maxwell's.

Something about the kiss felt different. Something was not so feeble and held back. Maxwell didn't feel so submissive and resigned to his role this time, and Wilson found out he quite liked that. He had missed this Maxwell, the more proud and cocky and self-important Maxwell. Maybe previously the wounded, insecure and self-loathing Maxwell had been hiding behind that, but Wilson knew it hadn't been just a mask, not completely.

Maxwell wasn't okay yet, but he would be. Wilson would show him, Wilson would prove that whatever horrible things Maxwell's mind was whispering to him, Wilson would keep them at bay. And although Maxwell was far from perfect, he was trying very hard, and it didn't change the fact that Wilson still wanted him either way. He'd make sure that Maxwell would always know how he felt from now on, he would keep Maxwell close and safe. He wanted to. He chose to.

When Maxwell finally broke away from the kiss, Wilson had a dopey, unfocused expression over his face, his eyelids drooping, his face flushed and his lips wet with spit. Maxwell chuckled shortly and looked away, the smile lingering on his face. Wilson chuckled as well, snuggling against the other man.

"Was it what you hoped for?" he asked, and Maxwell's hand found it's way to his hair, brushing his fingers on his scalp tenderly, and Wilson felt himself melting against the touch.

"It was."

"... I liked it, too."

Maxwell only hummed. Wilson started tickling his fingertips on the man's chest, and Maxwell shivered under his touch.

"I know it's not even an evening yet, but would you mind if I laid right here with you for a moment longer...?" Wilson asked, and felt a warm feeling in his chest when Maxwell huffed out a tired laugh, curling his arms around the smaller man.

"I wouldn't mind at all."

Chapter 35: Lied and promised

Summary:

Maxwell wonders how he feels about everything, and decides that he's fine.

But they live in the Constant, don't they now...?

WARNINGS: Character death, violence&blood

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Maxwell laid awake inside Wilson's tent, the younger man curled over him, fast asleep and snoring quietly. The magician didn't dare to move in fear of waking him up. Besides, he liked feeling Wilson's body heat against himself. He had always liked how hotblooded the man was, how he gave off heat like a living, breathing radiator.

Maxwell stared upwards, quietly concentrating on the heartbeat against his stomach as Wilson kept on sleeping. He had not been able to figure this out yet, this thing between him and Wilson. He wasn't really sure if he was allowed to like it or not. He tried very hard to feel miserable, but he couldn't fight the stupid little feelings that had started to form in his chest every once in a while again.

He really tried to keep them under the surface, to deny their very existence. If he didn't start thinking that he was actually cared about, at least not in any special way, then maybe it would hurt less when he would be left behind again.

Maxwell hated himself for being so weak, for letting himself to get to the point of being this helpless and unable to manipulate his own feelings. It was getting harder and harder to will the warmth inside his chest away, harder to keep the tingly little sensation locked behind the closed doors, it was downright unbearable to try to stay cold and miserable and lonely, when people were trying to do things that fought against those feelings so much.

It was by far worst with Wilson. It felt only appropriate that the scientist would resent him, he'd understand that, he knew how to deal with that. Maxwell had been so sure that whatever Wilson felt for him was full of hate and bitterness, but now Wilson was so determined to convince him that he, in fact, cared about Maxwell and wanted to be close to him, as if he actually meant something to Wilson.

Maxwell sighed, closing his eyes. He had tried his best to do what was right and failed miserably in all of his attempts, so now he guessed that the only thing left for him to do was to let Wilson take control of this whole disaster.

Wilson knew what was for the best, whether is was hurting Maxwell or giving him attention. If Maxwell messed up, Wilson would correct him, if Maxwell did wrong, Wilson would make it right. Maxwell trusted Wilson, he just had to do what Wilson wanted, and everyone would be at least a little bit better off than before.

Wilson was being very nice to him. He was being kind, understanding, very patient. Maxwell told himself that it was just part of this game Wilson played with him, but even if that feeling was so strong and easy to accept, the other feelings, the warm, comforting feelings kept blossoming inside him like the flowers after winter. He tried to make them disappear, he tried to ignore them, but they just kept coming back, and every time they did, there was more and more of them to get rid of.

It was Wilson's fault. Every time Maxwell had managed to convince himself that any day now, maybe even just in a moment's notice, Wilson would burst out laughing at his face or start acting unkind and cold, the younger man did or said something sweet and caring and Oh Hello, Little Annoying Warm Feelings again!

It was like Wilson was trying to make him feel better or something. Maxwell felt so vile for letting Wilson make him feel that way. Something so great wasted on him. Surely there was so many other things that Wilson could've put his time and effort to, rather than spending it on the fallen King with nothing to give him in exchange.

Yet there the scientist was, speaking to him without poison dripping from his voice, touching him as if he wasn't the most foul creature to be found here, looking at him with almost like something else than pity and regret in his eyes. It made Maxwell feel disconcertingly content.

Wilson seemed concerned about him often, whenever he pulled himself out of the situation, whenever he ate less or worked longer, Wilson would scowl and come asking if he was okay. Maxwell didn't know what kind of answer Wilson wanted to hear, so he often just said that he was tired. It seemed to be including all of the problems Wilson was worried over, and it meant that Maxwell didn't actually have to say out loud what was really running in his head.

The whole group was being so patient with him for some reason. But patience wouldn't last forever, and Maxwell was terrified of how he would actually be able to take it when it finally ran out. Would he eventually drive himself insane, forced to be alone with all of his thoughts for the rest of his existence? The images of isolation and loneliness, of being abandoned and forgotten by every living creature, haunted his mind often.

But he was never able to dwell in those thoughts long enough to lost himself in them. Wilson was there to yank him back, his warm hands rubbing Maxwell's body and mind to the real time and place, his words serving as an anchor to keep Maxwell from drifting into the mush of self-destructive thoughts. In a way it felt so wrong that Wilson didn't let him wander into that dark place where his mind was steering him into.

Maxwell knew he deserved to get lost within his own terrible thoughts, to drown under his own horrible feelings, but he still let Wilson keep him out of them. He couldn't fight it, he couldn't deny how good it made him feel when he was about to sink, and Wilson offered him a hand and wouldn't accept to be turned away. It made him feel wanted, it made him feel like a real person. Those warm, tender feelings took a hold of him, whenever Wilson spoke to him kindly or touched him softly.

It was all Wilson's fault. Wilson wasn't allowing him to feel miserable, he wasn't allowing Maxwell to hurt and suffer. Every time he found something to hate himself over, Wilson would brush his fingers over his skin and mumble very kind, tender words to his ear, and the terrible things he tried to keep hold of just turned to dust and flew away.

Maxwell wondered, if it made him even a worse kind of person than before if he admitted that he wanted to feel happy with Wilson, if he allowed himself to try it.

Was it what Wilson wanted? Did he want it because he liked Maxwell, or because it would be easier to break him if he allowed himself to believe in this thing between them?

And if he wanted it because he liked Maxwell, could Maxwell really ever give him what he deserved? Would it be wrong to play along until the young man would grow either bored or annoyed and leave? Because Maxwell knew that  Wilson wanted too much from the world, he longed and yearned something Maxwell would never be able to offer, and when he realized that the former King was nothing but a waste of his time and effort, he would leave.

But for now, he was here. And Maxwell didn't want to want it, but he did. He didn't feel good about feeling good about it, but he did. And what did it matter what he felt or wanted, because Wilson was here, and Wilson told him he wanted this, and Maxwell knew that Wilson would do what was for the best. He trusted Wilson. Sometimes Maxwell even shut his mind off completely, letting Wilson make whatever decision he needed to make.

Beside him, Wilson suddenly stirred and let out a sleepy groan, before rising his head up, meeting eyes with Maxwell. The younger man stared at him for couple of seconds in half awoken state, and then rubbed his face.

"Is it morning...?"

"No."

"Hm." Wilson nodded and yawned. Maxwell turned to look at the wall, feeling guilty for waking the other man up.

"Am I disturbing your sleep? Should I go?"

Wilson shook his head and leaned his chin over his wrist, resting on Maxwell's chest.

"No. I just... I had a strange dream. You were in it." Wilson mumbled, letting out another yawn "You looked much older" he explained, eyes fluttering back shut "... And there was no shadow claws or sharp rigged fangs. You had trouble walking, and you were so angry when I tried to help you, you didn't accept my assistance at all." The scientist laughed. Maxwell didn't. He grimaced. Wilson didn't seem to notice, and kept going.

"I was worried, because you were clearly trying to walk and it seemed to really...hurt you." Wilson sounded uncomfortable when he said it "It was like every time you took a step, you stepped on a knife. You were so angry at me, so I started to grow angry at you, and we started fighting." Wilson chuckled again, giving Maxwell a tiny smile "It's strange, but it made me happy. Just the thought that you still had enough strength to fight with me over something so stupid, and that... that we could fight, without falling apart over it. It made me happy that we could be like that. But you were so weak and hurt and old..."

Wilson turned his cheek against Maxwell, and curled his fingers on the man's shirt.

"I know I'm not going to lose you anytime soon, but the thought of it really terrified me. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to help... I'm so glad it was just a dream." Wilson sounded comfortless and dreary. Maxwell felt guilty about that, too. Wilson had to be around him when he was awake, he didn't need to suffer because of Maxwell when he was sleeping as well. The man pressed his hand on Wilson's head and brushed fingers through his hair slowly, and Wilson shivered and curled closer.

"Sounds like you have been stressed out a lot lately." Maxwell murmured "I'm sorry I made you worry."

"No, you didn't make me worry, I just... I worry about things. It's not your fault that I can't stop thinking about every possible terrible thing that might happen all the time." the younger man chuckled "It's just something I do. Worry, I mean. But it's good to know that some worries are unnecessary."

Maxwell hummed quietly. He didn't worry as much as Wilson apparently did, but he didn't agree to the worries being unnecessary. They were in danger, every second, every day. It was only a fact, not anything the worry or the lack of it would be able to change.

But perhaps Wilson was right that there were things he didn't need to worry about, and perhaps Maxwell might've been able to help him to keep some of those worries away. The magician kept stroking the other man's hair and closed his eyes.

"It was just a nightmare" he said. Such a stupid thing to point out. It had obviously been a nightmare, saying it out loud did nothing to make it go away. But it was for some reason something that people found comforting to hear "It's nothing you need to worry about, Wilson. It was not real."

"I know, I know it was just a nightmare, but... you're right, I have been worried, Max." Wilson mumbled, tightening his grip on the older man again "I know you aren't as okay as you like to lead on. And you're trying to pretend that nothing I do or say is wrong, and it makes me worry that you'd..." Wilson paused for a noticeably long moment, then continued with a weak, quiet voice "I fear that I'm hurting you. That you'd not tell me if you're hurting, and that I end up doing something that I can never take back. I don't want to hurt you... I'm very scared that I will do it again-"

Maxwell sat up, pushing Wilson off of him and cupping his cheek gently, and Wilson, without hesitance, leaned to the touch.

"I hurt you more than you ever hurt me. It's okay, I don't-"

"It's not okay, though" Wilson muttered "It doesn't excuse how I treated you. Bringing up the things you did in the past isn't going to fix anything. Even if you did hurt me, I don't want to hurt you. N-not anymore, I... I want us to stop hurting each other."

"... I'm really trying-" Maxwell started nervously, but was cut off by Wilson's quiet chuckle, before the man opened his eyes again and touched Maxwell's hand over his cheek.

"I know you're trying."

"So, it's... not enough...?"

Another tired, short chuckle.

"It's enough, Maxwell. It's a really great thing that you're trying so hard, but I don't want the only thing you do to be just trying. It's okay to slow down a little bit, just let yourself feel good about what you've already done. You don't give yourself enough credit."

"... I haven't done many good things I should be given any credit for." the magician muttered, turning his head away.

Wilson shook his head, an exhausted look on his face "Yeah, but you've still done something. It might be only a little bit of progress, but it's still progress all the same. It matters, at least to me."

Maxwell had no idea why Wilson cared at all. Even if it was just for a joke, just to make fun of him, it must've been more trouble than it was worth at this point. But Wilson cared, for some unknown, ridiculous reason, and Maxwell knew that whatever it was that made Wilson decide to be close to him, it was for the best.

He trusted Wilson. Wilson had always been far more forgiving to him than he'd ever be deserving of, and Wilson had always been fair to him even when he had no obligations to be. Maxwell didn't know if he'd ever do enough, if he ever could pay back the enormous debt he was carrying, but he tried. And if Wilson thought it was enough, Maxwell trusted his judgement. Wilson would do the right thing. Wilson knew what was for the best. 

It made him feel warm, knowing that Wilson cared. It seemed that pretending to be fine wasn't working very well, or at least it wasn't fooling Wilson, and in a way, Maxwell was even happy for that.

Wilson wasn't a bad person. Treating Maxwell like trash wouldn't make him one. But Wilson didn't want to treat him like that, and it felt wrong, and it felt good, and Maxwell once again shook the colliding thoughts out of his head, and clung to the one thought that calmed him down and gave him some sense of comfort; Wilson knew what to do, Wilson did what was for the best, Wilson would do what was right. He just had to follow, and everything would eventually be fine.

"Damn... Listen, I-I didn't mean to-" Wilson started, probably concerned for the lack of response to his words, but Maxwell shook his head and pulled Wilson to lean against his neck.

"It's fine."

The younger man shifted.

"... Is it, really?"

Maxwell wasn't sure if it was really fine the way it was supposed to be, but one of those annoying little feelings had settled over the rest of them, and he felt more or less content right now. Whether or not he was allowed to, he didn't want to think about. He just decided to ignore it.

"Yeah... It's fine. It was just a nightmare.Try to sleep, it'll feel better in the morning."

He felt Wilson press a soft kiss on his throat, as the man gently pushed him down on his back and laid next to him, landing a hand on his shoulder and head on his armpit.

Maxwell wondered just how long it would take for him to get used to this. How long would it take for Wilson's intimate touches and words to feel natural, how long would it take for him to not get nervous, not feel pressured or expected to do something else than just be there. He wondered if it was okay to start getting used to this, without the anxiety nagging in his chest and the doubt screaming in his head, that he didn't deserve Wilson he didn't deserve good he didn't deserve didn't deserve didn't deserve and why would Wilson mean this why would Wilson want this Why would Wilson care why would Maxwell matter why would he matter why did he think Wilson cared-

And then Wilson started stroking his fingers slowly on his chest to show some fond emotion he had for Maxwell, and the storm inside him cooled down, as Maxwell allowed himself to be pet like he mattered, be held like he was cared about, and it felt good because Wilson was doing it out of his own want to do so, out of the goodness of his heart.

Just like on the throne. It was Wilson's choice, he did it because he felt pity, he wanted to free Maxwell despite the horrible things he had gone through, and he did what he believed was right.

Wilson would take care of this, too. Whether it was meant to be soft and tender or cruel and mean, it was for the best. Maxwell didn't have to listen to his demons tearing him every which way in confusion and self-doubt. He didn't have to, he just had to let Wilson take care of things, and all would be fine.

It was going to be better. Wilson was going to be better. So would Webber, and Willow, and Wendy, all of them. Maxwell just had to let Wilson help him to do what was right, and it would all be better for all of them.

"Maxwell... thank you. I feel better now."

Maxwell hummed and played with Wilson's hair absentmindedly. He was glad he had succeeded in being of some help, even if he didn't really know what he had done. He just waited Wilson to fall asleep again, he himself only drifting in and out of some haze of an unconsciousness until the morning sun broke through the horizon.

---

"Hey would you mind if- OH ok wow, sorry!" Willow's exclamation woke Wilson up, and the man was up in a second, confusedly trying to understand what was going on, where he was, why he was, and where they where. It took only a couple of seconds of staring at Willow for the right information to re-register in his head, while he kept blinking at the arsonist whose back was turned to him. Then lowered his gaze to see Maxwell, sleepy scowl on his face, leaning on his elbows and also just awoken by surprise.

"Uh... Morning?" The scientist greeted Willow, rising an eyebrow in confusion.

"Please tell me you have clothes on." Willow stated, and Wilson's face flushed completely.

"O-of course we do- and so what if we didn't! This is my tent, I can be as naked as I want in my own tent!" He defended himself in embarrassment, and Willow finally turned to look at him and Maxwell, now rising both of her eyebrows.

"Uh duh, no one ever said you couldn't. Does that mean it's okay if I just burst in unannounced and see you guys butt-naked making out?" She asked, and then grinned at how mortified Wilson looked. The young man cleared his throat and tried to not look away.

"One: You came in unannounced anyway, and two; it's not your business what we do with each other..." Wilson's words drifted into angry mumbling and he glanced at Maxwell again. It wasn't like he was ashamed of being with Maxwell, but he had just never been very open about his relationships before, and the need to defend himself about who and what he liked was still very strong in him.

"Okay, so, I try to knock next time" Willow said, knowing full well she was not going to "I came to ask if you guys wanted to go gather honey with Webber. Everyone else is kind of busy doing other things, and Webber wants someone to accompany them."

"...And why do you need both of us for that?" Wilson rubbed his forehead. Willow shrugged.

"Well, there's no need to any more than just one, but Webber reeeally wants someone to go with them, and you seem to like keeping the asshole over there in kind of a tight leash, so..." Willow pointed out, smirking at Wilson who gave her the most murderous look he could muster. Willow only laughed, and for Wilson's amazement, even Maxwell snorted, though he tried to hide his small smirk behind his hand.

Even though Wilson had to admit that he was glad to see Maxwell being so comfortable around Willow, he didn't like being made fun of, so he ended up scoffing and stumbling on his feet to push Willow out.

"Okay, we'll go! Tell Webber we'll be there soon!"

After he had managed to shoo Willow away, he rubbed his neck and groaned. Then he gave Maxwell a sheepish little glance.

"... I don't keep you in a tight leash or anything, do I?" He asked, feeling the blush creeping over his face. Maxwell smirked without turning to look at him, and only patted his shoulder as he walked out.

"Don't think too hard about it, pal."

---
 
He was feeling okay, Maxwell had decided.

He didn't know when it had happened, what exactly had caused it, but he wasn't looking a gift horse in the mouth. If he was able to be in relatively good terms with the group and didn't cause any trouble by doing so, he wasn't going to complain.

Some time ago he would've complained, but not anymore. Some part of him still wanted to fight against this, still wanted to tear him down and call him back to the darkness, because isn't it always so familiar in there, doesn't it feel comforting to know it would never throw you away, it belongs to you, but he didn't feel as strong pulling to it as he had before.

It was better like this, he supposed. He wasn't really part of the group, but he was somewhat useful and wasn't causing fights every time he was present... it wasn't much, not as much as it should be, but it was something. And Wilson had said that something may not have been much, but for what it was worth, it was enough.

The magician glanced at the scientist who had knelt on all fours on the ground, inspecting some small plant with interest. They had just returned from the beeboxes, but only Webber's and his backpacks were filled with honey - there simply wasn't enough to fill three backpacks, so the two men gathered other resources on the way back as well, to make the most of the trip. Wilson had been gathering twigs, but as per usual, had gotten distracted and sidetracked very quickly.

Maxwell listened the quiet mumble that left Wilson's lips, the man not noticing how he thought out loud.

Maxwell wasn't sure when or why, but something had changed between them. It wasn't just a truce anymore, it wasn't really a friendship, either... And Wilson was too good for being something more, something like a partner to him, too good to just settle for someone like Maxwell. But regardless of what it was, it was something different than before. If it had no name, perhaps it was for the best. If there was no label, it didn't have to matter so much. Maxwell hadn't ever thought he could have Wilson anyway, so this was already much more than he had dared to hope for.

Some little part of him knew that it wasn't all that he really wanted. But at the same time, he knew that it was just how the life was. Sometimes people didn't get what they wanted, some more often than the others. It wasn't anyone's fault, it wasn't a bad thing. And Maxwell didn't know if he dared to go poking his feelings about that, because he didn't want to destroy what they had managed to build by waking up some bitter, miserable part of him that hadn't realized what was going on yet.

The magician returned to picking up berries. It was fine like this. Sometimes people were almost nice to him, and when he laid next to Wilson and shut his eyes, he was able to feel that he was, for once in his life, worth of something like an actual love of another person.

Who the hell cared, if it was real or not. Wilson wanted him, and he didn't mind if it was out of pity, if it was out of some petty need to torment him, if it was out of something deeper and sweeter than just caring about him... He still get to have it, and who was he to turn away something he wanted more than anything, even if it wasn't for the reasons he wanted it to be?

Next to him, Webber hummed and poked the ground with a long stick, drawing shapes in the dirt. They seemed very glad to spend time with Maxwell for some reason as well. Maxwell didn't understand why, but he had long ago abandoned any tries to understand reasons that Webber had for being the way they were.

The tree of them worked quietly on their own task, before something started to feel a bit off. It took a while for Maxwell to notice the sudden silence that fell all around, before a loud sound of footsteps echoed in the forest. Maxwell rose his head up, meeting Wilson's eyes that reflected his worry, before the young man rose his face upwards, eyes widening from terror and hand slowly reaching for a weapon.

Maxwell turned to glance at Webber, who had their eyes locked at the creature behind them, and Maxwell slowly turned around, anxious and tense, already suspecting what he was about to see.

It was a bearger.

All of them seemed to realize the same thing at the same time, as the giant turned it's hungry eyes between the spider kid and the magician, contemplating which one to attack to gain access to it's favorite food to feast on that their backpacks where filled with.

It all happened so fast, but for Maxwell, it felt like the time around him slowed down. He moved his eyes to Wilson, and for barely even half a second their eyes met again, as Wilson stood there a tentacle spike in his arms, his attention switching from Maxwell to Webber, a terrified expression on his face.

Then, Wilson's head turned so very slightly, just an inch, his feet choosing a direction, and Maxwell watched the young man take a step towards Webber.

He didn't know why it hit him like that. He didn't know why it pierced the thing inside his chest that other people called a heart. Perhaps he had somehow, just for once, hoped that Wilson would head for him instead.

It was just a bitter reminder, Maxwell realized, as the world drifted onward in sluggish dreamlike phase, that it didn't really matter who would stand on the line with him, it didn't matter how important he was to Wilson, it wouldn't make any difference to the outcome in the end.

He would come last, he would be tossed aside. Wilson would never choose him.

... As if he had ever even been an option.

Maxwell snapped back to the real world and rushed to Webber, before Wilson had time to react correctly. He pulled the kid against his chest and hunched over them, placing himself between them and the giant, just as it aimed a large paw at them in rage.

Wilson watched in horror as the bearger send the other two flying across the ground, landing against the tree and falling down on the dirt.

"Webber! Maxwell!" he called out in panic "Are you okay?!"

Of course they were not, but what mattered now was if they were dead, severely injured, or okay enough to get up.

A small sense of relief washed through the scientist as Webber's black, furry hand rose to give him a thumbs up, and Wilson rushed into action. Bearger was already smashing things up in anger, so it wasn't going to just take the food and leave, oh no - it was going to kill the horrible little people who dared to keep the golden treat away from it.

Wilson couldn't let it reach the other two. He rushed forward, and with all of his strength, smashed the tentacle spike straight to the monster's hind leg. That sure got it's attention, and soon the greedy creature had abandoned it's attempts to get to the honey, it's full intention now just getting rid of the small scientist. It was, at this particular moment, exactly what Wilson wanted. He rushed away and led the autumn giant towards the swamp. They were only lucky to be this close, and Wilson would've fought the thing himself, if he wouldn't have been so worried of his companions. The giants were not anything to take lightly.

Luckily for Wilson, bearger happened to throw another fit near a spider nest - triggering both the spiders and nearby tentacles, as well as a slumbering spider Queen. Even if the creature was large and powerful, it wouldn't be a match to all of the horrible life that inhabited the marsh biome. Trusting that the monsters would take care of each other, Wilson wasted no more time and circled around the area and rushed back to the forest where he found Webber and Maxwell where he had left them. The later was still laying on the ground, Webber hustling around him.

"What is it? Is he hurt?" Wilson immediately asked as he got to them. Webber turned to face him, panic and fear evident in their features.

"Mister Maxwell is bleeding, we tried to stop it, but it's bad!" there was an urgent tone of  seriousness in the words, as Webber showed Wilson how they had stripped off Maxwell's suit jacket and pressed it against his neck. Wilson gently but quickly pushed the boy aside and carefully lifted the clothing to inspect the wound.

He wouldn't lie, it was bad. The wound was large, a giant lash running through the shoulder and over his neck. Parts of flesh were ripped out. Blood was gushing out of the wound and out of his mouth. Wilson could see that Maxwell was in pain, his body convulsing as he tried to stay conscious.

Wilson swallowed and wiped his hand over his forehead.

"Okay Webber, look the other way." he instructed, and then met Maxwell's eyes, apologetic, comforting yet nervous small smile on his lips "... I'm not sure I can save you this far from the camp, and... well, I can make it painless."

Maxwell wheezed out a sound, almost like a laugh, and nodded. Wilson threw his backpack down and dug his razor out, placing it against the older man's neck, lifting up his chin to expose the artery.

"I... I see you soon."

To his confusion, Maxwell shook his head.

"Don't have... ef-effigy... not activated... stone...... either." he croaked out, smiling at Wilson weakly. Wilson stopped, staring at the other man in disbelief.

"What?" he only whispered. Maxwell spat out blood as he took another breath to speak.

"Never bound... bound myself... to, to... sorry." his grin was feeble and heavy, his eyes dull and tired. Wilson didn't understand. Maxwell had an effigy, they built him one, he told Wilson he had activated it, he-

"You lied." Wilson stated with empty voice. Maxwell shut his eyes.

"...Yeah..."

Even if he felt betrayed, even if he wanted to do nothing as much as slap Maxwell and cry, he knew better. The time was of the essence. There was not a second to waste. Wilson threw the razor away and pressed the jacket back to Maxwell's neck.

"You have an amulet with you, don't you? Where is it?" He urged the other man to tell him, but he already knew what Maxwell would tell him. The older man shook his head weakly. Wilson bit his lip and turned to glance over his shoulder.

"Webber! Run to the camp and catch the life-giving amulet, this is really important!"

Webber nodded firmly, before sprinting away in a hurry. Wilson watched their back shrink as they ran, feeling the cold claws of fear grasping around his heart.

"Good think...in... kid sh-shouldn't... see..." Maxwell's half-whisper caught the scientist's attention back to him, and the man lowered his head to give him a scowl.

"I'm gonna yell at you so much when you get better. God fucking damnit, Max, I told you that you can't do things like this, you... fucking asshole." Wilson's voice trembled with fear.

Maxwell only coughed out a laughter.

"It's...fine... no great... lo-loss."

"Hey, don't say that, you know it's not true..." Wilson tried to steady his voice, to keep some hope up, at least to not rise any additional panic. But he knew that they both already had figured it out; the camp was too far. The chance of Webber making it there and back fast enough was a gamble with terrible odds. But Wilson refused to give up. What else was there? No effigy, no touchstone, no salve no poultice... No, no he shouldn't let the fear get the better of him, it was going to be fine. Webber was going to make it, they had to. They had to.

"Why would you do something like this...? You know you can't take a giant head-on, Maxwell, you shouldn't have done something so stupid-"

Maxwell coughed out blood and wheezed in a breath as he smirked at the younger man.

"Had to... something... Webber... is-"

"-Is smart and strong and they would've survived it! That was just unnecessary and reckless and stupid! Why do you have to be like this, why, why can't you try to take care of yourself?" Wilson pretended he didn't hear the thickness in his voice, he pretended that when he blinked, he didn't do it to bat the tears away.

"... Is... ok... Better off... wih-without... any...way--" Maxwell jerked violently as he coughed up more blood. Wilson hushed him and rose him to lay over his lap, not giving a damn if his clothes got soaked in blood.

"Don't speak, it's only going to make this worse. Save your strength, just... breathe, breathe and  keep your eyes open." Wilson murmured with shaky voice and brushed his fingers through Maxwell's thin hair. The man hummed out a pleased sound and leaned to rest his cheek against Wilson's warmth, against his drumming heartbeat and breathing lungs.

"...isn't too late... cut throa...t..."

"No, it's going to be fine, Webber will be back in no time and then you'll..."

"Heh...s-ppose... not worth the... the mercy... fter all." Maxwell huffed and smiled, eyes starting to flutter shut, his head bobbing down despite his efforts to keep it up. Wilson shook his head wildly.

"No! Max, I just don't want to lose you... Why do you think I wouldn't show you mercy? Of course I would!"

The spark inside Maxwell's eyes confused Wilson, as if the man just remembered something that made everything so clear, and then the old nightmare King weakly trembled his hand up to barely touch Wilson's cheek.

"For, for som... someone else? Yes... For... me...?" A smile grew on Maxwell's face "No. Nev...er..."

There was certain familiarity in the words, something that dug Wilson's memory and found a line, a conversation where those words were said once. But now they held no truth, Wilson knew they didn't, and he wanted to believe that Maxwell knew it, too. 

"You're such an idiot." Wilson laughed to hide away his need to cry, and watched Maxwell's weary smile, oddly still and frozen.

Too still. Too frozen.

Then he realized that Maxwell wasn't moving at all anymore.

"No, no no no nonono..." Wilson gasped and started to frantically search for a pulse. He found none.

"Maxwell please, please don't do this to me, don't... Don't go, you promised it was just a nightmare, it wasn't real, you promised... please... please, there's still time. You can make it, hold on just a little bit longer... just a little bit..."

---

When Webber eventually got back, one life-giving amulet in their tight grip, they found Wilson sitting on the ground, huddling the lifeless, fastly decomposing body in his arms, swaying gently back and forth.

A little bit over him hovered a white, see-through figure silently, comfortlessly circling the scientist as he watched him with empty, plank eyes. Webber stared at them both with sorrowful look on their face.

Death here was a vague subject with several ways to return back to the previous mortal realm, but there was also a chance to die and get send to another world, another place, away from the others.

And, as they all had come to realize, there was also a slight possibility that once a person had gone on long enough, their demise could be permanent.

All of them had seen the graves, the ghostly denizens of them. They had all dug up the trinkets that once had belonged to the people much like them, long lost in Constant's greedy maw. Even Maxwell had once or twiced implied, if not downright confessed, that the ghosts of the graveyards were, in fact, very much the other people once brought here, now spending their eternity as vengeful, empty shells, long forgotten who they used to be before all this.

Webber lowered their eyes and sniffed back a sob, tugging Wilson's shirt carefully.

"Mister Wilson... We brought the amulet."

The scientist burst out in tears and huddled the empty shell even closer to his chest.

Notes:

(Wilson would've protected Maxwell. The only reason he headed to Webber instead was because the bearger was targeting them)

Chapter 36: Ghosting

Summary:

Wilson doesn't want to accept that Maxwell is dead.

Chapter Text

The next day Wilson woke up, chilly and tired, his cheek pressed on the cold hard ground next to the alchemy engine. He vaguely remembered passing out from the exhaustion last night, but this time he wasn't even proud of working so hard. Despite his best efforts, he had gotten nothing done. His head was just too foggy, his thoughts got wandering off, and more than once he had caught himself blankly staring into nothing for several seconds before snapping out of it.

He could remember Webber gently dragging him out of the forest, carefully prying the skeletal corpse from his desperate grip as he kept sobbing, sobbing, sobbing, trying to hold on to it like it would make a difference. Wilson winced. He needed to tell Webber that they had done their best, that it wasn't their fault. He didn't wish to put the death of one of their allies to the young boy's shoulders. If someone needed to carry that weight, it could be him. He could've done better.

He remembered that it had been a quiet, gloomy day after that. Everyone had seemed genuinely upset, nobody was sure of what to do, of how to help.

Wilson didn't remember seeing neither Wendy or her sister around for the whole day, not that he had paid much attention... He figured they had just left to cry somewhere on their own, with no prying eyes and no eavesdropping. Maxwell would've probably done the same, too scared to show his vulnerability, too proud to reveal how humane feelings applied to him as well. Thinking about that made Wilson feel even worse than he already did.

Maxwell had known that he had no way of coming back, yet he still went and got himself killed. For what? Protecting Webber? Trying to play some last pity card to look better, trying to actually act in a selfless way to be better? To do something right, to throw away the least important piece on the board?

If Wilson had been faster, if he had reacted immediately instead of freezing to take a moment to think, maybe nobody would've gotten hurt. Maybe Maxwell wouldn't have felt the need to act in his stead.

Wilson didn't want to think about it. He just stood up, the great pain in his chest wrapping the cold, guilty feeling over his heart like the most uncomfortable blanket, as he wobbled out of the quiet hustle and bustle, not giving a glance behind, his feet leading him out of the camp.

He had to do something... he just didn't know what. He didn't even really know if there was anything he could do.

Because Maxwell was dead, irreversibly dead, and he wasn't coming back this time. Wilson was afraid to think of what that meant. Was Maxwell just gonna spend the rest of the eternity as some ghostly reminder of a person that isn't with them anymore? Was he going to disappear, eventually just fade away out of the existence altogether? Was he going to wake up in a different world, in a different place, alone?

Wilson shook his head furiously. No, there must've been something he could do to help, he refused to be good-for-nothing. Time to put those brains to some use and bring Maxwell back from the death.

... Some way, as soon as Wilson would figure out what that way was. It wasn't as if he had never lost anyone in the Constant before, but... but not like this. This was just like the freaking Nightmare throne all over again! Why couldn't Maxwell just stay alive and stop being so traumatizing to him?

Wilson rubbed his eyes and tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. He felt so mean for thinking like that. Was this who he really was? Someone who had only the day before lost his friend, and was now blaming them for dying? This wasn't Maxwell fault, for crying out loud.

Or maybe it was, maybe he didn't have to go and get himself killed, maybe he could've prevented all of this by not being an idiot-

The scientist shook his head again, angry at his own wandering thoughts and inability to solve this problem. He needed to get himself together. He needed to stop blaming Maxwell and stop feeling sorry for himself.

Sooner that he had even realized, Wilson found himself already standing where the fresh skeleton laid on the ground, right where he had left it the day before. Maxwell was still there, hovering in the air, eyes cast down to his own remains. He looked surprisingly calm.

Wilson stopped below him, rising his head up to look at the white sheet of a body, the vague features, blank eyes and lack of a mouth, transparent body glowing faintly in the misty morning light.

"... Can you hear me?"

Maxwell nodded. Wilson nodded back, lowering his eyes on the ground.

"I'm so sorry... I never wanted... I'm sorry." As if it did anything good to apologize anymore, a little bit too late for that, but at least he had to tell Maxwell that he had never wanted this. If nothing else, he had to tell him.

Wilson sighed deeply.

"I'm so sick of hurting all the time. I'm so sick of seeing the people I care about hurting. I thought that maybe you and I could've, you know... moved on and stopped hurting, together."

Maxwell descended down to his level, leaning in, hands sinking inside his back. Wilson didn't dare to move. It was so cold, it was tingly and prickly. Wilson hated how strange it felt, how a once familiar touch was so distant and unreal now. He really should've touched Maxwell more often when he was alive... he should've let Maxwell touch him more often. Just a simple little contact, a brush of fingers, a tap on the shoulder. Something, anything.

Suddenly it felt like much more than it had been, the simple little things between them.

Wilson couldn't help but shiver when those ghostly fingers tried to touch his cheek. He rose up his hand and slowly, carefully, touched Maxwell as well, even if his hand went straight through.

"I will not give up on you." he stated with a voice that he wished could've been stronger, but it betrayed his sadness, his frustration and desperation. But what his voice failed to carry over, his eyes made up, steely, intensely focused stare, right into Maxwell's white, lifeless eyes. So white... they used to be black, blacker than the night and it's darkness.

The magician shook his head, fingers petting Wilson's cheek slowly, very clearly implying that Maxwell thought it would be for the best to give up, to let this go. He thought that Wilson couldn't help. 

Wilson furrowed his brows, a bit of insecurity sneaking into his voice now "I can bring you back, I, I can do it. Have faith in me, Max. I can help."

As an answer to his words, Maxwell closed his eyes, shook his head again, and pulled himself away. It reminded Wilson about those times when he was much younger, barely even an adult, and the grownups would do that irritating head-shake, wordless implications and amusement hidden inside. Look at this boy, so ambitious, he thinks he is something. How cute, children are so innocent.

Maxwell's way of shaking his head wasn't as much belittling to him, but the way it was so hopeless, not believing he could be helped by anyone, stung even more. And the reaction it sparked in Wilson was the same; Wilson blinked at him in silence, before an angry scowl rose to his face.

"Fine, don't have faith, then." he snarled between his teeth "I don't care if you believe in me or not, I don't care if you think I will fail and only make things worse, I will bring you back!"

He wanted to yell at Maxwell for everything, punch his stupid handsome face so his stupid crooked nose would break and his stupid rich voice would have no stupid excuses and Wilson wanted to scream at him to leave and drag his stupid ass back when he learned how to stop making stupid choices!

Maxwell only rose an eyebrow, looking frustrated and disapproving, now almost glowering at him. Wilson answered his glare with one of his own.

"You heard me! I will do anything I can, and I refuse to give up before you're back with me again! I will have you back, I will-" Wilson cut himself off when Maxwell turned away from him. He stared at the other man for a while, mouth stuck open mid-sentence, before he slowly bowed down his head.

"....I just want you back." He said in a low, weak voice, fists shaking at his sides, clenching them so tight they were almost as white as Maxwell's ghost "I want you back with me. I want to be with you, I want to touch you, I want to hear your voice, I want to see you being you again. I just got you, and now you're not here anymore, you're... you're..."

Wilson grasped his hair and bit his teeth together.

"I never even told you. I never- I just, I-I just..." The scientist startled when a cold, bodyless weight pressed against him again. Wilson didn't know if Maxwell was angry or understanding, if he was trying to make him stop or offer comfort, but he was happy that the man at least was listening, turned back to him. He shook his head hopelessly.

"I'm sorry... Please, let me try. I can't leave you like this."

More than anything, Wilson just wanted to bring Maxwell back to him. He missed Maxwell so much. Of course he wanted to do it for Maxwell too, but he knew that it was mostly because he wanted Maxwell back, he didn't want to lose him, he was the one who was left to grieve and wail after the departed. It was selfish, he knew it was.

Maxwell ooh'd something in a sad, low tone. Wilson felt almost comforted by the static-like tingling in his body, where the ectoplasm was huddling against him as Maxwell tried to hold him without any way to do so. No matter how he tried, his arms flew straight through Wilson's body.

"... Do you blame me for making you so miserable?" Wilson asked, a wary tone in his voice, turning to look at Maxwell. The man closed his eyes and shook his head. Wilson swallowed, lowering his head.

"Yeah... I know. I know you don't."

He knew Maxwell didn't blame him, he knew Maxwell thought too highly of him for that. But it was his fault, wasn't it? And that was yet another reason to bring Maxwell back.

"... Don't you want to return?"

Maxwell made a low sound and shut his eyes again. Wilson cocked his head.

"Is it because being alive is too painful?"

Head-shake.

"Is it because you don't want to be with us?"

Head-shake.

"It... it isn't because you think we're better off without you, is it?"

There was a long pause. Then Maxwell slowly shook his head again, not entirely convincingly.

Wilson stared at him for a little while. Then the corner of his mouth started tugging upwards as his breath started to tremble with a quiet little laughter.

"Haha... It doesn't even matter anymore, does it? You are blaming me for this, you don't even think I care-" Wilson leaned a hand on his forehead and shut his eyes, his laugh growing stronger "And now I want to bring you back! Even though I only ever turned you away and blamed you for everything all the time! You don't want to come back because you don't want to come back to me, you don't want to give me a chance to  hurt you again..."

Wilson swallowed thickly, the lump in his throat growing bigger and bigger. He felt his legs giving in, and slowly fell on his knees. He felt Maxwell trying to touch him again, a bit of haste in his wavering movements, a bit of panicky confusion, but he couldn't face the man right now, only hanging his head low in shame.

"I never really stopped hurting you, did I...? You were just... you were just playing along, like you said, just giving me what you though I wanted from you... I was selfish, I thought I could be enough, that if you just had me, it would be enough..." Wilson bat away the tears, taking in a deep breath. He felt terrible. He had driven Maxwell away, it was his fault that Maxwell was gone, it was his fault that Maxwell didn't believe anything he said anymore. He thought that he had managed to make Maxwell understand, that his help had actually made a difference, that he was being kind to Maxwell now, that he was doing right.

"I'm so sorry. I took advantage of your situation, I know, I gave you a hard time because it was so easy to blame you for everything, it was so convenient... And you were still trying, you were still doing your best to be better. It wasn't fair to treat you like I did. I can't blame you for this, I know I caused this myself... And all because I was so prideful and couldn't accept that I fell in love with-"

Wilson slapped his hand over his mouth, snapping his eyes wide open, staring into the ground in sudden, shocked silence. He hadn't meant to say that.

Maxwell ooh'd in a questioning tone, but Wilson had even less courage to face him now. He was so ashamed. Ashamed and scared. Was he really so cowardly that he could only confess his feelings after the person he felt them for had died? That was not only cruel, that was just plain pathetic.

But ultimately, it did nothing to turn his head. Maxwell deserved to hear it. He deserved to hear it when he could give Wilson a proper answer. The scientist stood up, holding himself tight, and took in a long, long inhale. Still hanging his head, taking a few steps backwards, he opened his mouth.

"I will bring you back... I'm sorry, Maxwell, I promise I won't give up on you."

And then he turned and ran away, not looking back. He just ran before he had returned to the camp, the cold and heavy feeling in his chest growing stronger, now accompanied by a new feeling, a burning, equally just as heavy one as the other.

He didn't care what it would take, he couldn't let it end like this. He had to bring Maxwell back, he had to help, he had to tell Maxwell how he felt.

Wilson took in a deep breath, rolled up his sleeves, held up his chin, and started working.

---

It had been days from his death. Everything seemed to move on so strangely, to be in sepia toned colors, dull white and pale brown. Maxwell had lost the interest and the need to keep an eye on the passage of the time, anyway.

He had thought that being dead would be easier, that it would bring him some peace, but he had been gravely mistaken (pun intended, such a shame there wasn't anyone to tell it to). It was so quiet, it was so colorless, so barren and empty, the invisible wall separating him from the rest of the world. It was like the opposite of being insane. Instead of the world being wavy and vibrant, instead of constant noise with the on going whispers and the subtle images in the corners of his eye, instead of the pain in his head, the paranoia and fear, the world was almost completely still and quiet, like the universe had paused itself and forgot to take him with it. He was locked in the hazy, humming chamber of nothing. He felt very alone.

It was all too familiar feeling to Maxwell. Thank goodness he was at least able to float here and there and watch things happening, even though his ability to interact with the rest of the world was very limited. Well, haunting things was kind of fun at least. Maxwell spent the first few days just scaring rabbits and beefalo, spooking tallbirds and spiders, frightening pigs and frogs... it was entertaining to watch them freak out, confused and unsure of what was happening.

Ah, how Maxwell had missed pulling the string behind the scenes. As much as he enjoyed being the star of the show and having the spotlight on him, he equally enjoyed being the faceless puppeteer behind the curtains, handling his little dolls on the stage. There was something empowering in playing the puppet master again.

Being a ghost at least brought some surprising advantages, he had to admit that. He never got tired, never got hungry or hurt. The weather and temperature had no influence on him. It was all just the ongoing numbness, just the eternal feeling of being disconnected from the world around him. Not many positive feelings to be had there, but not any negative ones, either. It could've been a worse deal, Maxwell had decided.

Despite being dead, Maxwell still felt like he should be of some use. Anything was better than hovering around his old bones day after day, so whenever he could, Maxwell tried to do something useful with his time. Had a lot of that to share now.

At first he avoided being directly involved with the other survivors, not sure if it would scare them, if it would upset them, if it perhaps would drain their sanity. It was always a shock at first, but eventually people seemed to be more or less neutral about his presence, especially if he managed to communicate that he, in fact, was able to hear them and understand them, and he wasn't going to attack them in sight like the other ghost of the Constant did.

It felt less lonely when he was able to hover around other people and do at least something with them, the very little that he now could without a physical body.

When people happened to run into him at the doorstep of the nightfall, he sheltered them from the darkness. Sometimes it got awkward, because although his translucent body illuminated some space around him, it was so ridiculously small area that people had to practically stand inside him to not get swallowed by the total darkness. Regardless of the awkwardness of it during the night, people seemed to always be appreciative of his help in the morning. No matter what monsters lurked in the Constant, nothing was as terrifying and feared as the comfortless, inescapable darkness.

... The darkness didn't affect him anymore, either. No matter how much Charlie wished to, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't sink her claws in his body, she couldn't rip him apart or tear him to pieces. Maxwell couldn't really grasp his feelings well enough anymore to get upset over seeing her so furious and desperate to hurt him, but he felt a small sting of discomfort when he realized just how far she had drifted from the wonderful person she once was. Poor Charlie, his beloved, beautiful rose... Maxwell knew there wasn't much he could do to help her, not now, not like this.

On the throne Maxwell had seen how Charlie had killed and wounded the other survivors, seen how she lunged at them, how she became one with the darkness, allowed no escape from her wrath. The ways she killed people were gruesome, violent and ruthless, but nothing compared to what she did to him in the dark. He had died a few times before he ran into Wilson, after all.

For most people, The Queen allowed a change. For Maxwell, she did not.

But now it mattered as little as anything else, because Maxwell was dead, and Charlie had better things to do, and so did he.

In addition of playing a human-shaped torch in the night, Maxwell enjoyed chopping down trees. Well, 'enjoyed' wasn't quite the word he was looking for, but entertainment would be taken anywhere where he could find it. Sometimes Woodie joined him, sometimes the man came to directly ask if he was up to some logging that day. It surprised Maxwell that he was personally sought out, that his now even less useful self was a desired company in any level, but he always agreed. Listening Woodie's mundane rambles was relaxing, and having a purpose, a given task to do, kept Maxwell from losing the rest of his remaining mind.

The trees weren't the only flora he haunted, though. He realized that he was able to change things, mess something up in the code and turn one thing to another by haunting them. Flowers turned to evil flowers as he hopped in and out of them, and despite knowing he couldn't return back to the mortal realm, he turned as many as he could. Easy fuel to gather, and maybe someone else would benefit from it, if not him.

He tried not to wander for too far from his skeleton, always eventually drifting back around his place of death, because whenever the people still wanted to interact with him in some way, that's where they came to look for him. Some of them he saw more often than the others, everyone else except for Wilson. The scientist had not been around after the last time, not a glimpse of him had ever caught Maxwell's eye after their brief encounter.

The magician felt surprisingly little emotion over it. He recognized that there was some kind of sorrow, some kind of anger, maybe even relief, but the feelings were all very blurred out, small and thin and dull. They were mostly just memories of feelings, if anything. It was odd, but he welcomed the emptiness in his heart after so much messy stuff he'd had to deal with. Maybe it was even better this way.

Even if it was kind of boring.

But even if he could never see Wilson again, Maxwell still appreciated the company whenever he got it. 

Willow came around a lot. She seemed to have a great time hanging around with someone who wasn't getting injured in the middle of a forest fire, and more importantly, didn't chastise her for starting one. Maxwell mostly drifted in her wake, watching the mischievous glimmer in her eye as he ran around the forest far from their camp, the flames around her licking the trees and pig houses as black as charcoal. The gal was completely mad. Maxwell appreciated such a chaotic energy, and to tell the truth, Willow was one of the least uncomfortable ones to spend time with. Sure she was annoying and irresponsible and a bit out of touch with reality, but in all the honesty, so was Maxwell. It was refreshing to spent time with someone who cared so little, instead of always hearing the nagging and complaining about rules and morals and such.

Maxwell would never ever admit it out loud in any form, but he had grown to like the young woman a little bit. Willow wasn't shy about her distaste towards him and didn't care to pretend that she had forgiven yet, so whenever she acted oddly friendly or nice, it felt much more authentic than when other people forced the smile on their face or complimented him with little confidence behind their words.

And on top of that, Willow wasn't the most reliable one when it came to behaving or doing something she was supposed to do. It made Maxwell find comfort in the thought that perhaps, if he hadn't died, he might've gotten away with a few mistakes without being punished for it as well.

Although Maxwell enjoyed spending time with the arsonist, he couldn't escape the fact that she could still be a very obnoxious person. Sometimes Maxwell was relieved to see anyone else instead, the woodsman, the spider kid, even the likes of Wes.

... Wes wasn't a bad person, he never meant any harm and only came to see Maxwell twice. He tried his best to make Maxwell laugh, make him happy, make him smile, and Maxwell knew he should've felt bad for disliking the young man so much, but he couldn't find it in himself to stop. Maybe he would get along with the mime one day, but that was gonna be a long, long time ahead in the future.

Maxwell also found out that as safe and comfortable as he had felt around Wickerbottom while he had been alive, he now was rather annoyed and displeased to see her. She kept studying him like he was there for that exact purpose, and despite the fact that he was unable to answer, she asked questions after questions, before writing things down on sheets of paper that would be later copied in one of her books.

Maxwell had very little interest in being the lab rat for her, and he didn't like the feeling of being reduced to the level of any creature in the Constant that could be studied and experimented on, but he tried his best to ignore the old woman while he kept trying to make use out of himself.

It was like that how he spent his days now. Working together with survivors, offering them company, giving an occasional glare at his own bones when he came around them, wandering around the land and waters, wondering what Charlie was doing, scaring animals out of boredom.

And every now and then there was a one thing that broke his cycle of lonely, boring work and dull, identical days.

That was when the twins came around to see him.

Wendy was always very quiet, besides the occasional grim remark or morbid statement, and although she kept up the disinterested act, Maxwell could see that she was upset to see him. She was, after all, still very much literally haunted by her own sister's death, and Maxwell could tell that it wasn't easy for her to lose another member of her family.

Maxwell never tried to push her, instead just gently pressing against her little body, trying to offer some kind of support, trying to fill some role as an uncle to comfort her the best he could. Wendy didn't say anything about it, but she didn't have to speak if she didn't want to; Abigail spoke on her behalf just fine. The ghosts didn't actually seem to be able to form words let alone complete sentences, but that didn't mean they were not able to communicate with each other.

Oh, how it sparked a dim but clear flicker of joy in Maxwell's nonexistent heart to be able to speak to someone, to be able to communicate and be heard. The words they exchanged between each other echoed into his head, as Abigail went about this and that, every once in a while turning to speak to her twin to include her in the conversation.

Maxwell was happy that his ability to feel had devolved a great deal after his death. The first time he heard Abigail actually speak instead of just whispering ghostly oohs and aahs, he almost wanted to cry. It was a bit too much, after everything, to be able to hear her voice, to realize that this was his niece he would never be able to meet in life, never hold, never see growing old.

But he appreciated to be able to speak with her now, like this. Abigail was very lively for someone who was dead, she was surprisingly peppy and mischievous, and very, very strong when she got angry. Even if Maxwell didn't particularly care for kids, he thought the girl was actually a decent company. She reminded him of Jack. He enjoyed spending time with both of his nieces, and was surprised to realize that the kinship he felt between them was stronger than he had originally thought. Even if it was too late to mend his bond with them, he now tried his best to give them anything he was able to. If for no other reason, then for Jack. He owed it to his poor brother to look after his girls here.

Maybe he could've been a better uncle before he died, but in all honesty Maxwell had thought that it wouldn't matter to either Wendy or Abigail what he did or where he was. Now he knew better, and it was too late to cry over what he could have done anyway, so he did his best to concentrate on what he was able to do for his nieces now.

All in all, Maxwell couldn't say that he was really unhappy for being dead. The afterlife here wasn't as terrible as it could've been. And maybe Maxwell would get used to it some day, he kept telling himself, assuming he hadn't double died out of the sheer boredom before it.

... He really missed being part of things. Even if people were trying to include him, it wasn't the same. They didn't understand what he tried to tell them, and he couldn't do much without his body, as weak and corrupted as it had been. He missed being able to hear how he used to, to touch how he used to, to speak and actually be heard, like a normal person. It was all none but a memory now.

Until one day Wilson came back.

Chapter 37: I'd give my heart

Summary:

Wilson finally confesses how he feels, and so does Maxwell.

WARNINGS: sexual content

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Maxwell believed it had been around a month at that point, more or less. He hadn't paid attention, and he had definitely not been expecting to see Wilson around for a long time, if ever again.

He had been trying to turn a tree into a treeguard for living logs when he spotted the scientist approaching him slowly. He stopped his work, and when he realized that Wilson was clearly heading for him, he drifted lower, tilting his head in question. He had just accepted that Wilson wouldn't be coming back around, either because he had finally given up, or because it was too painful for him.

But there the man was, looking rather pale, more so than usual, looking exhausted and shabby, as if he hadn't rested in days. Wilson came closer, swaying as he walked, huddling something in his hands. Maxwell couldn't quite make out what it was, but to him it almost looked like a lump of flesh. And because it just so happened to be Wilson carrying it, that was very plausible. The man was always tinkering with something disgusting, using 'the science' as an excuse. Maxwell was almost afraid to see what he had with him this time.

Wilson wobbled closer, and Maxwell's eyes immediately landed on the bandages on his arm, some dark red stains soaked through the silk. He furrowed his brows. Even in his lackness of feelings he still knew to be worried, but Wilson didn't seem to notice this. The younger man rose up his gaze, a little nervous, almost desperate smile on his lips, and lifted the thing in his hands closer.

"Take it."

Maxwell watched the thing with both disgust and curiosity. It really was a pile of flesh, raw, slimy and bloody, held together with a rope. It was already quite horrifying on it's own, but what really made it so horrendous was the fact that it was almost shaped like a heart, and it actually beat like one. There was no mistaking the sound to something else, nor coming from anyplace other. 

"Take it, please" Wilson almost whimpered, arms shaking very slightly, anxiously holding the man-made heart closer and closer. God the man looked awful, Maxwell hoped he hadn't stayed up and starved himself just because of this... thing. Still, as disgusting as it seemed, Maxwell hovered a bit closer, reaching out his hand, and then stopped to hesitate.

Wilson only nodded his head, encouraging and ecstatic, smiling in panic he was trying to withhold very stubbornly. Maxwell felt sorry for him. Perhaps humoring him would be an appropriate thing to do. Besides, he was already dead. It couldn't possibly cause any harm anymore at this point.

Maxwell reached out his hand, and Wilson practically smashed the make-shift heart inside him.

It was like being struck by lighting, if the lighting came from the inside and electrified him before leaving the body. The pain flashed through his entire being, as Maxwell found himself suddenly being ripped apart and put back together, and he had hardly any time to realize what was happening, when he was already sitting on the ground, holding his head with his hands and snarling at nothing, while the world welcomed him back with pain and exhaustion and nausea.

"...Are you... are you okay...?" Wilson's worried voice caught his attention, although it took a while for him to find his voice to answer. He wasn't sure what had happened, but judging from the banging in his head, the ache in his bones and the feeling of feelings, he made a wild guess that he must've been brought back to life.

"I'm..." Maxwell inhaled sharply, thrusting his eyes shut tight. It took a while to adjust to the feeling of living again, to the feeling of hunger and pain, to the sensations in his nerves, feeling every little breath of wind against his skin and every pebble under his feet. Whatever that thing was, it was hardly a pleasant experience.

"... I'm breathing." was what he decided to say. At least it was true. Was he alive? Apparently. Was he okay, though? Well his head was hurting and he felt like he might throw up if he moved too fast, so he left that up to debate.

Wilson, however, seemed more than just satisfied with his answer. The scientist let out a high-pitched laugh that borderlined a shriek, as he dropped down on his knees and wrapped his arms around the older man so suddenly that he almost pushed them both over.

"I knew it! I knew I could bring you back, I knew I knew I knew!" Wilson rejoiced while he cuddled Maxwell like a puppy after a long day being separated. It was a bit suffocating, and Maxwell groaned, attempting to push the other man away, but Wilson wouldn't budge. On the contrary, Maxwell only managed to make him tighten his grip like his life depended on it.

"Wilson... would you mind?" he wheezed out.

"No, no I wouldn't, it's okay." Wilson mumbled, and did absolutely nothing to let go. Maxwell squirmed a little, starting to get a bit claustrophobic now, a bit uncomfortable. Why was everyone so persistent to hold him a way past his limits?! He would start carrying a beemine to throw at everyone if they kept this up. He wouldn't even feel sorry about it.

"What I meant-" Maxwell took a breath and spoke more sternly "-was that would you mind letting go of me, Higgsbury." The younger man froze at his tone, and for a while just sat there on his knees without saying a word. Then he slowly, hesitantly loosened his grip and pulled away.

"...Sorry." The scientist laughed, scratching his arm nervously, turning his head on the side "I guess that I got a bit excited, and... and I just wanted to feel that you're really here. I didn't meant to, um, make you uncomfortable or anything."

Before Maxwell had time to answer, Wilson had already backed away from him and started to rummage around his backpack "I don't know if there's any after effects since that was actually the first time I tried that, so I packed up some food and healing salve just in case, I wasn't even sure if it was going to- "

"What the hell was that?"

"Hmm?" Wilson briefly rose his head to glance at still very confused and rather annoyed Maxwell "Oh, the tell-tale heart? That's what we decided to call it. Wickerbottom and Winona helped me make it. Oh, and Wendy offered to help, too. She has that same kind of talent tempering with the dark arts like you, I was very grateful for their help, and-"

"That wasn't a real heart, was it...?" Maxwell almost didn't want to hear the answer. Knowing Wilson, it could've been anything. Wilson only laughed at his words rather lightheartedly, giving a dismissive wave of his hand.

"No, no... Just some things crafted together. It uh, required a sacrifice to make." Wilson lowered his eyes at the bandaging on his arm, his expression turning a bit somber, and Maxwell followed his gaze with his own "A blood... Life. That's how it's beating, I think. I haven't got a time to understand it yet..." 

Maxwell felt the traitorous heat creeping to his face. Even the mere thought that he had Wilson's blood inside of him was kind of intimate. Wilson had crafted a heart to give him, and then quite literally put it inside of him. What a thing to do. Maxwell was no less convinced than before that Wilson was not a completely sane person, even when his head was in top tier state. It made the affection he held for the young man grow even stronger, if that was even possible anymore.

Wilson had been eyeing his own bandaged arm for a while, lost in some thoughts, but when his eyes eventually wandered back to Maxwell he seemed to perk up fast, a big grin rising to his face.

"-But now you're back! That's all that matters! Now; do you feel any different? Sick? Weak? Are there any alarming feelings anywhere? Nausea, pain, headache?"

And there Wilson went again, playing some kind of doctor to him. Maxwell knew it was only out of the worry over his health and the uncertainty in a new situation, but he immediately grew defensive. Had he not made it clear that he didn't want people to know when he wasn't feeling fell? Hadn't Wilson realized how putting him on the spotlight like that was the last thing he wanted? Maxwell could deal with his own burdens, just like before. The only person who could ever know how weak he was, was himself. The magician couldn't stop himself from snarling as he stood up, and held his hand against a tree to seek some balance.

"There's nothing you need to worry about." he only muttered, an underlying hint of bitterness in his voice. He could see from the corner of his eye how Wilson paused and rose his gaze to him, quietly staring at him for a while. Then the man sighed and rose up as well, dusting his pants and bringing his hands on his hips disapprovingly.

"Of course there is. Everytime someone has come back to life, they have been feeling at least a little bit ill. Or is this somehow different?" Even without directly facing the man, Maxwell could see the slow, doubtful rise of his eyebrow.

"And so what if it isn't?" he huffed and stubbornly kept looking away, crossing his arms over his chest "I am fairly certain that I will not die because of a little headache, so save your concern to something more dire."

Wilson only groaned at his words and rubbed his temples, visibly frustrated.

"Do we really need to have this same conversation every. single. time. something happens? Does it make you feel better to be difficult? Is it fun to make me work twice as hard to find out if something is wrong, and then trice as hard to know what it actually is?"

Maxwell only scoffed.

"If it is so unpleasant for you, then why do you put so much effort into it? Please, do tell me, why are you trying so hard if it isn't even worth it?!"

"Because I care about you! Why is it that so hard to understand!?" Wilson suddenly snapped and marched closer, slamming his fist on the bark, trapping Maxwell between himself and the tree trunk and making the older man flinch purely out of surprise "That's what people do when they care about someone, Maxwell! They do their best and expect nothing in return, and yeah, sometimes it kind of sucks, but you gotta do things like that for people you care about!"

Wilson's voice had rose up as he spoke, before he fell quiet again, just glaring at Maxwell under his brows. Maxwell waited. The tension between them had grown thicker than the humid air in the summer, and Maxwell could've sworn that if Wilson's glare was even a smallest bit more fiery, the whole air could've burst into flames.

The silent, not quite aggressive tension hovered between them for a moment longer. Then Wilson suddenly took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting his shoulders collapse with a long exhale, and just like that the tension shifted. Never left, but now Maxwell could see that it wasn't really aggressive at all, just frustrated, uncertain, and as it stepped out of the way, it was easier to notice that what he had thought was anger in Wilson's eyes, was merely fear.

Wilson leaned forward, softly letting his head thud against Maxwell's chest, and he let his arms fall down on his sides.

"I, I said that I care about you, but there's something else I've been meaning to tell you. I just, I haven't really... I've wanted to tell you, I don't know why it is so hard. And I know you probably don't want me to say it anymore, I know it's hard to believe me after everything, but... I..." Wilson's voice got very tiny and meek, as his shoulders started tensing up again, and he nervously sunk between them. Maxwell didn't think he had ever seen the man look so small and defenseless before.

"I... um, well... I think I really... what I feel for you is, uh..." Wilson licked his lips and gave Maxwell a quickest glance before bowing his head down again, and huffed out a quick breath to give himself courage.

"I guess... I guess what I feel for you, is, uh... I guess it could, it could be called... love?"

Maxwell cracked his lips open, but not a single sound came out. He just stared at Wilson like the man had grown a second head. It took him a while to really understand, to let the words register in his head loud and clear, and even then it was almost too hard to accept, to believe a single word he had just heard.

Maxwell knew what he wanted to answer, he just didn't know if he could. What if he was misinterpreting things again? What if he thought that Wilson meant something he didn't, just like he had thought on the first time? What if he ruined this by trying to pursue something that wasn't for him, that wasn't real, and he offended Wilson by confessing something the man didn't want to hear?

Wilson let him have his silence, and sunk even lower between his shoulders, looking nervously away from him.

"I understand if you can't accept it. I know it's a little bit too late, but... but I think I want to feel like this with you. I-I mean obviously it doesn't mean that you have to want it too, and it's really fine, I'd understand. We can keep things as they are, o-or if you don't want that anymore either, we don't have to be so close, I just... I wish I didn't always mess things up so badly." Wilson spoke in very timid voice, too scared to rose his gaze up to meet Maxwell's eyes, fidgeting his fingers awkwardly.

The older man watched him, unsure of how to react. He didn't doubt Wilson, but there was the ever on-going storm in the back of his mind, whispering the what-if's and bringing up unpleasant memories, the voices telling him that he had already been rejected, he had already made a fool out of himself, he had already mistaken Wilson's kindness to something else once, twice, did he really want it to happen again...?

Did he really think Wilson could ever love him?

Wilson squirmed, and Maxwell could see the discomfort growing stronger with every second he held back his answer.

"I guess... I guess that I just want you to know that I'm going to be there for you, no matter what you end up doing with this information. I'm not going to turn you away if you don't want me, you don't have to fear that! I-I don't want you to make any decision just to make me happy, I want you to be happy with your decision, too. And I know it's difficult to be happy in here, but I, I would like to try it... maybe...with you..."

Wilson was clearly babbling on without any real point now, following some red string nervously to fix something he thought he'd said wrong, only ending up saying more things he wished he hadn't said. By each second Maxwell's silence went on, Wilson got more and more uncomfortable, squirming quietly and twiddling with his shirt, constantly changing his balance from one leg to another. If Maxwell had felt especially mean, he might've dragged the young man's misery longer, just to watch him being cute and anxious.

Then, suddenly, Wilson let out a quick sigh and leaned away from him again, taking a step back and scratching is neck awkwardly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to push you to answer or anything. I get it, you must want some space, right? You must need some rest, after, you know, dying and all. H-how about I stop pushing myself on you and just see you to your tent and leave the backpack with you, so you can use whatever you feel is necessary, and I don't have to bother you about-" The scientist almost jumped when there was a hand softly landing on his shoulder, and he finally lifted his head up to see Maxwell's face. The older man seemed tired, but there was a faint smile on his lips.

Wilson didn't try to fight back when he was pulled closer, only nervously swallowing and waiting, anxiety banging in his chest. Maxwell didn't seem angry at him. He didn't seem sad or scared, either. Wilson wasn't really sure what he seemed.

He let the man slowly slip a hand behind his neck. For a second Wilson's heart skipped a beat when he thought that Maxwell was going to kiss him on the lips again, but the man's lips only pressed on his forehead, as Maxwell closed his eyes and pet his neck hair softly.

Wilson closed his eyes as well. It felt nice just to be there. He wanted nothing as much as to just hold Maxwell close, hold him to make sure he was really here, to kiss him and touch him and feel every inch in his body to be sure he was alive again, but he knew he should control his impulses better, he didn't want to break the nice moment by doing something thoughtless.

They stayed there for a while, neither one moving or saying a thing.

Then Maxwell hummed quietly, tightening his grip "I think I would like that."

Wilson opened his eyes "... To go rest in your tent?"

Maxwell laughed. Wilson wasn't sure why, but he felt the wave of embarrassment wash through him, and found himself giving the other man a defensive scowl as the blood rushed to his cheeks.

"What's so funny about it?" he almost snapped. Maxwell shook his head, smiling. He just lowered down his head, moving his hand to Wilson's cheek, and pressed a soft, haste kiss on his lip. Wilson froze.

"Nothing. Should we go, then?"

"...Oh. Um. Y-yeah." was all Wilson was able to stutter out. He didn't have time to look into Maxwell's eyes for longer than a second or two, when he already felt the blush on his face blossoming, and he bit his lip "B-before we go, um... Would you, would you mind doing that again, maybe...?"

Maxwell swept a hand behind his back and brought him closer, while Wilson pressed his hands on the tree and pushed himself tight against Maxwell's chest. There was nothing else than the silence in the forest, and for a while, Wilson could even forget where they were and why. He didn't care. The only thing he cared about was Maxwell.

When they parted from the kiss, Wilson didn't pull away completely, staying near the other man, noses still lightly rubbing together.

"... Was that your answer?" he half-whispered.

"I guess." Maxwell murmured back, a warm breath brushing through Wilson's lips.

"It felt nice. N-not that it didn't feel nice before..."

They both paused for a while. Then Maxwell looked away, and there was something in his eyes, hesitance maybe, but it seemed to fade away when he gave Wilson a careful, asking glance.

"Would you like doing it again?"

Wilson cupped his cheek and nodded eagerly, leaning to plant a deep kiss on his lips. It was followed by a few dozen more kisses, and before Wilson knew it, Maxwell had tangled him inside his arms, curling his body around him like a snake. Wilson was not any less clingy, clutching the man tight and pressing against him so hard he might just merge together with him.

One of Maxwell's hands slipped under Wilson's shirt, and he dragged his own hands on Maxwell's face, not sure if he just wanted to show more affection, or if he just really, really needed to touch the man in every way and everywhere to know that he was really here again, together with him, alive and safe.

"I missed you, I missed you so much" Wilson hastily whispered between kisses, hands traveling down Maxwell's sides, stopping to hold his hips.

"I know," Maxwell answered "I'm sorry."

"Please, don't... don't. Don't go, don't leave, I don't want to lose you, I don't want you to feel like I never cared, I really really want to be with y- umf!"

Maxwell pulled Wilson back into a kiss, and it was soft and tender, warm and sweet. Wilson tried looking for marks of discomfort, looking for any hint or sign that Maxwell was feeling uncomfortable, but he couldn't see anything.

"Max..." Wilson pulled away, hands slipping behind the other man, holding his lower back gently "What do you want? I need to know."

"You." Maxwell  answered without missing a beat, closing his eyes. Although Wilson could hear that there was still something a bit hesitant in his voice, something a bit small and scared, Maxwell looked rather calm as he dragged his gloved fingers up and down Wilson's spine and pulled him closer "I've always only ever wanted you."

For a while there was no sound but their heavy breathing in the forest.

Then Maxwell opened his eyes to give Wilson a glance, and his eyes were not sharp and cold, nor dull and tired. They were just deep and dark. So deep and dark, that Wilson found himself wondering if the darkness in there ever ended, if it was going on and on like a void of outer space, infinite galaxies and universes hiding just outside of his reach. He wanted to dive inside to take a closer look.

He spoke without thinking, because thinking always came in his way.

"I love you."

Maybe it was inside Wilson's head, a trick of light, but he though he saw a small flicker in there, awakening in the darkness full of colors that he couldn't quite see, burning like a star, as bright and as fast, somewhere so so deep it was nothing but a tiny glimpse to his eyes.

Then that sparkle disappeared into the darkness as Maxwell shut his eyes, letting out a chuckle. Wilson didn't know why it swirled in his stomach the way it did, but he suddenly noticed how much he loved the expression in Maxwell's face when he genuinely laughed. How much he loved the sound that vibrated from his throat as Maxwell laughed. How much he loved the fact that Maxwell actually, genuenly laughed.

He swept his knuckles across the other man's jawline, staring at him like he was something unbelievable.

"Stars, you are... gorgeous." he breathed out, almost in awe.

Maxwell paused, the chuckle suddenly dying, and he looked at Wilson, a small frown returning to his face. He sneered and turned his head away.

"I believe that there are far better words to describe of what I am." he muttered, not quite bitterly, not quite ruefully. Wilson pouted. He had heard some of those words before, he had read the list Maxwell had made about them. He sighed, and softly cupped Maxwell's face, taking in a slow breath.

"There are a lot of things you are." He admitted hesitantly, afraid he'd ruin this, afraid he'd chase Maxwell away, but determined to once again try to make him understand "...Not all of those things are good. But they don't have to define you, they don't have to be the only thing about you that people are allowed to concentrate on. I have moved on, I don't want to think about those parts of you, because I know there are lot of other parts that are much, much better."

Maxwell let himself grow less tense, his confrontational sneer slowly turning into an unsure frown. Wilson kept holding his cheek, softly petting it with his thumb. Maxwell was quiet for a moment, watching Wilson with a hint of caution in his eyes, until he shut them again and pressed into his touch.

"... It's difficult." Maxwell sighed quietly "What if nothing has really changed? What if I'm still this terrible person who hurts everyone, and... I know myself, I know who I am. What if..."

Wilson hushed him, leaning to press a small kiss on his collarbones, shaking his head in disagreement. He knew that Maxwell was not the same person anymore, he had not been that person for a long time. The other man sighed, leaning even closer, turning to press his lips against Wilson's palm.

"I don't want to be this big burden on your shoulders all the time. I... want to be better for you. I want to be someone who's not in the way, someone who you feel safe with, someone who is worth of being close to you..."

Wilson shook his head, a small smile on his face as his own hands tightened, bringing Maxwell closer and turning his lips to meet his own. Then he pulled back and gave him a gentle look.

"I want you to be all of those things, too. I don't doubt that you will be. I've been able to come this far because you've had my back and helped me when I needed, even when I didn't realize or understand it. And you did it all on your own, because that's who you are deep inside, Max. You already are someone I trust with all of my heart."

A soft, quiet hum was all that answered him, as Maxwell pulled him into another small kiss, arms tightening around him, so lovingly and desperately.

"I would die for you." the older man whispered against his skin.

"You already have. Now I want you to live for me." Wilson answered, gently but sternly. Maxwell paused, only for a second, before the short, amused chuckle rose from his throat. Wilson once again found himself positively mesmerized by that sound he so rarely was privy to.

"I'll try." Maxwell ended up promising after he was done offering Wilson the most wonderful sound in the world, and Wilson pet his cheek and leaned closer.

They pressed into another small, tender kiss, which then became a big kiss, which became a fierce kiss, which soon ended up as both of the men tearing each other's clothes out of the way, barely able to pull apart for long enough to breathe.

Maxwell was still feeling slightly nauseous, his head still hurting a bit, but he stubbornly pushed it aside. He only wanted to feel Wilson's warm skin rubbing against his own, Wilson's rough hands tracing his ribs and curling in his hair, Wilson's soft, sweet lips leaving burning sensations behind as the man kissed his body.

Wilson was gentle and soft, but right now there was a lot of desperation and possessivety in his movements, a need to have Maxwell close, and a fear that he would leave. Maxwell let the younger man love him, not only because he'd give Wilson anything he wanted in a heartbeat, but because he felt a tingly, fluttering, warming feeling in his chest when he thought about that Wilson wanted him, that Wilson loved him.

Wilson loved him. Why would he ever love Maxwell? He did. But why, why did he? Why?

Wilson cuddled close to him like a cat, humming in satisfaction of his presence, lips barely able to part from pecking him.

Perhaps The Why of it all wasn't really that important. Perhaps Maxwell was better off not asking questions that had answer he couldn't understand. And it didn't change the outcome anyway. Wilson wanted him all the same, cared about him, loved him, regardless of the reason. Wilson let himself be touched, even wanted that touch, and he let Maxwell be close to him without demanding an explanation or a reason. He came around Maxwell on his own, he tried his best to be fair. There was an effort in that, effort in his attempt to show how he felt.

Maxwell found himself feeling quite comforted by that thought.

A warm huff of air over his face pulled him back to the reality. Maxwell moved his eyes to the other man, who had a bit concerned expression on his face, halted in the middle of touching him.

"Is something wrong?" Wilson asked in a careful, small voice, and Maxwell just cupped both of his cheeks and pulled him close to take him into a kiss, but before he was able to, Wilson yanked himself back, head shaking in wary movement.

"Please tell me if something isn't alright, Max, I don't want to hurt you." Wilson's own hand landed on Maxwell's, squeezing it carefully "please."

Maxwell hummed and shook his head, too. Nothing was wrong. He was with Wilson. Wilson wanted him to be there with him. It was all that mattered, all that had ever mattered at all.

"I'm okay. Just kiss me you insufferable scientist," he laughed, and Wilson complied, taking him into a deep kiss without missing a beat. His body-language relaxed noticeably, and they continued grinding and rubbing against each other, air between them getting heavy and steamy.

"Are you, mmh... feeling up to...?" Wilson asked, holding Maxwell's hand on his own, already pulling off his glove. Maxwell just nodded, and Wilson wrapped his lips around two of his fingers. A strong shiver ran through Maxwell's back, and he bit his lip, trying not to get too excited about Wilson's hot mouth, how slippery and soft it was. The younger man wasted only a little time coating his fingers with saliva. When he finally let Maxwell pull them out, drool was lapping over his lower lip. Maxwell couldn't help but smirk a little while Wilson pulled down his pants, and Maxwell reached his hand to find his ass.

"I try to be gentle."

"No need, you can- Ha!" Wilson grasped the older man tight, arching his back as Maxwell's  sharp talons wiggled inside him "... Y-yes, you can be rough, like that.." Wilson bit his lip as his voice trailed away and was replaced by soft moaning. Maxwell drunk in all the noises the other man made, and felt himself filling up with enjoyment as he watched Wilson trying to match the movement of his claws inside his ass.

"... You really would like it rough, wouldn't you pal?" he asked, more out of curiosity than mockery that often slipped into these kind of questions, and Wilson just nodded his head wildly, closing his eyes as a groan left his lips, when Maxwell pushed a third finger in "You could've told me sooner. I'd never want to disappoint you."

Wilson shook his head, cracking his eyes open, his whole face bathing in blush.

"I wanted to make sure- Hn! M-make sure you would like it too..." he panted out, leaning closer to Maxwell and starting to unbutton his pants. Maxwell was already hard, Wilson never had to do much to excite him, and it seemed to please the younger man as he curled his fingers around the shaft and started to slowly jerk him off.

"I wanted to, to be careful, because I wasn't sure how much you, mmh... H-how much you really wanted it...ah-" Wilson explained as well as he could while the digits inside his moved and pressed to rub against his prostate.

"You wouldn't need to worry about that, pal..." Maxwell pressed his lips on Wilson's neck, kissing him softly despite the permission to be harsh "I can be anything you want..." he left more kisses behind, dragging his teeth on the man's flesh and making him whimper. Wilson's rough-skinned hand was bumping him off, thumb pressing against the underside of his cock, and Maxwell swallowed down a moan, trying his best not to come undone then and there.

"Ss-stop putting me on the pedestal, Ma-Aahaxwell..." Wilson had to pause to suck in a breath when Maxwell drew his fingers out of his ass with one quick move, pulling the younger man over his hips and starting to position himself.

"I get that I saved you a couple of times, but it has really warped the idea of who I am in, in your... your head..." Wilson kept trying to explain, but his words started to turn mumbley as the tip of the swollen, erect cock pressed against the muscle ring of his asshole.

"Higgsbury, keep your head in the situation, would you?" 

"I-I'm just, j-just trying to say that- oh!" Wilson arched his back and his fingers dug into Maxwell's shoulders, when the tip slipped inside him "th... that I'm, oh- yes, ha...."

Maxwell tried not to laugh when Wilson's eyeballs practically rolled backwards into his head, his mouth falling to slack open and his words got lost as Maxwell started slowly moving inside him.

"Go on, you were saying...?" Maxwell panted out, pushing deeper, trying not to let it show how excited he was, how great it felt to be inside Wilson, how amazing it was to hear his voice like that, to see his face red and flushed and pleased.

"I... I-I'm not as great as you- Ahh! Y-yes, oh stars, Max..." Wilson let out a gasp as Maxwell pulled him down, and his breathing got heavy with moans, Maxwell's dick buried so deep in his ass that the older man could feel his butt cheeks against his base. He gave the man's face a quick glance to check if this was too much, but Wilson did seem nothing but enjoying himself.

"Go on, then... don't make the old man do all the work." Maxwell smirked, and his smirk only grew as Wilson opened his eyes enough to roll them, before he placed his hands on Maxwell's shoulders, balancing on him, and slowly started moving. Maxwell was hung between closing his eyes to enjoy the feeling, or keeping them open to watch Wilson rising and falling on his dick, lips curled into a hint of smile as he pit them, eyes lidded, directed somewhere in the sky.

Maxwell decided to shut his eyes. He felt like he might not be able to hold on for long if he kept watching Wilson being so Wilson. He just concentrated on hearing the panting and moaning of the other man, feeling the hands shift and grasp his shoulders tighter, and how smooth and silky and warm Wilson was inside, how tight he felt. Maxwell was a bit worried that he had not prepared Wilson enough, that he was not relaxed enough, that it was uncomfortable and painful and maybe he should've taken this much slower instead of -

Maxwell barely prevented himself from flinching when there was a pair of lips practically smashing against his own, as Wilson wrapped his arms around his shoulders, leaning closer to him, chest jumping up and down with heavy breaths. He seemed to be feeling the opposite of uncomfortable. Seeing the other man enjoying himself so much, sharing that enjoyment with him with very enthusiastic consent, helped Maxwell to push away the anxiety, fear of hurting Wilson, and he leaned closer too, letting the younger man embrace him inside his arms. 

It felt so great, almost too great. Maxwell wasn't sure how long he would be able to last at this phase, he wanted this too much, he adored Wilson too much, it was all very, very too much- 

Maxwell pulled away from the kiss, pressing his face in the crook of Wilson's neck, and the scientist started to drag his fingers through his hair in quick, ecstatic movements. Maxwell couldn't hold himself back anymore, couldn't keep fighting against the hot feeling bubbling in his gut. He grasped Wilson tight, feeling the pleasure rushing straight into his head, foggy and mushy and so so good... Wilson was so, so good...

He distantly made a remark of the noise Wilson made when he came inside the younger man, but he was too high on his own bliss to think anything about it. He just kept jerking his hips to Wilson's bouncing ass, before he started to slowly feel himself coming back.

The first thing that registered in his mind was the fact that Wilson was speaking, the constant, whispery sentences slipping out under his breath as he moved up and down in faster phase. Words centered around how good it felt, how close he was, how much he wanted this, how he loved loved loved Maxwell...

Some little part of Maxwell had expected Wilson to disappear when he came around, expected that this had been just another pining, yearning delusion in his head, and the warmth that filled his whole body when he realized that Wilson was truly, really here with him, was almost enough to send him back to his hazy bliss of pleasure.

Maxwell had been feeling the little heat under his skin for a while now, but listening Wilson's mewling and moaning and mumbling made it worse, and Maxwell almost wanted to touch his own face to check that his skin wasn't actually burning. He moved his hand, but instead of rising it on his cheek, he lowered it down to curl around Wilson's thick, red erection, and started to slowly pump him. Wilson gasped, tightening his grip, and there was a smallest little pause in his words, before he started to whisper more encouragement and praises. 

Eventually Wilson reached his own peak, and Maxwell watched as he froze for merely a second, eyes opening wide and then fluttering close, a weak, shuddering moan coming through his lips. Maxwell milked the white streaks of cum out of him until Wilson released a satisfied little noise, rose up just enough to let Maxwell's dick pull out of him, and then collapsed over him like a crumbling building.

Maxwell caught him, pressing Wilson's head against his chest and leaning his chin on his hair. Wilson was quiet, his whole body moving with heavy, slow movements of his deep breaths. Maxwell pet him affectionately.

"You really did miss me, eh pal?"

Wilson swallowed and started trying to even his breathing to answer, perhaps even retort something back, but as soon as Maxwell lowered his lips to peck a soft kiss on the top of his head, Wilson settled back to being held, relaxing.

"... I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Wilson shook his head, turning to press a long, soft kiss on Maxwell's throat.

"No..." he mumbled, then paused for a second, and gave a small shrug "I mean, yeah, a little bit... but I liked it."

Maxwell couldn't hold in the small snicker "I could tell."

That made Wilson huff out a small irritated sound, and he rose to sit up properly, cringing a little as he did. He wiped his fingers through his bottom before rising up his hand to inspect the slimy, white mess on it.

"You just had to cum inside me..." he complained under his breath, and then just sighed, closing his eyes and wiping his hand on the ground "Let's go find a pond to wash ourselves." he said and already started buttoning up his shirt. Maxwell watched him, not saying a thing.

After Wilson had managed to dress himself up, he turned his attention from his own clothes to Maxwell's. Maxwell just kept watching. Wilson had a tranquil yet concentrated expression on his face, similar to the one he often wore when working with something familiar but exciting. Maxwell felt a small smile tug his lips.

"Wilson..." the words left his mouth before he even noticed them himself.

"Hm?" The younger man didn't rise up his gaze that was concentrated on Maxwell's jacket at the moment. Maxwell paused to take in a small breath, then rose up his hand to sweep a stray hair behind Wilson's ear, and cupped his face gently.

"I love you, too."

Wilson paused, rising his gaze to give Maxwell a surprised look. Then he smiled, leaning to press his forehead against the other man's own, closing his eyes.

"Took you long enough to answer."

Notes:

Whoo boy this has been a long fic to write, but at least it's almost done now! Next chapter is an epilogue, so technically this is the end of the main story. I'm so so glad for all the comments and kudos and bookmarks, thank you♥ ;w;

Chapter 38: Epilogue

Summary:

With Wilson, it isn't so hard to believe that things could be good.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It was a late evening. Maxwell watched the tall, sturdy frame of a door with worried expression. It only needed a couple of parts more, and then the portal would be ready. Done. Finished. They could go home.

Maxwell wasn't very convinced that this portal was going to bring them home, but there was always the possibility that it could. He wrapped his arms loosely around himself, feeling the cold little sensation starting to develop in his chest. He couldn't lie, he almost wanted to sabotage the portal to set the process back, just to buy himself a little bit more time to help Charlie, just to hold on just a little bit longer for the world he knew, just one day more to spend with Wilson...

"Don't worry, this time I'm sure it'll work!"

Ah, speak of the devil. Maxwell didn't turn to face Wilson as the younger man walked to stand beside him, looking at the portal proudly, chest buffed up and chin held high. Wilson was so blown away by his own genius that it was almost comically sad. Maxwell gave him a lopsided smile and shook his head. He was sure that the portal would work better than last time, that was not the problem. But he couldn't say that out loud. Wilson had worked so hard, he wanted to go home so, so badly... It wouldn't be fair.

"Yes, I'm sure." Maxwell sighed, turning his head away once more. For a while his partner stood there in silence, watching the fruit of their labor in excitement, until rising his hand to touch Maxwell's arm lightly.

"It's late. Should we go to bed?"

Maxwell shrugged "Yes, let's. It's starting to get a bit cold out here."

Wilson said nothing, only curling his fingers softly together with Maxwell's, and started leading him to their tent. Maxwell made no effort to fight against it. He liked it when Wilson touched him, even if it was something so very little like holding his hand to take him somewhere. He didn't want to lose that.
 
Neither of them said a word while Wilson helped Maxwell out of his more uncomfortable clothes and then tossed a blanket over him. Maxwell felt a little bit silly whenever Wilson would do that, but it was pleasant to feel the younger man's hands all over him, gentle and mindful and caring, so he rarely bothered to raise a ruckus about being handled like he didn't know how to take off his own clothes. He just laid down and turned on his side, soon feeling the weight landing beside him, a body pressing against his back, as Wilson's warm, rough-skinned hand curled around him and held him closer.

He didn't want to lose that, either.

Maxwell huffed tiredly, pushing the cold little feeling in his chest back down, telling himself that what would happen in the future was not his to influence or change. No use to worry about something that was out of his hands.

Maxwell felt how Wilson tangled his legs between his own, pressing close, so very close, arms holding to him very tight. Wilson's breath warmed his neck, as the short man dragged his fingers on his chest, rising to trace his collarbones through his shirt, and pecked a small, swift kiss on his neck. Even though Maxwell only answered his affection by taking his hand on his own, Wilson didn't seem to get discouraged, as more and more small, sweet kisses were left on Maxwell's skin, fingers stroking him tenderly.

It felt nice. Maxwell shut his eyes, letting himself appreciate the affection for a while. It didn't really get him in the mood, though... He just wanted to be with Wilson like this, for now, just lay here in the silence and feel the body heat and breath and heartbeat beside him. When a hand started to tickle his sides, slowly trying to burrow it's way under his clothes, Maxwell let out a small sigh.

"Wilson..." he started, hesitantly "Could we just... cuddle?"

It felt like such an incredibly stupid thing to ask for, and Maxwell was sure that somewhere in the darkness Charlie laughed at how embarrassed he got just by asking to be held, as if it wasn't the most normal interaction between humans that there was.

Wilson's hand retreated quietly, and his touches got much more careful, gentle, as he left yet another soft kiss on the older man's neck.

"Sure, Max."

The scientist wriggled behind him a little bit, changing into more comfortable position, and then let out a content hum as he settled, holding Maxwell loosely in his arms and slowly stroking fingers on the back of his hand. Maxwell wasn't sure what feeling happy was like, he had never really been happy, but he was sure that if he'd ever get to know such a thing, this might've been how it felt.

And all too soon it might be gone. Maxwell felt something crawling up his throat, words he suddenly needed to say, feelings he had to make known, because Wilson didn't know even the half of it, didn't understand just how much he meant to the former nightmare King, and he couldn't contain all of this feeling inside, not so much of it.

"I'm grateful for all of this." was the first thing that got on his tongue and out of his mouth, and it wasn't exactly a lie, just not what he had intended to say, not what he had meant at the moment. There was a pause, before Wilson slowly rose to lean on his elbows, and Maxwell let out a frustrated breath as the warmth of his partner leaned away from him.

"... Is something not alright?" Wilson's voice was quiet, concerned as it always seemed to be, and Maxwell quickly shook his head.

"No I just..." he didn't really know how to say it, how to tell Wilson what was in his mind. That the closer the portal got to being finished, the more terrified he was of what it meant for him. He just never seemed to know how to make his words come across just right, and even though he just really wanted to let Wilson know how he felt, he didn't know how "...I'm happy that you're here, and that I can be here with you."

"Of course you can, I want you to be here with me! Have I not... shown it to you...?" The faint panicky edge that lined Wilson's words grew noticeable, even though the man clearly worked to keep his voice as steady and low as possible. Maxwell shook his head again, irritated that this was so difficult.

"I know, I'm just... I... don't know."

Wilson was still and silent for a moment. Then he let out a quick, unsure breath, and leaned back down.

"It's okay... Take your time, I'm not going anywhere." Wilson answered, softer this time, and his fingers started to pet Maxwell's skin again as he pressed close, snuggling his nose on the older man's neck. Maxwell lazily turned around, and even though Wilson gave him a questioning look, he just curled his arms around the man without a word.

He was okay, as okay as he could be. Wilson was here with him, and Maxwell had never imagined that Wilson would want to be here with him, and now that he was, Maxwell was so scared that it wasn't something that he could keep. Never keep.

"... Is it the portal? Are you scared it won't work?" the scientist spoke slowly, apprehensively, worry carrying his words. Maxwell shook his head once again, and turned his head just so to give a feather-light kiss on the other man's hair, tightening his grip. It wasn't that, not at all. What he was worried about was what would happen if the portal worked.

Maybe he'd never see Wilson again. Maybe Wilson would grow annoyed of him when the constant dangers weren't keeping him too busy to notice how terrible Maxwell really was. Maybe Wilson would realize just how much better off he was without him. 

He wanted Wilson right here, where he could keep him safe, where he could make him feel good, where he could be close enough to feel the loud, steady beating of the other man's heart against his own rotten and empty chest. Right here, he felt like he was home. He was afraid of losing that.

He didn't want to lose that.

"Sometimes I just remember how much I love you, Wilson." he managed to half-whisper into the thick lock of his partner's hair. There would always be much more he wanted to say, so much more he wanted to let Wilson know, but at least this was simple and short, at least this he knew how to say. Wilson had been quiet for a while, frozen still inside his arms, not moving a muscle.

Then he let his head thud against Maxwell, holding him tighter, and there was a light, hearty laugh that left his lips.

"I love you, too." Wilson's hand found it's way to Maxwell's hair, tenderly brushing his fingers through it "When we get home, you're gonna have to help me find a bigger bed... I don't think we both fit in my old one."

Maxwell felt the heavy, tense feeling leave his shoulders and the cold feeling in his chest melted away with every word Wilson said. Maybe there was no reason to be scared, maybe Wilson would want him even after they'd escaped.

Maxwell felt the warmth spread around his body, enfolding him in the ease and comfort, and keeping the dark whispers of his fear away. They couldn't get to him if he was with Wilson. Maxwell only snuggled the other man's wild, fluffy hair, closing his eyes. Wilson hummed and didn't fight against his attempt to burrow himself deeper and closer and tighter, only lowering his hand to held his shoulder, rubbing his thumb over it, and neither of them said anything else until the morning.

Maxwell let Wilson hold him tight through the night, gentle and protective, his breath steady and slow, his defenses completely down as he leaned against Maxwell so trustfully. Right here, with Wilson, Maxwell wanted to believe he felt happy.

Once they got out, he dared to believe they could feel happy there as well.

Notes:

Plot twist: The portal leads to forge.

Also the next chapter will just be doodles I made while writing this.

Chapter 39: Doodles and stuff nobody wanted but you're getting anyway

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

C'mon Maxwell, you know you want to cuddle up for warms.

 

(Yes hello why does Maxwell's arm look so short??)

I just kinda wanted to draw Wilson being reluctantly interested in Maxwell's monster claws. He is like "No I don't care also let me hold your hand."

 

Thirsty Wilson is being thirsty. There's only so much gay he can withhold.

 

Angst? Angst.

 

MORE ANGST!

 

And now we switch to porn because I only have two moods, apparently.

 

It's hug your boyfriend hours.

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Again, thank you so much for reading, I'm so grateful for all the love people show to my works! I'm stopping myself here before I get too sappy. Thanks♥