Chapter Text
Wilson could hear the voices of his fellow survivors as he bolted for the forest. They were calling to him, he thought, but he wouldn’t have stopped even if they were screaming for him.
He just couldn’t face them like this. Not with tears of shame and heartache rolling down into his stubble. He was probably being childish and reckless as he ran out into the woods on his own, but he didn’t care.
Maxwell.
The manipulative bastard!
His lungs begged him to stop, and as he slowed to a walk he heaved with the effort of an activity he was not built for. Running was never his strongest suit, but right then he felt like he needed it.
Plopping down against a large pine, the bark dug uncomfortably into his back, but he didn’t care. He looked up at the sky and wondered for the millionth time if this place would be the death of him. It certainly had succeeded in his death on multiple occasions, but this was different. He was used to running for his life or scraping by with food. But there were a handful of things that had always kept him going.
The camaraderie between himself and his fellow survivors, the fresh rains during the heat of summer, and memories. Memories of a time before the constant and before all of…this.
Memories of Maxwell.
Of course everything had started with Maxwell.
The first time he had spoken to Wilson through the radio Wilson had thought he’d finally gone mad. Sure he was a bit of a recluse, but hearing voices? That had scared the living daylights out of him.
“Say pal” the voice had said, sending Wilson flying out of his chair in fright. The voice laughed, and continued with, “Looks like you’re having some trouble?”
“Er…no? I…failure is all apart of the process,” he replied, wondering if replying to a disembodied voice made him a Mad Scientist instead of a Gentlemanly one.
The voice laughed again, and before the scientists eyes a dark ooze, yet not quite solid enough to be considered so, crawled out of the speaker of his radio. Fear gripped Wilson’s heart, but curiosity made him stay where he was as a figure formed from the odd smoke.
“How about I lend a hand?” The figure stood poised like a gentleman, tall and straight, and Wilson marveled.
It was like nothing he had ever seen before! A living, talking shadow?
“You…you’re like a shadow,” Wilson said as he scrambled to his feet. Up close he could even see facial features. Sharp and hawk-like cheek bones and nose made the man terribly imposing.
“Of sorts. I have a deal for you Mr. Higgsbury. I have a…hm machine of sorts that I need built. You are the only one for miles around that has the ability to complete it,” the shadow made a grand gesture, and at the time Wilson was so flattered that he had forgotten to ask how the shadow had known his name.
“It is the likes of which you have never seen,” the shadow continued. “I’d like to share a secret knowledge with you, and in exchange you will build my machine for me. If you think you’re ready for it?”
And Wilson had fallen for it. Hook, line, sinker, and the whole damn fishing pole.
Leaning his head back against the tree, Wilson watched the clouds move past in a lazy drawl.
After Maxwell had forced knowledge into his eager brain Wilson had gotten to work, but it wasn’t an instant process. The machine had taken over a month to build thanks to Wilson’s already limited resources, but he hadn’t been alone. The shadow had introduced himself as Maxwell, and had insisted on overseeing the building of his precious machine.
Wilson hadn't put up a fight. After all the man was a delight to have in his home. Sharp as a whip and on par with his own intelligence, Wilson had never had a man like Maxwell in his life.
When Wilson was too exhausted to continue work for the day, or when there was a lull as they waited for supplies, they would talk. Wilson, who had always had trouble connecting with regular folk, found himself talking with Maxwell for hours. Long after the sun had set and risen again, they would talk. Even laugh.
Once Wilson woke up covered in a blanket he had not fallen asleep with and he knew that was the beginning.
When they shared their first kiss, that was the end, and Wilson longed for that bliss. That simple life of waking, building, talking, and simply existing with Maxwell by his side.
The soft snapping of twigs caught his attention, but he didn’t bother looking. Only a few of his friends could snap twigs that softly. He was hoping it was Webber, the good-natured boy liked to help others who seemed upset, but alas it was not.
“Why are you sulking our here in the woods?” The man of his current turmoil said with the air of a man who was merely inconvenienced rather than concerned.
“Fuck off Maxwell.”
The man sputtered, and Wilson reveled in the small victory. Now that his tears had dried up all that was left was a bitterness he wasn’t used to feeling.
“I beg your pardon? What’s gotten into you Higgsbury?”
Taking a deep breath, he turned his head to look up at the man. The man that used to hold him, used to…
“You…you really don’t remember do you?” He asked, feeling that tightness in his chest again upon looking at the man.
Maxwell sighed, sounding both irritated and defensive.
“Yes. I truly don’t. My memory’s from my time on the Throne is foggy at best. I remember intentions and my own creations better than I remember any certain events. I don’t understand why you’re acting this way.”
The man seemed truly at a loss, which was probably a first for Maxwell. Always in control and smarter than everyone else…suddenly the Nightmare King was left so clueless that it made Wilson want to laugh.
“Tell me,” Wilson started as he stood and dusted off his trousers. “Does the phrase, ‘I wish you were real’ ring any bells?”
The brows on the other man furrowed, but apart from looking irritated he didn’t look like it had jogged anything.
“Should it?”
Wilson scoffed, genuinely offended and barked, “Yes! Yes it should you heartless ass!”
Maxwell looked taken aback, and frankly he should be. Wilson would have even been surprised at himself if he had been in the right mind.
“You, you came to me, and, and you stayed while I was finishing your dumb machine! For almost two months you lived with me and you don’t even remember it?”
For the first time since his arrival Maxwell looked spooked, almost nervous, by Wilsons outbursts.
“Uh I--”
Wilson cut the man off, raising his voice as he started to pace and said, “I told you everything! You were kind to me, and witty, and, and you said these things that let you burrow yourself right into my brain!”
Maxwell was quite for a moment while Wilson caught his breath. He wasn’t an angry man, he really wasn’t. In fact he was known to be quite forgiving. But this…this whole thing made him vulnerable and stupid.
“What are you saying, Higgsbury?” Maxwell asked, and his voice was so calm and even. But that was how Maxwell always was. Show no emotion and it couldn’t be used against you. Wilson knew that very well.
Rubbing at his stubble, Wilson felt tired from his tantrum. His eyes felt heavy and itchy.
“In nearly every sense of the word…We were lovers Maxwell,” Wilson croaked as his emotions began to rise again.
“We’d work, talk, kiss by the fire and you’d tell me stories,” Wilson said with no small amount of fondness. It was some of his happiest days.
“I admitted once,” he went on saying as he played with the frayed ends of his gloves. “That I wished you were real. You held me and said, ‘I’m as real as it matters.’ That…that kept me going for a long time in this damn place. I cherished those words and…”
He trailed off, both because he didn’t know what to say and because he was too embarrassed to shed more tears in front of the other man.
Maxwell remained quite and for a bit Wilson was kind of afraid to look at him. Was he disgusted? Angry? Maxwell was a proud man and Wilson didn’t put it past him to deny something simply because he couldn’t remember it. But the silence finally won out, and when he did look up at the magician he was regarding him quietly. In that same way in which he read his dark book. A quite look of contemplation and cunning.
“I can see why you’re so upset,” Maxwell finally said with a surprising amount of understanding in his voice. It wasn’t what Wilson was expecting. “If what you’re telling me is true, then you are well within your right to be angry with me.”
It was hard to hold onto anger for a man that looked genuinely guilty. There was a look in Maxwells eyes that Wilson had never seen before, and his thin lips pressed into a grim line.
“For what it’s worth Higgsbury…I’m sorry. I truly don’t remember anything,” he continued, raising his hand as if to place it on Wilsons shoulder but thinking better of it, and letting it fall to his side.
“I…I know it’s not your fault. I really do. But it…” Wilson sighed in defeat. “Is there anyway to jog your memory? Any way for me to know that it was…real?” He pleaded. He felt desperate. Desperate in a way that even starvation didn’t hold a candle too. It was strange feeling so wholly dependent on another person for emotional comfort. But Wilson had found that in Maxwell once, and now that he’d had that kind of happiness he didn’t want to just throw it away.
Maxwell sighed through his nose.
“I’m sorry. I doubt it. While on the Throne I have no doubt that I was completely lucid, but after my release and hence there after, my memories have slowly begun fading. It is not like your normal amnesia. Magic is a fickle thing and I doubt those old thoughts will ever come back to me like they do in books or stories,” Maxwell said finally and Wilson felt his eyes want to well up again.
“B-But I read that stimuli can often jog ones memories! Magically induced or not, amnesia is still amnesia!” Wilson said as he grabbed ahold of the taller mans lapel.
Maxwells eyes flicked to Wilsons hands, no doubt taking offense to the wrinkling of his coat, but Wilson didn’t care. He’d wrinkle a thousand shirts if it meant he could have the Maxwell that he had fallen in love with.
“...You aren't going to let this go are you?” Maxwell asked, to which Wilson responded with a sharp shake of his head.
After another long sigh, Maxwell said, “What do you purpose then?”
What did he purpose? It wasn’t like Wilson could take Maxwell back to his workshop and hope the familiar scenery would jog his memories. He would have to make due with the Constant and…his own actions maybe? Yes that could work. It was his best bet anyway. If it didn’t work then…he’d deal with it.
“I’m gonna kiss you,” he said, steeling his resolve.
“Excuse me?” Maxwell balked, his sharp cheeks coloring.
Wilson shrugged, using his grip on the mans coat as leverage to keep the other from pulling away--which he looked like he severely wanted to.
“It’s all I’ve got Max. There’s nothing else besides telling you every detail of our time in my cabin, and I doubt that’ll work. It’s the only--would you quit leaning away! Jeez you’re acting like I’m gonna bite you,” Wilson grumbled as the man was doing his best impression of a disinterested tree. Rigid and tense, Maxwell looked like he was gonna try to flee at any moment.
“You gotta help me here…” Wilson said as he gave Maxwells coat another tug. “You’re…you’re too tall,” he murmured as his own cheeks flushed with warmth.
Maxwell looked like he was seriously reconsidering his life choices. Wilson couldn’t tell if it was because he was disgusted in some way or just plain awkward. Back then their first kiss hadn’t been like this. But back then they had been comfortable, sitting in Wilsons cabin with weeks of bonding under their belts.
“Please?” Wilson tried again, hoping he didn’t sound too desperate. But he certainly felt it. The urge to lunge at the other man was very present, but he put that feeling down.
Maxwell didn’t say anything for a long moment. His eyes darted between Wilson and something that must have been very interesting off to their right.
What Wilson didn’t expect was for the man to do as he asked. His eyes averted, Maxwell leaned down to Wilsons much shorter height, his cheeks darkening in a way that did not suit his demeanor.
He had the urge to thank him, but felt that if he did then he’d give Maxwell a chance to back out. He sought the opportunity and took it with only a little hesitance.
As their lips pressed Wilson felt a jolt of emotion. More solid sure, and the smell was very different, but those were the lips that kissed on him so long ago. He felt like he could cry. He didn’t know what he was expecting honestly, but all in all it felt good. Good to be kissed and close to another person, even if said person felt as tense as he looked.
Unwilling to shorten what was likely to be their only kiss, Wilson lingered. Moving his lips in a subtle way without deepening the kiss into something more intimate. He didn’t think it appropriate to stick his tongue down the other mans throat, no matter how much he really wanted too.
When Wilson pulled away he felt like his soul was ten times lighter. He felt giddy even, and as he opened his eyes he regarded Maxwells expression. Unlike Wilson, the magician must have opted to keep his eyes open, and also unlike Wilson, Maxwell didn’t seem to be as pleased--but his face always looked like that. He had a firm look, and Wilson felt a little foolish as he took a step back.
“Well?” Maxwell asked, startling Wilson.
“Well what? Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
“Was it as you remember?”
That made Wilson pause, but he nodded giving a soft, “Yes” in response.
Maxwell took a step back as well, and straightened his coat with a sharp movement.
“Hopefully that will put some things out of your mind for now. The sun is setting,” Maxwell said, gesturing to the sky, and Wilson was startled to see the sky cast in pinks and oranges.
“Come on Higgsbury,” Maxwell turned on his heels and started back for camp.
“Maxwell?” Wilson called, startled.
The magician stopped, and looked back over his shoulder.
“Are you….was that okay?” Wilson asked, fiddling with his gloves.
Maxwell said nothing for a moment, but as he turned back and started to walk slowly toward camp Wilson barely heard him say, “It was nice Higgsbury…come, we’ll talk more on it later.”
Wilson stood there in shock for a good second, before breaking out into a jog behind the older man. His heart feeling both light and fluttery at Maxwells words.
A promise to talk. That didn’t come close to the closeness he craved and yet…
It was a promise none the less.
He had left the camp in tears, but now he found himself returning to it with a smile.
He hoped that ‘talk’ would come soon.