Anemoia (Over the Garden Wall x reader)

Identity Crisis

  I was not having a good time. The morning had started out all right, with (Y/N) saying my poems were good, Beatrice getting off my back, and Greg having fun singing silly songs.

Then (Y/N) flipped out at me- I'm flattered that she cares about my safety, but still. Being yelled at for something that went perfectly fine kinda hurts. I mean, she apologized, like immediately, but it was shocking in the moment.

But we resolved that quick enough. The real problems came when we left the schoolhouse. About an hour after leaving, we were hit by a storm. My cloak was warm, but it didn't have a hood. So I was soaked. Beatrice got by because (Y/N) let her ride in her satchel, but (Y/N) was soaked too. It was like the world was warning us that if we continued forward, we'd regret it.

And regret it I do. There's another THUNK as I'm thrown forward into a stack of hay. I looked across the tiny cart to Greg, who's positioned at an angle where he can see outside.

"Gr-Greg," I say, my voice came out all weird and garbled from being tossed up and down.

"Ha-as it st-t-top-ped ra-ining y-yet?!" If it has, then we can go out and walk instead of staying dry in this dumb cart.

"I-I'm pret-t-ty s-sure this dr-driver is cra-a-ay-yzy." (Y/N) says, looking almost sick. I doubt I look any better, based on how much I feel like throwing up.

There's a distant yell of 'THE BEAST IS UPON US!', not unlike all the other times the driver has screamed tonight.

"Greg, i-is the-ere a be-e-east outside?" I doubt it, but safety first.

"Mmm, I found a duck. Do-do yo-o-u kno-w-w ho-w-w to make eggs from a duck? I'm hungry."

"Yes, but what about the beast?"

"I didn't see a beast."

Beatrice pops her head out of (Y/N)'s satchel. "Yeesh, this driver is nuts! He's totally taken us off course!"

"Mmm, nuts.."

(Y/N) frowns. "Extra walking, or rain, which is worse?"

"Well we won't have a choice with this guy acting all bananas!" Beatrice snaps.

"Mmm...banana nut duck bread." Smiles Greg.

There's a flash of lightning. The cart comes to an abrupt halt, throwing our group outside.

I pull myself out of the mud, and consider offering (Y/N) a hand- it'd be nice of me, and (Y/N) is cool, but maybe it's too forward? Maybe she'll think I'm weird? Maybe- I realize that I unconsciously stuck my hand out when I feel wet fingers grab mine.

"Thanks." (Y/N) mutters. (Is she purposefully not meeting my eyes? Ugh, socializing is hard.)

"Ah, finally some good luck. Let's go to this creepy old tavern and ask for directions." Says Beatrice from her perch on (Y/N)'s shoulder.

"But..it's creepy." I say uncomfortably. "Why don't you guys go inside and ask for directions, and I'll just wait out- No, wait, I don't want to be out here by myself. How about you guys-"

"C'mon, Wirt. We'll stick together, okay?" (Y/N)'s expression is a cross between empathy and annoyance.

"Um...okay.."

"Taverns have food, usually, right?" asks Greg.

"Yeah, most of the time they do..things are a bit weird here though, so.."

*******

I look around the tavern. It's got distinctly colonial architecture and interior design, and for a second, I'm back in the sixth grade being led around colonial Williamsburg. That was when I discovered my love for interior design, as I realized that if the interior design there made it feel like we were really in the 1770s, then it follows that a good design can basically take you anywhere you want. But the only place I wanted to be right now was away from the tavern.