Decidedly Not Starving...Together

Chapter 3

Wilson found Maxwell seated only a few feet away from where he left him that morning, propped against a log and staring deeply at nothing. Despite knowing the man was injured, his own tired and aching body couldn't help but spite the man his apparent leisure. Wilson's eyes turned to a glare he didn't try to suppress.

Setting down the pack that was now weighted with the spoils of the day, he approached the other man with a curt sigh. "Well, I'm back. Were you able to get anything done while I was out?"

Maxwell started as though thrust awake, inhaling sharply as his attention turned to Wilson. It took him a moment to process what was said, his own expression turning sour towards the other. "...there's food ready for you. You're welcome for the shadow as well." He noted sharply.

"Oh right, some good it did. That thing was overwhelmed as soon as the spider nest woke up."

"And you'll remember how easily that could have been you!"

The two locked eyes, their frustrations beginning to peak, each daring the other to speak more on the matter. But Wilson's eyes dropped first. What had gotten into him? He knew Maxwell nearly lost his life to the darkness. Why was he so bitterly angry about him resting? It could have been any number of things. After all, Maxwell had gotten himself into the mess in the first place. And he was the entire reason they were trapped in this godforsaken place with that monster in the dark. Hell, Wilson had managed to pry himself to his feet and keep going in worse conditions!....and many other times, he succumbed to them. Had his isolation really degraded his empathy so severely?

Wilson couldn't bring himself to offer any apology not did Maxwell seem to expect one. Instead, he turned to his pack, the crudely woven thing now laden with supplies. Kneeling beside it, he began rummaging through the odds and ends to the more precious materials, grasping a handful of large, organic mass and returning to Maxwell.

"Alright, go on and get your shirt off."

"...Excuse me?"

"I can't exactly treat your suit jacket, can I?"

Maxwell looked to the state of his jacket, the stains and tears, the seams unthreading. "Honestly I wish you could."

"C'mon, let's get on with it then." Wilson insisted but with a tone softer than before.

Maxwell hesitated a moment. He hadn't looked at his battered torso since he had been injured and he wasn't certain he'd want to, but he relented at the other's well intended insistence removing jacket, vest, tie and shirt. The white cotton parted to reveal his chest and stomach, his pale skin now mottled with violet and black bruise in indiscriminant patterns such that he seemed almost more purple than pale. He couldn't explain how the darkness had seemed to pass through him with such violence except in the way he knew shadows conducted their violence.

Even Wilson marveled at the damage done, but shook his head knowingly. "This is why you can't let the fire die." He moved to kneel on the ground in front of Maxwell, turning his attention to the fleshy nodes in his fist.

"...what have you got?"

"Some sort of glands from the spiders that live here. They seem to help the healing process when crushed and spread on injuries. I'm not sure how they're effective on bruising but it seems to work just the same." He rattled off as his hands were busy at work, squeezing the glands until they first oozed and then burst, the tissues beginning to loosen and congeal into a homogeneous paste.

"You're not exactly filling me with confidence..."

"Please I've researched into the phenomenon myself."

"I've seen how you do research! That definitely isn't reassuring"

Wilson frowned, his hands now sticky and caked with a sickly pink goo. "You keep this up and we'll see how well I remember which mushrooms I've discovered are edible." To his surprise, this earned a smirk and what might be the faintest laugh from Maxwell.

Wilson took this as a sign to begin his treatment. Shifting his footing to get closer to the other man, he reached out, touching the pink slime to Maxwell's torso. Maxwell gave a slight jump at the strange sensation, anticipating pain to follow. Yet he didn't find Wilson's touch aggressive or careless, rather it felt gentle along his bruised flesh with care taken not to press into it as he rubbed the salve in.

"This is disgusting," Maxwell noted, the wet, musty smell violating his nose.

"You'll do worse out here," came his only assurance.

After the initial coat was well worked into his skin, Wilson readied what seemed to be improvised bandages, tightly woven bits of grass he had coated with more of the spider slime. He paused, seeming to notice something and reached a hand out to brush down Maxwell's torso along the rise and fall of his ribs.

"You've been wandering around here a while, haven't you?"

"What makes you say that?" Maxwell asked, the intimate act softening his tone and soothing him to a state far more trusting in the moment.

"You're looking a bit malnourished. I've been there myself time and again. I've learned to take good note of the condition I'm in, so call it applied practice." Satisfied with the answer he gave, Wilson returned to the task, pressing the patches against the worst of the bruising and lightly patting them in place. "There. With a shirt on, those should stay through the night. In the morning you can rinse off if you like."

Maxwell gave a nod, reaching for his clothing before turning back to Wilson. There was a long pause as he considered his words. "...Thank you." The words, though simple, caught Wilson unaware. He blinked as they sank in before a small smile crossed his lips and he gave the other a nod in return before rising to his feet and carrying on other business about camp.

As Maxwell tasked himself with dressing, he noted something odd. This entire evening Wilson led the charge, directing him with a practiced knowhow. Stranger yet Maxwell had listened to him with little complaint. Never had he been the sort to fall back and listen unchallenging to another preferring to command other or ideally go his own. Yet right now, in this unique moment of his life Maxwell had to admit he was thankful for guidance. This degree of physical autonomy and material limitation was so far removed from his life that it now seemed alien to live the life of a man rather than a creator king of this land. It seemed a blessing to have Wilson there and willing to lead him back to mortal existence or as close to it as he ever would be again.

As the red of sunset became the pale blue of dusk far quicker than he could hope for, Wilson turned his attention to the fire. The process had become a near sacred ritual. As the sun set, he moved thoughtlessly to the woodpile, gathering a few logs and stacking them in the stone lined fire pit. With flint and a practiced hand, he caught a pile of kindling alight and soon the flame stood strong and bright. Only when he knew the camp was safe from the darkness did he remember what Maxwell had told him. He prepared food.

Wilson approached the cooking pot and had a look at what was prepared. It seemed to be some sort of stew. Water, vegetables that he had stowed away, and bits of meat rendered far too small and cooked far too long to be recognizable as anything more specific. That was fine by him. It was often better not to know. He took a bowl of the warm, sustaining if bland meal and took a seat beside Maxwell, who had finished redressing, around the fire. Wilson felt a chill beginning to creep along his back as it faced the darkening woods.

"Winter will be here soon," he noted, watching the flames and not turning to the other man, "We'll need to get you warmer clothes made, and that means a hunt. We can set out tomorrow." Only now did he glance at the other, waiting his response.

Maxwell gave a nod, realizing only a moment later the gesture may be missed. "Alright, should be simple enough," he managed with confidence that felt empty but practiced. He still didn't mind Wilson taking the lead, but something in him felt that might change as he grew used to their new lives together.

"Another thing, Maxwell."

"Yes?"

"Sleep in the tent tonight will you? The darkness seems to work on childhood rules."

Maxwell cocked his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

Wilson gave a simple shrug. "Monsters can't get you under the covers."