Things Lost and Found (a Waglington and Mianite fanfiction)

Chapter 2

For those who are wondering, I got the idea for Wag's "blackouts" from him having internet issues throughout S2 and randomly disconnecting from the server.

*Wag's POV*

Revenge had been sweet, but oh, it did not help my migraine in the slightest. I had already downed one each of healing and regeneration potions to ease my abused back, knowing they wouldn't help with the head-splitting pain under my hood. They could only heal physical damage, whereas this headache was magic-based, and the manna I'd just expended killing and banishing my "friends" had made the pain escalate.

I was in the basement of my wizard tower, rummaging through my disorganized pile of chests for the only item that would help me in this circumstance. Why do I even have these chests here? I really should make more storage drives for my ME system so I can finally rid myself of this pointless clutter. Digitizing all of my items and storing them on hard drives would save so much space. I continued searching through one of my chests for the sleeping potions I'd brewed after having my first few post-blackout migraines. The only thing that seemed to help was sleeping it off, and even then, I'd occasionally have one that persisted into the next day. The hardest part was actually falling asleep.

~Flashback~

Needless to say I'd been more than confused after that first "timeout" as Tom (Syndicate) jokingly called it. About 6 weeks ago, I made a new spell in my continued attempts to find the best way to incapacitate an enemy that did not involve direct physical combat—which was one thing this wizard did not excel at. Give me a spell book or building materials, and I'll fly circles around you. Give me a sword, and well...

Tom had agreed to guinea pig for this new spell I'd spent an entire day crafting, since he owed me more than a few favors at the time. I met him over at his tree (the one with his ME system) the next day. A wizard is never late (that reference—who can call it?), but by the time I flew over his machinery building to the sounds of grinding stone and crackling furnace flames, Tom was already impatiently pacing a rut in the knee high grass in the field next to his smeltery cave. His strange little chest creature, Terrence, followed on his heels, bobbing in and out of view.

I decided to catch him off guard and launch the spell while I was still airborne and unspotted. Wizards do have a mischievous streak. We have to find some way to entertain ourselves when we live so long. One of the guaranteed ways to have a laugh is teasing mortals with magic. I had fired the new spell at him as I had multiple times before with test spells, mumbling the activation words under my breath. However, when the green, sparkling projectile hit him, producing a yelp of surprise, I was the one to wake up on the floor of his house with no idea how I had gotten there. A very panicked Tom paced nearby—he seemed to do a lot of that lately—pulling on his hair and talking to no one that I could see, in that high pitched voice that he only used when under duress. There was almost a hint of... fear in his words. That can't be right.

"...they're gonna think I killed him! What do you mean there's nothing you can do?! He's been like this for..."

I cautiously pushed myself up into a sitting position; the room seemed to tilt ever so slightly at the motion. It leveled out as I leaned back against one of the redwood walls. Tom did not see me at first, but his luggage did. Tom followed Terrence with his eyes as the silver chest scuttled over to me and rubbed against my leg affectionately. I may have snuck the insatiable creature a few tidbits on my previous trips, earning a quick greeting from it on subsequent visits. For something that technically didn't have a brain, it had a very good memory. I grinned and patted my little friend in greeting.

"Wag! Thank Dianite you're awake!" he exclaimed wide-eyed, rushing over to me and trapping me in a hug as Terrence scurried out of the way. After he released me from his vice-like grip he looked to be a mixture of relief and anger as he started pacing once more, but less anxiously this time, looking over at me every once in a while, as if to make sure I was still there.