Fact and Fantasy (Wilson x Reader)

Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble

Wilson is a man of science. This is no surprise, so when he gets a chance to employ the method he holds so dear, he can't wait to try it out. While she's gone to put everything into the engine to be processed, Wilson digs and shoves through storage for some ingredients. Usually vinegar would take days to ferment and distill, but with his lovely engine, who knows what the distilling-fermenting time could become! He yanks out the bowl of staling berries before continuing his search for something else.
"Wilson, what are you looking for?" Her voice sounds a little far away, a side affect of digging through reality warping chests.
"A jar," he finally sits back, his prize in hand.
"Where did you get that?!"
"....oh..." he hesitates, "just out and about," he decides. With how messed up a lot of things already are, he can't bring himself to tell her about a skeleton surrounded by the remains of supplies. It's bad enough being stuck here, but the thought that there once were other people? It's almost too much. "It's for the vinegar," he adds. "Anyway, how's everything separating?"
"Oh, well, it sounds like it's almost done with the little willows, and the birch flour turned out so smooth!" She nods in the direction of the tightly woven basket of flour in her hands that she'd initially brought to put in storage. Wilson holds the lid open for her, making sure she doesn't fall in.
"That's good, the first time I made it myself it was.. very lumpy." Wilson watches as she takes the lid from him, opting to hold it open herself while she bends and sets the little basket inside one of the chest's compartments.
"Oh!" She'd turned to walk back to the fire. Apparently Wilson was still stood there, whatever for? "Sorry, I thought you had everything you needed"
"Huh?" He blinks a moment "oh, right, no. I've got uh, I've got everything I need" he crams the berries from one hand into the jar in the other.
"Okay?" She side steps around "I'm gonna go check the Engine then" and heads toward the machine. Wilson watches her walk away, and for a just a moment he eyes what had caught his attention earlier, before she'd nearly bumped into him. Her hips sway just a little with each step, marked by her bag bouncing lightly near her-
Good hell, man, get a grip! His face turns beet red as he rubs at it with his one free hand. You are a gentleman, Wilson. One most certainly does not ogle someone else's behind. Not without them knowing, and definitely not with them knowing. He snatches up his crutch and hobbles to the crock pot.
Honestly, what would his mother think? Well, probably not much, they didn't talk, really, but what would his Nanny think? Oh, she'd tell him what for.
Wilson stokes the fire under the pot a little higher and plops the spoiling fruit inside.
He sits down and props his head in his hand, trying to let his mind wander.
Gosh it hurts.. it hurts really bad... absently he rubs at his socked foot. He couldn't even manage to get his shoe back on if he wanted to. Wilson squeezes the swollen area , trying to massage some of the pain out.
"Sweet mother of-" but all it results in is fire shooting from foot to ankle, to halfway up his leg. He won't be doing that again.

For a moment you can feel a searing stare burning it's way into your body. You fwip around, looking off for something in the horizon, or outside of camp. But no, all you can see is Wilson tending the little fire beneath his crockpot, cheeks turning red from the heat.
You sigh.
Could you really be losing it? You haven't heard anything whispering, no distant shadows moving... not yet at least. You shake your head, trying to get rid of the lingering feeling that comes with being watched. In short time you've returned to the engine and begun processing the larger pieces of willow. With their bark stripped, they can still be put to good use.
You have a seat, leaning against the engine, and listening to it chug along. You dig through your rucksack and pull out a section of thin willow. With the bark gone it'll begin to dry out quickly. You check the elasticity, slowly folding a bit of it in half. It snaps when you jolt in surprise at a loud sound.
"Sweet mother of-!" For the second time today your head snaps in Wilson's direction, just in time for him to grit back a cuss.
"You good?"
"Yeah, it just hurts..." he says, very lightly touching his ankle.
You nod and think a moment. "I'll be right back, I'm just heading down to the stream," you let him know before you get up. He nods as you walk off, heading for the water.
It must really be hard for him to not be able to do anything. When you were hurt bad, you slept through it all. He has to deal with being bored...
You reach the waters edge and pull a cloth swatch from your bag to soak in the icy water. You remember having made it on your little pin loom on one of your especially rough nights. Then you gave the loom to Wilson. Where's it gotten to?
You agitate the fibers, trying to get it clean and cold, when a stone in the bed catches your eye. It's remarkably smooth and a lovely shade of blue. You pick it up and find just how nicely it fits in your palm. You turn it over, feeling how much colder it is than the water. As it's surface dries, it hasn't really heated that much in your palm. Odd. Most things here are, though, and seeing as you're trying to make a cold compress, you shrug and set it on the wet cloth you'd brought. You fumble through your bag for some of the shorter pieces of bark you'd separated earlier. They seem fine enough, cut into thin ribbons. You wrap them along with the stone in your cloth and start heading back up.
Wilson hasn't moved from his spot since you left, maintaining watch over the gurgling pot.
"I tried making a cool compress," you state, sitting next to him.
"Hard to do without ice.." his grin comes out as a grimace as he works his sock down. You wince for him when you see how red and swollen his foot and ankle are, a deep, dark bruise rests on the top. You hold the cloth out to him and he takes it.
"Did you put a rock in here?" He looks at you, brow raised and mouth quirked in a confused smile.
"Yep, it was super cold. Got some bark in there too, try to get some sala- sala... what ever acid to ya."
His leg jerks in shock at the cold before he forces himself to hold still.
"Any better?"
His head tilts back with a sigh "very much so..."
You curl your legs up to your chin and rest there, watching him tend as best he can. A beat passes before you pipe up again.
"What if it's broken?"
Wilson dabs at the bruise, wincing lightly "then we wait for it to heal,"
"What if it's not aligned right?" Your eyes look up and over at him.
He removes the stone from the center "then I learn to manage," and opts to wrap the cool cloth around the swelling.
"But what if it never gets better? What if-" you catch yourself waxing sentimental and stop just in time for your throat to tighten.
He lets out a breathy laugh "you really need to work on your bedside manner." He finally looks at you. "I asked myself all those questions with you, and look at how you turned out."
You nod, thinking how lucky you are to only have to deal with the scars aching from time to time. "I suppose.."
You just don't want him to hurt all the time. He's a man of action, and even you can see how much a strain being limited in speed and ability is putting on him. You'll just have to trust the process...