Fact and Fantasy (Wilson x Reader)

Its okay

You inch your way toward the spiders nest. You just need a little thread.
'Don't screw up, don't screw up' you reach your slightly shaking hand for the strands. Slowly, your fingers close around the webbing. 'If I'm slow enough, maybe I won't wake them' you nick the thread with a bit of flint, allowing you to start unraveling the tangled mess. Thankfully it keeps running smoothly. There's just enough pulled to start twisting it around a stick spool. With all the silent focus you can muster, you pull out the oddly carved thing, only to have your sweaty, shaking hands drop it right into the webs. 'Crap' you watch the vibrations reach the nest and hold your breath. 'Please, don't-' you hear a soft, almost confused hiss and see what can only be a runt crawl out of the wad of string. "Time to go!" You whisper scream, cutting a mass out of the blanket of webs. You book it, no point in stealth now!
You look over your shoulder and find that the tiny monster plucked the web strings, summoning the Calvary.
"Run. Run. RUN!" You weave your way through the woods and don't stop until you've lost them. Your thumping pulse shoots pain into your still healing back "not now-" you hiss through grit teeth, slumping against a near by tree. You look around getting your bearings
'Pine..pig dude...charcoal mishap..' you sigh. 'I'm way off track..' so much so that by the time you get home it's nearly dark. You toss a few twigs and logs into the fire pit before sitting down with your little hand loom. 'Where's the string...' you tap around your pockets before checking your bag. "There they are." You pull out the wad and start unraveling it for your loom. You could knit new bandages instead of weaving them, but then it's easier to unravel should they rip..
You pass the night making bandage after bandage with a speed that shocks even you. In no time your strings have made just enough to wrap around your wounds. Tenderly you pull the old, dirty bandages off your back. You can practically hear it peel off with the amount of sweat, blood, and possible infection stuck to it. You breathe feeling the cold air cling to your back.
You start trying to wrap your wound with your new bandages. 'Maybe I should have let him stay...I could use the help' your clumsy hands hold one end to your body "no, I don't know anything about him. He could still be dangerous." You correct yourself.

It takes hours and by the time you're done the moon has climbed to its peak. You rest in the cold dirt on your side, ignoring the call of warmer alternatives Wilson left behind in your chest. You look to the stars, trying to feel their comfort, but they leave you feeling cold and hollow.. You sit up and think, stoking the few embers back into flames. You haven't felt this empty in.. months? It can't be good for you..
You pull your legs into your chest.
'It'll be okay. It'll be okay' you can feel it coming to your eyes, the hot stinging burn not brought on from the fires smoke. "Dammit" you mumble out wiping your eyes. It does you no good "stop it," you rub harder, feeling the fat drops of water plop on your pants "this is pathetic, you're going to be fine" you whimper to yourself, pressing your palms tightly into your eyes. Who are you to think you're ever going to make it home, that you're not going to die here. How dare you think for even a second that you could grow to love this place, to thrive in it.
You're just a scared little kid.
You try to take a deep breath and reach for your loom. Repetitive motion was good before coming here. Maybe it'll help now.
"Up, down, pull, repeat. Up, down, pull, repeat." You chant to yourself, struggling to avoid your personal crisis earlier.
"It'll be okay."