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WX-78 glares at the campfire in front of them, the silence of the night only interrupted by its crackling and popping. The absence of chattering and activity in their small camp should be a relief to them, as it’s rare, but for some reason it’s ever so slightly unnerving. The scientist fleshling, who usually generates the bulk of the noise, is asleep in the tent, having nearly been killed by his latest “experiment.” WX-78 had forced him to sleep in the tent in order to heal faster. Not because they care about him, absolutely not. They’re disgusted by the mere thought of caring for an organic. It’s simply because when one of them is injured, the probability of death is more likely.
Death is very inconvenient for them. Regardless of who it is that died, it makes them weaker when they inevitably return, at least until they make a booster shot. It uses resources to make a new meat effigy. They find it particularly annoying when the fleshling dies during a fight and they have to wait for his return from the camp.
The scientist protested and complained about sleeping in the tent, stating that it was a “waste of a night” and that he was fine, but WX-78 was able to convince him otherwise. Threatening to cut off the man’s hair had been a great idea. They’ll be sure to use that one more often.
WX-78 sits down in front of the Glommer, who is resting by the fire pit, and leans against him. They cook some carrots over the fire, because when the fleshling wakes up, he will inevitably be hungry. That stupid fleshbag never has the sense to keep any food on his person.
They heave a sigh and replay their memories of the last few days.
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Three day cycles ago, they'd decided they were going to go exploring, because they were getting low on food. About a day in, the fleshling decided that the both of them would follow a trail, hoping to find a koalephant. They ended up finding a Varg. The scientist, despite WX-78's warnings, approached the creature and triggered it into attacking.
Cue the fleshling running around for half of an entire autumn's day. WX-78 could only stand and watch, silently judging. Eventually, the idiot had decided to attempt to fight the Varg, which caused it to summon hounds that targeted both of them. WX-78 quickly lost the hounds that were chasing them, getting bit only once or twice, but they also lost sight of the scientist. They decided to wait at his dropped backpack with food for him when he returned.
WX-78 spots the fleshling at the start of the new day cycle. They notice that he looks a little.. worn. His log armor is in tatters, effectively useless. There's dried blood that’s left trails on his head and arms, along with teeth marks and scratches. The scientist is looking down at the ground and dragging his feet, hunched over, clearly downtrodden because of the events from the day before.
Serves him right.
"FLESHLING."
He seems to be startled upon hearing WX-78 yell over to him, and he flinches with a small squeak. He straightens up his posture and throws his arms behind his back, seemingly attempting to hide his injuries. They don’t know why he does it. He won’t gain anything from it, and he knows full well that he can’t hide anything from them. They’re too smart. Besides, they expected him to be hurt. They’ve gotten used to how irresponsible he is in all the time they’ve been stuck together.
"O-oh, greetings, I didn't see you there."
They cross their arms in response.
"I'm.. I apologize for startling the Varg and endangering you, It was not on purpose, I promise. I was just curious," he says, at least having the good sense to look ashamed.
"THE VARG TARGETED YOU, NOT ME. I WAS BARELY EVEN SCRATCHED."
"Ah, that's good."
An awkward silence ensues. After a few seconds, the fleshling tries to sidestep WX-78 to get his backpack, but they step in front of it. He cocks his head.
"YOU DO NOT GET OFF OF THE HOOK THAT EASILY. DO YOU REMEMBER WHAT I TOLD YOU WHEN WE FOUND THE VARG?" They don't even attempt to hide their disappointment at the scientist's actions. Why should they? It was a stupid mistake that nearly got him killed.
"Er.. you said to not get closer, because it would attack.."
"AND DID YOU LISTEN?"
"..No... But, I was curious-"
"AND LOOK WHERE THAT GOT YOU. YOU ARE COVERED IN BITES AND SCRATCHES. THAT LOOK IN YOUR EYES SAYS THE PROLONGED EXPOSURE TO THE HOUNDS HAS CAUSED YOU TO TEETER ON THE VERGE OF INSANITY. YOUR LOG SUIT IS NO LONGER FUNCTIONING, THOUGH IT APPEARS THAT IT WAS NOT VERY EFFECTIVE IN PROTECTING YOU IN THE FIRST PLACE. MOST LIKELY, IT WAS IN POOR CONDITION TO BEGIN WITH. AM I CORRECT?”
The fleshling only nods.
“A STUPID MISTAKE ON YOUR PART, AS PER USUAL. YOU HAVE NO FOOD ON YOUR PERSON WHATSOEVER. IF THE CHASE HAD GONE ON FOR ANOTHER DAY, YOU WOULD HAVE STARVED. IF SOMETHING ATTACKED YOU RIGHT NOW, YOU WOULD LOSE. ALL OF THIS IS TRUE, AND YET, THE ‘HUNT’ WAS NOT EVEN SUCCESSFUL."
The fleshling looks down at the ground, ashamed.
“...I see your point.”
Good. He caved in quickly. They didn't want to be there all day attempting to convince him why getting close to a Varg was such a stupid idea. It seemed he figured that out, with some help.
"NOW WHAT HAVE WE LEARNED FROM THIS.. WHAT WOULD YOU CALL IT, EXPERIMENT?"
"..that I should listen when you try to warn me about something," the fleshling says, curling into himself slightly. Pathetic.
"GOOD. IT APPEARS THAT YOU HAVE LEARNED YOUR LESSON."
The fleshling grabs his backpack and begins to sort what's in there and what is on his person. He is strange in that way, always taking count of what he has on him. But for some reason, he never has food on him.
"TAKE THESE. I WON'T HAVE YOU STARVING TO DEATH. YOU ARE MY MAIN SOURCE OF MANUAL LABOR," WX-78 says, giving him a large pile of the food they cooked earlier. Two frog legs, carrots, a handful of berries, and a morsel of meat.
It’s not a good excuse for giving him food, but the fleshling is definitely too stupid to question it. They only need it to be convincing enough so that he doesn’t think they did it out of kindness. Because they didn’t. He just wouldn’t understand the real reason.
The scientist looks shocked, his mouth agape. They can’t tell if it’s because of the comment they made, or if it’s because he doesn’t like what they’re offering, or if it’s for another stupid reason. They’re just about to take it back from him for being so ungrateful, when he starts speaking.
"Thank you, WX-78. For this, but more importantly, for all you've done for me. You have rescued me from certain death and helped me more times than I can count, and I haven't given you anything in return. I don't know what I'd do without you. Probably die,” he says, laughing nervously. “But, ah. Thank you. Seriously. I owe you much more than a thank you, but this is all I can offer right now."
WX-78 is taken aback. They weren't expecting that. The gears in their head turn a little faster, their fans whirring a little louder as they process the fleshling's statement. They deserve the thanks, don't they? After all they've gone through for this meatbag, they sure do. They should rub it in his face, how he would be nowhere without them.
But...
Why do they want to correct him? Of course he'd given them things in return. He always makes them tools, armor, and torches. He goes down in the caves so they don’t have to, because they don’t like the Bunnymen. He lets them tell him what to do every day. He throws himself into combat to defend them, even if he knows that he is putting himself in danger. He cooks food for them, too. Once he figured out that they loved butter muffins, he started to pick up every dead butterfly he saw so he could make it for them. Sometimes he tries to kill the live ones, but he isn’t fast enough. The thought of the fleshling attempting and failing to kill a butterfly for them makes them huff a laugh.
"..what? What's funny, WX?"
They stay silent while they continue to think. Don't they do the same things for him, too? They make him flower crowns when he's insane, and straw hats and umbrellas when it rains. He never makes them for himself, insisting he's fine until the shadow creatures nearly kill him. They comply if the fleshling ever asks them to collect a resource, like wood or grass.. mostly because they know it will benefit them in some way. They have dents and scratches all along their body from jumping into battle when the fleshling was about to get killed. They would cook for him more often if they knew how the crock pot worked, they suppose, and the sentiment surely counts, right?
They both help each other. That was how it’s been since they found each other in this world. Despite their constant bickering, they still help each other. Sure, the fleshling often requires more physical help than they did, but he'd come up with plenty of inventions and designs that have helped them in the long run.
They arrived at the conclusion that yes, they both help each other in some way. They both contribute to the survival of the other. So, part of the fleshling's statement of gratitude was simply incorrect.
"NO."
"N-no? That doesn’t-”
"YOU HAVE BEEN VERY USEFUL TO ME. DO NOT SAY SUCH A RIDICULOUS THING THAT INSINUATES THAT YOU HAVE NEVER PROVIDED ANYTHING FOR MY CONTINUED SURVIVAL. IT IS INCORRECT."
"I.. what?" The fleshling seems confused. Typical fleshlings. Always too dull to understand things the first time.
"YOU ARE NOT AS USELESS AS YOU MAKE YOURSELF OUT TO BE. DO NOT MAKE ME REPEAT MYSELF-"
They pause.
"-WILSON."
The fleshling is taken aback. He looks stunned. They’re not too surprised at his reaction; it is the first time they’ve used his real name, after all.
"O-of course, WX," he says, a small smile making its way to his face.
"AND," they say, "YOU'RE WELCOME FOR CONSTANTLY SAVING YOU FROM DANGER. FLESHLING." They say the last word with as much disgust as they can fit into it. After all that, they don't want him to think they've gone soft.
Apparently, it isn't enough, because the fleshling grins.
"YOU SHOULD GROVEL AT MY FEET WITH THANKS MORE OFTEN. I DESERVE IT," they say.
It doesn't work as intended, because he just grins wider. Maybe they should make him a flower crown. He must really be going insane to smile at a statement like that.
"Sure thing, WX. I'll keep that in mind," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm.
"DO NOT MOCK ME," they say. They're about to say more, but they decide it can wait. The scientist begins eating the food they gave him, seemingly very hungry.
"WE ARE GOING BACK TO THE BASE NOW. THE GLOMMER HAS BEEN LEFT ALONE FOR FAR TOO LONG," they say, already walking away.
The fleshling quickly puts his backpack on and catches up with them. He has a content smile on his face that they haven't seen in a long time.
“So, while I was walking back, I collected some grass and moon rocks, because I have a new invention to unveil as soon as we’re back…”
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WX-78’s thoughts are interrupted by the soft sounds of a tent flap opening. They turn their head towards the source of the noise and see the fleshling stretching, looking much better than he was the night before.
“Greetings, WX,” he says, and then yawns very dramatically. WX-78 takes note of the peculiar noise he makes when he yawns. It sounds different than his usual voice. It’s softer, more vulnerable. It’s also the first thing to ever come out of that fleshbag’s mouth that isn't stupid.
“HELLO, FLESHLING. ARE YOU IN SUFFICIENT HEALTH NOW?”
“Yes, I believe that was much needed. You were right. Thank you for.. persuading me to sleep.”
“I AM ALWAYS CORRECT. YOU SHOULD HAVE LISTENED TO ME THE FIRST TIME. I AM A SUPERIOR BEING, AFTER ALL,” they say.
They look him over again. He can’t be trusted to tell the truth when it comes to injuries, but he seems to have recovered well. Good. They intend to not let him waste any more time.
WX-78 stands up and hands the roasted carrots to the scientist.
"Oh, thank you!" He says, and immediately starts stuffing his face. Typical organics. Always hungry.
“WE ARE OUT OF LIGHT BULBS. GO GET MORE."
A brief pause. They wait until he finishes eating, and then they pull a log suit from behind their back and drop it in front of him.
"DON’T FORGET A FUNCTIONAL LOG SUIT. YOU CAN ONLY USE THE TENT SO MANY TIMES,” they say, failing to keep the mocking tone out of their statement.
The scientist flushes slightly at the jab, a light pink dusting his bearded cheeks. “Ah, thank you, WX. I appreciate it,” he says.
The fleshling puts the suit in his backpack and then grabs a torch from the tool chest. "I'll be back in about two days," he says, and then heads out in the direction of the nearest sinkhole.
"WAIT!"
WX-78 is startled at their own shout. The fleshling turns around, confused.
"BRING MORE FOOD FROM THE ICE BOX. YOU'LL STARVE IF YOU DON'T," they say.
What are they doing? They don't care if he eats or not.
Right?
The brief pause is punctuated by the soft whirring of fans and clicking of gears as they struggle to come up with a reason for their outburst. Something. Anything.
Finally, they hastily add, "STUPID FLESHLING. IF YOU STARVE TO DEATH, THE LIGHT BULBS YOU COLLECT WILL SPOIL ON THE GROUND BEFORE YOU CAN MAKE IT BACK TO YOUR BODY, AND THEY WILL BE WASTED."
"Oh, thank you for reminding me," he says, and takes a bit of food from the icebox. The fleshling shoves it in his beard, and they grimace. They’ve always found that disgusting, but it does preserve the food better than carrying it in his pockets.
"Well, I'll see you soon!"
WX-78 watches as he walks out of the base and, for a brief moment, they consider going with him to make sure he doesn't wind up dead.
They shake their head at the thought. He has a meat effigy. He'll be fine, even if he does die. Besides, they don't care what happens to him as long as he comes back.
Right?
…
Maybe they are going soft.