“…I can change them myself, you know. I’ve done it before. I’m not—”
“Yeah, I know, I just— watching you struggle with them like this is… I dunno. Just seems, um, inefficient?”
“We have time, don’t we?”
“Mostly, yes, that’s true, I’m just saying this seems like a lot of effort for very little reward.”
“Ha,” he breathed. “Isn’t that just the story of my life.”
W.M. sighed. “I only wanna help.”
“I am very aware,” he replied, trying — and failing — to toss a roll of bandages around his midsection, across the massive gash that stretched from his left side all the way across his back. He’d already managed a good chunk of the easier injuries, but this one in particular seemed to continue to elude him. “Trust me, I think you’ve done a lot already.” He paused to look them dead in the eye as they continued to stare. “…And don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?!”
“You know, with that look. That face you do. You know what you’re doing.”
“My face doesn’t even do that anymore!”
“No, but I’ve seen you do it at least a hundred times in the past, what, nine years? Something like that?” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re doing it, you know you are. You do it every single time. Knock it off.”
W.M. pouted (though mostly in spirit), and merely turned away, planting themselves firmly on their hindquarters as they stared at their reflection in the water. Still water — yes, still water, fresh water, they reminded themselves. A pond, further inland. A good enough place for washing off the… well, everything. If it wasn’t blood in varying states of freshness then it was dirt from somewhere and if it wasn’t either of those things then it was the general stink of the sea.
Not too long afterwards, though, did they hear the irritated grunt of their companion and the sound of a rough impact in the dirt, which caused them to wince. “Fuck!” came the exasperated voice.
“…Do you need help now?” they asked, glancing back at the ungainly heap on the ground.
A resigned groan. “Holy hell, you sure need to feel useful, don’t you?” Admittedly. “Ugh, fine. If only because it’ll shut you up.”
W.M. couldn’t quite show their excitement at the prospect of being of use as they turned their head to look at him, even if they felt it, which was just as well; it wasn’t particularly exciting work, really, but to them perhaps it was — and helping was something, and really, something was all they needed. Not only that, but indeed, they had to admit that putting their mind to a task no matter how menial kept all the guilt and weird feelings away, at least for a little while; perhaps a far cry from that Marlow, but then again that Marlow was dead. Half-eaten, too. “Okay, well. You gotta… I’m not too keen on bandaging up a bunch of twigs and dust and shit in a wound, so…”
“Yeah, back in the water, I get it,” he groused, as he ungracefully pushed himself off of the ground and then dragged himself into the pond again, grumbling all the while; and as he settled in the water, he crossed his arms in a very-much-irritated fashion as he stared up at W.M.’s hulking form, who had only continued to stare back — and who tilted their head at him like a curious hound. “…You are so strange,” he said.
“What is that supposed to mean? I’ve always been weird,” they replied, faux indignation in their tone. “That’s not a new thing.”
“Sure, but you’re, like, exceptionally weird now. I mean, all of us are, so maybe that’s a moot point to bring up, but still.”
“…Thanks.”
“I didn’t mean it as an insult. Just an observation.”
W.M. pulled their head back and narrowed their eyes in the best facsimile of a grimace as they could manage. “Okay.” They snorted. “Anyway.” With that they were content, too, to stand, moving themselves over to the other side of the pond with a surprising amount of grace, more like an elegant predator and a lot less like the bumbling… well, beast they’d been in the time prior — as if their time up on the surface was already wearing off on them, namely, all the damn room to stretch out in. Squeezing through doorways was never fun for long no matter how flexible you were, and no matter how detached your collarbone. Sebastian’s gaze followed them as they moved, though he stopped tracking them as they wound around behind him.
“Enlighten me as to your plan, again? I’m not a telepath, so I’m afraid I didn’t hear.”
“Well, I’m not holding you up, nor am I pinning you down, in order to help you with this,” W.M. replied. “Both are weird things, that I’m not doing.”
“Then…?”
“You’re pulling your ass up on those rocks—” with their head, they gestured towards the natural, stony outcropping, “Facing away from me, so I can put these damn things on. Got it?”
“That also sounds weird.” He tossed them a coy smirk. “But somehow it’s not the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard.”
W.M.’s eyes narrowed, albeit a little playfully. “Seriously? Right now?” they scoffed. “And excuse you, everything sounds weird. I’m being — I’m being upfront. It’s less weird. Marginally.”