Something Wrong
Wynslow / Wilson - Oneshot (hurt/comfort) - Romantic - 875 Words
Wilson comforts Wynslow through a bit of a nonsensical spiral. Depictions of intrusive thoughts (nonspecific, implied) and spiralling (specific).
A pained whimper escaped Wynslow’s throat as they shook their head, rather suddenly and painfully, like a tic. Their spine cracked at the jolted motion, their wings flinching and haunching upwards. “No,” They murmured reflexively, barely audible.
That’s horrible. You’re horrible for thinking that. What is wrong with me?
Wilson looked up from his book lazily, his eyebrows raised. On the outside, it looked like Wynslow was rousing from some sort of nightmare, or trance, only to settle back into it moments later. “Wynslow?” He asked quietly, his voice soft but firm. His legs shuffled against the log they both were sitting on.
I have to find out why I think these things. I have to figure out where they come from. Are they secretly desires? Am I fucked up in the head? No. No, if I was, I wouldn’t be worried about it. So why am I thinking it?
“Songbird,” He called again, dog-earing his page and gently closing the book to set it aside.
Am I traumatized? I must be. No. No, I don’t remember anything like that. What if I forgot? What if I forgot because I did that to someone else and it didn’t stick in my mind because I didn’t think it was significant until now?
“Hey.” Wilson scooted closer, finally catching their very thin attention. “What’s going on?”
“It’s…-” They began, trying to pinpoint where the problem was, when it had begun, what they could even say about it. For all I know, this could span all the way back into my childhood. That’s so much to unpack. I can’t even begin.
“Are you stuck in your head again?” Tilting his head, Wilson reached for their hand and cupped his own over it.
It’s not just in my head. It’s not, this is real, these are real problems I have to face if I want to have any hope of being a good person. I can’t end up a creep, or a threat, or both. “No. I’m just thinking.”
He knew, already, that they were spiraling. But calling attention to it would just make the spiral worse. Thoughts of ‘How long have I been impure?’ would just turn into ‘How much does this parasitic mental illness make up of me?’. And he honestly didn’t know which was worse.
“What about?” He asked, furrowing his eyebrows.
“You don’t think that,” They started, their voice already becoming weak as their throat involuntarily closed up. “...Because we’re from different times, that I’m a creepy weirdo right?”
Wilson was stunned into silence, for a moment. “...Come again?”
“You know, like…” They started, and then paused to collect their thoughts. “Well, there’s an obvious power imbalance, because I know more about stuff than you do. Not- Not saying I’m smarter, but like, I’m from what is basically the future so I have a leg up on you. And I don’t want to be manipulative or creepy.”
He sighed softly, resigning himself to giving them reassurance; even if it was just a bandaid fix. “You’re not manipulative or creepy, Wynslow. You being from a different timeline has no effect on the balance of our relationship.”
He gestured, his hand remaining comfortably on theirs. “Sure, you know more about, say, future events than I do, but what's that even matter now?”
Theressomanyit’stoomuchsomanypossibilitiesI’mgrossandimmoralandIdon’tfuckingunderstandwhy. “I think I’m spiraling.”
“Mm.” Wilson nodded, trying to pretend he couldn’t tell. They always got so embarrassed and ashamed when he made it obvious. “That explains it.”
“I’m sorry.” They held their head in their hands, feeling like it was buzzing like an angry hive wasps that was getting angrier by the second. “I don't mean to worry you.” You’re so high maintenance.
“You don’t worry me.” He said softly, rubbing between their wings with his hand.
“I don’t?” He doesn’t care? Of course he doesn’t care. I’m a worm.
“No, songbird.” There came a gentle pressing of lips against their forehead, and the feeling brought Wynslow a bit of lucidity. Just a bit. “I care about you, and I want you to be okay, but you don’t worry me. This is nothing I haven’t seen before. You forget we regularly tread the line between sane and not every day.”
“I didn’t forget.” They wrapped their arms around his waist, leaning into him as he searched their wings for pin feathers. “I just think this is worse.”
“Well, that’s for me to gauge, isn’t it?” He hummed, and adjusted himself so that they could lay their head comfortably against him. “And I don’t think that’s true. So regardless of how you feel, the truth is that I don’t mind you, and I don’t think you’re a burden.”
Wynslow felt themself relax into him, as the buzzing in their skull slowed to its usual tone, never any better, but now not as bad. It would be a relief if it went away, but Wilson was only a man. It was a miracle his words reached them at all, though it could be attributed to the fact that Wynslow regarded him and his intelligence highly. “...thank you.”
“I love you, Wyn.” He murmured, as they leaned against his chest.
They sighed softly, melting into the rhythm of his heartbeat. “I love you too.”
this one is a bit personal! i've recently started to lean into Wynslow having some of my traits, and one of them i've picked back up on is having OCD, specifically moral OCD. the specifics of the thought that caused the spiral wasn't written out because it's not really important; it may not have even been related to the reassurance they asked from Wilson. tis the nature of the beast.
i wanted to lean into what my spirals feel like as well to give it a more genuine feeling, and i refrained from using smiley or happy language at the end deliberately. they're comfortable, but things like that just make it hard to come back so easily.
this is my third fic on here thus far, i hope you guys like it!!