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Wilson is not sure what's going on anymore.
One moment he's in pain, terrible, blinding pain; His ribs hurts in a way that are the obvious telltale there's at least one of them either fractured or broken, something warm oozes from his forehead down to his cheek and chin before dripping onto the ground in quick little drips and his right ankle is definitely twisted if the throbbing is anything to go by.
There was a lot of pain, then movement and a scream and...
Next thing he knows he's lying down in a rather comfortable bedding, made out of beefalo fur and grass fiber. His injuries are all but a rather dull throb, though breathing hurts just the tiniest bit, be it for the tightness of the bandage wrapped around his torso or the still healing rib being stubborn.
"W-Wha..." Wilson coughs, head feeling like molasses but not enough to pass out as soon as waking up. "Guys...?"
"Easy now." Someone--Willow, interrupts. He hadn't noticed her before, sitting near the tent's entrance with a rather nonchalant expression on her face. "You took one hell of a beating, I'd stay down for a while if I were you."
"Duly noted." Wilson frowns, groaning a little at the flare of pain in his chest. "What happened?"
"The Bearger happened. Took a whiff of our honey boxes in the second camp and, yeah, not much left there anymore. We'll have to mark that one off the map."
"And I was playing beekeeper, huh?" It sort of makes sense, actually. He probably got thrown around standing between the Bearber and its food. A fool's mistake. "Lucky me."
"Uh, not...exactly." Willow cringes.
It takes Wilson a second to actually make sense of that.
"Wait...I was-- It wasn't my turn gathering the honey," He frowns, he clearly recalls having to help with the walls this time.
The ones gathering honey were...
"WENDY!" He yells, pain all but forgotten as he hastily gets up from the bedding, hissing while pushing weight onto his bandaged ankle. How could he forget?! Wendy and Wes were the beekeepers then, and he had just seen the shadow of the beast past the treeline by luck-
"She's fine!!" Willow intercepts him, palms in the air as if trying to calm a wild animal rather than a person, trying to abort whatever plan the scientist was making in a panic. "She's okay! A little banged up, but nothing some salve won't heal in a day!"
"I-I need to see her. She's probably in shock, I--"
"You are the one in shock!" The firestarter frowns, manhandling Wilson onto the bedding again despite the scientist's protests. "She's worried sick about you, by the way, everyone is. I don't know what went through your head back there but rushing the Bearger out of all things--"
"I--What?" Wilson splutters, blinking in shock and trying to look at any sign of a humorous lie Willow might be telling, finding nothing but amused worry instead. "I did what?"
"You don't remember? Seriously?"
"I remember the Bearger showing up." He starts slowly, recalling flashes of the fight that no doubt happened. "I tried luring it away but it got angry instead, it destroyed the boxes and started chasing me, then... I took a beating."
"You took a beating." Willow confirms, nodding her head with grim apprehension. "It was scary, you were just like a ragdoll for a moment, everyone got worried."
He doesn't doubt it for a moment.
"So I guess I got knocked unconscious then? What happened to it? Did everyone make it okay?"
"Everyone is okay, a little in shock and all, you took the worst of all but, uh," Willow stares at him, something strange in her expression. "Do you really not remember?"
"Remember what exactly?"
"You killed it."
What.
"What?"
"I don't know how you did it, but you did it." Willow shrugs, as if it were the most common thing to say that the scrawny resident scientist took down something like a Bearger on his own. "Didn't know you had it in you."
"Wait-- wait a moment. I what?" Wilson stammers, staring wide-eyed at the woman. "I did what?"
"You. Killed. The. Bearger." Willow says slowly, frowning at him. "Don't look at me like that, I'm not lying."
"I just-- how did I-- Me?"
"Yes, you!" Willow exclaims, exhaling an annoyed huff. "Honestly, I wouldn't believe it myself but I saw it, I was there."
"What-- how did I--"
"That I honestly can't tell." She says, humming low. "I saw you getting tossed around, everyone was ready to intervene and then it just...targeted someone else."
Wilson, for the life of him, wracks his brain trying to recall a memory of the situation. He remembers seeing the beast, the bees dying and the boxes being destroyed, trying to call the Bearger's attention and getting a swipe to his chest for his troubles, tossing him against the camp's stone walls and...
There's a crack, somewhere. Someone screams, someone wails. The air gets colder for a split second and reddish-pink petals fill his vision.
"Abigail." He gasps, the movement making him hiss. His eyes wide open in sheer surprise. "Wendy sent Abigail."
"Saved your life, the thing got distracted with Abigail before she returned to her flower."
"But-- Wendy always has her sister's flower." Wilson says, realisation dawning on him like adrenaline. "It targeted Wendy?!"
"It did." Willow nods, a grimace in her face. "Until you got up."
When Wilson doesn't replies, she continues. "I don't know what happened there, you were about to be unconscious by the look of it, then the Bearger tried to swipe at Wendy, and she screamed and you just...I don't know! You just got up, and grabbed a spear off the ground, and climbed the back of the thing in like seconds! I blinked and it was thrashing while you stabbed its neck!"
Wilson's mouth could serve as a rather useful fly catcher at that point, with how wide open it is.
"Wigfrid is calling it your 'awakening from Valhalla.', everyone else thinks it was just a huge shot of adrenaline."
"...And you?"
"I'm calling it 'mother's adrenaline', but for guys. Father's panic. As soon as Wendy screamed its like you got possessed."
"Unscientific."
"Calling it unless proven otherwise."
It takes a few moments for what Willow said to click in for him. Closing his mouth with an audible 'click' of teeth, clearing his throat to try and compose himself while suspiciously avoiding eye contact. "I'm not-- I'm not her father."
"Well," The fire starter starts, crossing her arms with a look between exasperated and fond. "For someone claiming you're not a dad, you're awfully fatherly towards her."
"It's called basic human decency. Any adult should look after a lone child, specially considering our...circunstances." Wilson says, ignoring the strange flutter in his chest. It's his ribs, he'll blame it on his injured ribs. "You yourself are looking after Webber."
"Yeah, but I'm not a mother." She refutes, smiling lightly. "Maybe an irresponsible auntie or a very cool big sister, unlike you."
"I--I am not--"
"She called you dad."
Any sort of answer Wilson might have given just dies in his throat, something surprised and warm and even a little hopeful twisting at his insides instead. "What...?"
"After you sliced the thing's neck, it fell backwards on top of you, you're very lucky only the head wacked you, by the way." Willow tuts. "Anyway, when we were dragging you into camp and getting the blood off you, Wendy was yelling for you, called you dad multiple times. I don't think she realized it herself, but we sure heard it."
"O-Oh."
There's silence for a few moments as Willow looks him up and down and hums at whatever she has found, as if passing silent judgememnt onto something Wilson isn't privy to.
"I'll tell camp you're up." The firestarter pipes up, "Heads up, Wendy has got dibs on visitation rights after Ms. Wickerbottom." She says, walking towards the tent's entrance and hesitating just a moment before turning back towards him, frowning only for a split second before a wry grin takes over her expression. "I think you're a good dad, by the way. I might not have the greatest reference, but someone willing to put themselves between a ten foot, hungry and snarling beast and their kid is obviously a good parent. Blood related or not."
Wilson stutters, staring at the flap of his tent as he's left alone, trying to squish the strange sense of pride threating to burst from his chest.