Chapter Text
It was over. He’d done it. Despite every challenge, every storm and new evolution, he had survived. He had saved them. Tommy was gone, and the apocalypse would be over. Everyone would be able to live, instead of just surviving.
Everyone except himself, of course. Facing the horde that swarmed him from all directions, Charlie didn’t bother to put up a futile resistance. It was done. He could stop fighting now. After everything, he could finally rest.
Casting his weapons and tools into the burning lava, he resigned himself to his fate. Tommy had told him to give up, and now he would listen. The others would be okay. If nothing else, he would die a hero. Wasn’t that worth something?
A hero’s fate certainly wasn’t a happy one, but that’s just how the story goes.
He hardly had time to register the pain of being torn open before it all went dark. Charlie was never a religious man, but he prayed the afterlife would be kind to him. Hadn’t he earned as much?
…Apparently not.
He didn’t know what to expect, in death. Like most people, he had always feared it. The greatest dangers lie in what is unknown. There was no way to predict what the ending would have in store for him. Would it be the classic description of heaven, with fluffy clouds and choirs of angels? An eternal torment? Or maybe, maybe it would just be nothing at all. Maybe he would completely cease to be.
It turned out what lay at the end of the figurative tunnel was none of those things. No, in what reality would he ever be so lucky? Where he found himself did not line up with any of the options he had anticipated. Except, well. Maybe this could be considered torment of sorts. He wasn't quite sure what sin had earned him this kind of a punishment, but it must have been something truly heinous.
For where Charlie found himself, once again, was that weird little shop. Greeted by the familiar wooden planks and cedar green carpet. Standing behind the counter yet again was that strange sheep man in his eternally pristine suit. Rather than apples or potions, the item frames decorating the business held mirrors. Every mirror he shifted his focus onto showed a twisted version of himself, living a life he could hardly comprehend. It gave him a headache to stare into them, though they all held a strange pull. Like they wanted to be seen.
He was shaken from this trance-like state by the drug salesman’s voice. “You did good, Charlie. Better than I expected.”
“I- I succeeded.” The statement came put far more uncertain than intended, his tone almost pleading.
“You sure did.” The sheep man nodded. “To be honest, I thought you’d fuck it up.”
“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence!”
“Hey, it’s not an insult. You just seem kinda stupid and pathetic and weak is all.”
“How would that not be an insult?”
The drug dealer shrugged in place of an answer. Charlie took the reprieve from the concert as another chance to look around, and was startled to find that there was nothing but void beyond the little shop. The open front let in the biting cold from the starry abyss that surrounded them.
Charlie finally voiced the question that has been bothering him this whole time. “So why am I here?”
“Well, you won the game!”
“…Game?”
The sheep man grinned. “Yeah! Good for you, man. You fuckin’ did it!”
He laughed uncomfortably. “This- that wasn’t a game. That was a real fucking apocalypse!”
“Well yeah, to you.” The salesman rolled his eyes.
Charlie tried and failed to grasp the meaning behind those words. It was like trying to make out scenery through a foggy glass window. He knew there was something there, but for the life of him couldn’t quite see what it was. It was real… to him. Wait- surely he didn’t mean-
“What, like how Wimpfred thought it was all a reality TV show?”
“Nah, it was real for him too. He was just delusional.”
Charlie was struck by a pang of guilt. He wondered if it would’ve been better to let Wimpfred live in that delusion. If Charlie had just kept pretending, maybe he wouldn’t have…
Charlie could still feel the ash mixed with blood and charred flesh sticking to his skin. It didn’t matter how many times he washed himself, it didn’t go away. Neither did the image of Wimpfred’s brutal death, burned into his mind and replaying each time he shut his eyes.
“So then what-“ he started, being quickly cut off.
“Oh my god, stop whining like a little bitch. I’m getting to it!”
“…Okay. Jeez. You don’t have to be a dick about it.” Charlie muttered under his breath.
“It was real to you. And some of the other guys, I guess. But to the audience? It was all just a silly little game.”
Charlie felt like the floor had dropped out from under him. He in fact had to look down to make sure that it hadn’t. He felt sick to his stomach, imagining some mysterious audience of people watching. Laughing as he struggled and suffered. Getting some twisted sense of entertainment from his pain.
“But enough about that! It honestly doesn’t matter right now. You know why, Charlie?”
The guy still hadn’t explained how he knew Charlie’s name. He’s given up on questioning anything about the man. “Why.”
“Because you won! And I think you deserve a prize.” The malicious intent was audible in his voice, and something dark gleamed in his eyes.
“Is the prize a peaceful death?” Charlie tried, an unconvincing grin hastily plastered onto his face.
The sheep man’s voice took on an echo, and his smile showed far too many teeth. “Nope!”
For the second time that day, everything went dark.
Charlie slowly returned to awareness, and the first thing he noticed was how… wrong everything felt. His body felt far too wet, far too numb. He tried to raise an arm, feeling it bend at an unnatural angle as it made a horrible squelching noise. Whatever the sheep guy had done to him, it definitely didn’t seem like much of a prize.
His instincts from the months surviving an apocalyptic wasteland kicked in, and he quickly surveyed the surroundings. He sighed in relief at the total lack of guttural groans that signified the presence of the undead. Though, he knew better than to relax fully. The walls surrounding him were white, like the ones in Condi’s lab. There were countless double chests lined along the walls of what seemed to be a long storage room. Looking down, he seemed to be sitting on a bed.
Blinking a couple times, he realized that the bright green gooey substance he was staring at was his own body. What the absolute fuck. Was he on drugs again? He really hoped he was just on drugs again! Because if not, that would mean he was actually inhabiting a body made entirely of green slime. How lovely! Just what he had wanted when he decided to try and survive at least a hundred days in the nightmarish wastes that he’s awoken to.
The sound of footsteps put him back on high alert, as he instinctively searched for a weapon. It seemed he had at least some luck, seeing as there was a diamond sword in his inventory. It was plain and unenchanted, but far better than nothing. Charlie clutched it in his hands, his hold made awkward by the not-quite-solid nature of this new body.
“Hey Slime! I was thinking today we could-“
The sword clattered to the ground loudly, the shock causing him to lose his already weak grip. He didn’t know what to expect from whatever world that sheep man had tossed him into, but to see Wilford alive? Talking- normally? Like a real, non-British person? It was certainly strange.
“Wilford?” He choked out, the slimy imitation of vocal chords unfamiliar to him.
But, the more Charlie looked, the more he doubted himself. Sure, he had a shockingly familiar face, but that was where the similarities ended. His hair was longer, and his outfit much nicer. A nasty, jagged scar ran down his face, and his left eye was a foggy gray. There were also the buttercup yellow wings sprouting from his back, that was certainly new.
Charlie’s suspicion that this may be a different guy was confirmed as the winged man asked a question. “Who the fuck is Wilford!?”
Charlie put his face in his hands, cringing at the way the slime seemed to want to fuse together. “Where the fuck am I.”