Wirt shivered as the wind sliced at his skin through the holes in his coat. The elementary school wasn't that far from the high school but the cold stretched the distance from meters to miles. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and tried to distract himself by humming under his breath.

"To the elementary school…" he sang out loud to the empty road. A car whizzed by and he quieted, even though he knew they couldn't hear him. He let out a breath and watched as the smoke of his lungs was dragged into the unforgiving air. "To get Greg home from schooool."

It wasn't much of a song, but perhaps the melody could be salvaged. He repeated what he had a few times, so he wouldn't forget it.

The school came into view and he didn't stop singing. He was a weird band kid now, it was his duty to bring a little more music into the world. Friday would be the Big Game and the band was playing half time. He was currently thinking about it in uppercase letters as it had become his latest trial in the neverending quest of life. He had to keep journeying, to face it bravely then walk on, walk on past all that had happened, building callouses on his hands and feet as he went. He was the Pilgrim, after all.

So he kept going, carving out for himself a pathway through the wind.

"Wirt! Wiiiiirt!" a figure waved at him from before the school's ironwork gates. Greg.

"Hey, Greg! Come on, let's go home!" Greg toddled over to him, already chatting animatedly. He had a large construction paper turkey in his hands, sticky glue still visible in between the feathers.

"Want some turkey dinner, Wirt?" Greg giggled, waving the mess underneath his nose. The wind snatched a couple feathers from the turkey's tail.

"Mean 'ole north wind, you give back Toby's feathers!" Greg shifted Toby into one hand to shake his fist at the sky. The wind responded by unleashing a mighty blast. A torrent of feathers fled Toby's sorry form and rushed into the air.

"You want me to help you get those?" Wirt inclined his head toward the feathers on the ground.

"My geez! O' course," Greg nodded and bent down to pick up a blue feather. "Say, how do you think Beatrice is doing?"

Wirt gazed up at the sky. The sky looked back down at him, grey-eyed and weary. He sighed.

"I think- I know she's okay. I mean, she's Beatrice, how- how can she not be fine, right?" Wirt blew out another gusty breath and lowered himself into a crouch to pick up a handful of feathers.

"Right you are, brother 'o mine." Greg said in a sing-song tone, shoving feathers into his coat pockets.

"Greg, Greg- do you want me to put Toby in my coat? To keep it safe."

Greg's eyes widened and he let out a gasp. He walked the turkey up to Wirt, wobbling the paper so it seemed like Toby was walking. Wirt popped open a couple buttons on his coat. He tried to play it cool but his teeth chattered a bit. He gently placed Toby in his coat and snapped it up.

"My hero!" Greg said, his voice slightly higher than usual mark his transformation into the character of Toby the Turkey.

"Well, I'm no hero." Wirt had faced a lot but he was still scared of a marching band show and that was just sad.

"No way, you saved me and Jason Funderburker and Beatrice and Lorna and-"

"Come on, Greg. It's too cold to be out here any longer." Wirt rubbed at his arm. He kept one arm clamped over his chest to stop Toby from falling through his coat.

"Alright, bro. Going home, going home," Greg sang, swinging his arms and skipping after his brother.

Wirt felt like maybe he was less cold now that he wasn't alone. He fumbled along with Greg's song, chiming in loudly for the refrains. He watched as clumps of leaves swirled around his feet and smiled. He held Greg's hand as they walked across the street. The rest of the walk home was no great labor, no hardship. Soon, they were at their own door. The homestead, the hearth and fire, the heroes arriving home, singing and shivering. No trumpets though.

Wirt pushed the door open and rushed in. He peeled off his coat and gently placed Toby on the table. He turned to say something to his brother, realizing there was no one behind him.

"Wait, Greg? Greg, where are you?" Wirt ran back to the front door to find Greg hovering in the doorway. "What's wrong?"

"Wirt, does the cold feel… colder to you now?" Greg furiously rubbed his hands over his arms. "Burrrr."

Wirt stared at his brother, mouth half-open and hands working fruitlessly at the air.

"Y-yeah. It does," Wirt mumbled, eyes narrowing at his neatly tied shoes. He moved out the door, behind Greg. The cold smashed into him with an intensity he hadn't felt since.… then. He placed his hands gently on Greg's shoulders and pushed his brother into the house. "We should get inside."

"Okay, Wirt," Greg chirped.

Wirt frowned, concern weighing heavily on his brow. He needed to get them warm and he needed to cheer up Greg.

"Hey, go get Jason Funderburker. I'm gonna make some hot chocolate." It wasn't much, but it was something he could do. Wirt smiled as Greg's face lit up. It would be enough.

"Hot chocolate! Hot chocolate!" Greg chanted as he ran up the stairs.

Wirt walked into the pantry. He pushed aside cans of carrots and beans to reach the tin of hot chocolate mix.

"Greg, where did you put the kettle?" he shouted as he slipped out the pantry door and into the kitchen. Greg probably couldn't hear him as no answer came his way. Wirt wandered around the downstairs area in search of the missing elephant's head. Greg had taken to stealing the kettle and wearing it around on his head. His mom and stepdad were embroiled in a constant battle to get it back from him. Wirt wasn't taking sides, but he was saving up his allowance to buy his mom a new kettle for Christmas.

"There it is!" Wirt found the teapot squished between two couch pillows. He headed straight to the kitchen sink. He turned on the faucet and placed the kettle under it. He put a little dish soap in, trying not to think about how unsanitary making something he was going to drink in the thing was.

He closed his eyes, relishing the gentle swishing sound of the water, the warmth of it running over his hands. He filled kettle up with clear, lukewarm water and plopped it down on the stovetop. He threw himself into a chair, content to wait for the water to boil, for Greg to come downstairs. He curled up into himself and thought of deep, murky water and drowning and ice that eclipsed the sun.

"Is it almost done?" Greg tumbled in, Jason Funderburker at his heels. Wirt broke out of his reverie, unfolding and turning toward his brother and their frog.

"No, Greg, I just started," Wirt answered gently, making sure he wasn't dumping his frustration into the words. "How was school?"

"It was school," Greg gave a dramatic shudder then froze. "Wait, where's Toby?"

"He's on the coffee table."

"She actually."

"Oh, okay. She's in the living room. "

Greg dragged a chair next to him. It squeaked aggressively and jabbed at Wirt's nerves a bit. Yet he found himself smiling as Greg climbed into the chair next to him.

"Ready for the Big Game, Wirt?" Greg was swinging his legs wildly, his frog held close to his chest.

"I- I don't know. I mean I've only played in front of frogs before so I'm not sure-"

"Those frogs loved your playing! And me and mom and dad love it, too. You're great!"

"Well, I don't- thanks, Greg," Wirt got up to grab a couple mugs and set them on the table, one in his spot and the other in front of his brother. He sat down and twisted the mug around in his hands.

They fell into an awkward silence, waiting. Greg fidgeted in his seat, his legs kicking under the table. Wirt tapped his fingers against the wood, trying to find a consistent rhythm. Greg kicked at the table's leg, matching his beat.

"Oh, water boil, water get hot. Come on and boil up quick in your… pot?" Wirt started, somewhat unsure of himself.

"Boil up, so we can get warm. Boil up, outside there's a storm," Greg continued in his sweet, wobbly voice. He grinned up at Wirt, still kicking the table. Wirt wasn't ready to follow along yet, but he kept up, rapping at the table top with his knuckles. "And we invite you, here today. Please come, come and stay. But don't be late, don't get lost. Or the cold will be your cost."

Greg pinned him with an expectant stare. He mouthed "your part" and waved at him.

"Oh, water boil. Water get hot.…" Wirt sang along. "Come on and boil real quick in your pot."

"We need you a lot," Wirt improvised, as Greg waved at him to continue, "So don't be late for hot chocolate. Hot chocolate, hot chocolate!"

They sang the last bit together and Wirt laughed his way through the final notes.

"And now, Jason Funderburker's solo!" Greg shouted, nudging the frog forward. Just then, the kettle let out a piercing scream.

"Good one, Jason Funderburker." Wirt clamped an arm over his shaking stomach and wiped tears from his eyes. He jumped up from his seat and grabbed the kettle. He poured water into their mugs and then placed it back on the stove. He checked multiple times to make sure the burners were off and each check yielded the same results. He dumped several spoonfuls of hot chocolate mix into each mug.

"Spoon, spoon." Greg reached out to him, making grabbing motions in the air. He dropped a spoon into his hand with a grin.

"Now, don't start just yet; it's hot," he warned.

"Alright," Greg grumbled, stirring his drink.

"When you said that thing about being cold, what did you mean?" Wirt wasn't sure how to talk about it but he really needed to talk about it. So on he trekked into the dark of night and the uncertainty of conversation, ever the Pilgrim. "I mean I get it but- you, you feel it too?"

Greg nodded and Wirt's heart fell. He'd been hoping that his brother had stopped feeling the keen sting of their time with the Beast. He had hoped to bear the nightmares and the cold alone. Yet there was a little part of him that he hated that felt relieved to not be as alone as he'd planned.

Wirt reached out for his mug and let the warmth seep into his freezing skin. They were safe, they were home. They should be warm. Greg followed suit, wrapping his tiny hands around his mug. His fingers didn't quite meet.

"Wirt, ya think it'll ever go away?" Greg's voice was quiet and Wirt didn't like it. Their frog moved closer to him.

"I mean with this hot chocolate and those mittens you're knitting for us- it won't stand a chance," he encouraged, sticking a finger in his hot chocolate to see if it was safe to drink.

"It's supposed to be a surprise, Wirt!" Greg's arms were up in the air again. He smacked Wirt in the arm.

"Hey!" Wirt was excited about those mittens. The yarn was thick and the red and blue zig-zagged stripes reminded him of his cloak. Their mom had been teaching Greg for a while and he was getting pretty good. "Alright, I promise to forget about them, so they'll be a surprise again."

"Good," Greg huffed, crossing his arms. Wirt laughed and decided it was time to give his hot chocolate a chance.

"Not bad," he said after a long swig. He thought he felt a bit warmer.

"Is it safe?"

"Go for it."

Greg really went for it. He gulped the hot chocolate down in record time.

"More." Chocolate residue ringed Greg's mouth. And Wirt made him more.

He approached his own drink with more restraint. Tiny sips to make it last. It was nice.

"Thanks, Wirt," Greg said as he pushed himself away from the table. He jumped down from the chair and toddled out of the room, frog hopping behind him. Wirt grinned into his mug and stayed where he was, not ready to rush things.

"Anytime, Greg."

Writer's woes: I am so in love with otgw! I've seen it three times already and I cannot be stopped. I actually made up a melody for the hot chocolate song that Greg and Wirt sing in this and you can listen to me awkwardly singing it while trying not to get house sounds (I'm at home for thanksgiving vacation right now and do not have access to the nice recording equipment I have at school) over on my tumblr blog: walmartpossum.(tumblr).com (/) post (/) 103853698312 (/) the-song-i-wrote-for-this-fic

I'm pretty sure fanfiction is still weird about links so take out the spaces and parenthesis.

Stay strange!