The snowy landscapes were just as familiar as he'd remembered. Yet everything seemed different now, in a way.

Instead of feeling familiar pathways under his feet, the scientist only felt himself drifting seamlessly through air, and instead of feeling the now-familiar chill of winter against his skin, he couldn't even detect temperature at all. The world seemed tinged in monochrome. Things seemed to look the same, and yet things felt just off enough to unnerve him.

Still, there wasn't any real reason to fear. It wasn't like he could die twice, after all.

Err, well, he PROBABLY couldn't die twice... Ugh, that didn't matter...

So, not feeling any better about the current situation, Wilson Percival Higgsbury continued forward.

At least he had his energy back, he decided. He felt less fragile now, more... Solid, almost? Before, it wouldn't have surprised him if he'd have been able to blow away with the wind. Now though, he felt slightly more in control, which was good. And now that he was back, who knows? Maybe there'd be some way of helping him...

The sounds of twigs snapping, the padding of heavy feet, and distant howling filled the Constant. Wilson tried to stay calm. It wasn't near the base, so he had no reason to worry. Still, the keen survival instincts he'd developed over his years in the danger-filled realm warned him of every little sound near him.

"I have no reason to worry", The scientist reassured himself. "Nothing can even see me, let alone hurt me. I'll be fine..."

Despite his words, Wilson didn't feel all that much better. He wondered how long he'd been away for.

Well, he'd be able to ask that when he was back. All the more reason to continue forward!

The ghost drifted silently through the cold landscape, devoid of color or warmth. Once he was back, what would he tell everyone? The others surely knew about his return at this point; Wendy and Willow must've told them. So they must have questions. But what would they ask first? Would he be able to answer? What would they say, and what would he say back?

Would they even have anything to say to him?

… Of course they would, that was ridiculous. They'd all cried at his funeral. He'd SEEN how upset they were. Surely, they'd be bursting with news.

News he'd find out when he was home.

… Home…

Home may have been a strong word. A meeting point, a temporary living space, an area of respite from the dangers of the Constant. His home, though, was back in the real world. Up on that familiar hill, in a rundown old shack where he'd conducted his many (failed) experiments.

This wasn't a home. Rather, it was a base.

Speaking of the base, how were repairs going along? When he'd left, the place had practically been destroyed. It was in shambles, broken to pieces all because of the Deerclops.

He shuddered.

The remaining survivors had been fixing it before he'd gone. How much progress had they made?

Well, that'd probably depend on how long he'd been gone.

And that wasn't a question he'd need to wonder about for much longer, as he slowly came to a halt outside of the forest's edge.

The trees were slowly beginning to thin around him, and he knew that all he'd have to do to see the base was round the corner. He knew he'd only have to follow the path a few seconds longer to see his friends again. So why was he hesitating?

He was afraid, he supposed. But why? Even though he was a ghost now, they'd still accept him, right…?

Willow and Wendy had. Plus, thanks to Abigail, the group already knew that not all of the ghosts in the Constant were dangerous. So why was he so nervous to continue forward? It wasn't as though they'd be suddenly convinced he was a threat…

Maybe he was worried about how much time had passed. Maybe he knew that as soon as he saw the base, he'd know how long he'd been away for. But that'd disorient him moreso than make him nervous.

He already knew that he'd been away for a while. He'd accepted that he'd be gone for quite a while before he'd even sunk into the earth. And although he was a tad worried about the passing of time, it most certainly wasn't his main concern.

It was still winter, after all. The snow seemed just as thick as before.

So if his worry wasn't because of that… Maybe he was worried about his receival?

He paused.

Even though the group probably knew that he wasn't dangerous, that didn't mean his reception would be warm. What if they'd figured out that he was the most useless member of their group, just as he had? What if they didn't want to help him? What if they didn't feel like he was really a person anymore? What if they decided that one ghost in their group was enough?

No, no, that was ridiculous. His friends weren't that inhumane, surely not. Even if he was useless, they'd still try to help him, right...?

But now, the thought didn't want to leave his head. He couldn't help but imagine the small band of survivors looking to him in disdain. Telling him that he wasn't needed. Telling him that he wasn't welcome anymore. Telling him that he was a waste of resources.

He couldn't help but imagine everyone agreeing, couldn't help but see that no one would object. He couldn't do anything but watch in his mind's eye as Willow avoided looking at him, quiet, as he drifted off into the world.

Alone.

Even if they wanted to help him, would they be able to…?

Wilson shook his head, snapping himself out of his thoughts. Ridiculous, that was ridiculous. Even if he was a ghost now, that didn't make him any less human. The others would know that.

They had to.

So, desperate to disprove these horrible ideas, Wilson rushed forward, turning around the last bend of the pathway and out of the cover of the trees, entering a familiar clearing.

His eyes widened as he took in his surroundings.

As he'd expected, the base was repaired, much more so than it had been since last he saw it. However, he couldn't help but be surprised by exactly how much progress had been made.

The whole kitchen section of the base was fixed up now, and the tents that'd been ripped apart during the Deerclops's attack were stitched back together. A few of the farms, although they were useless during the wintertime, were repaired, as were the outer walls and most of the chests.

It wasn't entirely fixed, certainly, but the little base had almost been brought back to its former glory.

… These sorts of repairs must've taken a lot of time. Days, even.

Just how long had he been gone for?

Cautiously, he floated towards the familiar structure, looking around. Despite the full moon providing a steady light, most of the survivors remained in the base. Whether they'd decided it was too cold to go out or whether they were just stopping by the roaring fire briefly, Wilson didn't know. But he supposed that didn't really matter. Either way, many of Wilson's friends were here.

Webber and Wendy chattered lowly to one another by the fire's glow, and Wickerbottom kept a steady eye on the two as she slowly put together another one of her magical books. Maxwell was flipping through the Codex Umbra, seemingly looking for something. Wolfgang was excitedly telling some sort of story to Wes, gesturing extravagantly to the mime. WX-78 sat quietly, staring into the inferno with a familiar blank expression.

And amidst it all was Willow, glancing nervously around herself. It almost seemed as though she was waiting for something.

What was she doing by the communal fire, anyway? Usually the pyromaniac tended to stick to her own personal fire pit, so that she could enjoy the flames in peace. Wilson didn't see her with the others during the night time that often.

But, he supposed that didn't matter. He had other concerns. Namely, he was worried about how the others would react to seeing him again. Abigail was on standby, floating in between Webber and Wendy with a soft glow, so he knew that the others wouldn't have any trouble knowing of his presence. So now that he was here, what would happen?

Well, he guessed it was time to find out.

But just a moment before he could steel himself, before he could move forward, he watched as Webber's gaze locked onto something in the corner of their eye.

Just before Wilson could turn to look in the direction of whatever the spider child was staring at, they gasped suddenly, turning to face him fully with a bug-eyed expression.

"Mr. Wilson!" They cried out. Immediately, everyone's heads snapped to where Webber was pointing.

They all looked straight at him.

His eyes widened.

"W-Wait a moment… You can see me?" He asked, shock coursing through him.

Of all the outcomes he'd expected, this wasn't one of them.

But as his voice warped and echoed around the group, Wilson noticed the look of non-understanding lacing the other's eyes.

… Oh, right. His voice was more similar to Abigail's now. That meant unless he spoke a bit more slowly, they probably wouldn't be able to tell what he was saying.

Again, the confused spirit prepared to speak, but was cut off by another voice ringing through the crowd.

"Wilson! Y-You're okay!" Willow cried out happily, immediately darting over to his wispy form. "Err, w-well, maybe not okay, b-but you're here!"

The scientist, not entirely consciously, felt his face break out into a small grin.

"I'm here…" He repeats, almost not entirely believing it himself. He was here, and Willow was here, and she could see him, and suddenly it felt like everything was okay again.

"Oh, good. For a moment, I was almost worried that you may have disappeared off into the shadow realm." A quieter voice remarked, and Wilson looked to a gently smiling Wendy. Despite her harsh words, he grinned. Clearly, she was quite relieved to see him. Abigail stood behind her, seemingly just as glad to see him, a silent smile across her ghostly form.

"Mr. Wilson!" Another voice wailed, and soon, Wilson came face-to-face with a familiar, spider-like child. Immediately, they went in for a hug, but instead of being able to make contact, they simply phased through him, his body warping strangely to avoid their touch.

He shuddered.

Webber, who was now behind him, made an upset-sounding noise.

"What did you expect, dear?" Wickerbottom sighed. "We've never been able to touch Abigail. I don't see why Mr. Higgsburry would be any different."

Then, turning to him, the older librarian smiled. "Welcome back," She stated simply.

"Well, it's still great to see you, Mr. Wilson…" Webber assured the spirit.

"Is tiny egghead man! W-Welcome back!" Wolfgang's familiar, strongly-accented voice cried out. He looked a bit nervous, but considering his general fear of monsters and the like, that was understandable. Nevertheless, he looked fairly happy to see him, which Wilson appreciated.

Wes's face, Wilson noticed, had practically lit up. He waved enthusiastically to the scientist, a wide grin across his dark lips. Wilson grinned back, and attempted to wave, before remembering he had no arms. He instead provided the mime with a lackluster movement of one of his strange, ghostly tendrils, which Wes still seemed to appreciate considerably.

"AH." Wx-78 noted from beside the fire, unmoving. " IT APPEARS AS THOUGH YOU'VE RETURNED, FLESH-WEAKLING. HOPEFULLY YOUR INFERIOR SCIENCE CAN HELP YOU TO NOT DO THIS AGAIN. IT WAS… QUITE AN INCONVENIENCING EXPERIENCE FOR ALL INVOLVED."

"… Well, that's as good of a reaction as I'll probably get from them." Wilson notes to himself.

"Say pal, you don't look so good." A familiar voice spoke from behind. Wilson turned to Maxwell's familiar figure, a deadpan look across his ghostly face. The other only chuckled. "Ah, what's with that look? I was only joking around, pal."

A whispery, echoing sigh escaped the ghost's form. Next to him, Willow shot Maxwell an obvious death glare. Wilson was glad he wasn't on the other end of that, honestly. The shadow king, though, seemed unperturbed.

"Well, despite your poor attitude, I suppose it's still preferable to have you back." The previous ruler of the Constant remarked, smug. "Things might have gotten… Significantly more dangerous for me if not for you advocating our truce. So I suppose your return isn't terrible news."

Finally, the deadpan expression across the spirit's form broke out into one of surprise. That… Was surprisingly positive, actually.

That's when a new revelation finally began to set in.

Even Maxwell and WX-78, notoriously the most negative and cruel of the survivors, had positive sentiments about his return.

They wanted him here.

The discovery hit a bit harder than Wilson had expected. A strange stinging filled the scientist's eyes.

"Hey! Maxwell, you bastard, you made him cry! I can't believe you, bullying him so soon after he came back!" Willow barked, rage quickly entering her expression. Wait… He was crying?

"I-I didn't mean to do that!" Maxwell exclaimed, looking genuinely surprised, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Oh, like hell you didn't! You slimy-"

The pair were cut off by an echoing, watery laugh. The two turned to Wilson, who had a fond look on his ghostly face.

"I'm okay, don't worry. I'm just… Happy to be back, is all." The ghost murmured quietly, despite knowing that his new voice would probably distort the words beyond recognition. Even if they didn't understand it, he still felt the sentiment was important to express.

Despite his words being warped, Willow seemed to relax a bit, shoulders untensing. Maxwell still looked worried, but he seemed a bit calmer too, despite his clear confusion.

"I'm… We're glad to have you back, too." The firestarter smiled, a gentle expression crossing her face.

Wilson could feel a smile overtaking his face, the same fond expression that he'd often worn around Willow (she'd called it dopey on numerous occasions), before another question hit him.

"W-Wait, you understand me?" He asked. Willow paused.

"Uh… Yeah? Can the others not?" She replied.

"I don't think so? I… I don't know. I mean, I suppose we haven't properly asked them yet..."

Silence.

The group was staring, blank looks across their faces. Looks that obviously didn't understand the question.

"... I'm fairly certain you're the only one." The gentleman scientist remarked.

"Huh… That's weird." Willow murmured.

"Certainly. Wendy can understand me, but no one else can. Peculiar…" Abigail remarked, almost causing Wilson to flinch.

Ah. He almost forgot that she could understand him too.

"Ah? Wait, Willow can understand him?" Wendy asked, queuing the rest of the group into the situation. Abigail nodded, or at least came as close to nodding as her form would allow.

"... IMPRESSIVE. EVEN MY PROCESSORS CAN'T ACCOMPLISH SUCH A TASK." WX-78 remarked.

Maxwell nodded. "Interesting… Anyway, errrm, no hard feelings, right friend?"

"… Oh, right, he still didn't know I wasn't upset." The ghost realized.

"Eh, no moreso than usual, no." Wilson replied.

Maxwell looked nervously from Wilson to Willow.

She blinked, and repeated what the spirit had said.

"Ah, good." Maxwell sighed, confidence seeping its way back into him.

For a moment, the group fell into a comfortable lull. Webber still looked downtrodden over not being able to give Wilson a hug, and Wendy patted their shoulder comfortingly. Wolfgang edged his way closer, looking only slightly more comfortable around his friend's spirit. Wes, Wickerbottom, and WX-78 watched silently, all for seemingly different reasons.

Wilson paused for a moment, before slowly working up the nerve to start addressing his concerns. Hesitantly, he asked a question, voice small.

"... How long have I been gone for?"

Silence. A heavy weight seemed to settle onto Willow's shoulders.

"... Nine days." She answers.

The spirit sputtered, appalled. "Wha- Nine days?! Goodness! Usually Abigail's only gone for around three days, four at most! That's…"

Willow nodded. "I know. That's… That's why it's so good to see you again… I… I was w-worried."

"Oh… I'm sorry, Willow. I didn't intend to be away for quite so long."

"Well, duh. I'm sure you'd be back way sooner if you had any control over that, dummy!" She laughed uneasily, the weight on her shoulders seeming to ease up a bit. Wilson laughed along with her just as nervously.

"I guess that's true." He sighs after a moment. "Still, I can't help but feel a bit bad over that… Say, where are the others, anyway? They'll want to see me too… Right?"

The firestarter answered easily, not seeming to notice his doubt. "Well, Winona went out to get some fireflies. Something about how since the nights are longer, we might need more lighting from now on. Wigfrid's off hunting, obviously. I almost feel bad for those poor Beefalo… And Woodie said something about going to cut down some trees around dusk. Seemed nervous."

Wilson nodded quietly. "Makes sense…" He spoke.

"... Is there anything else?" Willow asked, seeming to see he still had something on his mind.

"What's… What's happened since I've been gone? Have you all found a way to help with, uh…" He trailed off.

Willow blinked. Then, a wide grin spread across her face. "Oh, right! We found something! We were looking around, and we found a touchstone!"

"A-A touchstone?!" Wilson gasped. Of course! A touchstone! How hadn't he thought of that?!

Back in the days when Maxwell had ruled over the Constant, he'd seen his fair share of the strange structures. If ever he'd come into contact with one, he'd wind up there the next time he'd die, instead of an entirely new island. So far, he hadn't come across one here; He'd figured that with a new ruler, death was deemed more… Permanent.

He'd assumed incorrectly, obviously. Just because he hadn't seen a touchstone didn't mean they weren't here too. He should've thought harder about that.

There was only one problem.

"Would… Would that even work if I'm already dead?" He questioned quietly.

"That's what I was thinking too, but then we found some weird engravings in the side of the thing." Willow began. "Looked to be some kind of code. Maxwell and Wickerbottom deciphered it, and… We got a recipe for this."

Slowly, she reached into her bag, and pulled out…

… Wilson didn't know what the hell it was.

Pulsing red, held together by woven grass, and with a thin outer layer and a thick looking red substance sloshing inside, there it was. Possibly the most disturbing craft he'd seen so far in his days of the Constant.

"What… What the hell is that? Is that supposed to be… A heart?"

The pyromaniac nods. "Yep, I think so. We don't really know what it does, but considering its recipe was carved into the side of a touchstone, well…We think that maybe it might revive you."

Wilson paused. That… That sounded ridiculous. That seemed so illogical on so many levels. The scientist in him ached. And yet, in the Constant, he knew nothing would ever truly make sense. And on a completely nonscientific, purely instinctual level?

This thing, whatever it was, held some sort of energy. It drew him to itself, on a level he couldn't quite understand. And as disturbing as its appearance was, he couldn't help but swell with a strange hope.

Still, he had… Questions.

"Is… Is that blood?" He asked worriedly.

"Well, it's what the recipe called for." Willow shrugged.

"Who's?"

Slowly, Willow trailed her hand up her left arm. She stopped near her inner elbow.

There, just a fraction away from her fingers, was a wide, even cut that Wilson hadn't noticed before. A clean, purposeful cut.

He fell silent.

"... Do you really think this'll work?" He asked, hope gleaming in his eyes in spite of this disturbing information.

Willow nods. "It has to."

"... What about Abigail?"

The fiery girl's eyes widened. "What?"

"I-I mean, I could try the touchstone… Maybe Abigail should take the heart. She's… She's been gone a lot longer than I have."

"Wilson…" Abigail murmured, but she didn't say anything else.

"... We already tried. It doesn't work on her."

"What? Th-Then why would it work for me?!"

"Well… Abigail's situation is a little different."

The fellow ghost nodded. "It's the Constant that let me be with my sister. I was dead before this. The things here can't bring me back to life, no matter how hard we try. But your death… It happened here. And since it happened here, maybe it can be undone here, too."

The scientist fell silent for a long moment. He supposed that made sense, at least to some degree, but he still couldn't help but be nervous about it.

Wendy, despite hearing her sister's words, didn't say anything, only looking downtrodden.

"... We'll keep trying. There could still be a way. We shouldn't rule out any possibilities until we've properly experimented with them." The spirit reassured. Abigail nodded once more, only looking a tad more positive.

"And… Well, I suppose my own experimentation must come next…" The gentleman continued nervously. Willow nodded beside him.

"So… Are you ready, then?"

Hesitant, the ghost mustered up his courage, and spoke one word.

"Yes."

"Are you sure you want to do this, pal?" Maxwell began. "If you choose to come back, you'll have to struggle to survive. Returning here won't be easy. Are you really certain you're prepared for that commit-"

"Shut up." Willow interrupted simply. Surprisingly, Maxwell decided not to continue.

Wilson blinked.

… Huh. That… Wasn't exactly what he was expecting. When he'd thought of being warned against his own revival, he'd immediately assumed that a point of discussion would be his own uselessness. And yet, that hadn't come up at all. In fact, that little speech had been surprisingly focused on his own well-being, rather than that of others.

That would be interesting to think of later. As of now, though, he had more important concerns. Namely, he was ready to proceed forward; He knew life in the Constant would be difficult. He knew, objectively, that staying in this form would be easier.

But to never breathe again, to never feel his limbs, to never conduct another experiment… That was unthinkable. To never truly be a part of the group again, to be an outlier from his friends (more so than he already feared he was, that is) for the rest of his existence, it simply wasn't an option.

So, for his friends, his experiments, for himself, he would live on.

And, for the sake of science, he would proceed to test this abomination of a man-made heart.

So, assured in his decision, Wilson Percival Higgsbury repeated his earlier sentiments.

"I'm ready."

Wordless, Willow nods, and held out the pulsing form of the heart to his wispy form. He pauses, eyeing the strange creation tentatively, before inching his way forward. The survivors watch silently with bated breath.

Instinctively, he touches the center of his ghostly form to the heart.

Willow watched the following events with a strange mix of amazement, hope, and terror. The firestarter looked on, her heart pounding with helpless worry, and Wilson's form began to light up in sparks.

He shuddered visibly as his already-present glow began to brighten considerably. The heart, too, began to pour out energy, wedging its way to the left of the spirit's chest and beginning to pulse. His form began to rise up, up into the air, seemingly against his own volition.

And in the blink of an eye, his silhouette began to morph, shifting and suddenly beginning to resemble something far more human-like. Something familiar. Something the firestarter had been having dreams and nightmares about since that fateful day, something she'd missed dearly, something she'd ached for. Something, someone, who was now making her icy eyes fill with tears.

Wilson.

Suddenly, the glow faded, and there he was. Same red vest, same dark hair, same pale complexion. There was Wilson Percival Higgsbury, the gentleman scientist, in all of his glory.

Alive.

And then he dropped to the floor.

Immediately, the scientist let out a pained groan. And that's when he noticed it. Pain. Not once in his days as a ghost, however short they were, had he felt pain. Exhaustion, yes. Fear, yes. An uncontrollable shuddering, most certainly.

But never pain.

He was alive.

Blood pulsed through his being, unbelievably warm, and a familiar feeling of nausea entered him, the same kind he'd get when neglecting sleep in favor of his many experiments. Despite his warm blood, a stinging cold pierced his body, the snow's familiar cool forcibly sapping away his heat. A strange weakness filled him, leaving him feeling abnormally frail.

And yet, despite how unpleasant these sensations were, his heart beat happily, loudly in his chest. Because as awful as he felt, these sensations were unmistakably human. Unmistakably alive.

Wilson was alive.

Trembling, he pushed off of the floor, and out of the snow's grasp. Up onto his bony knees, he looked around at a world of familiar color. At a circle of faces, looking at him in astonishment.

And, before he could react, he felt a familiar pressure barreling into him. Immediately, his chest filled with warmth.

A relieved sob met his ears.

Willow.

Clinging to him desperately, almost as though she was afraid he'd disappear any second, Willow. Warm and alive and solid, just as he seemed to be, Willow. His best friend, Willow.

She was really here. He was really here. They were somehow back on the same plane of reality. They were somehow together again.

The scientist's arms wrapped just as tightly around the firestarter, and he too began to sob.

He almost couldn't believe it. The terror, the fear, the resignation he'd felt when the Deerclops had looked to him with it's familiar, piercing eye, it all seemed so far away now. His acceptance of his own death, something so impossible, the loss of feelings he'd never even known his human body had possessed, it seemed almost too uncanny to think of now.

Because as he was here, in this moment, it seemed almost unbearable to think of being anywhere else. The stinging in his eyes, the heat of Willow's form, the feeling of somehow still not being close enough to her, it was unbelievably real. When had he stopped being real?

But he didn't have much time to think of that anymore, as another figure came careening into his side, a familiar noir shade of fur nuzzling desperately into his side with a wail.

Webber.

And soon after came the others.

A mess of human forms (well, some were less human than others, but that didn't matter) on the cold ground, all so unique in shape and form and disposition. All caring for him on a deeper level than he'd ever known. All full of a beautiful life.

And there he was, at the center of it all, warm and unbelievably safe. And as his eyes continued to leak tears, he knew there was nowhere better he could be.

Home.

Home wasn't here, at the base, no. But now that he thought of it, neither was the old shack on top of the mountain, where his many failed attempts of making a name for himself lay, lonelier than he'd ever realized. The shack was a comfort, a place where he was free to be himself, but it was inadequate. It was a place full of frustration and pain and uncomfortable creaking with his every step, creaking that he'd never managed to grow used to in all his years of living there.

No, that rundown house wasn't really a home.

No, home was a place where he could feel safe, where he could feel loved. And right now, in the arms of those who cared for him, feeling rather sick, he felt he belonged.

Whenever they'd escape this accursed Constant, he hoped they wouldn't separate. Despite all the pain they went through together here, Wilson realized he'd never been closer to anyone else as he had this ragtag crew of survivors.

Because as he was held protectively by a group of people he'd now safely call his dearest friends, and Willow quietly choked out a resounding, "I love you" into his chest, he knew one thing for certain.

Right here, right now, Wilson Percival Higgsbury was happy. As tears leaked from his eyes and his human heart pounded faster in his body, he knew never again would he feel so sickeningly alone, so worryingly afraid. He'd never again feel that deeply-haunting dread.

He now knew he had people he could rely on. They'd always been there for him, but before, he'd been too blinded by insecurity to see it. But as he quietly replied to his closest companion's confession with an astounded, "I love you too", he realized that as difficult as it may be to do so, he could leave that fear behind.

Now, he was alive, and he felt more deeply than ever.

And he knew that this lesson in love would be something he'd never forget for the rest of his waking days.