A/N: Has anybody else noticed that Johnny Depp's Willy Wonka seems to be on a permatrip? Seriously, since I've started this fic, I've gained some experience with LSD…won't go into detail there…and Willy Wonka acts exactly like my friends do when they're tripping on acid. No joke. Oh yeah, and I hate this chapter. But it's all I could think of. Dammit.

Evening found Charlie and his mentor sitting in one of Willy Wonka's many large, blindingly white bathrooms. Willy Wonka's pinstriped jacket was draped over a chair, and Willy Wonka himself was sitting cross-legged on the floor with his arm resting on a white bath towel and his shirtsleeve rolled up to his elbow. An Oompa Loompa was bent over Willy Wonka's forearm, carefully suturing the wound that Willy Wonka had received earlier.

The cut had begun to bleed steadily, but the blood was trickling out in thin streams. It was slowly soaking the towel beneath Willy Wonka's arm. This didn't seem to bother the Oompa Loompa in the slightest; he simply wiped the cut every few seconds and continued his work. It made Charlie feel a little sick to look, but still he knelt beside Willy Wonka and watched the needle glide back and forth.

"Mr. Wonka?" Charlie sat up straighter and shook his hair out of his eyes. Willy Wonka looked at Charlie from under the brim of his hat.

"Hm?"

"Doesn't that hurt at all?" Charlie asked. Willy Wonka shrugged.

"A little." He closed his fingers and a line of blood dripped from his wrist. "I thought we went over this."

"I guess it's still hard for me to understand," Charlie said. "If I got a cut like that, I don't know if I could stop crying."

"We're different," Willy Wonka said simply. Charlie certainly couldn't disagree with that. The Oopma Loompa finished a few more stitches before Charlie asked another question.

"Where did the needle and thread come from?"

"From the first aid kit, silly," Willy Wonka replied, pointing to the white case lying on the tile beside him.

"No," Charlie said, "I mean, where did you get them?"

"A medical supplier." Willy Wonka flinched as the needle entered his skin. "Yeah, that one stung a little." Charlie peered into the first aid kit. It looked like it belonged in a hospital instead of a chocolate factory.

"Why do you have this? There are an awful lot of tools in here."

"Accidents happen," Willy Wonka sighed. "They don't happen a lot around here, but…" His voice trailed off and he went back to staring at his new stitches.

"This isn't the first time you've been hurt at the factory," Charlie said. It wasn't a question. Willy Wonka shook his head.

"Nope." Charlie was curious now.

"What else?" He asked. Willy Wonka sighed again, raised his right hand to his mouth, and pulled off his glove with his teeth. Charlie couldn't help but gasp as the glove fell to the floor. Willy Wonka's right hand was covered in small, raised scars. Each one was about two centimeters long, and they ran from his wrist all the way out to the tips of his fingers.

"What happened?" Charlie practically choked on the words.

"The machine that makes the chocolate bars was being stupid." Willy Wonka rubbed his thumb and middle finger together. "It broke down." Charlie reached out to touch one of the scars without thinking. Willy Wonka tensed, but he did not pull away. Charlie ran his fingers lightly across Willy Wonka's skin, looking for a spot on the chocolatier's hand that wasn't scarred. He couldn't find one.

Charlie noticed that Willy Wonka's breathing had become shallow, so he went back to exploring the first aid kit. There were tools in it that he'd seen on television shows.

"Won't your mom and dad be wondering where you are?" Willy Wonka asked, looking at his pocket watch. "It's past six."

"They won't mind if we're late for dinner," Charlie reassured him. "You are staying for dinner, right?" Willy Wonka bit down on his lip a little. For a moment he seemed completely lost. But then he smiled.

"Sure."

A/N: Fuck. Just…fuck.