Chapter Text
In retrospect, perhaps Wukong should figure out some kind of storage system for the hordes of treasure he has. Though they were trinkets and trophies, shiny trinkets and trophies, ultimately, with no one to admire them and even the threat that someone would use it to their advantage and cause the end of the world, by all means, it was pointless to leave all the magical artifacts he had collected across his journey out in the open. And yet.
He hardly knew what it was-it looked like any other treasure he had. Golden, or maybe bronze. A vase or a trophy? Why not? Memory became a spotty thing after a few centuries of being alive.
Wukong woke up inside a jungle. Steeling his body against a tree, he quickly took a few breaths in and out, blinking away spots and any traces of disorientation left from the initial crash. Eyesight eventually adjusting, Wukong looked around, bewildered, at the strange landscape that had unfolded itself before him.
Cool, okay, maybe it just teleported him somewhere. This was fine enough. Shifting into a hawk, Wukong flew to survey his surroundings. He was a lot closer to home than he thought. It looked like Flower Fruit Mountain, but when he landed in his cave there wasn't anything there. None of his treasures. Yet the carvings and each intricate etch of the stone were exactly identical to his. The monkeys chirped and laughed like they hadn't seen him in forever, rushing forwards and attacking him with their affection, pawing at his chest, nipping at his hair and burrowing themselves against the crook of his elbow. He placated them, easy grin sliding into his face, enjoying their affection, but it quickly faltered as the unease settled in.
"Okay guys," He murmured, firmly but gently batting their tiny grabby hands away, "I'm not actually in my Flower Fruit Mountain, am I?"
They hooted once, in response, uncomprehending with a tilt of their head, still smiling and chittering at him in quiet confusion. He shook his head, fondly. "Guess neither of us know, huh?" He crouches, tail lazily swinging back and forth as he thought of what to do next. There was no real exit in sight, and nothing looked too out of the ordinary either; this was an artifact that actually impacted reality then, the material plane, rather than one that traps their user in some kind of mirage until the riddles three were solved--Wukong decided. He furrowed his eyebrows in thought as he ran a hand through the soft fur of the monkeys as they babbled and clambered all over him.
"Sorry guys." He whispered, when they gazed up at him, "I don't think I'm your Wukong."
The most pressing question of all-how to call for help? There wasn't any way he could see how he could contact MK, or anyone else. The best, and only thing to do was to hope for someone to notice his disappearance.
Someone might not. No one might, but given the long years of his life, Wukong knew to not dwell on such thoughts for too long. Forever was a long time, and he was sure at the very least, if he does get out of here and it's been a millennia and centuries plus a few more--well, it wouldn't be the first time he's had to move on from friends who had died and reincarnated without him.
The strange, however brief seconds of calm and lassitude from stewing on his thoughts were interrupted by a pulse in his head. Wukong touched his forehead, wearily. Was it MK? And then, on second thought, with a frown, there was no way the kid would have discovered he was gone let alone what happened to him in that short of a time frame.
Nezha's voice shook him from his thoughts...coming from within.
Wukong! His worried voice filtered through his mind. Wukong untensed slightly. Can a guy get any more serious? Can you hear me? Are you there?
He raised an arm up, even if he knew Nezha couldn't see. "Right here." He said out loud, not that he needed to do that.
Oh god, He heard Nezha say, and found his eyebrows furrowing at the shaky sound of his voice. "I'm alive." Wukong reassured.
"Chill out, will you?" He prodded, attempting to push for a response.
How can I? Nezha snapped. Wukong winced, recoiling. Sorry. He said, after a moment. "Why're you here, anyway?" Wukong asked.
I sensed a disturbance, Nezha explained, back to being detached and clinical. Wukong would have encouraged it over the panic if it weren't for the fact it often got on his nerves.
Listen you-you need to get out of there. You can't be here. Nezha warned, after about a beat. Wukong assumed he was attempting to calm himself down, and let him.
"That's the plan, bud." Wukong soothed, sitting up straight. "What do I need to do? Any idea?" There was silence from the other end, long enough that the unnerved feeling and discomfort of being left alone began crawling back the longer he sat in solitude. "Nezha?"
I know it's impossible for a monkey like you- Nezha began, Wukong already feeling the hairs on the back of his neck raise in self-defense, but I need you to do-nothing.
Wukong blinked. "Nothing?" He said. "Isn't there-
Nothing. Nezha interrupted, finality in his voice like the brick wall he was. Wukong twitched in annoyance. You've got to wait here and we'll come to pull you through. But you can't do anything-just, just--Nezha stresses, and perhaps it was the personal touch his voice rarely held that cause Wukong to falter for long enough to let him finish his sentence, just wait. And don't do anything. Don't talk to anyone, don't touch anyone, or anything, just, stay right where you are and--
"Alright, alright!" Wukong rolled his eyes, feeling thoroughly creeped out. "I will."
Promise? Wukong glanced away, even when Nezha isn't physically here with him, his eyes softening. Knowing himself, and Wukong knew himself best-there was no chance he could ever uphold such a pledge. But he allowed the silence to hold its own weight, as if he was seriously contemplating on it. And he did, he just always lost that battle.
"Okay kid," He reassured, a real note of sadness and resignation that promised an eternity of guilt and shame slipping its way into his voice. It came with lying; but lying came easily. "I promise." Then, Wukong was left in solitude.
He drew one knee up and rested his chin on that, staring at the softly swaying leaves on the branches outside that whispered to him like there wasn't a thing wrong in the world. He waited.
To his credit, he had lasted for the majority of the morning, and it had just been sunrise he estimated, when he initially came to.
It was the sound of laughter that broke him. Children's laughter. There was a village nearby, he thought. Spring. Of a different time. Wukong ventured out of the cave before he knew it, paws touching the dirt, once.
He missed it, sort of, being a hero. Saving people. It's MK who does the saving now, but there was always a smaller, smaller, smallest part of Wukong that had always wanted to help people, staying and lasting despite his age and the years weighing on him. To protect them. Care for them. Or maybe the extra love, affection and attention he garnered from that didn't hurt either that drove him to do his heroic duties.
"Thank you, young man." The old lady said, shaking his hand. Then she adjusted her glasses. "But who're you s'pposed to be?"
"The Great Sage Equal to Heaven!" Wukong proclaimed, jabbing a thumb to his chest. "Sun Wukong! Who else?" The longer indifference and the lack of recognition remained in her eyes, the more the unease returned, tenfold, his grin slipping off his face. She whacked his head with her cane.
"Stop messin' around!" She chided, past his pained whine. "I mean it-really, who the hell are you supposed to be?"
Past the rapid rabbiting of his heart, Wukong asks her for the current year. Her answer had Wukong's ears flattening against his skull and his legs stumbling backwards. Oh god.
The Nimbus was soft under his paws and the wind was tousling up his fur. The sun radiates above him, hot and blistering, but it is not yet noon. The West was a long way to go but with a few more centuries of experience up his belt, he found himself moving again through areas that had taken them months to traverse in only a matter of minutes, or hours, he remembers.
It was pure impulse that had carried him this far. Don't talk anyone. Don't touch anyone, the warning flashed again in his head. He already had spoken to his chimps and he had his hands on that old lady's forearm before anything could happen, so he figured he was long gone anyway. Sue him, he wanted to know where his past counterpart was. The year felt familiar in that he associated it with his years leading up to or before the Journey, or even during the Journey. Distantly, he thought of the thought exercises people used. What would you have told your fifteen-year-old self? Or, his equivalent to being fifteen, anyway.
The answer was nothing. There wasn't anything to say because Wukong doubted he'd ever have the chance to do it. What would his younger self say back anyway, knowing he grew up to be something as fickle and idealistic as a hero? He can only imagine younger Wukong's disgust, maybe still fresh off the mountain that trapped him for half a millennium and on a journey with a mentor he didn't want and friends he didn't like facing off against some future version of himself that submitted and became the very thing they fought for so long to go back against. It would have been a betrayal.
And Wukong knew, more intimately than anyone else, that no reassurances about the future or encouragement for the roadblocks ahead could soothe the aching pain of betrayal.
A flicker of black caught his attention. Flying through the dessert, he didn't expect there to be anything there except himself, brambles, sand, cactus, and the heat. Of course, maybe there was the occasional reptile, but it was the crash strong enough to momentarily throw his nimbus back that came afterwards that had him gravitating towards ground zero.
Wukong felt his eyes widened in surprise once he scrubbed the particles of sand from his eyelids. "Macaque?" He blurted.
The black-haired monkey's ears twitched, indicating he heard him, even from the distance between them and the howling wind, but before he could respond a blur pushed him to the cracked earth, widening the crater made from his fall. A startled sound escaped Wukong, and adrenaline flooded his system upon the choked wheeze Macaque let out. His cape was tattered, his arm looked broken and bruised, and Macaque looked scared, so scared-
Wukong was moving before he find fully caught up to what he was doing and its implications. Don't save anyone, was the core of the warning Nezha had given him, but his staff was already soaring through the air and whoever it was, had been hurled backwards and impaled through a nearby boulder. Wukong shuddered. He hadn't killed anyone since the pilgrimage, not really, not in a way that was so personal and so brutal, not when normally they just evaporated or disintegrated from the latest energy blast that left behind nothing instead of a corpse.
He couldn't see who the assailant was, with his staff obstructing the view; the only thing that escaped its epicenter was the sticky, hot, red blood that seeped through the cracks on the boulder. He didn't want to check, either. He left the staff there.
Behind him, Macaque breathes in desperate, short bursts of air and gasps of breath, blood leaking from his nose.
Wukong! Nezha's voice reverberated through his head, strongly and angry enough for him to wince. Even more worrisome however, was the fear in his voice, leaking and spiking strongly enough to begin to spill slightly into their mind link. Instinctively, Wukong rubs his chest, attempting to calm himself down from the second-handed fear. His silence must be grim and telling enough, because Nezha felt the need to elaborate with the age-old question everyone had always asked him.
What did you do?