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"Why do you think I don't usually go to these festivals and s**t?" This was only half of it.

Wyatt took the offered hand, but in his own unsteadiness, and the head-rush of suddenly getting back up, stumbled. In the next instant, Wyatt found himself clinging to Lukas. One hand clutching the man's shirt and his forehead pressed somewhere between shoulder and chest of the taller man.

The few seconds it took for this to happen, and for Wyatt to steady and compose himself, seemed to last for much longer. In the slow motion of his mind he took in the sturdiness, warmth, scent, and if not for the embarrassment of the situation, Wyatt could have definitely appreciated all this. However this was not the time place or situation for such things.

Now composed and no longer clinging on to Luka, Wyatt cleared his throat, "Sorry, uh, no I'll be alright like this."

There would be absolutely no piggybacking or carrying of any sort. Nope.

Looking around now at where they were, he continued, "There is one last thing for the hunt, right? Doesn't this...kinda seem like the place from the clues?"

Was he desperately trying to get away from what just happened? Maybe.

There was an....unease as a hand seemed to linger on him. It wasn't that it was unpleasant, and that was exactly the problem. He was conceding to the desire for physical human contact far too much recently, and it was only going to lead to trouble. There wasn't even necessarily anything sexual about it. It was harder to miss something that you could hardly remember. Like a man lost in the desert getting that first sip of cool water after wondering, parched, and then overindulging and making them-self sick.... There was repercussions to giving in to one's desires, even if it was the desire for one of the most basic of human needs - contact. These thoughts cast a cloud over him that was almost tangible in his troubled eyes.

So perhaps it was time to get a bit more...prickly.

"If you don't watch it I will explore new uses for this damn cane," and with that he did an awkward sidestep, and limped towards the strange park that they could have sworn was a building just earlier... The way he did showed that he didn't have much practice with the cane, despite orders to 'use it regularly.'

"I didn't spend hours walking and walking to almost my physical limit just to give up when we are almost done," then looking back over his shoulder, "I'll let you drive home if you take us through a drive-thru to pick up some food... I'll even pay for yours as a thanks.... And... I'll still take you up on that massage."

He truly was a stubborn man. Frustrating in many ways, but admirable in others. Wyatt was used to doing All The Things himself, setting the direction and stubbornly herding all the metaphorical cats around. The man might have once been married, but it was no partnership. Learning to work together, to accept help, to be a team, to rely on someone to be there to really support him was scary. When it came to fight, light, or freeze, he was a fighter. Stil, though he had that hardheadedness to him, he was at least making a concious effort to give a little, even if it came out in his typical assholish way. It was obviously very hard for him to accept help, so any inch given was something.

He kept walking towards an old plaque in the garden. It was so old and worn that nothing could be made out.

Nothing. That was it.

"I've got the final thing - I'll text the others and they can turn everything in. We can go now," Wyatt said.

He seemed to be a bit..quieter, closed off, dejected. I did make Wyatt feel a little bad to be an a**, but he felt it was what he needed to do to protect himself. And others from himself. He would quickly deny all the physical comfort of another's kindness to keep from being that person again. For a moment he thought about canceling that massage. He had a bad feeling, but each step reminded him that some acquiescence had to be made, in the name of 'medical necessity,' perhaps.

He propped himself up - an elbow resting atop the cane, and his hurting leg crossed over the one keeping him standing as he got his phone out of his bag. He sent out a message to the group, who would no doubt stay to continue to enjoy the festivities, before putting it away and digging out his keys.

"Here," Wyatt then tossed the keys to Lukas.

Lukas' words, though joking, did kind of have some effect on Wyatt, although probably not the intended teasing or lightheartedness. Instead, Wyatt could feel himself inwardly wince. There was a time when, full of himself and looking down on anyone else, he would have gladly nodded and been like, 'damn right,' but now Wyatt was...more aware of himself an others. He had been a prickly a** just then, yes, but it hadn't felt good. And the joking now didn't really sit well either, but not in a way that made him angry but.... Cosmos, the word 'guilty' wasn't quite right. He couldn't put a word to it.

Wyatt joined Lukas in walking back to the truck, but ignored the offered arm. More so than walking, Wyatt struggled with how to appropriately respond - more assholishness, or desperately and exhaustively pleading his case for 'no touchy.' And then argue the hypocrisy of accepting that massage. Maybe just ignoring it was better.

"This is fine. And I don't care where we grab dinner," He said, tone quiet. He was obviously going through something inwardly. That fire that seemed to keep him going was not there and left behind the smoulders of an emotionally exhausted man. Or emotionally constipated.

Wyatt at least had the decency to thank him for opening the door.

Once in, he leaned back, closed his eyes, and let out a long sigh in this short lone moment as Lukas rounded the truck to get in on the driver's side. The truck was a nice one - not an old 'don't give a ********' truck where you don't care how many dents or dings it gets, but definitely not some overcompensating show-offy piece of machinery either. It was big and powerful enough to pull his generously sized camper though, as well as clean and cared for. If not for certain physical circumstances Wyatt would have offered that they load Lukas' motorcycle in the back, but, well, Wyatt wasn't helping to lift s**t at the moment.

What a mess he had opened himself for. He knew better. He just wasn't doing better.

The closing of the driver side door made Wyatt open his eyes and put on his seatbelt. Not out of any obligation to the law, but A; the truck would b***h if he didn't, and B; he wasn't familiar with Lukas' driving, and in what little ounce of humor he had left for the day, well...

"That works for me," he replied in regards to the dinner suggestion.

WIth food acquired, Wyatt finally spoke;

"We can eat in the truck - I know most fries turn to s**t if they are left to get cold..."

With that, he plucked a set out of the bag. He had never really been the type to eat his feelings, but food did help. Maybe not so much for the external pain. And now being off his foot for a bit had given the joints time to swell a bit, and there was that pins and needles feeling that he found made it hard to sleep some nights. But Anyway - eating on the ride back also meant they could get right to things when they got home.

That sounded dirty.

Wyatt was trying to avoid dirty.

Whoops.

"Yeah, but my food is better and won't leave you stuck in the bathroom desecrating the porcelain throne for hours," Wyatt replied. He had been trying to find that appropriate amount of mean to help keep that distance. However, less-unfriendly ego and snark were creeping back in.

"Like hell I'm taking those steps to go up to your place, and then back down. And no you're not carrying me," A bit of almost pouty silence as he took a bite, "and I don't mind a little sweat."

Yes, just take in that natural musk.

It wasn't like they hadn't cooled off significantly by now, thanks to air conditioning, and with that the majority of the day's grossness didn't seem like that big a deal anymore. Ah, damn, maybe he was just getting lazier.

"Damn right," Wyatt says in reply to the compliments about his food.

Goodness knows he had spent enough years learning to cook on his own to be pretty skilled. at it. Even if somehow gas station chicken tenders still blew his out of the water.

"I don't pout," Wyatt said when Lukas started to tease him about it...all the while pouting.

Soon they had started up the mountain - the truck took the steep 12-16% slope grade like a champ and a motor roar that spoke to that manliest manly part of any soul. It wasn't much further until they were pulling in to the park.