[Any relief he feels at the realization that he is not crazy and not alone is immediately overridden by the fact that he's being manhandled. Wheatley is capable of pain in his real body, of course, but everything is so much more heightened and sensitive like this that he outright yelps, pushing against the table and very nearly upending his little stack of pancakes (still untouched).]

Ow--hey!

[He doesn't trust that he won't hurt himself by trying to pull away, which means Wheatley has to wait for Jill to decide when she's finished. When she lets go, he hits the back of the booth with a grunt, flashing Nanu a desperate glance that indicates he expects the other man to get things under control. The thought of being trapped in this body for any longer than absolutely necessary (and he finds all of this unnecessary) is almost unbearable. With Jill's needling and manhandling, it seems he's managed to channel at least some of his desire to cry into normal human anger, rising a little from his seat. You know, for dramatic effect.]

I'm not stuck, well, I am stuck, but I'm not--that's none of your business! You've got no idea how exhausting it's been, pretending to be one of you! All the--the maintenance, and the sweating, and the coffee, and-- [He totally has a dick, and he hates it!!! Wheatley gestures at the pancakes, as if that's supposed to explain the rest of his current plight.] We've just got to figure out the exit to this car, and get to the next one. That's all. Have we found anyone else who, you know, remembers?

[Despite present company, Wheatley has to admit that they'll probably have more luck as a team then if he continues to play along and see what happens by himself. Still, he can't say this is optimal, and there's an edge of panic to his voice.]

Is it just us!?