Chapter Text
“We’ll hit the mall before nightfall,” Quackity explains, the map in his hand crinkles as he grips it tightly, when a sudden gust of wind comes rushing down the streets. The city is long behind them, and now they’re presented with the new task of navigating the winding streets of the suburb, in order to make it out. “If we’re quick enough, we can be in and out, before it’s dark. Or else, we’ll be stuck there for the night.”
“And why can’t we just camp out there?” Wilbur asks. From a quick glance, he sees the way the other admires each house that they pass by. And who could blame him? It’s way nicer out here, than in the city.
They sidestep another ditch in the road, and Quackity has to hold back from laughing when Wilbur almost goes straight onto the concrete.
“It’s a large space that used to be heavily populated,” he says, “It’s risky enough that we’re going there, staying is-”
“Oh my Prime, look!” Wilbur suddenly gasps, finally drawing Quackity’s attention away from the map and to where the other is running off- well, it’s more of a hurried stumble- towards a nearby house; disappearing between two of them.
“Wha- Hey, wait!” Quackity calls when his brain comes back online, chasing after the other as he turns round the back of the building, “What the fuck is your problem?”
The space between the houses opens out onto a backyard, where he finds Wilbur crouched on the floor, back turned to Quackity as he’s focused on something other than being scolded for running off. There’s nothing that Quackity can think of that should have him darting towards the alleyway, without any sign of danger to have set him off.
“Quackity, look!” He exclaims in a hushed tone, turning around with something in his arms, “I found a cat.”
Dumbfounded, Quackity stares at the ball of fur in Wilbur’s arms; looking between it and the other. But Wilbur doesn’t seem to notice the expression that the others hold. Instead, he continues to pet and coo at the fur ball.
Then Quackity chuckles, allowing himself to find some sort of amusement in the situation. “I know you’re immune to being infected,” he begins, “But I don’t think you’re immune to rabies.
“And why would you say that, Quackity?”
“Because that’s not a cat… it’s a raccoon.”
Wilbur freezes, face shooting up to vaguely meet Quackity’s eyes, “What?”
“Prime, how bad is your eyesight?” He asks, “Just- Dude, put that thing down.”
“But he’s so cuddly,” The other presses the face into the raccoon's dusty, grey fur. And all Quackity can do is watch disgust. “Don’t you just want to give him a kiss?”
“No,” he responds, flatly, “Put it down, we’ve gotta keep moving.”
He rolls his eyes, “Fine.” With a huff, and a whisper of goodbye, Wilbur finally sets the raccoon down and the two watch as it stares at them with black, beady eyes; before hissing and scampering off down the yard and disappearing through a broken fence panel.
“Good riddance,” Quackity mutters to himself, making his way back to the street with Wilbur trailing behind him.
The two continue down the road, the area now eerily quiet around them, aside from the rustling of a tree or squarks from birds above. Quackity hadn’t noticed it, before their interruption, but seeing that there is still life in this world, other than them, even if it’s a single racoon, it puts him on edge for some reason.
It’s a stark reminder that they’re not the only ones in this broken world.
And that scares him.
“How could you not tell that it was a raccoon?” Quackity asks, to fill the silence; and also to take his mind off his worries.
“Well it didn’t exactly look like one, to me,” Wilbur answers, keeping his eyes forward.
“What do you mean?” He exclaims, “Raccoons have a very distinct look. I don’t think I’ve seen a cat with a tail like that.”
Wilbur huffs, “Not to me. All I saw was a grey blob, and got my hope up. You asked how bad my eyesight is? Bad. It’s bad, Quackity.”
“How bad?”
“I can see things, but they’re all blurry blobs of colour that either move, or don’t,” he explains, “Like you.”
Quackity stops, looking up at Wilbur as he also stands and stares down at him, “Like me?”
Wilbur nods, “Like you. All I know is you’re short as fuck-”
“Hey!”
“-and you’ve got long, black hair,” he reaches forwards, assumingly to touch Quackity’s hair, but his hand is batted away by the other.
“No touching,” he hisses.
The other’s milky eyes roll, as he turns away and continues forwards, “Right, because I’m dangerous. Even though all you’d have to do is stay perfectly still, and I wouldn’t even see you.”
“That’s it?” Quackity questions, “So if I was in a horde, all I need to do is stand still, and they’d go away?”
Wilbur scoffs, “You wish. Ou- their eyesight may be shit, but- you know how people think that blind people’s hearing increases, now that they can’t see?”
Quackity nods, an inkling of knowledge as to where Wilbur is going with this. He feels a little dumb with what he’d said, but he won’t tell the other that.
“Yeah, that’s not true,” he says, flat out, “Hearing doesn’t increase, it’s just relied on more heavily to compensate. That’s what it’s like for corpses… and me.”
“Interesting.”
“Yeah, they don’t really tell you this stuff,” Wilbur chuckles, bitterly, “I only know because that is my life, currently.”
Suddenly, the moment in the city, where they’d had to walk right through that horde, starts to make more sense. None of the corpses could physically see that he was human, and he’s betting that that is what Wilbur had been relying most on, when he’d lead him through the bodies.
Even the corpse in the alley.
It had known that something was there, but once they stayed quiet and immensely still, it moved on. It had sniffed the air, and continued, when it found nothing.
It was smelling for a human.
Wilbur had brought up the possibility that his “scent” had rubbed off on Quackity, which is why they were unbothered in the horde. And as much as Quackity hates to admit it, he might just be correct. It’s not something he knows that others would be willing to test is true, so there’s no true ease of knowing.
But there’s a high chance of that being the case.
And, if so, what else can Quackity now do?
———
After another hour of walking, they finally make it to the derelict mall, just outside of the city. The main entrance has been bored up with pieces of wood, but every window has been smashed in; so much for keeping corpses out. It’s also littered with varying types of graffiti. From regular tags, to scribbles of, “ The end is near! ” from Prime knows how many years ago.
“So, how’re we getting in?” Wilbur asks, approaching the building and peaking through one of the smashed windows, “Straight through the entrance?”
He already has one foot up on the window ledge, preparing to climb through, when Quackity stops him, “No. If there’s anyone inside, they’ll have defences set up there.”
Huffing, Wilbur steps down, “Okay, so what do we do? Or did we come all the way out here, just to wuss out, at the last second?”
A grumble escapes from Quackity’s throat, as he stares daggers at Wilbur. It lasts for a few more seconds, before he begins walking around the side of the building, “We’ll go through the back.”
“And that’ll be safer because…?” Wilbur asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer, “Y’know, if I was camping out here, I would set myself up at the back of the store, near the closest exit.”
Quackity doesn’t listen to him, instead he continues forwards until they come across a closed service door, on the side of the building. The metal is rusted and the green paint flakes off, as Quackity attempts to pull it open. When he doesn’t succeed after the first few attempts, Wilbur grabs the handle over the other’s hands, “On three, pull. One… Two… Three!”
The door flies open, sending the two stumbling backwards into the dirt. One stable, they look back to the door, and the the abyss on the other side; waiting a couple of minutes, for the sound of anyone inside or any alarms they may have accidentally set off.
But when the silence remains, and there’s no sight of anyone else other than themselves, the two press into the building.
The service tunnel leads them down a shadowed corridor, lined with doors. Quackity assumes that each of those doors leads to a different store within the mall. But they don’t attempt to open any of them, instead continuing towards the single source of light, at the end of the tunnel.
Light that comes from the main mall itself.
The entire ceiling of the building is made of glass, illuminating the space with natural light; cracked and smashed and allowing rainwater and leaves to fall to the inside. The two stand in the doorway, taking in the sight of the mall, and just how… desolate it is. Quackity had expected to find a few corpses wandering around, but not zero.
“Okay,” he begins, slipping his backpack off and taking the bat from it, “You take this,” he hands the pseudo weapon to Wilbur, “Try to stick close, but don’t worry about looking in different places, if you see something.”
“Alright,” he nods, taking the bat and resting it against his shoulder, smiling down at Quackity, “Finally decided to let me off the leash, huh?”
The other scoffs and rolls his eyes, walking off, “You’re disgusting.”
“Hey man, I didn’t mean it like that,” Wilbur fires back, and despite the fact that his back is to him, Quackity can hear the smile in his voice, “ You made it weird, not me.”
“Whatever, just get looking. And see if you can find somewhere secure, because we’re gonna have to set up camp here.”
They don’t exactly separate, but both take one side of the mall’s shops to explore; never spending too long in them, as most are pretty barren. Quackity doesn’t know how thoroughly Wilbur is searching, but he knows that he himself makes sure to check every space that could have something useful.
Behind the counter.
In the back room.
And behind all doors, and in all cabinets.
Checking under the counter in one particular store, has him discovering something that he wouldn’t find useful; but he knows someone else who would.
“Hey, Wilbur,” Quackity calls, staring at the palm-sized, black box- made of a smooth, black, fake leather- that he holds in his hands. He’d double checked its contents, before calling for the other, “I’ve found something you might wanna see.”
The tell-tale noise of stumbling, hurried footsteps approach enters his field of hearing, and had he not become familiar with the sound, Quackity would be rushing for his gun and finding somewhere to hide from the approaching zombie. Instead, he doesn’t have to worry so much about the begging approaching.
“Yeah? What is it?” Wilbur asks, entering the store, “Is there a reason why you’ve dragged me into a vape shop?”
“Well, it’s because I found this,” he sets the case onto the counter, and watches the other with a smile on his face.
A few seconds pass, before Wilbur asks, “What is it?”
Right, Quackity probably should have led with that. The item probably looks like a black blob to him.
“Just- come here,” he beckons him forwards, as he hops onto the counter and picks up the case. Wilbur comes to stand right in front of Quackity, now almost on eye level with him as they stare at each other. “Close your eyes.”
“Alright,” he nods, “But you better not be tricking me.”
“Shut up. Okay, now…” Quackity has no idea if this will work or not, “open them!”
And Wilbur does just that. Only, finding that when he does, everything is a lot clearer than it was, when he had closed them. It’s not perfect, but he’d equate it to how his sight was, before he became infected.
“I-” he blinks a few times, wondering if what he is seeing is real; reaching up to his face, and finding a pair of glasses now sitting on his nose. They’re round, rather than the rectangular ones he used to own. They’re also definitely not his prescription, but that doesn’t matter because he can see!
He catches a vague reflection in the store's window, stumbling towards it as he takes in his appearance, finally.
The round frames suit him, he thinks.
“You like them?” Quackity asks from behind, having moved to sit on the counter.
Wilbur whips around, excitement recognisable on his face, “I can see shit! Quackity I can-” he rushes towards the other, stopping just short of a few centimetres from him and staring at him.
When the staring goes on a little too long for comfort, Quackity speaks up, “You good, man?”
He remains still as Wilbur lifts a hand up to Quackity’s face, fingers brushing along his left cheek. The deathly cold digits are feather light on his skin. “What happened to you?” He asks, in a hushed tone.
Quackity looks away from the other’s eyes, but doesn’t make an effort to push his hand away; which still hovers by his face. “Just a bad run in with some raider,” he says, “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“Dude, your whole face looks like it was sliced open,” he states.
He rolls his eyes, “Maybe because it was. Usually it scares people away.”
“Well I think it’s cool,” Wilbur compliments, causing Quackity to rolls his eyes again, “Plus, it doesn’t stop you from looking any less-”
“Any less what?” He looks to Wilbur, finding that now the other has whole face turned away. It’s weirdly endearing, Quackity can’t help but lightly tease him for an answer, “What were you gonna say, Wil?”
After a couple of seconds, he turns back to Quackity but makes an effort to not look directly in his eyes, “You’re very pretty, Quackity.”
“Oh,” and all Quackity can find himself doing is swallowing the compliment, and letting it fester in his brain. But he can’t stop the way his cheeks feel a little warm, or notice the way how- despite his pale complexion- the same seems to be happening to Wilbur, with the little amount of blood still pumping through his body.
Taking a deep breath in, Quackity quickly regains his composure, “Well, you don’t look too bad looking yourself.”
The very light pink on Wilbur’s cheeks darkens slightly, as he turns to Quackity, “You mean it?”
“I mean, these new glasses do make you look, like, some- some homeless hipster,” he jokes, earning an eye roll from the other, “But they suit you, so I’ll excuse it.”
“Thanks,” he smiles.
A proper smile, Quackity notes. Realisation sets in that Wilbur probably had no idea what he truly looked like, before he saw his reflection in the shop's window. Quackity thinks that if the same had happened to him, and the first time he properly saw himself he was covered in stitches and rotting flesh, he’d probably have a breakdown.
So, his compliment towards Wilbur, was probably one of the best decisions he could have made; whether he truly believed the other was attractive, or not.
But his thought process is cut off, when something cold comes into contact with his cheek again. It takes a beat for him to realise that the other has his entire palm held to his face, and is staring softly at him.
Quackity wants to make a snarky quip or joke, but the startling sound of metal falling, somewhere else in the building, has him tearing his head away.
“Did you hear that?” He whispers, looking over Wilbur’s shoulder.
But when he looks back to him, the other’s face and posture is suddenly a lot more attentive. And not in a way where he too is concerned about the noise that was just heard. But there’s something predatory in the way that he holds himself, setting off alarms in Quackity’s head.
The mall around them is silent, as they creep to the doorway and slowly lean out of it, searching for what could have made the noise.
There’s a high chance that it’s a zombie. And if not that, then another person. Of which, Quackity doesn’t want to stick around for, if they too are here to raid the place. “We should go,” he says, stepping out of the store and back into the main building.
But Wilbur remains in the doorway, and Quackity begins to wonder if he’s worried about being found by the source of the noise.
“If we go now, we can be out before they find us,” Quackity tries to assure him, despite not believing his own words, “If not, I’ll just shoot it, alright?”
That seems to have Wilbur coming around, as he tears his eyes away from where he’d been staring down the main strip, and looks to Quackity with a nod.“Okay, c’mon.”
They manage to make it past one more store, one with smashed windows and ripped clothing lying in piles on the inside, before Wilbur pauses again. Posture stiff, but his fingers twitch by his sides. Quackity watches as he screws his eyes shut and takes a shaky breath in and swallows.
“Uhh Wilbur?” He tries, approaching the other.
But before he can get within a metre of him, Wilbur’s head turns so fast any other person would have gotten whiplash, and he’s running off down the mall; leaving Quackity confused, as he watches.
It takes a couple of seconds for his brain to catch up, as he realises he should go after the other, to make sure he doesn’t get himself hurt. But even as he runs as fast as he can, Wilbur is still beating him; eventually making a sharp turn into one of the stores, and being gone when Quackity catches up.
“Wilbur?” Quackity calls, broken glass crunching under his feet, as he walks into the shop. He hadn’t bothered to see what it used to sell, but judging by the copious amounts of white limbs and heads strewn across the floor, it used to be another clothes store.
He keeps his gun poised as he ventures further, “What’s wrong? Where- where’d you go?”
There’s still no response, so Quackity delves further. He checks all over the small store, for any sign of where the other disappeared off to. But when he finds none, decides to check somewhere else for him, and turns to leave.
But upon doing so, he’s met with the worst noise he could hear from behind him; a gun being loaded.
“Don’t move,” it says, and Quackity finds himself frozen; hands slowly being raised in surrender. “Drop the gun,” so he does, praying it won’t accidentally go off.
“Now turn around,” it directs, and still with his arms up, Quackity does as he’s told; despite not wanting to be at the other end of the barrel.
He doesn’t recognise the man pointing a gun to his face, thankfully. Quackity doesn’t know how he’d react if it was someone he knew. Depending on who it was, either breakdown and cry or be thrown into a fit of rage that would definitely get him killed. Thankfully, it seems as though the man doesn’t recognise him, either.
“Who were you calling for?” He demands.
“No one,” Quackity asks, was too calm for his situation.
The man grimaces, “Somehow, I don’t believe you. Because I definitely heard you calling a name. So I suggest you fess up, or I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”
“My- it was my dog,” he lies, hoping the other doesn’t realise, “Got spooked and ran off.”
He scoffs, “Mustn’t be a very good dog then.”
And Quackity notices the way the man's finger tightens on the trigger, and the only thought in his head, as he screws his eyes shut, is, “ Oh fuck oh shit this is where it ends! Oh my Prime I’m gonna die in this shitty ass mall, in the middle of no-”
“ARRRRRRRG!”
“OH WHAT THE FU- AHH!”
Quackity’s eyes fly open, just in time to see that Wilbur has returned, and has charged at the man with full force; shoving him to the ground, and knocking the gun out of his hand.
“AH FUCK! SHIT!” he screams, attempting to fight off Wilbur. From his position on the floor, the man manages to make eye contact with Quackity, “HELP ME!” He pleads.
But Quackity doesn’t move.
Watching in horror as, in that moment or vulnerability, Wilbur grabs the man's head and slams the back of it into the floor at full force.
Over.
And over.
And over again.
Until his cries have ceased, and there is blood and skull fragments lying on the linoleum.
All whilst Quackity watches in pleased horror.
But Wilbur doesn’t stop there.
Because once he’s sure the man is dead, he’s wrist deep in his skull; scooping out his brains and hungrily shoving them into his mouth.
And Quackity can’t pull his eyes away from the sight.
When the brain is finished, Wilbur takes a deep bite out of the man’s arm; ripping flesh and muscle away from the bone with his bare teeth. His chews are sloppy and wet as blood drips from his mouth, staining his clothes.
Quackity, in reality, shouldn’t be surprised. The first time they’d met, he’d watched as the other did the exact same thing; except that time, it was from the chest, not the head. But he hasn’t seen a repeat in the week that they’ve known each other for.
It’s common knowledge that zombies don’t need to feed often to survive, just that they get a little trigger happy and will eat most things with a heartbeat; but he hadn’t considered if that was the same for Wilbur.
Eventually though, the noise gets too much and Quackity involuntarily, audibly gags at the sight.
A mistake, he thinks at that moment. Because he’s a human, watching a very hungry zombie feasting on someone who was threatening to blow his brains out, less than five minutes ago.
Quackity watches in fear, his gun still discarded at his feet, as Wilbur’s bloodied face turns towards him; eyeing him, like he’s dessert.
The glasses still sit on his nose, with a few splatters on them that can be easily wiped off, if Quackity survives to do so.
They stare at each other, with Quackity not wanting to say or do anything drastic, in case it sets Wilbur off. He realises that now the other has improved vision, he can’t just stand deathly still, in the hopes that he’ll leave him alone.
But he doesn’t have to, as Wilbur is the first to move, swallowing the last of whatever was in his mouth, and using the palm of his hand to sloppily wipe away the blood from his mouth; only getting about half of it in the single swipe.
Drunkenly, he pushes himself up and approaches the other; towering over him. For a second time, as he’s literally facing what could be his death, Quackity screws his eyes shut, and waits for pain to erupt from anywhere on his body.
But it never comes.
Instead, he feels a familiar cold- now also wet- presence against his cheeks, and his name being whispered, “Quackity? Quackity. Open your eyes, man. It’s okay.”
Wilbur’s voice is weirdly horse, as he speaks, and Quackity shakes his head in the other’s hands.
“Please?”
And fuck, he couldn’t even refuse if he wanted to.
Peeling his eyes open, Quackity is now face to face- noses almost touching- with Wilbur; face covered in blood, but he already knew that.
And yet, despite that, Quackity doesn’t think Wilbur has ever looked more human.
“Are you alright?” Wilbur asks, concerned on his face.
“Yeah I’m- I’m good,” Quackity nods, “Fuck, that was close.”
The other also nods, taking a quick look down to the corpse, but keeping his grip on Quackity’s face, and preventing him from also looking, “Sorry you had to see… that.”
“Wilbur, I’m pretty sure you just saved my fuckin’ life, man,” he breathes.
“Yeah but it’s- I just would have rather you didn’t see me doing that.”
“But you’re fine now, right?” Quackity asks.
Wilbur fixes him with a serious stare, hands moving from his face to his shoulders, “Quackity, you just watched me bash some guys skull in and eat his brains and arm, and you’re asking if I’m okay? Since when did you finally start caring?”
“Since you ran off in a frenzy and I couldn’t find you,” he huffs, freeing himself from Wilbur’s grip and leaning down to pick up his gun, “Like you said, I have abandonment issues.”
“Ah shit, I forgot.”
“It’s alright… I kind of forgot you need to eat people.”
“I- I did too,” he admits, “It’s made being around you a lot harder, this past week.”
Quackity fixes him with a look of horror, meanwhile Wilbur’s expression can only be described as sheepish; turning away from the other as shame seems to seep in, for what he’d just said.
Since the two had started travelling together, Quackity hadn’t known if Wilbur had eaten, since they first met. But, judging from his confession, as the only human for a hundred mile radius, Quackity was in deep danger of becoming his next meal.
Then he thinks back to the words that Wilbur has repeated to him, over and over again.
“You really meant it?” He asks, “I know that- you said you wouldn't hurt me and-
“I meant it, Quackity,” he confirms, “I’ve said it over and over, because nothing seems to get through your thick skull.” Wilbur’s hands find themselves on either side of the other’s face, holding it gently, as he stares softly into his eyes, “And I’ll keep meaning it.”
The tension in the air is thick, and the setting less than ideal for anything romantic, but Quackity still finds himself surging forwards and connecting their lips. It’s only for a brief moment however, as, as soon as Wilbur seems to realise what is going on, he pushes the other way.
“Woah woah- okay,” he says in slight shock, “As- as much as I would love… this. I just ate a guy, I don’t think you want to be kissing me, right now.”
Quackity chuckles lowly, “Wilbur, I’ve done a lot of things to survive in this world, and cannibalism is on that list. I don’t mind a bit of blood.”
And if the other didn’t look shocked before, his jaw is on the floor now; spluttering over his words before taking a breath and coming to his senses. “Okay well… let's get out of here first, anyway. Then we can… y’know.”
“That’s fine by me,” Quackity smiles, grabbing his gun off the ground, then anything of use that the attacker has, before finally taking Wilbur’s hand in his own and leading them out of the building.