Chapter Text
It's been three days since Quakcity’s little incident, and he wasn’t feeling any better.
The nightmares hadn’t stopped coming (not that he expected them to, they always resurfaced whenever Karl and Sapnap left to do business or whenever he saw anything remotely connected to his deaths whatsoever) and Quackity was feeling drained.
Techno didn’t let people stay on his property for free, and Quackity, being fresh out of anything valuable, had to resort to manual labor, helping Technoblade around his home with chores, menial tasks, etc.
Perhaps there was more attentiveness to Techno than Quackity had first thought - today the piglin gave him a break, letting him crash on the makeshift bed they had set up. Nugget had come and joined him, the pup rarely leaving his side since the incident . Not that Quackity minded at all, he quite enjoyed company that wasn’t limited to just Technoblade.
He laid down on the bed, hitting the cushions with a soft noise. He brought his arms behind his head and leaned back, closing his eyes and tucking himself in for a well deserved nap. Nugget crawled up beside him and curled up next to his side, falling asleep almost immediately. Quackity allowed himself a quick pet before settling in and closing his eyes.
Then, the door slammed open, hitting the wall with enough force that Quackity jolted at the action. He jumped, sitting up.
Looming at the front of the hallway was Technoblade, covered in blood which emitted steam all around him in the snow. It soaked through his clothes, dripping messily onto the floor with wet ‘plops’, a puddle already forming beneath him. He was breathing heavily, his eyes a shade Quackity had only seen once before-
before he died the second time.
He didn’t dare say a thing, stilling while simultaneously trying to bury himself into the bed, trying to be as obscure as possible. He inched as slowly as could, but the bed creaked under his weight traitorously.
Techno’s head snapped over to him, pinning him down with those dark, red eyes. He started over towards him, his bloodied pickaxe dragging across the floor with a steady ‘thump, thump’ as it caught on the floorboards. He stopped a few inches away from Quackity’s person, looking down at him with an unreadable expression and ill intent.
A sharp yapping broke the tense silence and Quackity turned his attention to his side, watching as Nugget barked fiercely at the perpetrator, growling up at the piglin without any fear.
Until Techno gave a sharp look at the dog; Nugget silenced quickly, whining softly, as if the gaze held them in place, forbidding them to so much as move.
Using his offhand, Technoblade quickly grabbed Quackity’s shirt, hand tightening against the fabric. He pulled the frightened victim closer, low growling heard underneath his breath. Quackity brought his hands up to the arm, struggling against the grip in a last resort attempt. “Stop it,” he gasped out, his eyes darting frantically to the pickaxe still on the floor. “Snap out of it.”
Whatever was left of the Technoblade that helped with his night terrors, helped feed him, shelter him, wasn’t present - not anymore. With one swift motion, Quackity was thrown against the wall, his wing hitting the partition with a sick ‘crack’. More whines from Nugget emitted, but Quackity couldn’t hear anything over the blood roaring into his ears and his heart beating furiously in his throat. He turned and quickly rolled to the side, the ground beside him splintering under the swing of the pickaxe. He whimpered, realizing how he just barely avoided a skewer through the chest.
Not one word left Techno’s mouth, just determined and noncommittal grunts as he got closer. He seemed to be getting agitated, the swings less precise and the pace more desperate. He let out a loud bellow, backing Quackity into the wall. The man winced, trying to ignore how the pressure pinned his broken wing and made it hurt all the more so.
“Techno, please, listen to me, Techno I kno-”
He gave a choked shout as the head of the pick was driven right under his chin, effectively cutting off his senseless blathering and his airways. Quackity’s nails scraped at the netherite, trying to pry the weapon away as he floundered, air escaping him.
“Techno,” he rasped, struggling to breathe. “ Stop ...”
The pressure did not lessen and the insistent hand scratching at the hilt of the pick weakened, slowly falling to Quackity’s side. He grew limp, his breaths shaking his whole body. The room was vibrating, his vision was spotty, and Techno was still staring at him with determination, as if the thought of stopping was treasonous. Quackity surrendered quietly, hacking dryly as the wetted metal of the netherite dug him his grave.
And just when the light faded from his field of vision, the tight pressure around his neck was released. Quackity coughed, taking in as much air as he could. As he doubled over, hunching over as he tried to breathe through the sickly smell of blood and his own bile building up in his throat. He looked up to see what his savior was and couldn’t believe what he was witnessing.
Philza Minecraft himself.
He stood behind Technoblade, one hand under the piglin’s head, keeping it upturned while the other hand was pressed sharply into his chest. He looked almost stern, as if Techno were nothing more than a bad pet, caught doing some misdemeanor.
Quackity watched in slight awe as Phil leaned over and whispered something into Techno’s ear, his posture tense. After a few moments, the once murderous figure slumped, taking shaky breaths. Phil’s authoritative and stiff posture relaxed into something more nurturing as he talked quietly to the seemingly distressed Techno in his arms. There were a few more hushed words that were exchanged before the two turned to Quackity.
“Oh gods,” Techno said, seeming horrified. He hid his now brown, dark eyes and headed out of the room as quickly as he could, a stark contrast to when he entered, terrifying and threatening..
Phil watched as his friend exited the room, his shoulders slumping alongside a tired sigh. He looked back down at Quackity, his face resigned once more. He held a hand out and Quackity tentatively took it, pulling himself up and following wherever Philza was leading him.
They ended up in the storage room, Phil dressing the wounds Quackity had obtained from the whole ordeal. He did quite a good job dressing the scratches and the bruises - even making a splint for his wing - but he couldn’t erase or remedy the effects that were made on his emotional stability.
Quackity stood, curling up on himself as Phil stared outside, standing at the doorway.
“What are you doing here?” came Phil’s voice, steady and calm.
There was no good answer to that question, not for Quackity. He shifted and rubbed his arm.
“I came to look for what I was missing,” he answered eventually. It wasn’t a lie.
Phil turned to face him. “You should leave.”
Quackity knew that, but for some reason, he found himself sticking around. It wasn’t as if he got what he came for yet, perhaps that’s what kept him close by. Some part of him believed that Techno could give him what he was trying to find, and yet here he was, still as lost, broken, and afraid as he was the first day (it was a miracle he was still alive).
“I can’t,” Quackity heard himself say, looking at the ground. Maybe he was a pretentious prick, but he didn’t come here to go home empty-handed, damaged or otherwise. Perhaps it was the words that were uttered to him on the first day, or maybe it was the way Techno offered him basic human decency, or gave him something to do with himself - or hell, gave him a place to stay . Either way, Quackity didn’t think whatever this was, was over. Techno owed him something, and perhaps, Quackity owed him something too, even if he didn’t like to think about it.
“You’re going about this the wrong way,” Phil had said, his attention back towards the scenery of the setting sun. “You’re going to hurt yourselves.”
Quackity took in a shaky breath.
“Well they do say ‘keep your enemies closer’, right?”