Chapter Text
The sun sets over Manberg the same as it always does, basking the buildings and homes with its dying rays. It just pisses Quackity off, honestly. The way the rest of the world keeps turning when it feels to him like the world has ended.
Footsteps rushed and polished shoes barely making a sound, he hurries across the wooden walkways. He straightens his tie, straightens his beanie, straightens his shirt collar. He straightens his feet as he nearly stumbles off the path. The citizens of Manberg avert their eyes as he passes by, maybe out of fear and maybe out of distaste. Quackity isn't sure which one he'd prefer. But they aren't his concern right now- making it on time to the last meeting of the day is.
The white house comes into view, standing tall and proud amidst the country it overlooks. Grass crunches beneath him as he climbs the hill, pausing at the top only to check his reflection in one of the mirrors. He licks his thumb, wipes a smudge of dirt off his cheek, then pushes open the door and strides in.
President Schlatt is waiting in the office, as is Tubbo, looking out of place as he always did. That kid didn't belong in a room like this, with perfectly ironed suits and perfectly straight ties and perfectly shined shoes. Quackity would never be able to wrap his head around why one of Manberg's revolutionaries was trusted more than the man who had given Schlatt his votes. But Quackity had quickly learned during his time in Schlatt's cabinet how little the president really cared for his vice, and just how expendable he really was.
"Ah, Quackity, you've finally decided to join us," Schlatt says, amusement in his dark tone. "Do you need a new watch? I'd be happy to provide you with one."
"Sorry, sir," Quackity grits out, clasping his hands behind his back and preparing himself for another one of these awful cabinet meetings.
"Alright, let's begin," the president clears his throat, folding his hands on his desk. "Any updates on our country, gentlemen?"
"No, sir," Quackity says.
Tubbo shakes his head.
"Well, how about the fact that Tommy Innit has been roaming our lands free to his liking?" Schlatt's eyebrows raise. "Despite being, you know, banished and exiled?"
Quackity is stunned into silence, unsure how to respond in a way that won't end with the wrath of the president falling onto his shoulders. Luckily, Tubbo speaks up.
"We aren't... serious about that, though, right?" the secretary of state frowns, messing with the sleeve of his suit. "It's all just good fun. Tommy isn't harming anyone by stopping by every once in a while..."
"We aren't serious?" Schlatt echoes, glancing at Quackity with disbelief in his eyes. With that, he starts to laugh. "Do you hear this guy? Aw, man, Tubbo, you really are a riot. Here, lemme tell you something." He leans forward across the desk, beckoning the kid closer with his fingers.
Tubbo hesitates, then takes a cautious step toward him. "Yes, Schlatt?"
"When I make an order, you obey it," the president says. His voice is casual, as if he's just having a conversation with a friend. But Quackity recognizes the underlying threat in the words, and he's sure Tubbo does too. "We don't joke around here, Tubbo. So if I say I don't want Tommy Innit or any of his revolutionary friends on my land, you know what you should do? You don't let them on my land. It's simple as that!"
Tubbo winces a bit, but he gives a nod. "I understand."
"Great! So we really shouldn't have a problem." Schlatt leans back in his chair, casting his eyes over Quackity once more. "How about you, VP? Big Q? What's up?"
"Nothing much, sir," Quackity answers, straightening his posture under the president's scrutiny. "Just having a fat ass, you know?"
"Mhmm," Schlatt replies, as if he wasn't even paying attention. "So what's your excuse, then? Why've you been letting our enemy on our land?"
"...well, it's not that I've been letting him," he cringes a bit.
"Okay, so Tommy Innit and Technoblade just... happened to wander into the heart of Manberg? And help you breed dogs?" Schlatt tilts his head to one sight, eyes gleaming. "Sure, sure, I understand. Happens to the best of us."
Great, of course the whole dog drug cartel thing would blow up in his face like this. "Well-"
"Well what? I'm waiting."
"...well..."
"Um, I was a part of that too!" Tubbo interjects, eyes widened slightly. "Quackity wasn't super happy about it... But I thought we should let Techno around just to give him some socialization, y'know? And then Tommy showed up, and we were all just messing around a bunch. It won't happen again, I promise!"
Quackity is taken aback by the kid's defense of him. Him and Tubbo had never really been anything more than acquaintances, just two members of Schlatt's cabinet. In fact, Quackity was almost even jealous of him at times, jealous of the way Schlatt kept him close. They definitely weren't on the 'taking Schlatt's wrath for each other' level. He tries to meet Tubbo's eyes, but he won't look at him, keeping his gaze fixed on the president.
"I see," Schlatt says simply after a long moment. "Well, if you say so."
A sigh of relief nearly escapes Quackity. Crisis averted... for now. "I'll be sure to increase border security," he adds in his own attempt to appease Schlatt.
"See to it you do," is all the president replies with. "And Quackity... Come on, really? I expect more from you. I don't tolerate mistakes around here. Don't give me a reason to remove you from this cabinet."
You don't tolerate my mistakes, Quackity amends bitterly in his head. "Yessir," is what he says out loud.
"Well, that's all for now, unless anyone has anything to add." Schlatt rests his hands back on his desk in a dismissive gesture. "Goodnight, gentlemen."
Quackity starts for the door, as does the other boy.
"Oh, Tubbo?" the president adds.
Tubbo freezes in place, and Quackity pauses too, hand resting over the doorknob. "Yes, Schlatt?"
"Fraternizing with the enemy is really unbecoming. You're a member of my cabinet now, y'know?" Schlatt's tone is light and airy, but there's a glint of darkness to it. "Tommy Innit is a thing of the past. Remember whose side you’re on."
Quackity pushes the door open, unwilling to hear Tubbo's next affirming "yes, Schlatt."
It's dark outside, the sun finally having finished its descent. The distant sound of the night mobs reaches Quackity's ears as he walks back home, feet dragging across the moonlit path. He isn't a fool- he knows Schlatt can't wait for an excuse to knock him out of power. Even if it was Quackity's votes that put him into power in the first place, the vice president meant nothing in the end.
But Tubbo...
He knows Tubbo is only there as a jab at Tommy. A sort of 'fuck you, I have your best friend in my cabinet' gesture. The kid could make as many mistakes as he wanted to and Schlatt wouldn't care; he was far too valuable in what he represented. He was a testament to Schlatt's power over Tommy and the rest of Pogtopia. A testament of Schlatt's control. Tubbo was useful, and Quackity wasn't. It was as simple at that.
A sudden fury rising in him in a wave, Quackity kicks the ground, though the action only scuffs his shoes. He's worked so hard for this, worked so hard to rise to some form of power and have a place in the world. He'd sold his soul- and the souls of all of Manberg- to Schlatt just for a chance, and now all the man wanted was to rip it away from him. What the hell was he supposed to do then? He'd rather die than go back to how he used to be, powerless and nothing to the world.
No matter how much he despised Schlatt, there was nothing he wouldn't give to be him. Schlatt had everything he wanted: power, control, worth. A cabinet who would obey him without question. A country too scared to rebel.
But despite his best efforts, despite every shady deal and exchange, the stars never seemed to align for him. And as Quackity continues down the path, shoving his hands into his pockets, he wonders if they ever will.
*
"Yes, Schlatt." "No, Schlatt." "Of course, Schlatt." The word 'Schlatt' is starting to sound meaningless to Tubbo, given the amount of times he's said it over the past few weeks.
He tugs off his suit jacket, tossing it onto his bed and collapsing beside it. With a small sigh, he rests his hands on his stomach and stares up at the ceiling. Another long day of running Schlatt's errands has left him exhausted, worn to the bone. Collect the taxes, Tubbo. Check on Niki, Tubbo. Iron my suit, Tubbo. Good job, Tubbo.
He supposes Schlatt thinks he's manipulating him. And maybe he is. Tubbo's never been very good at figuring that sort of thing out, but Tommy said so, and Tommy is usually right.
"You can't trust that guy, Tubbo," his friend had said during one of their weekly meetings. Tommy's leaning back against the trunk of a tree, his hands behind his head and eyes half closed. He seems tired. "He doesn't care about anyone beyond himself. He'll only keep you around as long as you're useful, I guarantee that."
That wasn't much different from how things usually were, so it didn't mean much to Tubbo. It had been the same with Wilbur as president, hadn't it? And it was the same as it was now. Tommy could talk about friendship all he wanted, but Tubbo wasn't stupid. He knew the pattern, and he knew if he had refused to spy for Pogtopia, Tommy would've cut him off too.
At least with Schlatt, it made sense. Schlatt had no reason to care about him. It wouldn't hurt Tubbo much if it turned out it really was just manipulation. It definitely hurt when it came to Tommy, though.
Fight this war, Tubbo. Dig this tunnel, Tubbo. Be a double agent for us, Tubbo. Good job, Tubbo.
It's all the same, and he's starting to get sick of it, but there's not much he can do. He'll never really truly matter- no one takes him seriously, not even Tommy. So what else can he do besides get trapped in the same cycle over and over again?
Tubbo releases another long exhale, closing his eyes. He should probably hang his suit up before it gets wrinkled. Schlatt wouldn't like that. But he's so tired, he can't summon the energy to sit up, so he stays pressed against the bedsheets, letting the silence of his room settle over him like a blanket.
His mind turns over the events of the meeting. "Remember whose side you're on." Right, as if. He knew whose side he was on, and it definitely wasn't Schlatt's. He was Pogtopia's spy on the inside, and when Wilbur reclaimed his place as president, Tubbo would go back to doing... Well, whatever he had done before all this. Following Tommy around like a lost dog, probably. Letting his friend tease and boss him around. Falling asleep as the sun set over a restored L'manberg, rid of Schlatt and Quackity once and for all.
Quackity...
The vice president is the one person Tubbo feels like he can breathe easy around. Not because he trusts him, or because they're particularly close, but because Quackity treats him like a person. He still remembers the day of the election, Schlatt's sharp voice ordering him to tear down the signs.
Then Quackity intersects himself. "I'll do it. I'll take the fall."
He's not blind; he knows how jealous Quackity is of him and his standing with Schlatt. But the vice had never treated him any less because of it. Mostly, he just left him alone to do his own thing. On the few occasions they spent together, Tubbo felt like an equal in status rather than anything less. Like the dog drug cartel. Or their meetings with Schlatt.
With a quiet groan, Tubbo finally sits up, rubbing his eyes. He really should get ready for bed now, unless he wants to be just as exhausted in the morning. He's got his meeting with Tommy and Wilbur tomorrow, which means another late night.
He goes through the motions in a blur, folding his suit neatly for tomorrow and brushing his teeth before crawling under the covers, head sinking into the pillow. Weariness drags at his limbs and eyelids, pulling him almost immediately into a deep slumber.
At first, after the election, sleep didn't come easy. The anxiety about Schlatt and his new role in the cabinet, alongside his position as a spy for Tommy, kept him awake at night, tossing and turning and wishing for the nightmare to end. Nowadays, though, he just feels numb, numb enough that he can push aside his worries till the next day. Sleep is one of the few times he has all to himself, after all, with no Schlatt or Tommy ordering him around- he doesn't want to waste it.
Meetings, chores, and elections all fade blissfully away as he dozes off, letting sleep claim him if only for a few hours before his duties resume bright and early.