Chapter Text
Quackity jolted, suddenly, throwing his quill to his desk. His whole body went still in shock. The quill stained the page, an official document for Tubbo to look over, approve, and sign off on later. His hands fell heavy into his lap, and he stared at the paper in dumbfounded awe.
He was always thinking. How do they get ahead, how do they get the upper hand? How do they do it? He had too many enemies, so far dragged into politics it was impossible to escape. The only way to get one step ahead was some sort of elaborate plan. And the only people capable of such elaborate plans were he, Dream, and TommyInnit. Him, the President of El’ Rapids and counselman of L’Manburg, Dream, the notorious, two-faced dictator, and TommyInnit, the obnoxious ex-Vice President of L’Manburg and triple exilee. Quackity was carrying L’Manburg and El’ Rapids on his bony little shoulders.
He read the paper again, pausing on the last word and lifting his quill and cleaning it with a cloth before it stained anymore. His lips pressed together in grave realization, glancing at an old photo he’s had on his desk ever since he’d gotten in with Sapnap and Karl. Emphasis on old, he supposed, realizing he had all of his teeth in the photo, and Karl’s hair was still long. They’d chopped it short after his first death, so they could tend to the bleeding on his head from the explosion easier. And he’d kept it that way.
There were six of them in the photo. From left to right it was Quackity, Karl, Sapnap, George, Dream, and Punz. Callahan, he remembered, took the photo. They must have been drinking or something, for them to be so close together as they were. Karl has tight arms around he and Sapnap’s waist, and Punz on the end has his hands decidedly in his pockets, because in the middle were George and Dream.
Compared to the rest of them, Dream had height. But here he was shorter than Punz, chin on George’s shoulder and hands clearly on his waist, keeping him grounded. George’s smile was bashful, clearly annoyed with the man behind him. The dark flush on George’s cheeks, Quackity realized, probably wasn’t due to booze. One photo and Quackity had caught those he’d once considered friends in a scandal.
George could claim he hated Dream with all of his heart, but could Dream say the same? Quackity squinted at the photo in the candlelight, screwing up his face so he could pretend he could read some sort of emotion on Dream’s ceramic, blank face. If it weren’t for that damned mask it would be the nail in Dream’s coffin, but he thinks that the way George was leaning into him, the way Dream’s hands were so protective around him, it was telling enough. And it told an entire novel.
He left the writ he was writing to be completed tomorrow, the idea brewing in his head more precedent, more important. He didn’t hesitate to shake his fiancées awake, climbing on top of them, balancing the candle in one hand on a dish. It’s only after he began to shake them awake he felt a tad guilty, their limbs tangled and their bodies warm. They were adorable, and he loved them. He will never say how they helped, how they taught him what love and genuine friendship was, but they have. He straddled Sapnap, rapidly losing patience as Karl stubbornly scrunched up his face, refusing to wake, as he shook his shoulder.
Sapnap’s hand slid subconsciously to his waist, and he muttered in his sleep.
“What’re you doin’?” He slurred tiredly, eyes shut. Karl turned and clung to Sapnap’s right arm.
“Sap, wake up.” He ordered tightly, as softly as he could, grabbing the hand at his waist. “We need to talk.”
He groaned, squirming uncomfortably as he realized that he’s practically pinned, Karl clinging to his right, Quackity squeezing his hand and rendering his legs useless. His eyes opened with a start.
“What’s wrong?” He asked drearily, pulling his arm out of Karl’s clutches and sitting up. Karl’s eyes blinked open tiredly and lazily, before realizing both of his partners were awake. He moved to his elbows.
“What’s happening?” He asked, voice pitiful and hoarse from sleep. Quackity leaned and placed the candle to the side, hands moving to sit in his lap.
“I figured out how we take down Dream.” His grin turned nervous, and Karl’s eyes went wide.
“For good?” Sapnap asked lowly, trying to blow the hair out of his eyes and failing. Quackity shook his head, sucking in his cheeks.
“No, no not for good,” He admitted, watching Karl wordlessly reach to the side and grab a hair tie, Sapnap wordlessly taking it from him. “But enough to fight back.”
“What are you planning?” Sapnap asked, pulling the hair out of his face and throwing it into a messy bun. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “We can’t do anything deceitful, or, like, under the table. I don’t want either of you dying, again.” Karl leaned against him, putting his head to his shoulder.
The following day after Karl had been blown to pieces, Quackity had been settling things on the outside, tending to politics, leaving Karl to find Sapnap sobbing himself senseless. Karl wasn’t supposed to see him.
“I’m not planning anything, yet. We can’t do it alone, this time. We need L’Manburg to help us.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Karl asked, tone serious. He was done with this game of back and forth, impatient. Quackity found himself unable to look at them.
“Dream,” he began unsteadily, not believing the words as they left his lips, “He likes George, doesn’t he?” He chuckled, unable to cope with this newfound terror, exhilarating and at the same time awful. He chanced a glance up, and Sapnap’s face was carefully neutral.
“He’s betrayed us, Quackity.”
Quackity began to pick at a scar on the underside of his thumb. “I know he has, but… think motive. Why would he do that? Why did he take George’s kingship away?”
“He said it was because George was a bad king.” Karl inputted, obviously confused with the furrow of his eyebrows and the hard set of his eyes. Quackity nodded.
“You’re forgetting something. He also said it was because George had too many enemies. Taking George out of the position was his fucked way of protecting him,” he turned to Sapnap. “Think about it. You’ve known him longer than we have—before L’Manburg, before everything, what were the chances of Dream liking George?”
Sapnap stared at him, before dropping his eyes. Karl lined himself tighter to the side of his arm. “High.” His voice broke, cracked, and Quackity softened.
“I’m just saying. Dream might say he doesn’t care, but what if he does? What if…?”
“You’re saying we use George against him?” Karl asked, his voice softening. He sounded sorrowful. “Won’t George—”
“He’ll be in on it,” Quackity quickly added. “He’s on our side, he’s not on Dream’s side. This would work. If we— if we stage it, make it seem like we’re mad at George…”
“Dream might intervene.” Sapnap breathed.
“Dream might come back.” Quackity agreed. MIA was an understatement, regarding Dream. They’ve gone a solid two weeks and heard no word from him. It was unnerving, but the eyes were forever aimed solidly at their backs. They didn’t know how, but Dream was always watching, and it still felt so in his absence.
“So what are you going to do?” Karl asked, and Quackity sighed.
“I guess I’ll tell Tubbo about it tomorrow. This is, this is big. If Dream really thinks that we’re out to get George, who knows what he’ll do.” He felt solace wash over him at the thought. Freedom, a deep breath of fresh air, the ability to feel safe where he called home. All George had to do was play the damsel in distress.
—
There was no candle beside him, and he sat quill in hand with Karl hovering, his hands on his shoulders. He picked up where he left off. The end of the document read, “No intel has been gained on Dream. No one has had contact with Dream or has seen him in L’Manburg, El’ Rapids, or on Dream SMP land. Dream has severed connections—” it ended there. Because it was a lie.
Dream thought he had severed connections, convinced himself that he hates all of his friends, but it wasn’t true. The fault to Dream’s logic was that try as he might he couldn’t begin to hate them. Any feelings he may have, especially for George, ran too deep, ran too rampant. As far as Quackity could tell, anyway, glancing at the photo again.
“Do you know what you’re telling Tubbo?” Karl asked.
“I’ll figure it out. This is the win we need. This is how we win, this is how we win the war.” Karl squeezed his shoulders. “He’ll go along with it.”
An hour later he’s in Tubbo’s house. Tubbo greeted him with a smile, as he always did. The smile was strained, because it had most certainly been to hell and back, and he remembered after months of forgetting, he’s a kid. Seventeen, Quackity remembered. How he’d let that slip, how he’d forgotten, he’s not sure.
“What can I do for you Big Q?” He asked, squinting at the papers Quackity hands him.
“I have a proposition I think you’d want to hear Mr. President.” He grinned excitedly. Tubbo looked unsure.
“A proposition…” he echoed, and Quackity nodded.
“A plan to take Dream down.”
Tubbo blinked in surprise. “Dream? Why would we want to take Dream down?”
Quackity froze, and his face dropped in awe. “What? What the fuck do you mean, why would we want to take Dream down?”
Tubbo’s hands flew up in defense. “I’m just saying, Big Q. Dream’s been… nice to us.”
“Nice to us? This is the guy who threatened to massacre everyone if we didn’t exile Tommy.”
Tubbo’s lips pursed. “That was months ago,” he said. He brightened his tone. “As of late, Dream’s been nice to us.”
“Dream hasn’t been here.” Quackity muttered, and Tubbo shrugged.
“He’s left us alone.”
“But, but…” Quackity struggled for words. How the hell was he supposed to convince him like this? Tubbo wasn’t seeing sense. Was he purposefully forgetting everything Dream’s done out of convenience? “What about when he comes back? What if he finds some other fucking thing to be mad at, Tubbo?” Quackity asked, and Tubbo frowned, cheeks losing their color. He pointedly looked to the ground.
“Quackity, we can’t afford fighting Dream anymore.” And Tubbo didn’t have to elaborate. Quackity knew it was true, however much they may outnumber him.
“But there’s a catch.” Quackity pointed out, and Tubbo looked as if he didn't believe him. “What does Dream care about?” He asked, and Tubbo raised a brow.
“Didn't he say that all he cared about was Tommy’s disks? You were there, weren’t you?”
“Yeah, the disks, but what if he was lying? What if there’s something else?”
Tubbo blinked. “Technoblade’s items?”
“No, no, more important, more important.” Quackity dismissed. Tubbo went silent.
“Big Q, I’m kind of at a loss here…” he half-heartedly chuckled, and Quackity rolled his eyes.
“George.” Quackity answered, as if that would explain everything, but the air of confusion on Tubbo’s face remained.
“What would he want with George?”
“What wouldn’t he want with George?” Quackity replied coyly, smiling wildly, and Tubbo’s head tilted to the side, as if he were a confused puppy.
“Is Dream not engaged to Fundy?” He asked, and Quackity nodded, throwing a hand to his shoulder.
“Exactly. Dream can’t admit he likes George, because the guy has a fiancée.” The puzzle pieces were sliding together, falling into place at his fingertips. “It’s a scandal, Tubbo.”
“This is…”
“Great!”
“Concerning.” Tubbo finished, brushing his hand off.
Quackity groaned. “How is that concerning? This is a good thing!” He pleaded, but it landed on deaf ears.
“What if this ends up a disaster, like all of your other plans?”
Quackity winced. “That was a low blow.”
“But it’s true. How did we manage screwing up Technoblade’s execution? How did you end up dying instead? How had Dream known?”
The last question made Quackity take pause, and the silence fell thick around them. Why hadn’t he considered this question? Why hadn’t he asked? Horror settled itself deep in his stomach, enough to make him sick. All of those months ago, how had Dream known? Why was Dream there, why had Punz attacked? Quackity met Tubbo’s eyes, unrelenting. He knew.
There was a spy in L’Manburg.
“We can’t do anything.” Tubbo reiterated, and Quackity realized now more than ever how true that was. These weren’t excuses or cop outs, Tubbo wasn’t fucking with them... L’Manburg could not do anything.
“Okay,” Quackity murmured. “Okay then, forget it.”
“Big Q…” Tubbo sounded like he’s about to stop him from walking out the door, but he didn’t. He was trapped. The knob turned in his hand.
“I’ll see you later, Mr. President.”