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It wasn’t uncommon for Quackity to have nightmares.
He doubted it was uncommon for anyone in the Dream Smp, considering its history, but sometimes he liked to think he was one of the lucky ones, free from a constant battering of bad memories, traumatic moments, and harsh realities being slapped against his face. He didn’t have them night after night after night. But they were a weekly occurrence, each one sporting a different thing to haunt him with.
Tonight, it was Technoblade.
A familiar face in his unconscious- something Quackity didn’t say fondly. Ever since the incident before the fated execution of the arguably biggest threat on the Smp, Quackity rarely got the man out of his mind, his face bearing a constant reminder of how weak and powerless he was.
The nightmare was vague, as ironic as it seemed. It was dark, dark all around. The sound of water dripping from the ceiling and splashing into small puddles on the ground filled the room, seeming to intensify as Quackity scrambled, trying to look for a way out. Through the dark, a figure appeared, red and white. It seemed to be made purely of bone, flesh and tendon hanging off like a ripped carcass. Quackity averted his eyes as best he could but as he tried to run, he hit a wall, helpless to do anything but watch as the monstrosity got closer and closer-
A long, clawed, boney hand reached for his face, taking its time to drag the rough, blade-like material against his skin, piercing with slow, agonizing movements. Quackity stifled a scream, red filling his vision as the bone sawed into his jaw, cutting through his teeth with a sharp pang that felt dizzying. He coughed as the metallic tang of blood filled his mouth, more spilling as the cut got deeper and deeper.
Black bloomed in Quackity’s vision, tears further blurring his gaze. He fell limp, floating in an expanse of agony and despair-
Until he woke up; sweating, blankets clutched under his fists, tears in his eyes.
Normally he’d tough it out, roll over, cry for a bit, go back to sleep.
He couldn’t seem to tonight, shaking in his overly large nightshirt. He felt ridiculous- feeling weak and pathetic in response to the one time he wanted to feel anything but?
His brain could fuck off.
As of late, he’d had more company with him, and - shamefully he must admit - as of late, he’d been visiting said company, whether it had been to gossip, to gamble, to idly talk, or just...to sit. Who knew being a businessman meant being so lonely?
And so, he got off his bed, not even bothering to slip shoes on as he made his way out of his bedroom, wandering down the gold-pillared halls with mosaics made of glittering tiles at his feet. He went to the door a good ways down the hall from his, simply pushing his way into the room rather than knock.
Even at this time, Wilbur still seemed to be up, his head hunched over a desk as his eyes scanned diligently on the books before him. He supposed business never stopped, and Wilbur wasn’t one to slack off.
The man didn’t seem at all jarred by Quackity’s abrupt entrance, already far too used to it. He simply turned his head over to the door, one eyebrow raised. “What?” he asked, sounding almost snappish.
As per their nightly rituals, Quackity simply walked up to his desk, staring down at the floor and thumbing at the wood before Wilbur sighed, turning his chair out a bit and extending his wing. “Fine,” he said, sounding thoroughly displeased - though Quackity knew otherwise.
Slowly, he maneuvered himself into Wilbur’s lap, resting his cheek against Wilbur’s chest. He closed his eyes, blinking tiredly as the man above him repositioned himself, one arm now resting on Quackity’s back and the other holding onto the book, fingers spreading the page open.
It fell silent, only the sounds of paper turning, lanterns flickering, and the occasional gust of wind sounded, and Quackity found himself at ease, nerves calming in the company of another, in a warm embrace, with sounds and sights to distract him.
“You’re alright then?” Wilbur asked after a while, flipping to another page.
Quackity gave a hum in response, eyes getting heavy once more. He cooed quietly into Wilbur’s shirt, relaxing.
“You’re so clingy,” Wilbur remarked with a bit of a teasing tone, but made no move to shove Quackity off, simply letting him be, occasionally rubbing up and down Quackity’s back.
They would stay there until the warm rays hit the window panes in the morning, Wilbur with a discarded book by his feet and Quackity, with a blissful calmness in his mind.