Work Text:
In hindsight, it wasn’t the smartest idea to handle unknown stragglers in the middle of the night by himself, but Quackity had more than enough honed in his skills by now, having achieved almost all - if not most - of Technoblade’s body strength. He was able to hold his own now, even though he’d rather resort to smooth words and sly skills, it never hurt to be able to tackle someone down.
Except maybe he wasn’t able to tackle five guys down.
At the end of the day, he finished what he needed to- he got them off his property and left them a few nasty wounds, but they seemed to come at a cost. He stumbled back into the casino, taking the back door; the last thing he needed were rich snobs complaining about the blood and feathers strewn all over the carpet. He gripped his side, trying to apply pressure onto the wound as he made his way to his master suite, sending seething looks to anyone who dared shoot him a side glance.
He slammed the large door behind him, managing to stumble into the bathroom before collapsing by the tub, panting. His vision dizzied, black inching from the corners of his eyes as he tried righting himself into a sitting position, wincing as his muscles flexed in response, sending a hot flash of pain through his left side.
He let out a groan, blinking hard to try and steady his focus long enough to inch over to the cabinets by the sink. The first aid kit was nearby, he just had to move...a bit- closer.
Before he knew it he fell onto his chest, the impact making his head pound harder than it already was. He wheezed, still reaching futility. As his hand missed the edge of the marble counter, falling uselessly beside him, Quackity fished out his communicator as fast as he could, pressing the one word he needed before he passed out.
You whisper to Wilbur Soot: help
------
When Quackity opened his eyes again, it was dim, and the pain in his side was more flaring, burning up the left side of his torso. He bit back a shout as a splash of liquid spilled down his side, engulfing his entire body to an agonizing bout of prickling and simmering. He instinctively jabbed his elbow at the affronting attacker, defensive, but only earned a disgruntled noise, and a firm hand coming to hold his arm steady.
“Stop moving, it’ll be over soon,” came a calm, familiar voice.
“Fucking- be more gentle,” Quackity spat, heaving breaths as his wound was cleaned, Wilbur humming almost boredly as he worked.
“Maybe if you weren’t a bloody idiot we wouldn’t have to do this,” he shot back quickly. He turned to the kit beside them, grabbing a needle and suture. With no warning, he worked on fixing the wound, being efficient and unsympathetic in his movements.
Quackity tried his best not to squirm, biting his lip as a new press of molten pain threatened to send him jolting again. He reassured himself after Wilbur got a steady rhythm going however; he’d been through worse, this was nothing compared to what had happened to him before.
A few moments later, the job had been finished - a somewhat neat stitch was sutured to Quackity’s side with little to no issues. Wilbur grabbed a wrap of gauze, lifting Quackity’s shirt with little hindrance and began wrapping his torso, making sure they were secure but not too restrictive. “How’s it feel?” he asked.
Quackity tested his movements, freezing as he turned his shoulders a bit too far to the left. He shifted to sit up a bit straighter but froze at that too, hissing. “I feel like shit.”
Like an asshole, Wilbur had the gall to laugh at him. He cooed patronizingly, brushing his wing over Quackity’s head. “That’s why you don’t fight big meanie guys with swords all by yourself you dumbass,” he said in a mock babying voice.
Quackity squawked indignantly. “Hey! I held my own! They went running back with their tails between their legs!”
“And you also came back and almost bled to death on your expensively tiled bathroom floor,” Wilbur said, deadpan. His expression left no more room for arguing as he took Quackity’s hands, brushing over the scuffed knuckles. It didn’t take much to fix them up, cleaning them swiftly and wrapping his hands.
Quackity didn’t take Wilbur to be the most observant type but he suffered through it as the man seemed to survey every inch of Quackity, making sure he wasn’t hiding any sort of wounds from him. At this point he’d fixed up a cut on his arm and leg, a bruise on his cheek, and a half-sprained wing. It would have been endearing if Wilbur hadn’t been so annoying about it.
Once his colleague had done a triple check on Quackity’s condition, he deemed him alright to move to the bed, scooping him up into his arms without hesitation.
As quick as the action was, he didn’t jostle the precious cargo that was Quackity, being quite considerate of his wounds as he brought him over to the bed, laying him down underneath the sheets. He personally fluffed up the pillows, placing them behind to prop Quackity up.
“I should get hurt more often if I knew you were gonna spoil me like this,” Quackity mused, feeling quite content in his throne of pillows and quilts.
His remark earned a scowl, then a gentle slap of Wilbur’s wing. “Don’t get used to this,” he murmured. “The next time you heavily injure yourself, I’m leaving you to deal with it.”
Quackity couldn’t help but laugh at that, regretting it almost instantly as a dull ache reminded him of his current situation. “Fair,” he said, sighing.
They fell silent, Wilbur standing awkwardly by the bedside before he walked over near the door - almost seeming like he intended to walk out - but he diverted to Quackity’s desk, grabbing the chair and pulling it over by the bed, sitting in it.
The action made Quackity gape for some unknown reason, his eyes blinking at his friend. “What are you doing?”
Wilbur shrugged, trying to put it off casually. “Staying here just in case you move too much like an idiot or something and you bleed out again,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
Quackity made a noise, half-offended, half-fond. He felt a swarm of affection coming over him at the sweetness of it all made him want to gag, a bit repulsed by his thoughts. “Whatever, if you wanna break your back for me, I’m all for it,” he said offhandedly, grinning a bit.
As expected, Wilbur exasperatedly rolled his eyes, but he settled himself, crossing his arms and leaning back.
When the silence fell again and Quackity failed to sleep the first try, he made himself turn a bit, facing his friend. It only took a moment’s hesitation but he uttered into the stillness of the room, “Thank you, Wil.”
The resounding silence that followed made Quackity feel quite hollow...until a hand clasped over his on the sheets, tightening comfortingly over his.
“No problem, Quackity.”