Work Text:
The nuclear bunker in Snowchester didn’t have very impressive security.
The entrance wall wasn't at all reinforced, which meant that someone could easily break in. The haphazardly placed stone meant that they could leave, too, without garnering any suspicion.
Little bit of an oversight, Quackity thought. Then again, Tubbo had never been the most put together kid. Even as the president, he’d been scattered and he’d frequently fumbled, more focused on what he’d lost than what he had.
The nuclear bunker seemed to be fueled by the same principles. It was easy to slip by. In and out. No one had to know.
Quackity’s steps on the stone floor were soft, near soundless, but they seemed to be magnified by the tall, hollow walls and high ceiling. They didn’t echo.
He crossed the room in as few strides as he could manage. The nukes themselves were carelessly propped up in metal stands, their shadows painting dark stripes over the walls and floor.
Quackity reached out as he passed, brushing cautious fingers over the silver casing. It dripped with cold condensation.
He wouldn’t even need to stay more than a few minutes. It would be criminally easy to slide the weapon out of its stand. Quackity already knew there weren’t any alarms in this bunker. One of the stands was empty, and for someone who had lived for as long as he had, it was almost surprising that Foolish hadn’t yet learned to keep his affairs private. Still, despite how many times Tubbo had been taken advantage of, it didn’t surprise Quackity that Tubbo hadn’t learnt from his losses.
He never did. Not with tyrants, not with traitors, not with teammates, not with this.
The control panel was simple. Two slots for two unique key cards, a small screen above them. He didn’t bother touching it. If Quackity needed any information, he could get it from his good old business associate, back at the Big Innit Hotel. It hadn’t taken much thinking to figure out who was Tubbo’s partner in this particular science, considering Snowchester’s short list of permanent residents and Jack Manifold’s sudden propensity for detective work.
Tubbo clearly hadn’t taken his advice to heart. On some level, Quackity hadn’t expected him to. He’d never been too trusting a kid, but he’d always been a hopeful one.
There was no difference, really. But Quackity already knew what Tubbo would think if he told him so.
Quackity knew better, and that was all that mattered.
“If you wanted to drop by for a visit,” Tubbo said from behind him, “all the hot chocolate’s in my house upstairs.”
Quackity didn’t jump. He turned with a smile, spreading his hands welcomingly. “Ay, Tubbo! How’ve you been, man?”
Tubbo stood in the gap in the wall that Quackity had made, his silhouette spiked with Dream’s armour. His hand rested casually on the hilt of his sword. “Gonna have to ask you to step back, Big Q,” he said pleasantly. “I don’t want to have to take your last life.”
The threat settled over Quackity’s shoulders, a familiar weight. He raised his hands in surrender and stepped away from the control panel. “Hey, no need, no need. I’m not trying anything.”
“Who told you about the nukes?” Tubbo asked, moving further into the bunker. His hand moved off his sword as he crossed his arms, but he looked at Quackity the same way he did back in Manburg. Considering. Not quite sure whether or not to trust him.
The hesitation was good news. The lingering trust was enough for Quackity.
Easily taken advantage of, like he said.
Quackity scoffed. “Are they supposed to be a secret?” He watched the way Tubbo’s shoulders tensed slightly under his armour. Right, pull back a bit. “There’s a big-ass crater out in the woods and I’m trying to run a fucking city here, can you blame me for getting a little nervous?”
He still didn’t look convinced. “So you’re here to…”
Quackity shrugged. “Just checking things out, confirming some rumours,” he said easily. “Didn’t mean to get you all worked up about it.”
Tubbo surveyed the room around them— the untouched control panel, all (but one) of the nukes sitting in their stands— and his stance relaxed, just slightly. It was definitely a good thing that Quackity had gone for the control panel first instead of just taking what he needed and getting out. “You probably shouldn’t do that again,” Tubbo told him, nodding to the seam where the floor met the wall. “There’s a tripwire there. You’d be mistaken for a thief, probably.”
Looking closer, Quackity could see a thin, silvery line tracing the edges of the floor, near invisible even though he knew it was there. Shit. “Fuck, guess I wasn’t looking too close. Sorry for scaring you.”
He injected enough genuine apology into his voice that it should be enough to put Tubbo off. Sure enough, Tubbo shifted back onto his heels. Gotcha.
He tilted his head at Quackity. “Got a city, do you?” he questioned. “Isn’t that the Las Vegas ripoff?”
“Las Nevadas,” Quackity corrected. Grin. Amicable laugh. “We’ve still got the fucking slot machines, though. Hey, you like gambling?”
“I’ve recently come into a lot of money to lose,” Tubbo replied. His expression flickered into a grin, almost easing up, before suddenly darkening.
Yeah, he fucking felt that one. The reminder of Tubbo’s… partner nearly made his grin slip, but by now Quackity was pretty damn good at keeping his cool. “Shit, man, trouble in paradise?”
Tubbo didn’t take the bait, instead leaning casually on the wall by the closest nuke stand. He regarded Quackity, calm as anything. “Have you heard of a dead man’s switch, Big Q?”
Well. That didn’t sound very fucking friendly.
He matched Tubbo’s tone, staying loose. Good way to look harmless if he didn’t immediately go for the fighting stance. “Can’t say I have.”
“It’s a bit of a failsafe that I’ve made.” His voice was slow, casual, but something about it put Quackity on edge. Wilbur on the hill after the debate. Technoblade in Pogtopia. Dream across from him in the Holy Lands, arguing over El Rapids (not that it mattered, in the end). Not quite danger, but the promise of it. “You remember our failsafes, right? PEN1?”
Opening, right there. Quackity leaned forwards with a grin, latching onto it. “Yeah, you and me, man! Stepping to the left! What about it?”
Tubbo huffed out a laugh. His expression mirrored Quackity’s— friendly, the memory of kindness, nothing behind the eyes. “Well, I’ve, uh, I’ve got this key card, you see.” He didn’t take it out. Quackity didn’t expect him to. “And all of this… nuclear weaponry, you see, they’ve got a little slot in them where I could put it, if I needed to. Without using the control panel.”
“Without using the control panel,” Quackity repeated. A shiver ran over the back of his neck. He didn’t show it.
“Yep.” Tubbo smiled. “I’ve seen how much damage they can do, Big Q. From here, my house is outside the range.”
Quackity dropped his hands, folded them behind his back. “Is it?” he asked. Back in Dream’s vault, Tubbo hadn’t been moving away from the axe when Quackity entered.
What was in Tubbo’s house that he wanted to protect? The rest of his family, maybe?
“Sure.” Tubbo looks over him, eyes trailing over his suspenders, his dress shoes, his hidden hands. “They’re quite dangerous. If you’re here to ask for my blueprints, Las Nevadas would probably be better off using another sort of protection.”
Quackity didn’t miss a beat, shaking his head firmly. His hands shook slightly behind his back. “Oh, no, no way. Not my style. I’m just making sure my new… residence is gonna be safe, yeah?” He raised an eyebrow at Tubbo.
“Oh, for sure,” Tubbo assured him, threatening demeanour disappearing in an instant. He shifted to stand straight again, extending a hand to Quackity. “We’ve still got each other’s backs, right?”
Quackity grasped it firmly, shaking it with vigour. “Yeah, man, absolutely!” he enthused, making sure the smile didn’t falter.
He let go of Tubbo’s hand, stepping around him towards the gap in the wall. No use trying anything else right now. He’d at least gotten a good look at the bunker, so he might be able to send Charlie in a couple days— he'd slip by a tripwire, no problem. He’d have to check Foolish’s comm logs again, though, make sure he wouldn’t be around to recognize the sight of green slime.
Tubbo left his hand hanging for a moment, looking at Quackity peculiarly, before he let it drop. “Right. Uh, well, there is actually hot chocolate, if you…?”
Quackity shook his head. He ignored the twinge in his chest at the idea of staying for the evening, getting a warm drink with an old friend.
Waste of fucking time. He had a casino to run.
“Nah, I’ve gotta get back to work,” he replied. “That train just doesn’t stop, you know?”
“I’ve got an idea,” Tubbo answered, something odd in his tone. For a moment, Quackity thought of being on top of that tower, of being alone in that van, with Tubbo as the only man he trusted.
Tubbo didn’t learn from his losses, not like Quackity had. But he could maybe give him another chance.
Even as disorganized as he was, he was a clever kid. Smart enough to survive the politics scene first as a bystander and then as a contender, and then smart enough to get the hell out of dodge. Not smart enough to make the changes he needed to, but smart enough to back up the wrong choices with some serious firepower.
He’d be a good asset to Las Nevadas. Except.
“Hey, Tubbo,” Quackity said as the two of them left the bunker. “You’d still step to the left, right?”
Tubbo hesitated, and for a second, Quackity thought—
“Yeah,” Tubbo said, glancing back up to the windows of his house. His eyes went soft. “Still worth staying, big man. I’ve got what I need.”
Yeah. He’d thought so.
Tubbo wasn’t the Las Nevadas type. He didn’t have anything substantial, no legacy to fall back on except a failed political career, but he had a best friend with the passion to step in front of him when shit got tough, he had a fucking amnesiac of a fiancé with books full of the important stuff. (Were they married? Quackity wasn’t sure. He didn’t care enough to find out.)
Tubbo might’ve lost his lives, his home, his power, his dignity, but he’d also lost his fear. There was nothing Quackity could offer him that he’d take. He had what he needed.
“There’s a wedding chapel in Las Nevadas,” he said instead of responding. “Looking for business, if you’re interested.”
“Thanks for the offer,” Tubbo told him, walking him to the edges of the town. “but we’re already married.”
His smile felt tight. “Right, ‘course you are.”
“You would, too, right?”
Quackity paused, letting himself glance back at Tubbo in confusion. “What?”
Tubbo’s stance was loose, carefully engineered, the same way Quackity did it. Sometimes he forgot they’d learnt from the same man. “You’d step to the left?”
He…
Stepping to the right. Leaving Las Nevadas behind. Hot chocolate in Tubbo’s kitchen.
“Yeah, I’m staying right where I am,” Quackity said easily. “See you, Tubbo.” He stepped back, intending to head off without another word.
Almost too quickly for him to comprehend, Tubbo’s hand darted out to grab his and squeezed it, hard. A threat.
...Some kind of misguided comfort, maybe.
“See you, Big Q,” he said quietly.
Quackity let go.
The train didn’t stop.
He had a lot of work to do.