Chapter Text
Fundy never thought about being a father.
Granted, he was barely an adult. He was... what, three years old? Almost four? That would make him maybe twenty or so in fox years. He didn’t really know, he could barely count.
Point is, he really shouldn’t have been thinking about being a parent, anyway. He had a lot more to worry about than trying to start a family.
But maybe Phil’s tendency of adopting every living creature in sight had been passed onto him somehow, because the moment he laid eyes on a little arctic fox in the middle of a forest, he was a father.
He’d been in the middle of building his new home after destroying the last one—something he didn’t really want to think about, to be honest, which is why he’d encouraged his chat to distract him while he built. The little clay people followed him around, talking back and forth with each other and showing Fundy things they made. He’d been trying to find his way back to his half-built cabin through the forest after collecting materials when he saw it.
A flash of white fur caught his eye. He turned away from the clay creatures gathered around his feet and opened his inventory to look for a lead. “You’re coming with me,” he said without hesitation. “You’re coming with me.”
Lead in hands, he crept toward the arctic fox in the grass. It didn’t look particularly special in any way. If asked, he wouldn’t be able to say why he suddenly wanted to take in a fox he found wandering the forest. But he saw it, and it was cute, so if it was looking for a home, then he’d give it one.
It paused and stared at him as he grew closer. “Come here,” he said.
It blinked, completely unbothered, as he slipped the lead over its neck. When he started walking, the fox followed without fighting against the lead. It sniffed curiously at his legs. It seemed perfectly content with being led wherever Fundy would take it.
With chat shoving things in his face and cooing over the fox, Fundy found his way back to his cabin. He tied the end of the lead to a fence post. The fox immediately curled up on the stone beneath it, perfectly happy with its new home.
Fundy didn’t know exactly why he decided to get a new pet. Maybe he just didn’t want to be alone.
The fox was good company, for the most part. He moved it from his porch to the grass after a while so it would be more comfortable. It took a liking to him very quickly. It yipped for his attention when it wanted to be moved or if it wanted food, and it nuzzled into his hand when he pet it.
It wasn’t much, but for the first time in a while, he wasn’t lonely.
Of course, he wasn’t the perfect pet owner. Most of his previous pets were either dead or had been abandoned somewhere. That nearly happened with his new fox once, when he let it loose and it ran off. He told himself he’d find it later and then forgot about it for a few days. It took a bit to find it when he did remember.
But other than that little blip, he’d say he was doing a good job! He liked having something around to talk to other than the little clay people that followed him around.
It took him way too long to remember that he, too, was a fox, and that the fox he took in from the forest might have been more important than just a pet.
Quackity’s invitation to Las Nevadas had come and gone, and Fundy was officially a citizen, for better or for worse. Fundy met a slime man, Tubbo’s outpost had been built, and Wilbur’s revival... happened. Fundy still hadn’t seen his father anywhere, but that was besides the point.
And on behalf of Las Nevadas, the new country that Fundy had found a home in, he chose to investigate Tubbo and his strange new outpost. They’d been having a slightly awkward conversation, wherein Fundy brought up his pet fox, and Tubbo pointed it out.
“You have a pet fox, do you?” Tubbo had asked, staring at Fundy with an amused sort of confusion written across his face. “Isn’t that kind of like a child to you, rather than a pet?”
Fundy took the few seconds after Tubbo uttered that sentence to let that sink in. His pet was a fox. And he was also... a fox.
Tubbo kind of had a point there.
“Yes,” Fundy said without fully thinking that through.
“So you have a kid?”
Fundy was really committing to this, wasn’t he? “Adopted,” he said.
“An adopted kid?” The smile on Tubbo’s face was audible in his voice.
“Adopted, yeah. Yeah, I’m teaching it—I’m teaching him shit.” He really wasn’t, but he’d dug himself a hole now and he could not crawl his way out of it.
“I see.” Tubbo let out a laugh.
“You wanna know his name?” Fundy asked. “He has an amazing name.”
“Okay, okay, what’s his name?”
Fundy had hit rock bottom, but he brought a shovel and was ready to dig. “Uh... gimme a second, I’m thinking of one.” He walked off to a corner. “Just gimme a second, just gimme a second, I gotta think of a name real quick. I’m just going to stand here, you go do your thing, I’ll just be here.”
He turned away, leaving Tubbo in his confusion. “Okay chat, gimme a name,” he whispered to the little clay people gathered at his feet. “We need a name right now, I kinda bluffed that we had a name for him so we need one.”
Dozens of tiny voices spoke up, each one shouting out a variety of names. A small group of them suggested the name Felix, a few others said Charlie, or Fundy Jr., or Apples.
“You guys suck at names,” Fundy said. He whirled around to face Tubbo again, who looked like he had no idea what was going on. “Okay, so my chat has given me horrible names, which means I will think of—I have a beautiful name. You know what his name is?”
Tubbo blinked. “Uh, what?”
Fundy said the first word that popped into his head. “Cheese.”
Tubbo raised a brow. “Cheese?”
“Yeah. Cheese.”
“Why though?”
Fundy really had backed himself into a corner here. “Um... because his fur... is white. Snow white. And that’s why he’s called Cheese.”
“Isn’t cheese yellow?”
Fundy swallowed nervously. “It depends on the type.”
He really should have just shut up at this point, but no. No, he’d talked himself into this situation, and he was going to go along with it until he fucked it up beyond all repair. He was committed to this lie. It would just look stupid if he backed out now.
“Like—like mozzarella,” he said. “Pizza mozzarella. Mozzarella with tomatoes is actually really nice, and that’s why he’s called Cheese, because he’s really nice and friendly. Do you want me to bring him over? I can go get him.”
“Okay,” Tubbo said, and although Fundy could clearly hear that Tubbo was holding back laughter, he elected to ignore that.
On the way back to his cabin, Fundy had time to think. He’d just lied and said he had a kid, when in reality he just found a fox in the woods and decided to keep it as a pet. He never intended to be a father, but he definitely didn’t intend to lie about being a father. This situation was less than ideal, to say the least.
One of the clay people tugged on his pant leg to get his attention. “Are Cheese’s nicknames gonna be Brie and Mozzarella?” it asked.
“Yeah, sure,” Fundy said. “Brie Mozzarella. BM for short. BMC. BMCA. No, now I’m thinking of YMCA.’ He furrowed his brow. “Y. What cheese starts with Y?”
A little chorus of voices form his chat responded. Many of them shouted “YELLOW!” while others said “Ycheddar,” and many others had derailed into singing YMCA.
“Yogurt!” one voice suggested.
“Yogurt,” Fundy repeated. He gasped. “Because he’s white! His fur is beautiful white! He’s a beautiful little white boy! Snow white!”
He weaved through the trees on the way to his cabin. “Yogurt Cheese Brie Cheddar Mozzarella,” he said. “Yogurt. I kinda like Yogurt more, not gonna lie. Let’s just say that his legal name is Cheese, but he likes Yogurt better.”
He arrived at his cabin. The fox—Yogurt, his name was now—sat where he usually did on Fundy’s porch.
Fundy walked up to him and crouched down. Yogurt’s tail swished back and forth. He affectionately nudged at Fundy’s hand when he went to pet him.
Looking at Yogurt... Yeah, there was no way Fundy was keeping him as a pet anymore. This was now his son.
In the days following this sudden revelation, Fundy found many new things to worry about concerning his son. What if Yogurt couldn’t be taught how to talk and walk like Fundy had been? What if Yogurt got stuck in the middle of a war and ended up with some sort of trauma like every other kid on this server? What if he couldn’t keep Yogurt safe and something horrible ended up happening to him? And worst of all, what if Fundy ended up being as bad of a father as Wilbur had been?
That last worry plagued him more than it should have. He was doing a great job of taking care of Yogurt. He fed him berries, he took him to run around the streets of Las Nevadas, he kept him safe from anything that could hurt him. Fundy was good at taking care of foxes.
But he had no idea how to be a proper dad.
Which was probably what led him to the snowy biome up north, freezing his tail off with Yogurt scampering through the snow on a toddler leash. Neither of them particularly needed winter jackets in the cold weather, as their fur should have been more than enough to keep them warm, but Fundy had given Yogurt a dog sweater, just so he wasn’t totally naked.
It didn’t take long to get to Philza’s house. After a few moment’s hesitation, Fundy walked up the steps with Yogurt in tow and knocked on the door.
Moments later, a disgruntled Philza opened the door, his blond hair messily tied back. The feathers on his wings stuck up in a dozen different directions. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed.
“Oh, hey Fundy.” Phil stifled a yawn behind the back of his hand. “What are you doing here?”
Fundy shifted his feet. “Uh, Technoblade and Wilbur aren’t here, are they?” He’d hate to run into either of them at this time. He probably should have checked to make sure they were away before coming here unannounced.
“Nope, they’re both gone. What do you need?”
Fundy let out a relieved breath. “Okay. So, you know how you’re a dad, right?”
Phil furrowed his brow. “Um, yeah? Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”
“Yeah, yeah. And you’re also my grandad.”
“Where is this going?”
“Well...” Fundy leaned down and picked up Yogurt. He held him out to Phil. “You’re also a great-grandfather.”
Phil blinked. “Huh. When did you get a child?”
“Adopted him. His name is Yogurt.”
Phil nodded slowly. “Alright then.”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“Fundy,” Phil sighed, “Wil fucked a salmon and gave birth to a fox. You having a fox for a child when you are a fox is the least weird thing to happen in this family.”
“Okay, that’s fair. That’s fair. You make a good point.” He held Yogurt in his arms, the child leash hanging loose. “Anyway, I guess I’m a father now, and I just realized that I have no idea how to take care of a child.”
Philza cocked his head and rustled his wings. “Well, it’s a fox, isn’t it? You know how to take care of foxes.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know how to teach him shit, Phil. I don’t know how Wilbur taught me how to talk. I don’t remember anything from the first few months I was alive for. And what if I’m not immortal like you and I end up dying before he’s all grown up? Or what if I am immortal and he ends up dying before I do? I don’t think I’m ready for this, Phil.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down, Fundy.” Phil opened the door wider and stepped aside. “Come inside and we’ll talk.”
Once out of the cold air, Fundy took the child leash off and set Yogurt down. He squeaked and began to sniff around the room, his paws leaving wet prints on the floor.
Phil hopped on top of one of the chests in the room and sat perched there like a bird, arms crossed over his yukata. “So, what exactly do you need help with? I didn’t raise a fox for a son, so my experience is limited.”
Fundy hoisted himself up onto the chest across from Phil. “I just don’t know how to teach him stuff. And I’m worried that I’ll outlive him, but I’m even more worried that he’ll outlive me. I—I don’t know how to do this, Phil, I need help.”
Phil took a deep breath. “Well, teaching him to talk might be a problem if he’s just a normal fox. He’ll probably have a human lifespan if he’s anthropomorphic like you, but at the moment...” He glanced at Yogurt, who was busy trying to climb up the wall to get to one of Phil’s many pet crows. “He just seems like a normal fox.”
“How do I know if he’s like me?”
“Did he get spooked and try to run away when he first saw you?”
“Well, no, he was very calm.”
Phil hummed. “So he’s docile. That’s a good sign.” His eyes lit up. “Oh, does he have opposable thumbs?”
Fundy looked over at Yogurt. “Yogurt. Hey, buddy, come here. Lemme see your paws.”
Yogurt glanced between Fundy and the crow in the rafters. He gave it one last menacing yip before he turned and jogged over to his father.
Fundy picked Yogurt up and placed him in his lap. Ignoring Yogurt’s happy squeaking, he took Yogurt’s paws and squinted at them.
A happy gasp left his mouth. “Phil, he has thumbs! He has little stubby fox thumbs like mine! My beautiful little boy has thumbs!”
An amused grin tugged at Phil’s mouth. “That’s good. Uh... gonna be honest, I don’t know where to go from here.”
“How do I be a good dad?” Fundy asked as he set Yogurt back on the ground again. “Are there any rules?”
Phil scratched the back of his neck. “Hmm... I mean, it’s different for every kid. I’ve had a few kids in the past, and all of them needed different things. Basically, you just need to listen to them when they need you, try not to get mad because that only makes things worse, and don’t be an asshole. Let him have a bit of freedom, but don’t let him do whatever he wants whenever he wants, because that never ends well.”
Fundy nodded as Phil spoke. “Don’t be a dick, got it.”
“Yeah, pretty much. Oh, and if you need baby supplies like bottles and clothes, I might have some old stuff in my basement.”
Considering the fact that those old baby stuff had probably been used by Wilbur as a baby, Fundy didn’t really want to use them. “No thanks,” he said. “I think we should go, actually. I got work to do. Lots of work.”
Philza shrugged. “Okay. Have fun working, then.”
The following days were filled with lots of construction work in Las Nevadas. There was a little dispute between the country and Tubbo’s outpost, which certainly worried Fundy. If Las Nevadas got caught up in a war with Snowchester... well, he would lose the one place he felt he belonged.
But he was much more worried about his son than anything else.
Calls to Philza were frequent. Every time he encountered a problem with his child that he didn’t know the answer to, he’d grab his communicator and call his grandfather. Which happened basically every single day.
Fundy held his communicator between his shoulder and his ear, holding Yogurt under the arms with both hands. “When do I start potty training him? He’s a few months old, which means he’s almost one in fox years, and I don’t know if potty training starts when you’re one or two.”
“Just do it whenever, Fundy,” Phil sighed. He sounded tired, but Fundy chose to ignore that. “He’s a fox. I don’t know how foxes work.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know how kids work, Phil. You gotta work with me here. This is your great-grandchild.”
“You know, Wilbur would be a much better person to consult about this, considering he raised you. A fox.”
“I’m not talking to him.”
“Just get a parenting book, Fundy. Please.”
“You’re not very helpful.”
“I’m just busy, I’m sorry. Look, I’ll call you later, okay? I have something I need to deal with right now.”
The line went dead. Fundy huffed. Philza was no help whatsoever.
His communicator pinged and he glanced at the screen. It was Quackity. Get to the needle, we’re having a meeting, the message read.
Fundy looked at Yogurt, then at the message. His chat wasn’t around to babysit Yogurt at the moment. He could theoretically leave Yogurt on his own, but he didn’t want his son to feel left behind or lonely. Besides, last time he left Yogurt alone for a few minutes without supervision, he started making those cries that foxes make when they want their parents, and Fundy had heard enough of those from himself when he was younger. No way was he leaving Yogurt alone to fend for himself.
So he shifted Yogurt in his arms and started toward the tower Quackity called home. He knew the meeting was probably about important and potentially dangerous stuff, but it was better to bring his kid to a political meeting than to leave him completely unsupervised.
Once they went up the elevator and stepped into the main room, Quackity’s voice was the first thing that greeted them. “Whatever Tubbo’s doing, it’s not just some weird cookie shop like he claims it is,” Quackity was saying. He and the others were all gathered around one of the tables in the room. “That is a god damn military post, and—”
His voice cut off when his gaze flickered to Fundy. “What the fuck is that?”
Fundy looked down at Yogurt. “Hmm? Oh, this is Yogurt.”
Foolish tilted his head. “Yogurt?”
“Yeah, Yogurt. He is my beautiful special little baby boy.”
Purpled blinked. “You have a son?”
“Yeah, I adopted him.”
Quackity stared at Fundy, dumbfounded. He exchanged a vaguely confused glance with Foolish. Foolish shrugged.
Quackity cleared his throat and waved to the table, where a space between Purpled and Slimecicle had been saved for Fundy. “Well, take a seat. We’ve got things to talk about.”
From that day forward, Yogurt was not only his son—he was basically the son of every major citizen of Las Nevadas. If Fundy was busy building something on his lot, he could count on Foolish to watch Yogurt for a few hours. Foolish’s two kids (a couple of living totems that Fundy chose not to question the existence of; weirder things had existed on the server anyway) liked having another kid around Las Nevadas to play with. Slimecicle wasn’t exactly a reliable babysitter, considering how scattered he was, but Yogurt enjoyed his strange, totally human habits of absorbing food through his slimy exterior and expelling bits of goo at random intervals.
Even Purpled and Quackity, despite their cold exteriors, had taken a liking to Yogurt, despite the fact that they refused to admit it. Although, to be honest, neither of them were ideal babysitters. The first time Fundy left Yogurt with Quackity, he came back to see Big Q and Slimecicle on opposite sides of a poker table, Yogurt sitting on Quackity’s lap as he tried to teach both Slimecicle and Yogurt how to play. As for Purpled, his method of babysitting was to show Yogurt a dozen different knives and guns and attempt to teach him how to use them.
Needless to say, neither Purpled nor Quackity were allowed to babysit Yogurt on their own anymore.
Since Fundy joined Las Nevadas and adopted Yogurt, life had been... good. Not perfect, but good. He had a home now, a place to simply exist without having to worry too much about the constant threat of wars and death and explosions. It was a place he could raise his son in peace. It was a place he could finally feel safe in the way he never could in L’Manberg.
There was one problem, though.
Wilbur and Tommy had set up near the country. Fundy didn’t know what they were doing, but he felt in his gut that it wasn’t something good. He hadn’t seen Wilbur around at all, thank god, but he’d seen Tommy. He’d provoked Quackity, tried to sneak into the country to spy on them, and kidnapped Slimecicle. If Tommy would be such a nuisance, then how bad would Wilbur be if he came here?
Fundy was petrified of the thought that Wilbur might eventually show up and try to cause problems. He could blow up the country if he wanted to. He could take away the only place Fundy felt safe.
Fundy couldn’t do that. Not a second time.
But of course, things couldn’t go his way.
It was just another night in Las Nevadas when it happened. Quackity was working on his casino with Slimecicle, and Foolish was helping Purpled rebuild a UFO on a lot near the needle. Other citizens of Las Nevadas wandered the streets, some of them there for jobs, others there as an escape from the main SMP.
And Fundy was walking the streets with Yogurt on a child leash, having taken the evening off from working to take his son outside. The server was dangerous, so Fundy liked to keep Yogurt inside as much as he could, but having him cooped up indoors all the time would be torture, hence the daily walks they took every day. A few members of his chat ran along behind them, talking back and forth amongst themselves.
“YOGURT MY BELOVED,” a bunch of voices shouted at once, each one from a different clay creature sprinting behind him.
“We should adopt another child,” another one said.
“We don’t have the room for another kid,” another argued.
“FURRY DAD FURRY DAD!”
“Can we call him Gogurt as a nickname?”
“That’s the worst nickname ever, do not call him Gogurt.”
“GAMBLING DAD IN A GAMBLING LAND, WHAT WILL HE DO?”
Fundy’s arm got tugged to the side as Yogurt scampered over to the side of the road they were walking on. “Whoa, slow down, bud,” he said, ignoring the voices of his chat following him. “You’re running too fast.”
Yogurt made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, but he slowed his pace to match Fundy’s. They jogged along side by side down the streets of Las Nevadas, chat right behind them.
Fundy gazed around at the neon lights of the nation as they walked. It really was a beautiful place. Despite the less-than-ideal circumstances that caused him to move here, he was glad he did in the end. He felt safe here.
Or, he did until the door of the restaurant he was passing by swung open and a familiar face stepped out, Tommy Innit at their side.
Fundy stopped in his tracks. Wilbur Soot strolled down the street, his tattered old trench coat swaying behind him as Tommy stuck to his heels like an obedient dog.
Yogurt tugged at his child leash, wanting to keep walking. He let out a frustrated yap.
Wilbur paused at the sound and turned around. His gaze fell on Fundy through his cracked wire-rimmed glasses. A large bloodstain marked the spot on his yellow jumper where Philza had stabbed him over half a year ago. A bloody bandage was wrapped loosely around his arm. Fundy’s heart dropped when he saw the white streaks of hair in Wilbur’s hair. Fundy reached up and tucked the white shock of fur on top of his head under his hat.
A grin split across Wilbur’s face. “Fundy?”
Fundy leaned down and scooped Yogurt into his arms, needing someone, anyone, to hold, because his father was right in front of him and he was scared.
More than that, he felt the need to have Yogurt close to him so he could protect him. He didn’t know what Wilbur was doing here or what his plans were, but no matter what it was, Fundy was going to keep Yogurt safe.
Fundy plastered on a smile. “Hey, Wil. How—how have you been? I haven’t seen you around.” He tried to ignore the eyes of the passing citizens of Las Nevadas, each of them whispering about the revived ex-president of L’Manberg and his son. The voices of his chat, however, had gone quiet.
“I’ve been good, I’ve been good,” Wilbur said, “haven’t we, Tommy? We’ve been doing well. You know, we set up a little outpost nearby, I met with Phil again... yeah, things have been good. Things have been good.”
Fundy swallowed nervously. “Yeah, cool. Cool.” He glanced at Tommy. “So, you and Tommy are living nearby?”
“Yeah, just across the lake,” Wilbur said. “Quackity said we weren’t allowed to live in Las Nevadas, but we wanted to stick nearby just in case something happened, just in case we could help with something. I don’t know. We’re just here, sort of.”
“Cool. That’s cool.”
Tommy huffed. “I mean, Big Q said I was allowed to join Las Nevadas if I wanted to,” he grumbled.
“Yeah, but we’re doing okay where we are,” Wilbur said, pointedly shooting Tommy a glance.
Tommy sighed. “Yeah, we’re fine.”
Wilbur’s gaze landed on Yogurt, and Fundy’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh, who’s this little guy? You got a new pet?”
Fundy took a cautious step back, the fur on the back of his neck standing up straight. “Son, actually. This is my son. Adopted. His name is Yogurt.”
Wilbur blinked in disbelief. “I’m a grandfather?” he whispered.
Fundy shrugged. “I guess so.”
A smile spread across Wilbur’s face and he walked forward. Fundy skittered in place, wanting to back away but also afraid of the consequences if he ran. He finally steadied his feet and stayed in place, heart pounding as Wilbur approached.
Wilbur reached out and scratched the top of Yogurt’s head. “Aww, he’s so cute! He’s got your eyes, Fundy. Oh, isn’t he just the most precious little thing!”
Wilbur’s high-pitched cooing took Fundy back to the L’Manberg rebellion for a moment, when all Wilbur would do was fawn over Fundy and how cute he looked in his little homemade revolution uniform. Looking back on it now, Fundy wanted to smack Wilbur’s hands away and run far, far off into the distance where he’d never be found.
Yogurt sniffed at Fundy, then at Wilbur. He must have sensed Fundy’s fear, because he began whining and squirming, wanting to get away from the person who was causing Fundy to be so scared.
Wilbur raised a brow. “What’s up with him?”
Fundy stepped away, letting Wilbur’s hand fall back to his side. He wanted to push Wilbur away from his son and say “You’re scaring him! Go away!” but he just couldn’t find it in him to do that. He couldn’t yell at his father. Some stupid, twisted part of him wanted Wilbur to stay, wanted Wilbur to be the father he’d originally failed to be.
“He’s just tired,” Fundy said finally.
Wilbur didn’t look convinced, but he shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped back, to Fundy’s relief. Tommy was busy fake gagging in the background at Wilbur’s display of affection, but Fundy ignored him.
“So, how’d you get into Las Nevadas?” Wilbur asked. “I had trouble even getting close to the place. Why’d they let you in?”
Fundy held Yogurt closer, instinctively nuzzling at Yogurt’s head to comfort him. “It’s complicated,” he muttered. “I was looking for a home and Big Q invited me to Las Nevadas.”
“Oh, that’s interesting. Was Las Nevadas your first choice?”
Fundy couldn’t help but feel like he was being verbally backed into a corner, but he didn’t know how to get himself out of it. “Uh, not really. I was living in a cabin before this. It actually took a bit of convincing to get me here.”
“Really, it did?” Wilbur sounded all too interested in how Fundy came to be a Las Nevadas citizen. “So, say if another offer came around, would you at least consider taking it?”
Tommy suddenly stepped between them. “‘Ey, Wilbur, stop it. If he happy here, he’s happy here. You don’t have to do your—your ‘gaslight gatekeep girlboss’ stuff here. Let him be.”
“What, can’t I catch up with my son?” Wilbur said, his voice slipping into a disappointed tone. “Come on, I haven’t seen him in so long.”
Tommy faltered. “Well... yeah, but—”
“Tommy, I’m not doing anything bad, come on. I’m just giving him another option.”
Fundy hesitated. “Another option? What do you mean, another option?”
Wilbur grinned. “You could stay with us, Fundy.” His eyes lit up. “Oh, it could be like L’Manberg again! We could get Jack Manifold and Niki and Tubbo on our side, too. We could all be a family again, Fundy.”
Tommy’s shoulders tensed. “I don’t know about that, Wil, everyone’s kind of—”
A netherite axe swung down between Wilbur and Fundy, cracking through the concrete sidewalk. Fundy’s heart stuttered as he yelped in surprise. Tommy let out a shriek and scrambled backward, retreating to Wilbur’s side. Wilbur didn’t even flinch. The people passing by all paused to stare.
Quackity stood between Wilbur and Fundy, one hand holding his axe in a white-knuckle grip. His back was to Fundy, but he could imagine the glare he was sending Wilbur’s way.
“I thought I told you I didn’t want you here, Wilbur,” Quackity said, his voice low.
“We were just passing through,” Wilbur said. “Tommy and I stopped by the restaurant. Excellent food. Glad to see the mob problem was taken care of.”
Quackity hefted his axe out of the sidewalk and rested it on his shoulder. “What the fuck do you want?”
Wilbur held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, we’re just here to visit, aren’t we Tommy?”
Tommy nodded. “Yeah. Just visiting.” He crossed his arms and puffed out his chest, doing his best to look intimidating and dangerous, but all he did was manage to look ridiculous.
Quackity hummed. “Then what were you doing talking to Fundy?”
“What, can’t a man catch up with his son?”
“And attempt to manipulate him into leaving his home to run away with his deadbeat dad? Come on, Wilbur, I know you better than that.”
“I’m manipulating him?” Wilbur scoffed. He barked out a laugh. “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black! You’re no better than I am, Big Q, and you know it.”
A slimy green figure popped up out of nowhere and leaned in to whisper to Quackity. “Quackity from Las Nevadas, you’re not a pot,” Slimecicle said, attempting to whisper but failing, as everyone else around them could hear.
“Yeah, thanks Slime, I know,” Quackity said quietly. He muttered something else only Slimecicle could hear.
Slimecicle raised one hand in a salute. “Okay, Quackity from Las Nevadas!” He turned and ran off down the street, disappearing into the crowd of citizens.
Wilbur shot a confused glance at Slimecicle, but he regained his composure in a blink. “Quackity, that’s my son. And I just found out I’m a grandfather! You can’t separate me from my boy like this. Let me sit down and talk with him. You’re not his dad.”
“I might as well be, considering the shit job you did of taking care of him,” Quackity shot back. “He’s said time and time again that he’s worried you would come here and fuck things up, and here you are, doing exactly fucking that! He doesn’t want to be around you, Wilbur! Let the man live!”
Wilbur snorted. “I doubt that.” He peered over Quackity’s shoulder to look at Fundy. “Come on, Fundy, that’s not true, right? I still want to reconnect, if you’ll let me. I haven’t seen you in thirteen and a half years. Please, Fundy, let me have this.”
Fundy gulped. Dozens of eyes were trained on him. The only pair not staring holes into his head was Quackity’s, instead focused on the undead ex-president in front of him who was intruding on their home.
Fundy took a deep breath. He stepped forward to stand at Quackity’s side. “Wilbur... I care about you. I do, I really do. I love you. You’re my dad. But...”
“But what?” Wilbur asked, his voice slightly harsher than it had been seconds ago.
Fundy glanced at Quackity out of the corner of his eye. His glare hadn’t flickered away from Wilbur for even a moment.
“But I want to stay here,” Fundy said finally, the words escaping his mouth in a rush. “Just for now, at least! I... I like it here. It’s fun, and it hasn’t got blown up yet, so it seems like a good enough place to be.” Plus, I don’t want my son to grow up around you, he wanted to add, but he held his tongue on that part. He didn’t want to start a fight.
Wilbur’s shoulders slumped and his face fell. He looked genuinely sad, and Fundy almost wanted to take it back and say yes I’ll go with you, you’re my father and I’d follow you anywhere, why wouldn’t I?
But he didn’t say that. He wanted to stay in Las Nevadas.
Wilbur ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Fundy.”
That made Fundy pause. “What?”
Wilbur looked him dead in the eyes, genuine guilt strung across his features. “Fundy, I’m sorry. I’ve been a terrible father. I should have stayed instead of going and getting myself killed. I should have looked out for you more. Quite frankly, there wasn’t a day that went by in limbo where I didn’t think about you. I should have been a better father. I just want a chance to make up for it.”
Fundy gulped. The fur on the back of his neck still stuck up straight. Part of him wanted to leave, but an even bigger part of him wanted to run into his father’s arms, yipping happily like he used to when he was a fox cub. Wilbur was apologizing. That was something he never thought he’d see.
Fundy took a step forward. “Wil—”
Wilbur shook his head and backed up a few paces. “No, Fundy. You want to stay here, you’re allowed. I won’t stop you. I just want you to know that I’m sorry, and... I’m willing to try to make it up to you if you want to let me.”
Quackity scoffed. “Shut up. Shut the fuck up, Wilbur.” He took his axe off his shoulder and pointed it right at Wilbur. “The thing about the pot calling the kettle black is that the pot fucking knows when the kettle is spewing some bullshit. Takes one to know one, and I fucking know one.”
Wilbur held up his hands. “Come on, Big Q, let’s be gentlemen about this. You don’t want to start a fight in front of a kid, do you?” he said, gesturing to Yogurt in Fundy’s arms.
Fundy tightened his hold on Yogurt. He didn’t know who to believe or who to stand by. On one hand, Wilbur was sorry and willing to make amends, but on the other... could Fundy really forgive him for everything he’d done?
Tommy shifted on his feet, his eyes flickering to something across the street. “Uh, Wilbur, I think we should leave.”
“Tommy, let me handle this,” Wilbur snapped.
“No, I really think we should—”
A crack of lightning interrupted him mid sentence. Fundy jumped and whirled around. The crowd parted like the sea, and two figures emerged from the throng of people. One, a blond teenager in a purple suit, seemingly empty-handed, but Fundy knew he was armed to the teeth under that jacket; the other, a towering demigod resembling a golden totem, a shark tail swinging from the back of his head and a trident gripped in one gold hand. Lightning sparked across the metal.
“Security’s here,” Quackity said, a slight smirk tugging at his scarred mouth.
Slimecicle popped out of the crowd. “Here they are, like you asked! I got Purpled from UFO and Foolish from—”
“This isn’t necessary,” Wilbur interrupted. “Come on, Tommy, I can tell when we’re not welcome.”
Still, Foolish and Purpled walked toward the pair, Foolish wielding his trident and Purpled’s hand resting on a gun holster at his hip. “We’re still going to escort you out,” Foolish said. “Safety measures and all that. You know how it is. Gotta keep the country safe.”
Wilbur gave them both a friendly smile. “Of course, I understand. Come on, Tommy.”
Tommy glanced back and forth between Wilbur and Fundy, brow furrowed. “Um, yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ll go.”
The two of them were led out of Las Nevadas by Purpled and Foolish. People in the crowd still whispered among themselves, and the voices of Fundy’s chat started back up again, too. He’d nearly forgotten they were there.
Quackity glared at the various citizens around them. “Nothing to see here, move along.”
Everyone slowly dispersed. Quackity turned to Fundy, his glare replaced by concern. “Are you okay, Fundy?”
Fundy nodded slowly. He rested his chin on Yogurt’s head, ears flattened back as he struggled to keep himself from whining. He didn’t know if he made the right choice, deciding to stay here in Las Nevadas. Wilbur seemed like he really cared.
Quackity reached out a hand toward Yogurt, who sniffed at it curiously and gave his fingers a tiny lick. Upon gaining Yogurt’s approval, Quackity scratched him behind the ears. “Hey, buddy. Your dad was really brave, wasn’t he?”
Fundy blinked in surprise. “Brave?”
“Yeah, I mean, you stood up to Wilbur. You didn’t even give in when he tried to get you with the apology bullshit.”
Fundy flicked his ear. “Was it bullshit?”
“Yeah, I could tell. Just trust me on that.”
Fundy nodded slowly. He didn’t know if Wilbur had been lying about being sorry or not, but either way, he was sort of relieved to be staying here in Las Nevadas.
And as he watched Foolish and Purpled return, talking and laughing between themselves while Slimecicle and Quackity both cooed over Yogurt, he thought maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.