Chapter Text
Wilbur had been to his fair share of drag bars, and yet they still came few and far between compared to regular pubs. His general show of acoustic guitar could only take him so far when most bars and clubs looked for electro and top-pop and anything shiny and exciting. He had to say of all those to date, El rapids was probably in the top five. It had an electric atmosphere, the people lively and the lights neon strobes.
The owners had not paid much attention to him, giving him a set time to perform between acts and fucking off right back to the little office at the back of the club. Well. He’d find backstage somehow.
People dancing and a crowded floor wasn’t the best place to navigate through with a guitar, but somehow he pushed his way through the sea of bodies until he was ascending the little staircase to the stage. And when he got to the backstage, there was that spark he was familiar with. Dancers and queens and kings alike rushing about, applying last minute lashes and buckling up heels of heights he was astounded were physically possible.
“Excuse me-” he tried, a performer with a bright purple shawl not even looking up from her compact mirror. He’ll try someone else.
“Do you know where the-” He starts, but the queen with the white feathered plume of a spartan warrior turned goddess just kept walking on her war path. He sighs to himself. There aren’t any signs, no doorways in his line of sight-
There it is. It looks almost like a panel of the wall, but there’s a door handle, and when he navigates over to it through the asteroid belt of performers rushing about, he practically falls through the door.
To his misfortune, not all of the performers are out backstage. There are four performers in the room;
First, the one looking at him. They have bright red hair close cropped to their head, an either dyed or sprayed-on strip of white through the center. They have one of those hats that look like the one Lily Evans wore in that one moving picture, and masculine makeup, and their clothes are a flannel and a jacket on top, matched with denim shorts, fishnets and sixties booties. Judging by the general vibes Wilbur would assume it was a statement on masculinity.
Second were the two in the corner. There were two people, and one was sitting atop the other’s lap as they did their makeup. They both had some sort of royalty thing going on by the looks of it, and hadn’t even looked up when Wilbur walked in.
The final had just scrambled through what seemed to be an employee entrance, which Wilbur wished he could have come in through, as it would have saved him a shit ton of trouble. Their makeup was barely done, by the looks of it they had just baked their face before leaving.
“Big Q!” The king with red hair called out, turning away from Wilbur and rushing to the side of his friend.
“Fundy-who’s- what’s the schedule-?” ‘Big Q’ panted out, practically falling into a chair at one of the vanities and scrambling to open his makeup bag.
“It’s- breathe, Q! You’re not on for like, four hours.” Big Q seemed to melt in relief, still hurrying to start on their makeup. “You should probably still get that done asap. You’re supposed to be on the floor.” his friend took another look at him and sighed. “I can cover for you. Just hurry, I fucking hate the floor.”
“I know. Thanks a million, really. I’ll get you dinner or something, whatever you want.” Fundy grinned at him.
“I ate tonight already, but for tomorrow, you know that chicken place? With the really good sandwiches?”
“Done.” Big Q said, holding out their hand. Fundy shook it, and as if remembering his presence, finally looked back to Wilbur. He realized he had just been standing there, watching the interaction. He did that sometimes. Sometimes he forgot people could see him. People watching was fun and all until you were caught staring.
“Who are you by the way?” Fundy asked casually, and Big Q whipped around, shocked at the notion that there was a whole other person in the room he hadn’t accounted for.
“I’m Wilbur, I’m doing some music later on.” Wilbur said, giving a small smile to the pair.
“Oh, that explains the guitar! I’m Fundy, and this is Quackity.” Fundy explained. “I thought you were performing like-queen or king, and I was worried you didn’t have makeup and whatnot!” Fundy explained, and as they talked his emotions of the short anecdote carried perfectly through his face. Wilbur, who was not the best person at getting his expressions to match his tone, was a little bit in awe at the skill.
“Ah, nope. Not 'til I can carry a wardrobe in the ol’ backpack.” he drew a laugh from the pair. “Do you-” He was cut off by a call into the room.
“Quackity, Dream, George, that doesn’t look like the floor!” Wilbur heard a commotion, and turned just in time to see the person who had been applying makeup- Dream- in a heap on the floor and scrambling to get up. Fundy just sighed.
“That’s my cue. Nice meeting you Wilbur, good luck!” he said, waving before hurrying from the room. The other two-Dream and George- bickered as they passed, not even bothering to look at Wilbur.
Now it was just Wilbur and Quackity. He sat down in the chair next to Quackity, placing his backpack and guitar on the floor on the opposite side.
“I was going to ask, what's the crowd like out there?” Quackity turned to look at him for a second before bursting out laughing, trying desperately not to crinkle his eyes and mess up his still-wet eyeliner.
“Oh god, I’m-I’m not laughing at you-” Quackity said through his laughter, it finally dying down enough for him to answer. “It’s kinda a shit crowd. It used to be okay but last couple months I swear I’ve seen more bachelorette parties for straight brides than gay people. That kind of crowd.” Now it was Wilbur’s turn to laugh and groan in turn. Why did straight people have to take over specifically queer spaces? “Yeah. That’s El Rapids for you. Owners don’t really give a shit either. For all intents and purposes Dream runs this place.”
“One of the guys in the corner earlier?” Quackity nodded.
“Green guy. He’s in charge of making sure everyone’s doing what they need, all that jazz. It’s all favoritism of course, so get on his good side if you want to come back.” Wilbur nodded.
“I don’t think I’ll be back.” Quackity feighned hurt.
“You hate me that much? Oh Wilbur, I’m crushed.” He said, back of his palm pressed to his forehead. The beanie he’d run in with had been replaced with a wig cap, seemingly in the single moment Wilbur had looked away.
“Of course not Quackity, my absolute beloved.” Wilbur went on with the bit. “I just don’t like to stay in one place too long. Nothing about the people usually.” Quackity looks over to him.
“You a Sagittarius?” Wilbur faked offense.
“I may know how to make my exit but my commitment issues aren't that bad, I’m offended.” Quackity laughed loudly. “I’m a virgo.”
“Ah, the boring sign.” Wilbur’s jaw dropped and he began to laugh. “Kidding! I love my Virgos! Humble kings.” He said as he pinned the wig on, long black waves rippling past his shoulders.
“I'm gonna guess you’re a leo. I get along well with leo’s well.” Quackity shook his head, kicking his shoes off under the vanity and standing up. When he unzipped his jacket, there were shimmering blue sequins in a scoop neck dress. “Oh my god, you’re like- drag superman.” Quackity looked at him, bright blue lined eyes widening and they threw their head back to laugh.
“Please- I want to change my name, that’s it. Drag superman. That’s my new brand.” he held his hands up as if spelling out the words in the air
“What’s your current 'brand'?” Quackity stares at him deadpanned.
“Ducks.” As he finished removing his clothes, revealing the rest of the dress, he also takes something out of his bag. Wings.
Bright yellow feathers with glitter frosting the tips line wings that unfold to be almost taller than Wilbur.
“Those are incredible!” Quackity smiled as he put them on.
“I’d sure hope so, or my son will have spent way too much time and glitter on something trashy.”
“You have a son?” Quickly's face flickers, but returns to it’s light smile.
“Step-son-”
“Still your son-” Quackity shakes his head.
“He’s great at artsy stuff. Loves crafts and all that. His best friend sews and knits and he’s good at making things.”
“Seems cut out for this then. Or cosplay. What 14 year old me wouldn't give to be good at crafts.” Quackity chuckles.
“He wants to come around sometime.”
“How old is he?”
“Just turned 13 recently. Said I’d take him when he’s older.” Wilbur nodded. “Don’t tell him, but I’ve been coming to shows since I was 12.” Wilbur chuckles.
“Aww twinsies! I remember, first time my mum caught me coming home from one-she was fucking pissed!” Quackity’s face flickers again, and Wilbur decidedly does not carry on with his story. Parents being mad when you do something for a career now is a funny story. Parents screaming and telling you that that life is ‘wrong’ is not. “How long have you been with your…?”
“Husband. We celebrated our one year a couple months ago.” Now, Wilbur isn’t one to pry, but as Quackity relays the information there’s no spark of joy, in fact no traces of joy at all. His eyes are hollow and he realizes that they’re a bit bloodshot; the mark of the worriers, the sleepless, and those hiding their tears behind cold water and a layer of makeup. He should know.
But one thing he’s learned, prying never leads anywhere good. So he doesn’t.
“Good for you!” he goes with. “Unrelated but I love your makeup!” Wilbur said, changing the subject and watching Quackity’s face change back to a smile.
“Thanks! It’s supposed to be kinda 60’s mod themed, with all the lines and colors.” He stands up and gives a turn. “The outfit is also kind of 60’s themed, because the miniskirt riots were in the 60’s as well, and the boots of course.” He said, brandishing the shiny white leather.
“You’re absolutely rocking it!” Wilbur said, giving him a small round of applause. Quackity grinned, flipping his hair over his shoulder.
“Thank you, I’ll be here all night.” He joked, and held out a hand to Wilbur. “Wanna come to the floor? Fundy’ll kill me if I don’t help him.” Wilbur nodded, taking the outstretched hand into his own.
The hubbub backstage had died down somewhat, and luckily someone was up there announcing, so they simply hurried down the stairs and to the floor.
Purple smoke seemed to be the ambiance of the room, and muddled with the smell of sweat, cheap colognes and perfumes alike and alcohol, it smelled like a heartbeat thrumming along to the beat of the drums. Quackity pulled him to an empty table, navigating the crowd with expert ease. The performer on the stage was doing an intricate series of hand motions, and a few death-defying drops leaving the audience roaring for more.
“So tell me about you.” Quackity began, breaking the silence, though the club around them was bustling. “I know you’re a virgo, and your name’s Wilbur and you play guitar. What else is there?”
“Not much honestly. Usual story, left home and hit the roads to become a musician. Now I have abandonment issues and play ‘male manipulator music’.” He said, only about half joke, and Quackity groaned.
“Please don’t tell me you’re an unironic smiths fan.” Wilbur hesitated, and Quackity buried his face into his hands. “I have a fucking type I swear to god.”
“I’m not a mega stan per se, I can appreciate art-”
“You’re done. No rights for you.” Quackity said through laughter.
“This is transphobia!” Wilbur proclaimed, sending them into even more of a laughing fit. It had been so long since he’d had such an instant connection; he missed this, laughter and just joking around with friends.
He missed the permanence of friendship.
But not everything is meant to be permanent.
“I don’t think I ever asked, but what are your pronouns?” Quackity asked.
“He/him, thanks for asking. How about yours?” Quackity did that frown-smile thing, where the corners of your lips turn down, but your eyes remain the same.
“You know what, great question but unfortunately I will not be taking questions at this time!” Quackery said, clapping his hands together
“Quackity, my dearly beloved, do you really think the trans guy is going to judge you? I’ve literally been the cause of like three different people’s gender crisis. Lay it on me.” Wilbur was half joking at this point- yeah he’d been the point of three different egg’s crisis, but making people talk about gender? Nope. Just making sure he knew the option was on the table. Talking things out, especially gender, with random people can be theraputic.
“I would, but I have no fucking clue. I don’t feel like a boy, but I like feeling boyish. I don’t feel like a girl but I like feeling girly. Fine with dressing up as a girl, fine with dressing as a boy. I’ve never truly sat down to think it through.” Quackity said, shrugging. He reached up to play with his hair. “You can call me he/him, but I don’t think I’d care if you called me anything, you know? I won’t correct anything.” Wilbur nodded.
“Makes sense. Good for you honestly.” Wilbur said, holding up his hand for a fist bump.
“Aw yeah gender fist bump let’s go!” Quackity says, reciprocating the gesture. The act on stage finishes with tumultuous applause, and Quackity stands.
“That’s my cue. I’ll be back in a bit, go have a drink or something!” He called, and Wilbur gave him a thumbs up.
He in fact, did not go to get a drink. He was tapped on the shoulder as he had just stood to go back to the dressing room and have his sandwich. There was the man with the green shirt and blonde hair, Dream, who was giving him a judgemental look.
“You’re playing tonight?” he asked, and Wilbur nodded. “Right, well you might need to go on earlier than expected, we had a few no-shows, so how does 10:30 sound? You were 11:45 before.”
“Sounds good to me!” he said, and Dream looked like he had more to say, but the shorter man in blue- George- whisked him off before he could relay any of it.
A glance to his watch told him it was close to 10, so to the back he went to gather his guitar. He found Fundy chatting to a dancer in the green room, seemingly going over choreography. Fundy gave him a small wave, which he returned before grabbing his guitar and going out through the door Quackity came in from earlier.
Luckily, it seemed to be one of those ever creepy ‘employee entrances’ with a narrow, dark stretch of hallway that led to the parking lot. He sat himself down in the middle, and once the door had clicked behind him he took his guitar from the case.
The metal strings were rarely out of tune, and the worn wood felt comforting in his grip. A quick scale brought him up to speed, as fingers dancing over the strings was a game he could play for years on end. It was familiar; he had memorized the way each string snapped back up with a strum and the feel of steel pressing into skin.
Echos leapt off the walls and spun off the ceilings, and his music reverberated. The liminal was his comfort zone, places where one was only meant to pass through. The heavy air of hallways, cracked pavement of sidewalks and luminescent tube stations didnt expect anything of him but footsteps to a destination. It was a comfort.
He was just about ready, when the door opened.
“Thought you’d be back here.” Quackity looked incredibly out of place, the fading fluorescents making the sequins reflect glitter.
“What brought you to that conclusion?”
“You have mysterious local vibes. Just showing up somewhere and immediately knowing all the best hiding spots.”
“Who says I was hiding?”
“You came back here.”
“But then-“ Wilbur’s lips upturned “you’re here too.” Quackity smiled and shook his head.
“Can’t catch a break can I?” They leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “I’m just tired. What’s your excuse?”
“Hmm, don’t like practicing in front of people.” Wilbur stood, picking up his case, the strap of his guitar keeping it right where it needed to be.
“You’re literally a performer!”
“Yeah, but practicing is different. Now I know I won’t mess up.” Quackity nodded.
“Fair. Well hey, get out there and blow everyone away.”
“Be honest, how much restraint did it take to not to have added ‘sport’ after that sentence?” The pair burst out laughing.
“I’m not a dad yet!”
“I dunno, I’m getting DILF energy.”
“Wilbur, I think that’s the biggest compliment I’ve ever gotten.” Quackity said, putting a hand over their heart. “You better sprint though, sometimes they run early.” Wilbur nodded, making for the exit.
“You coming?” Something impossibly tired flashed across Quackity’s eyes.
“I’ll make it out for your performance.” It was quieter than anything he’d said so far. Then, as if correcting and pretending nothing happened, it was gone. “Go! You’re gonna do amazing!” Quackity gave him a quick hug, and Wilbur barely had time to reciprocate before he was being shoved from the hall and back into the dressing room.
The analog clock hanging above the door read that he was on in fifteen, so he headed to backstage to watch until he was on.
In that time, he watched a dancer who hit every beat of the music with a precision he could only dream of, a green whirl across the stage, and a drag king with a full pirate getup, both with astounding feats.
And than the intermission started, and he was up.
The lights had changed from their blinking beams to a constant state of purple, and the crowd was dispersing from the floor to the bar, others settling into the chairs and lounging on couches around the perimeter. He didn’t want to kill the crowd, so he started with some higher energy covers. The music spilled from his chest, and the guitar became one with him, an extension of the self. The crowd was invisible, and he was in his home. Before he knew it, his last song had faded out, and the lights were coming back. Dream had walked out on stage.
“Alright everyone that was Wilbur Soot!” He paused for applause, which were as fulfilling as always, leaving a warm feeling of accomplishment in his chest. “Now, our next act might involve a bit of a splash zone, so those of you in the front get ready for…” Dream’s voice faded out as the dressing room door closed behind him. His shoulders slumped and a smile spread across his face in his post-performance high. He sat down in the chair he’d been in several hours ago, and the room around him buzzed with the energy that was once there. Quackity’s seat was empty.
But the door opened up, and there was that flash of blue.
“Wilbur! That was incredible, you’re fucking amazing man!” Quackity was smiling brightly, and his voice sounded normal, but something was off. WIlbur tried to place it, and it was not until their eyes met that he saw the stain of mascara on their cheeks. Quackity saw his change in expression, and his smile faded a bit.
“Were you crying?” Wilbur asked quietly. Quackity shook his head, and pushed a smile.
“It's actually nothing, don't worry. I’m okay, I’m okay I’m just-” His voice was breaking and shoulders had started to shake, and Wilbur was up in a second.
“Can- do you want a hug?” Quackity nodded, and though he was shorter then Wilbur by a longshot, he stood on his toes to not get makeup on Wilbur’s jacket. Wilbur bent his knees a bit to let him. Quackity is the one to let go after a long minute.
“Sorry I took away from your moment, I-”
“You don't need to be sorry, there's nothing to apologize for. Just-do you want to talk about it? Talking can be nice.”
“I doubt you’d wanna hear it.”
“Try me.” Quackity stared at him for a minute, before sighing, and going back to the little hallway. Wilbur followed suit. They sat against opposite walls.
“I was on the phone with my- son. His dad’s fucking drunk again, and he was really scared. He walked halfway across the city-alone at this hour-to get to his friend’s house for the night.” Quackity took a shaky breath. “I should’ve been there for him, but his dad lost his job and we need the money. I can't call out or dream will-” He stopped again. “I don’t know if I can stay with him. But if I leave then his son, my son won’t have anyone. Things are only getting worse.” Wilbur wasn’t sure what to say.
“Shit, I’m so sorry. That’s…god. I’m so sorry you’re going through that.”
“I got into this mess, nothing to be sorry for.” Quackity grumbled. “Is it bad I’d do it again? I never thought I’d be a parent but I’d do anything for that kid to get the fucking childhood he deserves.”
“That makes perfect sense. You’re allowed to be upset though-it's a lot.” Quackity shook his head. He spaced out at the wall, and glanced at his phone before breaking the small silence of the hall.
“I was a law student. That’s what I was in school for. I’m gonna try to get him emancipated. There’s no way his dad would ever give up custody, but I’ll be damned if I don’t get him away from him" Wilbur nodded along, and Quackity glanced over to him. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have just fucking dumped all this on you.” Quackity sniffled, and Wilbur searched through the pocket on the inside of his chest for one of the folded up clean tissues, an old trick of his step-dad’s. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, of course. And I asked. I’m glad you could talk about it. You’re incredibly strong, and honestly? You seem like the kind of person who gets shit done no matter what. You’re gonna get him out of there.” Quackity nodded, whether to Wilbur or himself a mystery.
“I am.” Silence fell back over them. When someone's heart is pulled from the chest cavity and put on full display, changing the conversation becomes a taboo, like something was uncovered and the only way out is to dig deeper through the tangle of roots. Wilbur picks at the callouses on his fingers.
“You’re a good person Quackity. I really hope things work out for you.” Wilbur stood, brushing himself off. He’d made his fair share of dramatic exits, and considered himself one trained in the art of knowing when it was time to go. Quackity looked up.
“Scared you’re gonna get attached?” Wilbur looked at him, and Quackity stared right back. Wilbur chuckled.
“Yeah. Just a bit.” He went to collect his bags, and the dressing room was almost empty. Almost.
“Wilbur! I loved your set, that was sick!! Do you write your own stuff?” Fundy asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“I do! Thank you”
“Are you sticking around for a bit?” He asked, pointing to the backpack on Wilbur’s back and the guitar case in his hand.
“Nah, I’m making my way out. I’ll see you around though.” He held up his hand in a little wave, which Fundy returned.
“Bye Wilbur, it was nice to meet you!” He called as the door shut to the employee entrance. Quackity was right where he had left him when he returned to the hall.
“Will I see you again?”
“Yeah. Don’t know when, but you will.” Quackity nodded, and Wilbur held out a hand to help them up.
“I’ll see you later then.” He said pointedly, and Wilbur dropped his hand.
“See you later.”
As the door closed, it trapped blue sequins and caked makeup and a roaring crowd of upperclass bachelorettes behind it, froze it in time and seared it into his memory.
And he was on the move again.