Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hello all!

This is just a lil c!tntduo fic that's been rattling around in my brain for a while now. I don't really have a super concrete plan for how long this is going to be, but I'm pretty much just gonna write however much I want regardless of how many reads I get.

Hope you enjoy!

Papers piled up on the mahogany desk, surrounding the figure in the middle, asleep on his arms. A loud knock on the door caused the figure to jolt upright and look toward the disturbance.

"He's here again," Charlie announced as he entered, setting down a cup of coffee on the cleared space where Quackity's head had just been and adding a few more papers to the already giant stacks that covered every available space. Quackity groaned and squinted at the visitor through what little light that filtered through the windows.

"I thought I told him to fuck off the last time he decided to visit," he muttered.

"Well he's here again, smoking at the sign. I went and told him to go, but he said he had something important to discuss with you," Charlie remarked in his usual, cheerful tone. Quackity groaned again as he stood up and retrieved his coat from its hanger.

"You're in charge until I get back," Quackity called over his shoulder as he walked out of the office and toward the doors.

"Have fun!" Charlie called to him as he left. Quackity replyed with a scoff.

"Yeah right."

Wilbur inhaled the evening air with satisfaction from his position on top of the sign. Of all the sensations he missed most when he was a ghost, breathing was at the top of the list. As Ghostbur, he'd stand on the highest roof or mountain he could reach and let the wind blow through his translucent body, imagining he was alive again. It was the thing he remembered clearest from being a ghost. Now he didn't have to fake the breaths he took, and he wasn't going to deprive himself of the calming sensation. Charlie had come by a little while ago to tell him to leave, but Wilbur dismissed him and asked for Quackity. From his high vantage point, he could see the smaller man stomping out of the main building, headed toward his perch. Whenever Wilbur got bored or pissed off or just wanted to talk to Quackity, he'd climb up the maintenance shaft of the neon billboard at the entrance to Las Nevadas until Slime or Quackity noticed his presence. He smugly watched the silhouette trudge toward him until he was within shouting distance.

"Hey asshole! The fuck are you doing?".

Wilbur snickered to himself.

"Hello Big Q!" he shouted back. "Nice night for a smoke!". Catching his intentions, Quackity grumbled to himself as he climbed the sign to sit beside Wilbur, their feet dangling off the edge.

"I thought I told you to piss off," he said to Wilbur as he rifled around for a cigarette in his stylish but ultimately useless coat.

"Didn't feel like it," Wilbur replied, causing the other man to snort with disbelief.

"Look, I'm the owner of this place, you can't just-" Quackity began, but Wilbur cut across him.

"Here. It's pathetic watching you dig around in that coat, we'll be here till midnight if we wait for you to find one." Quackity eyed the cigarette in Wilbur's hand for a second, then sighed and took it. "Why did you even get that coat? It's fucking useless, all the pockets are too shallow and it's not even waterproof."

"My coat is fucking fine," Quackity replied. "I don't believe you came all the way out here to insult my coat though, even if you are an asshole." Wilbur eyed the coat again.

"I don't know Big Q. It's a pretty shit coat." Quackity rolled his eyes at that.

"Yeah yeah, whatever. Fucking coat police." He sighed. "Cut the horseshit Wilbur. Why are you here again? I made it very clear last time to stay the fuck away." Wilbur seemingly didn't hear, staring out at the city.

"Have you added new lights to the bar on the west side? It looks rather striking". From their viewpoint far above the ground, they could see almost the entirety of Las Nevadas. "I personally would've picked a darker shade of red, but-"

"Wilbur. You're being distracting."

The taller male smirked.

"My apologies Big Q, the only thing more distracting than my good looks is you in the moonlight," he replied with a wink. Quackity felt his cheeks coloring against his will, and briefly looked away.

"Quit it. I'm asking you a real question. Charlie said that you wanted to talk to me, say what you need to so that I can kick you out."

"Oh? You wish to be rid of me so soon? Truly Big Q, I'm a little hurt," Wilbur complained with a fake pout. Just as the corners of his lips began to turn down, they quickly pulled themselves up into a wide, jesting grin. Quackity found himself watching the familiar movement with a tiny little smile. Noticing the look on his face, Wilbur buzzed warm on the inside. Wilbur had spent enough time with Quackity to know that emotions were not his strong suit, so he tended to hide them when possible. He also knew that the tiny smile only ever came out of hiding when Wilbur was around nowadays.

"So how was your daaaaayyyy?" asked Wilbur, drawing out the last word to an almost comedic extent, successfully pulling another snicker out of the smaller.

"It was fine," Quackity replied. "Busy. Charlie's working on the schematics for another bigger building, not quite sure what it's going to be yet." Wilbur oooed appreciatively.

"And how is Slime?"

"He's good. Cheerful as always." And so it went on, Wilbur prodding Quackity to open up more and more as the sun set behind the Las Nevadas skyline.

"And how is it with you these days, huh? More interesting than here I'd assume," Quackity asked, tapping the ash off his cigarette to take another puff. Wilbur chuckled a little.

"Well I don't know about that, Big Q. A little bit of this, a little bit of that, but nothing special." Quackity huffed at the non-answer, but didn't press. As the hours passed, he felt his words slowing down despite his best efforts. How long had it been since he'd slept this time? He couldn't seem to find an answer in his fog-filled mind. Wilbur, noticing his change of mood, pretended to scoff in disappointment.

"Again Q? You said you were gonna be better about sleeping." Quackity tried to make a noise of disapproval as he was hauled onto Wilbur's back, but Wilbur was so warm and his coat was so worn and soft that he just ended up laying his head on Wilbur's shoulder instead. He felt Wilbur exhale in response to the pressure, then a soft voice tickled his ear.

"Hold on tight, Ducky. Once I'm down the ladder I promise I'll carry you for real." He tried to complain that he could walk himself, but it was entirely lost in the coat. Wilbur chuckled a little bit. "Come on Duck. I'll take you back."

Too tired to argue any further, Quackity made one last muffled death threat and wrapped his legs and arms around the elder's neck and waist, linking his ankles. He was jostled slightly as Wilbur descended down the ladder from their lookout, but once they reached the ground Wilbur gently slid his hands under Quackity's thighs and carried him back to the apartment on his back.

(A/N)

Hello hello! This is my first story that I've published so far, and I'm super excited!! I hope that you enjoyed it. I have some things prewritten for the next parts, so those should be out pretty soon. I don't really have much of an expectation for this, it's just something I've been thinking about doing for a while.

Stay tuned!

~K

Chapter Text

Wilbur felt the warm breath on his neck slow to a steady rhythm as he carried Quackity back to his apartment in the downtown area of Las Nevadas. "At least he's getting a bit of sleep," Wilbur thought to himself. Quackity had a bad habit of overworking himself, not eating nor sleeping until his body physically quit on him. Wilbur did worry a lot for him, which was part of the reason he came by so often. He started just standing underneath the giant sign when he was bored because he knew Quackity would come by telling him to piss off and occasionally stay and chat for a while if Wilbur distracted him for long enough.

But there was one day, a few months after Wilbur had started coming by regularly. He was leaned against the base of the sign watching Quackity trudge up the main drag to meet him, but he could tell something was off. His expression, instead of the usual frown, just seemed defeated.

"Wilbur," he said as he approached. "Can you just fuck off today? I'm really not in the mood to deal with your bullshit on top of everything else." Wilbur frowned.

"What other bullshit?"

"Just busy. People being shitty, Foolish is being a pain, and Sap-" he froze, realizing what he'd said. "Nevermind. I shouldn't be talking about this shit, especially not to you." Quackity sighed, leaning against the base of the sign in exhaustion.

"Why not?"

Quackity raised an eyebrow at the question.

"Because I know you Wilbur- or at least I did. You're always planning something, scheming with someone. Besides, this is important shit that I've got going on. I don't know what would happen to Nevadas if it got out. But it's just- ughhhhhhhh" he groaned as he slid down the base, dropping to a sitting position with his head on his knees. He felt a tap against his knee, and turned his head toward it to the box of cigarettes Wilbur was offering him.

"Take one. You look like you need it."

Quackity hesitated, then took one and lit it. Wilbur continued talking. "I don't know exactly what I did in the past, but the only thing I'm scheming right now is how to get Tommy to take a shower."

Quackity snorted. "I know you mean well Wil. And I know you're different now than you used to be. But I don't know if I can trust you." He exhaled a puff of smoke into the proceeding silence. After a moment, the spell was broken by Wilbur rummaging through his overcoat, eventually managing to pull out a journal with the word "memories" scrawled messily on the front. Quackity raised an eyebrow as Wilbur thumbed through the worn pages.

"This," Wilbur began, "is my journal. Every scrap I'm able to remember from being a ghost goes in here, and anything I can remember from past me too. All of my thoughts, everything." He winced as he ripped out the first blank page he came across and wrote a short paragraph on it. He then gave the paper to Quackity. "That paper says that, in the event that I retell something you confide in me, then you are allowed to burn- burn this journal," he said, swallowing. Quackity's eyes widened. He scanned the paper, confirming.

"Wilbur. I'm not gonna burn your journal. It's far too important."

"And I'm not gonna tell anybody else your secrets," he interrupted. The two men stared at each other, at an impasse.

Suddenly, Wilbur's eyes dropped to the ground as he quietly said, "I understand if you really don't want to tell me, Q, I really do. But I'm dead serious about the journal. I know you don't talk to anybody, not really." He looked up to Quackity staring him dead on, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted. "Shit," he started. "Shit, I'm sorry. That was too much. I'm-"

"You really want to hear? That bad?"

The hurt in Quackity's eyes, the disbelief that somebody actually cared hurt Wilbur deep inside, in a familiar way. He didn't pity Quackity- it was more like a simmering curiousity, mixed with anger and confusion. Who had hurt him? What had Wilbur missed?

After that, Wilbur started coming by more and more often. Quackity would always ask him the purpose of his visits, and he would offer a cigarette instead of an answer. Quackity would tell him to leave, and he would promise he would this time then reappear at the border the next day. It was their little routine, Wilbur knew that if Quackity really wanted him gone then he would make it very clear. So he kept coming back. And he suspected that, even for the amount of shit that Quackity gave him for showing up, he didn't really mind trekking out to the sign for a smoke and a chat.

Wilbur smiled warmly as he reminisced. As they approached the building, the man on his back began to stir from the bright lights of the downtown. "Shit," Wilbur hissed as he felt Quackity start to rouse. In a desperate measure to keep him asleep, Wilbur took off his thick scarf and placed it around Quackity's eyes and face as best he could to block out the light. He held his breath, then felt the rhythm of Quackity's chest against his back even and slow again. Sighing with relief, he continued on. He went into the apartment building and checked the coast was clear before taking the elevator up to the right floor.

Once Wilbur entered the apartment and put Quackity down on the bed, he simply stood there. He'd never been up here before, usually Slime or Foolish intercepted him before he got to the elevator. He didn't exactly know what to do, so he acted as though it was one of those nights where he ended carrying Tommy back to Phil's in the same fashion. As he slipped off Quackity's shoes and attempted to put him into the bed, Wilbur thought to himself how much easier it was to carry Quackity versus Tommy. Less legs he supposed, aided by the fact that Tommy had the irritating tendency to move around in his sleep.

Unfortunately, Quackity was not as sound a sleeper as Tommy was, and Wilbur almost woke him while trying to put him under the blankets. He settled instead for placing the sleeping male on top of the bedding and placing a blanket over top, but couldn't find any blankets anywhere in the room and didn't dare do much poking around. He sighed, took off his coat, and placed it over the sleeping form. He went to retrieve his scarf, but to his surprise Quackity had the scarf twisted around his hands and pulled close to his chest, curled around it in his sleep.

"I'm gonna get hypothermia walking back to Phil's," Wilbur huffed to himself, then paused. Something about his (kind of adorable) maybe-friend-maybe-rival-maybe-something-else clutching his scarf and covered up with his coat, sound asleep for what was the first time in probably days did something funny to his heart. Quickly and quietly he crept over to the sleeping form. Smoothing the hair back from his forehead, he planted a light kiss.

"Sleep well Ducky," he whispered, using the petname he used only when he was sure Quackity was too tired or too drunk to remember it. He then quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. He slipped out of the building unseen.

Or so he thought. There was someone watching him, nothing more than a pair of sharp eyes in the darkness. Narrowing, watching the exchange through window shades.

"What are you playing at, Father?"

Chapter Text

It was the same nightmare as always. Bright lights, shining on him, knives and needles picking and poking at his wings and limbs. Sterile tweezers and scissors picking away feathers and tissue, placed in sealed containers as though it was diseased. And above it all, the voice. His voice. "This is your punishment," he whispered in Quackity's ears. "You failed me. I thought that you loved me, but I suppose not if you're determined to be such a fucking disappointment. Stop squirming, you're such fucking pussy. Can't even take a little pain for the greater good. I can't believe I loved such a little bitch." Quackity tried to flinch away from the voice, but he was held in place by restraints, and as he struggled the voice intensified. Going on and on about what a failure, what a disappointment he was. How he was the reason the nation was falling. It was all his fucking fault, and he was trapped on that damn table as Schlatt examined him, tried to bottle his magic, stealing his feathers and muscles and bones. Slicing him open while whispering into his ear how much he loved him, how much he cared, how noble Quackity was for helping the nation. And all Quackity could do was lay there, pleading and begging for an end to no avail.

Like every night, Quackity tried to will himself awake, tried to put an end to the flashbacks. As hard as he tried, he was never able to escape the night terrors until he would wake up hours later, covered in sweat and feeling no more rested than before. Eventually giving in, Quackity just laid still, hoping Schlatt would be merciful if he played along. He cried silently, knowing that there would be no respite until he awoke.

And then it stopped.

End of TW. Summary: Quackity recalls traumatic events regarding his past and abuse he endured from Schlatt. Just as everything seems hopeless, the pain suddenly stops.

Suddenly, the bright surgical lights faded to a soft, orange-tinted glow that smelled like cinnamon smoke, and the view around him turned calm and inviting. He couldn't quite make out any features around him, but it felt warm and comfortable nonetheless. Was he awake? He didn't feel very awake, but this definitely wasn't his usual dreamscape. Whatever. He definitely wasn't complaining about the new location. He laid down on the ground to find that it was soft enough to swallow him up, with a texture like old leather and flannel that welcomed him in. No longer afraid of what sleep held, he laid his head down and slipped into real sleep for the first time in a very long while.

He was next aware of being awoken from the orange place, briefly slipping out of sleep. He protested inside his mind, aware that his body was being moved around. His left side came into contact with something pleasantly soft, and he noticed something on his face. As he inhaled into the soft sensation, cinnamon smoke filled his senses and he instinctively curled around the source of the scent, protecting it with his body. Just as he started to drift off again, something very warm and heavy covered his body. He burrowed into it, the weight making him feel safe and protected. He buried his face deeper into the material discovered it smelled much the same as the object tangled in his hands. The last thing he could remember before permanently drifting off was a breath ghosting his face, a warm press to his forehead, and murmured words of endearment indistinguishable to a morning memory.

Quackity slowly awoke from what he was pretty sure was the best sleep of his entire life. He tried to push himself upright only to discover that his hands and forearms were tangled around... Wilbur's scarf? Deciding to deal with that after coffee, he unwound the scarf carefully from his arms and sat up from underneath a heavy brown leather blanket.
Hold on.
He didn't have any leather blankets.
Under closer inspection, he realized that the blanket was actually a coat. A very nice coat, with the faded tag in the back reading "Wilbur Soot" in perfectly crooked handwriting, the ink rubbed almost invisible by time and wear. His brain refused to parse this new information.

He got out his communicator to contact Wilbur and ask him why in the fuck his coat and scarf were in Quackity's bedroom. He found a message already waiting for him in their chat.

"Big Q- you fell asleep last night, so I carried you back. don't worry, nothing happened and nobody saw us. message when you wake up and i'll come pick up my stuff.

p.s.- you should sleep more often. makes your face look less angry."

Quackity laughed a little at the message before replying.
"Im awake now asshole, come get ur shit."

To his surprise, Wilbur replied almost immediately.
"good morning sleepy. i'll meet you at the sign in 15."

Quackity went to agree, then stopped. Something about the messages, the clothes left behind, and the fuzzy memories from last night gave him pause, the dots not quite connecting. Wilbur always had very concrete, well-thought out reasons for every single thing he did. Quackity often joked that he would consider the possible strategic gains and losses when choosing what to eat for breakfast. Many other people had a hard time keeping up with with this habit of Wilbur's, thinking him to be purposefully causing trouble just for fun. Granted, Wilbur did like causing trouble for laughs, but in this respect it was just how his brain worked. It took a little while for Quackity to figure this out, but he could recognize the habit easily now and was usually able to make sense of Wilbur's actions even if they seemed irrational at face value. However, Quackity couldn't quite make sense of this particular development. Why would Wilbur leave his coat, which contained all of his most precious possession, things he didn't trust to keep anywhere else but on his person with Quackity, who had a reputation for dishonesty and violence? And, more importantly, why had Wilbur left him his scarf, arguably the thing he valued most, made for him by Ranboo before his death. The pieces weren't fitting together in his mind. He needed more information So instead, he replied back:

"be at the sign in 5min. foolish will bring you into the bar, we'll discuss over lunch."

The message bubbles appeared, then disappeared. Then after a few minutes, a message popped up.

"see ya in 5. finally get to see if Las Nevadas alcohol is anywhere near as good as you claim it is. Maybe my amazing charisma will convince you to let me join ;)"

Quackity scoffed.

"dont get cocky shitstick. i'll see if i can dig up some absinthe for your nasty ass. don't be late."

Chapter Text

Quackity swirled his drink with a grimace. He'd have preferred to just drink a bottle of beer or at least something less strong, but he had a feeling cognac would be necessary for this conversation. Plus, he didn't want Wilbur to think he was a wuss. Not that it really mattered or anything. A little while ago, he'd received word from Foolish that Wilbur had arrived at the outskirts and that they would be arriving shortly. As he planned and waited, Quackity threw back another sip then nearly choked on it as Wilbur and Foolish stepped into the room and.... holy shit.

Wilbur.

His white formal shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, showing several necklaces layered over bright white scars. His shirt was tucked loosely into dark brown pants, which brushed the tops of his worn-through boots. Over this he wore a faded blazer, left open. At first glance his hair was just as messy as ever, but looking more closely Quackity could tell that the curls were more defined and artfully swept out of his face, and his white streak was barely visible, tucked into the rest of his hair.

Foolish hung back by the door, but Wilbur strode over confidently, sat down across from Quackity and leaned over the table toward him. With his chin propped up on his elbows and necklaces hanging forward he remarked, "Got anything good to drink here, or are the bottles behind the bar just for show?" with a knowing smirk.

And holy fuck.

Quackity felt curls of warmth shoot through his chest. Fuck, he cursed to himself internally. This was definitely NOT the time to suddenly be aware of how attractive Wilbur was. This conversation was gonna be a fucking nightmare. How the hell was he supposed to start this off? "Ah yes, hello Wilbur, was just thinking about how hot and sexy you look right now. On a completely unrelated note, why did you carry me back to my bedroom and cover me up with your coat like a domestic daydream last night?"

Stuck in his thoughts, he didn't realize Wilbur staring at him, waiting for a response.

"Uhm, Big Q? You uh- is this a bad time?"

Quackity focused again on Wilbur in front of him, berating himself for being so goddamn distractible. This was just a business exchange for god's sake, how the hell was he gonna run Las Nevadas if he lost his shit every time a hot guy walked in?

"Uh- no." He cleared his throat. "Not a bad time. Sorry 'bout that, just ah- thinking about... uhmm..." Why did he start saying that? He didn't have an answer, so he searched desperately through his mind for a plausible excuse. And what his genius, genius mind came up with was:

"You clean up nice."

Fuck. Fuck this, fuck life, and fuck hot guys. Quackity had the sudden urge to stand up, chug the rest of his drink, kiss Wilbur on the lips, and-

Wait. What?

This was such a disaster already. How had it gone this far off the rails???

Somewhere in his mess of a brain he heard a laugh, which pulled him back to reality.

"Can't say I expected that one, Q. Have you been day drinking already? Without me? I'm offended. But thank you, I suppose. People have fought wars over my good looks, you know."

Unable to come up with any sort of reply, Quackity simply scoffed.

"Too soon Wilbur, too soon."

Wilbur chuckled. "Pity. Now, you said you had something important you wanted to discuss, and that sounds like it deserves some hard liquor."

Quackity didn't respond. He was too busy thinking about how Wilbur blushed at his impromptu compliment.

"Uh- Q? Quackity? Are you sure you're alright? Last night seemed rough, if you're not feeling well-"

"No, no I'm fine," Quackity coughed out. "Just a little distracted is all."

"Yeah, I gathered," Wilbur replied with a smirk. "Now how about that drink?"

"Ah- yes, of course. Uh- Foolish- if you wouldn't mind-"

Foolish, who had been watching the whole encounter, laughed a little.

"No way. You only told me to bring him in, not be his maidservant. The only reason I'm still here is because of how entertaining this is."

Quackity sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You can't just audit a confidential business meeting because you think it's funny, Foolish. Either be helpful or find something better to do."

"I don't think business meetings are funny, I think you being flustered is funny."

"I'm not flustered! Now get out, go find fun somewhere else."

"Yes, Big Q," he replied, emphasizing Wilbur's nickname for Quackity.

"Go!"

"I'm going! Have fun with your business meeting!" he replyed in a mocking tone.

As Foolish left, Quackity put his head down on the table and sighed loudly as Wilbur just laughed at him.

"What respect you garner from your employees, Big Q. Truly, I'm impressed."

Quackity groaned and picked his head up off the table. "Stop being an asshole or you can kiss that drink goodbye."

Wilbur mimed locking his mouth and throwing the key over his shoulder, so Quackity went behind the bar and started mixing their drinks.

Wilbur watched as Quackity added several different alcohols and mixers into the metal canister and shook it vigorously as he thought about the conversation thus far. Something was... off? Not that it felt wrong per se, but there was something different in the atmosphere between them.

He followed Quackity's movements as he poured the finished drink dramatically into a cocktail glass, and topped it with a cherry and a slice of orange. He let out a low whistle.

"Impressive," he remarked, "All that effort for me? I'm flattered."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Quackity retorted, leaning sulkily against the bar, drink in hand. "This is for me. You were an ass, so you get nothing."

Wilbur pouted, and Quackity made a face.

"Fine. What do you want?"

Wilbur chuckled to himself. He didn't know why Quackity did that, kept letting Wilbur get away with things. He knew that if he crossed the line for real, Quackity would make it very clear (probably by violence). But it never happened. So they continued playing their little game.

"Rum and Coke. On the rocks."

Quackity pulled another face, this time one of disgust, but started making the drink anyways. Wilbur watched him, noticing every little detail. Wilbur had come to realize all of Quackity's little expressions, and what they meant. Right now, he was all focus and concentration, his brow pinched in the center and his teeth biting the corner of his lip as he poured and mixed. As he finished the drink, his eyes flicked up suddenly and made contact with Wilbur's. He felt a shiver go through his chest as he let his eyes flick away, falling on Quackity's partly open shirt, the muscles in his arms displayed by his rolled sleeves, his hands and the many rings that adorned them...

Wilbur shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts. Long ago he had come to terms with the fact that he found Quackity very attractive, but that sort of thing wouldn't get him anywhere in a serious conversation. Plus, Quackity had been acting oddly and would probably prefer to get this conversation over with so that he didn't have to worry about Wilbur being in his city anymore. Quackity returned with Wilbur's drink and set it down, disturbing Wilbur out of his thoughts.

"Rum and Coke, seriously? Fucking disgusting. Between that and the absinthe, you have the worst taste in drinks in anyone I've ever met. And Fundy likes spiked energy drinks."

Wilbur straightened up in surprise. "Wait, Fundy? He's here?"

Quackity raised an eyebrow as he sat back down. "Yeah. He works here. Don't worry, I know there's some weird shit between the two of you so I made sure he wasn't in today."

Wilbur breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God. He hates me for some reason, so obviously I did something to him in the past but nobody will tell me anything."

Quackity fumbled the glass in his hands, almost spilling it. He looked at Wilbur with wide eyes. "You mean- you don't remember... you don't remember Fundy?"

"I know he's important to me- or at least he was." Wilbur spoke, refusing to meet his gaze. "Could you... I mean, would you mind telling me? Even Phil has refused to tell me anything, so I know I must've done something really bad."

Quackity took a long sip of his drink, then exhaled slowly.

"I'll tell you what I know. I get why nobody's said anything, but it's important shit for you to know and you're gonna have to find out sometime." He sighed. "So," he began,

"Fundy is... your son."

Chapter Text

tw: mentions of picking at skin/cuticles (very short)

"What?"

"Fundy. He's your son."

Wilbur looked like he'd taken a punch to the chest.

"His mother is a... a salmon. Named Sally," Quackity added quickly, trying to provide any sort of context. "He's uh- we don't really know why Fundy's a fox.

Wilbur's eyes got even wider. "A salmon?"

"Yes."

He put his head in his hands, whispering to himself, "A salmon. A fucking salmon. I fucked a salmon and we had a child. A child who is part fox. And he hates me." He looked up at Quackity. "Why does he hate me?"

Quackity looked away, guilty. "Look, Wilbur, maybe I shouldn't-"

"Tell me or I won't leave."

Quackity's gaze snapped back to him, surprised. "You what?"

"I won't leave," he replied with resolve. "I'll stay here until you tell me what happened."

"Wilbur, I-" Quackity began again, standing up.

"Quackity, please."

Quackity stiffened immediately at the pleading tone in his voice. Quackity turned back to see him staring back, the desperation visible in the lines of his face.

"Wilbur- Wil." He'd begun to rush forward protest, but Quackity had put his hand against Wilbur's chest to stop him. On instinct, Wilbur placed his own hands over Quackity's to hold them in place but quickly removed them, fearing he'd overstepped. To his surprise, Quackity took his hand back and grasped it between his own, looking up in consent.

Wilbur immediately softened at the gesture, letting both of his lanky, calloused, hands be pulled into Quackity's slim and thoughtful ones. He watched, entranced, as Quackity smoothed his thumbs over the backs of Wilbur's hands and along his fingers. He started to feel the emotions in him settle a bit, instantly more relaxed.

"Can we maybe sit down and talk about it?" Wilbur asked timidly, still watching Quackity run his fingers over his palms. Quackity nodded and, to Wilbur's dismay, dropped his hands and led him over to a small couch.

They sat down, as close to facing each other as the couch would allow with their knees touching slightly. Before Wilbur could say anything, Quackity spoke quietly. "Give me a moment. I need to collect my thoughts." Wilbur nodded, and watched as Quackity's brow pinched in concentration. As he watched him, he noticed Quackity's hands fidgeting intensely in his lap, picking at his cuticles and freckles. Carefully, Wilbur set his own hand over them, stilling their erratic movement and earning him a look of confusion from Quackity.

"You were just ah- y'know. Bad for your hands to keep doing that."

Quackity quirked an eyebrow, then followed Wilbur's gaze down to his damaged fingertips.

"Heh, yeah, it's a bad habit of mine. What do you suggest I do about it?"

Wilbur offered his own hand again, making Quackity laugh a little. But he took Wilbur's hand nonetheless and started playing with his fingers and knuckles, brushing his thumbs over the callouses. His brow pinched to focus once again, then eventually evened again as Quackity sighed.

"I don't know if I can, Wilbur. I'm sorry."

"Please Ducky," Wilbur replied, then stopped wide-eyed.

Quackity immediately stopped as well.

"What?"

Wilbur withdrew his hand immediately, ignoring the way Quackity's fingers seemed to follow.

"Nevermind. It's- it's nothing. I- I don't know what it was. Shit. I'm sorry, I-"

He was interrupted by Quackity's fingers lacing with his own and pulling them back into his lap, and by his quiet voice.

"You..." Quackity began. "You raised him. I don't know what happened with Sally, so don't ask me about that. But after a little while she was out of the picture, so you were the one who raised him most. When you began L'Manberg, he was ecstatic to be able to fight by your side. He was with you every step of the way, he would've followed you to the ends of the Earth if you asked. And he fought too, when he was too young to be in a war. He killed people. He watched others die. But he trusted you to make it work out right, that you were gonna fix everything in the end.

"But then you died. He felt so betrayed, felt that you had left him to deal with everything. And eventually, he broke. He had nobody else. He thought that maybe- maybe Schlatt could fill that missing space."

Wilbur saw how Quackity's eyes dulled as he said Schlatt's name, the pause that it forced, the way it stilled his fingers, the way it haunted his figures and gave him the air of someone trying to fix a bullet wound with a cotton swab.

As soon as Quackity stopped talking, the crushing weight of what he'd said hit him. Wilbur wanted so badly to reassure him, tell him that Schlatt wasn't around to hurt him anymore but his head fell forward against his will onto Quackity's shoulder, and he was pulled forward and into warm arms that rubbed circles on his back. In his ear he could hear whispered words of comfort as he cried into the fabric of Quackity's shirt. After a moment, Quackity attempted to get up but Wilbur murmured a complaint and tightened his grip

Wilbur listened to his breath as Quackity chuckled just a little, oddly soothing him. His fingers carded softly through Wilbur's hair to calm him and a low voice whispered softly, "Let me get up, mi cariño. I will be right back, don't worry."

Wilbur groaned in protest as Quackity got to his feet, and tipped his head back on the couch as his mind spun circles thinking about what he'd been told. What had he done? He'd considered children, but never seriously; as far as he was concerned it was hard enough taking care of Tommy. How could he not remember anything? It seemed more familiar as he thought about it more though, long-forgotten memories surging into his head. Fundy as a young child, hitting a dummy with a wood sword, turning toward him with stars in his eyes as he successfully performed a crit. Teenage Fundy, telling him that his name wasn't Floris anymore and that he'd prefer to be called a boy. Wilbur mocking him, taunting him for it, telling him to stop dreaming. Older Fundy in a red and blue uniform, the distrust shading in his eyes but still pulling him into a hug and whispering "Please come back alive" into his ear before turning away.

A light touch on his back brough Wilbur back to his surroundings, and he realized that he was now curled in a ball with his hands over his ears, with Quackity standing above him with a mug and a concerned expression. He slowly stood up, ready to apologize for breaking down. Instead, the mug was pushed into his hands as Quackity wrapped his fingers around Wilbur's.

"Are you alright?" Quackity asked, with something that might've been care laced through the question.

Wilbur tried to say that he was fine, but no words would leave his mouth. He felt tears welling in his eyes, and quickly tried to swallow down the choking sensation in his throat.

Quackity took the mug and turned away, making Wilbur gasp softly and involuntarily reach for him as he stepped away. As Quackity turned back, Wilbur registered that he'd turned away to put the mug on a side table before he was enveloped in warmth.

Wilbur melted into Quackity's embrace, arms wrapping tightly around his torso and head dropping onto his shoulder. Quackity's hands rubbed calming circles as he whispered in Spanish. After a while, Wilbur's head got heavier and heavier and the whispers in his ear began to slow. He slowly pulled back, stifling a yawn and wiping his face with his sleeve.

"It's late, Q. I should be heading home."

"No. Not after the night you've had. It's late and you're a wreck, just stay here."

Wilbur's eyes widened at the request. "I couldn't impose on you like that." He dropped his eyes. "I know how uncomfortable it makes you to have me here, I'm not gonna make you lose sleep over my whereabouts."

Quackity grasped his wrist with a sigh, leading him towards the elevators. "I'll lose more sleep if you walk home in the dead of night, semi-drunk and completely exhausted," he replied as they stepped into the elevator, Wilbur still trying to protest. As they bickered, Quackity muttered, "I don't hate having you here, Wilbur. I like it when you're around. Please stay here tonight, if only to make me feel better."

Well, that shut him up.

They rode up in silence, then stood awkwardly in the hall once they got to the right floor.

"So, uhm. Your room should be this one here, on the left, and mine is the door at the end of the hall," Quackity explained. Wilbur nodded.

"Ah- yes. Uhm. Thanks, for letting me stay. For the night I mean."

Quackity cleared his throat.

"Oh, yeah, yeah, don't uh- don't mention it."

They stood in silence.

"So I," Wilbur started, "I should probably be heading off. To sleep. And such."

"Ah yes, yeah of course." Quackity replied, trying to fill the silence. "Well, uh. Goodnight then. Just come knock if you need anything."

"Yep. Sounds good. Can do."

They both started walking opposite directions down the hallway. When Quackity reached his room he quietly closed the door, then sat down against it and put his head in his hands. 'What am I doing?' he thought to himself. This was dangerous, what he was doing. How could he let it happen again?

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock.

He quickly stood up and smoothed his shirt before opening the door to Wilbur.

"Yeah, what's up?" he answered, trying to regain his composure.

Wilbur only dropped his eyes and sighed heavily, looking defeated.

"Quackity- I know this is... I'm..." he began, then trailed off with a grimace.

"Can't sleep?"

Wilbur nodded.

"Is it the spiraling?"

Wilbur nodded shakily, then crumpled forward like Quackity had knocked the air out of him. Quackity stepped forward to catch him before he fell. Too tired to think through the consequences, Quackity spoke on impulse.

"C'mere."

Wilbur barely even protested as Quackity pulled him into his room and shut the door, but got the message as they entered his bedroom.

"Quackity, you shouldn't-"

"Shut up and take your shoes off. I wouldn't have brought you in if I didn't want you here."

As they laid next to each other in the queen-sized bed, Quackity could feel Wilbur shivering beside him. He sighed and pulled him close, hugging him to his chest. Wilbur stiffened at the movement, then completely relaxed into him. Quackity brushed his fingers through his hair and whispered whatever comforting words he could think of until he felt Wilbur's breathing steady. Once he was sure Wilbur was asleep, Quackity burrowed his face into his hair, letting the familiar cinnamon smoke aroma lull him to sleep.

A/N: whew! this one took a lil longer than i expected, i got stuck on the ending for a while but i think im happy with how it turned out in the end :)

at least these two idiots are finally getting somewhere, right?

Chapter Text

The morning sun streamed through the window, slowly rousing Quackity as it creeped across the carpet and onto his face. He yawned and tried to stretch, but was stopped by a pair of arms around his waist holding him still, warm huffs of breath against the back of his neck reminding him of the previous night. He rolled over and was faced immediately with a pair of half-open eyes peering at him through a mess of hair.

Wilbur looked so grumpy at being awoken that Quackity couldn't help but laugh at the sight, brushing the hair aside so he could see Wilbur's face better.

And oh.

Quackity's breath was knocked out of his lungs by the sheer beauty of it, unable to do anything but watch Wilbur's soft brown eyes disappear from his smile, notice a warm rose creep through the apples of his cheeks, see his mouth turn from a fake pout to a wide smile displaying his perfectly crooked teeth, hear the beautifully genuine laugh that slipped through his lips before he could hide it. And he remembered with sudden clarity why he'd tried to distance Wilbur from himself, why he'd tried to drive him away.

Because Wilbur was the sun, and Quackity couldn't help but try and soak in his rays. He knew that someone like Wilbur would burn him again and again, and he'd still keep coming back for that addicting, all-consuming warmth. He'd already felt the terrible terrible pain, already knew how bad it burned. So he'd tried to keep his sun at arm's length. It couldn't hurt him if he didn't get too close, right?

But Quackity hadn't been careful enough, and now the sun had fallen out of the sky to sleep beside him and look at him like he was the only important thing left in the world.

As he burrowed his face beneath Wilbur's chin, he decided that maybe burns weren't so bad after all.

Wilbur ran his hands through Quackity's hair, humming softly. "Good morning, Q. You sleep well?"

Quackity swallowed at the lump that appeared in his throat. He eventually managed to choke out a, "Yeah, fine," but it came out mangled.

Wilbur drew back to lift Quackity's chin and look him in the eyes. "What?" he said, his curling vowels once again reminding Quackity of that incredibly unfair, stupidly sexy British accent. Faced with that smile again, Quackity tried to duck his face down but was stopped by Wilbur's hand under his chin holding his face in place. The smile on Wilbur's face turned to a smirk as he leaned in closer. "Is there a problem, Q?"

Quackity knew he was absolutely bright red but managed to get out, "I said I slept fine." Gaining some of his usual bravado back, he continued, "Would've slept better without your spider legs taking up half the bed."

Wilbur scoffed. "Oh really? Well then I suppose I should just leave you be then." He began to pull away and sit up. A grip on the back of his shirt stopped him in his tracks, then yanked him back down.

"You leave, consider yourself dead," Quackity said, pulling the collar of Wilbur's shirt forward so that they made eye contact.

Stunned, Wilbur went still and wide-eyed. Quackity wondered if he'd gone too far and almost started to apologize, but before he could get the words out Wilbur leaned in close and whispered, "Clingy, are we?" as he wrapped his arms back around his torso. Quackity almost wondered if he had gone too far in a different sort of way, judging from Wilbur's hazy eyes and dark red cheeks. He gripped Wilbur's shirt again, pulling himself close to his chest. "Maybe," he muttered into the worn fabric. Wilbur's arms tightened around him, holding him close. As their legs entangled, Quackity could've sworn...

He drifted into sleep again, dropping off almost immediately in the warmth and comfort.

When Wilbur awoke, his arms were empty. Sitting up and looking around the room, he couldn't find any trace of Quackity anywhere, save a few bright yellow feathers scattered around. Important, important, chimed his brain at the sight, but poking at the thought didn't provide any clarification. Sitting up and yawning, he remembered what had happened early that morning. Smiling privately to himself, he remembered holding Quackity without him pulling away, burying his face in his hair and smelling his vanilla shampoo, trying desperately to tell Quackity without words how much he cared. To have spoken would've been to pop their little bubble, and so he said nothing, settling to instead feel Quackity asleep in his arms, feel his breath puff across his chest, feel himself pulled closer instead of pushed away.

It had to mean something, right?

He pondered these questions as he put on his coat and collected his things. Picking his journal up off of the bedside table, he noticed a note laid on top of it:

Wil-

Have a few meetings today, but nothing important. Could use some help with blueprints if you want to, meet me in my office whenever you're awake. (3rd floor, 2nd door on the left)

~Q

TW-------

He smiled at the note, then carefully folded it and put it between the journal pages to keep it from getting torn. He then made his way to Quackity's office, pausing a few feet away from the door. The door was cracked open, and loud voices could be heard arguing from inside. Creeping closer, he saw Quackity standing behind his desk with Fundy yelling at him, his bottlebrush tail spiked in anger.

"How could you let him in here? You've seen the horrible things he's done!"

"I'm not denying he's made mistakes Fundy, but-"

"Mistakes?? Quackity, he's killed people, he's done worse than just killing! We watched him blow up the country that he made, and all he did was laugh! He's a monster."

"He's changed, Fundy! He's different than he used to be, he's trying to be better! You have to trust me!"

Fundy scoffed.

"How could I? After you let him in here? He killed his brother, he killed me, and he's going to kill you next!"

"Fundy-"

"You don't understand! You're blinded, Quackity. Doesn't take a genius to see you have feelings for him."

Quackity's face drained of color.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. You couldn't possibly understand me, you don't know what it feels like to be left in the dirt by someone you trusted."

"Oh yeah?"

Fundy's head tilted up, then jumped back at the expression on Quackity's face. His expression reeked of pure danger, his wide smile not reaching his deadly eyes.

"Try me. Fucking try me."

Fundy started to back away but Quackity slammed his hand down on the desk, stopping him in his tracks.

"Have you ever had the person you trusted the most, the person you loved experiment on you? Tell you that all the pain is love, that nobody else would ever care about you if you left? Have you ever had the two people you thought would always be by your side tell you that everything you thought you knew was a lie and then ban you from their fucking country, just for good measure? Have you ever had every single person you meet treat you like shit on the side of the road? Because I have. That's my entire goddamn life, wrapped up like a shitty little present. So don't even try and compare your pain to mine, Fundy. You're standing in waist-high water, and I'm in the middle of the fucking ocean."

"All that pain, and you're walking willingly into the slaughter house again? How fucking stupid are you?"

Fundy's words hit him like a gunshot, making him drop back into his chair.

That was what made Wilbur leave.

Because the real kicker was that Fundy was right. He was just one more accident waiting to happen, a ticking time bomb. Who was he to push himself on Quackity, give him even more to deal with? He knew that he had to leave. He ran, ran as far away as he could go.

"He said what?"

Fundy nodded, smirking. "He said that you left him. That it was your fault."

"That little son of a bitch. And he's using the zombie as a fucktoy, really?"

"Saw them disappear into his room, didn't come out until the morning," Fundy remarked with a proud nod.

"That motherfucker. You did good, Fundy. Expect your payment in the next few days or so."

Crackling light filled the room, reflecting back in his pupils.

"Meanwhile, I have some problems to take care of."

End of TW----

Summary- Wilbur goes to Quackity's office only to find him and Fundy arguing over his presence. Fundy makes a comment that Quackity's just asking to get hurt again by allowing Wilbur into Las Nevadas. Wilbur decides to leave in order to protect Quackity from more pain. Fundy reports back to a mystery party, who decides both Wilbur and Quackity need to pay.

A/N- eheheheeee. Who's Fundy's new friend?

Chapter Text

A/n- lol so i kinda disappeared for a while?? sorry bout that but here's a longer chapter as an apology. also the new fundy lore??? the new wilbur lore??? crying sobbing screaming kicking falling down the stairs calling my mom and shitting. like AKDHASJFHAOFIWE. anyhow,,,, enjoy the new chapter which is slightly more coherent than whatever that^ is

He ran. He wasn't concerned that anyone would be following him, but running was a much-needed release. The rhythmic thumping of his feet against the dirt did wonders to calm the rushing river of his thoughts. He ran until his lungs couldn't take it anymore, stopping to lean against a tree and catch his breath. He tipped his head back against the trunk, trying to go over the memories of the past night and morning analytically, trying to view them from a professional perspective, but felt the tears slipping from his eyes anyway.

"Fuck," he whispered, running his sleeve over the tear tracks that stained his cheeks. He couldn't be seen like this. "Pull yourself together, goddamnit," he said louder, "It wasn't like this was a fucking surprise."

Before he could get any further, a voice rang through the woods.

"Fath- dad? Dad? Where are you? I've missed you so much?"

He inhaled sharply. Fundy. Maybe in another scenario he'd be tempted to try and talk, but after the argument this morning he didn't think Fundy was trying to flag him down for a game of catch. He tried to slip away, looking over his shoulder to see if he could spot anybody behind him.

Ouch.

He'd put his foot through a rotted log, tripped, and fallen flat on his chest with an almighty WHUMP. He heard voices (plural??) quickly getting closer, catching words every now and then. One specific voice suddenly became much clearer than the rest, twisting through the fog and filled with menace.

"You're dead, Frankenstein."

A flash of heat, and then he was upright again, running for what he supposed was his life. He searched desperately through his mind for a way out of this new predicament. He was good at running, but he couldn't keep up a full sprint like this for too long. His lungs were already burning; he cursed himself for picking up smoking. He could hear the steps behind him drawing closer, accompanied by taunts and jeers. Distracted, he didn't notice the fading trees or the crunch under his feet. He only registered where he was when he noticed faint curls of smoke coming up from behind the snow-covered hills. As he reached the top, he caught the distinctive scent of horse shit and gunpowder emanating from the innocent-looking cottage.

Techno!

He mounted the fence, pet Carl hello, and slipped into Techno's house. "I don't think he's in," Wilbur thought to himself as he quietly shut the door behind him. "I should be fine to hide out here for a wh-"

"Wilbur?"

He froze with his hand still on the latch.

Plastering his best smile to his face, he spun around and opened his arms welcomingly. "Hey, Techno! Long time no see, huh?"

"What are you doing in my house?"

"Well, I just thought I'd swing by, see how my favorite brother is doing!"

He was met with silence and a raised eyebrow.

Turning toward the kitchenette, he rummaged around for a mug amongst mismatched china and the occasional weapon. Prattling on in vain hopes of distracting Techno, he continued with his monologue.

"Y'know, I was just in the area and I thought it would be really nice to stop by, do you want some tea by the way?" he turned and waved a mug in Techno's direction, but might as well've asked the wall for the response he got. He shrugged and turned back toward the counter, this time looking for a kettle. "Ah, that's a real shame. I had this new tea I picked up near Snowchester, I was hoping that you'd-"

"Wilbur. Stop talking."

He did so. He slowly turned to face Techno, pre-wincing for the chewing out he was about to receive.

"Why are you here? You didn't come back last night, and now you show up out of the blue, out of breath and clearly avoiding something. Start talking or I will kick your sorry ass right back out into the snow, and you can beg Phil to let you in."

Yikes.

"Okay, okay, that's fair. But I was just-"

He was abruptly cut off by a loud banging at the door.

"Techno! Open up! We know he's in there!"

Techno shot Wilbur an irritated glare, then pointed toward one of the crates that littered the room. "Get in. I'll head them off, but then you've got some explaining to do."

Wilbur nodded guiltily and hopped into the nearest crate, closing the lid but leaving a crack for him to peer through.

Techno opened the heavy spruce door and surveyed his callers with disgust.

"Sapnap. I thought you 'hated it out here' and 'would rather lose an arm than tramp all the way out into the middle of nowhere to see a pig.'"

Between Techno's shoulder and the door, Wilbur caught a glimpse of Sapnap's wide grin as he replied.

"That's true. However, this is a... special case."

"Oh? And what, pray tell, would that be?"

"Missing persons' case," Sapnap replied, exaggerating the syllables to feign sympathy. "Wilbur's gone missing, and we were wondering if he'd decided to hole up at his dear ol' brothers' house."

Other voices behind him murmured agreement.

Techno sighed, the sarcasm practically dripping off his voice. "Well, isn't that a tragedy. Unfortunately I haven't seen Wilbur for a while, check elsewhere. Bye."

He started to close the door, but a hand on the doorframe stopped it from shutting.

"Actually," Fundy cut in, "We'd like to conduct a... preliminary search. Just to rule it out."

Techno let out a laugh.

"You think I'd let you search my home? I would've thought that you'd have learned your lesson after last time you arrived here uninvited."

Techno leaned in, opening the door slightly and moving his hand to the sword that hung on his belt.

"Care to repeat the experience?"

Fundy backed away, sufficiently cowed.

Sapnap stepped forward again. "Look, Techno, we don't mean any trouble. So if you see Wilbur, could you give him a message?"

Wilbur could hear the impatience in Techno's voice as he replied, "Sure, sure, if I see him I'll pass it along."

Sapnap's voice got low and dangerous, and Wilbur could've sworn that Sapnap's eyes met his own.

"Feathers are no match for fire."

Techno began to close the door. "Great, thanks very much. Not cryptic at all. I'll, uh, keep that in mind."

As soon as it clicked shut, he turned back toward Wilbur who was already out of the crate and digging through chests.

"Wilbur? Wh- did that bullshit actually mean something?"

"Where are your gapples?"

"Wh-"

"TECHNO! WHERE ARE YOUR GAPPLES!"

Wilbur turned to continue searching, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Wilbur. This very obviously means something to you, and I am very much willing to kill them with you if necessary. But you still haven't told me what all this is about or why you're here in the first place. Sit down, give me the CliffsNotes version of whatever the fuck is going on, and then we can go beat up some assholes."

Wilbur's legs threatened to give out at any moment, so he abruptly sat down and put his head in his hands.

"I can't- I..."

He jumped as an arm went around his shoulders, and looked up to see Techno sitting beside him.

"Start at the beginning."

Wilbur wiped his eyes and shook himself out, collecting his thoughts.

"What have you heard about Quackity lately?"

"You're sure you don't want backup?"

Wilbur's lips pressed to a thin line.

"I'm sure. I have to do this alone."

The two brothers stood on the rolling hills overlooking Las Nevadas in full netherite armor with their weapon of choice, Techno carrying his signature crossbow and Wilbur with a simple sword. The warm colors of the sunset painted their silhouettes red as they got ready.

Wilbur was more than willing to paint the ground with a different kind of red if things went that way.

"Wilbur."

He turned to face Techno, startled by the emotion in his voice.

"Look... I'm not blind. I can see that he means a lot to you. You wouldn't do this if he didn't. So, after all this has blown over, take him 'round my place for dinner. Bring Phil and Tommy too."

At Wilbur's surprised expression, he sighed.

"I don't often apologize, mainly because it's demeaning and unnecessary because I'm usually right. But... if he's important to you then he's important to me too. And I think in this particular case, an apology is in order. Yknow, for the pickaxe... and everything."

Wilbur's smile was brighter than the fluorescent lights that shined from the distance.

"Awww, Techno! You do care!"

"No, no I don't. It's only TINY apology. A VERY SMALL one. And ONLY because I feel a little bad. But not very much. It's more for him than for me..."

He trailed off as Wilbur threw his arms around his torso, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Techno sighed, and returned the hug. They pulled apart, and Wilbur made his last preparations.

As he started to head toward the city center, a call stopped him.

"Hey Wilbur!"

"What!"

"Punch Sapnap in the face for me!"

Wilbur grinned. "Count on it!"

He reached the casino in no time. He took a deep breath, then opened the doors. The only thing he saw was Sapnap holding Quackity up against the wall by the collar of his shirt, and that was all he needed.

"Sapnap!"

A/n- cliffhanger bcuz im evil muahahahaa

Chapter Text

uh hey guys

so finally back, things got kinda... wild. 

but anyhow

finally got back to my darling little child

so... without further ado, i present

smokebreaks, chapter eight

IMPORTANT!! Very big violence warning for this whole chapter, in-depth descriptions of fighting and gore. I'll put a brief description at the end, but honestly it's gonna be pretty vague; the gore is kinda necessary for the plot. 

that is all :)

"Sapnap!"

Sapnap slowly turned his head and grinned at Wilbur. Pinned to the wall by a hand on his shirt collar and a hand around his throat, Quackity tried to turn his head too but was shoved back up against the wall. Sapnap leaned in and whispered something seductively in his ear that made him shiver and push himself as far away from the intruder's face as possible. The worst part, however, was Quackity's wings, which had been torn through his shirt and splayed up against the wall behind him, held in place by a dagger through each, effectively pinning Quackity to the wall like a bug.

"Ah, Wilbur! We were hoping you would join us, weren't we, love?"

Through the hand constricting his airway, Quackity managed to choke out a faint "fuck... you," causing Sapnap' hand to tighten around his throat and making his remark end in a sharp gasp.

"It's always the shortest ones with the biggest mouths, hm?" Sapnap grinned at Wilbur as Quackity continued to kick and struggle under his grasp.

Transfixed in horror, Wilbur could only watch as Quackity's lips began to turn blue. "please," he mouthed, eyes wide as they rolled back into his head.

Sapnap lifted his chin with his fingers, inspecting the purple bruising that had already began to appear around Quackity's neck, touching it almost fondly. Wilbur couldn't stand to watch another second.

"Don't touch him!!" Wilbur shouted at last, though fear made his voice shake.

"Oh? It can talk! What a pleasant surprise! Your little whore's been telling me sooo many stories about your voice, I would've been so sad not to hear it," Sapnap replied with a fake pout, still running his fingers over the bruises he'd so recently created.

And all at once, Wilbur was back in a past life, watching Tommy get sent away, watching Technoblade on the executioner's block, Fundy under the thumb of a tyrant, Tubbo bleeding and burned. He remembered Quackity too, stumbling back to the town, stinking of drugs and pockmarked with holes and scars.

How Wilbur had found him once in a back alley, having followed him for suspect of treason but found him broken and bloody instead, slumped against a dumpster. Even then, before... everything, he still tried to refuse help. Waved him off, said all he needed was a strong whiskey. Wilbur still brought him back to his place, patched his scars both inside and out the best he could, the former with a few torn shirts and the latter with tea instead of alcohol. How Quackity had told him everything, and swore him to secrecy. How, the following morning, Quackity had kissed him like it mattered on his doorstep before the sunrise and told him not to bother worrying about him. How he had pulled him close, careful of his wounds, and told him to be careful because all the other words got stuck in his throat. 

He also remembered what he did to the ones who hurt them.

He remembered how he'd listened to Schlatt's pleas for mercy as though it were the sweetest melody, how he'd dedicated the swing of the axe to Quackity, the stab of the sword to Fundy, and the explosion of the body to Tubbo.

How he plotted against Dream for months and months, trying to find the perfect moment to cleave him in two. How he realized, in the end, that it wasn't really Dream who had hurt Tommy.

How he destroyed his pride and joy, because of all the people who suffered for it. How, when the shockwaves from the explosions failed to kill him, he asked Phil to do it instead. As he bled out, his last words were, "for Tommy."

He wasn't going to let this be the exception. 

The fight was quick and dirty, Sapnap was clearly more experienced with bows and swords than with his fists, and thus it didn't take long before he was on the ground. Wilbur stood above him, unsheathing his sword to hold it to Sapnap's throat. 

"Get. Out," Wilbur growled. "You've done quite enough. If you ever come here again, and believe me, I'll know, I won't hesitate to hunt you down. I'll make you regret ever living, I swear by Prime, I will."

"Truly," Wilbur continued, leaning down toward Sapnap's face, "I should finish the job right now. But I-"

Suddenly, Wilbur found himself on his back with pain ringing through his senses. Sapnap now crouched on top of him, his knees trapping Wilbur's arms on the floor and his sword poised on top of Wilbur's chest, ready to strike. 

"Sorry, what was that? I couldn't hear you with your head that far up your ass."

He snickered. Wilbur's face remained emotional. 

"What, no laugh? Eh, there's no accounting for taste I guess."

"Anyways," he grinned as he pushed his sword downward slightly, making Wilbur inhale as it pierced his chest. 

"I'm no pussy, and I'm certainly not merciful. So I'm gonna gut you like a fish right here and now, and your little boyfriend is gonna watch."

Wilbur tried once more in vain to wiggle his arms free, eyes closing in defeat. 

I'm sorry Ducky, he thought, as the pain in his chest threatened to split him apart. 

And then it... stopped? 

Well that was a quick death, Wilbur thought. He simply laid there, postponing opening his eyes to that goddamned train station where he would spend the rest of his eternity. Who would want to revive him again after all the shit he stirred up? 

Sounds of yelling startled him from his reverie. 

"You! Absolute! Bastard!" it shouted, the sound of a blow punctuating each word. "How! Dare you! Fuck with! Me! You! Fire! Bitch!"

Wilbur turned toward the noise to see a flurry of movement and color. As his vision slowly returned, he was able to make out what he was seeing. 

Quackity, wings torn through his dress shirt, bloodstained and bruised, was sitting on the floor and punching something relentlessly. Wilbur sat up, stirred by the sheer amount of blood on Quackity. He shouldn't be upright, Wilbur thought, then he realized. 

The majority of the blood wasn't his. 

Said punching bag let out a groan, causing Quackity to halt his blows and pull Sapnap's head up by the collar. Sapnap's face was ruined, nose horribly askew and double black eyes already starting to form. Quackity pulled his face up good and close to his own, the threat clear in his eyes. "If he's dead," Quackity growled, "You will never leave this place. I will lock you up as an attraction in my casino and every single day i will cut off a piece of you and leave you in agony, but I will never, ever, ever let you have the sweet release of death. Because you deserve to suffer. You deserve to be in pain every day for the rest of your life for what you've done."

"Ducky, I'm flattered," Wilbur coughed, "but there's no need." 

Quackity's head snapped to the side, and in a second he was across the room. Crouched above him, blood spattered across his face and dripping from what was left of his shirt. Golden wings spread behind him, wounded but still shading him from the world. And his beautiful, broken face, scar ripped back open and bleeding anew, eyes soft and concerned at odds with their fierceness moments before. A bloodied hand coming up to cup his face, tilting his head up so that he could look into Wilbur's partly open eyes. 

"Wilbur?" 

He brought a hand up to cup Quackity's face, to wipe away the tears that dripped down. He could only smile, increasingly aware of his injuries

As his vision darkened, he knew that there were hands around him, holding his head and gripping his hands, voices begging him not to go. But all he could think about was that if this was it, at least he'd have one last good memory to accompany him back to limbo. 

Desc: Wilbur and Quackity get themselves in verrrryy deep shit with Sapnap, but nobody dies (at least not yet)

also! we're almost at 1k reads on here, and almost 2k over on wattpad!! i just wanted to say thank you all, I sincerely appreciate all the likes + comments, never in a million years did i think I'd get this far 

much love to you all <3 /p /gen

Chapter Text

Hello everyone.

After everything with Wilbur, I don't think I can bring myself to finish this final chapter. I'm sorry to have to do this, since I know I've kept you waiting for so long, but I think it's best left this way.

What I was planning for the end was Wilbur slowly recovering at Las Nevadas under Quackity's care, his family coming to visit, and alone with Quackity he finally wakes up. Maybe an epilogue where they have dinner at Phils. Just so you all don't have to wonder anymore.

I don't honestly know when I'll write something here again, but know that you all made this experience so amazing. I will be forever thankful for such a wonderful group of people reading my story, and I hope all of your lives are filled with as much joy as you've all brought me.

Remember to take time for yourselves. It's totally valid to feel a lot of grief and hurt over this, so don't feel guilty for feeling it. A lot of us went through very crucial and difficult times with his content as a comfort, and losing that safe space is really, really hard. Don't feel bad for remembering those times fondly.

And most importantly, stand up for what is right. Stand with victims. I would urge you all to please go support Shelby as much as you can, whether that's a follow or a sub or whatever you're able to do. People are also using the hashtag #shelbysupportsquad and the light blue heart emoji to post their art and show their support. I'd urge you to check those out too.

All I can really say now is thank you. Thank you all. I know this has been quite somber, but I don't want to leave for good. This isn't goodbye, just see you later. Love you all <3