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Summary
"give me your arm," quackity says instead of i wish you stayed dead. he carefully tips the bottle until the potion pours out, watching the sickly-sweet pink liquid splash over wilbur's skin. it seeps in, and sure enough, there's still a crescent in the shape of quackity's teeth left behind, but it probably won't get infected now. "leave," he says, "then bandage that."