Chapter Text

Camellias and Daffodils

Camellias, or roses of the winter as Olivia insists, are beautiful wide flowers with multiple layers of petals. In flower language, they represent love, affection and admiration, and in modern culture they also represent understanding, patience and compassion in reference to their symbolism in To Kill A Mockingbird.
The white camellias in the winter garden have an added meaning of adoration and care for someone without romantic connotations. They’re best given to family members and close friends to express deep platonic affection.

Daffodils, better known as Narcissi, are a mediterranean flower with only six wide petals. In flower language they represent energy, resilience, forgiveness, creativity and many other things. They also sometimes symbolize vanity and unrequited love thanks to the Greek myth of Narcissus and Echo.
I only have white and yellow daffodils in the winter garden. I’ll have to ask Cochi and Beni if they have the rarer orange and pink varieties in the Hispanic server they’re on.
Daffodils are the birth flowers of March. They’re given at birthdays (not just in March) as well as to cheer up, congratulate or wish a speedy recovery.

Sapnap is outside the borders of Las Nevadas again. Quackity knows that even before Foolish knocks on the door. He can see the man pacing on top of the small hill from his penthouse’s window. He looks like a colorful, anxious ant from all the way so up. He’s been here every day since Dream and Purpled tried to blow up his country. He’s been here through repairs that Quackity couldn’t participate in and through attack scares.

“Is he asking to be let in again?” he asks before Foolish can say anything. He doesn’t turn to look at the totem. His eyes keep following Sapnap’s pacing figure. It’s so neat against the thin layer of snow, and Quackity is almost mesmerized at the movement. He won’t let himself be though. He’s left that life behind long ago.

“He is. Should I bring him up?”

Quackity may have his back to Foolish, but he can still feel the way the other’s gaze lingers over his cast and the still broken leg. He scowls. “No. Please, get him away.”

“Will you ever let him in?”

This time, Quackity turns around in his chair. Foolish’s emerald eyes are narrowed, his lips tight. It makes a part of Quackity’s heart shrivel. “I don’t know.”

Foolish’s gaze hardens as he leans his back on the door and crosses his arms. “What you’re doing to him is cruel. The poor guy clearly cares about you, and you need more people around other than us.”

“Foolish–”

“No man, you gotta listen to me on this one. You can be angry all you want but he doesn’t deser–”

“Foolish, please .”

The room falls silent. Quackity keeps his eyes closed. He hates that his breath is heavy. He hates that his eyes burn. If he could make those disappear, he would. Emotions are so inconvenient, and he curses the Universe for giving him those.

Foolish shuffles, a crack of thunder in the dead silence. "Alright. As soon as I’m back though, I’m taking you outside. You need some fresh air.”

“What I need is to finish planning the Christmas event list,” glares Quackity.

Foolish tilts his head, looking absolutely done with the world. Or maybe just him. He wouldn’t be the first person Quackity made leave, and he doubts he would be the last one. “Everyone on the team’s got their part pretty much down to a T. And you can bring your things with you if you really wanna look over all our plans. I’m not letting you walk around without crutches anytime soon, and the wheelchair has a thing you can write on.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I absolutely am.” Foolish opens the door back and steps through. “Be ready to go in ten.”

The golden man closes the door, and Quackity knows better than to yell after him. He leans back into the soft office chair. He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. The silence is deafening. He can just barely make out the howl of the winter wind against the window. He hates it. He hates this.

He tips forward, with his elbows on his desk and his hands clasped in front of him, and leans his forehead on the thumbs. He breathes deeply and closes his eyes. In the end, it’s useless. He loses the fight against himself one more time. He looks out of the window.

Sapnap is a magnet for his gaze, even if he’s moved from where he was before. He’s warm embers melting the snow, softly lighting up the air around him, and he’s wicked ash that hides the destruction. He wants to go to him. He wants to stay away.

Foolish arrives, a speck of gold in the pure white, and Quackity swears he can feel Sapnap’s gaze on him, even too far to properly see. They meet eyes, or as close to it as they can get. Quackity looks away. He hates that he keeps doing this. He hates that he wants to keep doing this.

Sapnap turns around and leaves the snow-covered desert, though not before passing a hand along the bottom of the Las Nevadas sign.

Quackity sighs. He looks away, back at the desk and the mess of papers and plans all over it. This shit has been keeping him busy since the repairs were done. A few of his more influential patrons have been doubtful, scared away by Dream and the constant threat. He needs this to go right, he needs for more people to be sure. Foolish is, unfortunately, right about that. It’s rather unfortunate that there aren’t that many people that like him in Di'Essempi these days.

He starts gathering papers with trembling hands, because Foolish has got to be on his way up now. Foolish is his last ally here. He has no one else anymore. He’s not about to go fuck up with him too.

He said that about Charlie too. Look where that got him.

He’s just finishing gathering the papers when the knocks come back. Foolish doesn’t wait for him to answer before opening the door this time. “Hope you’re ready to go.”

“Yeah yeah, I’ve got everything.” He grabs the pile of papers, the quill and the smallest inkpot. He turns and cringes as Foolish grabs the lithe wheelchair out of the corner Quackity had it hidden. “Do I have to?”

“ Yes ,” Foolish insists, pushing the wheelchair so it’s beside Quackity’s office chair. “You can’t walk on that leg. And since you refuse to make any effort in physical therapy then no, not even with crutches. You’ll end up aggravating your injuries.”

“I hate it.”

“Then take this as a reason to make less enemies and more allies,” deadpans Foolish. “Do you need help moving?”

“No, I can do this,” Quackity says as fast as he can. It’s bad enough that he can’t walk, but if he were to be picked up he’d die of embarrassment. He’s had enough of the helplessness. He just wants it gone.

He passes the papers to Foolish and puts the inkpot on the desk, blocking Patricia the Succulent and Senon the Daffodil — gifts from Foolish and Sam — and their judgemental stares. He lowers the office chair and half-awkwardly shuffles over to the wheelchair. He’s got the technique down, it’s just awful to have Foolish watching him like a hawk. His back itches against that of the wheelchair, but Foolish makes him lean against it after forcing a thick coat on him. The strain of keeping his wings shifted in is awful. It burns like the flames of hell, but he’d rather suffer like this than bind his wings again. At least, if they’re free to burst out of his back then they might save him next time he falls.

Foolish comes near and tries to put his hands on the chair’s handles, but Quackity sends him a harrowing glare before he can push the chair. “Just open the door, man. I’ve got this.”

“Suit yourself.” Foolish walks to the door with his hands up in false surrender.

Quackity is quick to wheel himself out, inkpot in hand, and head for the elevator that he does not need pointed out to him, for fuck’s sake Foolish. He tries to listen to Foolish hyping up the trip outside, but he finds himself losing focus halfway through. Everything just sounds so… dull. Draining.

They get out of the Hotel and Quackity has it confirmed that yes, the world is dull. Even more so with the snow and the muffled sounds. He’s grateful that Foolish forced the coat on him though. He forgot how biting the chill is without soft feathers to cover his back.

They reach the main street, right before the casino, with Quackity still refusing to let Foolish push him. There’s too many people around, both casino-goers and more formal guests. And then he turns around and sees two figures by the Toll Gate, a tall floating one in black and white holding a short pink one in their arms, darting around. They looked like they were wandering around, their heads turning every way at intervals.

“Can you see who’s that?” he asks Foolish.

There’s a tense moment of silence that Quackity uses to squint at the distance before the other answers. “The taller one looks like Ranboo. I thought he was dead though?”

“So did I.” Quackity frowns, clutching the handles on the outer side of the wheels. His gaze hardens in a decision. He starts moving. “Come on.”

“Hey don’t go on your own.”

It takes Foolish just a few seconds to reach him. He hates that. He’s so much slower like this. He used to be one of the fastest people on this god forsaken server. The figures are close enough to recognize now though, and it really is Ranboo. Or, well, he’s Ranboo’s ghost, if the faded look was anything to go by.

“What the fuck, what the fuck,” he mutters, picking up the pace until he’s pretty much behind Ranboo’s ghost and the (zombie?) piglin hybrid in his arms. “Ranboo?”

The ghost turns around, making the black and white caplet on his shoulder swoosh in the still air, and looks down. Fuck, he’s even taller when Quackity’s bound to this stupid fucking wheelchair. He doesn’t even reach the other’s stomach with the way he’s floating. Why is he surrounded by goddamn giants?

“Oh. Hello Quackity. How’s life?” says the ghost. He lowers considerably and even visibly glances at the wheelchair and the leg in a cast. “Can’t be too good with that.”

Quackity recoils. This… is wrong. Ranboo was too meek, too soft boned to make a comment like that. He powers through the shock and frowns at the tall ghost. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, nothing," placates Ranboo — Ghostboo? — as he floats by, making the child in his arms giggle. “It’s just that life is miserable enough as it is, I can't imagine with an added injury.”

Foolish glances away from Ranboo and Quackity meets eyes with him. He looks just as confused as he is. “That’s… depressive.”

“Eh, not as much as you think.”

“Alright, that’s enough of it,” interrupts Quackity. He wheels himself forward so that he’s right in front of Ranboo. “Why are you are?”

“Oh, Michael and I are helping Tubbo look for Tommy.” Ranboo hikes the piglin child — Michael? — higher up in his arms. “Though I don’t get why. It’s easier for him to be dead.”

Quackity and Foolish both visibly recoil. “What the fuck?” he yells. He can feel his wings under his skin, ready to burst out in anger and shock.

Ranboo — the ghost, ‘cause it’s not Ranboo, Ranboo would never say that, Quackity may not have loved the kid but he knows how kind he was — simply shrugs as if he hadn’t just shattered their world.

Quackity closes his eyes. He clenches his fists and takes a deep breath. He opens his eyes and lifts his gaze. Midnight and faded blue meet still vivid red and green. He glares at the ghost — this distorted, unbothered, wrong version of Ranboo — and makes his voice steel cold. “Enough. What happened to Tommy?”

"I don't know. We just can't find him anywhere. Tubbo says he hasn't seen him around in a month," says the ghost with still far too much nonchalance.

Foolish steps closer to him and leans down. "He was with Revivebur, wasn't he?"

Quackity nods. "He was. If you find Wilbur you find Tommy."

The ghost tilts his head creepily to the side, floating even higher to be eye to eye with Foolish. "Well we haven't really seen Wilbur either. Rumor has it that he's left the server."

"Wha–"

"The other rumor has it that he killed himself again," ends the ghost.

It's a sucker punch to the gut and a shot to the heart. Quackity almost can't breathe through the ringing in his ears and the smell of gunpowder and Nether magic. His mouth tastes of ash and smoke — and not in the good way, whether that be cigarettes or Sapnap. He’s not in Las Nevadas anymore, but standing by the crater of a place he loved. Blood pools around him and withers screech. He can’t think. Wilbur’s dead and he can’t think .

His back twitches in pain, trying to contain his wings, as a hand is laid upon it. “Quackity? You gotta breathe, man.”

He gulps air down like a drowning man as his mind gets flung back into his body. Everything burns from phantom heat and winter cold.

“Well, there’s one more reason I’m glad I’m dead.”

Quackity looks up sharply. The ghost is still floating in front of them.

Fuck.

Oh fuck, the kids. It was bad enough the first time, with Tommy and Tubbo grief-stricken and at the head of a country to rebuild and with “only” the trauma of a war and a rebellion. He remembers the tense set to Tubbo’s shoulders, he remembers Tommy’s lashing out. Now, with all that’s happened, with Dream free to roam, he doesn’t want to imagine what the two are going through.

His thoughts screech to a halt. Wasn’t… Wasn’t Tommy suicidal too at some point? Oh fucking hell, fuck. Of course Tubbo is panicking. Shit, Quackity feels like he’s on the edge of panicking too.

He gulps again, ignoring the sting in his eyes and the tremble to his hands. “Ranboo–”

“Just Boo actually,” interrupts the ghost — Boo apparently — as the piglin child climbs higher up his torso.

“–does Tubbo know? Did you tell him too?”

Boo tilts his head, allowing the child to climb over his shoulder. “I mean, yeah of course.”

“Where is he.”

“Quackity,” warns Foolish, but he ignores him.

“ Boo ,” he stresses. “Where. Is He?”

“He was looking around L’Crater I think.” Boo floats by, doing a circle around Foolish and him. “You two look stressed. You should try being dead.”

Quackity clenches his fists as he takes a deep breath, trying to recall the fastest route to the L’Manberg area. “If you weren’t already dead, I’d kill you myself.”

He ignores the ghost’s cheerful “Thanks” as he floats away, and starts wheeling away.

“Now where are you going?” asks Foolish, keeping pace with him.

Quackity scowls. “To Tubbo, where do you think?”

“Nuh-uh, I don’t think so.”

“Foolish I swear to god,” he half growls as the other puts both hands on his wheelchair’s handles and stops him. “I don’t pay you to babysit me. I’ll fucking get up and walk all the way there if I have to.”

“You won’t be able to.”

“I’ve been on this puta wheelchair for over two months. I’m fairly sure I can,” counters Quackity, glaring at Foolish right in the eyes and ignoring the fact that he doesn't even have the crutches.

Foolish, damnably, doesn’t back down. Instead, he glares back.

Quackity exhales, trying to calm the frantic racing of his heart. “Listen. I need to do this. Who knows what’s going through those kids’ heads, I can’t leave them alone.”

Foolish’s eyes soften but he still won’t budge or take his hands off the handles. Quackity grips the ones by the wheels and pushes himself to his feet. He only makes it a few steps before his legs give up beneath him. “ Hijo de puta ,” he curses.

He’s lucky enough that Foolish has good reflexes, and so he gets caught by under his arms moments before he hits the snowy ground.

“See? What did I tell you?”

“I don’t care! I’ll– I’ll…” He swallows around the lump in his throat as Foolish sets him back into the wheelchair. His eyes catch the papers still in the totem’s hands. He doesn’t know why he’s still holding them instead of having put them in his inventory or hotbar, but he’s not going to ask. He looks away. Even if he tries, he knows he won’t be able to focus on those. He opens his mouth to say something, closes it, and swallows again before he even manages to make a sound.

“I’ll double your monthly pay if you let me go and look over those things,” he offers, keeping his eyes on the snow.

Foolish hums, and then sighs. “I’ll accompany you until you find Tubbo. And make it three times my pay.”

Oh no. Quackity’s not about to resort to compromises with his employee. He’s fucking not.

…

Fuck. Fuck, he’s gonna.

“Two point twenty-five and Olivia accompanies me. I won’t go higher.”

Foolish shakes his head. “Sorry, no can do.”

This is humiliating. He grips the handles of the wheels even tighter. His hands are starting to hurt, both from the cold and the strain. “I’ll–” He inhales. He’s gonna have a mental breakdown if he doesn’t get this. Fuck, he can feel it at the edge of his consciousness. What the hell can he give Foolish? The man’s already got everything he could want. “A third of my profit share from the events.”

He looks up again, only to find Foolish raising an eyebrow at him. He leans his elbows on the armrests and burrows his face in his hands. He chokes back a sob. Why is he like this? It’s not supposed to hit him this hard. It’s not supposed to hit him this hard . He’s the president and founder of an entire nation. He’s supposed to be stone cold and unapproachable, a stoic pillar of a businessman. And yet his wings are threatening to burst out of his back from all the emotions swirling in his chest, ready to drown him the moment he lets his guard down.

“I don’t know what you want,” he admits. “Name me a price. Any price, Foolish, I will give it to you, but please let me go.”

“...Daily walks and an actual effort in your physical therapy, permission to bully you into health and a veto on your decisions every two weeks in addition to the pay rise. And you’ll talk to Sapnap.”

Quackity lifts his head and meets Foolish’s eyes again. There’s not a hint of humor in them.

He looks away, whispering. “Done.” He buries his face in his hands again, breathing deeply so that his brain will stop coming up with nightmare scenarios , for fuck’s sake. Before he can get himself back under control, he feels the wheelchair start to move.

“Rest,” says Foolish. “You look like you’re about to collapse. We wouldn’t want Tubbo to see you like this, would we?”

“I hate you.”

“You’ll thank me one day,” replies the other.

The rest of the journey, as much as it can be called so, is spent in silence. They’re lucky not to find trouble, but it’s almost worse. They don’t encounter a single living creature. This place used to be so lively and full of people, and now it’s deserted. God, the difference a few years make.

Eventually they reach the Prime Path, and Quackity can make out Tubbo in the distance with his good eye.

“You can go now, if you want to. I can get to him on my own.”

“Then get going. I’m gonna check that you get there and I have all your stuff to take care of,” Foolish replies, lifting up the stack of papers.

Quackity attempts a grin, but it probably comes out wonky. “Sorry dude. I’ll see you later.”

He goes off the Prime Path, taking the road that used to go to L’Manberg. It’s not so easy with the wheelchair and the small hills, but he manages it. “Tubbo,” he yells as soon as he’s close enough for the boy to see him.

The boy whirls around. Quackity can tell the exact moment Tubbo notices, and subsequently recognizes, him. He abandons his search and runs to the bridge so he can cross the crater and get closer.

Quackity doesn’t quite stop moving, but he slows downs. By the time he’s at the nearest head of the bridge, Tubbo is there too.

“Big Q? What happened to you?”

“A lot. I’m not here for that though,” he waves off Tubbo’s concerns. Not quite as well as he wishes though, because Tubbo’s frown deepens. “I ran into Boo around Las Nevadas.”

Tubbo’s shoulders visibly lower, and his eyes grow dimmer. “Oh. He didn’t bother you, did he?”

“No. And even if he did, it wouldn’t be your problem,” he says, reaching up to put a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder — for fuck’s sake, why is the chair this low. “I just got worried after I heard from him. That’s all.”

Tubbo’s scowl nearly has him flinching. It’s almost identical to Schlatt’s.

“You don’t have to worry about me. Everything’s alright.”

“It’s really not.”

“It’s fine ,” insists Tubbo. His fists are clenched. “I don’t need you to babysit me.”

“What if I were worried about Tommy. Like you,” Quackity goes on, but all his focus is on keeping the twitching in his back restrained.

He’s not used to having his wings like this. Not for this long. He fears someone might notice. Staying by Tubbo, offering help, is a risk. He knows it’s one. Tubbo is probably the person that knows him best right after Karl and Sapnap and Charlie thanks to all the time together in Manberg and L’Manberg, and he’s smart as a whip too. If anyone could figure him out, it would be Tubbo.

This is more important than being found though. These are his little brothers friends he’s talking about. He’s got to help them, if only because he’ll be the only one to do so.

“Come on. I’ll help you look for him.”

“Can you even do that like this?”

Quackity sends a glare — it’s soft. Why is his glare soft? — to Tubbo. “Backhanded comments like that won’t stop me. Bet I can think of a couple places he might be at that you didn’t think of.”

“He’s not with Phil and Techno.”

“Didn’t think he’d be,” Quackity is quick to say. He’s heard the boy mutter curses at the piglin more times than he’d expect to, given how actually rare it was for him to be around Las Nevadas. “How about we finish around here and then we move closer to the Prime Path?”

Tubbo frowns and looks away, towards the sprawling crater before them. There’s a waterfall going down to the bottom, half frozen by the winter. It’s incredibly beautiful, even if the place is not as green and flourishing as it is in the warmer months. “You think he’d be closer to the Prime Path?”

“I think he’d be closer to Church Prime.”

“Huh.” Tubbo steps away, and only then Quackity notices he still had his hand on the boy’s shoulder. He lets his hand fall from Tubbo’s shoulder, and the boy takes the chance to start walking back across the bridge. “You might be right. I haven’t checked there yet, just his home and the whole perimeter.”

“No sign of him?” Quackity frowns. “Not even in the little underground room by the sewers?”

Tubbo stops.

“I am a dumbass.”

Quackity shakes his head and chuckles softly. “Not at all. You were just panicking, and it’s not a place that comes to mind immediately.”

He looks at Tubbo and the way the light glints on his horns as it grows lower. Tubbo’s horns don’t shine. They’re not polished like Schlatt’s were. If they both didn’t know why, he would be about to scold him for it, because Quackity is nothing if not a hypocrite. But the secret of the photo album and child toys found among Schlatt’s things is one of the many they share, and one of the many they’ll take to the grave together.

“We better finish searching over there. We don’t have much light left and we have to get to our places too. The room can wait until tomorrow morning,” he says, wheeling himself forward so he’s next to Tubbo again.

Tubbo actually looks sheepish as Quackity reaches him, but he steps onto the bridge anyway. “I’ve, uhm, I’ve actually been staying at Tommy’s house since I started looking for him.”

Quackity blinks. He blinks again, tilting his head too this time. “Wha– How long have you been looking for?”

“Not long,” says Tubbo, still walking. “Just yesterday morning.”

“‘Not long’, he says. ‘Oh just yesterday morning’. Like that’s not almost two days of constant searching,” Quackity mutters. He ignores Tubbo’s deadpan stare and raises his voice, as if the boy hadn’t heard him mock him. “Is there space for me too in there?”

Tubbo shakes his head. “Not really. We can stay over at the Bee n’ Boo since there’s two of us though.”

“What’s that?”

“Bed and Breakfast. It’s right in front of the hotel that Jack stole from Tommy.”

“Right. That happened too,” scowls Quackity.

Tubbo glances at him but he doesn’t say anything. They both actually stay pretty quiet the rest of the time. The only words exchanged are the occasional “not here”s and “check there”s.

Even if Quackity wants to talk to Tubbo — actually talk to him, not this dance of not-really-a-conversation they’re doing — he won’t get to. Tubbo is like he was in that sense. He won’t look at his problem in the face. He’ll shift them away, ignore them. Quackity’s learnt his lessions. His problems have come back to blow up in his face, worse than before. If he manages to keep that from happening to Tubbo, he’ll call them both lucky.

He takes the time to text Foolish through the communicator. If he’s not gonna go back the night, he’s going to at least warn his only close collaborator.

Quackity: i’m staying the night with tubbo. you’re in charge of las nevadas, get the team to help you if you need it

He doesn’t even have the time to put his communicator away that it pings.

FoolishGamers: ???

Quackity chuckles, doesn’t answer, and puts his communicator away.

The sun grows lower, and their search bears no results so far, but Quackity expected so. It doesn’t lessen the ache and fear that wraps his heart and weighs on his lungs. He’s made friends with them in the loneliness though. He knows them intimately and they don’t scare him anymore. He’ll twist and turn in the bed as much as he can, and he’ll crave a smoke or a drink and resist them, and tomorrow he’ll wake up still aching and hardly refreshed, but at least he will wake up.

He’s right, of course. In the morning, he wakes up with a crick to his neck and the temptation to grab a cigarette from his pack and light it. His back hurts even more — he hasn’t let out his wings in over two days, and he’s starting to feel that — but he’s not alone at breakfast today. Sure, it’s just honey and bread shared in stilted conversation, but it’s more than he’s had in the last few months. Even if getting around with the wheelchair is a nightmare and a half.

Tubbo and he make their way into the sewer, a torch in hand each. Even so, the place is frigid and dark in an unpleasant way. Despite that, they go forward. Quackity doesn’t exactly remember the way, but that’s what Tubbo is there for.

When they reach the end of the tunnel though, the sight that greets them is not the one they thought they’d get. Rundown cobblestone slowly gets replaced by strong blackstone. The room, once a spacious square holding sofas and tables, is empty and dark.

“What the hell happened here?” breathes out Tubbo.

Quackity, still warily looking around, heads to the walls. They’re visibly recent, but not the most well kept. Moss and vines are starting to grow on them… Especially in that one corner.

“I think Tommy may have happened,” he says. It’s hard to lower himself while on the wheelchair, but he manages to move some of the vines around. And then he grins. Hidden beneath them is a button. “Gotcha.” He presses the button.

A scratch of stone on stone follows. He can barely see a passage open up at the other end of the wall, right by Tubbo.

“Toms?” calls the boy. His voice echoes in the empty room. Then, hardly audible for anyone that didn’t have his or Tubbo’s fine hearing, a whimper.

“Tommy,” Quackity says. He keeps his voice quieter than Tubbo’s. Gentler. He moves closer to the entrance, and frowns at how narrow it is. “Tommy, is that you?”

“Go away,” comes Tommy’s voice. Quackity’s heart almost fails at how it breaks in the middle of the sentence.

“Tom–”

“What, no!” interrupts Tubbo.

He’s too loud though. His voice reverberates to an awful degree. Quackity can just about feel Tommy pressing himself against a wall. The room he’s in can’t be too big to keep it so well hidden. And Quackity remembers the way Tommy shook in Pogtopia, in the cell during his trials, always shaking in the dark, always shaking in small spaces. If he’s forcing himself in a place like that, he can’t be anything other than panicked.

“Tubbo, don’t press him.”

“What the fuck Quackity,” growls the boy. “I’ve been looking for him for two days. No one’s seen him in months.”

“And you’re not gonna force him to get out.”

“Oh fuck that. Tommy! What the hell are you doing in there?”

A second whimper answers, followed by a muffled sob.

Quackity sends Tubbo a glare. “Alright no, we’re not doing that. Go take a breather. I’ll talk to Tommy.”

“ Quackity .”

“ Tubbo ,” he says back. “Go out. Get some fresh air, calm yourself, and come back when you’re thinking rationally.”

Tubbo clenches his fists to the point his veins seem ready to pop. In the end, he turns around and marches out of the room. If there was a door, Quackity thinks he would have slammed it.

“Tommy,” he says as quietly as he can. “Hey big man, can you tell me what’s going on in there?”

“Go away. Leave us alone.”

Quackity files away the ‘us’ for later. At the very least, Tommy is speaking. That’s good enough for now. He moves closer to the entrance, but the passage is too narrow for the wheelchair. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“Fuck you.”

“Why are you here, Tommy?”

"That's none of your fucking business."

"Well, I'm making it my business."

When he receives no answer, he gets a golden apple out of his inventory and throws it through the passageway. "Catch."

"Wha– OUCH! What the fuck, Big Q?"

"You got lost in your head, dumbass."

"Fuck you."

Quackity grins. "No thanks, I just see you as a friend."

Among Tommy's sputters, a low hiss rises. Right. There's two people in there. "Have you two been there this whole time?"

Tommy falls silent. "How do you know who's here with me?"

"I don't," Quackity answers drily. "I just guesstimated how many of you were there. Did I get it right?"

He takes the silence that follows as an answer. "Guess that's a yes."

"Fuck you, Big Q."

"We already discussed that, I'm not into you like that," he dismisses. "So were you in here the whole time then?"

"...Define 'the whole time'."

Quackity frowns and turns his chair so that his back is to the corner. "It's nearly Christmas, kiddo. No one's seen you in months."

"I– What…? Did I–" Tommy pauses, and Quackity can almost feel him gulp. "Did I miss Tubbo's birthday?"

Quackity startles. Fuck. Fuck, how did he forget about that? He checks his comm in a flash and slightly relaxes. "No. No, it's tomorrow."

There's a soft thud from the small room that has Quackity almost reach into the narrow corridor. "I'm a horrible friend."

"No," he says, as firm as he can. "You're not. You've had bigger things to worry about."

"ALL I'VE BEEN DOING IS HIDE AND CRY AND CRY AND HIDE!"

Quackity flinches, but Tommy isn't done.

"I'M…I'm so tired, Big Q. I don't think I've had a good night's rest in weeks."

There's a quiet hiss again, and Quackity can almost recognize words in it. He must be somewhat right, because Tommy responds to it easily. "No Shroud, it's not your fault."

"Did someone do something?" Quackity asks.

"When do they not?"

"What happened?"

"I told you, that's none of your fucking business."

Quackity presses still. "Was it Dream? Or was it Wilbur?"

"By Prime, will you stop asking fucking questions ?" yells Tommy. He's left panting in the silence, and Quackity has to try very hard not to let his wings out.

"I'm sorry," he tries.

The silence stretches.

"Leave, Big Q."

"There's safer places," he starts, but the golden apple comes sailing through the passageway and nails him in the chest.

"Well Dream hasn't fucking found me yet, has he?"

Tubbo comes back in that moment. The set of his jaw is stony in the shadows. Quackity almost wonders where the child he'd met two years ago went. He knows what happened though. He sees it in his nightmares every other night.

"Maybe," Quackity sighs. "But you're cornered and without allies here. It's definitely not as safe as you think."

Turbo narrows his eyes. "You're always welcome in Snowchester, man. No allegiance needed."

Quackity raises a brow at Tubbo. The boy immediately rolls his eyes in response.

A ding from a comm startles them both, and probably Tommy too if the noise from the room were anything to go by.

Tubbo brings up his communicator, reads a message, and groans. "Boo's causing trouble around Eret's pyramid."

Quackity pats Tubbo's back. "Go get your husband, kiddo." When Tubbo still looks doubtful, he adds, "I'll stay with Tommy."

"The fuck you will."

"And hey," he goes on as Tubbo stands up and cracks his neck, both of them ignoring Tommy. He fishes a chip out of his pockets, a shiny blue one with a white diamond design, and throws it at Tubbo. "If you ever need anything in Las Nevadas, feel free to run about."

Tubbo lifts the chip to eye level and salutes with it. "Thanks Q. I'll… See you around I suppose."

Once Tubbo is out of the room and his footsteps stop echoing along the tunnel, Quackity sighs and starts lowering himself to the ground.

"You're going with him."

"No I'm not," he tells Tommy. Then, to himself, he mutters, "though this would be easier with crutches. Fuck."

"Are you injured?" comes Tommy's immediate concern.

Quackity doesn't know how some people could ever call him selfish. The kid can be annoying, sure, but he's so sweet and caring. He shakes his head. He needs to focus. "It's nothing you have to worry about."

He finally reaches the floor, so he turns his back to the passageway and starts shuffling along. Who cares if it'll ruin his pants.

The passage is not longer than four blocks, but in those four blocks it goes from almost-pristine blackstone to covered in moss and vines. His eyes adapt swiftly to the dark. The room is a three-by-three box covered in soft vegetation. A corner hosts a chest, an enderchest and a crafting table. Pushed against another corner is a bed, and both Tommy and another smaller figure are huddled up on it. His wings twitch beneath his skin at the sight.

The bed is nearly covered in flowers, sprouting from every crack in the stone and curled up as if to protect the two children.

"Hello Tommy," he whispers in the dim light.

Tommy stares, hugging the smaller figure tight. Eventually, his shoulders relax. "Hi Quackity."

Quackity takes it as a sign he can move closer. He shuffles some more, making room for himself at the side of the bed. "What happened, kid?"

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"Fair enough," he replies. Tommy startles.

"You're not gonna…"

"Nope," he says, half tempted to pop the 'p'. "I am curious as to who your little friend is though."

Tommy looks him up and down. Quackity sees his eyes widen and narrow when he catches sight of the cast. At least, if anything, Tommy won't give him pity. He himself hates pity.

"This is Shroud. He's… I adopted him," Tommy explains at last. And well, that's that. It's all Quackity needs to know to decide that this kid needs protection too. "Shroud, say hi to Big Q."

The small figure hisses something that vaguely resembles a 'hi', and who is Quackity not to say hi back?

He looks closer. As much as he thought it may have been the shadows, it really isn't. The child's skin is nearly as black as Ranboo's right side, and his eyes are a vivid red. The only differences are the four extra arms sprouting from the child's back.

"Spider hybrid?" he asks and immediately gets Tommy's glare trained on him.

"Problem with that?"

"None at all. It's just honorable," he says, and he means it too. "Not many would take in a rare hybrid, let alone a hostile mob hybrid." He thinks his own childhood is proof enough of that. He doesn't think he'll ever forget the constant hiding and the yells of 'changeling' thrown after him.

He says none of this. Instead he asks, "how did you find him?"

"He found me, Big Man," smiles Tommy. "He's a… He's a shifter. I thought he was just a really smart spider at first. I only found out when I took him with me to hide."

"Ah, so he's a trickster like you," he smiles, offering the child a hand to check.

"Oh fuck off."

"Careful, he'll grow up with a worse vocabulary than yours," he laughs.

The child — Shroud — starts playing with his fingers. Quackity cups his hand, and immediately the young boy starts trying to get cuddles out of him. Inexplicably, a dull ache makes its way into his heart. He feels like he's going to cry, like he's missing something and he doesn't know what. He pushes through. "He's a sweetheart too."

“He really is,” agrees Tommy. He delicately tussles Shroud’s hair. The little hybrid makes what Quackity cannot define as anything other than happy spider noises. Then, Tommy lifts his head and meets Quackity’s eyes. Well, not really, but neither of them have the best sight anymore, and their good eyes don’t align. They do their best though. “Tell you what, I’ll do you one question for one question with right to veto three times.”

“And when did you get smart?” Quackity says, passing his hand through Tommy’s curls the same way the boy did to Shroud. He gets a string of insults for that, but at least they’re all laughing at the end.

Quackity learns a couple things that afternoon. That Wilbur is not dead, the bastard just moved higher up Quackity’s hit list. That Dream’s gotten even more unhinged since he allied himself with Purpled, and the other blond boy is much the same. That Tommy has no idea how the odd mix of marigolds and yellow roses grew here, let alone how there was a sunflower pretty much hanging from the ceiling. He learns that Tommy had met Slime (and kidnapped but he’ll let that slide), and had found the other intriguing and familiar just as he had. He learns that Tommy got his new prosthetic leg from Sam, because the man felt guilty for letting him die in the prison.

He learns that he still gets embarrassing voice cracks when he gets emotional. He learns that having someone to curse out Dream with is… surprisingly cathartic. He learns that Tommy and Sapnap are on sort of speaking terms again, and that just the thought of the man is enough to make his heart ache. He learns that, for some reason, his wings constantly want to shift out and be wrapped around the two kids.

He doesn’t do that, of course. He does end up falling asleep on the bed though, with Tommy leaning on his good side. He doesn’t twist and turn that night, but his dreams are filled with the dull ache from before. He doesn’t know what it means, but when he wakes there are dried tear tracks along his cheeks. He didn’t even know he could still cry from his left eye. White camellias that weren’t there last night cling to the bedframe. There’s even one stuck in his hair.

He gets up before Tommy and Shroud are even awake, taking the time to disentangle from the flowers that grew overnight without harming them, and replies to Foolish’s complaints about having to run Las Nevadas on his own for longer than first expected. Goddamn, he’ll have to give him one hell of a raise. He manages to gather a small breakfast of bread and beef jerky by the time the other two wake up, and he smiles as he sees Shroud copy Tommy’s semi-familiar prayers.

Of course, the topic of ‘why here’ comes up again — because Quackity is, once again, nothing if not a bastard and a hypocrite — but things are calmer this time. Tommy’s “We’re safe here” is a little less forceful, a little more hesitant.

“Snowchester would be good for you. And it’s just as safe, if not safer,” he’s quick to reassure. They’re still on the bed, shoulder to shoulder, and Quackity can’t be bothered to get up or crawl along the floor yet. “It has more allies, powerful ones too from what I heard. It’s brighter and with more space. And you’d never be lonely. You’d have Tubbo, and Shroud could play with… Michael I think was his name?”

“Tubbo’s son? Yeah, his name is Michael,” Tommy replies, looking lost in thought as Quackity speedruns the five stages of shock. He really should have realized that the small piglin hybrid was Tubbo and Ranboo’s son.

“What do you say then? Want some help moving out?”

Tommy wraps his arms tighter around Shroud for a moment, but the kid doesn’t seem bothered so he leaves that be.

“Half of my inventory is empty if you need space,” he offers with a half-smile.

“I… I wouldn’t mind it.”

Quackity looks to the side, and his eye catches on the tense curve of Tommy’s shoulders and spine. “...Wanna stay here a bit more and do nothing?”

Tommy slumps forward a bit and grins down — motherfucker, why’s that boy so tall? — at him. “You like doing nothing, don’t you?”

“Hey, I’ll take whatever break I can get.” He tries to lean back, with his arms behind his head and his feet in the air, but both his back and his broken leg protest that. “ Mierda . Mierda , bad idea.”

“How did you get here like that?”

Quackity looks at Tommy again as he moves his leg back by hand. The boy’s brows are furrowed, and his eyes are dim. He sighs. “Wheelchair. I hate it.”

“Oh. L plus ratio, man.”

“What the fuck,” he laughs. “You little shit. I changed my mind. No break we're going now. The sooner I get back to my office, the sooner I can have Foolish get me my crutches.”

“Taking advantage of the employees, Quackity?” teases Tommy as he gets off the bed. “That’s a dick move. Here, take these.”

Quackity only gets that warning before half the contents of Tommy’s chest are dumped on his lap. “Give me a second, fucker.”

“Nah.”

“Oh you little shit, you’re gonna pay for that,” he says. Both Tommy and he are grinning though, and Shroud is laughing wildly. Things just might be looking up.

Shroud likes to shift and run on eight legs, he discovers. It gives him a heart attack when the kid runs out of the room and Tommy and he find a big furry spider above his wheelchair when they get out. He almost falls on Tommy, who is helping him keep standing as he walks without crutches for the first time in over two months. Though it’s really more along the lines of shuffling. His back already stings on his own, but the contact makes it burn. He has half a feeling that four days might be his limit.

The way to Snowchester is thankfully quiet. They don’t run into anyone once again, but Quackity is still thankful for the weapons in both his and Tommy’s hotbars. And the stacks of cobblestone that Tommy lugs around. God knows how he would have gotten to Snowchester otherwise. The one-block wide bridge was too narrow for the wheelchair.

They get to the snowy commune, and Quackity wraps himself further into the coat. The place is huge and covered in soft white snow that almost makes it hard for him to move with the wheelchair, and even Tommy struggles. It mustn’t have snowed recently, because they both can see other sets of steps, three to be exact.

They approach the door to Tubbo and Ranboo’s mansion cautiously, weapons at the ready. There’s soft music and laughter coming from inside though. They awkwardly look at each other, then at each other’s weapon, and chuckle. God, they’re messed up. This server messed them up.

Shroud, still in his spider form, climbs over the side of Quackity’s chair and settles in his lap. He’s light as a spider, but once he shifts to his more human form it feels like the weight triplicates. Nothing that Quackity can’t stand, just a surprise.

Tommy looks at the child and tussles his hair. He nods to Quackity, takes a deep breath, and knocks twice.

Quackity takes the few seconds where the noise stops to move back, and Tommy copies him. Steps grow closer. The door is cracked open, and Tubbo peeks out. “Quackity? Weren’t you– Wait, is that…”

“Yep. Someone changed his mind,” he smiles, nodding to the side.

“Yeah,” Tommy chuckles awkwardly as Tubbo opens the door wider. “Uh, hi Tubs. Happy birthda– FUCK!”

“There’s children here!” comes Eret’s voice from inside, and Quackity grimaces.

Tubbo has thrown himself at Tommy and lifted him off his feet — when did that kid get strong ? — which left Quackity grateful that Shroud was in his lap but dreading the second set of footsteps coming close.

“Tubbo? What’s going o– oh.” Philza — that Philza, the same one that took Wilbur’s last life, the same one that made tnt rain down on L’Manberg, that razed his old country to the ground — stands at the edge of the half-open door, looking between Tommy and him. The man’s eyes settle on him though. “Quackity.”

“Philza,” he says, not meeting his piercing stare. If Philza was there, then Technoblade wasn’t far away. “Tubbo? Why don’t you let Tommy down?”

“Right right. Sorry. Got excited,” beams the boy. Tommy is feeling his ribs in mock-ache and Quackity can’t help but smile at the two and shake his head. It takes only the two seconds he’s not looking, but he finds himself with an armful of ram-boy. “Thanks for getting him here,” whispers Tubbo into the hug.

Quackity sighs and claps the boy’s back, bringing him tighter into the hug. “Happy birthday, kiddo. Now go back and enjoy your party, yeah?” he says, letting go of Tubbo. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Tommy hesitantly talking to Philza. “Right. I’ve still got half of Tommy’s shit in my inventory. Where can I…”

Tubbo leans back, but doesn’t let go of his arms “You’re not gonna stay?”

“Tubbo,” he emphasizes, nodding towards the doorway. Technoblade was now peering out too, and Eret’s head peeked from above Techno’s.

“Ah.”

“Yeah, ah.” He attempts another smirk but, once again, it’s wonky at best. “I’m glad you made peace with them and that you have allies, but I'm not on good terms with them. I’d rather not risk causing a diplomatic accident at your birthday party.”

Tubbo chuckles, shuffling his feet as he goes back to standing. “Fair enough. Uh, here, I’ve got a chest where you can leave Tommy’s things.” He places a standard chest on the ground by the entrance. By some miracle, Quackity manages to get all of Tommy’s things in the chest rather than on the snow around it.

“There. Now Tommy, come get your child!” he yells, and only then Tommy looks back and skips towards them. Phil’s, Technoblade’s and Eret’s stares are on him, but he does his best to ignore the way they make his skin crawl and his wings beg to be let out. Even Boo is watching from a window, with Micheal on his shoulders.

“Are you leaving already?” Tommy asks. He picks up Shroud from Quackity’s lap and holds him a bit like a big doll.

“Yeah. I’ll just be over in Las Nevadas though,” Quackity answers. Then, he turns to Tubbo. “We’ve gotta build a bridge. We can’t keep going the long way through the mainland.”

Tubbo nods vigorously. “I’ll be over tomorrow and we can–”

“Nope,” Quackity interrupts. “You’re taking a break over Christmas. Don’t even try to fight me on this.”

“Hypocrite,” Tommy coughs into his elbow right while Tubbo drones, “yes dad.”

Ah, there it is again. The dull ache from the day before, the one that wraps around his heart and doesn’t let him breathe right, is back. He clenches a fist and turns to Tommy, raising an eyebrow the way Foolish does. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing,” answers Tommy, far too fast and faking innocence. He’s not doing a good job at it.

Quackity shakes his head and moves back. “I better go. Foolish is already on my ass about leaving Las Nevadas to him alone.”

“Will you be alright?” asks Tommy, sweet as… well, not ever but most of the time.

“Yeah, don’t worry. We do have to build that bridge though,” he finishes, pointing a finger at Tubbo.

Tubbo just grins. “We do. Now leave before Foolish kills you.”

He sends the boy a mock-salute. After a moment to back up and not get caught in the snow, he nods to the three figures in the doorway. He turns around and starts to leave. The three’s gazes burn on his neck.

“And if you don’t come over on the twenty-sixth, we ’re coming over and making a mess in Las Nevadas.”

“Hell yeah we are,” Tubbo answers to Tommy’s prompting.

Quackity doesn’t even turn around. He just yells “see ya” and waves with the one hand he’s not using to wheel himself forward.

“What happened to him?” he hears Eret ask. She’s trying to be quiet to be fair, but he still hears her. He doesn’t quite make out Tommy’s answer though. He’s already a bit too far.

On the way back, he doesn’t pass by the Prime Path, even if it would be easier. He keeps to the coastline, with his head constantly turned to the left to check on his surroundings. It’s only a little over an hour faster than if he were to go along the Path, but the sooner he can see for himself that his country is still standing — and that Foolish does, in fact, deserve a raise — the better it is.

The fake desert is still cold, though not as much as Snowchester was. Bo greets him at the Toll Gate but he doesn’t stop to chat, too busy with the line of guests still forming. He passes the sign panting a bit from going uphill, and takes five minutes to rest his arms. By the time he gets to the doors of his hotel, Foolish is running at him. After spending nearly two days with Tubbo and Tommy, he almost assumes that the guy is going in for a hug. The frown on his face tells him otherwise.

“What the hell, Quackity? This was supposed to be a few hours trip!”

“Okay, in my defense–” he starts, wheeling himself back out of Foolish’s range. Foolish steps forward though.

“But nothing. I can deal with the paperwork and the people asking questions, but I refuse to deal with every single accident ever again. Spring another thing like this on me again and I will leave.”

The silence between them stretches, and yet it grows thicker and thicker. It settles heavily around Quackity’s shoulders. He closes his eyes and exhales. Then, he lifts his gaze and looks the totem in the eyes. “You have my most sincere apologies, Foolish. I got so caught up with Tubbo and Tommy that I didn’t think about it.”

Foolish remains stoic for all of ten seconds before his eyes soften. “Did you find Tommy then?”

“We did. He’s moving into Snowchester with Tubbo right now,” Quackity says, feeling the tense atmosphere relax.

“That’s good,” even Foolish smiles slightly. “And what of Wilbur?”

As soon as he hears the name, Quackity’s entire mood darkens. “ Wilbur is a fucking bastard. He managed to find a way to get off the server and off he went .”

Foolish’s eyes go through a flurry of emotions before settling on a mix of disbelief and anger. “ What? But the server is locked.”

“I’m aware. Not even Tommy knows what shit he pulled to do that.” Quackity sighs and moves forward. He pats Foolish on his lower back — damn giants — and smiles wearily. “Don’t think about it too hard right now. It’s nearly Christmas. We don’t wanna ruin the mood.”

“Yeah, yeah. By the way, Sapnap stopped by both yesterday morning and this morning.”

“Figures,” Quackity mutters. “Hey, do you know if we have any fancy crutches? I’m not gonna wheel myself around the ballroom, let alone not stand on the stage for the speech..”

“Oh boy, do we,” Foolish says. He rubs his hands together with a grin and runs towards the entrance of the hotel. “We’ll have to see which ones you’re most comfortable with. I know there’s at least a pair that gets short enough for you.”

“Oh fuck you,” he laughs. He follows Foolish inside, as fast as he can. Outside, it starts to snow.

Chapter Text

Cyclamens and Galanthi

Cyclamens, also known as alpine violets, are small flowers with few heart-shaped petals and a round opening, the petals are twisted so it looks like the flower is gracefully bent. They’re often found near Christian and Islamic monasteries since their primary meaning is one of devotion and empathy. They also represent creativity and charm.
Others associate them with Hecate and magic, planting Cyclamens to protect from evil spells and poisons, or taking them as a warning of danger or a symbol of change.
The various colors have further different meaning. Most are classic color meanings. White for  innocence, pink  for modesty, and red for romantic love. Only the purple ones deviate. They get the negative traits, such as diffidence, resignation, separation and lost love. It’s a pity. The purple ones are really beautiful.

Galanthi, or snowdrops, are other small, bell-shaped flowers with no actual petals. Instead, they’re made of six white tepals (a cross between leaf, petal and sepal); three in an outer ring and three in an inner ring. They’re unfortunately an endangered species. The few I managed to get cost me nearly a kidney.
They’re one of the first flowers to bloom. Already in January one can see their blossoms. Because of that, they symbolize hope, rebirth and new beginnings, and since they bloom while still in the snow they’re also associated with overcoming challenges. However, they’ve also been associated with death, mostly because they’re planted around cemeteries. Finding just one brings bad luck, and bringing one inside the house would bring ruin on the household. These days, they're gifted to people going through difficult times.

Sapnap is outside the borders of Las Nevadas again the next morning.

He’s still pacing by the sign, a black and orange speck upon the white and gray. Quackity stares at him from the window and pretends he doesn’t feel Patricia the Succulent’s amd Senon the Daffodil’s judgemental stares. They’re not the only ones to do so. There’s plenty of potted flowers — old gifts from Slime — littering the office space in his penthouse, half dying, and all of them are weighing his sins and merits, his vices and virtues, and they have found him guilty.

He thinks of the way Tubbo and Tommy exist around each other, how they stubbornly cling to the other’s good traits, how they refuse to let themselves go. He thinks he might like something like that.

When Foolish knocks on the door, Quackity is already on his feet. He's proud of his progress with the crutches. For taking PT seriously only for a day after a week of half-assing it, sixty steps at once without falling is incredible. It’s more than enough to reach the wheelchair on his own even, and he’s halfway there when he tells Foolish that he can let himself in.

The totem blinks once, twice, then tilts his head. “Why are you there?”

“I promised you I’d talk to Sapnap,” Quackity says. He lowers himself into the chair, not at all as gracefully as he wishes he was. “I’m not letting him in yet, so I’m… gonna go out there.”

He struggles to hook the crutches to the back of the chair — there isn’t really a place for them, but he makes it work. When he turns back around, Foolish is staring at him. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing, nothing,” placates Foolish. He picks up Quackity’s jacket from where it’s hooked by the door and passes it to him. With the amount of snow that fell last night, Quackity thinks he’s really gonna need it.

“Thanks,” he says. The jacket doesn’t irritate his back this time. He locked the penthouse last evening and spent twelve hours of pure bliss with his wings shifted out. He only really has a handful of t-shirts with the slits in the back to accommodate his most frequent wings, but with the heat turned all the way up he was fine. Better than fine.

“Come on. I wanna get this over and done with,” he finishes, wheeling himself towards the door Foolish is holding open.

“Are you sure? You seem rather eager, man,” teases Foolish.

Quackity frowns at the smirk that plays on the totem’s lips, and he will not admit that the other is half-right. He does want to talk to Sapnap. He’s left that life behind, sure, but he misses it so much. “Stop stalling or I might forget your raise,” he says instead.

He stays silent as they get out and even more so on the elevator ride. Foolish has taken to a mix of teasing him and lamenting the loss of his raise — which won’t happen; Foolish deserves it after the shit he pulled on him the last few days — and Quackity isn’t really eager to entertain that. Not when his body is already betraying him. His palms are sweaty and he can’t quite breathe right. He said he’d do this though. He’s not gonna back down.

The air outside is frigid. He can see his breath make shapes into the wind today, and it’s almost as satisfying as smoking. At least, there’s no snow on the roads. If he has to go on uneven terrain or snow once again with this damned thing, he might just snap.

The moment Foolish and he get away from the small, isolated corner with the hotel’s entrance and onto the main street, Sapnap sees them. The other man stops and turns towards them. One second passes, then two, then he tenses in the distance and bolts towards the border. He steps over the border, steps back, and lifts his head. They’re close enough that Quackity can see his face now though, half-lit from the morning sun. He can’t read every emotion on it, but he sees the worry and the ache. He nods. Sapnap runs.

It’s a hilarious scene, really. Sapnap runs down the hill, trips over something halfway down, and does the rest of the descent half-rolling and half-sliding down. By a miracle, he doesn’t fall flat on his face at the foot of the hill, and just starts running again. “Quackity,” he yells, almost breathily. It sends a spike of… something down Quackity’s spine and makes his heart skip a beat. Maybe two.

Sapnap is in front of Foolish and him before they can make their way around the fountain, before he can even yell something back. He stops a few feet away from them, with one arm lifted and reaching for them. There’s fear and grief and sadness and relief — why the hell is there relief? — painted on his face. “Quackity,” he whispers again.

Quackity’s shoulder sag. His throat is dry and his eyes sting. He refuses to let himself cry for this though. He reaches a hand out and knocks the tips of his fingers against the other’s. “Hi Sapnap.”

Sapnap moves forward and interlocks their fingers together. His skin is as warm as ever, almost fevirishly so. That’s just Sapnap for you though. He's as warm as his heart is. “Hi,” he answers.

Quackity makes the mistake of looking the other in the eyes. Soft embers burn tiredly, laced with too many emotions for Quackity to figure out. There’s a white ring around Sapnap’s pupils now, and they seem to glow with the orange glow of fire. It doesn’t make sense though. Sapnap’s eyes have always been a soft shade of dark blue, closer to an ocean than a blazing campfire.

“I’m… gonna go.”

Quackity almost startles at Foolish’s voice. How the hell did he lose this much awareness? The only thing that reassures him is that Sapnap startled too, and Sapnap’s always been the more alert of the two.

He lets go of Sapnap’s hand and turns to Foolish. The hijo de puta is grinning like a Cheshire cat. Quackity might just debate not giving him the raise if he keeps that up. “I’ll be in the Needle if you need me,” the traitor says.

“Alright, have fun with the clients,” he says, because two can play the teasing game.

Foolish turns around as he’s leaving, gives him a glare, and then goes on his merry way.

Both Quackity and Sapnap watch him go, too close and yet not close enough. Quackity sighs and starts moving again. He can’t stay in the open like this. It might be early in the day, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t customers around, let alone that there won’t be in half an hour. It’s Christmas Eve. They’re all expecting plenty of customers. “Come on, I know a quiet place.”

“Y-Yeah, sure,” Sapnap says. He’s quick to fall into step beside him, not even daring to put a hand on the wheelchair. Good. Quackity might have taken back his words and kicked him out if he did that.

He leads him towards the pool, then past it, to the point of getting off the artificial desert. Quackity is so grateful that the patches of snow-covered greenery around the now frozen lake are still Las Nevadas territory. Even more so for the one right by the lakeside, with the glass gazebo behind it and a hedge all the way to the shore. He loves his penthouse, and he adores the top of the Needle, but the winter garden is his favorite place to disappear to.

He lets himself and Sapnap in through the white gate. The view used to be stunning from here. Not much so anymore. There’s bushes of flowers that he has been trying — and not quite failing yet — to take care of. Recent events have pulled that almost to a halt. His camellias and glories of the snow were almost thriving when he left them, but now they’re drying and barely have any flowers. There’s no aconite or jasmine popping up through the snow in bursts of yellow like last year, and the winterberries bear no fruits.

“I’m sorry,” whispers Sapnap just as they’re reaching the porch swing looking over the lake. Quackity stops and turns to look at him. He finds him staring at a spot in front of his feet. His bangs fall in front of his eyes, only partly held back by the white bandana, and they shine almost red in the morning light. They frame his face beautifully. “I’m sorry. I should have come to you sooner. Maybe if I’d been here…”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Quackity hums. He looks away, back to his dying flowers — he’ll have to remember to come and water them — and sighs. “It wouldn’t have mattered in the end. Purpled would have found a way to get me killed with or without Dream.”

“I thought he was your ally.”

“I kinda deserved it in the end. I didn’t really treat neither him nor Slime the best,” shrugs Quackity.

Sapnap’s gaze moves on him, burning the side of his head. “What slime?”

Quackity tenses. Mierda . Mierda , he didn’t mean to let that slip. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters if it hurts you.”

Goddamn, why did Sapnap have to be emotionally aware? This is exactly why he didn’t want to meet him. “Can we not?” he says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sapnap replies. Dios , he’s so infuriating.

Quackity looks away from the bushes and glares up at Sapnap. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Cut that shit out.”

Sapnap’s glaring too now. “You don’t get to cut me out just because you’re angry.”

Quackity sees red.

“You weren’t saying that when Karl called me a murderer,” he explodes. If he could, he’d step in front of Sapnap. But he can’t, and so he just grips the handles of the wheels. “You didn’t say that even after that. I may be a hypocrite but at least I know and admit I am one!”

Yelling leaves him panting. He remembers why he likes the anger. This is the least empty he’s felt in a while, bar yesterday with Tommy and Tubbo. Evan that doesn’t compare though. He wants to scream more. He wants it to rain and thunder. He wants it to be dark and windy, like the storm inside his lungs that he doesn’t want to stop. If it did, maybe it would blow out Sapnap’s fire. But it doesn’t, and Sapnap is just as angry as him.

“Oh so it’s my fault for that now? You left —”

“You were welcome here!” He’s not gonna cry. He’s done crying. He’ll make it rain and hail before he cries again. Even if his eyes sting and his hands tremble and lock around the handles. “It took almost a year for you to visit, and it’s only out of fucking pity .”

Sapnap takes a step forward and turns so he’s standing in front of him. His eyes are shining too with unshed tears.  “It’s not pity . I care about you. I was fucking worried. I haven’t heard from you in so long and all I see are two death messages from most likely canon deaths. Do you have any clue how terrified I’ve been?”

“And I haven’t?” he yells. The storm in his chest expands. It presses against his ribcage, it seizes his heart, it burns his throat. He wants it out, he wants it out . He can’t fucking breathe like this. He can’t feel his hands anymore from how hard he’s gripping the wheels’ handles, but he can lean forward and breathe through his mouth. “I spent the better part of a year preparing for an attack from either Purpled or Dream, because of course we’re only capable of getting revenge and revenge and revenge here–”

“Why would you expect an attack from Dream? He’s after Tommy still!” 

“That’s all you get from that?”

“It’s my fucking main concern,” snaps Sapnap. He’s got an arm thrown wide, half-raised towards the heart of his country. “I want to know if you’re in danger, if this place puts you in danger.”

Quackity scoffs and moves back, turning slightly to the side. He’s done with this. He knew it wouldn’t work (but did he really?) and he told Foolish so. This is why he didn’t want to do this.

“ Please ,” he spits out. “Dream doesn’t give a fuck about this place other than it’s something he can use against me.”

“Why would you even be on his shit list?” Sapnap says. Quackity is not looking at what the other is doing, but he can feel him fall into step at his side while he leaves. He’s not tainting another good place with bad memories. “Hey, don’t walk– uh, roll away from me. Why would you be?”

Quackity grits his teeth. He manages to turn his wheelchair slightly towards Sapnap and looks him in the eyes. The fiery glow has almost intensified. “Because he’s a fucking psychopath, why else?” The chills he got whenever he looked at Dream, even before everything happened, come back at him in full force. “Did you ever see him since he’s been put in the prison? ‘Cause let me tell ya, he’s gone completely off his rocker. There’s something wrong with him.”

Sapnap glares at him. “Careful with your words, he’s still my brother.”

“And Wilbur was Tommy’s but that doesn’t change jack shit about him becoming a cuckoo Dream worshiper and a manipulative asshole.” His hands are trembling violently now. He wants so much to just wheel himself away and retreat to his office and planning, but he fucking can’t now. Congratulations to Sapnap, he got his wish. Fuck, he wants a smoke now.

“Wilbur was rotten from the get-go,” insists Sapnap.

“And you’re sure you can say that Dream didn’t? ‘Cause he already vibed wrong when I joined the server.”

Sapnap and he glare at each other, neither willing to back down. Once upon a time, he thinks he might have made a sexual joke, or called the situation hot. He doesn’t think he’s got it in him to do that anymore.

“What do you even know about what Dream is like now?” sighs Sapnap. He waves a hand in Las Nevadas’s direction, but doesn’t move his eyes from Quackity’s own. “You only saw him when he attacked.”

Cold dread shoots down Quackity’s spine. Sapnap doesn’t know about the prison. Sapnap doesn’t know about the prison .

It shows up in his nightmares often. The striking anger. The creepy hallways. The addictiveness of power and the helplessness of the crash. The way he burned everyday, in the aftermath of every visit.

He grits his teeth, clenches his fists, and speaks. “Leave.”

Sapnap’s eyes go ice cold, wide as he staggers back. He rights himself, makes himself taller and steps forward with blazing, narrowed eyes. “What happened.”

“Nothing happened, I said leave Sapnap.”

“Fuck no, what happened?” Sapnap takes another step forward. Before Quackity can move back, he squats down and puts a hand on his knee. He’s scalding hot and Quackity, for once, means it in the literal sense. “What did you do?”

Quackity scowls, even as his stomach knots on itself and an insidious, vile snake wraps itself around his heart and squeezes. “So kind of you to assume I did something.” He attempts to wheel himself back, out of Sapnap’s grip. The other has different ideas. He shifts his hand from his knee to his wrist and holds him still.

“You were expecting revenge from Dream. Hell, you still are. What. Did. You. Do?” Sapnap snaps at him, and he flinches at every punctuated word. Sapnap must notice this, because the hold in his wrist goes looser.

Quackity takes the opportunity for what it is, and tears his wrist away. “A mistake and a horrible thing. Not the first one, not the last, now fucking leave.”

"Quackity."

"Sapnap," he says back.

"Do you really want to keep secrets again? Last time you lost a life, and this time too if I understood right. Are you trying to lose your third one too?” Sapnap freezes mid-movement, with his hands in the air. His eyes widen, locked on Quackity’s own. A storm of fearfearfear rages through them. “Y- You’re not trying to lose your third life, are you?”

“No,” Quackity exclaims. He’s caught between moving back from the shock and moving forward to comfort Sapnap, and he ends up rooted on the spot. Before he notices, his hand is halfway to reaching Sapnap’s. He pulls it back like he’s been burned. “God, no. I would never.”

Sapnap shoots a hand out and catches his, interlocking their fingers together. “Then tell me . Please.”

The whirlwind of desperation — why is he like this, why does he want to know? — in Sapnap’s voice hits him full force. Quackity is a weak man, he can admit this much now. He can’t withstand this storm for long, not the way the other does. He bows his head and squeezes Sapnap’s hand. “You don’t want to know.”

Sapnap’s hand burns. He doesn’t want to let go. “You don’t get to decide that–”

“Please, just trust me on this one,” he interrupts, but Sapnap is relentless.

“–and you didn’t kill him, so what could you even have done to warrant a canon death?”

“Far worse!”

He didn’t mean to yell. Hell, he didn’t even mean to say anything at all, but now his voice is echoing through the flower patch and off of the gazebo’s glass wall. He pants as the anger leaves his bones, replaced by freezing dread. He slips his hand out of Sapnap’s now loose grip and moves back. “Go away,” he whispers.

“You–” Sapnap gulps, his hand lifted as if he were still holding Quackity’s. “You tortured him.”

“Go. Away.”

“What the fuck, Quackity?”

“Sapnap!” he yells, because he’s done and his heart is about to tear apart inside his chest. Or maybe it’s going to cave in. It doesn’t matter much. It hurts anyway, tainting his words with blood and rot and all the awful parts of himself he wanted to hide away. He turns the other way — like the coward he is — and starts to move back towards the gate. “I told you to fucking leave.”

“Not a fucking chance in hell.” Sapnap chases him, quickly reaching him and planting himself right in front of him. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I was a moron,” he yells back. “Because power corrupts, who fucking cares?”

He tries to go around Sapnap, but the other is quicker and more agile on two feet than he is in the wheelchair. “ I fucking care.”

“Well you shouldn’t.”

“Gods fucking dammit, Quackity, will you just listen to me! ”

“Not until you listen to me and get out of my fu-cking country." His voice cracks painfully, and the tears are back. They gather on his lower eyelids. His throat aches from the strain of keeping his cries in.

Sapnap and he stare off. The fire in Sapnap’s eyes dies down, along with the glow, and the anger slips off his face. He wants to cry. His hands are trembling like hell.

Sapnap breaks eye contact and steps to the side, then past him. “Goodbye Quackity.”

He stops right past his shoulder, with his hand low, close enough that he could put it on Quackity’s trembling shoulder. He can feel the heat of it. He doesn't look at him. He squeezes his eyes shut against the tears blurring his vision.

"I hope you're proud," Sapnap says. And then he's gone, walking away from Quackity, and there's the verdict he's been waiting for this whole past year.

His heart shreds, caving in under the guilt as a sob tears itself out of his throat. He brings a hand to his mouth. Despair soaks heavy into his bones and sinks into his core. He leans forward and holds back the cries. Still, his knees are wet where his eye-sockets are pressed into them, and his whole body shakes.

He keeps his hand on his mouth until he can’t breathe anymore, and only then does he gasp for air. His mind keeps screeching monster, monster, monster, you deserve this . There is no way it’s wrong.

His head leaves the warmth of his legs. The tears on his cheeks, frozen by the whipping wind, are the only thing he can feel. Through blurry vision and heavy tears, the patches of dying flowers are not only barely visible, they seem distorted too. As his chest leans forward even more, his hand meets the ground. With a soft push by the other hand, his body slips off the wheelchair.

A sob reverberates in his lungs, and he can’t hear it. Everything burns hot and cold at the same time, it’s too loud and too quiet and it hurts but not enough. Crawling forward covers his hands in dirt and red splotches. The environment is as unforgiving as his mind. The cyclamens get closer with every shuffle though, even if the smell never hits. His arms give out the moment he reaches the bushes, barely able to hold up as they tremble.

With his head on the ground, laying by the flowers, his eyes close and the cries tear his throat apart. His chest is hollow. His mind screams. Everything is muted and dull and gray and harsh. Who will care if he just stops existing here, laid against the grass and snow? Who will care if his lungs explode and his throat is torn apart and his eyes melt away?

“–ity? Qua–ity! Oh gods, wha– –pened?”

A voice breaks through the haze. A cold pressure spreads on his shoulder, but his eyes stay closed and his head stays pressed into the frozen ground.

“–o. Hey, co– on dude, –ook at me.”

The cold pressure moves from his shoulder to beneath his knees, while another slips between his head and the ground. The cold, harsh earth is no longer under him. It’s freezing all over right before his feet meet the ground. Warmth meets his chest and wraps around his back, keeping him upright when his knees threaten to give out. His back burns, with his wings pressed up right under the surface of his skin, begging to be let out.

It’s only there, pressed against someone, that he realizes joust how much his body is wrecked by the sobs. He’s gasping for air as his lungs spasm. His mouth is open. Yet, not a sound makes it past his lips.

His fingers find purchase on the creases of thick, warm cloth. He grasps it with aching fingers, nearly frozen still by both despair and cold. A keen finally escapes his lips. He lets himself melt in the other person’s embrace. His head isn’t screeching insults at him anymore, but the empty numbness is almost worse.

“Hey. Come –n dude, you gotta –eathe.”

The cold pressure — a hand, it’s got to be a hand, and an almost metallic one at that — is back. It cups his cheek and forces his face away from where it’s shoved in the other person’s chest.

“Come o–, it’s fine, –ust in for five.”

The chest he’s laid against expands. He gasps for air, whether by instinct or to copy the other he doesn’t know. The other person counts, muffled as their voice is. There’s a sob stuck in his throat, but it’s only when the other says “five” that he lets it escape.

He doesn’t know how long he stays in the other’s arms, but it’s long enough for his legs to start aching. He steps back and lifts his head. Golden skin and emerald eyes meet him, along with a shark-shaped thick cape. “Fo’–ish?” His voice cracks in the middle.

“Yeah du–,–s me,” Foolish says. Through his still hazy vision, he can see that his eyebrows are furrowed. He’s still holding Quackity upright. “How… Are y– feeling –tter?”

Quackity just leans his head forward, letting it rest on Foolish’s chest again. His breath is thin. His hands still tremble. He lets his eyes fall closed, lets the darkness take over the blurry white. “C’n we jus’ go b’ck?”

The silence is like a blanket around them. Whether a thin soft one or a thick constricting one he can’t quite tell. He can feel his knees about to give in. Foolish’s arms move from around him, resting behind his neck and his legs. Air rushes by his ears, and then he’s horizontal with Foolish’s arms beneath him. “–eah, we ca– go b–k”

It’s a testament to his mental state that he lets himself be carried to the wheelchair, let alone be laid into it and wheeled around. But his eyes burn in the bright noon sunlight and his vision is blurry and distorted. He can’t quite keep himself from trembling. If he were to try to wheel himself around, his hands might actually wrap around the wheels’ handles and get stuck. Even his back aches with the unconscious strain of keeping his wings from bursting out. He can feel only that and the dried tear tracks on his cheeks.

The blast of warm air catches him by surprise and sends shivers all along his body. He cracks his eyes open. Vaguely, he distinguishes the service entrance to the hotel and the small staff elevator he had installed.

“Fi–ured you –uldn’t want to be s–n by the –ustome–”

He nods distantly to Foolish’s words, not even bothering to decipher them. The elevator’s doors close behind them. Quackity lifts his head, and finds himself in the mirror. His clothes are dirty and wrinkled, his hair messed up under the beanie. The tear tracks, dried as they are, still shimmer in the light. He looks like a wreck.

“S’rry.”

“Hm? Du–, no. I’m so–y if –nything.” Foolish’s face contorts in the mirror. “I sh–dn’t have pushed so –uch. Y– know him –etter tha– I do. I –ust hoped…”

Quackity looks down, away from the mirror. His hands are in his lap, red and dirty and crusted with blood all the way from the chipped and torn fingernails. “I kno'. H'ped so too.”

The elevator opens — without the ding or did he just not hear it? — onto the second highest floor. Foolish shuffles them both from the staff elevator to the public one. With a flash of his golden card, they start quickly moving up. It’s really only a few seconds before the doors open again. The bright atrium greets them. Quackity shuts his eyes on instinct. There’s too much light coming from the open-floor living room, let alone the balcony with its glass walls.

The light gets brighter however, and there’s no way they’re heading for the office now. He cracks his eyes open. Just as he does so, the wheelchair stops moving. Foolish's arms slip beneath his knees and behind his back and he almost wants to scream. It's only a few seconds before he's laid on something soft. It's a few seconds too many though. He tries to lift himself upright, but he can barely get on his elbows. "Foolish? Th's isn't th' office."

"Lay back down, –de," says Foolish, pushing him back into the couch. "And o– course –ot. You just had a– a mental break–own or –omething. I'm not –onna let you wor– after that, you a–ready have PT i– a few hours." Foolish vs face softens. His eyes crinkle at the edges. He grabs the blanket draped over the back of the other sofa and lays it over him. "Wha– you n–d is rest, not mo– –ork. I'll ta– care of it"

Quackity tries to grab the other’s hands and whine as he leaves, but he doesn’t quite make it. Foolish leaves the penthouse. When he looks for them, both the wheelchair and the crutches are way too out of his reach. It's hell. If there ever was hell, this is it. Forced to lay on the couch, with the heavy pressure of wings beneath his skin, no way to go around and the locked cabinet in the kitchen just in line of sight.

"No," he whispers to himself even as his eyes stay transfixed on the cabinet door. "No. You're stronger than him."

' But are you really? ' laughs a cruel familiar voice in his mind.

He shakes his head and looks anywhere but at the kitchen. As he grasps the sides of the couch, his hand passes by soft carton in the crevices. He closes his eyes and pries the box out. He can't drink, he refuses to crawl to the cabinet to drink. That doesn't mean he can't smoke one, two, four cigarettes.

He barely feels it as he burns himself with the lighter, as the smoke fills his lungs with the same rot his soul is laden with. He still forces himself to stop at four, even if his fingers never stop trembling and the void in his chest begs for more. He doesn't sleep or rest after that. He just… drifts.

He doesn't really exist until Foolish comes back what must be hours later but feels simultaneously like decades and mere minutes. Even then, the haze around him is too heavy to properly understand what happens around him.

He knows, logically, that he should feel the strain and hurt in his legs as he's made to walk along the two bars. He doesn't really feel anything though. It's almost like he's outside his body. Like the few seconds after a normal death, like the longer gaps between a canon death and the aching respawn where you slip outside your body and barely exist.

Even the doctor, a grayed out man who took office at the hospital in the outer city, must notice that something is wrong. He's much gentler than yesterday, keener on telling him to stop and rest, to take a break. He does as he’s told. He doesn’t fight or complain or grumble. He’s tired of doing that.

Dinner tastes like nothing. Well, that’s not completely true. It tastes like failure, even if it should taste at least like homesickness. He never could make Mama's tamales quite right, and the potatoes and gravy feel hollow without Sapnap and Karl.

At night he does not sleep. It doesn’t matter though; concealer has been his best friend for a long time.

Instead of sleeping, he shuffles into the wheelchair — not the crutches, he does not  feel steady enough for crutches — and heads for his office. He practices tomorrow’s speech until it sticks to his mind even through the haze and blur and muffled sounds. And if he smokes five more cigarettes that he can’t even smell the smoke of… Well, there’s no one around to complain is there?

He doesn’t find joy in getting ready and dressing up for the event, this Christmas more than the last. Putting on concealer is a mechanical, familiar motion. The black and scarlet smoking is beautiful in its simplicity, and the hat matches them beautifully, but it all feels… worthless. Like he’s been wasting away in a rotten corner (or maybe just in his mind).

He pauses at the penthouse's doors. The fine silvery crutches that Foolish had found lean on the wall, and higan cherries, cyclamens and poinsettias are interwoven between the bars and around the decorations. He stares at them, still in his wheelchair.

Two sound knocks on the double doors startled him out of his reverie. "Quackity? Are you ready to go?"

He takes a deep breath. He moves towards them. "Yeah, just a second."

It takes him a bit to get to his feet, even with the crutches. His legs are still unsteady, though less so than yesterday. And the crutches, even decorated as they are, are really, really comfortable.

Foolish knocks again and opens the door opposite to the crutches. He pokes his head in. "You good?"

"I'm good," he nods. He takes a step, then another. It doesn't hurt nearly as much as he was afraid it would. "Lead the way."

Foolish smiles and calls the elevator back up for them to get in

The bright lights assault his senses the moment they reach the second floor and step out. There are more people than he had imagined there would still be. After a full night of partying at the Casino, he’d thought many would tap out. That’s… good. It must mean that he has the attention of mostly serious and formal people. He’ll have to check with Nina how many people were there though. He refuses to check that party for himself.

Quackity is almost steady on the crutches by now. Foolish still accompanies him across the floor, transformed into a dance floor just for the occasion. People nod at them both, and someone even courtseys and bows. Everyone is smiling though.

He’s starting to consider a higher pay raise for Foolish. The room is beautiful and lively, enough so that it filters out the fog in his mind. The small orchestra is wrapping up a soft melody as he approaches the small stage by the aquarium they are on. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Zire near the front with two people at xirs sides, laughing openly. The edge of a smile makes its way on his lips. “Great work,” he whispers.

He can hear the smile in Foolish’s voice just a step behind and to the side. His “thank you,” is filled with pride. Quackity agrees wholeheartedly that it’s deserved.

They reach the stage, and Foolish has to help him up the few steps. It isn’t awkward though. The crowd is gracious about his injury; they don’t stare or point or whisper. God, he adores Las Nevadas. With every event, he falls a bit more in love with this place he wants to call home. So he stands at the front of the stage, near the orchestra and by the microphone, and admires the place, the people, the joy, the atmosphere. His heart swells.

“Ladies, gentlemen,” he starts, and locks eyes Zire near the front and smiles at xem, “and otherwise unspecified guests.” Zire smiles back and nods, and a few other people cheer and whistle throughout the room. His smile widens. “I thank you all for being here on this lovely day, celebrating together. We here, reunited together, are the proof that hard times cannot get us down. We have survived every accident, threat and tough decision we had to make, and that is all thanks to you.”

A round of cheers and applause erupts from the crowd. Quackity even hears someone yell “to us!” and, well, no one ever said he couldn’t improvise a bit.

“To us indeed. It’s been a tough year and yet we have accomplished so much together, both you esteemed guests and patrons and our lovely staff. Some nations haven’t been able to do a fraction of what we have done here. I hold pride in knowing every one of you,” he grins. He eyes the trays of champagne being passed around and how Foolish is getting up on the stage too with two of those. He leans his weight on one crutch and let's the other lay on his side.

“We go into the next year with hope,” he stares into the crowd and smiles, “with determination,” he adds, shifting his gaze to the side, “and with strength, knowing we can accomplish anything we set our minds to. So a toast to us!” he says, picking up the champagne glass Foolish is offering him. “To our families. To Las Nevadas. And to a bright future! Thank you everyone, have a happy Christmas!” he toasts through the cheers of the guests.

The music picks back up, a cheery melody of strings and piano. Voices spread through the room. Quackity can’t help but grin so much his cheeks hurt. He downs the champagne and passes the glass back to a frowning Foolish. He grins and winks at the other.

He steps away from the lithe microphone stand, passing his fingers over the camellias and cyclamens that hang from it as he grabs the crutch back. He’s almost astonished to see they’re real flowers. He wonders if the compositions of higan cherries, the cyclamens and the poinsettias along the walls are also real.

He leaves the stage, nodding to the orchestra as he goes by. Foolish stands behind him with an arm out when they reach the steps, ready to catch him should his legs give out. He’s grateful for it, even if it’s a bit embarrassing. As much as the party is helping though, he hasn’t quite recovered from the haze of yesterday. He’ll take the help over falling in front of everyone.

They move away from the stage, and immediately people start breaking away from their groups to talk to him. The first to arrive is John Babouf, a guy he’s familiar with only because of his quartz quarries. Well, not only. The guy also has an incredible head for art. The artists he’d recommended him to hire to help Foolish with the decorations — a group of teens and tweens and young adults standing and chatting near the buffet table — were incredibly talented.

“Mister Quackity! Oh goodness, the place is magnificent,” the portly man says, nearly vibrating out of his skin.

Quackity chuckles and leans on his left crutch, trying to offer his right to shake. “It’s good to see you, Mister Babouf–”

“I told you, my boy, just Mister John is fine.”

“–And thank you, but it’s really Foolish that did most of the work this time,” he smiles, nodding towards the golden man.

Babouf turns wide-eyed towards Foolish. “You truly outdid yourself, Mister Foolish. You have such good eye for art and decor, Mister Quackity is lucky to have you. Tell me,” he pounces at the chance to talk to another art enthusiast, taking Foolish arm in arm. Well as far as he reaches. “How did you settle on the juxtaposition of the red with such a shade of–”

Quackity chuckles and salutes Foolish as the other is dragged away by an enthusiastic Babouf. His luck doesn’t hold though. Madame Maria Del Monte — who only came to Las Nevadas once to see a play and then never stopped writing to him about suggestions for other plays — immediately takes him arm in arm and drags him to meet her family. There’s a whole clan of them. His heart yearns for someone for him to introduce back.

He gets dragged around like that for a while, to the point his legs start to ache and the faces and names of everyone he’s met blur together. He manages to catch a break at the buffet table, chatting with the artists and the orchestra now on break. They’re discussing a possible contract for two of the younger artists, a girl and a boy about his age who are struggling with their tuition, when someone clears their throat beside them.

Both he and the artists — one Ingrid Hansdottir and one Huynh Duy Anh — startle. They all whip around.

Zire stands by them, chuckling with a hand half-raised to cover xyrs mouth. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s good to see you, Quackity.” Xe nods at the two artists and smiles openly at them. “Would you mind if I stole him for a bit?”

“Not at all!” “He’s all yours,” the two exclaim together and then look at each other wide-eyed.

Quackity barely contains his snickers, because that would be impolite, and lightly hits them with his shoulders. “I’ll get back to you both with the contracts later. Enjoy yourselves.” He walks away and falls into step with Zire. Xe’s finely dressed in a suit with a cinched waist and a low neckline. “Where to, your highness?”

Zire smiles, not the polite smile xe reserves for the dull nobles xe interacts with on the daily but the one he’s seen xe wear with xyrs closer friend. He calls that progress for only two years of being owners of lands so close. Xyrs territories are just north of the forest that borders the lake though, and they’ve met by the water many times. He’s glad for it. It has made relationships far more amiable than with some of his fellow Di’Essempian leaders. “That’s for me to know and for you to find out.”

"You truly know how to intrigue me," he says. He matches the rhythm of his crutches to the one of xyrs heels as they leave the crowded area and get in the elevator. They go up nearly to the top floor, and Zire leads him to a room he recognizes as one of the Imperial Suites. "I didn't realize you were staying here."

"You haven't been around much, I noticed. I've been here since the twenty-second. You weren't even here."

"I'm sorry about that," he shrugs apologetically. "I had a family emergency."

"You have family?" asks Zire as xe opens the door.

He freezes for half a second before forcing himself to speak. "Friends close enough to be considered so."

Zire stares at him as he enters the suit. With a wave of xyrs hand, xe directs him to one of the lounge sofas. "I didn't mean to imply that you shouldn't. I'm just surprised I've never met them." Xe closes the door and settles on the sofa across from him, a coffee table between them.

Quackity leans his crutches on the armrest. He shakes his head. "It's fine. I'm not really relationship material anymore." He tries to laugh, but it comes out more strained than he thought it would.

Zire frowns. "Tell me about them? Your friends, I mean."

"What for?"

"Can't a person just check on xyrs friends?" Zire replies. Xe blows a perfect curl away from xyrs eyes and leans forward. "I'm worried about you Quackity. You've gone through an attack on your lands and your person and suffered major injuries from it. I haven't seen you around since. And you definitely don't look your best," xe concludes, putting the back of xyrs hand against his forehead.

"I'm fine." He backs away from the hand. The leather couch is soft behind his back. It doesn't make his skin scream from the pressure. "Physical therapy is going well. I should be out of the cast in less than a week."

"And psychological therapy?" Zire asks. With his forehead now out of range, xe settles xyrs hand on his knee. "You need that too after going through something like that."

He frowns and puts his hand over xyrs. “I’ve been through worse than this, Zi.”

“You do realize that doesn’t make it better, right? That actually makes it worse.”

“I’ve dealt with it this far. I can deal with it more,” he rebuts.

“Quackity,” xe starts, but the sound of the door unlocking makes xe stop.

They both turn to look at the door as it creeps open. A small figure peeks through and then runs through the room in a flurry of red and gold poofy fabric. “XAXA!” the figure — a child, a whole-ass child not much older than Shroud or Michael — yells before jumping into Zire’s lap. “You oh-kay? You left the party.”

Zire takes the little girl’s hands in hers and starts bouncing her up and down. “Yeah, baby, Xaxa’s okay,” she smiles.

“Sorry.” Quackity startles at the voice coming from behind him. His stare leaves the little girl, moving to the pair standing in the doorway. A woman in a long draped dress takes the lead. She’s holding the door open for the man at her side, staring at him with the lightest brown eyes. “I didn’t realize you left for a meeting, mio amato. We were afraid you had felt unwell.”

“It’s quite alright,” Zire smiles. Xe glances at him and tilts xyrs head almost imperceptibly, but the question in xyrs eyes is clear.

“Of course, we don’t mind company. It’s no formal business,” he nods.

Zire’s smile widens. Xyrs gaze shifts from him to the couple, and xe pats the sofa with the hand not held hostage by the little girl. “Quite. Come sit.”

The man steps out of the doorway, gently pushig the woman with him by the small of her back so that the door can fall closed behind them. He’s a lean fellow with a chiseled face, dressed to the nines in a red suit that matches the little girl’s dress. “Would you introduce us, dear?” he asks as they settle one at each of Zire’s sides.

“Oh, my manners. My apologies.” Zire grins at him. Xyrs smile is so open and happy and light that it strikes a melancholic chord in Quackity’s heart. “Lavi, Fel, this is Quackity, the founder and president of Las Nevadas.”

The woman whistles lowly under Zire’s unimpressed look. The man just chuckles and takes the child into his arms. Zire sighs. “Quackity, this is my beloved family. My wife Lavinia,” xe gestures to the woman, who salutes lazily, “my husband Felix,” xe gestures to the man playing with the little girl, “and our little Celeste.” Zire brings the girl’s chestnut curls back from her face so that they lose themselves among her braided waves and the flowers in them.

His heart lurches. The rings still on a string in his breast pocket — he can’t wear them after yesterday, but it hurts to have them away — burn. It’s by a miracle that he manages to force himself into a bow. “My Lady, My Lord, a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all ours. You’ve made a wonderful place here,” says the man — Felix. Celeste is playing with his hand the same way Shroud did with Tommy’s and his mere days ago. She’s looking around the suite as she does so. At one point, her big doe eyes meet his and widen.

“I’m glad,” he says, quirking a lip up at the child and waving at her. He looks back up at Felix “I really did mean what I said though. It wouldn’t have been possible without the staff and collaborators I have.”

“Yes, I’ve met Lucille. She’s quite the bright miss,” says Felix. Celeste starts wiggling away. At her “dada, down down”, he lets her go and run amuck in the suite.

At Zire’s other side, Lavinia scoffs. “You only say that because you think she’s hot.”

“Lavi,” gasps Zire as xyrs husband turns into a blushing, stammering mess.

Quackity freezes for a few seconds as Zire quietly scolds xyrs wife. And then he bursts into laughter. His cheeks hurt, and so do his sides and stomach and his insides freeze. He’s not laughing that much. He used to be able to laugh far more, far louder before anything hurt. He wipes the wetness from under his eyes and pretends they’re tears of mirth rather than loneliness.

“Sorry,” he says, still getting his chuckles under control. “Sorry, my apologies. It’s quite alright. Though I can’t guarantee the secrecy of such information,” he grins.

Lavinia barks out a laugh, and even Celeste giggles from the other side of the room. “I’d appreciate if you tried,” Felix smiles as he pats his cheeks. Zire shakes xyrs head at them all, but a soft grin graces xyrs lips.

“You. I like you,” Lavinia smirks. “Gods, do we need more people with good humor around." She turns to Zire and gently bops xem with a shoulder. “I keep telling ya, amore. He's a friend, liven up.”

Zire rolls xyrs eyes at her. Xe glances at him for half a second, as if to say ‘can you believe what I have to deal with?’

A weight makes the part of the couch beside him dip. He looks to the side, only to find Celeste staring intently at the metallic-red baroque print of his jacket. “Do you like it?” he asks her gently.

She looks up — good god, there are stars in her eyes, who allowed her to be this adorable? — and nods at him. Her eyes crinkle from the smile on her lips. She reaches a hand out but stops before touching the jacket. “Can I touch?”

“Sure, go ahead.” He offers her an arm. She immediately runs a gentle finger on the sleeve. Her eyes widen at the difference in texture between the pattern and the jacket. The dullness and worthlessness from the morning fades; not all the way, but enough. Good thing past him had this suit made.

“They’re flowers,” she whispers.

He grins at her. He remembers thinking the same thing when he’d first seen it at the tailor’s. “Yep. They’re cherry blossoms.”

The girl’s eyes widen, and she bounces a bit on the spot. “Oh, like these?” With a flourish of her hand, a sprig of his decorative higan cherries materializes into her palm.

He chuckles, ignoring Zire’s whisper of “when did she take those?” in favor of adjusting Celeste’s grip on the sprig so that it wouldn’t ruin the flowers. “Exactly like those. Do you like them?”

“Hmh. They’re pretty.” She stops for a second, stares at the flowers, and nods to herself. “More white than pink but–”

A shiver bolts violently down Quackity’s spine. His heart seizes. His body freezes in place for half a millisecond. He sharply looks up, moving only his head. He doesn’t move an inch as his eyes scan the room. Everything seems to be in place. The doors are closed, the windows too. The curtains are pulled open. Zire, Felix and Lavinia are still on the sofa, gently talking to each other. Only Zire seems to be keeping an eye on Celeste as xe talks.

“Sorry dear, can you give me just one moment?” he interrupts the girl, doing his best to paste a reassuring smile on his face. Celeste looks up and frowns, but she lets go of his arm — so polite — and nods.

Zire looks at him and tenses up too. “Is everything alright?”

“I hope so,” he says. Still, he gets up, materializing his communicator with a flick of the wrist. He stumbles as he grabs a crutch to keep himself upright and move to a corner. 

Lavinia gets up, grabs the other crutch and keeps to his side. “Here, let me help.”

“Thank you,” he says, because if his gut is right he’s got no time to complain about very generous help. He finds Foolish’s contact among the top ones, bypasses the messages and directly calls him. The comm rings twice. Foolish answers.

“Quackity? Where are you, man?”

“Just with some friends in their suite,” he’s quick to reassure. He adjusts his hold on the crutch and glances down the full-height window. “Listen, is everything going alright down there? Has security caught anything weird?”

“Yeah, no, everything’s alright over here. You’ll have to ask Nina about the specifics of the Casino for now though, and–”

Another shiver, more violent, rushes down his back. The air grows frigid cold around him. It tugs his gaze further out the window, back towards the Toll Gate. Shit. “What about Bo? Has he checked in yet?”

“The hourly report isn’t due for another fifteen minutes. I’ve got the last one but for this one you’ll have to–”

A small flash goes off, muffled by the walls of the Toll Gate. Quackity is already moving before the gunshot breaks the silence. “Get a paramedic and more security to the Southern Toll Gate. I’m coming down.”

“Yes sir,” he hears Foolish say above the already panicking guests.

He closes the call. In one movement, he de-materializes the comm and grabs the other crutch from Lavinia. “It was a pleasure meeting all of you but I’ve got to go,” he tells Zire and xyrs spouses as he heads for the door. “I will see you all again, I hope.”

“Of course you will, I’m coming with you.” A hand lands on his shoulder. When he looks to the side, Zire is there.

“No you’re not,” he frowns.

Xe shakes xyrs head. “You can’t go down there on your own, and Lavi and Fel are more than capable of taking care of Celeste.”

He glances over at the other three. Celeste is clinging to her father’s legs, while Lavinia has taken a defensive position. His eyes skim over the three and then over to the large window. “Yeah, no. You’re staying here.”

“Quacki–”

“ Zire ,” he starts, opening the door. Xe grabs him by the forearm before he can step out. He glares at xem. “Stay with your family. They’re more important.”

He and Zire stare off, and it’s taking uncomfortably long. Every second he’s not moving is a second in which a person could be dying.

“Fine,” relents Zire. Xe lets go of his arm, but doesn’t let the door close as xe disappears from the frame. “But you’re taking this,” xe says as xe reappears, wrapping something on his shoulders.

He looks over and finds a thick coat, reaching all the way to his calf.

“Sorry, it’s a bit long,” xe says, taking a crutch from him. “Now move, put it on. You’ve got a situation to take care of.”

He falls out of his stupor and shrugs his free hand into the sleeve. “Right. Thank you.”

“Thank me later. We’ve still got to finish our chat. Good to go?” xe tilts xyrs head.

“Good to go. See all of you,” he shouts, already going for the staff elevator as fast as he can. The ride down seems eternal, but he’s quick to round the corner of the hotel and reach the main street.

He mentally shuffles his hotbar around, making sure his gun — a family heirloom after five generations of being passed down — is ready to be grabbed and fired shall the need arise. He can hear the echo of the security guards talking to Foolish even outside the Toll Gate. He’s panting from the climb up the hill, but the security guards recognise him and let him through with just a request to hear his passcode.

He smells the stench of blood and gunpowder as soon as he’s inside. A guard — fuck, that’s Olivia — is slumped on the wall with a paramedic already tending to her bloodied side. She’s conscious, luckily, but she seems on the verge of passing out. He ignores both Bo and the slime at his side talking to Foolish and the guy passed out and tied up between them. Instead, he heads to Olivia’s and the paramedic’s side and kneels by them, laying his crutches on the ground. “How is she?”

“‘m fine, boss,” comes Olivia’s mumble. “‘m aaaall good.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” he tells her. He can’t help but smile slightly. It’s good to see her acting like herself.

“She might not even lose a life from this.” Interrupts the paramedic. Probably one of the few stationed around the buildings rather than one straight from the hospital. “It’s a fairly clean wound, both entry and exit. We just have to check that the bullet hasn’t hit any major organs, but for now it’s all blood.”

“That’s… a lot better than I expected.”

Olivia snorts, only to immediately curl on herself. “Wasn’t tha’ much of a threat, boss. I kno’ you ‘xpect death at eeeevery corner but really, ‘t was just–”

“You can tell me what happened later,” he interrupts her and puts a hand on her shoulder. “For now, focus on healing and resting.” He shifts his gaze to the paramedic as he rises to his feet. “Thank you for your work.”

“Eh, it’s alright,” the paramedic says. She sends a tired grin at him. He relates to the eyebags under her eyes both spiritually, mentally and physically. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her.”

He nods and makes his way to Bo, Foolish and the slime. “So this is our perpetrator?”

“That’s him,” Bo says, nodding at the passed out man. “You’ll get the full report later, but he’s just a drunk that heard some Lord Kawakami was here and came in threatening to kill him. He pulled the gun when Oli refused to let him in.”

Quackity scrunches his nose at the mention of Lord Kawa saki . The man is a pretentious asshole from a long dinasty, but a decent poker player who hasn’t completely wiped out his ancestors’ fortune yet. “I’ll let Lord Kawasaki know he’s got people going for his head. Do we know where he’s from?”

“Yep,” says Foolish, popping the ‘p’. “We checked his documents. He’s Oprarian.”

Quackity pales and flinches. "Oprarian? Are you sure?" he asks, trying very hard not to look desperate.

Foolish frowns, deep in thought. He grimaces and slowly nods. “Oprarian. James William the Third?”

Quackity grimaces. “James William the Third. Please tell me he’s under a Lord,” he begs Foolish. Anything not to have to deal with Kawasaki and the Emperor in the same room.

Foolish presses his lips together, squints his eyes in a mix of pity and sadness — and this time Quackity will take the pity — and shakes his head.

Quackity groans and presses a hand to his eyes. “This is gonna be so much paperwork.” A lightbulb goes off in his head, and he glances up at Foolish. He looks at how he converses with Bo and another guard. Only once the other two — well, three counting the slime — are gone, he speaks up. “Foolish, do you wanna be vice president?”

Foolish startles and looks at him with his classic raised eyebrow. "You’d make me help you with the paperwork anyway.”

His comm vibrates. As soon as he summons it, he finds three different notifications from Raymundo and Nina each. He hums. “Yeah but you’d get a title and inheritance out of it.” He starts walking away among Foolish’s sputters, and relishes when he’s held back. “Think about it, offer’s open. I’ve gotta go help Nina with a thing. I’ll see you at four p.m. in my study.”

“You’re a bastard, Quackity,” Foolish says, loud enough to be picked up by the echo.

Quackity just smiles and walks away.

Chapter Text

Honeysuckles and Violets

Honeysuckles are widespread flowers that grow on both shrubs and vines. They’re hardy, often invasive and they cling to every surface, but incredibly beautiful and with a strong scent. Their flowers grow in pairs and produce a very sweet nectar.
Because of their bright colors and fragrant scent, they’ve been associated with happiness and affection. They also represent resilience, devotion and love, whether a treasured flame or a nostalgic lost love. Druids used the honeysuckle’s Ogham character to indicate one’s path in life, while in China it’s a traditional medical plant, and it stands for nostalgia and comfort. The French instead use it as a symbol of fidelity and spiritual vision.
Honeysuckles are said to bring luck and help ward off evil spirits, so they’re often gifted as a wish of protection, good fortune, happiness and affection. Or at birthdays in June. They’re the birth flowers of that month.

Violets, not pansies, are very small flowers that often come in solid colors. They have just three petals with faint dark lines, and are very resistant to frost. I think I saw them bloom the day after the snow melted last winter.
They’re symbols of modesty and innocence, as well as faith and spirituality. Most commonly, they’re a purplish-blue and have an added meaning of fidelity. However, they can also be white, yellow, orange, pink, red or black, or a mix of three colors.
They’ve had many uses throughout history. Greeks and Romans used them at funerals, while Persians used them to calm anger and heal headaches. They also contain antioxidants that make for good anti-inflammatories. Those last two are the main reason we have them in the winter garden. Rinan and Samira make really good tea with them.

Sapnap isn’t there on the morning of the twenty-sixth. Quackity swallows the bitter disappointment and does his best not to think about it. It’s not easy, even if this paperwork is important.

Lord Kawasaki was as nerve-wracking to meet as ever. The young, light-haired heir was stoic as ever as he was told about the murder attempt. And with impossible calm, he told Quackity that he’d like to take advantage of the neutrality of Las Nevadas to call for a meeting with James William the Third of the House Gameplays, Emperor of Oprary — yes, the full name is necessary — about what had happened.

Thus the official paperwork informing the emperor of the situation and inviting him to Las Nevadas after the New Year. He’s gonna have to deal with this… thing for months.

At least that served to reassure the skeptical patrons that Las Nevadas is safe. On the flip side, investments, donations and requests to contribute are pouring in and overloading both him, Foolish and his poor secretaries. He had to tell Intan and Raymundo to redirect people to his office at the Needle for those, and then he spent the rest of the afternoon there discussing business agreements and partnerships.

Whoever told him that running a business empire was easy was a fucking liar. He’d helped run not one but two countries, and it hadn’t been this hard.

Rapid-fire knocks startle him out of his thoughts. “Eoghan? What’s u–”

The door bangs open. He draws the gun and immediately trains it on the open doorway. A blonde head pops in.

“Not Owen, whoever that is or however it’s pronounced. You’re a bitch though, Big Q,” says Tommy, lazily strolling in with Shroud in his arms. “Nice gun by the way, where did you get it?”

“Tommy?” he says, a bit dumbfounded as he lowers the gun.

Tommy looks at him weirdly as he crosses the room, catches a stoll with his prosthetic leg and moves it on the other side of his desk. “Yeah? Did you go completely blind, Big Man?”

“We did say we’d come and stir up trouble, didn’t we?” grins Tubbo, also coming into view with Boo and Michael at his side.

“We did,” says Tommy before he has a chance to reply. “Also, did your staff get nicer? I swear, Rinan smiled at me when I passed by them.”

“They were glaring at Wilbur, not at you,” he manages to say. He sighs, biting back a yawn as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, kids–”

“Not fucking kids.”

“–I know what I said but it really is a bad moment.”

Both of the teens’ expressions fall, with even Tubbo’s fluffy ears drooping.

“No 'hismas with Q?” mumbles Shroud. His eight eyes are wide and glossy, and at that even Michael's single seeing eye is trained on him.

Oh. Oh no. Since when could those kids do that? It’s not fair that his heart aches. “It means yes, Christmas with Q but later .”

Tommy snorts. Quackity’s gaze snaps over to him. “You’ve gone soft, Big Q.”

Immediately, Quackity whips the quill he was writing with under Tommy’s nose, pointing it against him. “You don’t get to say shit, mister. I’ve seen how you act with your child.”

“He’s right, you are incredibly clingy,” singsongs Boo, only to be cursed out by Tommy.

Quackity sighs. He takes the quill away from under Tommy’s nose, rereads the half-sentence he’d last written and finishes it. “How did you three even know how to get here?”

“Oh, we ran into Nina — was it Nina? — as we were leaving the Toll Gate,” says Tubbo.

Quackity snaps his head up. He glances at the digital clock on his desk and frowns. At this time of the day, Nina should be sleeping off her hellish Christmas night.

Tommy doesn’t care about Quackity’s confusion though as he finishes Tubbo's explanation. “She told us to get to the elevator and swipe the nicked side of the chip you gave Tubbo over the scanner in the elevator. By the way, do you know why she was bullying Olivia away from the Gate?”

“Olivia was where?”

Tommy makes a face at him, looking lost. “At the Gate? Really, Big Q, are you feeling alright?”

He’s not sure if what he mutters are curses or reassurances for Tommy. As he speaks though, he summons his communicator and clicks on the call button by Bo’s contact. The call barely rings before it’s accepted. “Yes?”

“Hey Bo, is Olivia with you?” he asks. Tommy and Tubbo open their mouths then. He shushes them both by bringing a finger to his lips.

“Not anymore. We had to get Nina to drag her away though.”

“That’s good,” he nods, even if the other can't see him. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem,”

And with that, the call closes.

“Why shouldn’t Olivia be there? Did she do something bad?” immediately attacks Tommy. He leans forward on his stool, with Shroud pressed against his ribs.

Quackity picks the quill back up and starts writing again. “Not at all. She just needs rest for a few days because she got shot in the stomach ,” he emphasizes as if Olivia could hear him. Knowing her, she might just feel the quip and be insulting him from afar.

“What the fuck?” gapes Tommy. Tubbo just nods and takes his child from Boo, who is just tilting his head.

“One canon death closer to permadeath, good for her.”

“Yes, good for her because she did not lose a canon life. We got to her in time and no vital organs got hit.” He puts the final period on the letter. Signing it takes two full minutes between remembering which names to write and not to write and then actually signing.

“That’s some incredible luck,” Tommy murmurs.

Quackity sighs and nods. “Yeah, it is. I’m half-tempted to ask her if she managed to enchant herself with Fortune or something.”

Tubbo snorts. Micheal is rebelling against the tight hold, and Shroud looks restless too. “You can’t enchant living beings, Big Q.”

“I know but if someone managed to do it, it would be Olivia.” He glances at Michael and Shroud, and then at Boo floating by his bookcase. They don’t seem too intent on causing chaos yet. He opens the drawer of his desk and takes out the wax, the candle and the Las Nevadas stamp, along with an empty envelope. “Do you mind lighting the candle for me?” he asks Tubbo, passing him the lighter he keeps in his pocket.

As soon as Tubbo takes the lighter, he starts folding the letter.

“That shit looks official,” says Tommy, leaning over the desk.

“It is,” he hums. “Olivia got shot trying to keep a guy with a gun from getting in and shooting a guest. Said guest is now asking for a meeting with the guy’s Lord, which just so happens to be the Emperor of the neighboring continent–”

“Holy shit.”

“And since it happened in my country, which I advertised as neutral grounds…” he continues, ignoring Tommy’s interjection as he stuffs the letter in the envelope.

Tubbo winces. “You most likely have to deal with negotiations and host this emperor.”

“I sure hope not, but it looks increasingly likely,” he mutters, taking the lit candle from Tubbo.

“You could always die before he gets here.”

“Jesus!” startles Quackity. The melting wax nearly lands on his desk as he jerks his hand in shock.

“Like him, yeah,” continues Boo, floating by.

Tommy levels a dead stare at the ghost. “Boob Boy, can you not be suicidal for five minutes?”

“Oi, don’t talk to my husband like that.”

“I’m not wrong. Death would relieve a lot of stress,” shrugs Boo. His head swivels around the office, scanning every inch of it. “The amount of dying plants you have here can’t be helpful for that.”

“Hey, I’m managing.” He finishes pouring the wax over the envelope. Quickly, he presses the stamp over it with one hand while with the other he points the wax cup at Boo. “They’re only half-dying and I'm making them recover. And besides, the succulent and the daffodil are thriving.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Tommy glance at Tubbo. Tubbo tilts his head. Tommy nods at something. Tubbo’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head.

“What is it, you two?” he says, lifting the stamp. Their startle response is minuscule. He contains some snickers as he lifts the envelope and checks the sigil in the light.

“You… You do realize the daffodil is fake, right?”

Quackity freezes at Tommy’s words. He looks over at the boy, then at the plant. “Wha…”

“Oh. Oh you didn’t know.”

“There’s no way. No, it’s not fake, what.” He puts down the letter and moves towards the plant.

“It is, Big Q. Look at the leaves,” Tommy answers. He takes Senon’s pot and drags it between them, passing a hand along the long leaves. “See? They’re not supposed to be this lucid or smooth. Narcissus leaves have a bit of grip to them.”

Quackity gets closer and rubs a leaf between his fingers. It’s smooth. His thumb slides up and down with little to no resistance. “One second,” he says. He slides the office chair backwards, presses his face into the palms of his hands, and groans.

One of the kids pats his shoulder — he’d say Tubbo from the size of the hands — leaning over the desk to do so.

He sighs and looks up. It is Tubbo that put his hand on his shoulder, while Tommy just looks on in concern. “Alright. I’m fine. It’s fine. Patricia at least is a real plant-”

“Patricia?” Tubbo asks, taking his hand off of his shoulder.

“The succulent,” he explains.

“Oh yeah,” Tommy nods. He’s got both Shroud and Michael in his lap now, but they’re both restless. “All the other ones are real.”

“And dying,” adds Boo cheerfully.

Quackity feels his eyelid tremble. “Alright, why don’t you kids go in the actual penthouse and–”

Knock knock– SLAM

The door bangs open. “Oh Quackityyy~” singsongs a familiar shrill voice.

Quackity groans as the kids startle and yell, all of them pulling out weapons– actually, Tubbo has a button.

…Why does Tubbo have a button?

Nevermind, he doesn’t want to know. “Tubbo, Tommy, Boo, stand down.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and rubs his eyes. He recognizes the bunny-eared figure and the click-clack of heels without needing a second glance. “It’s just Bel.”

“You won’t flatter anyone if you keep calling them ‘ just Bel.’” They sway into the room, not even closing the door behind them. They pass the stack of papers in their arms to one hand, solely to move their hair so it no longer falls in front of their brown eyes. “Hello Tubbo, hello Tommy. And you have got to be Ranboo, right?”

“Yyyeah, and you are?” Tommy asks, holding the two kids tighter.

“Chill out.” He wheels the office chair back closer to the desk and flicks his fingers on Tommy's forehead. “That’s Bel. They work with me.”

“Oooh, I work with you and not for you?” They get closer to the desk and hand over the stack of papers.

“I’ve had no intention of stepping near the strip club since you took over. That’s all yours to play with.” He grabs the papers and starts skimming them. “Now what do you have for me?”

They step back, waving at Shroud and Michael as they speak. “Well the top two are the contracts for those two artists from yesterday you mentioned. The rest are all business proposals that Foolish gave me for you to look over and sign.”

“Bel, there’s got to be at least thirty proposals here.”

“What can I say, stopping an assassination attempt is a good publicity stunt apparently.”

Tubbo snickers, and Bel winks at him. Tommy looks far too intrigued too. He’s got to put a stop to this before Bel imprints on them. Those three — yes three, because Boo is standing far too close and looking at Bel’s immodest dress with interest — already have pretty bad role models. They don’t need one more, and they sure don’t need for that to be Bel .

“Alright, why don’t you take this–” he takes the letter and hands it over to Bel “–over to Intan to give to Lord Kawasaki and your fluffy tail out of my office?”

“Oh you love my fluffy tail,” they tease. They curl their nose, and even their long, silk black ears shake. Still, they turn around and head for the open door. “I’ll come bother you later. See you five dears too,” they croon. And with that, they close the door behind them.

Quackity sighs, and risks a glance at the stack of business proposals. It’s easily three inches thick.

Tubbo’s voice startles him out of his self-pity. “Are they always like that?”

“Bel? Yeah, they were already like that when we still worked for– in Manberg.” He suppresses a shiver, and sees Tubbo do the same. Then, the words register. He actually sees Tubbo understanding what that implies. He stops him before he can start talking. “Why don’t you all go hang in the actual penthouse?”

“Only if you come with us,” counters Tommy.

And, well, that’s that. He can’t really say no, especially when Michael and Shroud turn on him and shine their big eyes at him. Who taught them that?

“Fine,” he relents. He grabs the papers and hands them over to Tubbo. Tommy already has the kids, who are whooping as if he’d said “gifts”, so he whirls on Boo. “Boo, there’s a big blue folder in the bookcase behind you, can you grab it?”

Boo floats over, so Quackity takes his crutches, puts the inkpot in his hotba– nevermind, he puts it in his inventory, and moves to the wheelchair.

“How long are you gonna need that for?” asks Tubbo. His head is tilted, and he even has an ear lifted. Quackity almost awws at the sight.

“I’ve got four more days still in the cast. After that, the wheelchair’s gone as soon as I can reliably walk with crutches. We’ll see how long that is.” He gets the rest of his things and starts going around the desk. Thank God the office is rather large. “Alright, back through the door you came from and then through the double door on the left.”

Tommy and Tubbo mock-salute him — with the wrong arm, and his hatred for Wilbur spikes in moments like this. Michael and Shroud take the chance to run out the door, much to the two teens’ immediate panic. They run out of the room, chasing after their kids. Quackity chuckles and heads after them, only to stop in the middle of the doorway.

Bo is still. He floats in front of the bookcase, rooted on the spot, not moving a muscle. His gaze is transfixed on the books.

“Boo?” Quackity calls.

The ghost seems to shock himself out of his stupor. He takes the folder with trembling — why are they trembling? — hands and turns. “Yes?”

Quackity stares at him. Boo’s entire form is flickering. Like a failing tv screen, or a glitch in reality. He moves closer to the other and lays a hand on his arm. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Better than ever,” smiles the ghost.

It’s the fakest smile Quackity’s ever seen, and he’s seen Purpled ’s. But he never was close enough to the kid to butt in, and he knows he won’t be appreciated for it now. He’s waited far too long to be understanding. He rests back into the wheelchair. “Alright,” he sighs. “Let’s go. The others will be waiting for us, and I don’t want my penthouse destroyed.”

Boo chuckles. “That’s fair.”

It takes them a moment to get out of the room and through the double-doors on the left. When they cross them, it’s already a mess. The thick blue blanket he keeps on his beloved leather sofa is decidedly not there. What is there though is Shroud happily testing the bounciness (none) of said sofa. At least he’s sitting.

Michael is not sitting however. Michael is happily looking through the large bookcase and art supplies at the side of the room, wearing the blue blanket like it’s a cape. Tubbo is at his side. Hopefully, he’s trying to discourage property damage rather than encourage it.

“What are you doing already?” He looks around, checking if anything else is out of place. The shelves are safe though, and the few trinkets on the fireplace’s mantle are untouched. The paints and empty journals however are no longer untouched, and Tubbo seems to be doing nothing about it. “Michael, put those down. That shit’s expensive. Where’s Tommy?”

“In here!”

Quackity glances to the floor-to-ceiling glass wall separating the living room from the plant-filled balcony, then back to Tubbo. He’s trying to get Michael to drop the paint case. He looks at Boo. The ghost is bobbing up and down, looking happily at the two. “Please, control your child,” he tells him, and then wheels away towards the balcony.

Through the glass, among the plants, he can see Tommy laying on the hammock.

“Really?” he deadpans.

Tommy’s got his arms crossed behind his head, and the hammock is swaying gently. He opens his good eye. “What?”

“Nothing, but I’m not watching your child for you,” he says. He wheels forward, until he finds himself just far enough to still make eye contact with Tommy. God knows how the boy hasn’t hit his head on the hanging pot of violets yet. 

“That’s fine, Shroud can behave.” Tommy closes his eye and leans back into the hammock.

Right in that moment, Boo’s voice comes from inside. “Shroud no!”

Before Quackity can turn back, Tommy is already gone. He refuses to blink at that and just gets back in the penthouse, making sure to close the glass door. Neither Boo nor Shroud are in the living room, but Tubbo standing in front of one of the corner rooms with Michael in his arms is an obvious clue to where they are. Tommy’s already in there when Quackity reaches Tubbo and looks in. While they were out, Shroud managed to climb onto the aerial silks in the room and get himself tangled.

Both Tubbo and he look up. Boo is floating by him, trying to detangle the boy with just one hand. “I’ll have to ask someone to tie those up for me,” Quackity mutters.

Tubbo leans to the side, still with Michael in his arms. The kid is squeezing a chicken plushie with all his strength. “Why do you even have all this training equipment?”

Quackity looks at him, then at the part of the room he’s nodding at. His heart clenches for half a second. The tarp covering the bench press, the hoops and the mannequin in the corner has been pulled away, revealing all the dust and disuse that befell them. He gulps. “Those aren’t mine, kiddo.”

Tubbo looks at him weird, but before he can say anything about it Tommy lets out a loud whoop . When they look, they find him fifteen feet up, hanging onto the silks with Shroud soundly in his arms. He clumsily slides down, but both Tubbo and he clap when he lands. He bows, and Shroud giggles at finding himself horizontal.

“Again, Mimi, again.”

“No, not again,” Tommy chides him. He’s got the fondest look in his eyes as he puts down Shroud. “Rascal.”

Michael lights up and wiggles in Tubbo’s hold. “My turn?”

“No one’s turn,” Quackity is quick to say. He looks them in the eye one at a time. Michael is bold enough to blow a raspberry at him. He sends the child a look. “You two are too young to lose a life, chiquito.”

“For once, I agree,” says Boo, landing in that moment.

“That’s unusual,” mutters Tommy. He lets go of a wriggling Shroud, who immediately runs over to Michael and pats him on the forehead.

“Tag!” the kid exclaims before running towards the kitchen. Quackity feels his exhaustion spike even before Micheal wiggles out of Tubbo’s hold, yelling all the way.

“Quick question. Can Shroud climb over the cabinets?” he asks.

Tommy glances at the kitchen. “He hasn’t so far.”

“Good enough.” He moves over to the leather sofa and leaves the wheelchair to plop down on it, taking the inkpot out of his inventory. “Tubbo, you have my documents, right?”

“Oh yeah,” Tubbo grins, which is never a good thing nowadays. Just in case, he covers the inkpot with a hand. As expected, a loud thump reverberates through the room as Tubbo plops the mound of papers and the blue folder on the spot of the coffee table right by the inkpot. The whole table shudders. “Boo traded me the folder for Michael earlier.”

Quackity lifts the hand — with just a few flecks of ink luckily — and wipes it on the handkerchief he keeps in his pocket. “I noticed.”

“What is the whole folder for?” asks Tommy. He flops down on the red couch at his left, with his back on one armrest and his feet on the other. “This thing is large , Big Q.”

“It’s a pull-out couch that I'd appreciate with no footprints. At least take your shoes off if you’re gonna do that,” he frowns at Tommy. The boy makes a sheepish face and gets his feet off the couch, undoing his shoelaces. Quackity shakes his head and smiles at him. “Anyway, the folder is because I don’t remember all of Las Nevadas’s business deals, so I gotta check them.”

As he speaks, he feels the side of the sofa dip down. “Can I see?” asks Tubbo, already leaning over.

“Sure,” he shrugs. Were it anyone else — bar the team or Tommy — he would have kicked them out. Tubbo is a good kid though, and they may have had their falling outs and arguments but at the end of the day this is their thing. Leaning together over stacks of papers is familiar. Safe.

“I’m gonna go make coffee. We all have eyebags like we need it,” pops up Tommy. The sun rays coming through the skylight hit his prosthetic leg as he stands up and make the metal glint. It’s… different. He’d say more elegant.

“I’m gonna check on the kids.”

Quackity startles. Boo floats away from where he was standing right behind them. He goes into the kitchen, and immediate shrieks follow.

“You get used to it,” snickers Tubbo. He’s got the blue folder open in his lap, maybe three or four pages in. “You keep this thing organized,” he says over Tommy’s soft cursing from the other room.

“Of course I do, I wouldn’t find anything otherwise.”

“Fair.” Tubbo nods and turns a whole bunch of pages up to the next divisor. He blinks and looks up just as a low whirr starts. “You’ve got business partnerships in Envia?”

Quackity nods and takes the two small stacks at the top. As Bel said, they’re the contracts for Ingrid and Ahn. “A few, yeah. I’ve got deals and partnerships with most places outside Di’Essempi.”

Tubbo whistles. “Has the Syndicate visited at all?”

“What the hell is a Syndicate?” He asks, looking up from the section about work time — which is ridiculous; these are college students, they can’t work a 9 to 5.

Tubbo bursts into laughter. “Holy shit, they haven’t? Are you kidding me?”

“What?” yells Tommy as he comes into view. He has three mismatched mugs on a tray, and he seems to have found the sugar just fine. The kids run past him and steal his old spot on the couch. They’re… especially bouncy together.

“The Syndicate hasn’t visited Las Nevadas,” laughs Tubbo. He shakes on the spot, holding the open folder to his chest.

Boo gapes, and Tommy stares at him wide eyed. “How the fuck has that not happened? You rule a capitalist city-state that preys on others’ need for entertainment, Techno should have jumped on that ages ago.”

“You make me sound like a bad guy,” Quackity smiles. He grabs the blue mug with the lilies of the valley and puts half a teaspoon of sugar in it. “So Technoblade’s got a group and not just Philza?”

“I don’t know how you haven’t heard about it,” Tommy says. He clicks his tongue and grabs both the other cups, holding them away from Michael’s and Shroud’s raving eyes. “They’ve been keeping an eye on all governments for a while. Except yours apparently.”

“It’s Phil, Techno and Niki right now, and Ranboo was with them when he was alive,” Tubbo says, still recovering from the bout of laughter. His expression turns melancholic as he looks at Boo floating behind the kids and messing with their hair.

Boo must feel his gaze, because he lifts his head. “Oh yeah, they tried very hard to save me. We also had a fifth member but I never met them.”

“Did you?” Tommy leans forward. He passes the yellow mug to Tubbo and keeps the red one for himself. “I heard Niki is keeping an eye on Kinoko, while you were in charge of Snowchester and Techno looked after Greater Essempi. And I think Phil was keeping an eye on the Badlands? Not that they’re really a faction anymore. So was the fifth member looking after Las Nevadas?”

A shiver runs down Quackity’s spine. “I haven’t seen anyone ‘keeping an eye,’” he air-quotes, “on Las Nevadas though.”

Boo shrugs and floats higher, only to turn upside down. Somehow, his capelet stays in place. “I dunno. I never met them, and our roles weren’t really that well distributed. I just know it wasn’t Connor ‘cause he joined after I died, but he’s dead too now.”

“Connor is dead?” whispers Tommy. Quackity seconds the sentiment.

“That’s not the point.” Tubbo shakes his head and takes a sip from his mug. He makes a face at the bitter taste — what can Quackity say, he likes the deep roast — and adds three full spoons of sugar. “The point is that you lead probably the third most powerful faction and Techno hasn’t even noticed. They’re checking the Badlands before you.”

“To be fair, the majority of the Badlands was under the Eggpire. There’s never enough caution with that.” He finishes correcting the two contracts and puts them aside for Bel to discuss with the two students later. He grabs the first proposal on the pile — from Misa holy shit it’s been so long; he hadn’t even seen her at the party so she must have been at the Casino, what is she even doing here? — and starts skimming it. “Tubbo can you flip over to the We–”

Two quick but sound knocks interrupt him. Immediately, his back goes straight. “Rinan? Come in, is everything alright?”

Rinan opens the door and slips in, one hand already raised. «You weren’t answering the comm,» they sign. Their eyes rave over every detail, pausing on Tommy and Boo. White pupils shine over black scleras in time with the crack-like marks covering their face.

“My bad, I got distracted. Did something happen?” Quackity answers, looking over at Michael and Shroud. It’s a miracle that the two not only don’t look intimidated, but also almost in awe. Most people get nervous around Rinan and their shadows.

«Fire Panda is here,» they sign. Quackity’s stomach drops the second he recognizes Sapnap’s name sign. «We’re not letting him in for now, but he’s asking to see you.»

“Quackity? Is everything alright?” asks Tommy. His brows are creased, and he keeps looking between Rinan and him.

He takes a deep breath and smiles at the teen. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” He turns back to Rinan and lets his expression darken. “Let him in, but tell him that if he wants to meet he’ll have to wait for me in the winter garden. If you see him heading anywhere else, escort him out.” He grips the proposal, and immediately lets it go as creases form in the paper. “Just… Make sure not to hurt him.”

Rinan’s eyes soften. «Of course, sir. I wish you a good rest of the day.»

“Thank you.”

They nod, both at him and at Tubbo, Tommy and Boo and leave the penthouse. The room stays still, the silence is thick as he ignores Tubbo’s and Tommy's looks.

“He pretty,” pipes up Shroud. Quackity snorts.

“They, Shroud baby, they. And use your verbs, I know you know them,” sighs Tommy.

“They pretty,” grins Michael. His seeing eye glints mischievously.

Quackity grins. “Do they refuse to use verbs?”

Both Tubbo and Tommy glare at him. Looks like he’s hit the nail. “Right. Anyway, I was saying. Tubbo, could you turn to the Western Alliance and find Intari’s section?”

“Oh, yeah sure,” the boy says, downing the last of his coffee. “Intari is on the western border right? What do they have to offer?”

Quackity hums, still sipping from his mug. “Well Intari holds plenty of precious resources wherever it’s not prairie.” He passes the paper to Tubbo, with his thumb on the last paragraph, and grins. “And this county in particular has developed the weapons to protect them.”

Tubbo smirks back.

“Oh no.” Tommy fakes fear. His smile betrays him. “There’s two of them, Ranboo.”

Boo sighs. The children laugh.

They spend the morning like that and delve well into the afternoon, only stopping when Tommy bullies them all into the kitchen so they can cook and eat together. The sun is nearly setting by the time the newly dubbed Beloved-Underscore-Innit clan leaves his penthouse. It’s not really that late, just a little past five, but winter casts the cape of the night very early.

He leaves the penthouse a little after them, on his crutches and with the wheelchair in his inventory, ready to take words from Foolish for leaving him in charge of the hotel once again.

When he gets out though, Foolish isn’t at the hotel’s entrance. He looks around and walks off towards the fountain. If he’s not here, then Foolish should be at the Needle.

"Quackity?" Eoghan's voice comes as he leaves the main area.

Quackity stops. Eoghan waves at him from the surface fields, with a hay straw in the mouth. He looks happy. Quackity looks around. Foolish is still nowhere in sight. He grins and fumbles over to the other. "Hey man. Everything good?"

"Yeah, all good over here. Farms are working great. We might even have excesses to sell," he grins. His tail is even wagging as he leans on the shovel. "That's not what I called you for though. Rinan sent a guy into your winter garden, and he hasn't come out of there yet."

Quackity startles. "He actually– wait nevermind. He's still there, you said?"

"Yep," Eoghan says, popping the p. "It's been hours. I'm starting to worry."

"I've got it. Can you just tell Foolish I've got unresolved business and to meet me in the Needle if you run across him?"

Eoghan raises his thick brows at him. "You sure you got that? You sound nervous. I can take care of it if you wanna."  When the cloud covering the sun moves, his hair glints reddish and the dirt stains all over his salopette are more prominent.

"Nah, I mean it. I really need to do this myself." He smiles at the other. “Have you just gotten off shift? You’ve got redstone in your hair.”

Eoghan grins. “Caught red handed.” He passes a hand through the wavy bush on his head. Most of the redstone falls on his aviator jacket. “I’m just going home man if you’re gonna deal with the guy. Oh, and I need to talk to ya and Bel ‘bout a thing.” He clicks his tongue. His eyes, warm and gentle brown, darken immediately as he casts a look to the distance, where the public stables are. “If something’s not done about it I’ll be getting some good fertilizer.”

Quackity’s own expression darkens. “I can get us a formal meeting tomorrow in the early morning or an informal one this evening.”

“I’ll ask and text you the answer by seven. That alright?” Eoghan asks, patting the redstone dust off his shoulders.

“Perfectly fine, man. Now go get some rest.” He elbows the giant boy in the side.

The other grins and nearly sends him sprawling with a pat on the back. “I’d tell you to do the same but I know you won’t listen to me.”

“Damn right. See ya,” he says, starting to walk away.

As soon as he’s out of Eoghan’s large hearing range, he lets out a shaky sigh. The winter garden is pretty much already in sight, but he can’t see anything beyond the hedge.

It doesn’t take long to get there, even stumbling as he does. From behind the gate, he can see Sapnap sitting on the porch swing. He’s still as death, and it unnerves him even more than he already is on his own. Sapnap is not made to be still.

Quackity leans his weight on a single crutch and with the other hand he opens the gate. It doesn’t creak. He’ll probably have to thank Eoghan later for it. He takes a deep breath and steps closer, letting the gate fall closed. “Is there place for one more there?”

Sapnap startles and twirls to his feet, facing him. It’s a repeat of the scene from the other day, only with the lake in the background and redder, darker lights from the sunset. Sapnap’s eyes are filled with something that Quackity doesn’t want to decipher.

“You’ve got crutches.”

“Congratulations, you have eyes,” Quackity replies. He limps closer, raising an eyebrow when Sapnap holds the swing still for him. He sits anyway. “Is that really the first thing you say?”

“No,” hurries Sapnap. “I mean, yes but that wasn’t the plan. Not that a plan should be needed, but– I mean, I just–”

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me again,” he admits, looking over the horizon.

Sapnap quiets down. For a second, neither of them moves. Neither of them breathes, nor dares break the silence. Then Sapnap sits next to him. His hand is warm, mere inches away from his left. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because that’s what any smart person does when someone admits to torture,” he deadpans, turning to the other.

Sapnap is just staring at him. A small, wobbly grin makes its way on his lips. “Good thing I was never the brightest.”

“Say that again and I’ll smack you.”

“I’m not wrong,” Sapnap rebuts. He taps the side of his head with a finger. “There’s not much going on up here.”

Quackity scowls. “Sapnap, I swear to God–”

“And see?” the other interrupts him. “How could I never want to see you again when you act like that?”

“Have you hit your head? I’m an asshole.”

“Would an asshole be violently supportive?”

Quackity stops. He checks Sapnap up and down. “What?”

“I’m just saying, dude. ‘Ah, don’t talk negatively about yourself, I’ll smack you.’” Sapnap grins, one hand still raised from gesticulating. “Sounds like you care, to me.”

He stares at him. His eyes still have the white ring around the pupil. The warm glow beneath the blue is more prominent in the rapidly darkening sky. There are twin dark shadows under them that look like they weigh like stones. “You’ve gone completely fucking mental. The bar is so low, how the fuck.”

Sapnap grins again. It’s still a sad grin. “Told ya I wasn't smart.”

“Okay, shut the fuck up.” He sends him a scathing look, but he’s not sure the anger shows over the worry. “You were here on your moral high ground just two days ago, what the fuck happened?”

“I… thought about it.”

“You thought about it ?” Quackity scoffs. He looks away, back to the lake and the violets right before the shore. “And just what conclusion did you come to? That torture is okay? ‘Cause I promise you, it’s not.”

Sapnap hums. “More something like ‘what right do I have to judge when i don’t know the full story nor am any better?’”

Quackity looks at him out of the corner of his eye. The expression on his face is not reassuring. He almost looks lost, looking over to the buildings on the other side of the lake. “What are you on about?”

Sapnap doesn’t answer immediately. He fidgets with his fingers and doesn’t turn. “Did you know that I promised Dream I’d kill him if he got out?”

“Yeah.” Quackity ignores the way Sapnap’s gaze snaps to him. He keeps looking in the distance and shivers at a gust of wind. Mierda , he forgot his coat. “You can’t seriously believe that’s as bad as torturing him though.”

“No, but I guess I understand the sentiment. And,” he sighs and leans into the back of the porch swing, taking a cord with two shiny rings on it from under his hoodie’s collar, “I guess I understand the regret and self-hatred of breaking a promise.”

Quackity doesn’t turn to him. Dios , does he want to though. The weight of the rings on a string in his pocket burns him. “I heard from Tommy that you two made an alliance to capture Dream again. And Tubbo mentioned you taking Dream’s armor from him. You might not have killed him, but you’re doing the next best thing.”

Sapnap’s gaze on the side of his face burns . “We both know that’s not what I’m talking about right now.”

“I know,” he admits. He clenches his fist around the edge of the swing. “I know. I just…”

Silence falls. Quackity shivers in the cold. His eyes sting. Goddamn fucking Sapnap and his ability to make him cry with nothing. He leans back against the soft swing and ignores how his back starts to protest.

“Tell me you had a reason,” he says. He closes his eyes and exhales, shaky and unsure and desperate. “Please tell me you had a reason to stay away.”

Everything is silent. Nothing but the sound of the wind makes it to Quackity’s ears. “I'm so so sorry, Quackity.” Sapnap’s voice is fragile when he speaks. Like glass about to shatter. "I should have come sooner. I thought I could fix it. I thought I could–”

“It’s okay,” Quackity interrupts. He chokes back a sob, suffocates it before it can exist, and lets his head fall backwards. “ Everything for Karl, am I right?”

Sapnap’s hand is so warm near his. He can feel the heat without even touching it. “I promised myself to you too. It’s not the same without you.”

Quackity’s patience snaps. “Then why didn’t you come?”

“Because I was a coward!” Sapnap responds, just as biting. He looks down a second later. “Because I couldn’t face that I fucked up.”

Quackity scowls. He leans forward again and looks to the side. “Fucked up what? This whole place is rotten, what could still matter?”

“What matters is that the loves of my life can’t even talk to each other. What matters is that neither of them is happy nor safe, and it matters that my best friend is in a coma and it matters that my brother has become a terrorizing, child-murdering madman .”

Quackity stares as Sapnap pants from the anger. He stares as Sapnap’s words register in his head and the people link up. He stares. The anger drains out of his veins, replaced by cold cold fear.

Sapnap takes a breath in. It visibly rattles his whole body, and Quackity has never been more tempted to hold him. “I'm sorry. I'll leave. I just… I just wanted to apologize before it got too late.” His hand leaves its place near Quackity’s as he starts to get up. It’s instinct to grab his wrist.

“What happened?” Quackity asks, not even letting Sapnap fully turn to him.

Sapnap doesn’t turn. He stops though, and Quackity takes it as a win. When he speaks, his voice is low. Tired. “Don’t do that. Don’t pretend to care.”

He tugs Sapnap’s wrist back. Only then the other turns around. His eyes glint in the low lights, and the fiery glow of the white ring is still there, burning low and hopeless. Quackity’s own eyes sting with unshed tears. “Of course I care. Just because I’m angry doesn’t mean I don’t…” care for you, hold you dear, want you safe and happy even if I can’t love you anymore. There’s a million things Quackity could say, sitting shamefully on his heart and clinging to his tongue. He says none of them.

It probably doesn’t matter that the words won’t come. Sapnap stares at him like he knows. His eyes are brighter as he turns, as he twists his wrist. They’re this close to holding hands like they used to and they still haven’t looked away from each other. He doesn’t really want to. He tugs Sapnap back again. This time, Sapnap sits.

The porch swing creaks as a gust of wind hits them full blast, making the whole thing sway. It makes Quackity’s eyes water as well. When he blinks away the blurriness, Sapnap’s eyes shine too. Their hands, still joint, lay between them on soft cushions. It feels right. Like home. It’s a feeling Quackity thinks he nearly forgot. 

A wave crashes gently on the shore as Quackity squeezes Sapnap’s hand again. He ignores how weird it is for the sound to be this loud. There are more important things now, and he hates to think that just a few months ago he wouldn’t have thought so. “What’s going on with George and Karl?”

“I don’t know,” comes Sapnap’s immediate answer. He chuckles, a wet and sad and lonely sound, as he leans back into the swing and drapes his left arm over his eyes. “You know, for a while I almost didn’t think it was them.”

Quackity frowns and squeezes the hand he’s still holding. Sapnap and he may not be on the best of terms, but he’ll be dead before he doesn’t offer comfort to a person who deserves the world. “What do you mean?”

When he speaks, Sapnap’s words are choked and broken. It drives a knife into his heart. “I don’t know. Karl was so weird after you left. All… spacey and–”

“He’s always spacey,” slips out before he can stop himself.

“Not like this ,” comes Sapnap’s immediate reply. “You didn’t see him. It was almost like he couldn’t recognize anything.” His hand slips out of Quackity’s hold, jerking around. It’s easy to see how much it trembles, and easier to hear the worry and desperation in Sapnap’s voice. Quackity can do nothing but freeze in front of it as the other goes on. “And even before that, he would hole himself up in his library and not come out, or disappear for days and weeks on end and come back disoriented and–”

A strangled sob makes its way past Sapnap’s lips. It starts Quackity into motion, leaning a hand on Sapnap’s shoulder, offering comfort in the ways he knows. He’s never been on this side of the situation, but he’s intimately familiar with the way Sapnap presses a hand to his mouth, with the way he shakes and holds back cries and tries to keep himself together.

Quackity knows this, and it may have been a long time but he once knew Sapnap too. He hopes that knowledge is enough and shuffles closer to the other’s side, pressing his hand harder on the other’s thick black jacket. The broken look doesn’t leave his eyes. It only seems to intensify.

“I haven’t seen him since February,” is Sapnap’s quiet — so quiet, and it’s so wrong for Sapnap to be this quiet — admission. Quackity’s blood drains from his face. His hand shakes on Sapnap’s arm, and his heart breaks in two. He can’t focus on his anger right now though. It doesn’t matter that Karl hurt him and he’s now hurting Sapnap too, because right now it’s Sapnap that is in front of him and terrified and worried.

“I haven’t– It’s been ten months,” the other chokes out. “ Ten months . And then you were hurt and George still wasn’t waking up and– and Tina is great and all but Kinoko’s gotten big and she shouldn’t have to deal with that and George on her own and then George woke up while I was gone and he’s so careful and paranoiac and–”

“Sapnap. Sap, you gotta breathe. You’re panicking,” he interrupts the other the second he sees him getting worked up. He lets the hand on Sapnap’s shoulder slide down his arm and meet his wrist. With the other, he takes the hand that Sapnap keeps to his mouth and holds it against his chest. “Here, match me.”

He inhales deeply, letting his chest expand the way Foolish and Lucille and Bel and Paul and Pa have done so many times, and holds his breath. 

Sapnap glances at him and breathes in. Quackity counts in his head, tapping the rhythm on Sapnap’s hand. Before he can reach five, Sapnap breaks and sobs. “Sorry. Sorry, I don’t– I’m sorry.”

“None of that. It’s okay. We can try again.” He keeps Sapnap’s hand stuck to his chest and breathes again. Sapnap does too, though way more shaky. It feels weird to be on this side. Like someone flipped the script on him. He gulps and lets Sapnap hang onto him. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Sapnap sobs and bites his lip. He’s trembling, and as much as his breathing has gotten regular it’s still not deep enough, or calm enough. Quackity doesn’t look at the way his face contorts into a frown. He just twists a bit more in his seat and makes Sapnap lean down. “I’ve got you.” 

In his hold, Sapnap breaks. His cries grow loud and unrestrained the second he lays his head on his shoulder. Quackity can already feel the wet patch growing there as he passes an arm around Sapnap, hugging him closer. “You shouldn’t–” Sapnap’s voice gives out mid-sentence, wrecked by sobs. “I came here to apologize. Not to– Not– Not for you to deal with my freakout.”

Quackity lets go of Sapnap’s wrist. His hand burns fever-hot against his chest anyway, so he passes another arm around him and holds him tighter. By some miracle, he manages to keep his wings from bursting out of his back and wrapping themselves around Sapnap. They sure are not happy about being restrained though. They press under his skin and make his whole back hurt.

Mirrored memories play behind his closed eyelids, things he wishes he could forget. It’s a battle to keep his own tears at bay when he remembers how he’d fought against the concept like it happened yesterday. “Breakdown,” he whispers, the way Bel and Nina had so long ago. He breathes, so deeply that the air burns his lungs, and hopes that Sapnap won’t be like him. “It’s a breakdown, Sap. You can call it that.”

Sapnap shakes his head against Quackity’s shoulder, still shivering in his hold. “It’s not. I haven’t been hurt enough for that.”

The mirrored him under his eyelids parrots Sapnap’s words. He barely contains his flinch at them. The resentment for who he was bubbles over though. “It’s not a race to who’s been hurt,” he says, far too sharp and hard and cutting. Even his hold on Sapnap tightens, to the point only the way the other flinches makes him loosen his arms. He takes a measured breath and tries not to crumble himself. “You can’t measure hurt. That’s not how it works.”

Sapnap chuckles wetly, still with his forehead on Quackity’s shoulder. “Since when have you been a mental health expert?”

Quackity hesitates. He holds Sapnap tighter for half a second and lets his forehead fall on his shoulder. "Since never," he tries to joke, even though it rings true to his ears. He gulps, inhales and speaks again, a low whisper that he's not sure he wants Sapnap to hear. "I have some really good friends around. Sometimes their advice is pretty solid."

Sapnap chokes out a half laugh, still wet with tears. “Good to know someone is taking care of your dumb ass.”

Despite better judgment, Quackity huffs out a low laugh too. “Yeah. I’d be dead without them.” He holds onto Sapnap and breathes deeply. Sapnap does too.

With every breath. he feels Sapnap’s chest fall more into rhythm with him. The other’s shoulders shake less and less. With Sapnap’s shakiness, Quackity’s anger — the few specks left of it — dissipate. Not completely, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be without anger again, but it thins away. Like fog blown to mist by the wind.

Sapnap sighs and shifts his head so it digs into the side of his neck. Quackity can still feel the slight tears against his skin and the collar of his shirt before Sapnap leans away. He keeps his head low. Their eyes never meet, and yet Quackity knows how puffy and red they are. “I don’t know what to do,” Sapnap whispers. His hands are laying on Quackity’s back, featherlight and so so close to his waist that it makes his nerves tingle. “I don’t know how to go on from this anymore.”

“You can start by taking care of yourself,” he says in sync with the Bel in his memories. He reaches out and almost, almost , puts his hand on Sapnap’s cheek before realizing what he’s doing and freezing. “When’s the last time you slept?” he asks, once again a hypocrite and not caring in the slightest about it.

Sapnap still doesn’t lift his gaze. In fact, he lowers it even more. “Before our argument I think.”

Quackity’s heart drops. Looks like neither of them could stomach what happened. Though, from the looks of it, at least he’d taken a few naps here and there. Unlike the other. “ Sapnap .”

“I know.”

Silence falls again. Quackity just looks at Sapnap, still half-turned towards him and with his head bowed. He takes his hands off of Quackity’s back and starts playing with the straps of his jacket. “Was Dream telling the truth? Did you actually torture him?”

Ice cold floods Quackity’s veins. His chest freezes. “You knew?”

“He mentioned it,” Sapnap says, only then lifting his head to look Quackity in the eyes. “We ran into each other when I was taking the Nightmare Set from Tubbo. I didn’t really believe him.”

Quackity dares stare for half a second at the dim glow in Sapnap's eyes, trying to keep his voice from trembling. "You… You didn't?"

Sapnap snorts, but there's no mirth in his eyes. Instead, only a dark sadness fogs over and dims the ember-like glow. "Why would I? You were right the other day. He's gone completely crazy. Threatened to destroy Kinoko and kill everyone there to get his things back."

"Shit," Quackity murmurs before even realizing what that could mean. "Wait, could Karl…?"

Sapnap leans forward, with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together in front of his mouth. "I don't know. Maybe. Karl's been disappearing long before Dream got out, but I can't think of anything else."

Quackity nearly puts his hand on Sapnap's back before he stops himself. He hates this. He hates that Sapnap is like a magnet, always leaving him reaching. He takes his hand back and looks in the distance, to the shore dotted with cyclamens and violets and glories of the snow. The waves beat relentlessly, growing louder with the rising wind. His shoulders drop. “It’s because I was angry,” he finds himself saying.

He feels more than sees Sapnap lift his head. His gaze burns the side of his head. “What?”

“You wanted to know why I tortured Dream the other day. It’s because I was angry.” He turns his head slightly towards Sapnap, but doesn’t dare raise it. Instead, he stares at his open palm in his lap. “ So angry. I didn’t know people could feel that much anger.”

“And you just took it out on him?”

Shame curls tight around his stomach. Tighter than it ever had back then, when he was coming back every day from the prison so close to breaking point. Maybe it’s because he can still feel the tinges of anger that coated his days.

“He killed Tommy,” he whispers. He can’t quite tell if it’s an explanation for himself or for Sapnap. “He was going to kill Tubbo. He destroyed our home twice and laughed . He hurt– he hurt so many people, and I know he had something to do with Ranboo’s memory shit. And then there was that whole Revive Book shit and it– it just… it felt justifiable. Like I was righting some wrongs and not just…”

The words hang in the air. He still can’t finish the sentence, can’t push the words out of his mouth. It’s Sapnap that picks them up. “Taking your anger out?”

Quackity breathes. It takes him a few seconds, but he manages to exhale a soft “yeah”. Sapnap’s gaze still burns his skin.

“You blame yourself.”

Quackity turns around and looks at him in shock. “Of course I blame myself, what the hell would I blame? The wind? The fucking stars?”

Sapnap leans back and half-chuckles. “I mean, I’m sure we could find a way to blame Schlatt if we try.”

Quackity’s blood freezes in his veins. His breath stutters, but it’s covered by a vicious howl of wind that makes his ears ring. For a second, the air smells of smoke and alcohol. No. No, that wasn’t– How could– “How do you know that?”

Sapnap tilts his head and frowns at him, burrowing further in his black jacket. “How do I know what?”

Mierda , he’d jumped the gun. Of course Sapnap had no clue, no one had a clue. Why would Sapnap be any different? “Nothing,” he hurries to say. “It’s nothing, don’t–”

“Quackity,” Sapnap calls. Quackity’s chest stutters, and he ignores both that and Sapnap.

“It really doesn’t matter, man.”

“ Quackity ,” Sapnap calls again, pressing his hand against his leg. Quackity stops in his tracks, one hand still midair. He tries not to flinch but… well, Sapnap’s expression says everything. “Tell me. Please.”

Quackity looks away and takes a deep breath in. After what happened the other day though, he doesn’t think he has the strength to lie to Sapnap. “I… I saw Schlatt’s ghost,” he admits, barely looking up at Sapnap from under the beanie. “No one else saw him though, so it’s unlikely that it was real.”

Sapnap’s frown just deepens. His eyes harden, and the warm glow of the white ring intensifies. Even knowing that that anger isn’t directed at him, Quackity is tempted to flinch. “Did he try anything?”

He shakes his head. It hadn’t been nearly as bad as when Schlatt had been alive. “No. He was just annoying. Acting like a gym bro and hammering in doubts and bad ideas, y’know? Really Sap, I was probably seeing shit because of the stress of all that was happening.”

Sapnap nods slowly, almost to himself. His hand — still on Quackity’s leg and sending sparks through his whole body — presses down for half a second, the same way he did years ago now whenever he was trying to reassure him. Quackity can’t tell if he hates or not that it still sort of works. “So you could blame Schlatt.”

Quackity frowns. Hesitantly, he moves Sapnap’s hand off his leg. “I just said he most likely wasn’t even real.”

He could swear that he sees a hint of sadness — or is it disappointment? Either way, what the fuck? — on Sapnap’s face before it’s covered by a smile that reeks of fake. “Better safe than sorry,” the other shrugs.

Quackity’s anger, laying dull and dormant since Dream was mentioned, spikes. “What does that have anything to do with that?” he snaps. “At the end of the day, I was still the one who decided to– to do what I did. It doesn't matter if I was angry or if Schlatt suggested I get the Revive Book or if someone allowed that. I did that. The blame is mine .”

The moment he stops talking, Quackity freezes. Oh. Oh, Dios , he’s done it again. He let the storm in his lungs expand and take over his mind, making a mess of his words and emotions. Fuck, and he was doing so well.

“So you could blame more than just Schlatt.”

Sapnap’s voice — and not only, it’s the whole sentence really — shocks him out of his panic. The second he can actually process just what the hell Sapnap meant, Quackity turns to him and glares, completely affronted. “Did my whole rant fly over your head?”

"No, I got it.” Sapnap leans back, tilting his head, and looks up at the darkening sky. Quackity can’t keep his frown at him as he does that. He looks in the distance too, at the crashing waves along the shore.

A breeze passes by them. He shivers and burrows further into the far too light red vest.

“You changed,” Sapnap whispers at his side, only audible because the wind calmed.

Quackity glances at him and frowns slightly. His shoulders drop. “I don’t know what you’re on about anymore. Of course I changed, we basically spent two years without seeing each other.”

“We really did, uh?” Sapnap breathes in and leans back. The second he turns his head, Quackity’s eyes meet his. The glow is back, stronger than he’s ever seen it. Warm and emberlike, it lights up Sapnap’s eyes in a beautiful way. Quackity can’t look away. “I'm not doing that ever again. If you’ll let me, I want to stand by you.”

It’s a miracle that Quackity’s breath doesn’t stutter. “Sapnap–”

“I mean it,” the other says, taking his hand. The contact burns him.

He tries to talk, but his tongue fails him. He can’t make a sound. Instead, he just shakes his head. “That’s a bad idea. I’m– I’m not a good person.”

“You’re not a bad one either,” Sapnap insists.

Dios , does he want to believe him. He can’t though. Not after everything he’s done. He pulls his hand away from Sapnap. “Genuinely, have you hit your head? I’m fairly sure the bunch of idiots I work with wouldn’t stay with me if they knew, and they’re certifiably crazy.”

“Are they?” Sapnap grins softly. “They seemed so chill.”

Quackity stares. As much as he knows that they can appear like normal and perfectly well-behaved adults, he’s seen the team — and not only — pull too much shit to ever see them as ‘chill’ again. He tilts his head and tries not to get lost in too many memories. “Our top four guards tracked down and beat up the person that let Dream in. The head of farming has made wicked exploding contraptions for automatic farming, the person in charge of tours is known everywhere for nirs old revenge plot against the Eggpire for trying to take nem and brainwash nem, our top medic has–”

“What about Foolish? He’s rational,” Sapnap interrupts.

There’s a hint of something dark in the other’s expression, but Quackity will figure that out later. For now, he just wants the world to know Foolish for who he is. He lets out a bark of laughter. “Foolish is the worst at game night, a fucking backstabbing dirty player who’ll– that’s not the point,” he interrupts himself. It takes plenty of his willpower though. “The point is they’re crazy and they wouldn’t stand by me knowing what you know. Why the fuck would you want to stay?”

“Because I missed you.” Sapnap’s voice, no matter how quiet it is, holds nothing but confidence. “Because I'm selfish and life was better when I was at your side. Because you still mean the world to me and I don’t care if we’ll be just friends or if we can go back to something more but I don’t want to be away from you.” He nods to the side and stares at Quackity with far too vibrant eyes. “And I think you forget that I'm not a good person either. So.”

Quackity stares as Sapnap shrugs, like what he said is nothing and isn't making Quackity's heart cave. Sapnap is looking at him the exact way he used to — like they’re both still young and naive and filled with hopes and dreams about the future they’ll build — and Quackity… can’t. He’s not made for love anymore. He refuses to be. He could spend centuries trying to love another person like he used to and still not be able to.

His shoulders drop. “You don’t mean that.”

Sapnap’s eyes harden, still glowing warm. “Actually, I think I do know what I mean and what I don’t. And I definitely mean this.”

“Sap, you have so many people you could choose from.”

Sapnap tilts his head to the side, still staring. “Probably. And the one I want to choose is you.”

Quackity’s lungs freeze over. He shakes his head. “No. No, no, I’m sorry, I can’t–” His breath hitches painfully. It’s too much. Everything is too much, from Sapnap, to the waves to the cold and the frigid smell of flowers.

“Quackity?” Sapnap reaches forward, slow and concerned.

Quackity hates this. He hates this so so so much. Because holy fucking shit, his heart is nearly bursting at Sapnap’s words, at his care, at the chance to prove himself wrong. He won’t love again though. He can’t let himself hope like this anymore. He’s only going to break again when — and it is going to be a ‘when’ and not an ‘if’ — that hope will be taken away. He knows it will be the last of him. If he falls again, he won’t be able to pick himself up anymore. He can’t afford this hope, this chance. Not until he knows Las Nevadas will be okay even without him. For Slime.

He catches Sapnap’s hand with the back of his before the other can put it on his cheeks. Delicately — oh so delicately, because Sapnap still deserves the world — he pushes his hand away and looks him in the eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Sapnap’s voice shakes as he takes his hand back. It makes his stomach twist with guilt. “Please. We don’t have to be anything more than friends, I swear.”

“I sure hope so,” Quackity scoffs wetly. His voice nearly breaks in an ugly way. It feels like a bad mirror of when they got together, distorted and stained. “You’re still with Karl. I’m not letting you go behind his back like that, you know that.”

“I’m not with Karl though,” Sapnap says, immediately biting his lip. The glow in his eyes dims. His shoulders drop. Quackity stares and hopes the storm of angerangerangersadnessangerguiltworry doesn’t make it to the surface. Sapnap looks away and keeps talking. “We… We had a big argument a bit after you visited Kinoko. We broke up and he started disappearing more and more and… we never made peace.”

The storm rises. Quackity struggles to keep it in, even while focusing on the sound of the wind and the waves. “And you didn’t–”

“Fresh off a breakup?” Sapnap interrupts. He shakes head and looks back up. “It wouldn’t have been fair to you.”

Quackity leans forward, laying his arms on his legs, and crushes the tiny bit of hope trying to make itself known. “See? This is exactly why it wouldn’t work. There’s no such thing as ‘fair’ in this place.”

Sapnap’s eyes widen. He leans to the side and puts his hand over his. “Quackity, please.”

Quackity just shakes his head and looks away. Sapnap deserves better. He can’t get himself to watch as he makes the hope leave his eyes though. “You’re making a mistake.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do .”

They end up locked in a stalemate, neither willing to back down. Quackity won’t look. He won’t, even if he’s desperate for Sapnap to understand.

Sapnap takes his hand off of Quackity’s. Any semblance of warmth seems to leave his body. A gust of wind blows by and ruffles all the short honeysuckle bushes. “If– If you really don’t want to, I’ll leave it be. But–”

“Of course I want to,” Quackity interrupts without even meaning to. The words just slip out before he can realize he’s speaking. Silently he curses himself. He can’t go back though. Not when Sapnap is looking at him with too bright eyes and barely restrained hope. His shoulders drop. “I missed you. So much. I just–”

He looks down, with the words locked on his tongue. Sapnap’s hand is still incredibly close, enough that their fingers would be touching with a barely-there movement. He sighs. “We’ve been apart for so long. We’ve changed so fucking much, you said it yourself. Hell knows if we can even get along anymore. How aren’t you scared of what will happen?”

“Oh, I'm terrified.” Quackity snaps his head up and looks at Sapnap. The other is smiling softly. His lips tremble, and his eyes hold a watery sheen. “I still want to try. I don’t want to be strangers.”

Quackity just stares, even as Sapnap knocks their fingertips together. A gust of wind blows by them, making their hair fall in front of their eyes and making the few violets behind Sapnap wave. The air makes him look away for half a second and reach up to move his bangs away. Sapnap gets to that before him though, shifting them with far more gentleness than he deserves. Their fingertips are still touching. He glances down, then back at Sapnap’s eyes. He links their fingers together. His throat nearly locks up at the way the other’s shoulders fall in relief.

Fuck, he’s actually doing this.

“We… We can try,” he whispers. His voice feels weak even to his ears. “I can’t– I don’t think I’ve got more than friendship to offer though.”

Sapnap squeezes their fingers tighter together. “That’s okay. I know I’m asking for a lot already.”

“I don’t know why you’d want to,” Quackity shakes his head and looks down. “You know I’m not good.”

Sapnap grins then, bright and warm. “Maybe I’m just even crazier than your friends then.”

Quackity chuckles, ignoring the way his eyes sting with unshed tears. The temptation to hang onto Sapnap like a lifeline grows stronger. He doesn’t give in. He does sway their hands together though. “Missed you, man.”

Sapnap’s grin grows softer and his eyes more watery. “Missed ya too.”

Quackity doesn’t mean to get lost in the soft sound of the wind, but it happens. His eyes are locked with Sapnap’s warm blue ones. He can’t look away.

It’s only the sound of his comm buzzing that breaks him out of his trance. He blushes up to his ears and barely catches the freckles fading in on his cheeks before Sapnap can see them. “Shit, my bad,” he sniffles, letting go of Sapnap’s hand to grab the comm.

“Damn,” Sapnap laughs. His cheeks are red too as he wipes his face. “Way to break the mood.”

“It was getting too mushy,” Quackity can’t help but grin.

Sapnap snickers. The sound reverberates through the winter garden, echoed by the waves. “Can’t have that ruining your big bad reputation, can we?”

“It would absolutely devastate me,” Quackity plays along, bringing a hand to his chest. His cheeks are starting to hurt from all the high emotions, so he forces the smile down. He barely glances at Sapnap before looking back at the comm. The other has a smile pasted on his face, that glows even as the conversation shifts.

“Work?” Sapnap asks just as he’s opening Eoghan’s text.

Quackity sighs. Looks like meetings won’t wait until the morning. “Yeah.”

“Never a free moment, uh? Don’t you have a whole team of collaborators and not just some friends? That’s what I heard from… Faolán, was it?” 

Quackity blinks at Sapnap as he makes his comm disappear. “I’m impressed that you got his name right. It took me three tries. But yeah, I do.” He leans back into the swing — though not much, his wings are not being very agreeable right now — and crosses his arms. It doesn’t do much to protect him from the cold. “I’m still in charge though.”

“It’s gotta be big to call you in then,” Sapnap chuckles.

Quackity shakes his head at him. With the way Eoghan looked, it’s either big, important or urgent. Personally, he’d bet on urgent. “That's what it’s looking like. I mean, Eoghan did look ready to commit murder when he told me.”

Sapnap squints at him. “Eoghan would be?”

“Head of farming, both plants and animals.”

“Oh, the one with the explosive automatic farms?”

“Exactly him,” Quackity grins. He had nearly had a heart attack the first time that happened. Pretty much all of his citizens are used to it by now though.

“Gotta love bossing him around.”

Quackity snorts at the declaration. It’s the dumbest thing he’s heard in a while, though Sapnap wouldn’t know that. “Like any of them would listen to me if i tried that.”

Sapnap gives him a gentle shove with the shoulder. His eyes are back to a warm glow. “Sounds like they’re good for you.”

“Yeah, definitely,” he can’t help but say. His shoulders lower and his gaze drifts to the Casino and the hotels. With the night growing and the moon rising, the Center’s lights look beautiful, mirrored in the water. “I don’t know with what luck I landed this good of a team.”

He makes the mistake of looking at Sapnap then. The lights reflect in his eyes too. He looks so soft, with a gentle smile on his lips and the air brushing his hair back. He shivers at a gust of strong, cold wind, alongside all the flowers that poke through the snow. He drags his gaze away, back to Las Nevadas.

After a second, he feels something thick and warm be draped over his shoulders. He turns to Sapnap, just to find that the other no longer has his jacket on.

He holds onto the jacket’s shoulders before it can slip down, wide eyed. “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine, dude. I run warm and I got a thick hoodie. You’re the one that looks unprepared for the weather,” he teases.

“Whoops,” he grins, shrugging the jacket on. It smells vaguely of incense and firewood. The incense is new.

Sapnap smiles, and shakes his head. It makes something twist in Quackity’s stomach to see the other so gentle and fond. Only, Sapnap leans forward, once again with his forearms laid on his legs. He looks ahead, off towards the other side of the lake and the mountain range behind it. It’s not a good omen. “Do you… Do you really think that thing you said about power? That it corrupts?”

Quackity frowns, both at the question and at the shift in the mood. He sighs and, despite his back’s protests, leans against the swing. “I think… I think it takes a lot to actually hold power and not let it get to your head. It’s not for everyone, and it’s rarer than one would think.”

“Do you think people could learn it?”

Quackity tilts his head to the side. “Maybe. I mean, loathe as I am to admit it, look at Eret. Didn’t start too great but now they’re… probably doing the best out of all of us.” He glances at Sapnap out of the corner of his eye. He looks awfully lost in thought. “Why all these questions, man? Didn’t think I’d see the day you took interest in politics.”

“Don’t worry, I have no intention of beating you at your game,” Sapnap smiles. Compared to just a few moments ago, it looks dull. Tired. The second Sapnap looks back at the horizon, Quackity frowns.

“So kind of you,” he says. He swings his legs off the porch swing — though he struggles with the left — and stretches his arms and back. Fuck, he’s starting to get sore. “So? What is it?”

Sapnap leans up and turns back to him, wide eyed. “What?”

“What’s the actual question?” Quackity asks again, raising an eyebrow at the other. “And don’t bother with lying. You have a shit poker face.”

Sapnap’s shoulders fall. He turns towards the lake again, tapping his fingers against the edge of the swing. Quackity stares at him until he speaks. “Do you know anything about Exdee?”

“Foolish mentioned him a few times.” He frowns, trying to recall what the other had said about the figure. “He’s the god of the server, isn’t he?”

A strong — incredibly strong, almost unnatural — gust of wind blows by, carrying the loud sound of a wave crashing on the shore. All the flower bushes whip around, even the short purple cyclamens a few feet in front of them. It only stops in time for Quackity to hear Sapnap’s answer.

“That’s what he told me at least.”

Quackity’s gaze snaps to Sapnap in a second, even if he’s midway through pulling his hair away from his face. “You met him?”

“We… talked for a bit,” Sapnap admits. His voice shakes, and so do his shoulders. It makes Quackity want to hug him again. “I found something in one of Dream’s old chests and it caught his attention.”

A shiver runs ice cold down Quackity’s spine. He frowns. “Why do I feel like that’s not a good thing?”

Sapnap shudders too and burrows into his white and red hoodie. “It wasn’t”

Quackity stares. Slowly, he leans forward and lays a hand on Sapnap’s shoulder, as gentle as he can. It’s a miracle that it doesn’t feel like breaking a promise. “Are you alright?”

“I, uh… might have done a stupid thing.” Sapnap smiles, sheepishly. In the few seconds they meet eyes before he looks down, his gaze holds so much sadness and worry. Quackity’s heart drops even before the other can keep speaking. “Hypothetically, if… if there was a way to trade your life for someone else’s death–”

“You didn’t,” Quackity interrupts. His words barely make it out. His lungs are empty and the air is dead still. He lets his hand fall along Sapnap's arm. “Please tell me you didn’t.” He reaches across Sapnap and grabs his left wrist, grateful that the other offers it up. To his relief. Sapnap lets his life-marks show up on his skin the second Quackity rubs his thumb across his wrist. All three of them show up, glowing vivid red. None of them are grayed out.

“Oh, thank God.” The rush of fear leaves him drained as it leaves. Still holding Sapnap’s wrist, he lets his head fall on the other’s shoulder, breathing deeply to calm his racing heartbeat.

His breath is still rushed when he feels a warm hand cup his cheek. He lifts his head alongside it and locks eyes with Sapnap again. The other smiles. It doesn’t work, not with the way his lips tremble and his eyes shine. “I’m okay.”

He raises his free hand and lays it over Sapnap’s. “You didn’t take the deal?”

“I had to take the deal. I didn’t think it was real so I tested it on a name that doesn’t exist and a pet and it…” Sapnap trails off with a sigh and looks away.

Quackity stares at him. Gently, he pulls his hand away from his cheek. He doesn’t stop holding it though. “What happened?”

“I owed him two lives,” Sapnap says, quiet under the howl of the wind. “We compromised that he’d only take one, but I had to write him a person to kill.”

For half a second, Quackity can’t help but squeeze Sapnap’s wrist. He hopes it’s comforting. “Dream?”

The other shots him a short, wobbly grin. “Dream. It didn’t work. You can’t kill the owner of the Revive Book.”

“But you gave a third someone to kill,” Quackity frowns. His heart sinks the moment Sapnap nods.

“I did.” Sapnap pulls away, dejected. Reluctantly, Quackity lets him go and just watches as Sapnap lets his head hang low, enough so that his bangs fall in front of his eyes. “My life is tied to his now. If I kill him, it’s permadeath for both of us. Except… there’s no ghost for me.”

Quackity shivers. He barely catches his rising anger — he’s not going to fight a god, that’ll get him killed — and shoves it down. The sadness and fear rise in its stead, making his whole body tremble. He lays his hand on top of Sapnap’s. “Well that just means you’re not gonna be the one who kills Dream.”

Sapnap’s head snaps up. His eyes are dark. The glow is almost completely gone, though not the white rings. “Quackity–”

“No,” he stops Sapnap in his tracks. He squeezes his hand. “I won’t hear it. When we actually go after Dream, because there’s no avoiding the fact that it will happen at some point, we’ll make sure there’s more people. You won’t have to be the one to kill him. I’m not letting that happen.”

Sapnap shakes his head. “Q–”

“I’m not letting it happen,” he insists. He takes Sapnap’s other hand in his hold — it doesn’t matter if the touch burns, it doesn’t matter if makes something he doesn’t want twist his stomach — and squeezes them both. “I just got you back.”

Sapnap stays quiet. He just stares back. Slowly, ever so slowly, the darkness leaves his eyes. “Alright.” He leans a bit forward, with his head hanging low again. Quackity gives in to temptation again and pulls him closer. As soon as he can, Sapnap lets his head fall on his shoulder. “Alright.”

Quackity holds Sapnap closer and lets him tremble in his arms. In the growing darkness, with the loud wind, he can pretend not to feel the other fall apart and pull himself back together.

The Eiffel Tower’s lights turn on in the distance, casting their reflection on the lake surface. It’s late, far too late. He doesn’t want to let go, not until he knows Sapnap will be okay. He’ll have to at some point though, if he wants to not get to the meeting with Eoghan on an empty stomach.

He lifts his head from Sapnap’s shoulder in realization and looks towards the City. Not the great Las Nevadas Center, but the City tucked between the Casino and the mountains in the north, invisible and unseen but so loved. “Have you eaten at all today?” he asks Sapnap.

The other sniffles a bit, but he too lifts his head. The tear tracks are shiny under the artificial lights from afar. He doesn’t look any less beautiful. “I have. I had some bread and meat in my inventory.”

Quackity scrunches his nose. He grabs one of his crutches and pulls himself to his feet. “That’s not nearly enough for a whole day.” He looks away when Sapnap wipes his eyes. He can see the tiny dots of people moving around the Center. “Do you have a set time you have to be back in Kinoko by?”

“Not really,” Sapnap says as he gets up too. His voice still cracks from all the crying, but they’ll both pretend it doesn’t.

Quackity smiles at him and he nods towards the softer shimmering lights behind the Casino, immediately starting to leave the winter garden. “Come on. I’ll take you on the real Las Nevadas City experience.”

“The real– Quackity, what?” Sapnap is quick to follow. He's beside him in a second, already keeping pace.

"Of course," Quackity nods. He grins up at Sapnap and lets him open the gate. “I love the Center of course. It’s my pride and joy. The City though is the beloved surprise. Now come on, it’s early enough that we might not run into anyone.”

He doesn’t need to look at Sapnap to tell the other is confused. His tone tells enough. “What do you mean? Is that not the city?”

“Nope, that's the Center,” he says. They’re getting rapidly closer to the Avenue, and once there they’ll want to hurry. If any of the visitors recognize him, he’s definitely going to get dragged into a conversation. “Nice and all, but curated for the visitors. It’s no place to live year round, trust me.”

“You do.”

“Yeah, and sometimes I wish I didn’t,” he admits. He shrugs off the look Sapnap gives him. He scans the Avenue from the Southern Toll Gate all the way to the Casino’s entrance. There are more people than he’d thought there’d be, but no one familiar. Hopefully, they won’t get stopped. “Prepare to run.”

“What for?” the other asks. There’s an odd mix of a bounce in his step and apprehension in his voice.

Quackity snorts. “Not literally, dumbass. Just be fast and don’t get derailed by anyone. Eighty percent of the people in this part of Las Nevadas are snakes and vultures.”

“Oh, alright. Wanna hop on?”

“What?” He turns around, only to find Sapnap squatting a few steps behind. “What are you doing?”

“Making it easier for you to hop on my back,” Sapnap grins up at him, like it’s the most logical thing in the world.

Quackity just stares at him. “I was right. You did hit your head.”

“Oh come on, it’s just a piggyback ride.”

“Sapnap, I’ve got about a few hundred guests there,” he stresses. It should be enough explanation. Sapnap is not dumb, and he’s got the experience from when George was King of Greater Di’Essempi.

Sapnap shrugs. Sapnap fucking shrugs, still squatting down. “And?”

Well. Apparently he is that dumb. That or being in George’s Court taught him nothing.

“It’s filled to the brim with foreign dignitaries and rich people that I have or might get partnerships with in the future. I can’t get a piggyback ride.”

Sapnap has the audacity to look up all confused. “Why not?”

“Because it’s distasteful,” he exclaims as quietly as possible. The more they stand in the open, the more guests are likely to notice him.

Sapnap — still fucking squatting, what drugs is he on? — tilts his head to the side. A single ‘cute’ passes through Quackity’s head, and he immediately takes it and squashes it.

“But it would be faster,” he points out. Which, fair. It would be faster. It would also be incredibly more noticeable.

“Nu-uh, not happening,” he shakes his head.

“Oh come on, you’ll love it.”

He would. Sapnap absolutely cannot know that. He glares at him. “I am not getting a piggyback ride.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugs and hops back upright like a bunny. Fucking madman. “You set the pace then, dude. I’ll keep up.”

Quackity nods and turns back to the Avenue. The universe must hate him, because he accidentally makes eye contact with Mister Babouf. “Aight, time to go quick,” he rushes to say and starts hurrying towards the Casino. As they go, he tilts his beanie so it covers his eyes more. Hopefully that will keep a few others from recognizing him.

“Aaalright?” Sapnap says, immediately keeping pace. They’re going as fast as Quackity can, and it’s starting to put a strain on his legs. It doesn’t help that Mister Babouf is slowly gaining ground, though he is far behind on the Avenue to the fountain.

“Keep to the right,” he tells Sapnap as they reach the even terrain of the Avenue. “If you hear anything, no you don’t.”

“You sound like you’re trying to disappear,” teases Sapnap. Quackity can even hear the smirk.

He snorts, ignoring the twinge of ache in his good leg. “I assure you, you don’t want to get dragged into talking to Mister Babouf.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Is that the Eiffel Tower?”

Quackity lets a well dressed couple pass by, and only then looks at Sapnap. He’s staring at the metallic construction, squinting against the colorful lights. Quackity doesn’t dare guess if the shine in his eyes is from the brightness or… something else. “It is.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he scans the length of the Avenue reaching all the way to the Northern Toll Gate. They’ve already passed most of the crowd, left behind outside the restaurants, and the others are gathered under the tower. The few people on the Avenue seem completely distracted. “Don’t turn towards the bridge, just straight ahe–”

“Mister Quackity,” comes a not quite that loud yell from behind them.

Quackity hits Sapnap's leg with his free crutch before the other can turn. “Don’t. Ignore him. Pretend you didn’t hear shit and keep walking.”

“Isn’t that rude?” Sapnap says. He hops over the white line and follows Quackity as they coast the Casino. Though Quackity does check how far Mister Babouf is in the reflection of the Casino’s moat.

“Not if we didn’t hear him. Far too loud.” It’s not. Not for Quackity at least. He can hear the river that flows under the bridge to the tower and runs along the other side of the road. Mister Babouf doesn’t need to know that though. The end of the Casino is in sight. There’s a family right at the side of the edge between the Casino and the clinic, but they’re all staring at the gardens by the Tower and the fancy, wavy hotel on the other side of the Avenue. “As soon as we pass the family, turn right.”

“What?”

He’s about to answer when he missteps from the hurry and nearly goes careening into the ground. He saves himself, but the strain in his good leg has grown worse.

Sapnap’s gaze burns on him as he helps him steady himself. “You good dude?”

“I’ll be fine,” he says. He grits his teeth and pushes through. “Get ready to turn.”

Sapnap just hums.

The second they reach the end of the Casino, Quackity steps to the right. The family hides Sapnap and him from Mister Babouf’s view. He ducks into the long, narrow alley between the Casino and the clinic, followed by Sapnap. His leg screams in protest as he tries to quicken his pace. “Right. We just have to– Shit!”

In a second, the world is upside down and Sapnap’s shoulder is digging into his stomach. Sapnap starts running. Quackity, thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, swears. He’s got probably the nicest view of Sapnap’s ass ever , and it’s making his cheeks tingle from both the blush and the light freckles likely appearing. He forces them back into non-existence and looks away.

“What?” Sapnap laughs. “There’s no nobles to ruin your reputation in front of here.”

“Evening Boss,” someone yells, followed by a chorus of whistles and laughter.

He lifts his head and glares. At Intan specifically, who is looking far too smug next to Raymundo and Lorelei and leading a small crowd of people passing the other way.

“Fuck you, Sap,” he scowls, going back to looking to the side.

The other just laughs at him. The audacity. “You’ll thank me when your legs aren’t killing yo– whoa.”

Sapnap slows down, and Quackity takes the chance to maneuver himself and his crutches so he can peek out. He grins. “Welcome to the City.”

Before them, the alley opens up into a small square. On the other side, the Windway bustles with couples and crowds and people staring at the shop windows and storefronts. They duck into bars and restaurants and pubs under the chime of the lights and bells hanging from building to building above.

“What is this place?” Sapnap whispers. Quackity can’t see him, but he can imagine the awe on his face. It’s the same he felt when Nina and Bel and Bo and everyone else had shown him the place.

“Told ya, it’s the City. The Center isn’t liveable, and people had to stay somewhere.” He grins, looking too at the mismatched buildings and decorations. A few people are staring now though, so he taps a crutch on the back of Sapnap’s leg. “Now put me down, I’ve got so much blood rushing to my head.”

“Oh, sorry,” he says, right before plopping him down. When Quackity looks up, Sapnap is grinning like an idiot. “Sooo?” he singsongs.

Quackity can’t help but smile back. He turns around and waits for Sapnap to get to his side before he starts walking down the Windway. A light breeze darts through the crowd. The honeysuckle bushes wave, as do the small bells and fairylights woven in their stems. It kinda makes Quackity want to spread his wings out and feel it in every feather. “So, there’s a really nice Filipino place closeby. We don’t even have to go all the way to the Star.”

Sapnap lights up like the Christmas tree they just passed. “ Dude .” Quackity just laughs.

Dinner is… pleasant. Incredibly so. More than Quackity thought it would be, more than he even hoped. It won't last — nothing this good ever lasted for him — but he'll enjoy every second he has before it's taken away.

So he accompanies Sapnap all the way to the Southern Toll Gate and starts setting a way for him to get in with employee procedures. He'll have to finalize them with Bo, but it's a start.

He makes his way back to the Needle, and finds it incredibly weird that he still hasn't seen Foolish. For a second he fears he might have scared him away with yesterday's proposal, but the notion is so ridiculous that it shoo's itself. Sure, positions of power seem to be cursed in these lands, but Foolish has his weird immortality thing going on.

He runs into Eoghan in the elevator, and Bel is hopping the last few stairs when they get out. They bounce on their heels, holding a folder to their chest. “Hi Quackity, hey Eo. I got the folder you asked for.”

Quackity takes the lead and unlocks his office in the Needle, once again ignoring the fact that he had locked the other office. It’s useless trying to stop Bel from breaking and entering anyway. “Come in, you two. I need to know what Eoghan needs both of us and a folder for.”

“Nothing as funny as last time, I’m afraid,” Eoghan scowls. It looks wrong on his soft face, even though Quackity knows he can be just as murderous as his brother. “I asked Fao to get one last person that needs to be in the meeting, by the way.”

“Am I allowed to know who?” he jokes as he sits on the chair behind the desk. Thankfully, it makes Eoghan smile.

“I don’t know, I think you could if you asked,” Bel teases. Eoghan does nothing but shake his head. He doesn’t sit, unlike Bel who is quick to bounce on one of the cushioned chairs in front of him.

Quackity joins the game. He rolls his eyes, pretends to be annoyed and leans back. “Well I suppose I would like to know who we are meeting.”

“I don’t hear you asking for anything~” sings Bel.

Before Quackity can reply, Eoghan steps closer with a third chair. “It’s Maral.”

Quackity frowns and leans forward. “Maral… Isn’t she the nymph that Richard calls in to deal with Ossum when he’s throwing a fuss?”

Eoghan’s expression goes stormy. “Yes, the–”

Two firm knocks interrupt him. Quackity exchanges a glance with Eoghan, but he's quick to call, "come in."

The tall, white double door opens again. Faolán stands in all his red-haired glory behind a petite, tan young woman. He's got a hand — with split knuckles, and that already tells volumes — on her shoulder and his grin is just a bit too feral. "Hello boss!"

"Hello Faolán. You're early," he says. He doesn't move his eyes from Faolán's split knuckles, but he doesn't need to.

Faolán moves his hand away and gently taps the woman's back. "I had to get us away from a situation."

"It's not his fault," the woman is quick to jump in. "He didn't –"

"It's okay, miss. I know Faolán wouldn't attack unprovoked," he reassures her. The scar through his eye and lips burns with the knowledge of how it mars his skin. He tries to soften his smile, even though the situation is so obviously dire. "If you'd like, he could stay."

Maral glances back. Faolán, ever so noble, nods. “If… If it’s possible.”

She’s quiet, he notices. Maybe even quieter than Ai, and Ai is one the quietest people he knows that isn’t mute. “Please, take a seat. I’m Quackity,” he says, ignoring the way she pales, “and the lovely person sitting on your left is Bel, the head of our Human Resources department. Eoghan was just telling us you have a situation going on?” he says, lowering his tone too.

“It really is nothing important, sir,” she says, shaking her head. Still, she sits. Eoghan follows her and sits on the third chair, on her right.

Quackity leans forward and leans a hand across the table. “Please, let me be the judge of that.”

For a second, they stay like that. Her near-black eyes are wide with what he can only guess is apprehension, with her shoulders up and her back rigid. Only when Faolán, standing behind her, puts his hand on her shoulder does she relax. “I… I’m very uncomfortable working with Richard when he calls me to take care of the horses.”

Quackity does his best not to let his gaze darken. It doesn’t quite work, seeing as Maral curls up. If anyone were to tell him Faolán’s hand was the only reason she didn’t bolt, he’d believe them. He closes his eyes and breathes in. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He pauses, trying to collect his thoughts. They’re all over the place, in a mess of ‘how’ and ‘why’ and ‘how dare’.

“Would you be alright telling us what he does?” he manages to ask in the end.

Bel straightens up and gives him a worried glance. When he ignores it, she leans a hand on the armrest of Maral’s chair. “It’s fine if you don’t. We’re still going to open an investigation.”

“I mean it, there’s no need–”

“Maral,” Eoghan interrupts her. “I promise you, you can trust them. You’re in good hands.”

Maral slumps down. Her black hair falls in front of her eyes, but through the bangs Quackity sees her peek at him.

“I swear to you,” he tells her, “that you are safe. I will do everything in my power to make sure you, and everyone that works here, are comfortable and respected.”

For a few seconds, silence reigns. Then, Maral takes a deep breath and sits up straighter, moving her hair from in front of her eyes. “He’s… He’s always standing to close. Nearly on top of me.”

She doesn’t look at him as she speaks, so he takes the chance and glances at Bel. They’re already taking notes, scrolling through the folder in their hands. He quietly taps the desk by them with a finger. As soon as they look up, they pass him the notepad and quill, and take the folder with both hands. “Has he done that from the start?” he asks Maral.

“Yes, but I didn’t think much of it at first. He was asking for help to deal with the horses, I thought it natural that he’d stay close so he could learn. I started getting a weird feeling the third time that happened. And, well, since we’re always so close he’s always brushing my arm or back or–”

Maral looks away, though not before Quackity can notice the pale redness on her cheeks. His anger spikes even before she finishes the sentence.

“–elsewhere. He always excuses it as an accident, but I… I think it happens far too often.”

“So at the very least he’s getting demoted and benched. Three months at the minimum, I’m not having him around until I’m sure it won’t happen again.” He glances to the sides, at both Bel and Eoghan.

Bel nods, but Eoghan tilts his head and speaks. “I doubt you’ll end up with only that but if that’s it, at least move him to a different department.”

Quackity narrows his eyes. He glances again at Faolán’s bloody knuckles, and only then looks back at Maral. “I’m pretty sure I know the answer, but has he escalated things?”

Maral clutches her hands together. She tries to speak, but nothing comes out. Quackity stretches his arm across the desk and lays a hand by her. “Hey, it’s alright. A yes or no is enough.”

“Y–Yes.”

Her voice breaks on the single word. Quackity couldn’t be more thankful that Faolán stayed. Even Eoghan, who ought to be more familiar, doesn’t quite seem to comfort her as much. He opens a drawer on his side of the desk and takes out a white and red handkerchief, passing it to Maral.

He gives them all a few minutes to calm the high spirits. Himself too since, well, his hand is shaking. He can’t quite pinpoint why, if from anger or sadness or something he does not dare think about. And Bel is sending him worried looks again. He ignores the look and asks them “did we find anything during his background check?”

“Nothing, but it got interrupted half-way because he’s not from Di’Essempi.” Bel tilts their head and turns the folder around so he can see it. “We’re missing a good chiunque of records from before he turned thirty.”

“I’ll try to get some deals to keep that from happening again,” he says, taking the folder from Bel’s hands. “Eoghan, Faolán, is there anything that you want to add?”

From the corner of his eye, he sees Eoghan exchange a glance with Maral. At Maral’s nod, he turns to him. “Just that this afternoon I caught Richard insisting he could pick Maral up late tonight and take her on a ‘date,’” he airquotes, “even though Maral said no multiple times.”

“Pretty much same,” Faolán adds. The knuckles of the hand he’s not laying on Maral turn white. “He was adamant that he should take her home and that, and I quote, ‘it’s silly that the boss would call for a low-grade worker like you.’ I had to get, ah, physically convincing.” Faolán grins again, though even more feral than before.

“Did you show him the security badge?” Quackity asks as he jots down the last few things, his grip on the quill tight. Though, he has no doubt that Faolán kept himself in the right.

“Yes Boss. He even commented on ‘too high of a rank to be on fetch duty.’”

They exchange glances with each other as Quackity rubs two fingers against his temple. “Then I’d say it’s on him for messing with a top-ten security guard while he’s a stick figure.”

Eoghan and Faolán both snort, while Bel cackles. He sends all three of them a light-hearted glare before focusing back on Maral. “He said he’d pick you up. Does he know your address?”

Maral, who was giggling with the others, sobers up. “He shouldn’t but I know he does. I saw him out the window a few times.”

Quackity feels his entire mood darken. He has to close his eyes to keep the storm he feels deep in his lungs from hitting all the others. He takes a deep breath. Outside, a gust of wind blows by and rattles the windows. He opens his eyes and looks at Bel. “We’re firing him.”

“Absolutely.”

“Good,” he says, ignoring the way Eoghan and Faolán high five behind Maral. Speaking of. “Don’t do that right away though. Bench him instead, and open an investigation among his subordinates. I want to see how wide-spread the issue is, and if he’s benched he’s more likely to incriminate himself out of confidence. If I can kick him out, then I’ll gladly do so. In the meantime, we’ll get you a restraining order against him,” he tells Maral, already whipping out the document paper.

As he starts writing, he hears a sharp inhale. “But he’s good at his job?” Maral says timidly.

“If he can’t keep appropriate behavior, no he’s not. I won’t tolerate anything like that within my lands.”

“Who will take his place though?” she asks.

Quackity can’t even think about the question before Eoghan answers. “Could be no one. That would help us identify a natural leader.”

Bel’s eyes immediately glint. “He’s not wrong,” they reinforce. “It would also make things easier and smoother for his whole team.”

“You are both children and should not run social experiments on business departments,” he says.

“Oh pleeeeeease, Quackity. Not even for a day?”

He lifts his head from the document and startles at Bel’s incredibly big eyes. “No. Stop that, that’s weird. Bel, you are an adult.”

"So you won't let us improve productivity and find the best shift manager for that team?"

Quackity glares at Eoghan. Eoghan smiles. "It would wooork~" Bel sings, leaning over the table.

"Fine. Fine. One day, no more than that. Now let me focus," he snaps at them, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. God. If nothing else, Maral is chuckling.

He finishes signing the document and hands it over to her. “Take this to the security headquarters tomorrow morning. They’ll officialize everything.”

Maral takes the paper with trembling hands and a small smile. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for basic human decency.” He shakes his head and looks at her. “Will you be alright getting home or is he likely to be around?”

“I… Gosh, I’m not sure,” she says, half frowning with a hand to her face.

Quackity frowns too, but before he can speak he notices Faolán looking contemplative.

“If…” the other starts, catching the attention of all the others. “I know it comes in poor taste after this evening, but if you’d like I could accompany you.”

Faolán and Maral make eye contact. Quackity takes the chance to glance at both Eoghan and Bel, raising his eyebrows at them. Eoghan grins like a Cheshire cat.

"To be quite honest, I trust you more than I ever trusted Richard," Maral says, getting up. As she does so, Faolán offers her his hand, which she takes with a small smile and– is that a blush on her cheeks?

"Have a good night, Maral. Faolán, you as well," he calls to them.

Maral startles and turns to them sheepishly. "Good night to you, sir. Eoghan, Bel, you as well."

Eoghan and Bel smile at her, while Faolán just goes "see ya".

They let the two get out of the office, and keep the silence just long enough to hear "now where to, my lady?" and a soft giggle.

They look at each other with raised eyebrows. Bel is the first to break into a smirk. “Fifty on ten days.”

“Ten days?” Quackity raises his eyebrows higher and leans into his chair despite his sensitive back. “One hundred on one week.”

Eoghan snorts. “You clearly don’t know my brother. One hundred and ten on five days.”

“You’re joking,” Quackity cackles. “You’ve got to be joking. Five days? They won’t even have time to get to know each other. They work on opposite sides of Las Nevadas.”

“Don’t underestimate their creative thinking,” insists Eoghan. He’s grinning too. He picks a paper and a quill from Quackity’s desk and starts scribbling. His tail is wagging by the time he’s done writing. He passes the paper to Quackity. On it is, in chicken-scratch, ‘Eoghan — 5 days — 110pc’. Eoghan’s eyes glint. “Now, bet.”

“Oh, I will.” Bel takes the paper from Eoghan’s hand and immediately scribbles on the sheet too.

Quackity takes it from them when they’re finished and adds his ‘Q — 7 days — 100pc’ under Bel’s intricate cursive. “You gonna pass it along?”

“Of course, as much as I can. Oli and I need winnings to split.”

Quackity points a finger at him as he’s getting up, leaning all his weight on one crutch. “Ohhh, those are fighting words, young mister O’Donnell. Fighting words, I say.”

“Then fight I shall,” Eoghan says. He takes the paper back and grabs the folder back. “Do you need help?”

“Nah. Pass that to me, I’ve got space in my inventory,” he smiles. Still on one crutch, he takes the folder and quickly opens his inventory. In a tingle of light, the folder is gone and Quackity is free to grab his other crutch too and start leaving. “Now out. I need to lock up.”

“Yessir, whatever you say sir,” mocks Bel. They do hop off the chair and towards the door though. “Ah, the joy of a busy day tomorrow.”

Quackity snorts. “Sure, the joy.”

“Oh you love it,” smiles Bel. They bump their shoulder with his as they pass through the door. “Don’t pretend you don’t.”

A smile makes its way on Quackity’s lips, unbidden. “Yeah, I do.”

“There we go. Now go, we’ve all got busy days tomorrow,” grins Bel while they hop to the stairs.

Quackity locks the door and shuffles over to Foolish’s office too. “I thought I was the boss,” he grins as he checks that his door is locked too. It is. At least there’s that, even if it’s weird to still not have seen Foolish.

“Hey, putting us at higher positions is on you.” Eoghan laughs and calls the elevator for them both. He waves the paper with the bets while they’re going down, happier than he ought to be with the risky bet he put down. “Have a good night. I’m gonna go get Oli in on this.”

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up,” Quackity calls after him as the other runs out the elevator the moment it opens. He shakes his head and heads out.

It’s even colder than earlier. He ducks into Sapnap’s jacket as he crosses the Avenue. More people are out now, all heading in and out the restaurants and towards the Casino. Mister Babouf is nowhere to be found though. That’s all Quackity needs honestly. Plenty of people greet him inside the hotel, but none stop him. Even the guests that are with him by the elevator or are getting out of it are cordial. Even if some are plenty chatty.

As soon as he’s inside on his own — because no one is going up at this time of the day — and passes the golden chip over the hidden scanner, everything is quiet. He heaves a deep sigh and counts the seconds until the doors open. He can’t fucking wait to be sitting again. His legs are killing him.

It doesn’t take long, luckily. He puts the folder back in its place in the office, locks the door again, and shuffles into the penthouse. Thank God for Envians. He doesn’t know what he’d have done if they hadn’t invented and exported automatic heating.

He locks the penthouse’s door behind himself, flops on the wheelchair by the sofa and heads straight for the bedroom. It’s not a place he likes. It wasn’t made for just one person. The bed feels empty every time he lays in it. There are too few trinkets on the desk, no clothes on the floor, no random shit thrown across the bed. There’s only one set of pajamas under the pillow. 

He grabs the pajama and decides then and there that yes, he does deserve a nice bubble bath for all he’s dealt with today. He lets the water run warm and fill up the bathtub the second he gets to the bathroom. And if he drops some peppermint and almond oil in it alongside the bubble soap, that’s between him and the bottles of essential oils.

As the mirror starts fogging up, he carefully folds Sapnap’s jacket and lays it on the cabinet. The thick shirt, vest and pants end up more messily thrown in the hamper. He was gonna have to wash them anyway. He grabs his cast cover and makes sure it’s secure. Ai and Samira have yelled at him about wet casts and infections enough to last a lifetime.

He slips the beanie off and lays it by the jacket and doesn’t look in the mirror as he passes. The small night blue feathers by his ears are ingrained in his mind from years of memorizing the shapes, the shades, the positions. He never really managed to shift them away completely.

He closes the tap and slips into the bathtub. He loves the water. He loves it so much. Especially when he can’t see his body through the bubbles. It used to be so much worse before, when the ink on his arms and chest was the only thing that kept him from hating his skin. These days it’s so much easier to look in the mirror and see just the flowers and birds and stars instead of what’s beneath them.

He doesn’t get out until the water is nearly cold. Even then, it’s more the late hour that pushes him to wash his hair, dry up and get out. The peppermint oil worked wonders on his back. His wings shift out with ease. They don’t even sting as they break the skin and grow soft golden feathers. They’re small enough — really, they’re just duckling wings — that they slip through the holes cut into his shirt swiftly.

He does shift them into wider, longer blue wings once he’s in bed though. He’s missed letting out the yucatan jay ones. It’s not often that he feels relaxed enough to do that anymore.

The heavy day catches him fast. He’s asleep within minutes, still half-staring at Wilbur’s red glasses on his bedside table. He ignores the whispers in his mind, as usual. They’re growing louder.

He wakes at the crack of dawn, with the light already hitting his eyes. He forgot to close the curtains again. Still, better up early than late. With the list of meetings he has to be in, he’s gonna need the time. Besides, it's not like dawn is very early. He got up only ten minutes before his alarm was set to ring, which means he’s also only ten minutes early when he meets Foolish outside the Needle’s office.

“Morning Foolish,” he greets as he wheels himself out of the elevator. His eyes immediately land on the cups of still steaming coffee in Foolish’s hands.

The other smiles tiredly and passes him one of the cups. “Good morning, Quackity.”

“We’ll see about the ‘good’ part,” he snorts. “Where were you yesterday? Did you get any sleep? You’ve got eyebags worse than mine, and that’s saying something.”

“I’m fine, just had a rough time at the summer house,” the other shrugs.

Quackity frowns mid-swig of his cup and looks at him. “Did something happen? You can take a day off, you know?”

“We’re in the middle of an overflow of proposals,” he points out, raising an eyebrow. Quackity mirrors him and raises an eyebrow too.

“And? You’ve got days off, I've got other people that can help and you’re not vice yet. You can take days off. By the way, did you think about–”

“Yeah,” Foolish interrupts him. “I’m… still not sure. I mean–”

“No worries,” Quackity says. He shrugs off the look Foolish gives him and starts searching the pockets of his suit pants for the office keys. “I get it, man. It’s a lot to ask, and you already have the summer house and all the projects all over Di’Essempi to take care of. Take all the time you need.”

He still feels Foolish’s gaze burn his neck as he opens the door. He’s not sure what’s up with him. At this point he just might force the day off on him. “You coming too or not?”

“Oh yeah,” Foolish rushes and follows him in, closing the door behind them.

In the light of the day, the view from here is stunning. He can see the fountain below and the Eiffel Tower further beyond, backed by the low mountains that separate Las Nevadas from Zire’s lands. The trees along the avenue and in the park wave with the harsh breeze.

“Oh yeah, have you noticed the wind today?”

Quackity half-startles at Foolish’s voice so close. When Quackity turns, the other is standing beside him, with his arms full of the papers and folders that had been left on the desk. The other glances outside the window and nods towards it. “Lucille thinks it’s gonna get worse.”

“Let’s hope not,” he sighs. He moves back towards the freshly clean desk and brings the blue folder and the stack of proposals out of his inventory. “Knowing her though, it’s going to. Intan told me the meetings are in the same order you got me the papers?”

“Save for the two college students I heard you're getting an internship for. Those two are Bel's.” He pulls up a chair and sets it at the side of his.

Quackity nods, but he doesn’t move to sit down. Instead, he stays at the side of the desk and sends a quick prayer to the heavens. Misa is too smart to not have figured everything out, and she might just kill him the second she sees him. “Well, at least the first meeting will for sure wake me up.”

Foolish frowns. “This is the first time Governor Sanchez is here, how do you–”

A knock on the door interrupts Foolish — there’s been a lot of interrupting knocks lately — and Quackity invokes both Pa and Ma's gods at it. “Come in!”

As Foolish starts saying that that’s not proper etiquette for greeting first time guests, the door gets thrown open. It doesn’t bang on the wall though. That would never happen, not with Misa standing in the doorway in all her glory, in a red dress and a leather jacket and with Diego right behind her. Her eyes, sharp brown as ever, flit over the room before landing on him. “ Tu. ” She points her finger. “ Alex, pendejo, me debes una explicación. Dijiste que saldrías del server para estudiar derecho, ¿y qué hemos oído? ¿Qué hemos oído, Diego? ”

Diego pushes her in the room. He has a fancy green jacket on, with Misa’s family crest on it, and it looks a jarring lot like the one her old personal guard wore. With an amused glint in his eyes, Diego closes the door behind them. “ Que eres presidente de toda una nación, hemos oído, ” he says, as calm as ever.

“It’s more of a city-state honestly. Or a business project,” Quackity smirks weakly. This… is a lot better than he anticipated.

Misa clicks her tongue. “Asshole.” Despite her words, she grins too. Quackity laughs in a mix of relief and happiness as she steps closer with clicking heels and leans down to hug him. “Oh, have I missed your dumb ass.”

“Missed you too, Misa,” he smiles. His cheeks are starting to hurt.

Someone clears their throat near them, and Quackity instantly remembers that Foolish is in the room too. “Oh right.” He lets go of Misa, who takes a step back, and moves a bit more towards Foolish. “Misa, Diego, this is Foolish, my assistant. Foolish, these are Mireia Isidora and Diego.”

“Good morning, Governor,” Foolish says with a tight smile.

“Ah, none of that,” Misa says, waving her hand. “Any friend of Alex is a friend of ours. Just call me Misa.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Foolish mouth ‘Alex’ and turn to him. “Right, yeah sure. Uhm, Quackity? What–”

“Oh! Aw, that’s adorable,” Misa interrupts. Quackity can barely dodge her as she tries to pinch his cheek. “Does everyone actually call you Quackity? You really are Bisabuelo’s patito , uh?”

“Oh cállate, ” he laughs, doing his best to keep both the blush and the freckles off his face.

Foolish clears his throat again and waves at them. “Hello. Still confused over here.”

“My bad, my bad. So, Quackity ,” Misa enunciates, and he flips her off just for that to Foolishness apparent horror, “and I have been friends for, what? Twelve years now? Grew up together and all that.”

“Technically, I grew up with Diego and you appeared on our property later,” he corrects, only to get shushed. He shakes his head and moves over to the desk. "Come on, let's figure out that business partnership before someone bursts a vein."

"There's barely anything to discuss but yeah, sure." Misa strolls over to the chair and leans into its back, lazily crossing her legs. "Nice scar by the way. Did you fight a warden? It's even larger than Tío Marcelo's."

Quackity scowls. "Try a living legend, unfortunately."

Misa grimaces too then, and Diego winces as he takes a seat on the chair beside hers. “Yikes.”

“Tell me about it.” He rolls his eyes and picks up Misa’s proposal from the top of the pile. “Anyway, you were offering newer firearms to our security department?”

“And a specialized instructor who’d train them on how to use them.” She waves her hand, and a sleek black gun appears in her hand. Quackity does not hesitate to take it for himself and study it when she offers. He checks the security, and makes sure to always have it aimed at the table as he admires it.

“It’s just a small batch for the top guards only, but these jewels are silent, higher caliber and easier to conceal without having to resort to the inventory,” Misa continues proudly. “Perfect if you have guests that need not to panic at the sound of a gunshot.”

“Right, and if I recall right you were asking for an alliance in return,” Foolish intervenes. He’s eyeing the gun with visible concern. More so when Quackity passes the gun back to Misa.

Misa nods. “An official one. It’s mostly political backing and other things I just know you love and easier legal procedures for people who want to move and work from one place to the other.”

“I honestly thought you’d go for trading, not gonna lie,” he smiles.

Misa lazily grins back, tapping a rhythm on her leather jacket. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind having some of those funky green guards, but I don’t think they’re for hire.”

“You think right.”

“Pity. I do have another request though.” She leans forward, laying her elbows on her knee. Even Diego sits up straighter. From the subtle glance she sends Foolish, he might not like what she’s about to propose. “I’ve heard the stories, Alexis.”

Quackity shivers at the use of his name. He’s not used to it anymore. Not after four years of being Quackity the no one from nowhere. Misa continues undeterred.

“I know you’ve dealt with spies before, and I know you. I’m sure there are spies all over this ‘business project’ of yours,” she air-quotes. “And the thing is, I haven’t found them. So I would like it if a small group of my spies could be sent here and be trained by whoever trained your spies.”

“That is a lot less worse than I expected,” he sighs and leans back into the wheelchair. Thank God he used the oils yesterday. He gets the feeling he’s gonna do that a lot today, and his back would have hurt like hell by the end. “So here on the proposal I see a shipment of fifteen. I don’t have any way to negotiate the number, do I?” he asks, already mentally compiling a list of guards to arm. Hm, he might use that meeting he already has with Bo.

Misa drums her fingers on the desk, catching his attention again. “Nope, fifteen is final. But I could be persuaded to do sixteen if you start writing home again.”

He gapes at her. She raises a challenging eyebrow at him. A familiar mix of exasperation and fondness swells deep in his chest. He looks away and nods. “I’ll take the sixteen then.” He grabs the fancy sheets of paper from the desk drawer, along with ink and quill, and starts writing the first copy.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she threatens, a tan finger pointed right at his face. Her grin betrays her though. “Sixteen guns then. And then you get–”

“The specialized trainer,” he finishes with her. “All that for official alliance, political backing, open borders and your spies’ training, right?”

“Yep,” she says, popping the ‘p’ and leaning back into the plush chair. “But I’d prefer if that last one stayed off the books.”

“Yeah sure,” he says. With a flourish, he finishes the contract and signs it. “Check this out and sign?”

Misa takes the paper. Her eyes flit over it at an even higher speed than he remembers. Within seconds, she’s raising an eyebrow at his signature — the one he’s been using this whole time, omitting his mother’s last name. She doesn’t say anything though. Thank God for that. “Looks good. Pass me that quill?”

“That’s it?” Foolish pipes up at his side, almost making him startle. Damn, he’s got to stop forgetting there’s other people in the room. “You barely negotiated anything.”

“It’s not like there was much to negotiate.” Misa shrugs. She finishes the signature and passes him the quill back to write the second copy. “I mean, most of this is just to keep up pretenses. I’m offering my brother some help he needs, he’s offering back what he can. What would we even negotiate?”

“Wait, I'm lost. Are you friends or siblings?” Foolish asks, looking between them confused.

Quackity looks at Misa. She looks back and shrugs. “Both?” he answers. “Neither? Honestly, think Tommy and Tubbo.”

“Don’t know who Tommy and Tubbo are but I know for a fact the whole village thought you were siblings with the amount of time you spent at the mansion, Alex, and that she spent at the ranch,” Diego intervenes. When they both look at him, he shrugs. “Honestly, there were wild theories back then. Half the village is still convinced you two are half-siblings.”

Misa scrunches her nose. “Ew.”

Quackity whole-heartedly agrees.

“Well this is gonna be awkward now,” Foolish grimaces. “I, uh, kinda allotted half an hour to each meeting. Lord Robinson won’t be here for nearly twenty minutes.”

“Oh well, better for us,” Misa says. He sees her open her inventory and start rummaging through it.

Quackity looks at Diego for an explanation. The other just looks far too smug. “What?”

“It’s Christmas, Alex. Do you seriously think your family let me come here without burying me in gifts for you?”

Quackity’s shoulders slump as he gapes. “You’re joking. I– No– You told them?”

“First thing I did when I realized,” she says, grinning up at him. “You’re in for it as soon as Pa gets a week free.”

Quackity lets his elbows lay on the desk and groans into his hands.

“It’s what you get for lying to us,” she shrugs. “Next time don’t lie to us about your whereabouts for four years and I won’t sic him on you.”

If he was appalled earlier, he is even more now that Foolish is chuckling along. “Someone got himself in trouble.”

“I really don’t know if I’m happy to see you anymore,” he tells Misa. The effect is ruined by the smile that threatens to form on his lips.

Diego scoffs. “Just be glad we convinced Trisabuelo to not come with us.”

Quackity grimaces on instinct. Then, he does a complete reboot. “He’s still alive?”

“And kicking!” Misa says, finally closing her inventory. “He was up in arms just the other day about some ragged new guy that appeared and started making a mess. Now guess what Danilo and Franci are up to these days.”

She passes him a small box, which he hesitantly takes. “I don’t even know if I want to know. Have they gotten married yet?” He opens the box, only to find a piece of paper over soft cotton, reading ‘dad says it’s your turn to be the uncle that’s a bad influence’ . When he moves it, he finds a six-months-old newspaper cut with a picture of…

No.

“What the fuck is Franci doing married to– wait.” He rereads the paper, then the newspaper, and glances back up at Misa and Diego. “Are they scamming Old Loris out of his title?”

Misa shrugs. “I don’t know anything about that. Though I do have to say that it wasn’t a smart move to be an asshole to everyone when you’re going blind. No one’s gonna tell him his child doesn’t look like him.”

“They’re mad,” he whispers. “They’ve actually gone mad. Look at this shit.” He shoves the paper to Foolish, who takes a glance at it and bursts into laughter.

“Your siblings sound like a riot.”

“Cousin,” he corrects. “Danilo takes after his dad. Tío Marcelo was the bad influence. Franci, that's his partner, is even worse.”

“The… uncle with the scar?” Foolish asks, handing back the paper.

Quackity nods and Diego adds, “he fistfought a creeper.”

Foolish hums, while Misa picks up something else from her hotbar. “Since it looks like I don't know much, do you even have siblings?"

“Misa apparently,” he jokes. Misa snorts and keeps handing him gifts like a crazed woman. “But no, not blood siblings.”

“First person in three generations to not have siblings. Truly sad,” teases Diego.

“Ah, fuck off.” He eyes the blue box with his grandparents’ signatures and Fabiano’s logo suspiciously as he takes it. “This is a knife and it’s staying in the box.” He doesn’t even wait for Misa to protest before opening his inventory and shoving the knife — box and all — in an empty slot.

“Who sends a knife for Christmas?” Foolish asks, shifting one of the small boxes closer to him. “Are there any more? Is your whole family like that, Quackity?”

“I’m sure there’s at least one other weapon or a weapon’s accessory,” He answers. He scans the packages on the desk and glares at a weirdly thin one. He leans over, lays his hand on it and presses. Stiff, but still bends. “This one for sure.”

He grabs it and opens the thick paper wrap. With just a glance inside, he nods to himself. “Aaand Tío Marcelo and Tía Ester keep proving they’re a bad influence.”

“Can I?”

“Sure.” He passes Foolish the bag and starts looking for whatever has Bisabuelo and Bisabuela’s signature. They at least wouldn’t send anything weird.

…Scratch that, Bisabuelo totally would. He deviates from the red box and grabs the tiny cloth pouch. Iris is his safest bet, and that says a lot. “I’m not opening Bisabuelo’s gift out here. I don’t care what you say, I don’t trust it. Same goes for Tía Leticia.”

“Having flashbacks?”

He glares at Diego as he contains a shiver. Yes, he is having flashbacks. He’s not having a repeat of that in front of Foolish. That’s a weapon in the wrong hands. He doesn’t trust Foolish not to spill everything to Lucille and Rinan the moment they’re done, God forbid he lets that story be known here.

“I’m guessing Iris is officially a goldsmith?” he says instead of answering. He tilts the open pouch in his hand and lets a pin slip into his hand. It’s a golden duck. A very well-made and decorated one, but it’s a golden duck. “Really?”

He remains stoic through the three unison snorts, clutching the pin like Iris’s patience could be transferred to him through it. “You done?”

“You don’t help your reputation,” Diego grins. “I mean, Quackity ? Really?”

“Fuck you,” he answers on instinct. He hides Bisabuelo’s and Tía Leticia’s gifts in his inventory. There’s few left on the table. Too few. “Tía Vivi and Tío Rodrigo, Tía Dorotea and Tía Nadia, Tío Emilio, Jacinta…” he whispers to himself, only to frown at the end. “Is dad away again?”

He grabs Tío Emilio’s little box. He’s the one adult in the family who is somewhat normal, and the only one likely to have gotten him a normal gift. In fact, in the box is a beautiful necklace, with a charm of a cross over a small night-sky backdrop.

“He gave me a chest.” Misa leans back into the chair and crosses her legs again. “Couldn't put it in my inventory so it’s still in my room. Need help with that?”

“Nah, I’ve got it,” he says, already latching the necklace behind his neck. “If you’re going straight to your room I can send Raymundo to pick it up. What hotel are you staying at?”

“Oh, the one right by the shore on this side, next to the big casino.” She leans forward and pushes Jacinta’s gift forward.

Quackity grabs the gift, a small wrapped box and so hopefully nothing too weird. He still regards it with the deserved amount of suspicion. “Okay so at Venus. I’ll send Raymundo right away.” The box under the wrapping is pure black. He opens the lid, and lets it fall closed again. “No way.” He opens the box again and stares at the beautiful black and gold fountain pen sat on the velvet.

Foolish whistles. “I’ve got to say, this is all such fancy stuff. Even this thing,” he lifts the bag he’d passed him earlier and points at it, “has incredible manufacture. I can tell that without even recognising what it is.”

“Leg knife holster,” both Misa, Diego and he say together.

“Looks too elegant to be one,” he comments. Still, Foolish gives him the bag back, and Quackity is quick to pull that in his inventory too. Fuck, he’s almost out of slots. “Is your whole family rich then?”

“No one besides Tía Dorotea, but both she and her wife worked their asses off for it.” As he says so, he grabs her signature black-wrapped package. Carefully, he opens the wrapping and pulls out a leatherbound journal. The front is embossed with an intricate rising moon and multiple moonflowers along the bottom. The latch keeping it closed boasts a crown and a cross. It looks an awful lot like his mother’s last journals. He passes a finger over the embossing and the ridges. The bookmark has beautiful motifs of a windy beachside night.

“That’s so beautiful,” says Foolish as he leans over.

Quackity holds the journal tighter and brings it to his chest. “Yeah.” Before the others can take a better look at it, he pushes the journal too in his inventory. This is for later, when he’s alone in his room and can run his fingers over every finish and cry . “Expect a pile of gifts to send back. I’m not letting you leave empty handed.”

“Aw you love us,” Misa teases. As she does so, she flicks tha last package over to him.

The faint sound of metal on metal, dragging across the wood, catches his attention. He raises an eyebrow. “You know what that is, don’t you?”

Misa grins. It’s Diego that answers though, an amused glint in his charcoal eyes. “Maybe.”

Quackity huffs. He feels no remorse as he tears the innocently snowflake-patterned wrap. Of course, Tía Viviana and Tío Rodrigo sent him a belt holster. Though, the decorative chain with hanging French card suits charms on the opposite side of the holster looks incredibly cool. “Don’t mind if I do,” he says, already unlatching the chain and moving it to his pants.

“You’re on a wheelchair behind the desk, no one’s gonna see it,” Misa says. Quackity rewards her comment by flipping her off.

“Oh come on,” Diego scolds them as Misa flips him off right back. “You act like children.”

Quackity raises his hands in mock-surrender. “Yeah yeah, I won’t bother your charge. Congratulations on the promotion by the way. I’m impressed you got such a respectable position. Meritable as you are, I didn’t think–”

“Oh, shut it. You know father will never let me marry someone of ‘lesser status,’ whatever that means.” Misa leans forward and lays her chin on her hand. “It’s fucking bullshit, I tell you. He’s making me look at suitors. Suitors , Alex, suitors. I haven’t met a single one who is even decent.”

Diego frowns and leans back, crossing his arms. “I mean, there was that guy from Zor. What was his name, Erik or something?”

“Erik gained points simply for saying from the start that he was only there because of his parents and that I had no obligation to even consider him.” Misa makes a smaller package appear in her hand and passes it over to him.

Quackity raises an eyebrow at her, vividly remembering Abuela’s stories as he grabs the package. “I’m guessing this is from you two. And any chance you’re talking about Erik Lundström? Secondborn of Stefan and Agnes Lundström?”

“That’s from us and that’s exactly him. You know him?”

“I met the family at the Christmas Party.” He leans forward and mock-covers his mouth with his free hand. “Between you and me, his parents are a real piece of work.”

Misa snorts and leans back. “Joy. Poor guy. He’s pretty cool too. We spent the whole time we were supposed to ‘court’ chatting about technological advancements.”

Quackity stops opening the package. He glances at both Diego, looking done with the world, and Foolish, leaning forward with full interest. Misa looks caught in her own thoughts. Then she lights up.

“Oh. I think I’ve just had the most genius idea in the world.”

Quackity smiles and resumes opening the last gift. He pulls a pair of stiff fingerless leather gloves out of the package, which he immediately uses to point at Misa. “You pull an Abuela.”

“I pull an Abuela,” she confirms, pointing back. “Political marriage ain’t real marriage. God bless her life lessons. Erik was at the Christmas Party, you said. Do you know if he’s still here?”

“I have a meeting with his father today, so yes but I don’t know where he’s staying,” he says as he pulls on the gloves. Despite the stiffness, they don’t struggle to bend. They kind of remind him of… “Are these gun-slinging gloves?”

“They are. Gotta keep up family traditions, don’t we?” Misa grins.

A stone drops on Quackity’s stomach. It weighs of guilt and advice he never took. He doesn’t show any of that, covering himself with a chuckle. “That we do.” He glances at the clock on the wall, right behind Misa. It’s just a minute before right thirty. Robinson will be here any minute now. He sighs. “Looks like we’re pretty much out of time. How long are you staying?”

“Until Friday morning. Then we’ve got to get going and fast if we want to make it back home in time for New Year.” Misa gets back up, pulls her copy of the contract into her inventory and smiles. “That eager to get rid of me?”

“That eager to know when to drop off all the gifts to send back.”

Misa snorts. “Sure, I’ll pretend to believe that. Don’t make yourself a stranger while I’m around. And send that Raymundo guy to pick up Pa’s gift.”

“I will. I’d stand up and hug you but that’s a bit hard right now,” he says, offering a fist to bump.

Misa rolls her eyes, but she complies. “You and your excuses.” She turns to Foolish and nods at him. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Foolish.”

“Likewise,” Foolish says as he gets up and moves towards the door. “Have a good day, both of you.”

“Thanks man,” Diego says, lightly pushing a joke-glaring Misa out of the door. “See you around.”

“Yeah, see ya,” he calls back before Foolish lets the door fall closed. He sighs, and slumps in the wheelchair. “I am so sorry. You didn’t have to sit through that.”

“Are you kidding, I loved that. I have so much gossip on foreign countries now, and we’re only one meeting in,”  Foolish says, staying by the door.

Quackity looks at him and takes out his comm to message Raymundo. “And the blackmail material is nice, isn’t it?”

“I wasn’t going to say it but yes.” Foolish shrugs. “Lord Robinson was just arriving when Artemisa left. Tell me when to let him in.”

“One second,” he says. He opens the blue folder and tucks his copy of the contract in its place in Intari’s section. “Okay we’re good to go.”

Foolish nods, opens the door, and steps out. “Lord Robinson? Please, come in.” He steps aside, and in comes a giant of a man, with a deep frown and darkened eyes.

Quackity gulps as Foolish comes back in and closes the door again. What follows are over four hours of arguing, bartering and negotiating that leave him completely drained by the end. Though, he gets out of the morning meetings with more funds than he could have imagined and extensive expansion plans into the still unclaimed lands of Di’Essempi just west.

By the time Baroness Anne Dale is out of the office, both Foolish and he are ready to collapse on the desk. “Right,” Foolish says as he stands up. “I’m gonna go grab lunch with Lucille and Rinan.”

“Have fun,” Quackity answers, still putting the last contract away. “I’ll be out in a minute too. See you back here at two twenty-five?”

Foolish groans. “Yeah, see you then.” And with that, he’s out of the door. Quackity can’t wait to follow him.

He minimally fixes up the desk and then hurries out the door, double checking to have locked. Maybe he’ll try that noodle cart that popped up by the Eiffel Tower. Samira was talking it up all last week.

There aren’t many people along the streets, and those who are there are more preoccupied with getting in a restaurant than talking to him. And, well, Lucille was right. The wind has gotten stronger. Though, not strong enough to keep people from having a picnic in the glass gazebos strewn all over the park by the Eiffel Tower. The whole place is filled with couples and families happily eating away. The food carts and small stands are still dealing with the dredges of lines. Luckily enough, the noodle cart seems to be faring well. There aren’t that many people left. He adjusts his beanie and his coat, because the wind is restless, and joins the queue.

It’s a little more than five minutes and three people later that he’s ready to find a corner to eat in, armed with a paper bowl of spicy noodles and chopsticks. Only, he hears Zire call his name. He turns around.

Zire is holding open the door of one of the smaller gazebos. Behind xem, Felix, Lavinia and Celeste are sitting at a picnic table. Xe’s beckoning him closer. Well, who is he to ignore such a generous invite? He moves over. “Hello Zire.”

Xe smiles and holds the door wider. “Hello. Would you care to join us?”

“If you insist,” he jokes.

“Ah shut up and come in,” yells Lavinia from inside.

Quackity chuckles as Zire shakes xirs head, but he heads inside. “Good day to you as well,” he says while he waits for Zire to close the door and take xirs seat.

Celeste, who was previously busy trying to snag some spaghetti with her fork, looks up and grins. She shuffles to the side, further from Felix. “Hi! Come here, come here. Please.”

“Why, hello to you too,” he says, moving his wheelchair to the head of the table by the girl. “How are you on this fine day?”

She wiggles a bit in her seat and goes back to twirling the fork through the spaghetti. “I’m good. We’re exploring and everything’s so pretty. Though we’ve just been walking and walking.”

“Ah, that must be boring.” He breaks the chopsticks apart and stirs his ramen. He’s got to say, so far Samira has him convinced. He hasn’t even started eating yet, but the smell is amazing.

“Hm, not boring. Just… mono-to-nous. It’s a lot of looking at buildings. They’re really pretty but I wanna do something.”

Quackity nods along. “It’s so cruel. Have you seen the park yet?”

“Yeah but no one wants to play ‘cause they’re ‘too old’ to play,” she huffs.

“We haven’t really seen anyone with children her age around,” Felix adds. He too has a plate of pasta in front of him, though not spaghetti.

He swallows a bite of his noodles — so good, spicy to perfection — and nods. “I’m not surprised. Traveling with young kids isn’t a lot of fun, especially long distance. It’s not really worth it if you’re not sure your kid’s gonna enjoy it too.” He lifts his head. Zire and Lavinia are both staring at him, though Lavinia seems more scrutinizing. “Quite honestly, I’m surprised you’ve stuck around this long.”

“We’ll be sticking around a while longer too.”

Quackity almost chokes on his food. He looks up at Zire, shocked by xirs words. “What for? We don’t really have events scheduled anytime soon.”

“No, but people talk. I’ve overheard my brother is going to come over?” Xirs gaze sharpens as xe lays xirs glass on the table. “I’m not leaving you to deal with him on your own.”

“He won’t be here until after New Year,” he rebuts. His noodles slip through the chopsticks. He barely catches them before they fall back into the carton.

Lavinia snorts, and he sends her a mock glare for it. She remains completely unperturbed as she speaks. “Trust me, you’ll want xem around for that. The guy is a diii–plomatic disaster,” she cuts herself off at Zire’s and Felix’s glare.

“Still after New Year,” he says, trying to keep himself from snorting.

Zire hums. “Of course, but I can get started on damage control while we’re here. Which is why we’ve extended our stay until the thirty-first.”

“Zire, that’s madness. Celeste is gonna go stir-crazy. And don’t you have an event for New Year’s planned?” he points out, barely keeping himself from pointing with the chopsticks too.

“It’s already fully organized, and the event managers are perfectly capable of setting it up without us.”

“Besides, we live quite literally an hour away from here,” Felix adds.

Even Celeste hums and nods. “We’re really really close. It’s really nice, ‘cause it’s really nice here and I wanna see it without snow too.”

“Ah, you’ve got to tell your Xaxa that. Xe’s the one in charge,” he tells her, making his smile softer. “Maybe next time there’ll be more kids your age too.”

“Hmh, maybe.” She finishes the last of her food and perks up. “See Dada, I finished it. Can we go play then?”

Quackity struggles to not snort at the deadpan stare Celeste gets from Felix. “Be polite, sweetheart. We have guests.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not offended,” he reassures. He tilts his head and grins at Celeste. “She’s a kid, and we’re having such a boring adult talk,” he adds with a wink.

Celeste giggles and leans back. “Sooo boring. Please save me, Mister Quackity.”

He chuckles and grabs the last of his noodles. “I’m afraid what you’re doing is far more interesting than what I’ll be doing in an hour, kiddo. Sorry.”

“Locked in meetings?” grins Zire. He is very, very tempted to flip xem off. He won’t though.

“Unfortunately. I have meetings scheduled all the way into tomorrow afternoon.”

The reaction is immediate. Zire and Felix grimace, while Lavinia outright cringes. Even Celeste pats his arm and frowns up at him. “Good luck.”

He can’t help but laugh. “Thank you, kiddo. I’ll need it.”

His comm dings. He sighs, still putting back his chopsticks, and takes out the comm. There is a single text from Raimundo, which isn’t really either bad or unusual given Raymundo’s job. What he hates is what he’s written.

RayGarcy: 0.0

He tilts his head and frowns. Before he can even try to understand what the text means, his comm dings again with a text from Olivia.

OliveOli: you can try to keep your secrets, but i will not be stopped. my thirst for knowledge surpasses your attempts to keep a mysterious aura

OliveOli: on another note, guess who i just made friends with by the needle ;)

Dread shoots down his spine. If there is one thing that he never wants to see, it’s Misa in the same room as any of crazy teammates and friends, especially Olivia or Bel. Eoghan and Nina are on thin ice.

“My apologies, I have to go. We should do this again,” he tells Zire and xirs family with what he hopes is a calm smile.

Zire stands up as well and steps away from the table. “It’s okay. We’re coming with you.”

He’s about to rebut when Celeste gasps. “Oh! Can we, Mister Quackity, can we?”

Behind her, Lavinia looks incredibly smug, and even Felix raises his eyebrows at him. He stares at all three of them, completely betrayed. Olivia, Zire and Misa in close contact is… a worst-case scenario. He can’t say no to Celeste though. The kid is a big-eyed angel. Hopefully, Misa and Olivia will be less inclined to commit felonies together if there’s a kid around.

“Yeah. Sure,” he sighs.

“Yay!” Celeste jumps up in excitement and hops off the bench, only to skip over to his side. She’s close enough to the wheelchair to touch it, but she doesn’t. “Dada was telling me about the big metal tower outside. It isn’t the only one like that?”

Quackity’s heart clenches momentarily. Still, he takes the noodles’ carton and heads for the door, Celeste at his side. “Nope, it’s just a copy. A smaller copy too.”

“Wow.”

Zire holds the door for xirs family and him as they all get out, and he sends xem a quiet “thank you”.

“Pretty cool, uh?” he smiles at Celeste as she looks around in wonder. They are pretty much right under the tower after all.

“Yes! Oh, oh, what about the river-thing around the big fancy building? Why is it there?”

“Oh, that one’s just to look nice,” he tells her like it’s a secret. She giggles. He smiles and turns to Zire. Xe’s at his side, walking leisurely as xe keeps an eye on xirs daughter. From the sound of quiet chatting behind them, Felix and Lavinia are close too. “I’m guessing I can’t change your mind on staying longer.”

“Not in the slightest,” xe smiles.

“Good to know. I’ll see if I can find someone to guide to a more populated park tomorrow,” he says.

Celeste lights up like a fairy light. “There is one? With more kids?”

“Yep, but it’s a secret park. That’s why there needs to be someone to take you there,” he winks at her. He can feel Zire’s appraising look on the side of his head though.

“And where would this park be?” xe asks. Even Felix and Lavinia hush up behind them.

He’s not that easily intimidated though. He’s stared down far more awful things than a friend protective of xirs daughter. “With the secret housing and the secret shops and the secret schools for my not-so-secret citizens. Where else?”

Lavinia snorts from behind. “Told ya there had to be a hidden city or something.”

“It’s not even that well hidden, honestly. Anyone could stumble into it by accident,” he rebuts. They’re nearing the front of the Casino and the fountain. From here on and out, nearly everything is visible. Especially the two figures right by the honeysuckle bush at the base of the ceremony hall, one clearly Olivia and the other… Oh. That’s not Misa.

“Heya Boss!” comes Olivia’s shout.

A gust of wind blows by, stronger than yesterday’s, and makes all the plants wave towards the two. Quackity sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose as he watches her drag Sapnap closer. She definitely worded her texts like that on purpose, he’s sure of it. Had him come all the way here half-ready to have to forcefully separate her from Misa.

“Bossie Boss. Boss man. And guests. Hello!” She skips over to them and stops with a grin.

Sapnap, who has apparently gotten wiser overnight, opts for a more proper nod and “good day”.

To Quackity’s relief, Zire just looks amused as xe nods back, while he can hear Lavinia get shushed by Felix for snorting. Celeste is quiet though. He doesn’t know what to make of it.

“Yes, yes, good day. Bossie, you never told us Sapnap was funny ,” she grins. There is an excited glint in her eyes, and he’s not gonna wait for that bomb to explode.

“Shouldn’t you be at home?” he deviates. He’s not gonna get slandered like this by his friends while in high-class company. “You know, recovering? Do I need to call Nina on you? I know Bo had to do that yesterday.”

“Medical leave doesn’t mean bed-bound.”

“No, but it means ‘don’t run after major surgery,’” he stresses.

“An unfortunate reality we have to deal with,” he hears Lavinia comment from behind. Felix sighs, while Zire giggles.

Olivia and Sapnap both grin. “Finally someone that agrees.”

Well. Now he’s got to hope Sapnap and Lavinia never meet Faolán and Rinan. He sighs. “Right. Zire, these are Olivia, one of our top guards–”

“Thank you~”

“–and Sapnap. Sap, Olivia, these are Archduke Zire and xirs family, Lady Lavinia, Lord Felix and their daughter Celeste.”

“Hi,” the girl pipes up quietly at his side. She’s staring very intently at Olivia. "You're pretty."

“Aw, thank you, kid,” she says, squatting down. “What is a cutie such as yourself doing with my mean, mean boss?”

He ignores that conversation and turns instead to Sapnap, who is shaking hands with Zire with a bowed head. Felix is stepping closer too. It’s a relief to see them being cordial with each other.

“What are you doing around here, Sap?” he asks lightly as soon as he’s sure he’s not interrupting a conversation.

Sapnap grins. “What? Am I not allowed to visit?”

“Are you not from here?” Zire asks. Xirs eyes keep flitting between Sapnap and him. Like xe’s searching for something.

Sapnap shakes his head, letting his hand fall down close to Quackity’s shoulder. He has a new jacket on. Quackity mentally jots down to give back the other. “I’m not. I’m from Kinoko Kingdom.”

“Quite far,” xe comments. “It must take a few hours to come here.”

“Only one and a half. Less on horseback. The continent is quite small,” he shrugs. “What of you, your Grace, if I can ask?”

Quackity nearly sags in relief as he hears Sapnap address Zire formally. He can tell that even Zire has picked up on it with interest. It’s not everyone that knows the proper way to address an archduke. In fact, xe regards Sapnap with sharper eyes. “Oh, we are from–”

“Quackity!”

Everyone startles at the shout, Celeste included. Though, she more so freezes in place, still with Olivia’s skull earring in her hand. Sapnap, Olivia and Lavinia all have a weapon in their hands, whether a sword or gun. Quackity exchanges a glance with Sapnap and Olivia as they recognize the voice.

“Tommy?” Quackity calls back, heedless of the stares the people around them threw.

Tommy peeks out from behind the Needle, looking rattled. Michael is in his arms, while Shroud is clinging to his back like a backpack. Tommy sags and runs towards them.

Quackity glances back at Zire. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” xe says, taking a step back and moving towards Lavinia and Celeste. “This is clearly important.”

He nods and meets Olivia’s eyes while he turns. “Go tell Bo to have the perimeter checked. I don’t want nasty surprises.”

“Yessir.” She holsters her gun and starts jogging down the Avenue. When she passes Tommy, she gives his shoulder a tight squeeze.

Tommy gets to them panting and red-eyed, nearly squeezing Michael in his arms. “I’m so sorry, Big Q, we didn’t know where else to–”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, moving forward to take Micheal from Tommy’s arms. “Deep breaths, kiddo. What’s going on?”

“Ranboo’s gone.”

Quackity feels Sapnap freeze at his side. Tommy, already halfway into a panic, doesn’t notice. “We’ve been searching all morning all over Snowchester and no one’s seen him. Not even Eret’s guards at the Pyramid. Tubbo’s going to Techno to ask for help tracking him down since he’s helped before.”

“There’s more to it though, isn’t there?” He puts a hand on Tommy’s arm, letting Michael play with the chain and its charms. “You wouldn’t have ran here with the kids otherwise.”

Tommy shuffles on his feet and wrings his hands. On his back, Shroud coo’s. “I’m… pretty sure Dream is involved. I was seeing green out of the corner of my eye all the way back home yesterday, and Ranboo was out of it like when he enderwalks.”

“Did you pass by Pandora?” Sapnap asks, taking a step forward. Shroud chirps at him and waves three of his hands.

“No, we stayed by the shore. We only passed Rutabagville and McChill’s and Seapeekay’s old places. And Eret says their guards haven’t seen Dream once in the last few months.” Tommy gulps. He’s shaking like a leaf. “They said they’re coming to help the search too. I’m staying with them while we search, but if Dream really is involved…”

“Then it’s better for the kids to be elsewhere,” he grimaces. Fuck, he’s locked in meetings until the evening today. He mentally runs a list of who has the afternoon free. He doesn’t want to ask Nina and Olivia, recovering one from a string of night shifts and one from surgery. Maybe Paul would let them hang around the shop? Or–

A small head pops up beside him. Micheal, still in his lap, looks over the side of the wheelchair and meets eyes with Celeste. She’s staring in awe. “You’re little. Like me.”

“Celeste,” scolds Zire.

Before anyone can process further, Shroud hops down from Tommy’s shoulders and hops over to Celeste’s side. He tilts his head and waves, once again with three of his hands. “Hi.”

Celeste grins and waves back, wide-eyed. “Hi!”

The contrast is incredibly stark, with Michael and Shroud both being hybrids and dressed in layers of muted dark reds and blues and browns, while Celeste — who is very human — wears a pale lilac dress under a cream coat.

“Where…” Tommy starts. As soon as he lifts his head and sees Lavi and Felix looking at their daughter exasperated, he freezes. Zire though looks more contemplative. “Oh. I’m– I’m sorry, I didn’t realize– I can take them somewhere else. It’s not–”

“It’s quite alright,” interrupts Zire. Xe’s still looking at the three kids interacting with each other. Xe then glances at Tommy and walks closer. “Tommy, right?”

Tommy looks xem up and down and nods. “Yes?”

Zire smiles at him and glances back at the kids still playing around Quackity’s chair. The contemplative glint in xirs eyes has gotten sharper. “I’m Zire. Quackity and I are friends.”

Quite suddenly, Quackity recalls Celeste lamenting her boredom no more than twenty minutes ago.

“Zire, I know what you’re thinking,” he intervenes before things go too far. “They’ll eat her alive.”

“You don’t know that,” xe waves him off.

He scowls. “Oh, I do know that. She’ll know how to swear by the end of the day.”

Tommy blinks twice and catches on. He curls in sheepishly. “We’re not that bad.”

“No, you are,” Sapnap says without hesitation. “It just doesn’t matter for you or Tubbo if your kids swear. Pretty sure it matters for xe…m?”

Zire nods distantly. Xe’s still looking at the kids. “They don’t talk much, do they?”

“Not in English,” admits Tommy softly. He rubs a hand up and down his arm. The coat he has on is far too long for him. Probably one of Ranboo’s old ones. “We only started teaching them recently. Shroud’s picked it up fast but he still hisses, while Michael keeps swapping English words with Piglish ones.”

Celeste nods sagely at something Michael said, while Shroud hops excitedly on the spot. Quackity feels his hopes dissipate.

Zire nods and turns back to Tommy. “We’ll take care of them, don’t worry. You can go look for your friend.”

“Zire–” he starts.

Xe shakes xirs head at him. “You’re locked in meetings all day. Celeste is enjoying herself and we’ve got the time. We’re doing this.” Then xe looks back at Tommy and nods. “If it’s alright with you of course.”

“I… I…” Tommy looks at him with furrowed brows. He glances back at Zire, then at the kids. When he meets his eyes again, Quackity nods. “I… would appreciate that. Thank you.”

“Of course,” xe smiles. Xe summons xirs communicator and steps closer to Tommy. “Let me get your username. That way you can check in with us directly.”

“Ah, yes. Thank you. And, if you need to ask anything, don’t worry about disturbing us. I know they can be a handful,” Tommy says, visibly eyeing the rich clothes both Zire and Celeste are wearing. Felix and Lavinia aren’t much different.

As soon as Zire and Tommy are done, Quackity bumps the back of his hand against his arm, then squeezes it reassuringly. “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay. You’ll find him.”

Tommy smiles tightly at him.

“Ready to go?” asks Sapnap, pulling up the collar of his jacket.

Tommy turns to him with furrowed brows. “What?”

“I’m coming with you.” Sapnap explains. He takes another step forward and lays a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “If Dream’s behind this, then it’s better if you’re not on your own. Besides, as much as Technoblade might be an excellent tracker, two trackers are still better than one. Especially when dealing with a ghost. Being mostly incorporeal means he won’t have left many tracks.”

Quackity frowns, then jolts upright. “Not Boo, though. He was almost always corporeal, wasn’t he?”

Tommy freezes too. “Yeah. Yeah, no, he never went incorporeal. We could always touch him, and he was always picking up things or moving stuff and holding Michael’s hand.”

Tommy and he exchange a glance, then look at Sapnap in worry. “That… could that be a reason for Dream to take him?” Tommy asks.

Sapnap frowns. “Probably. Let’s go, we might find him before Dream tries anything.”

“Yeah. Uhm, this way.”

Before Tommy and Sapnap can get going, Quackity knocks the back of his fingers against the back of Sapnap’s. “Stay safe. Don’t fight him” he whispers.

“Of course,” Sapnap whispers back. Then he looks at Zire, Felix and Lavinia, standing by the kids. “It was a pleasure to meet you,” he bows his head.

“Oh yeah, same. See you later, Big Q.”

“Get going,” he yells at the two. Then, under his breath, he mutters “idiots”.

“You’ll have to catch me up onto the history of this part of the server.” When Quackity turns, Zire is staring holes into his very soul. “I’ve got the feeling that this is pretty big.”

“And the name ‘Dream’ is very familiar,” nods Felix.

“That too. So we’re gonna need explanations.”

Just as he's about to start talking, Foolish, Lucille and Rinan appear from behind a restaurant.

"Was that Sapnap and Tommy that ran by?" asks Foolish, only to stop in his tracks as he sees Zire, Felix and Lavinia.

Rinan peeks from above him and signs. «Why are Michael and Shroud playing with a young noble?»

"Because shi– stuff happened," comes Olivia's voice as she jogs back to them. "Bo told me to tell you he's sending lookouts out, but he needs specifics."

He sighs, but nods. "Rinan, can you send out an alert when you get back on your post? Boo disappeared and Dream is likely behind it."

Rinans gaze darkens even further as he nods. Olivia swears, and Lucille doesn't look far from copying her, tugging her headcover further down her forehead. “Have they already gone?”

Quackity nods at her — it was misfortune that they arrived just a second too late — and focuses on Foolish instead. The other's eyebrows have disappear into his hairline. "Why would he take Boo?" he asks while Rinan waves and bows slightly to Zire and xirs family, then jogs back towards the Toll Gate. 

"Don't know and quite honestly don't care as long as we can find him before something that can't be undone happens to him." He looks over at Olivia and glances at Zire and the kids as he speaks. "I know you're on leave but can I ask you to take them to the kids' park in the City? And warn them about Dream?"

Olivia furrows her brows. "Ya sure, Boss?"

"Yeah. They're trustworthy. And then get some rest. We'll need you at your best if Dream decides to show his ugly mask around again." He looks at Zire and nods at xem. “My apologies. I’ll get everything you need to be aware of as soon as I can, but–”

“It’s okay. We understand,” xe nods. “Do what you have to. I’m sure Miss Olivia can inform us of anything urgent.”

“And maybe give us a few tips,” says Lavinia. Both he and Zire look over. She’s lowered herself to the ground and is poking a giant spider on Celeste’s back. The fact that neither Michael nor Celeste are alarmed tells a lot.

“Shroud, climb down and shift back,” he calls. Shroud makes a displeased noise, but he gets back on the ground and shifts back to his humanoid form. Then he proceeds to blow a raspberry. Michael and Celeste immediately copy him. 

Lucille and Foolish wince beside him, while Olivia tries to mask a snort with a cough. Quackity just blinks at the three children and turns to Felix and Zire. “They’re all yours. Olivia, with them. Foolish, how much longer do we have before the meeting with Lord Lundström?”

“Like, uh, less than ten minutes,” Foolish answers, grimacing as he does.

Quackity grimaces too. He nods at Zire and xirs family. “I’ll see you later.”

“Have fun,” Olivia yells. Thankfully, the others simply wave or nod.

He moves away, Foolish at his side. As soon as they can’t see him anymore, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “God, I can already feel the headache they’ll give me together.”

Foolish shrugs. “At least Misa wasn’t there?”

“The fact that that’s now a possibility will keep me awake at night.”

He lets Foolish laugh at the ‘joke’ and just stares out the elevator as they go up the Needle. He hopes, for Tubbo’s sake, that they can find Boo. 

He holds the rings in his breast pocket tight and hopes they don’t run into Dream either.