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Wilbur sat idly on one of the benches besides the Ranvan, tapping his foot on the growing grass he had yet to trim. The day had long since ended, the sun sinking below the horizon as his fourth cigarette flicked to the ground.
He far preferred to think when he was outside like this, the gentle hum of nature and the distant bustle of the city accompanied him well, like old friends. It left him some company when the rampant urgency of his own head suddenly gave way to silence in interludes.
Quackity was on the mind at this time of night, he always was, so it was an occurrence that Wilbur had decided not to complain about much longer. Then again, Wilbur had come to the realization of his true feelings for the man recently, and that somehow gave way to complete acceptance of any thoughts that weren’t dirty minded- in fact, tender.
Wilbur found himself writing brief songs, unsent (and often burned) love letters, and poems about Quackity when he allowed his mind to wander and daydream. Brief scenes of holding his hand or slinging his arms around his waist, of waking up next to him each and every day.
He supposes it was inevitable that he would fall for the other, when being ‘rivals with benefits’ turned to hours of cuddling and gentle kisses, making breakfast in the morning when neither of them usually would eat, and stolen glances of admiration.
Yet, there was still a bit of surprise when the realization hit him, standing half naked in front of his cabin mirror after a luke-warm shower. He was wondering if he was having a heart attack or some kind of myocardial failure, but all that accompanied the ache in his chest were flashes of Quackity and a sense of longing. Wilbur had looked into the mirror and said, “Oh, Gods, I love him.”
He knew to expect the unexpected, Quackity taught him that, but that may have been the issue. He was waiting for something completely out of the water to hit him like a high-speed rail on the tracks, but it was the feelings that had been building between them for months now that seemed to settle itself in the palm of his hand.
And that was the problem, because he hadn’t properly seen or heard from Quackity in about a week now. A week and six hours, if he were to be precise.
He had been sent handwritten letters and spared brief glances in the mere moments he could catch Quackity in the public, but none of those interactions answered anything he had in mind. Had Wilbur done something wrong? Was there a boundary that he crossed that he didn’t know about? Did somebody tell rumors or spread lies?
… Was he okay?
These letters usually consisted of brief addresses, all of which seemed way too professional for the topic at hand. ’Dearest Wilbur,’ It would begin, ‘I apologize for my sudden absence and incapability to reply to any questions and attempts at contact, Las Nevadas has been quickly growing and as such matters have come to my attention that take up a majority if not all of my free time. I will update you as soon as possible should anything important step up, but for now, this is all I have.’
The more they came, every other day or so and most recently barely a few hours ago, the more it infuriated him. The more it worried him as well, repeating the same type of message with different wording and progressively more messy handwriting.
That's why he was moping outside of his burger van, trying to think of a solution. He knew his permissions on Las Nevadas were strict despite being allowed there- only allowed by prior notice and agreement to said notice, but Quackity hadn’t been responding to any messages on his communicator lately, all left on delivered.
Wilbur didn’t want to lose any of what they had, it had become… Special to him. To the both of them, at least that's what he has been able to tell by the way their fingers would interlock and his eyes shone with glee after every time they got together. Of course there were arguments, of course there were disagreements and off days, but they weren’t the same people they were before this whole ‘benefits’ thing was added to the ‘rivals’- they knew how to talk now. They WANTED to talk, now.
How could they continue with this if Quackity couldn’t tell him what was going on beyond a rushed presidentially signed letter. He didn’t need a professionally written address, he needed to listen. He wanted to listen.
Wilbur hopes that Quackity does too.
More than anything, of course, he wanted Quackith to be fine. He wants to be able to wipe his tears with the reassurance that there won’t be any in the days to come, wants to bury his face into his neck and feel the warmth that comes from joy-
“Wilbur from Lmanburg!!” A voice comes and Wilbur cannot save himself from falling off of the bench, letting out a pained ‘Oomf!’ when he hits the grass below. He recognized the voice, but the sudden interruption of the silence jolted him a little.
“Slime-! What- Jesus Christ, what are you doing here?” Wilbur stands, brushing his dirty coat off despite there not possibly being anything else that could get on it at this point. That’s another thing he noticed, Quackity always cleaned his coat despite him feeling no need for it. To have it dirty for so long felt… Odd.
“Wilbur from Lmanburg- you have been looking for Quackity from Las Nevadas, right?” Slime says sheepishly, looking down at the ground as if he had bad news. Wilbur knew that wasn’t the case, if anything bad happened to the president it’d run buckwild through the city and have reached him by now.
“Yes, I- I am… He sent me this letter today, but he won’t reply to me otherwise.” Wilbur has been debating walking right into Las Nevadas without notice, as strange as it felt, just because of how far his anxiety was growing. This was dumb.
“… Can we talk, Wilbur from Lmanburg?” Slime says it like it isn’t a question, more so an invitation, maybe even a command. If it will get him answers, let Wilbur know that Quackity is okay, then he will take a shot in the dark.
As they walk, Wilbur sort of wonders why he didn’t think of this earlier. A while back in passing conversation Quackity had mentioned that if he had any dire questions or was missing out on something all he needed to do was ask Slime, and he’d be sent straight to him.
Maybe he was just caught in the confusion of the moment to think right.
☾ ☾ ☾
“I know I come off as dumb, and I can be clueless to the world around me sometimes, but I’ve been here for a long time, Wilbur from Lmanburg.” Slime breaks the silence, suddenly turning his attention from the stars above to where Wilbur stood at the center of the roof.
They were on the roof of an apartment building, it seems like, about six stories off of the ground, there was a little set up that seems to have been made for Slime by himself. A private place, maybe, one that wasn’t a damp hole in the ground. It was a lovely view, one they have spent the past five ish minutes surveying.
Wilbur never really took much time to actually stop and look at the place, not for a long time, and in that span of time a lot of things have changed about Las Nevadas. All of those meetings and paperwork and unexpected important discussions did seem to have a value to them after all, beyond Wilbur missing out on seeing Quackity. It was impressive, something to be proud of.
“I have been here since before you even arrived on the server. And if there's one thing I've noticed, it’s patterns.” Slime frowns, walking up to the edge of the roof and peering down at the concrete below. If a human were to fall, their body would most likely splat like a raw egg on the pavement- but he's convinced that a slime like him could get up just fine.
Quackity did talk about Slime a little bit, given the nickname ‘Charlie’ more recently, how he wasn’t really human. The enigma of his kind, and how since the start of the server it has been watching with careful eye- knowing more than he lets on. He never put it past Charlie to be like that either, he always did seem to know way too much about personal things that not even Q would know, nonetheless be able to tell it.
“Patterns?” Wilbur prompts, furrowing his eyebrows.
“Yes, patterns. And… Over the past few days, Quackity from Las Nevadas seems to be going down a very bad path… He seems to be very sick.” Wilburs heart drops, and he furrows his eyebrows- which is seemingly enough of a notion to continue.
“Back in Lmanburg, you would overwork yourself a lot right?” Charlie points out and Wilbur has to do a double take. Of course it would know about that, he seems to know literally everything that the average person could swear was a behind the scenes kind of thing.
Wilbur nods in agreement, picturing his past self. Not taking off that shiny Lmanburg uniform for sometimes days at a time, trying to pull himself together to get shit done in a way that only cause him to crash harder.
He remembers leaving the stage and breaking down behind closed doors, sobbing into his pillow until he fell asleep, sometimes biting onto a towel and screaming until his throat was sore. Those were details he prayed Slime was not as informed of.
“You were… Very sad, at that time. At least that’s the word I know how to describe it as. After Eret from the castles betrayal, you were not… Happy.” Slime follows, and Wilbur looks down as if in shame. He almost, for a moment, forgets who this conversation was about.
“I was. I was very stressed out, and didn’t know how to handle it.” Wilbur agrees.
“I think, Wilbur from Lmanburg, that Quackity from Las Nevadas feels the same.” Suddenly it makes sense. Because Quackity had never been the type to talk about his emotions or display that anything as ‘minimal and inevitable’ as stress or trauma affected him. “He hasn’t slept in a few days.”
It had become one of Las Nevadas’ work slogans, not to let emotions get in the way of anything- that they are unwelcome. Of course big Q would bury himself neck deep in his duties if something like that came up, because he was never the type of person to let a bad day ruin things. Quackity had always been there to soothe him through subdrop or any sort of dissociative episode or nightmare- and that had rightfully prompted the same wonder in Wilbur, too.
Q told him once, in a moment in connection during a particularly bad aftermath. ’I wake from nightmares silently, so I don’t look out of place to anyone who might see me. I just turn around and go back to bed, so it’s like the haunting didn’t even happen.’
It intrigued Wilbur just how strong Quackity was, how resilient and determined he was. He swears he’s never seen the raven haired man cry- not since before he died, at least. Or, should his memory be failing him, not recently.
“Can I help him?” Wilbur blurts out suddenly, looking back up to Charlies gaze from where he had been staring at the ground beneath them. “I want to see him, if I can. Maybe I can help.”
He wanted to try, for Quackity. After all this time of being taken care of, he wanted to reciprocate that- maybe he could give Q that same feeling of being loved and appreciated that he got whenever he was held in the other's arms in a vulnerable place.
“Quackity from Las Nevadas is up on the needle right now. I can take you there.” Charlie smiles, seemingly pleased with the outcome of this conversation. It wastes no time in trudging back towards the ladders, even as Wilbur glared into the distance, up at the silhouette of the space needle halfway across the city, where he could see a few lights shining inside.
Quackity has spoken highly of his city on many occasions, mostly a reason for his good mood, which Wilbur would point out in sheer curiosity. The high skyline, the different blends of people who lived there, just how proud he was that everything was working out for him.
More than anything, he seemed to have been infatuated with how close to the stars he felt atop his tallest buildings. Like he could just reach out and touch them with his bare hands.
’We’re going to become stars when we die one day, you know that Wilbur?’ He had said one day up on the needle, the sky reflecting in his pupils.
Of every flashing light in this city, of every single tall building and shiny attraction, Quackity shone brighter than all of it.
☾ ☾ ☾
The elevator stops with a light ding sound, both of the doors smoothly sliding open to reveal the empty Needle. Two things immediately caught Wilbur off guard, one being the fact the door opened to a clear sight rather than stacks of chairs or any sort of blockade
It was rare that Quackity needed that sort of privacy, but when he wanted to be left alone he wanted to be completely cut off and would go to that kind of measure to do it. A locked door was never enough, he’d shove the couch in front of his office door, or at least make it look somewhat like no one had been there, or redirect the person looking for him somewhere else.
For the entire place to be wide open with no locked door, no passcode requirement or any sort of visible redirection, that was an immediate red flag. The second being that the place didn’t look like someone had been in it, besides for the few lights that were on which Wilbur could see from a distance.
As Wilbur steps into the silent area, he swallows thickly in discomfort. As he surveys the front area of the needle, Wilbur hopes that Quackity was messing with him, or that Slime had been lying or they just missed him and hems actually at home right now.
“Quackity-?” Wilbur calls, and hears a light tap on the other side of the building.
What he hears after that is his heartbeat in his ears and the distant ringing of train tracks, because admittedly, seeing a body lying around the corner to the outside just by its legs alone was not the most relieving sight.
His vision practically tunnels, noticing the familiar shine of his leather shoes and the favorite brand of work pants that he always wore distinguishable in the dim lighting from the city below. He wasn’t moving, he wasn’t-
“Quackity?!” The choke in his throat barely allows for another second of time to think, not when the love of his life migjt be fucking dead oh, god, he’s dead isn’t he? He was too late wasn’t he?
Wilbur stills that whirlwind in his mind when a noise is heard, but it doesn’t cheer him up- or make him feel any better. Quackity was crying, and as Wilbur got closer in the dim lantern light, he saw that the other man was pulling at his hair, seeming to have not heard him.
“Quackity, are you okay?” It was a stupid question, but Wilbur would be lying to say he hadn’t been there one thousand times.
Q seems to have noticed him now, by the strangled, almost desperate breath that leaves his mouth- accompanied by the way he curls up, facing the wall- like he was trying to get away.
There are a few choking breaths and Quackity is clawing down his own face, Wilbur isn’t sure what to do- but he wants to try. Quackity has always been there for him at the worst of it, when he’s reaching for sharp objects on the counter or choking on his own tears, the least he can do is try to repay the favor.
“Heyy, hey, hey, love-“ Wilbur reaches gently for one of Quackity’s hands, barely giving a ghost of a graze over his wrist just to make sure the other is okay with touch right now, when he doesn’t feel him pull back beyond a light flinch, he takes it into his grasp. “Can you hear my voice?”
Q sits up painfully, nodding his head, but the other hand moves to yank at his own hair, hitting the side of his head a few times until Wilbur can grasp that wrist too. This was not an unfamiliar experience, but Wil realizes as Q lightly rocks back and forth in an attempt to self soothe towards him and away that it still felt unnatural. It was a good feeling, being able to help for once, but at the same time it tore him apart in the way someone who has no clue how to fix anything feels while the world collapses around them.
“Good, that’s good. Can you take deep breaths with me?” Wilbur asks, and Q nods again, laying his head down forward in the other's lap. It hurt to see Q like this, but it felt nice knowing he could help in ways that went beyond aftercare and encouraging him to sleep.
“It- it hurt-s.” Quackity gasps out.
“I know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, it will all be over soon, I’m here.” Wilbur reaffirms, squeezing his hands in comfort.
Wilbur counts down and they both take a deep breath, albeit shaky, but it was a start. Wilbur goes through the process of praise and leading the other through settling down, but he is happy to say that it worked. Q slumps into his form as the both of their heart rates settle to normalcy, and Wilbur almost hesitates speaking.
“…. What’s wrong, Quackity? What’s got you so low?” He frowns, rubbing an attentive hand down his back comfortably. It’s moments like this (well, this would be the first) that Wilbur really does realize how much he genuinely, wholeheartedly loves Quackity.
Wilbur doesn’t want to see his partner hurt like this, especially for reasons that he didn’t even know about.
“‘M fine. J’s a little stressed out ‘s all.” Q deflects, shaking his head even when Wil pulls him into a tighter hug, one that he reciprocates.
“Nuh uh- what did we say about opening up and talking to each other if we need it? Because you really seem like you need it.” Wilbur faux pouts, referencing back to a conversation around a few months ago when their relationship started to feel more domestic than just short flings then leaving. “And I can tell you need it.”
“Fine, maybe I do owe you something.” Quackity sighs, feeling the texture of Wilburs trench coat along the lapel.
“You don’t owe me anything, but it would be nice to… talk?” Wilbur winces at his response, Quackity always felt obligated towards taking a logistical and well thought out solution to everything.
Wilbur remembers the first time Quackity mentioned the basis of this unhealthy attitude- Emotion will not be allowed in the way of Las Nevadas. They were making casual conversation (which, at the time, was rare between them), and Wilbur brought up the question of why Quackity seemed to cringe any time either of them attempted to be vulnerable. He didn’t reply at the time, just hummed, and thought about it.
“Okay, Okay-“ Quackity starts, rocking back and forth on his heel again, like the encouragement was a painful thing to bear. “It’s- it’s not your fault, not your fault. Just some bad memories.”
Wilbur tilts his head with furrowed eyebrows, keeping his arms open yet hovering over Q to avoid any feeling of being overwhelmed. It wasn’t uncommon for Quackity to get overstimulated- which was ironic, for the type of parties he’d go to.
“Do you understand how it feels- what it’s like, to watch someone die like that?” Quackity prompts, a nostalgic twitch of accusation aching in his voice. It was good that Q had warned Wilbur it wasn’t his fault, because otherwise he already would have been begging for forgiveness.
He blinks back in surprise, because against all odds of war and tyranny he has not watched someone die the way that he did. That was a good thing. It was just as sad, though.
“What?”
“Do you know what it’s like to watch the life leave someone's eyes after they took it themself- just for them to be brought back when you finally started to move on?”
… Wilbur didn’t think about that. He does remember looking out into the scene as he was taking his final breaths, choking out words he can’t quite remember to Tubbo and making the last eye contact with Quackity he thought he would ever have. He didn’t feel the need to think about the aftermath, because he didn’t think he would have the consciousness to see it. Wilbur did a lot of thinking in the thirteen years he was in that train station, but to some surprise, he sparsely thought of the immediate response to his death besides whether or not they would hold a funeral.
He didn’t consider if someone who cared enough would cradle his body in the aftermath and sob into the night sky, or if his family would lie awake grieving what they had lost in silence. At the time and, honestly, much of his time after revival, he thought that no one would miss him nor want to miss him.
Wilbur thought they’d celebrate his death and then move on. The idea that people saw him today and their eyelids burned with the vision of his deteriorating corpse made a faint bile taste rise to his throat.
“Seeing you walk up to my doorstep- like a zombie fresh from the grave- it was haunting, Wilbur.” Quackity doesn’t meet Wilburs eyes, but still burns a hole through him.
“I didn’t know.” Wilbur admits shamefully, but feels rather dumb doing it. Logically, realistically, it was a very common concern that he should have considered- if he was going to be honest with himself. Who wouldn’t be traumatized by that kind of thing, especially since they were LOVERS at the time- and technically are now.
Wilbur wants to be lover again. He was perfectly happy with the sexual relationship they had as well as their friendship, but he doesn’t want it all to be a secret anymore. Wilbur loves Quackity, wholeheartedly, and he wants to be able to express that.
But more than anything, he wants Quackity to be okay.
“I got over it quickly but- it’s just- it’s back now. Every god damn time I close my eyes it’s like i’m there again…” Q buries himself into Wilburs shoulder, and Wil squeezes him tight, heart pounding. “All I could see is your fucking corpse.”
“Is there anything I can do? To help?” Wilbur pulls back, brushing Q’s face gently with his thumb.
“It’s not your fault, like I said. I’ll be fine, just needed a break I think.”
“Not really a break with all this work you’ve been doing,” Wilbur adds with a smile, trying to lighten the conversation a little.
“I guess not, huh.” Q laughs, and the sound of it makes Wilburs heart shoot up into the atmosphere and flutter back down. God, he was giddy.
“Nope! Why don’t you take a proper break, hm? I’m sure a few days of rest will be okay.” Wilbur presses a kiss to his cheek, and Q’s face burns bright red at the display of affection. It makes Wilbur practically melt, despite the situation they were in. Despite how Quackity’s face was stained by tears and his arms were burdened by scratches down his wrist from the breakdown, he was utterly beautiful.
“I guess….. I can’t do things right if i’m tired out of my mind.” Q huffs, begrudgingly.
“That’s-… yknow that's exactly what I was thinking!” He decides to play along, for the best of course. “This time, i’ll be there for you every step of the way.”
Quackity leans into the palm of Wilburs hand—seeming to give in fully to the vulnerability of the situation at hand— placing his own over Wilburs as if to keep it there.
“You really don’t have to do this, Wil….”
“Hey now, I care about you okay? You’ve taken care of me during our time together whether it’s a nightmare or a bad day or subdrop or whatever, can’t I take care of you for once?” Quackity leans in close again, and Wilbur presses another kiss to his forehead.
“… You’re not gonna give this up are you?”
“Nope. Let's go back inside so we can talk a little more on the couch, yeah?”
To Quackity’s surprise, Wilbur scoops him into a bridal hold, eliciting a quick gasp and a chuckle out of the man. The inside of the needle is warmer than it is outside, and the lavish couch they settled on had a blanket folded up on its edge- which they ended up huddling underneath.
Wilbur couldn’t reject the way his heart was pounding, because they’ve done this one hundred times, but it felt so new.
“… This is stupid.” Quackity breaks the silence suddenly, huffing into Wilburs shoulder. Wilbur wraps Q closer, pulling them into a laying down position, not quite minding that Q basically was laying on top of him.
Wilbur hums in question, running a comforting hand through his hair.
“It’s dumb for me to be all upset and mopey-“
“Now, Quackity-“
“I have everything I've ever wanted! I did everything that I could to make life better and achieved all of it, but here I am breaking down because ohhh god forbid I’ve got a scar on my face and lost someone once!” He rolls his eyes, huffing like a frustrated teenager.
“That’s not all it is, Quackity, it’s so much more than that.” Wilbur knows that from first hand experience, waking up from nightmares, getting panicky in certain situations, fearing for the absolute worst and staying awake for nights at a time about it.
“It feels pathetic- doing everything I have to ensure my emotions don’t get in the way of anything for Las Nevadas but now….”
“This kind of thing doesn’t just go away if you pretend it isn’t there.” Wilbur frowns.
“I’m….. I just can’t do this anymore, Wilbur.” Quackity lets out a long breath and lays down on his chest, and Wilbur's heart skips a few beats. He knows that's not what Quackity meant, but he better than anyone should know how that feels and what it entails.
Wilbur takes both of Quackitys hands, squeezing them tight, and furrows his brows. The last thing Wilbur is doing is giving up on the other man, as sappy as it may be. He was not lying for even a second when he said Quackity was his other half.
“I’m going to help you through this, Quackity, whether you believe me or not. Anything you could ever need or want, I’m going to be here, because I Love you, okay?” Wilbur admits it truthfully and it feels like a blank shot in the silent air. He loves Quackity.
Q blinks back in shock, but even in the low lighting, Wilbur notices the red that covers his face. He really was a softie beyond everything.
“I love you too.” Q breaks the silence, huddling into the crook of Wilburs neck and leaving a kiss there, soft, loving. “I’m happy to have you.”
Wilburs heart drops, and then shoots through the roof- a few moments pass before he even realizes that he was holding his breath. Was that- did he really confess and get a confession back? It shouldn’t be a surprise, goodness, it shouldn’t even be a shock they've said it to each other before but for some reason under this context it left him shocked.
“Did… Did we just-“
“Yes, we did Wilbur.” Quackity hums a laugh, “an awful time for a confession, but really did I expect anything else out of you?”
“So you- want to be… with me?” Wilbur says it like its a sin, like he was too disgusting or unworthy, and yeah many would say he is out of Quackity’s league, himself included.
“Yes, Wilbur, you’re so stubborn,” Q reaches up from where he lays on top of the other to reach in for a kiss. It was gentle, and warm, and everything that Wilbur was so certain he was not.
Wilbur, the awful, moves his hand to cradle his lovers face. Of course he would be so cruel to admit this at a time like this- when else?
“I… I love you. Isn’t that terrible?” He laughs, kissing Q again, this time making sure to savor just how it felt. “With all my broken heart.”
“You sad sap.” Q laughs, but it is not mocking or demeaning. There are tears in his eyes, but they are happy ones now. “We’re both healing, aren’t we? What ever happened to that.”
“Oh cmon, let me mope won’t you?” Wilbur puts the back of his hand on his forehead mockingly, in that dramatic and pathetic way he knows that Q loves.
“We can mope together.” He lays back down on his shoulder, and closes his eyes. It seems they were going to sleep here in the mild discomfort of this small couch on the needle, but Wilbur didn’t mind, as long as Q was here. As long as he knew, finally knew, they were going to get better.