Work Text:
Today was the anniversary of the day L’Manburg gained independence. You might believe it to be silly— why would people celebrate the independence of a failed nation? Wilbur would ask the same question. L’Manburg was a reminder of every mistake he made, a reminder of everything he once was, yet everything he never could be.
Though for better or for worse, no one else on the SMP seemed to think that way.
It was tradition for the entire server to set off fireworks beginning at midnight. Usually they would last for a couple hours, though some of the more enthusiastic participants shot them off until the sun came up.
Wilbur himself hadn’t experienced this tradition since L’Manburg had actually declared independence, which counting limbo— was over fourteen years ago.
If he was being completely honest, Wilbur was not excited about this whole event. Not only did he think it to be worthless, but he was— and he’d never admit this to a soul— a little scared.
His time in limbo had left the man a little shaky, skittish even. He wouldn’t call it a problem per se, but any sudden loud noise was enough to send his heart racing for a minute before he managed to calm himself down.
Nonetheless, Wilbur was confident that the fireworks would only startle him for a few seconds before he got used to them— Or at least, that’s what Phil told him.
Originally, Wilbur had decided to stay at Phil’s house after hearing about the firework event. He knew that Phil’s house was far enough where he wouldn’t be able to hear the fireworks coming from the mainlands or any neighbouring faction. However, upon telling his father this— Phil told him that he wasn’t allowed to stay that night, something about wanting Wilbur to ‘get outside more.’
What nonsense! He had been ‘getting outside.’ In fact, he was outside Las Nevadas every day! No, that wasn’t JUST because he was banned from actually going inside— that actually had nothing to do with it at all. No, no way. If you were to ask anyone they’d tell you Wilbur was the #1 most outdoorsy person they knew!
Still, Wilbur had decided to stay at Phil’s cottage until he was forcibly removed— and if you’re asking if he was there to try to convince him, you’d be right.
“Come on man, I’ve been out like— hundreds of times!” He groaned, slamming his head on the counter. Phil barely paid attention to this, opting to grab a mug from the cabinet and pour freshly brewed tea into it. Wilbur could taste the chamomile from there.
Phil sighed, “Mate, I’ve heard all the arguments from you already— and what is my answer every time?” Wilbur merely grumbled something in disappointment, sliding down the counter and onto the floor as if Phil had just told him he couldn’t buy his favourite candy at the store.
It was approaching sunset now, which means the fireworks were bound to start any minute. With another unintelligible grumble, Wilbur stood up off the floor and put his coat on. As Phil wished him a good time, he walked out the door. It was beyond freezing in the snowy biome surrounding the cottage— which took away a distant plan Wilbur had to stay near the house until early morning. If he did that though, he’d surely succumb to hypothermia.
With no other options, Wilbur had decided to make his way toward the mainlands of The SMP. Like Phil had said, the fireworks would only startle him for a second until he got used to them. And maybe he was right— Wilbur should try to be more social. After a long and frankly exhausting trip through The Nether, he had finally made his way to the mainlands.
Much to Wilbur’s surprise, the entire area was decorated to the nines. Colourful torches lit up every pathway, there were flags strewn across every street light and hung above every shop— his flag. The flag that he created. Something filled Wilbur’s heart, possibly a sense of pride— recognition? Ever since his revival, Wilbur felt like a ghost roaming around the streets of The SMP. Never seen by anybody, and when he was— they were terrified of him.
None of that mattered now, because there were people laughing, chanting and drinking while holding flags that he designed. Not just here, there were factions and nations celebrating everywhere. Wilbur didn’t understand why, but he found himself adoring it nonetheless. He distantly wondered how the celebration was going in Las Nevadas, that is if a certain someone wasn’t spiteful enough to not celebrate.
Wilbur made his way through the crowd, trying to greet everyone he passed by. But for some reason, all he was received with was weird looks before whoever he greeted quickly scurried away. Why were they ignoring him? He was responsible for this holiday, without him— they wouldn’t be laughing, they’d be under someone else’s rule! Wilbur ran his hands through his hair, trying to soothe himself. He wasn’t going to let some strange looks ruin his night.
Just then, Wilbur heard a loud bang ring through his ears— and the ground was shaking. Had an explosion gone off— Had someone attacked the event? He could feel his heart hammering against his chest, and just as he tried to take a deep breath—
BANG!
Another pop echoed throughout the crowd, this one sounding more like gunfire. He quickly slammed his hands over his ears and tried to access where the attack was coming from.
But for some reason, Wilbur’s vision was blurry. Why was it blurry—? He couldn’t see anything besides other figures in the crowd. They were all yelling and chanting, he couldn’t make out what they were saying or if it was noises of distress or excitement. Wilbur’s head was pounding, he tried to reach up to rub his temples—
BANG!
—Another explosion. This one shook the ground so hard Wilbur felt as if he was about to keel over. Danger. He was in danger. He needed to get out, where? There were hundreds of people in the crowd, all screaming— blocking his way. He couldn’t tell where the exit was, he couldn’t see. He felt like he was drowning.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Three explosions all went off seconds away from each other. Each sounding closer than the last. Wilbur felt like he was about to throw up— and his chest ached from running. Wait— running? Since when was he running?
BANG!
Another explosion was heard behind him, but it sounded slightly more distant. Wilbur could barely see in his clouded vision, but he knew he was moving— moving… somewhere. The man felt as if he wasn’t in his own body, his head was pounding and his chest burned, but no matter how much he screamed at himself he couldn’t stop his legs from moving farther and farther. He could hear something faintly in the distance, it almost sounded like sobbing— he wondered if someone was in danger.
As much as he wanted to help whoever was hurting, he couldn’t stop himself from moving faster even as his lungs cried out for him to stop.
Wilbur ran and ran, the last thing he could see before he collapsed on the ground was what appeared to be a fountain— neon lights and desert sand. Even on the floor, his chest was aching and his throat burned like he’d swallowed lava. He could barely make out his surroundings now, his vision had gotten even foggier and his head was spinning. Wilbur could hear the sobbing even louder now, but he couldn’t make out where it was coming from.
BANG!
Wilbur jolted, but the sound had came from a distance. He was safe now, but he wouldn’t be for very long. The man attempted to command his body to get up and continue running, get farther away before the danger made it’s way to him— but he felt frozen in place. Even if he was able to get up, Wilbur wasn’t sure if he couldn’t make it very long. His heart was pounding in his ears and his forehead was throbbing.
BANG! BANG!
Wilbur slammed his head onto the sand, hunched over and covered his ears. He knew the survival technique was the equivalent of hiding under a blanket, but Wilbur felt as if he was surviving purely under instinct rather than logic. Another distant boom echoed across the sky, and his body increased in its trembles. The wailing only got louder now, and Wilbur tried to cover his ears harder to quiet it. He knew whoever was crying was in need of help— but he wasn’t in any position to do that.
Suddenly, Wilbur felt something warm touch his back. He could feel his entire body jerk at the feeling, which made whatever the thing was move away. Despite himself, part of Wilbur missed the contact. Distantly he heard a high-pitched hum, which caused whatever was near him to shift and return the warmth again. Overlapping the weeping, Wilbur could hear far-off words being spoken. He couldn’t make out any of these words, or if they were being spoken to him.
BANG! BANG!
His body jolted once more, and whatever— (whoever?) Was beside him placed the other hand on his shoulder. After a few seconds, Wilbur could feel one of the sources of warmth make its way underneath him and onto his chest, the other remained firmly planted on his shoulder. Wilbur could feel himself being lifted upwards until his forehead was no longer touching the ground and he was sitting on his knees.
Once again, there were distant words filling his senses that he couldn’t make out. It was frustrating— he tried desperately to focus on them but couldn’t hear anything over the sobbing. His eyes were screwed shut— almost to the point of aching. He tried to open them to see whoever was in front of him, but he couldn’t bring himself to.
BANG!
Wilbur tried to slam his head back into the warm desert grass, but the warm hand planted firmly across his chest prevented him. He desperately covered his ears once more, trying to block out the sickening sound. The person sitting beside him shifted to move in front of him— before cruelly taking Wilbur’s hands off his own ears. The wailing got louder.
Wilbur could feel himself being pulled up off the ground and onto his feet— his legs were still aching from the marathon he practically ran earlier, making it hard to stand— let alone walk.
An arm was thrown around him, as Wilbur’s body was almost entirely supported by the person next to him. Then the pair of them were moving— Wilbur’s head was rested on the person’s shoulder, and although he couldn’t see, he could make out the fabric of a dress shirt. The person helping him walk was clearly significantly shorter than him— as were most people. This made it difficult for them to move, as he could feel the other stumble a few times. Wilbur tried to support his own weight, but he was barely in his own body enough to control it.
BANG!
After a few moments of walking, Wilbur could feel the ground change from sand to porcelain tiles. This made it a bit easier to move, but the sound of shoes clacking against the floor was another unnecessary addition to the sounds that were flooding his ears. He heard the voice speak once more— but this time he could tell they weren’t speaking to him. Once again, he tried to make out what they said to no avail. He then felt himself being pulled into a a very small room, there was a railing on three of the four sides— and he registered at it was an elevator. An elevator—? What place on The SMP had an elevator? He’s positive he hadn’t even been in a building tall enough to have an elevator. Unless—
Wilbur sensed the elevator moving upwards. He wouldn’t describe himself as a person who gets motion sickness— but something about this elevator made a wave of vertigo overtake him. His head was spinning like he was about to fall over, and he was almost positive he might’ve had the elevator not conveniently come to a stop.
The person beside him was pressing buttons that made a beep. After hitting four or five of them— Wilbur heard the elevator doors open and he was brought into a different room, this one he could make out had wooden flooring.
Then he was set down on a soft couch, to which he immediately brought his knees up to his chest and bowed his head down— reaching his hands up to cover his ears again.
BANG!
The explosions were distant now— but he could feel his body jolt at them every time. The person standing in front of him sighed before placing a hand on his back again. Even through his own hands, the sobbing noises wouldn’t go away— and his throat burned worse than before. The hand was now rubbing shapes onto his spine, and Wilbur could feel the warmth through his coat. For some reason, this helped him breathe a little easier. After a few seconds of this— his lungs were no longer straining themselves trying to pump out oxygen, and Wilbur could finally make out where the sobbing was coming from—
Himself.
Wilbur wasn’t stupid enough to ask himself why he was crying— he knew there were probably hundreds of answers for it, but that didn’t prevent him from chastising himself for doing it. Now whoever was in front of him knew he was weak— and that was scarier than the explosions. But another thing he could finally hear was the person’s voice.
“You’re alright man, it’s just the fireworks.” The voice explained, it was soft. Softer than Wilbur can recall anyone’s who spoke to him in a really long time. But what was more shocking than the softness was who it originated from.
Oh.
Oh.
And this was the scariest part of it all. Scarier than the explosions, scarier than his own tears, scarier than the softness of the voice who was comforting him— it was Quackity who was the one doing it.
Fear struck the core of Wilbur’s heart, but not the kind of fear that caused him to run away like he did the fireworks— the kind of fear that caused him to sit completely still. If Wilbur was able to open his eyes now, he wouldn’t dare.
Clearly, the man in front of him sensed this fear— but it was also clear he didn’t know the root of it, given that the next thing Wilbur felt was hands reaching up to cup the sides of his face, wiping away any tears that fell. He didn’t know why— but for some reason— the action made tears fall faster. As soon as warm palms touched his skin, Wilbur could feel his mind start to turn fuzzy. On one hand, he no longer felt like a heavy boulder was squishing his head. On the other hand, it was terrifying. He didn’t feel like he could move, speak or even open his eyes— as if he was in a trance.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know why they still do fireworks, there are other ways to celebrate,” Quackity mumbled.
Oh, fireworks. That’s right. Wait, but he knew that— why was he scared then? He knew there would be fireworks, so what got him thinking it was an explosion? He’s stupid. He shouldn’t be reacting this way, everyone else was out there having fun and he ruined it by making a scene over something he already knew was going to happen. No wonder people don’t like him— he can’t ever be normal, can he? He always has to make a big deal about everything when other’s are just having fun.
Wilbur’s breathing must have picked up significantly, because he could hear the other man mumble something unintelligible before removing his hands from Wilbur’s face. Unexpectedly to both of them, Wilbur let out a broken sob at the loss of contact before slapping his hand over his mouth. Quackity clearly caught this— Wilbur could hear him mutter ‘I’m here.’ Before sitting next to him. Once again, placing a hand on his back.
The two sat in silence for a moment before Quackity broke it once more.
“Are you alright?” He said, a stupid question. Did Wilbur look alright? Clearly not, he couldn’t even walk ten minutes ago— he’s not completely sure he can now. Not to waste Quackity’s time any further, Wilbur nodded his head.
The other man merely sighed. “No, you’re not.” ‘Why did you fucking ask then?’ Is what Wilbur wanted to say, though all he really did is let out a shaky breath.
“Can you speak?” Quackity asked. This time, Wilbur slowly took his hand off of his own mouth. Wilbur wondered if the other could see his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally uttered—
“Yes.”
“Alright.” He said. “Can you open your eyes?”
Taking a few seconds to build up the courage, Wilbur slowly began to blink his eyes open. He was met with cocoa wooden floors and various mahogany bookshelves. In front of him was a glass coffee table with a couple of Manila folders placed upon it. He realised the place he’d been put in was someone’s apartment, specifically Quackity’s.
Quackity spoke. “Now, I’ll ask again. Are you alright?”
Without the security of blindness or a hand covering his mouth, Wilbur didn’t have it in him to lie. “If I’m being honest— no, I’m not.”
“Okay.” Quackity hummed. “Did you know there were going to be fireworks tonight?”
Wilbur desperately wanted to lie and say he didn’t. It would make the situation a lot less embarrassing, a part of him couldn’t bear to tell the man that he’d gotten that scared over something he knew was going to happen. But the other part of him—
“Yeah, I did.” Wilbur bowed his head. “Phil told me they were going to happen. But— I don’t know, I thought they wouldn’t really affect me? I mean, they shouldn’t. It was stupid that I reacted that way—“
“No, no. It’s not stupid, Wilbur.” The other man took a long inhale before continuing to draw circles onto Wilbur’s back. “I know plenty of people who hate the fireworks. Why else do you think Las Nevadas wouldn’t do them?”
Wilbur hummed. “I— I don’t know… It’s not like I even wanted to—“ Wilbur could feel another sob bubbling up in his throat, but it was too late. Quackity had already latched into what he’d said.
“What do you mean you didn’t want to? Did someone ask you to go with them?” Quackity asked, tilting his head. If Wilbur didn’t know better, he’d say he could hear the concern in the other’s voice.
Wilbur took a shaky breath, trying to compose himself. “No. Phil, he— he told me about the fireworks. And I had a bad feeling about it, so I asked if I could stay at his house tonight. But, he— he said no.” Quackity’s eyes furrowed. "He said he wanted me to be more social— or something. I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I decided to attend the festival. And look where that got me.” Wilbur tried to laugh, but he wasn’t fooling anyone.
There was a moment of silence before Wilbur seemed to realise something.
“But it wasn’t his fault! It— it’s my fault, really. It was stupid to try and go to the festival anyway. If I really wanted I probably could’ve found… found somewhere.”
Throughout the entire night, Wilbur hadn’t looked at Quackity once. However, this awkward silence practically forced him to. Though, it was certainly a mistake. Quackity’s face was screwed up in a way that screamed pity. Like he’d watched a dying animal desperately try to crawl its way off the road and into safety. And maybe that analogy is more accurate than Wilbur would like to believe.
Despite this, Wilbur couldn’t bring himself to look away. Because he can’t remember the last time someone looked at him like this. He tried to search for any disgust hidden in the other man’s expression but found none. There was only sympathy.
A version of Wilbur in a better state of mind would’ve hated Quackity’s sympathetic expression. He would’ve found it to be demeaning and patronising. Maybe a part of him still did. But a much bigger part of him— the part that was starving for recognition and comfort— the part of him left alone in limbo for over a decade, that part of him could do nothing but yearn in the face of sympathy.
Quackity merely sighed and opened his arms. For a moment, Wilbur was confused. He didn’t know what Q was even asking— until he did. Oh. Oh. Was Quackity offering him a hug? Wilbur can’t remember the last time he’d been given a hug. It had to be at least before Limbo, but it was likely that lack of affection went back much further than that. Wilbur’s confusion must have shown on his face because Quackity slowly lowered his arms.
But it wasn’t confusion that appeared on Wilbur’s face, no. It was tears. To Wilbur’s worst fear, he had started crying— again. Wilbur tried to say something— tried to apologise for breaking down. But what he ends up doing is throwing himself into the other man’s arms. Quackity wasn’t hesitant to hug back, even when Wilbur’s idea of a ‘hug’ seemed to involve manically digging his nails into and clawing at his back as if he was trying to move impossibly closer. Wilbur’s sobs were pained, and the other man could immediately tell that this wasn’t just about fireworks— it was something he’d been holding in for years.
In truth, Quackity had never previously cared to explore the particularities of Wilbur’s psyche. He knew there was something wrong with him, sure— but there was something wrong with everyone.
This, however— was different. This was not a man who had merely experienced distress, this was a man who had experienced distress and had never received basic comfort, let alone help. He ran his fingers through the other man’s hair, noting how greasy it was— noting how no one else bothered to help. The action only made Wilbur cry harder though, hiccupping and gasping like he couldn’t catch his breath.
Quackity tried to soothe the man with reassurances as he swayed them both back and forth, but once again— it only made the sobs sound more pained. With every weep that left Wilbur’s mouth, Quackity could feel his own heart aching with the action to try and help. But he slowly began to realise that he shouldn’t try and hush away Wilbur’s tears. If this was something he’d really been holding in for years, he needed a chance to finally let all of it out.
And so, Quackity continued swaying the man— holding him tight, carding fingers through his hair, and whispering reassurances. That was all he needed to do, he let Wilbur cry his heart out until he’d gotten everything out of his system. Until heavy sobs turned into hiccups, hiccups to sniffles, and sniffles into deep-sleep breathing.