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Quackity must’ve had passed this shop dozens of times in the past month. His first week in office he thought it was a tavern—fuck knows why, except that its windows were tinted so deeply that they could’ve been mistaken for painted bricks, and everyone who went in was shady as hell. Oh, and the name.
He pushed the door open and a bell rang. “Welcome to The Bleeding Heart—” She paused her greeting, set her clippers next to the hydrangeas, and flew to the entrance, blocking him from stepping further into the shop. “—what are you doing here?”
He laughed nervously, peeking around her between the garden of flowers that cluttered the shop. It was too early in the morning for most patrons, and they had the store to themselves. “I’m looking for something to put in my tea—”
“—Get out.”
Quackity chewed on the side of his tongue. “That’s the password, right?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is a flower shop.”
“Look, I need something, okay? I’ve got gold, diamonds, I’ll pay premium.”
“I don’t want your patronage. Please leave, or I will call the authorities.”
“The authorities who work for me?” Quackity smiled, she couldn’t argue with that. Her eyebrows furrowed and she crossed her arms. “Niki, I—no one knows I’m here. Can’t I just be a normal customer, like everyone else?”
“Not after what you did to Wilbur.”
Quackity shook his head. “It was politics—he signed up for that game when he made this circle! I’m just playing to win.”
She shoved his shoulders and he stumbled into the door. “Get out.”
“Niki, wait.”
“Out. Get out.” She twisted him around, but he pressed against the door to keep her from opening it. “I’m not giving you anything! Get out!”
“Wait, I—it’s for Schlatt!”
The pushing stopped. He turned his head around to face her, she needed to believe him. He didn’t know what he would do if she didn’t.
“I need something for Schlatt. I heard this was the place.”
Niki took a step back. “Follow me. Don’t lock the door.”
Around the candlestick by the door was a padlock and key. He left both as instructed and followed Niki through the aisles of shrubs and small trees, to a desk at the back of the store. He sat in the more rickety chair, folding his wings around the sides of it for comfort. Niki sat across him with her hands flat on the desk.
“What do you need?”
Quackity took a shaky breath. She would be the first person he told, and probably the only one who would ever know, if everything went well. “I want to convince him to step down from office, and allow me to take his place.”
“No.”
He sighed. “Seriously?”
She recoiled in her seat. “Let me get this straight,” she punctuated each word with robotic motions of her hands. “You run on a platform of destroying the barriers that protected l’Manburg from the dark fae, and when no one wants to vote for you, you partner up with J. Schlatt—and when that turned out to be a disaster too, you want me to help you seize the office for yourself? And you thought I would help?”
An instinct whispered to him that he should roll his eyes. He managed to suppress the urge. “It didn’t seem like such a bad idea at the time.”
“Q!”
“Hey, hey, alright. Please, just, hear me out.”
She folded her arms and sat back in her chair. He waited for her to say something, but she only nodded at the table.
“I made a mistake, alright. Is that what you want to hear? You win, I fucked up. That’s on me. But believe it or not, I care about the future of this circle. And with Schlatt it’s all going downhill.”
“I’m happy to get rid of Schlatt. But I’d rather die than help you become president.”
Quackity raised his eyebrows. “You mean that?”
“I do.”
“You wouldn’t strike a compromise to get him out?”
“Not with you.”
“He’ll bring everything down with him. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t care about you or me—”
“—Stop.”
Quackity took a deep breath, the sinking feeling that he was losing stayed.
“Let’s start over. What do you need from me? What outcome?”
“I need Schlatt out of office—but I don’t want to kill him, so don’t start suggesting belladonnas or whatever.”
“And why are you coming to me now?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know! I can’t take it anymore!”
Niki laughed. “Not good enough, Quackity. Not after everything you’ve done.”
He smacked his hands on the desk and stood up. “You know what? I don’t have to tell you shit. Because guess what? I’m vice fucking president. And all you’ve got is this flower shop.” He huffed a breath which blew a piece of his hair out of his face. “You’re nothing. You want Schlatt gone? You need me. But I don’t need you.”
Niki stayed in her seat. She smiled and looked to a lantana bush potted on an oak table. “I didn’t come to you for help.”
He walked backwards to the exit with one hand behind him. “Oh yeah, play the tough guy all you want.” He bumped into a table and corrected his path. “Just fucking sit there, while I get everything done around here.”
Niki gaped at the ceiling, not even dignifying him with laughter anymore. “Get out of my shop.”
“I will! I will! You’ll fucking see, just wait! You’ll see I was right.”
He turned around and marched to the door, stepping outside and letting it slam shut behind him. The bell rang behind him, and citizens stopped in their walks to stare at their vice president.
They’ll all see. Those were Schlatt’s words to him. Not his words. Or maybe they were his, now. Maybe he couldn’t take any of it back.
He flung the door open and weaved between the tables and hanging vines as the room became darker and darker where there was no space for torches between the foliage. And Niki, still sitting in the desk.
“If you mention a word to anyone about this, one word, and I have you exiled like that.” He snapped his fingers.
She sighed. “What is it now?”
“Schlatt—he’s not himself lately.”
“How so?” she asked, not really curious. Only asking to poke more holes in him.
“He, he yelled at me.”
“That sounds like the Schlatt I know.”
“He told me, he said, if this circle’s falling apart, it’s because of you.”
“For the first time, I must say I think I agree with Schlatt.”
“Please, Niki. You know what this sounds like. I don’t think—I don’t know if this is that, but it might get there pretty soon.”
“It sounds like you getting your comeuppance.”
Quackity leaned against a table. His suit brushed against the wet leaves, he didn’t move out of its way. “You don’t believe me.”
“Believe what? All you’ve told me is Schlatt’s stopped playing nice guy around you, and now that you’re being treated the same as everyone else in Manburg, you come to me to fix your problems.”
“Fine! You don’t care about me! I was told this was the sort of thing you do—”
“—I don’t. If you need enhancements for yourself—”
“—like a persuasion charm—”
“—I’m not giving you that!” She stood out of her seat. “I will give you strength potions, or healing salves, but I can’t help you with anything outside of that. Shop policy.”
“And what about Tubbo? Or Fundy? You guys worked together on the campaign trail, and now you’re leaving him to fend for himself?”
“First of all, and I’m not supposed to share this with customers, but Fundy already requested my services, as did Tubbo. And second of all, I don’t want to kill anyone! The price is too high.”
Quackity put a hand out. “Woah, I’m not trying to kill anyone.”
“If I give you so much as a sleeping tonic, and Schlatt doesn’t wake up, I’m done for.”
“Afraid of what people will think of you?” he sneered.
“When Wilbur takes over this circle, and I mean when, if I’m a dark fae, and when he rebuilds the barriers, and he will rebuild them, I won’t be allowed inside.”
Right, he was particular about that point during the campaign. Quackity heard him crying out when Schlatt broke the barrier, from the dark forests around them. Since then, it was hard to tell the difference between the dark forest and Manburg. Sometimes, a dark fae with their translucent figure would walk right down the streets, and he had to hope they were a veteran or something.
“You’ve got nothing for me,” he confirmed.
Niki paused, for the first time she stopped to think about her words. “You gave me a secret. If you share this with anyone, I will tell everyone your secret, too.”
Quackity dropped his hands to his side. “Go ahead.”
“I don’t do stuff like that. Wilbur does.”
“Wilbur kills people?”
“He does risky stuff, blood magic. It could, but so far it hasn’t. He wants to come home one day.”
“What do you mean, ‘risky’?” He grimaced at the implications, it wasn’t like the Wilbur he knew.
“For that, I would refer you to Pogtopia. I could show you the way, if you’re ready.”
“I already told you, I don’t want to kill him!”
“You won’t! Probably?” she winced.
“I don’t want to hurt him, either! He’s my husband!”
She paused again. Her face softened. “God, I wish I could pity you.” She chewed her lip and turned to a chest behind her. It was locked, with a key around her neck she unfastened the padlock and opened it. “Here, take these. They’re labeled, take as needed. One bottle is one dose, you can cross them with each other but don’t take two of the same kind.”
She handed him five round bottles with wooden cork tops, each half full of oily liquids brightly colored in red, baby blue, and purple.
He took them and pocketed them in his satchel. “I won’t forget this. Oh,” he adjusted his beanie while looking around the shop. “Can you get me a bouquet as well? You know, while I’m here.”
She rubbed her face. “For Schlatt?”
“Yes, something like, hmm.” He looked at the selection. “Sunflowers, and lilies of the valley. Throw something red in there, but not roses. He doesn’t like roses.”
She grabbed her clippers from the front, and took two of the tallest sunflowers. “How about our signature?”
“Which is?”
“Bleeding hearts.” She tapped her clippers on a plant with red flowers that hung from the stem in a heart shape, almost unnaturally.
He rubbed his chin. The name was a bit harsh, but Schlatt didn’t know flower names. “I like them, sure.”
She nodded to him and added them to the bouquet, along with a string of lilies of the valley. “What color ribbon?”
“Do you have black?”
She tied the bouquet together and handed it to him. “If you need anything else, I’ll be here.”
A response caught in his throat, he curtly nodded and left the shop.
A week later, an hour before the festival, Schlatt told him he was going to kill Tubbo.
Techno did it for him. He was already a dark fae, dark as they come; in his armor it looked like a shadow was wearing it.
Schlatt, on the other hand, was still as opaque as Quackity was. Their hands were clean.
Quackity searched the crowd, while the blood was still wet and warm, but Niki was already gone.
Quackity didn’t talk to Schlatt that night. Mostly because Schlatt drank out the second-half of the festival, and passed out as soon as it was over. Quackity couldn’t deal with drunk people, the only perk of alcohol was that it also knocked out the drinkers.
He slept on the couch, for what little it was worth. He woke up before Schlatt, and almost left to schedule some kind of press conference for damage control, or try to find Tubbo and apologize for what happened.
Almost. Schlatt messed with his self-preservation. Tubbo did the whole tiptoe charade, and he was executed regardless. The kid was barely a traitor—he had some friends who were exiled, big deal. Tubbo was inconsequential, powerless—he made the decorations, delivered speeches, tore down the barriers with everyone else. Quackity’s meeting with Niki committed more treason than anything that ever crossed Tubbo’s mind. What did self-preservation look like under those circumstances?
Quackity sat with his elbows on his knees, his left hand gripping his right wrist, staring at the wilted bouquet on the coffee table, scripting a hundred possible conversations he could have with Schlatt.
None of them started the way Schlatt did, which was a mistake on his part, because anyone could see how that morning was going to go.
Schlatt trudged into the kitchen with his hand raised to block out the sunshine coming in through the window. “Jesus, can you close the blinds? Wait for me to fix up before giving me a headache.”
His head fell into his chest, hardly concealing his grin. “We’ve got to have a talk, Schlatt.”
Schlatt grabbed a bottle of—something. Something orange, maybe scotch, not that Schlatt cared what it was anymore than Quackity did. “That’s what you think, huh?”
“That’s exactly what I think. You killed Tubbo,” he reminded, and then chastised himself for trying to make an appeal to emotion. He corrected himself, “your secretary of state, without consulting me or any other cabinet members. What, what kind of circle do you think this is?”
Schlatt poured a drink, threw it back, and poured another. “I’m as light as I was the day I got here.”
“I don’t see it that way.”
Schlatt set the glass down. “You don’t see it that way.”
“I don’t. We’re supposed to share these decisions. I’ve got to come up with a story to tell people. What am I supposed to tell our citizens? He was sixteen!”
“Old enough to serve under, under Wilbur’s military. You think everything was perfect under him? You want to run off, join the traitors in the fucking forest? Is that what you think?”
“No, Schlatt, I’m with Manburg,” he pleaded, “Don’t twist my words around.”
He took his glass and leaned against the fireplace. “I want to know where you’re at.”
Quackity leaned back into the couch with a hand on his head. “All I ask is to work as a team. Can you do that? Can you at least do that for me?”
“Work as a team, what is this, daycare? When do I get in your way, stop you from taking some initiative and being your own fucking man?” He gestured at him with is drink hand, and the contents spilled onto the floor. He traded the glass to his other hand and shook off the liquid. “Great. Just the way I wanted to start my morning.”
Nausea settled in his stomach. It wasn’t the spilled drink, or the maddening argument, or a passing memory of the smell of Tubbo’s burnt flesh. It was a vision of tonight, or tomorrow, when Schlatt would pretend this conversation never happened with some not-apology followed by a hug and maybe a kiss and probably sex, so they could do this part again, the fun part.
He stood and brushed past Schlatt, who grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. “Where are you going?”
“It’s not your business, right? I should be my own man! I’m going to do exactly that!”
“Are you going to Pogtopia?” he huffed, breathing his hungover breath sterilized with whatever he chased it down with into Quackity’s face.
“No. I’m going out. I don’t know where.”
“To Fundy? You two going to conspire some shit?”
“No. I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back tonight. We can talk then, with fresh minds on the issue.”
Schlatt poked at his heart a couple times, trying to press a button that would give him an idea of what to say.
“I’m sorry for bringing it up before breakfast,” Quackity finished.
Schlatt nodded. “Tonight.”
Quackity walked to the door and grabbed his coat. “I might stop at the store, do you need anything?”
Schlatt waved a hand at him, staring at his feet and taking his seat on the couch. Quackity left, resolving to never have the second half of that conversation, by any means necessary.
He’d be an idiot to go to Fundy. The kid was loyal to one thing: power, and he had no skill at discerning strength from power. He probably cheered the loudest at the execution.
He needed to find Pogtopia, and beg them for mercy in hopes they take him in. He wasn’t as persuasive as Wilbur or Schlatt, and not as sincere as Tommy or Tubbo, and not as strong as Technoblade, and he had little to offer the resistance, but if they were to be the good side in all of this, it surely would shine through for him now.
His only hope was that Niki left him a map or a compass. Otherwise he’d be flying around a twenty-mile radius, he didn’t have the energy to do the math on how long that would take, scouring concentric circles while hiding from dark fae. Any of Dream’s crew would love to interrogate him on why he was so far from home, and share that intel with Schlatt at first light. Nothing was stopping them anymore.
The Bleeding Heart had signs proclaiming its indefinite closure, but no guards to stop entry. He walked in, the bell ringing through the shop.
“Shit,” Niki whispered.
“Niki?”
“Shit,” she whispered, more agitated than the last.
“I’m here about the offer. Is it still on the table?” He inched to the back of the store.
“You, shit,” Glass shattered, but Niki continued. “Did anyone see you coming in?”
“I don’t think so. You, uh, seem like you need help. I need to get to Pogtopia.”
Niki crouched over her chest of potions, picking through them and fitting as many as she could into her satchel. “I don’t need help.” She stopped, her hands pushing off the chest as turned to face him. “Having regrets yet?”
“Yes, you told me so. I should’ve listened, I’m sorry—”
“—Don’t apologize to me, apologize to Tubbo.”
“Hey, I didn’t know anything about that. He doesn’t tell me that kind of shit.”
“You didn’t stop him.”
“Neither did you!”
She tapped her fingers on the satchel.
“Do you get it now?”
She slouched, staring at the satchel and shaking her head. “Okay. You’re telling the truth. You’re an idiot,” she snapped at him, “and you should have came to me a week ago—”
“—I did—”
“—but I’m not in the mood to deal with you. Take it up with Wilbur.”
“You’ll take me there?”
She walked past him to the door, and waved for him to follow. “Let’s go.”
Pogtopia wasn’t visible from the sky. At midday the fog obfuscated his vision to less than twenty feet ahead of him at any time. Without Niki, he could’ve been walking right to the cave entrance, and still passed it up.
Torches lit the barren cave walls. As they descended the air wafted in a metallic scent—caves smelled like that, but it reminded him of what Niki said about blood magic.
Niki peaked into a room. “You’ve got a visitor.”
“You can’t still be doing that,” Wilbur moaned, and spun to greet his visitor. “Oh, I see. You’re here on behalf of Schlatt.”
“Not exactly,” he chuckled.
“He requested your services. I’ll leave you to it.”
Niki continued down the cave, and Quackity remained in the doorway. “Ah, please, come in.”
“That’s not—I’m not—I can’t go back to Manburg.”
“Sit down, Quackity.”
Quackity shuffled to the stone slab in the center of the room, bloodless but sterile in contrast to Wilbur who carried dirt on his boots and the cuffs of his pants. “I just—”
“—Here’s how this is going to work.”
An explanation caught on the tip of his tongue, and he closed his mouth and folded his hands in his lap. The stone dug into him, Wilbur stepped in front of him and smoothed his hands over his coat. Quackity had forgotten what he was like when they were alone.
“We don’t need to fight a war to win back Manburg. Only one person has to die. I’m willing to pay that price, and if you’re here, it means you don’t have a choice either.”
Never again. Never again. “Okay. We kill Schlatt.”
“I’ll give you a protection rune. All you have to do is provoke Schlatt into hitting you. Will that be a problem?”
He gulped. “He hasn’t hit me before.”
“Never, not even throw something, smacked you across the face, nothing?”
“No, he’s not that kind of person. You know he’s not violent.”
Wilbur scratched his eyebrow. “He executed Tubbo!”
“Technoblade did that. All Schlatt did was give the order.”
“True, true.”
He pointed at Wilbur. “I could attack him first. He’d defend himself, and the rune would activate.”
“No, that’s not how it works. Runes can only protect, it can’t attack. Like a wall.”
“Niki knows how to make poisons.”
“No. She can’t—no. Not up for discussion.”
“Why not? She would. You know she would, she’s loyal to you.”
“I’m not sacrificing her.”
“But you would sacrifice me.”
“You’re starting to understand.”
“What does it matter? All that would happen is she would become translucent.”
Wilbur didn’t look at him. His hand twitched, no, it was shaking. It had been shaking since he showed up, maybe longer. Maybe it hadn’t stopped in a long time.
“You’re planning on raising the barrier again.”
Wilbur, still, didn’t look at him. Quackity had never known him to be guilty, but in his old bright blue uniform and enveloping crow wings, guilt slid off him like droplets on leaves, pooling in the soil below.
“Do you know how to make poison?”
Wilbur made eye contact, blinking away tears and staring off again. “Yes. It’s an inverted healing potion.”
“Do you know how to make one of those?”
Wilbur kicked at the ground. “No.”
“Don’t sweat it, I’ve got some here.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the bottles Niki made him.
Wilbur grabbed one, examining it for tricks.
“If you told me how to make it, I could figure it out.”
“No, I’ll do it.”
Wilbur rotated the bottle in his hand. He tossed it in the air and caught it, stowing it in a stitched-on pocket. Quackity searched him for the source of all this guilt, but it was as inscrutable as the reasons for the barrier in the first place. He liked to think he learned a lesson from it.
Wilbur swallowed, and grabbed a sewing needle and inkwell from the desk. “What do you want?”
“I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“It’s extremely necessary. Everyone will know what you did to him. What if Fundy attacks you?”
Quackity grimaced at the needle. “It won’t kill anyone, will it?”
“No. Or—it shouldn’t. Barring extreme circumstances.”
“What does it do?”
“I’m not exactly sure. Tommy won’t tell me what happened when his activated, save that it stopped both Dream and Sapnap. He won’t let me give him another one.”
Quackity had seen them prowl the streets of Manburg. Some dark fae knew they were unwelcome in Manburg, and stayed out. In Dream and Sapnap’s case, it was part of the appeal.
“Can you give me one of each suit in a deck of cards? A club, diamond, spade, and heart?”
Wilbur grabbed Quackity’s wrist. “I only have black ink.”
“That’s fine. So you’ll do it?”
Wilbur nodded. “Lay down on your back, I need a stable surface.”
Quackity did as instructed, and Wilbur set the equipment down and began cleaning his wrist with alcohol.
“You play cards?”
“Sometimes. I like to think of the cards I’ve been dealt with. No past, no future, just the hand in front of me, and the hand in front of my enemies.”
Wilbur dabbed the needle into the inkwell. “Hold still.”
Quackity relaxed his arm and faced the opposite wall. A prick hit his wrist in the center, it was uncomfortable but not exactly painful. “So how does the protection work?”
“Trade secret. I need to focus.”
“It’s the ink, isn’t it?”
The pokes stuck in quick succession. It burned, more than stabbed, as the skin became irritated.
“It’s the ink,” he repeated, “I didn’t know you knew how to do this stuff.”
“I stole a book from Phil. It was in Latin, so I never knew how to read it. One day Tubbo came into my office with a scroll of instructions. That was how I found out it was my birthday. I almost forgot.”
“He didn’t translate the effects?”
Wilbur slid up his wrist. “Something to do with fear. Tubbo told me it got poetic at that part, and skipped it.”
“It strikes fear in the hearts of your enemies.”
Wilbur didn’t reply.
“How many people know about this plan?”
“No one but us. I made it up when you walked in.”
“I meant about the barrier.”
Wilbur turned away to cough into his elbow. He continued. “Techno knows. Tommy doesn’t. The rest can figure it out for themselves.”
“Why do you trust me?”
“I’ve always trusted you. You’ve got a good heart. The world hasn’t worn you down, yet.”
Quackity hummed. He could wear that with pride.
They continued the rest of the tattoo in silence. When they were done, Wilbur left him with a bandage to care for himself while he brewed the potion. Wilbur gave him his wishes with the poison and directed him back to Manburg. The directions were only needed for the first few minutes of the flight back, soon, in the distance, torchlight indicated where the circle started. With that, it was a short flight to Schlatt.
Quackity walked into the White House, one hand casually in his pocket while running a thumb over the glass.
Schlatt sat in the couch, in a near identical position to the one he held when Quackity had left. He didn’t have a drink, but he was clearly drunk, and still hadn’t had a bath.
“You were out for a while.” Schlatt slung an arm around the back of the couch. “You didn’t end up going to the store.”
“Right, I said I was going to do that. My bad.” Quackity stepped into the kitchen. A cocktail would be the easiest way to deliver the poison.
“What were you doing?”
“Walking. I ran into Karl, and we got lunch.”
“Did you?”
Quackity hummed. He grabbed vodka off a shelf and some apple juice from the icebox. Poison likely tasted awful, even the little bit that Schlatt would be swallowing would alert him. He sat the apple juice back and swapped it for orange juice, more sour to cover it up.
“You making a drink?”
“I thought I’d apologize for walking out on you. That wasn’t—it was incredibly immature. The whole thing—I don’t know what to say,” he trailed off, turning his back to Schlatt to pour equal parts vodka and orange juice into a shaker. He slipped his hand into his pocket and uncorked the poison, and added it to the mix. The drink turned a shade of scarlet.
“Don’t worry about it. I should apologize, too. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. It’s not becoming of the president—and it’s not what a good husband does.”
Quackity turned his ear to the apology. Schlatt usually didn’t tack on that last part. “Yeah.”
“I’m a fucking mess, Big Q. You know that. And with the war, and Tubbo—I’ve got a lot on my plate.”
Quackity faced Schlatt and shook up the drink. “I hear you. You’ll never admit this, but I saw it. You and Tubbo were close. He was like your little protégé.”
“Ahh,” Schlatt waved a hand, “Bygones.”
“Don’t worry about it. I told you about Karl. Well, apparently, he’s been working on his archery, he’s fucking good. And he’ll be on our side of it.”
Schlatt snorted. “Oh, thank God we have Karl Jacobs on our team.”
Quackity laughed to himself. The conversation was on autopilot, as he poured the drink he almost forgot it would be the last one he ever made. He searched the icebox for some cherries to cover the color. The jar was at the bottom, he fished it out and added one to the top.
“You know what I was thinking about today?”
“Yeah?” Quackity encouraged, bringing the glass to Schlatt and setting it down in front of him. He took a seat on the couch cushion next to him.
“Thank you.” Schlatt picked up the glass and continued, “I was thinking about us. Being at the top. It’s a lot of work, very stressful. Lowers our life expectancy by about three decades. But it’s nice, being president. Or vice president.” He bumped Quackity’s shoulder.
“Yeah, you know, it is.”
“It is. Because you get to make all the rules. All the things those ants would never think off doing, the nice things that wouldn’t get done without you. That festival could’ve been something else, God, it could’ve been something else.”
“I don’t know about ants—”
“—Ants, Quackity. You’ve got to think of them like ants. If they aren’t ants, then all the shit about the world isn’t because they’re idiots, or weak, or small. They’re either ants, or they should know better. We’ve got to be better.”
Quackity wrapped an arm around him. “To being better.”
Schlatt swished the drink in his glass, and chuckled to himself. “You don’t want one?”
Quackity joined in the laughter. “I don’t drink, Schlatt. I’ve told you before.”
Schlatt held the drink to him. “Come on, have a sip! I had one earlier, you can take some of your own, your own craftsmanship.”
Could he afford a sip? He didn’t have the first idea how potent the poison was. “No, no. It’s all for you. I’m good, honest.”
Schlatt pressed the glass to his lips. “I insist, please. Just a sip. Just a taste.”
Quackity tossed his head, banging his jaw against the glass and spilling a drop on the couch. “Schlatt, c’mon.”
Schlatt slammed his hand against Quackity’s jaw, grasping him and forcing his mouth open with his neck pinned to the back of the couch. He stood above him with a hiked leg supporting his weight as he leaned into him, horns pointing down at him. “Drink it.”
Quackity’s heart raced. He clawed at Schlatt’s arm, punching at it and sliding his weight down to escape the pin. He tried to beg, but he couldn’t form words with an opened mouth. Schlatt poured the drink into Quackity’s mouth and he gargled on it, choking on the burning acid of sour and sharp and rot hidden under it.
Schlatt threw the glass to the other side of the room and smacked his free hand over Quackity’s mouth. “Please, that’s gross. Have some dignity about this.”
Quackity screamed like he was underwater, muffling pleas and curses. He didn’t know what side of Schlatt he was on—the fight or the mercy. Please, let me go, let me go you fucking asshole.
Schlatt pinched Quackity’s nose, cutting off air supply. Quackity clutched his chest, seizing his lungs for a breath. Schlatt smiled, the smile broke into a laugh.
Quackity shut his eyes, and colors danced in his vision. He swallowed the poison.
Schlatt didn’t have a chance to let go. He staggered backwards, moaning and sputtering. “What, what did you do, what the fuck?”
Quackity wiped saliva from his mouth. The colors stayed at the corners of his vision, and his arms became heavy along with his eyelids. The poison offered a peaceful death, as Quackity turned to Schlatt, his wouldn’t be so kind.
“What’s happening, what’s,” Schlatt stopped speaking, though his mouth continued mouthing the word, over and over, what, why, and he sank to his knees between the coffee table and the couch.
Quackity fought the weakness in his legs to step over the body. “Real dignified,” he slurred.
Schlatt’s hands trembled, his eyes danced in front of his face. Quackity waved a hand in front of him, but they wouldn’t focus. His mouth hung open in soundless mumbles and he wrapped his arms around his shoulders.
Quackity crouched in front of Schlatt. “I was with you, up until this morning. I could’ve looked past Tubbo dying, and you dragging this circle to an early grave, along with yourself, one drink at a time. All of it was worth it to me. What made me go to Wilbur and conspire to kill you, was the fact that you didn’t, you didn’t value anything. Yourself, your actions, your words, your cabinet. Me. You don’t care.”
Schlatt clutched his chest, and his legs slid out from under him. Quackity stuck two fingers out, and pressed them against Schlatt’s throat. He couldn’t find a pulse, Schlatt didn’t seem to find one in himself either. “I’m not going to let that happen to me.”
Schlatt fell forward, slumped into his chest. His body evaporated before he hit the ground, with it, half Quackity’s soul faded into the atmosphere. He held out his hand in front of the wilted flowers, and could see right through it to the sunflowers turned brown and the fallen lilies of the valley crumbling on the table and the bleeding hearts.
The hand shook, his fingers curled in on themselves weakly and he collapsed them into a fist. His coat was on the rack, he walked around the couch to the coatrack. His breaths grew longer and his vision tunneled. He searched the pockets to the one with three bottles, checked the labels for the healing and took it from the rest. He fumbled with the cork, his sweaty fingers slipping off it.
His ears rang, and the torchlight’s flickering swarmed his vision. The bottle was sealed shut, hopelessly. He sat down with a grunt before the dizziness sacked him.
“I thought you might do something like that,” Schlatt said.
Quackity blinked through the fog. Schlatt walked through their bedroom doorway, on his last life.
“The poison, I mean. I’ve never seen anything like that other thing. What was that?”
Quackity took several heavy breaths. “Protection rune,” he managed.
“Hmm. Technoblade?”
“Wilbur.”
“Hmm,” he repeated, “Where’d he learn that trick, I wonder.” A pause. “You’ve still got three lives, yeah?”
Quackity nodded.
“You’re going to kill me?”
Quackity, again, nodded.
“Yeah. I probably deserve that.”
Quackity saved his breath.
“That’s the antidote?”
Quackity clutched the bottle tighter, a response enough.
Schlatt took it from him. “If I kill you, I’ll die a dark fae.”
Quackity’s hands hung over his legs. “Congratulations.”
A popping sound. Schlatt held out the bottle. “I reckon I don’t need to force you to drink this one.”
Quackity hesitated, looking between the bottle and Schlatt’s face. With a shaking hand he took the bottle and sipped it. It tasted refreshing, like fruit in the summer. Blinking a few times, his vision cleared, and he downed the bottle.
“Now no one can say I wasn’t innocent.”
Quackity almost retorted, but Schlatt’s face held sincerity he couldn’t argue with, the first and only conversation they had that was for Quackity’s sake alone.
Schlatt held out a hand, Quackity took it and was pulled to his feet. “You and Wilbur have a thing going on, right?”
Quackity blushed, his mouth remained serious but his eyes crinkled. “Sort of. He’s not easy to read.”
Schlatt turned his back to Quackity. “I hope he treats you well.”
Quackity turned to the kitchen, to a knife block. “How—how do you want me to do it?”
Schlatt shrugged, and took a seat on the couch. He had already said his last words.
Quackity grabbed a knife, the biggest one. They were all untouched and sharp, this one felt heavy in his hand. He took it in his fist and crossed the room to couch, with the momentum he swung his arm around and plunged the knife into Schlatt’s left breast. He held it there, watching Schlatt’s teeth grind together and the grunts of pain die behind them, until tears fell from his eyes. His shoulders dropped, and his palms faced the ceiling.
Five minutes later, the front door opened, and all of Pogtopia walked through. The war was over.
Quackity and Wilbur stayed in Tommy’s old home, and Tommy went to Tubbo’s. No one was ready for things to be done so soon.
“We’ll go back to Pogtopia,” Wilbur said, in the dead of night, “You, me, Technoblade. It’ll be like an embassy for l’Manburg.”
“Do you think they’re weak?” Quackity stared out the window with his hand in front of his face.
“Who?”
“Everyone. Them. Whoever comes to mind.”
“I don’t think they’re weak, I think they need protection.”
“Because they’re weak. And dumb—you think they’re dumb, too.”
“No more than you or I.”
Quackity sat his hand in his lap and stared through Wilbur. “You’re fine with this. Leaving it all behind. Techno’s fine with living in a cave for the rest of his life.”
Wilbur looked him in the eyes, like he couldn’t see the night behind him. “I accepted it weeks ago.”
“And when Dream comes for us, when we run out of skin to poke into, what then? What’s your plan?”
“Dream will leave us alone.”
“No he won’t. If he thinks hurting us will help him get into l’Manburg, he’ll do it. Tommy’ll try to fight him off, and that’s when he’ll strike.”
Wilbur stood up. “And your plan is to leave the door open for him?”
Quackity bristled. “We could kill him. If we stick together Tommy and Techno, with Niki’s potions and your runes—we could fend them off, and one day kill him. It would work!”
“No, Quackity. I won’t risk their lives again.”
“It’s a risk either way.”
Wilbur made a motion like a conductor ending a symphony. “That’s enough. We debated this once, and you lost. If Schlatt wasn’t enough to show you—”
“—Schlatt died on the light side. Eret was light, too, wasn’t he? How else would he be on your side?”
“Enough, Quackity—”
“—Schlatt almost killed me, though. Right at the end. Even with your protection rune. He wanted to die light, so he chose not to. Pure fucking luck. Maybe I’m not the one of us that needs to learn a fucking lesson. Maybe you have to learn that you can’t draw a circle around every person in your life.”
Wilbur shuffled on his feet. “I’m sorry. You—it was a risk we took. Luck factors in.”
Quackity looked back out of the window. “Sleep on it. But—I—I’ll support your decision no matter what.”
“Yeah, you too.”
They gathered for a meeting in Tommy’s, basement—a dingy and dark room with a table that the war had outgrown. Tommy, Tubbo, Wilbur, Fundy, and Niki filled out the seats. Quackity stood in the corner, no one challenged his attendance there. Techno also took a post against the wall, along with Karl, Jack Manifold, Captain Puffy, Connor, and Eret. Quackity’s wings cast a shadow behind him at all times, as did Wilbur’s, though he sold it as an imposing presence.
“We have difficult times ahead of us,” Wilbur started, “It’s my understanding Tommy and Dream have an ongoing feud—”
“—War, it’s a war, and Tubbo’s in on it too.”
Wilbur closed his eyes in what looked like a brief prayer. “War, that he hopes to avoid entangling l’Manburg with. As admirable as this is, and after much thought, what affects one of us will affect us all.”
Tommy snapped his mouth shut, scanning the room.
“The first order is an absolute pardon for any crimes, intended or otherwise, that Quackity has committed against this circle, as well as confirmed citizenship under the Soot administration and an apology for any previous rejections faced by my power.”
Quackity nodded. Niki returned the gesture to him with a smile.
“He and I have paid a great price, as you all can see. And in this new era, we must keep this in mind, as well as any dangers that lay beyond our borders. With that being said, I would like to welcome two members to the cabinet. Technoblade, our Secretary of Defense, and Quackity, our Secretary of Treasury.”
Quackity’s eyes widened at Techno. If his furious stare was any indication, this was as much a surprise to him as it was Quackity.
“Please, join us.” Wilbur gestured to the center of the table. “We’ll make some upgrades, of course. Tommy will remain my vice president, Tubbo as Secretary of State, and so on.”
Quackity moved first, stepping to Wilbur’s side and extending a hand. “Thank you. Thank you, I won’t let you down, I won’t let any of you down.”
“Welcome to the team, Quackity. Welcome to l’Manburg.”
Quackity took his spot between Niki and Fundy, facing Wilbur on the opposite side. Techno joined him between Niki and Tommy. All the barriers had broken.