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There’s always been a myth that sleeping next to a loved one will chase nightmares away.
Maybe there’s some truth to it, maybe it’s their warmth, the feeling of safety, the reduced anxiety that comes with being loved completely and wholly.
It’s a very romantic idea.
Wilbur had dreamt of it a lot throughout his life. After a bad dream, after another breakdown, he’d imagine a future or present where someone would lay with him— and maybe then it would all go away.
But that’s all it was, a myth.
Wilbur had been staying with Quackity in Las Nevadas since the night he stumbled into the city half-dead. He didn’t plan on it, but after weeks of the two making up excuses to prolong his stay— it just became an unspoken agreement.
An unspoken agreement that had managed to last two months.
And truthfully— things were looking up for Wilbur. With some help here and there, he managed to keep a pretty consistent hygienic routine. He’d gotten a lot better at eating more frequently and with balanced nutrients. Hell, he even felt warmer.
Though, that was probably due to the fact that he was practically attached to Quackity’s hip at all times. He went to work with the other, even if that meant getting up at a painfully early time just to watch the man fill out paperwork and make calls for hours on end. He even went to meetings, occasionally he’d speak his mind about pressing matters in Las Nevadas that didn’t particularly involve him— after all, he didn’t work there. Hell, he might’ve still been on the blacklist.
Wilbur could see it in the staff’s eyes that he was still unwelcome. The way they would clench their fists when he put his hands in his pockets, the judging manner in which they would eye Quackity when Wilbur opened his mouth.
But it wasn’t all bad.
After both of them got home, they’d spend the rest of the evening together. Watching movies, making dinner— talking about random, silly things late into the night. Repetitive? Maybe, but it was enough to make Wilbur happy. Because after years, he found something to latch onto— something stable, something he could count on.
That was, until he went to sleep.
Wilbur dreaded sleep more than anything, most nights he’d lie awake, waiting for sunrise. Waiting for Quackity to wake up so everything would be okay again. Those nights were fine, because he could relish in the feeling of being held and a heartbeat synced with his for hours and hours on end.
But the nights where his humanity failed him, the nights where he got too comfortable and felt too safe— those were the worst. The warmth would fade away, and he would wake up in a familiar place. A cold, familiar place that reminded him he deserved none of it.
The nightmares never go away, no matter how tightly you’re being held.
And those nights he would wake up silently, in a cold sweat, tears streaming down his face. Every night he would pretend it didn’t happen, he would calm himself and hold the other man as long as he could, careful to not wake him. He would get up just before the alarm went off, make Quackity coffee and pretend it was all okay.
Quackity would sleep soundly, believing that romantic myth, believing that his mere presence has cured Wilbur’s nightmares— and Wilbur would never correct him, he didn’t want to screw up the perfect life they’d created.
This was neither of those nights.
Wilbur woke up screaming. He was sobbing, flailing, shaking. His heart was pounding and every inch of his body was coursed with pure, unwavering fear. His eyes were screwed shut instinctively and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t open them— he didn’t know here he was.
Suddenly, he was pulled into someone warm. Arms caged around him tightly, squeezing him in a way that was almost painful, but a pain that was grounding. A heartbeat echoed in his ears, rapid— but too slow to be his own. A hand tangled in his hair, scratching at the back of his scalp. Soft words were being whispered into his ear.
Oh, he knew where he was.
And the first thing Wilbur thought about wasn’t the nightmare, it wasn’t the fear in his veins, or the heartbeat in his chest— the first thing Wilbur thought was that he ruined it.
He ruined their perfect life.
Now Quackity would know he wasn’t better, he wasn’t fixed— he was the same as he always had been; pathetic, sad and needy. He couldn’t do anything by himself. Fuck, he couldn’t even be by himself. He hadn’t left the other’s side once in the past couple of months, it was a wonder that the man hadn’t gotten sick of him already; hadn’t pulled away yet. Maybe because he thought it was helping, but now that illusion was shattered.
Wilbur had proven that he could have everything he needed, and yet never be better.
Quackity would surely leave after that realisation. Wilbur would be hushed back to sleep, and when he awoke there would be a box of his belongings on the table, and the man he loved would sit on the couch with an exhausted look on his face.
Wilbur couldn’t bear that. He couldn’t handle being thrown out again— he couldn’t handle his legs being broken once more, just as they started to gain stability.
Wilbur knew if he were to leave Las Nevadas, it would only be a matter of time before his nightmares became a reality.
He clung on tight to the other, nails on the edge of ripping apart skin like it would be his last chance.
Maybe it was.
Wilbur grew to learn that apologies never had value. After all, he’d been on both sides of the issue. Someone apologising to him never meant they would stop hurting him— him apologising never meant he would become faultless. Apologies only served to satiate the human need for reassurance. Apologies only served to buy time.
Maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could scramble enough to afford Quackity’s love.
“I’m sorry,” He choked out. “I’m so, so sorry.”
A hand continued to rub his back. Words were spoken out into the air, shielded from his ears by ringing and sobs.
Maybe they were comforting. He hoped so. Selfishly, part of him hoped it would be a reassurance that he had nothing to apologise for. Realistically, it was probably a plea for him to calm down and go back to sleep.
More apologises spilled from his mouth, Wilbur couldn’t care less how desperate they sounded. He needed to show he was sorry— he needed to prove it. He was sorry, he was.
Please don’t leave me, I’m so sorry.
Wilbur pictured being forced to leave. Making his way back into another cold, dark cave. Scouring for something to eat, trudging along to keep himself alive. Shooting awake from a nightmare, with no one to hold as he calmed himself. He pictured giving up, exhausted and letting himself rot. The earth would claim him before anyone could piece together his remains.
“I’m sorry,” He near-screeched, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry— I’m sorry.”
He should’ve never gone to sleep tonight. He should’ve just stayed happy and curled up under a mess of blankets. Forcing himself awake by planning out what he’d make for breakfast, what movie they’d watch that night, what errands they’d run after work.
He should’ve just stayed awake.
Wilbur continued to babble apologies and pleas into the other’s shoulder. A persistent hand in his hair, a heartbeat pounding in his ear. It was a wonder that Quackity hadn’t shoved him away yet— it was a wonder he was still there at all. It gave Wilbur hope that maybe this wouldn’t be the end for him, maybe he would be given a second chance.
He swore to any God out there that he would never make the same mistake again— just as long as he got a second chance.
He would be better, he just needed a second chance.
He would be perfect, he just needed a second chance.
After what felt like hours, Wilbur had finally sobbed everything he had out. Apologised and begged until he was too exhausted to speak anymore. Hyperventilated until he was on the verge of passing out.
As the other carefully pulled him up until they were face-to-face, he prayed it would be enough.
He felt the man shift slightly as he reached over to turn on the bedside lamp.
Warm light illuminated in the room, and Wilbur was reminded just how much his mind had considered this place home.
He clung on tighter.
Quackity turned back to meet his gaze, and God— he must’ve looked fucked up. The other man’s eyes were pooling with sympathy. His eyebrows furrowed in concern, lips pulled into a grimace.
Something else washed over Quackity’s gaze. Something that, if Wilbur didn’t know any better, looked like guilt.
“You—“ The man spoke, voice wavering as he struggled to find the right words. “Did something happen?”
Wilbur opened his mouth but struggled to find the right words. The only thing he could force out was—
“I’m sorry.” He whispered, voice shot.
Another wave of guilt washed over the other’s expression. “For what?” He rushed out, “You don’t have to keep apologising, whatever it is, I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.” Quackity explained, a desperate edge to his tone.
Wilbur’s eyebrows creased in confusion, was this a test? “What do you mean, for what?” He heaved. “Listen, you have to believe me— I really am sorry. I won’t do it again, I promise.”
“Wilbur, do what again?” The other questioned, eyes searching. “You know I’m not mad at you for anything, right? I know how— how I can be sometimes, but I don’t want you to think I’m mad at you.”
Now Wilbur was confused. Did— Did Quackity really not know what he was talking about? Or was this just a ploy to get him to explain it himself? Yeah, that was probably it. Guilt always increases when you have to explain what you did.
Wilbur took a shaky breath in. “Listen, I’m— I’m sorry for waking you up. I’m sorry, I’m sorry for still acting like this after all you’ve done for me.” He felt more tears well up. “I promise I’m trying to be better, I promise I am. I don’t know why I still get like this— I don’t know, if I knew I would stop. I swear I’m trying, I swear.”
He hung his head, eyes squeezing, waiting for a response.
“Please don’t make me leave, I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Silence stretched on. Anxiousness bubbled in Wilbur’s gut, he needed to know. He needed some kind of reaction, anything. Anything to gauge if he would stay home tonight or be thrown out.
He slowly titled his gaze up to Quackity.
The man’s eyes were glossed with tears.
“Wilbur I’m— I’m so sorry. I didn’t know I was making you feel like,” He furrowed his eyebrows. “Like you weren’t… safe here.”
What? No, no no— that’s not what this was about. He wasn’t trying to—
Before Wilbur could cut him off, he was pulled into a tight hug.
“I don’t want you to be— be scared of me. Like you can’t ever mess up, or have feelings. I never want to make you feel like that, I’m sorry.” The man murmured into his hair.
No, no this wasn’t right. Quackity shouldn’t be the one apologising, he didn’t do anything. Quackity had been nothing but kind to him, he never yelled, he helped Wilbur with everything he could. He hadn’t done a single thing wrong. He’d been nothing but caring, kind and attentive— way more than Wilbur deserved.
But… It was true that Wilbur didn’t feel entirely safe. He still felt like he was walking on eggshells, that the second he did something wrong all of the kindness would be taken away from him, and he’d be told to pack his bags.
Why did he feel like that? If Quackity had never done a single thing to make him feel that way?
How can he explain that?
“It’s— it’s not you.” He murmured. “You haven’t done anything to make me feel like that, it’s— it’s just how it’s always been. I don’t know, I don’t know how to— I don’t know.”
“Wilbur, I don’t want you to ever feel like you can’t talk to me. I’m always going to be here. I’m never going to be upset if you’re going through something.” He explained. “Obviously I don’t want you to be upset, but it makes me feel worse if you don’t feel safe enough to tell me.”
Silence.
Quackity continued, “So please, just tell me if I’ve ever done anything to make you feel like you can’t.”
Wilbur shook his head.
He was telling the truth, after all.
But the truth is more complicated.
“I don’t… even know how to start,” He took a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to start telling you. I just— I just don’t want you to feel like I haven’t made any progress.” He mumbled into the man’s shoulder.
Quackity pulled him up until their eyes met.
“Wilbur, I know you’re trying. You’ve already made so much progress since before, I know you’re trying— I do. When I asked you to stay with me, I never expected that you’d suddenly be cured. Not after everything you’ve gone through, you’ve gone through so much— so much that I don’t even know the half of. You don’t have to keep pretending that everything’s okay, that won’t make it any better. It won’t make me happier to see you pretend to be fine. The only thing I want is to know that you feel like you can talk to me when you’re not.”
“You— You won’t say that once you know.” Wilbur whispered, trembling.
“Try me.” Quackity spoke, way— way too confident.
“Quackity, it is hell being alive each day. You’ve made it better, you’ve made it so— so much better. But I can’t— I can’t even function like a human being. It’s fucking miserable, and I don’t want to make you miserable too.” He confessed.
“If that’s true, I’d rather be miserable with you than miserable without you.” Quackity responded without hesitation. Firm, like he’d been thinking about it for ages.
Wilbur’s face contorted with confusion.
“Just tell me one thing.” The man said. “Tell me one thing about you that you think will make me miserable.”
Wilbur paused.
He might as well own up to it.
“Every night, every single time I go to sleep I wake up in a cold sweat. Every night, no matter what, without fail I have another fucking nightmare. It doesn’t matter what happened that day, or how tired I am— it always happens. It’s been happening, you just haven’t known until now.” Wilbur laughed loathingly, “So if you really want to wake up every night having to will me out of a panic attack, more power to you.”
Quackity paused, staring for a moment.
“Okay then.” He said, very blankly.
“Q—“
“No.” Quackity interrupted, softness still echoing through his voice. “If that’s what you need, then it’s not a problem.”
“Stop,” Wilbur pleaded, a speck of hope buried in his tone. “You can’t possibly mean that.”
“Would you do the same for me?” Quackity replied, quick as ever.
Wilbur scoffed, looking away. “Well, yeah— but that’s different.”
The other smirked a little, almost as if he’d been expecting the reply. “Really, how is it different? What’s the difference between you needing help and me needing it?”
Wilbur paused, his mouth agape, struggling to answer.
“Unless you didn’t mean that?” Quackity questioned rhetorically, still with a smirk on his face.
Wilbur jumped to answer, “Of course I meant it!”
“So why is it so hard for you to believe I meant it?”
There was a pause, and Quackity’s smirk faded.
Wilbur could not believe what he was hearing. He wanted to badly to argue, deny it— but what was there to argue against? He would give the whole world to Quackity, he would pull the sun out of the sky if the other asked. If the man needed his help, he’d do anything asked of him in a heartbeat.
Would Quackity really do the same for him?
“Let me help you. Not because of an obligation, but… because I love you.”
Wilbur’s breath hitched and his gaze snapped back at the other. Did he hear that right? There’s no way he heard that right— No, it was a cruel trick of his mind.
“You don’t have to say anything right now. I just wanted to tell you.”
He— He didn’t hear that wrong then. Quackity really loved him? After everything he did— loved him? He couldn’t imagine anyone loving him at this point, especially Quackity. Fuck, he didn’t deserve this— he didn’t deserve this.
“Hey,” The other said, his face contorting with concern. “Hey, it’s fine man. I— I didn’t mean to make you upset. You don’t have to say anything right now, I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”
The man reached over to Wilbur’s face to wipe away stray tears with his thumbs. Oh, he hadn’t even realised he was crying.
Someone loved him. Fuck, someone actually loved him. After everything, someone still loved him.
“Thank you,” He whispered. “I love you too. Fuck, I love you so much. You don’t even know.” He babbled, more tears streaming down.
“I know, I know.” Quackity spoke, smiling. “Come here, we can talk about that later. You look exhausted, seriously. We can talk about everything later.”
Wilbur nodded as he was pulled into an embrace once more.
“Try to get some rest, okay? If something happens, I’m right here.”
Wilbur, still a little unsure, nodded hesitantly. “Okay, okay I will.”
“Promise?” The other asked.
Well, he couldn’t just break that, now could he?
“Promise.”