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It was dark outside. Wilbur didnt necessarily know what he was doing but he knew he wanted to die. The cold air hit his face and he shut his eyes, actually feeling it for the first time in a long time.
He had a plan, of course he had a plan. He waited until night when nobody could accidentally stumble over his body. So nobody could hear the life slowly leaving himself.
He had already said his goodbyes. Wilbur told everyone he was leaving to his old home and he wasn’t lying, limbo was his old home in a sense.
He stood by the burger van, pocket knife clutched in his shaky hands. Wilbur couldn’t seem to stop the tremors after revival. He’s reminded of days where he’d hold one of his hands with the other, trying to will it to stay still. It never did obviously and Wilbur didn’t pay much mind to it after a while.
“Okay,” Wilbur breathed out. He was ready.
He lifted his arm, palm facing the black sky then lifted the one that had the knife in it. The man took a deep breath and sunk the blade deep into his forearm, pulling down until he reached his elbow. He gritted his teeth as he did so, watching the red immediately start to pour out of his arm and drip down.
It hurt was the first thing he thought. The second thing was he had to do the other arm. He needed to be sure that he would die.
Wilbur shakily placed the pocket knife in his other hand that was now covered in bright red blood. He didn’t even know it could get that bright especially in the darkness he was stood in. It was spurting out of his arm but he tried not to focus on that and more on getting his hand to grip around the black handle of the blade.
“Wilbur,” A voice spoke behind the man.
Wilbur didn’t react still trying to grasp the handle. He used his unstained hand to shut his fingers around it, hissing in pain as he did so.
“Wilbur what the fuck are doing out here its 2am-“ The voice got closer and paused entirely when they seen Wilburs arm covered in blood, dripping down onto his clothes and the grass. There was so much blood that it seemed his whole forearm was made of it.
“Go,” Wilburs voice cracked as he dropped the pocket knife, no longer having the will or strength to hold it. His face was hot with pain despite the cold air beating against his face. It hurt, it hurt really bad.
“You- no im not leaving what the fuck,” The man grabbed Wilburs arm making Wilbur flinch and gasp at the pain. Blood got all over the other mans hand as he did, Wilbur thought the sight was pretty even if it was his blood pouring out of his gaping arm wound, staining his clothes and the ground he walked on. He didn’t find it that pretty anymore.
Wilbur blinked down at the man and realized distantly that it was Quackity. This couldnt be real could it? Maybe he was in limbo already. A whole other limbo where Quackity was there to torture him for the rest of time.
“Fuck- fuck Will,” Quackity panicked as he grabbed Wilbur by his shirt and started dragging him in a direction the man wasn’t able to make out. “Dont die on me Soot,” The man muttered, panic still clear in his voice. He was breathing heavily as he brought Wilbur to his house, determined to not let him die.
Once they got to the house Wilbur was still violently bleeding. There would have had to be a trail of blood on the ground following them.
The man was set down on Quackitys couch now fading in and out of consciousness. It felt like no time had passed when Quackity came back.
“Wilbur,” Quackity tapped the mans face and Wilbur barely reacted, eyes twitching slightly.
He felt a bottle touch his lips, he instantly opened them and let the liquid flow down his throat. Wilbur didn’t care what it was, he didn’t care about much at this moment.
A sharp pain shot up his wounded arm making Wilbur whimper pathetically against Quackity’s hold. He didn’t even know The man in front of him had his hand on his shoulder until he tried to move to sit up.
“Dont move Wilbur,” Quackity reprimanded though the words were soft it felt like venom against Wilbur’s skin.
“Please dont..” Wilbur pleaded. He didnt know what he was pleading for, too out of it to even rack his thoughts for something useful to say.
“One more,” Quackity mumbled apologetically. Another bottle touched Wilbur’s lips and he moved his head to the side this time.
“No, no please,” He spoke quietly, his voice cracked on every other word.
“Im trying to help you, its regen,” Quackity spoke reassuringly. Wilbur took the potion and tensed up as the pain in his arm came back again then faded.
The room was silent. Wilbur had thought for a moment that none of it was real until Quackity spoke again.
“Don’t fall asleep.”
“M’tired,” Wilbur slurred. His eyes felt like they were glued together the way they wouldn’t open and Wilbur wanted to let go so badly. To stop fighting entirely, and so he did. He let the pitch black take him into unconsciousness.
When Wilbur woke up he could smell something. It smelt like when he used to live with Phil and the man would make coffee and eggs before Wilbur, Techno, and Tommy woke up. Back when Phil still cared about him.
His head was pounding and his arm ached unpleasantly. Wilbur opened his eyes and looked down at the arm that was now bandaged up tightly but not too tight to where it was suffocating.
The bed he was on was soft and Wilbur figured it was Quackity’s. There was white and black clothing littered all over the floor of the room from what Wilbur could see, proving his thoughts to be correct.
He sat upright and tried to ignore the spots that clouded his vision as he moved to stand up.
Then Quackity was there seemingly out of nowhere helping Wilbur off the bed and to a standing position.
“You lost a lot of blood man you have to tell me when you wanna get up,” Quackity mumbled.
Wilbur felt dizzy now, his eyesight blurring for a moment as he took in his surroundings once again.
“How did you get here so fast?” Wilbur asked quietly. His voice was hoarse from just waking up.
“Unimportant. I made breakfast,” Quackity changed the subject started to walk with Wilbur over to the kitchen.
Wilburs never gotten to see Quackity’s house before and he wasn’t expecting the first time being after he tried to kill himself. Oh and he was not ready for that conversation yet.
The food set on the table was eggs and bacon making Wilbur realize that he couldn’t remember the last time he actually ate anything.
“So, What happened?” Quackity asked, straight to the point. The man already knew what happened. He’d have had to know what happened since he was there.
“Nothing,” Wilbur said anyways. If Quackity wanted him to admit he tried to kill himself he wouldn’t make it that easy.
Quackity sighed.
“Your arm was split open Wilbur. Is that nothing to you?”
“Ive been split open before,” The man shrugged looking at the eggs in front of him.
“Can you be serious for one second this isn’t something you can just talk your way past.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say Q.”
“The truth probably,” Quackity looked frustrated.
“You already know what I was trying to do,” Wilbur argued.
“Im not going to sit here and make assumptions. I want you to tell me exactly what you wanted to do last night.”
Wilbur knew Quackity wouldn’t drop the topic that easily, to his dismay.
“I tried to kill myself.”
The silence was suffocating. Almost as suffocating as the way Quackity was looking at him.
“Why?” The man across from him sounded hurt, not angry or disappointed like Wilbur thought he would. It made the guilt ten times worse.
Wilbur didn’t answer. Afraid that if he spoke tears would start to flow and never stop.
“You- the note said you were going to Utah..” Quackity whispered, “You werent planning on leaving were you.”
“I was leaving,” Wilbur mumbled softly, “I was going to limbo until you stopped me.”
“Stop. Why, tell me why— why did you want to die?” It sounded like the man was pleading. Pleading for an answer that Wilbur hardly knew himself.
“What else am I meant to do here Quackity?” Wilbur scoffed bitterly, “I have nothing, no one. Everything I touch gets ruined by my filthy hands.”
“You have me,” Quackity spat, “I’ve never left i’ve been here the whole time! Why do you think i’ve never kicked you out when you come here? Why do you think I put up with your shit all the time? I care about you.”
A sinking feeling filled Wilbur’s body. He thought Quackity wanted him dead just like the rest of the server. As if the man read his thoughts he continued.
“People care about you Wilbur. You might not be able to see it but I can.“
“Do you..” Wilbur paused, “Do you ever think that you remember too much?”
Quackity blinked.
“What?”
“The memories, they never go away,” He laughed somewhat pathetically, now relishing in the dull ache his arm brought him.
“It can if you let them,” Quackity spoke.
And Wilbur couldn’t argue with that. He could actually, he was just too tired to.
“I cant eat right now,” Wilbur pushed his plate slightly.
“You need to eat, you’ve lost a ton of blood,” Quackity frowned pushing the mans plate back to its original position.
Wilbur begrudgingly ate some of the food. His appetite was concerningly small but Quackity didn’t comment on it.
Afterwards he was helped back to Quackity’s room. They didn’t speak. Wilbur was afraid Quackity was mad, though he did have it coming.
“You need to wash yourself you know,” Quackity commented.
“It’s not like I can.”
Quackity stayed silent, realizing Wilbur was right. He had the urge to say he could do it for the man. He could feed him and wash him and preen his broken wings but he held back. Wilbur wasn’t for Quackity.
“You can at least change can’t you?” Quackity asked leaving the side of the bed Wilbur was sitting on and went over to his closet.
“With one hand?”
The brunette felt utterly pathetic. He couldnt do anything for himself even if he wanted to, barely even able to move his fingers in his left hand.
“Did you want me to help you?” Quackity asked.
“If you’d like to,” The brunette mumbled. He hated how he felt so small, he usually held some type of dominance when it was him and Quackity but after last night he doesn’t see how he could get that back anytime soon.
Later in the day when Quackity unwrapped the bandage around Wilbur’s arm he could seem the forming scab across his arm along with smaller, dark scars littering the area around it.
“You need to stop this too, Wilbur,” Quackity spoke softly. He was careful as he rebandaged the wound, Wilbur noticed how Quackity’s hands didn’t shake. He was steady and sure in his movements.
“You seem like you’ve done this before,” Wilbur hummed.
Quackity looked at Wilbur and followed his eyes back down to his forearm.
“I had nobody else to fix me up,” He shrugged slightly.
“Teach me and I could.”
Quackity finished bandaging the man in front of him and set his arm down onto his lap.
“When you’re better perhaps.”
That was all Wilbur needed.
At this point Wilbur has been at Quackity’s house for a month. Quackity never told him to leave so he didn’t, enjoying what he could until he eventually overstayed his welcome.
“Do you think we could go down to the beach later?” Wilbur asked. He’s not sure why he’s asking, fully capable of going where he wanted but what he wanted was for Quackity to go with him.
Quackity was sat at his desk filling out piles of paper work. Lmanberg didn’t require half as many papers to be filled Wilbur thought, but then again Lmanberg wasn’t like Las Nevadas at all.
“We could,” Quackity nodded, not taking his eyes off the papers sitting in front of him.
Wilbur grinned and brushed his fingers along the risen scar laying on his forearm. It became a habit after he got his bandages off. The need to actually feel that this was real. That it wasn’t all some daydream and he wouldn’t wake up in the dark cold train station that was built for his rotten tainted soul.
The beach was how it always was, beautiful and quiet minus the crash of the waves against the sand and rocks. It was late which was when it was usually coldest.
Quackity gave Wilbur a black and gray sweater the first night the two went to this beach. The man has kept it since, putting it on over his yellow sweatshirt he couldn’t bare to rid.
“Should I visit Tommy tomorrow?” Wilbur mumbled quietly. He was quieter around Quackity now.
“When was the last time you seen him?”
“Ah..” Wilbur chuckled, “When I told him I was going to Utah.”
Quackity hummed. He didn’t like to remember those times. The forcing Wilbur to eat at least something even though he was adamant on not needing to eat. The finding him bleeding on the bathroom floor tears streaming down his face.
“I should shouldn’t I,” At this point Wilbur was talking to himself. He looked to the ocean and watched as the dark waves crashed against the shore, leaving behind seaweed and then sucking it back up.
“That’s your choice to make,” Quackity replied softly.
“I will. I will tomorrow.”
Quackity smiled at the man and leaned his head against his shoulder. He would have never let his guard down around Wilbur like this before but he couldn’t help but feel drawn to his now open heart that took in Quackity’s love like roots take in water.
“He’ll be mad,” Wilbur muttered.
“He will,” Quackity nodded against Wilbur’s shoulder.
“He’s the only one that’d care though. Maybe uh,” Wilbur combed his fingers through his hair, “Maybe I shouldn’t.”
“What?” The man lifted his head off of Wilbur to look at him, trying to read his expression.
“I ruin everything Q. He’ll never talk to me again and we’ll end on worser terms than what we have right now.”
“Thats not true,” Quackity frowned, “You don’t ruin everything we’ve been over this. You haven’t ruined it with me though you tried to.”
“You’re the only person that wants to be around me for whatever reason,” He grumbled.
Quackity sighed and then spoke.
“Tommy loves you and yes he will be mad but he’ll get over it because he loves you.”
Wilbur stayed quiet.
“Dont overthink it Wilbur, things will play out and it’ll end up alright.” Quackity nudged the man with his elbow and grinned when Wilbur looked at him.
“I’ll trust you,” Wilbur smiled back, slight worry still etched across his face.
“Good now relax.”
Wilbur scoffed and looked back at the ocean. Quackity felt like the ocean, always taking him in and spitting him back out. He feels like the man will keep him this time, let him drift to the bottom, and make a home in his heart. At least he hopes so and if not, he’ll come right back again and again until he does.