Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The gas station is just how Wilbur remembers it, bar a few changes possibly due to the passage of time. The exterior is still just as dust covered and unkempt, as he remembers it; with the odd bit of graffiti giving off the impression that the building is abandoned. It’s hard to tell how long Wilbur was gone for, so it might very well be now; especially with it being in the middle of literally nowhere.

He is pleasantly surprised to find that, despite everything else, there are no broken windows, and that the vending machines just outside of the doors are still running and stocked with drinks and snacks.

All of the lights are still on inside. The LED’s wash out the multicoloured packets of the confectionery that still line the shelves, with cold, white light that reflects off the linoleum floor. Even the light in the far left corner flickers with a consistent, inconsistent rhythm, just as it did before.

Truely, nothing has changed.

Well, there are a few things.

For starters, Wilbur is an observant person. His brain likes to pick out small details or patterns, that other people may not notice or focus on, at first. So the sudden appearances of crucifixes, both wooden and metal, placed above every major doorway of the building, elicits some confusion from him; because they definitely weren’t there before he left.

Next is a sealed, white envelope, left behind the counter addressed to, “New employee”; the notion of which makes Wilbur scoff and roll his eyes. Don’t they know, he is far from “New”.

Using his nail, Wilbur rips the envelope open with ease, and retrieves the letter inside.

It reads;

“Dear new employee,”

...

Again, Wilbur rolls his eyes.

...

“Welcome to your new position as a trusted cashier at “Desert Side gas station”. Inside the employee break room, you will find your uniform. It is highly recommended that you wear the company assigned turtleneck, underneath your jacket, for your own protection and well-being. Do not worry about overheating, the air-conditioning is set to be on at all times.

Keep the sleeves rolled down and the neck up, to ensure the most protection.

...

“Protection? From what?” Wilbur wonders, looking around the room for any indication as to what the letter could mean. His eyes land on a black turtleneck, folded on the table; an obnoxiously orange, short-sleeved jacket hangs off the back of a nearby chair. 

It’s similar to his old one, but made of a material he’d rather not have to deal with. Slowly but surely, he manages to slip it on and zip it up, before eyeing his appearance in the mirror.

...

“For additional safety, crucifixes have been placed on key areas of the building (both interior and exterior). These include: above the main entrance and counter, above the staff room door, and above the bathroom door.

A stake is to be kept behind the count at all times . You can find a box of spares located by the door, inside of the breakroom, should you need to replace it. Please also refresh yourself on how to spot and deal with a vampire encounter, a booklet has been provided.

Help is several miles away, your only defence is yourself.

No taking the stock without paying.

- Desert Side gas station and co.”

...

Wilbur disgards the letter on the counter, back where he’d found it, more confused now than when he’d first stepped foot back inside the building. Next to where the note lands, he notices a flimsy looking leaflet also sitting on the counter. The front page is all black and glossy, with two red eyes and white text that reads, “How to spot a vampire” printed on it.

Curiously, he picks it up and begins idly flicking through the pages; eyes just barely glancing over the word. From what he sees, a lot of the physical descriptions given sound like those of different types of hybrids.

Red eyes? Animalistic features? Fangs?

Wilbur knows and has known quite a few people who fit that description perfectly.

He himself included.

At the back of his mind, Wilbur wonders if this is some sort of prank, that the rest of the station is playing on him; seeing as they seem to think he’s the new guy here. He wouldn’t be surprised if that truly was the case. His early days on the server were filled with Tommy and Tubbo pulling pranks on every new face that graced the lands of the SMP.

The memories of which cause a sigh of longing to escape from his lips, as he disregards the booklet next to the letter and takes a seat at the stool behind the counter; shifting his shoulders to try to make himself more comfortable.

———

By the end of his second day at the gas station, Wilbur had already foregone any advice to keep his skin covered. The jacket and turtleneck were too restrictive for the wings he’d developed since his revival. They were small enough for him to hide beneath his loose-fitting trench coat, whilst back on the server. But keeping them pressed tightly against his back all day is not going to be good for him, in the long run (if that’s even a possibility).

So, when he finally returns home at the end of the day, he takes the pair of shears from in his inventory, and cuts two rough slits into the back of both articles of clothing. From then on, they remain out but folded close to his back, out of habit.

After eliminating that annoyance from his day-to-day life, next came the restlessness of being in the same place, everyday, and bored out of his mind. Sure, it was nice not having to worry about anything major; no conflict, no wars, no overarching threats.

But it was getting really old, really quickly.

And with only a broken TV in the breakroom, that he had been unable to fix, and a radio that played the same few songs over and over again- to the point where he would rather sit in silence- he was wishing for some sort of excitement in his life again.

Which is why, when the doorbell chimes, Wilbur’s attention is immediately dragged away from the magazine he’d been reading, to the new customer that had walked in.

Except who he finds has walked in, is a face he never thought he’d see again.

Quackity.

Wilbur’s eyes fixate on the others movement around the store, watching as he stands by the fridge for far longer before deciding on a drink, but not even giving a second thought to the bag of crisps he swipes off the shelf. Not before long, Quackity is standing directly in front of him, just on the other side of the counter.

“... hello? Hello? ... HEY!” 

Snapping fingers in front of his face brings Wilbur out of, what he assumes was, him zoning out as he stares at the person in front of him.

“Quackity?” He breathes, light on his tongue with disbelief and a look of horror on his face. Wilbur has heard of mirages. Of people seeing what they desire the most, in a dire situation. And whilst he will admit that he is neither in a dire situation nor does he need Quackity, the sight of someone familiar does bring a wisp of joy to him.

Speaking of, Quackity is now staring at him with an equally confused expression on his face, “How do you know that?”

“Hm?” Wilbur hums, tilting his head slightly.

“How the hell do you know my name?”

“C’mon Big Q,” he rolls his eyes, “I know we left off on… bad circumstances, but you don’t have to pretend to not know who I am.”

The confusion on Quackity’s face increases, upon hearing the comment, “Wha- Look, man. I don’t know who you are, I just wanna buy my shit and get the hell outta here. I’ve got better places to be than in this shitty gas station, talkin’ to weirdo’s like you.”

A chuckle escapes from Wilbur’s mouth as he looks Quackity up and down. He’s dressed relatively similar to the last time the two saw each other; though his suspenders are hanging limply from his waist, rather than over his shoulder. There are a pair of sunglasses sitting over his eyes, and from what Wilbur can see there’s no imprint of a rather gnarly scar, hiding beneath them.

Perhaps Quackity finally found a way to get rid of it?

What a shame, it was pretty much the only thing that made the other just a little bit intimidating.

Then again, there was always something about that scar that made all of the hairs on his body stand on end; in a good way.

All in all, it’s definitely Quackity.

“Can I get a pack of soul cigarettes too?” Quackity says after a long pause filled with more staring. There’s a quiet mutter of, “Anything to make this better,” following the question.

“Same as always,” Wilbur smiles, turning around and reaching for the desired pack.

From behind, he hears Quackity suck in a sharp breath, followed by a wispy, “Oh shit.” And when Wilbur is facing him once more, his attention is focused on something just above the counter, with a look of fear now mixed in with the confusion that hasn’t left.

“So, Quackity,” Wilbur begins, causing the others attention to fly down to him, “what’re you doing all the way out here?”

“None of your business,” he snaps, reaching slowly for his back pocket and pulling out some cash. He places it harshly down on the counter, before taking a slight step back, “Just let me pay for my shit.”

“What? No, c’mon. It’s been, like, forever since I’ve seen anyone from the server,” he admits, elbows leaning on the counter, “Let’s catch up. How’s everyone who doesn’t hate you? How’s Las Nevadas doing? Still as fake as the desert that it was built on?”

The fear on Quackity’s face, though still partially hidden by his sunglasses, morphs into one of terror, at the mention of Las Nevadas. That’s how Wilbur knows he’s onto something. But before he can push the other’s buttons further, Quackity swipes the bag of crisps and that bottle of soda, and backs up further.

“I don’t know how you got that information,” he begins, face trained on Wilbur’s every movement as he pushes himself up from the counter, “But I suggest you keep it to yourself.”

A chime signals the opening of the automatic doors as Quackity edges closer and closer to the exit. Upon realising what’s happening, Wilbur slowly rounds the counter and begins crossing the distance to the door. But by the time he has reached them, Quackity is already in his car, locking the doors and speeding off down the road.

Leaving Wilbur standing in the open doors of the gas station, completely dumbfounded.

Only when the suffocating air of the desert becomes too much, does he retreat back inside to ring up the items Quackity had wanted to purchase, using copies from off the shelf.

A hundred and more questions race through Wilbur’s brain, as he goes about the monotonous task.

“Why’d he pretend not to recognise me?”

“What’s gotten him so skittish?”

“Where’s he going in such a rush?”

His racing brain is cut off when the familiar chime of the doors signals; head whipping up in anticipation, only to be met with disappointment when the customer is someone he doesn’t recognise.

Chapter Text

A metallic rattling, from outside of the building, draws Wilbur’s attention away from the shelf he is currently restocking. But as soon as it had started, silence falls again. Still crouched on the floor, Wilbur listens intently as the noise picks up again, just a few seconds after it had stopped.

From previous experiences, if Wilbur was to take a guess, the noise was either coming from; a) a car that had broken down at one of the pumps, b) someone abusing the vending machines, or c) a raccoon had found its way into one of the dumpsters (again).

Any of which were likely answers.

As the noise continues, Wilbur stands slowly and crosses the short distance to the doors; stopping just before the sensors cause them to open. A page from the advice booklet he’d been left, flashes in the back of his brain. 

Bold text that had read;

“DO NOT GO OUT AFTER DARK!”

There is a similar warning plastered on the right side of the door, which his eyes glance to. He doesn’t know why those two messages are causing him to hesitate. Whatever these “vampires ” are, he has yet to encounter one. Let alone see whatever it is about them that warrants the need for said warnings.

As a relatively paranoid person himself, Wilbur can understand the irrational fear of something that may not really be a threat or not even real.

But even this seems like overkill.

So, with eyebrows furrowed, he takes one final, short step forwards; setting off the sensors and ringing out a chime as the doors slide open in front of him.

The cool, nighttime air of the Utah desert hits Wilbur immediately, mixing with the fake air from within the gas station, as he stands in the doorway; arms crossed and surveying the area in front of him.

Just as expected, the desert outside is… well, deserted.

The cold, white light from both within the station and from the gas-pump shelter illuminates the flecks of rogue sand that litter the concrete the building sits upon, as well as the tarmac of the road beside it.

From where he stands, still within the doorway, Wilbur can’t see any sign of a car that may have broken down; mentally ticking it off the list of possible causes for the noise. There are also no dumpsters around the front of the building, and with the noise definitely coming from out there, then he can mark off the possibility of it being a feral raccoon.

A feeling of disappointment rushes briefly through his body.

Which can only mean one thing.

Gripping the side of the door for balance, Wilbur leans his head over the threshold and towards where the vending machines are located, only to see someone in a red, pull-over hoodie gripping the drinks machine and shaking it with great force.

Wilbur watches them for a few more seconds, just to see if they’ll tire and leave, without him having to get involved. But when their rattling seems to increase, he huffs before stepping out onto the concrete, “Hey! Don’t do that.”

The other person pauses, holding the vending machine at an angle, half off the ground, before their head whips in Wilbur’s direction, and he can finally see their face.

Now, let's backpedal a little.

When Quackity had first walked into the gas station, Wilbur had had to do a double-take to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. That his rival really was standing right in front of him, beanie and all.

Which is also the reason why he is now standing dumbfounded, having a silent staring competition with the crook still holding up the machine. As it turns out, he was partially correct about the presence of a (metaphorical) raccoon being the source of all the noise.

“Tommy?” Wilbur whispers. It’s practically non-existent, even in the dead of night. Yet, the other still seems to hear it; eyes flashing with recognition.

After a few days of consideration, Quackity’s presence had started to make some sense. There are leaflets and posters within the gas station that advertise a place very similar to Las Nevadas, just a couple of hours drive away.

And with how laughably dead Las Nevadas had been, the last time he had been on the server, Wilbur wouldn’t be surprised if Quackity had been on his way to visit that place; possibly hoping to improve upon his own city.

However, that still didn’t explain why Quackity hadn’t seemed to recognise or remember him. Wilbur hadn’t lost any of his memories of the SMP, when he came back to Utah- so why had Quackity?

Then again, Quackity had often pretended to ignore or forget him, for the sake of his own image.

Or perhaps it was a prank?

Just like everything else in this Prime-damned station has felt like.

But that still doesn’t explain how or why Tommy is standing right in front of him, an equally confused expression on his face, and holding a 200kg vending machine half off the ground, with very little effort.

“Look man, you didn’t see shit, alright?” Tommy eventually says, rather forcefully, “Just go back inside, and no one gets hurt.”

“What’re you doing here?” Wilbur asks, completely ignoring the other’s demand and taking a few steps forwards.

“None of your fucking business,” he pratically- no really hisses. The machine echos a loud THUD into the surrounding desert, when it’s dropped back onto the concrete. Tommy stands in front of it, staring through the glass intently, before letting out a frustrated sigh and kicking the bottom of it; threatening to put a dent in it.

Wilbur lets out a stifled chuckle at the others' antics. The noise of which draws Tommy’s attention back towards him, “Why’re you still here? Go away!”

“And what're you trying to accomplish, exactly?” Wilbur smiles, folding his arms and adopting a more relaxed stance.

“The stupid thing ate my money,” another, more weak, kick is dealt to the machine, “Just want my stupid Coke and then to get outta here.”

The knowledge of which provides the context for Tommy’s previously unexplained actions towards the vending machine. It’s something that, the more Wilbur thinks about it, the more Tommy the solution of shaking and kicking his issue makes sense; eliciting another, this time not stifled chuckle to bubble in his throat.

It’s good to see that, despite everything, Tommy still acts the same.

“Alright, let me have a look,” Wilbur says, ignoring the furious look- both out of frustration towards the machine and because of him laughing at his antics- the other throws his way. The two stand side by side, staring in at the can of Coca-Cola on the other side of the glass.

From the corner of his eye, he can see Tommy staring up at him with a slightly fearful but inquisitive look in those grey-blue eyes of his.

They used to be so bright, Wilbur remembers as he meets the other’s eyes; not surprised when Tommy almost immediately returns to looking back at the vending machine.

Wilbur hums in contemplation, also focusing back on the troublesome machine, as he thinks of a solution.

Well, he knows an easy way to fix the solution.

But where’s the fun in that?

“Have you tried sticking your hand through the slot?” He asks

“Uhhh no?” Tommy replies, tilting his head slightly, “Should I?”

Wilbur does his best to hide his smile, “Try it.”

Cautiously, Tommy crouches down in front of the slot at the bottom of the vending machine; body at a side angle and keeping an eye on Wilbur the entire time. He throws the other a look of, “Is this a good idea?”, to which Wilbur gives a silent nod as his hand creeps up to his face and covers his mouth.

With a roll of his eyes and a muted groan of annoyance, Tommy rolls his sleeves up and pushes up the metal flap, slowly reaching his hand in and up into the machine as far as it can go.

“Am I near it?” He asks, his whole body now pushed up against the machine and unable to see where he’s reaching; now relying solely on Wilbur’s guidance to retrieve the drink.

“A bit to the left,” Wilbur directs, “No more right… left a bit…and… there!”

“Got it!” Tommy exclaims, thin fingers holding the can with a death grip that, given the strength he had displayed earlier, Wilbur worries he may accidently crush it before he retrieves it from the machine.

But as he attempts to remove his arm, he finds that he cannot.

He’s stuck in the vending machine.

“Ohhhhhh fuck,” he whines, rattling his arm around a few times to try to dislodge, “I’m fucking stuck!”

“You’re stuck?” Wilbur asks with feigned confusion; and air of humour mixed into his tone as he struggles not to outright laugh.

“Yes I’m stuck!” Tommy cries out, “Do you think I want to keep my arm in ‘ere?” Finally deciding to abandon the can, he wiggles his arm around a little more, “Fuuuuuuck.”

And that is the final straw.

No longer able to keep his laughter in, Wilbur’s once stifled chuckles fill the air in a booming laughter, at the sight of Tommy, slumped on the floor, an arm stuck in a vending machine after foolishly trusting him.

“Fuck you, man!” He shouts, head turning to face Wilbur, an embarrassed but furious expression painting his face, “You did this on purpose!”

His brother’s realisation causes Wilbur to laugh even harder, clutching his stomach as he doubles over.

“I could kill you, y’know?!” He continues, “I could fucking kill you.”

Wilbur pays no mind to the threats. He’s known Tommy for long enough, and played enough pranks on him, to know that they are completely empty and mostly his way of showing his frustration.

After a couple more seconds of his own laughter drowning out his brother’s threats, Wilbur manages to calm down enough to speak, “Alright alright,” he wipes a tear away from his eye, “Let me help you.”

Also rolling up his sleeves, he crouches down besides the other and reaches barely into the machine to grab onto the stuck arm; completely aware of how Tommy’s eyes hold a slight fear in them, ignoring it in favour of helping him.

But when he grabs a hold of his arm, what can only be described as a spark followed by a fuzz of electricity fizzles throughout Wilbur’s entire body.

Since his revival, Wilbur’s pain receptors and perception of touch have been all over the place. Sometimes, a simple touch can be too much, causing him to flinch away from anything and everything, no matter how light it is. Other times, he could burn his hand on the burger van’s grill, and not feel a thing.

Which is why his body doesn’t entirely know how to react, upon feeling the initial shock of electricity.

It momentarily feels like a more intense static shock, causing him to flinch; and in turn Tommy too, at the sudden movement.

But his grip never leaves his brother’s arm.

The warm buzz that washes over him is nice.

And then comes the overwhelming feeling of fear and curiosity and hunger .

It makes him want to curl into a ball.

And then comes confusion and a headache, creeping in from the base of the skull.

“What the fuck?” He breathes heavily, rubbing deep into his eye sockets and blinking hard to try to stave it off.

“Uhhh, you good man?” Tommy asks. And when Wilbur looks back to him, he finds a familiar swimming fear in his eyes, that he hadn’t seen since they were back in Pogtopia.

“Umm… yeah,” he swallows, not wanting Tommy to have to worry about him like he once had. Especially since there’s nothing that he should be worrying about currently, other than getting the arm unstuck and uninjured. “Yeah I- I’m fine. Let’s just- Alright, on three, pull.”

Tommy nods in agreement.

“One… two… three! ”

“Ow fuck! ” Tommy complains, a clunking noise echoing out, but his arm remains stuck in the machine. “You sure this is gonna work?”

“Positive,” he answers, “Again. “One… two… three! ”

Again, a metallic thud sounds out, and Tommy is still stuck; he lets out frustrated huff as he wiggle his arm around. “It’s looser!”

“One last pull should do it, ready?”

“Go.”

“One… two… three! ”

The force of Tommy’s arm coming loose sends the pair tumbling backward; all of the air being forced out of Wilbur, as he lands on the concrete coughing and spluttering.

“YEAHHHHH!” Tommy cheers, immediately jumping up and punching both arms into the air, as though he hadn’t just been flung backwards onto solid concrete, a few minutes prior. Wilbur mentally curses his once-dead body for its inability to recover from injury as fast as it used to. Instead, he remains on the floor, coughing his heart out as he watches Tommy dance around.

“You’re not dying, are you?” The other pauses his celebration to check in on him; leaning over his body and blocking the artificial, white light from shining on his face. And, for just a second, Wilbur swears that Tommy’s eyes flash red.

“I’m- yeah I’m fine,” he manages out, voice a little horse and breath laboured.

“You need some help up?”

Wilbur eyes the arm extended outwards to him, considering it for a second, before the nauseating feeling of hunger flashes through his mind and body, and he decides against it. Waving Tommy off, he pushes himself off the concrete; having to take a few more deep breaths in, once standing again.

“Alright,” he begins, turning back to the vending machine and reaching into his vest pocket for the store's keyring, “let's get that drink for you.”

With ease, Wilbur unlocks the front of the machine and retrieves a fresh can of Coke. Well, as fresh as the drinks within it can be. Wilbur isn’t too sure how long they’ve been in there for; and he certainly hasn’t had to restock it yet.

When he turns back around, Tommy is staring at him with disbelief written all over his face. Wilbur just smiles as he holds the can out, “Here you go.”

“Are you kidding me!?” He exclaims, “You could’ve done that the entire time!?”

He shrugs, “Well, yeah. I work here so…”

“Why'd you make me get my arm stuck then?”

“Oh c’mon Tommy, it’s so unbelievably boring here,” he explains, “Forgive me for wanting some sort of entertainment in my life.”

Grumbling, Tommy snatches the can and cracks it open, “You’re a prick. An absolute fucking dick’ead.”

“So I’ve been told. You want something to eat, by the way?” Wilbur turns and walks back into the gas station, “I’m not entirely sure how fresh the stuff in that other machine will be.”

When he doesn’t hear footsteps behind him, he turns around to see Tommy standing just before the doorway, eyes fixed on something above it, “Hello? You can come in, y’know?”

Tommy then says something that he doesn’t quite catch, over the buzzing of the overhead lights and the repetitive whirring of the air conditioning unit.

“Hmm? What was that?” He asks, “I’ve told you, Tommy- my hearing isn’t what it once was. Now, c’mon.”

“It’s- I think I’m good on food, man,” there’s an air of hesitation radiating off him now, “I’m just gonna go. It was nice meeting you, and… erm- thanks for the drink.”

Wilbur watches as Tommy practically sprints from the doorway, watching as his now exposed hair passes by the front window and then is out of sight. At which point, Wilbur rushes to the door to catch up to him and convince him to stay. If he couldn’t do it with Quackity- someone he’s had a rocky history with- his own brother should, in theory, be easier to convince.

But when he reaches the door, like with Quackity, Tommy is gone.

And not that he got into a car and drove off.

It’s as though he has vanished into thin air.

Leaving Wilbur to return to his previous task of restocking the shelf, a thousand more questions in his head and ten times more confused than he was when he clocked in that evening.

Chapter Text

Quackity was nearing hour four of his road trip back home, and every minute that had passed since hour one, was making him wish more and more that he’d just ditched his car and taken a flight home instead. But no, he’d decided to be stubborn and tough it out, for whatever reason. And now he’s listened to the same four playlists about five times each (because there’s no mobile or radio signal out in the desert), and he’s almost out of fuel.

So when he spots a gas station, amongst the miles upon miles of sand, it’s a sight for his sore and tired eyes.

Parking his car at one of the pumps, Quackity refills his gas tank until it’s full, then heads inside to pay and hopefully find something substantial to eat.

But as he stares into the drinks fridge, he can't help but get the feeling that he’s being watched. He knows that it’s only him and the cashier within the building. So when he finally chooses a drink and turns around, it comes as no surprise that said person is watching his every movement as he approaches the counter.

Then the cashier begins speaking like he knows him personally.

That’s enough to freak anybody out, because Quackity is certain that he’s never met this man in his life.

He thinks he’d remember a face like the cashiers.

And then he turns around, and Quackity’s fear doubles ten fold.

Wings.

Small black and white wings pressed tightly against his back.

Quackity’s eyes dart away from them, quickly to where the other is reaching for the box behind the counter, taking quick note of the sharp, blackened nails and pointed ears. And though his back is turned to him, Quackity is certain that if the man took off those red-tinted glasses, his eyes would be a similar color underneath.

Which can only mean one thing.

Vampire.

And Quackity has foolishly walked right into his trap.

He should have known that the gas station was too good to be true.

An easy façade for luring in tired, hungry, and weakened humans.

“Oh shit,” he breathes.

But then his eyes catch on something above the counter- a crucifix.

“What the fuck?” He thinks, staring up at it in confusion. How is the vampire standing there, seemingly unharmed by the presence of the cross?

Then the vampire is talking again, saying Quackity’s name so casually and asking him why he’s out here, in the middle of nowhere. To which the other can only assume is a tactic to lure him in further- to be led into the back and killed. 

“None of your business,” Quackity’s snaps, a careful hand slowly reaching into his pocket for loose change for the food, and another reaching for his stake; he doesn’t want the vampire to become aware that he knows what’s going on, or else he’ll attack. But when he doesn’t feel the weapon, his memory flashing to where it lies on the spare seat of his car.

He’s so fucked if he doesn’t get out of here now.

Quackity does his best to control his emotions and his expression as he practically throws the money onto the counter, swipes his stuff, then begins backing up towards the door. The vampire, eyes having not left him once, seems to notice what’s happening; pleading with him to stay, and eventually following him once he quickens his pace.

When that happens, Quackity makes a beeline out of the station and to his car; immediately locking the doors and driving off down the road. Oddly enough, he spots the vampire in his rearview mirror, standing in the doorway to the gas station; quickly becoming a speck in the desert.

Six more hours until he’s home.

———

About a week has passed since Quackity’s visit to the gas station in the middle of the desert, and he cannot, for the life of him, get the vampire cashier out of his head. No matter what logic he applies, he can’t figure out how, 1) the vampire knew his name, and 2) he knew about Las Nevadas.

Sure, names are often public knowledge, in his case as a business owner. But no one, besides himself, should know the name of his current project; not even the people he’s employed to work there… well, except Slime, somehow.

That guy seems to know way too much about everything.

Throughout its months of planning and construction, the name of the casino has been a mystery to all.

And yet, this random vampire, in the middle of the Utah desert, somehow obtained that information.

It’s a very concerning circumstance.

If he knows the name, then what else does he know? Who else is he working for?

Quackity can’t have him running around with that information, something needs to be done about him.

Killing him would be the quickest and easiest solution, in the short term. But vampires have covens. And if this guy belongs to one, then there’s no doubt that the rest could come after Quackity and his business, for the killing of one of their own.

That simply can’t happen.

He could imprison the vampire. But, again, once his coven catches wind of what's happening, he’s as good as dead.

So the only other solution is one Quackity had planned on doing, when he began work on the casino.

———

Quackity sets off before the sun has risen over the horizon, in the direction of the casino. When he arrives, six hours later, it is high in the sky and beating down on the golden sand of the desert. The air-conditioned gas station would have been a blessing, if Quackity was here for any other reason.

When he’d set off, the possibility of someone else working today, instead of the vampire, had shot through his head. And he shouldn’t be relieved when he steps inside the building, to see the being he’d travelled all this way for.

The vampire's eyes seem to light up, when he sees who has just stepped foot into his trap. “Quackity,” he smiles, setting down the book he’d been nose deep in, a few moments prior, “You’re back.”

“Yeah well, I wish I wasn’t,” his hands are in his pockets, one gripped tight around a small stake- remembering from his mistake last time- the other thumbing over a small bottle of holy water.

He watches in unease as the vampire chuckles at his remark, “Maybe you just can’t get enough of me.” Folding his arms on the counter, the vampire continues to smile smugly, “So, back of more cigs?”

“Actually,” Quackity takes deep breath in, taking time to consider if this really was a good idea. Fuck it, “I’m here for you.”

“Oh Quackity, take me out to dinner first,” he chuckles.

Quackity rolls his eyes in slight disgust, “Not like that, you creep. I’m here to make you an offer.” 

The vampire tilts his head in intrigue, then seems to remember something and huffs, turning his head away and staring down at the floor behind the counter, “Look man, last time you offered me something, it didn’t turn out… great. Remember? Ranboo, y’know, died.”

The comment? Explanation? Whatever it is, sends a shiver down Quackity’s spine; one he does his best to hide. He has no idea what the other offer the vampire is talking about, nor who this “Ranboo ” is, but if someone died, then maybe this really is a bad idea.

“And I know I never got to tell you this,” the vampire continues, “but I’m sorry about all of it. I- I got carried away, but you were the only person who made my life worth living, once I came back.”

Seriously, what is this guy talking about?

It almost sounds like he’s… pleading.

But for what? Quackity doesn’t know.

Perhaps it’s best if he plays along, for now.

“Listen man, it’s all in the past,” he says, watching as the vampire looks into his eyes with an inkling of hope, “This time it’ll be better.”

“And you’re sure of this?”

“Yes. Now, how would you like to come and work for me?”

At that, the vampire practically deflates onto the counter; letting out an exhausted groan with it. “It’s the vice-presidency all over again,” Quackity thinks he hears him mutter, though it’s muffled by the table.

Cautiously, he approaches the counter, “Uhhh, you good, man?”

Slowly, the vampire lifts himself back up and meets Quackity’s eyes again, “Yeah I’m- All good, nothing wrong here,” he smiles weakly, flashing too-sharp teeth. “So, working for you? How d’you know I’d want that?”

“Well,” he assumes his businessman façade, “looking at your current position, I’d say it’d definitely be an upgrade. I mean, if I had the choice to work either here or at an up-and-coming casino, I’d choose the latter. It’s the smarter move, I think.”

“A casino huh?”

“Yes, a casino. The same one you seem to know way too much about.”

The vampire seems to consider his two options, eyes tracking around the gas station before landing back on Quackity, “And what exactly would I be doing? At the casino, that is.”

“Well, that all depends on if you take my offer or not,” he smiles, “Which, if I were you, I would.”

Quackity needs this guy to say yes, for his casino to work. He needs vampires to be employed at the casino. If not for his and his staff's safety, but for his patrons too. Though his idea to open a human only establishments was by no means original, and has been a concept for hundreds of years, he wants his to be the biggest and most successful. Which is why any information about it had been kept under tight wraps.

However, with a vampire working there, it would hopefully signal to any vampires that attempt to enter the building, that the place is not to be messed with or taken advantage of. That they aren’t welcomed there.

Any vampire would do.

And with how the one standing in front of him seemed unphased by the multiple crucifixes hung up around the building, there was no doubt in Quackity’s brain that this guy was powerful - if not, at least ancient enough to withstand the pain.

He needed him.

“Very well,” the vampire says, “I accept your offer.”

“Great!”

“Shake on it?”

Quackity eyes the hand that has been extended towards him. The nails are just as sharp as the last time he was here- like claws. The vampire's skin also appears rough and dry, littered with various nicks and scars and old burn marks. It makes him wonder what exactly happened, for him to end up like that.

Weren’t vampires practically invincible?

Perhaps they’re from before he was turned?

“C’mon, don’t leave me waiting, Big Q,” the vampire says, snapping Quackity out of his own head.

“Wha- Oh yes. Fine, you have a deal…” he eyes the name badge that the vampire wears on his uniform, “...Wilbur.”

That seems to please the vampi- Wilbur , as a smile stretches across his face upon hearing Quackity finally speak his name. “Deal! Now, how’re we getting out of here?”

“Well, since I drove here, we’ll have to drive back,” he explains, “So get me some chips and a drink, and meet me at the car.”

Once he’s back in the car, Quackity allows himself to finally breathe a sigh of relief.

His plan worked!

Oh no, his plan worked…

Now he’s going to have a vampire living and working within close proximity to him.

And a rather interesting one, at that.

What has he done?

Chapter Text

If you were to ask Tommy how the last twenty-four hours has treated him, he would say, “Fucking rough .”

For starters, yesterday evening he had left the house and headed into town to meet with his friends; to get something to eat and then to spend the rest of the day throwing rocks off a bridge, to see who could make the biggest splash.

Except, about halfway into that plan, vampire hunters had shown up to the cafe they were in, and correctly (but unfortunately) identified him, based on sightings from his other, more night-time, activities; chasing him out of the building and into an alley.

When he'd realised that they’d cornered him, he'd shrunk into his raccoon form and scurried away through a hole in a fence and had hidden in a box on the side of the street. The rush of adrenaline that came with the escape began to calm, as soon as he was safe within the box; feeling his eyes drift shut.

A common misconception is that vampires don’t need sleep, that they get all of their energy from the blood they consume. But that’s not entirely true. Whilst most of their strength and abilities do come from blood, they still need to sleep regularly to regain energy. 

And considering Tommy hadn’t properly slept in a day, it was all catching up to him in that comfy box of blankets.

He was jolted awake, some time later, by the box being shaken. Confused, Tommy pushed up the lid, but found that it was stuck.

Great, as if his day couldn’t have possibly gotten any worse.

Using his claws and teeth he eventually managed to chew a hole into the side of the box, and free himself from its cardboard walls, only for his ears to be assaulted by high pitched screaming. Looking around, Tommy realised that he was in the backseat of a car, and the dreadful noise was coming from the person sitting next to the box he was just trapped in.

After that came more screams and shouts. And before he knew it, the car was coming to a stop and he had been thrown onto the side of a sand littered road, in the middle of nowhere. At least it was dark now, so he wasn’t going to burn up from the sun.

Shifting back into his human form, Tommy looks around for any sort of life along the dark expanse of the lonely road. In the distance, there appears to be an artificial glow from… something.

Hopefully not a sign and from actual civilisation. 

And when he finally reaches the light, he is relieved to find that it is a petrol station.

“Oh thank Hell,” Tommy sighs in relief, approaching the station with an air of caution. He keeps his senses honed for any sort of noise or movement that is out of the ordinary. For all he knows, this station might be a human trap to lure in lonely and down beaten vampires; the crucifix above the main entrance tells him as much.

He’s not welcomed here.

But when has that ever stopped him?

It’s not like those actually do anything. It’s just another common, human misconception about vampires.

If he was invited into the building, he could definitely push through the pain that it would cause him… if he wasn’t bone-dead exhausted and hungry.

There are two vending machines outside of the building, one stocked with snacks and the other drinks. Fishing around in his pockets, Tommy manages to find enough change for a singular can of Coca Cola; a blessing in what has to be one of the worst days of his life … well, death, technically.

At least, it was a blessing until the can got stuck.

And that tips him over the edge.

Tommy doesn’t know how long he spends shaking the machine, for the employee inside to come out to see what is happening. He’s so focused on getting the can lose, that he hadn’t even noticed the other guy's presence until he speaks.

The first thing Tommy notices, upon seeing the employee, are the bright red, circular rimmed sunglasses he is wearing. Which is stupid because, 1) who wears sunglasses inside? And 2) Who wears sunglasses at night ?!

The second thing is the confusion on the rest of his face.

And he definitely doesn’t miss how he whispers Tommy’s own name, tone filled with disbelief. It’s a breath in the nighttime air, but rings clear as day in Tommy’s ears. Yet, he chooses to ignore it, focusing back on the bigger problem of the stuck Coke can.

Tommy tries to get him to leave, but the guy doesn’t seem to be listening to him. Instead, he stands right next to him, as if there was nothing unusual about the fact that he just watched him lift up and shake an incredibly heavy machine.

This guy is weird, Tommy decides.

And as he stands next to him, nothing about him seems to make sense. The guy is deathly pale, covered in scars, and appears to have pointed ears hidden under his unkempt hair. He’s greying at the front, but the rest of him appears to only be a few years older than Tommy. 

Everything points to him being a vampire.

But Tommy can hear his heart beating within his chest.

Only humans have heartbeats.

Yet, he jokes and pokes fun at Tommy as though he isn’t the prey, out of the two of them.

Then he does something Tommy never expected him to do. He helps him. And not just by guiding him on how to get his arm out of the machine, but by physically tugging on the stuck appendage.

Tommy watches in horror as the human rolls up his sleeves and crouches down right next to him. It would not be hard for Tommy to grab one of the now bare arms and to bite it, bleeding the guy dry of his blood and ripping the machine in half to retrieve the drink.

And if this night couldn’t get any weirder, and the employee any more confusing, when his hands make contact with Tommy’s bare skin, he feels a familiar spark run through his body, followed by feelings of confusion and pain.

A bond.

A vampiric bond has been formed between the two of them, with absolutely no blood shed or exchange; simply a touch.

Tommy does his best to get his own confusion under control, once he feels the other’s begin to grow and become overwhelmed. He can understand what’s happening on the employee’s end. If the other has never formed a bond before, then obviously the first time is going to be difficult.

He does his best to try to calm the human, when he hears him mutter a breathy, “What the fuck?” If it were anyone else he shares a bond with, Tommy would go with the default of calming them through that; but this guy seems to be really struggling.

And once they get back on track, they’re able to get Tommy’s arm out of the machine.

The employee lies on his back as Tommy himself celebrates his freedom from the vending machine’s grasp. Momentarily too distracted by his excitement to notice how the bond between himself and the human seems to fizzle away into a low buzz at the back of his mind.

Once the human is back on his feet, he strolls over to the vending machine, swinging a ring of keys from his finger, opens it, and then retrieves a fresh can of Coca Cola for Tommy.

“Are you kidding me!?” Tommy exclaims, “You could've done that the whole time!?”

The other shrugs, “Well, yeah. I work here so...”

“Why’d you make me get my arm stuck then?”

“Oh c’mon Tommy, it’s so unbelievably boring here,” he explains, “So forgive me for wanting some sort of entertainment in my life.”

Grumbling, Tommy snatches the can and cracks it open, “You’re a prick. An absolute fucking dick’ead.”

Again, he elects to ignore how the man uses his name like he knows him. Which, there’s a possibility he does, and Tommy just forgot that he’s met the other before. Then again, he thinks he’d remember a human as confusing as this one.

Especially one who he’s formed a vampiric bond with.

It’s not completely unheard of for that to happen, but it isn’t exactly commonplace either.

Some more sociable vampires may tend to get attached to humans that they befriend or make their familiars, causing a weak connection to form between the two.

But not this strong.

The human beckons for Tommy to follow and invite him inside the gas station. Which would have been all well and good, if there wasn’t a literal crucifix hanging over the door. Again, if Tommy had enough energy, he would just push through the burning pain that it would cause him, but he simply cannot be bothered.

Instead, he watches as the other easily steps through the door, eyes drawn to something he hadn’t noticed before.

This guy has wings.

Humans don’t have wings.

Seriously, what is this guy?!

“What are you?” Tommy asks, eyes looking between the cross and the employee.

“Hmm? What was that?” He asks, turning around, “I’ve told you, Tommy- my hearing isn’t what it once was. Now, c’mon.”

“It’s- I think I’m good on food, man,” he stammers out, already beginning to back away, “I’m just gonna go. It was nice meeting you, and thanks for the drink.”

Tommy sprints away from the station, and into the desert sand, as fast as vampiric-ly possible; leaving a dust trail behind him. The light of the building once again becomes a glow in the distance, as he walks down the main road; tapping on his phone for directions back home. 

But, in the middle of the desert, there’s no cell-reception.

It takes all of his strength to not throw his phone into the sandy abyss.

———

When Tommy finally steps foot through the door, after having hitch-hiked- hypnotising the driver into dropping him off a couple of streets over, then drank his blood before walking home- he wants to go straight to his room and sleep for the next day. Unfortunately, his plans are cut short before they can even begin, by something barrelling into and tackling him to the ground.

Slightly dazed and still on a blood high, it takes him a couple of seconds to realise what’s happening. “Dude, get off me,” he chuckles, pushing the fake attacker away.

“Ew, you’re covered in blood,” he complains, standing and checking himself for any blood, “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Tommy accepts the hand that reaches down to him, being pulled off the ground before almost being knocked over again.

“We’re never letting you out of our sights again,” he mutters, pulling away and punching Tommy in the arm, “Where the hell have you been!?”

“Tubbo, chill out,” he chuckles, “Clingy much?”

The other rolls his eyes, arms folded over his chest, “Fuck off, man. Sorry I was so worried about you after you got cHASED AWAY BY VAMPIRE HUNTERS!”

“Seriously I’m fine!”  Tommy tries to reassure him, “Those dick’eads couldn’t even lay a finger on me.”

Hurried footsteps from down the hallway notify the pair to another presence coming towards them, causing their attention to turn from each other, to the direction of the noise. Seconds later, another familiar face is towering over them. Though worried, they appear to be less furious than Tubbo was.

“Tommy, good to see you’re back,” they welcome.

“Hey Ranboo,” he waves weakly, “Couldn’t even greet me at the door? This is why you’re my least favourite friend.”

The other rolls their eyes, “Yeah yeah, you've told me before. Multiple times, actually. But, if you actually meant it, I wouldn’t be standing here, in front of you, in your house.”

“Very true,” Tubbo confirms.

“I hate both of you,” Tommy turns his nose up, “You’re the worst friends ever. Ganging up on me and shit.”

“It’s because we love you,” Tubbo says.

Rubbing his face, Tommy turns towards the stairs, “I’m too tired for this shit. I’m going to bed.”

Except, he’s stopped by Tubbo’s surprisingly strong grip on his arm, “Nuh uh you’re not. First you talk, then you sleep.”

“You’re holding me hostage from sleep, in my own house?” Tommy exclaims, watching as the other two nod, “I can’t believe you both. Fine, after I go-”

“Nope,” Tubbo butts in, shoving a finger in the other's face causing him to be quiet, “You’re gonna explain everything, to everyone.”

“Tubboooo,” he whines, trying to pull away. Everyone means Phil and Techno too- the other close members of his coven. And whilst he’d planned to tell them about the events of the previous forty-eight hours, Tommy was going to give them the toned down version that didn’t involve the whole, “Almost getting caught by vampire hunters but not really,” section.

Obviously he would give his friends the full story, because they were there. Maybe he’d leave out the details of the events at the gas station, and just hope that neither group spoke to each other about their versions of the same story, and put together all the pieces.

Anything but having to tell them all the full truth.

But there’s no way in hell that Tubbo is letting him escape, this time.

“Fine, where are they?” Tommy asks, following Tubbo and Ranboo back down the hallway and into the main room; adorned with furniture and belongings from over the past couple of centuries. The space is lit by a warm fire, and various soft-light lamps that are dotted around the room; the curtains remain closed at all times.

“Oh, they’re still out,” Ranboo answers, “Phil said they’d either be back with you or at sunrise. But I’ve let him know you’re here, so they should be-”

BANG!

The sudden sound of the front door being slammed open echoes throughout the house, causing its inhabitants to jump. Tommy lets out a groan of dread as a gust of wind flies down the hallways and into the room with them; disturbing the fire and the candle flames.

Within seconds of the door opening, Phil is standing in front of him; hands gripping onto his upper arms. 

“What were you thinking?” He exclaims, shaking Tommy, “Why didn’t you answer us?”

“My phone died,” Tommy says, trying to wriggle his way out of Phil’s death grip.

“Not your phone,” he sighs, “The bond. We both tried to reach you, but it was like you were out of range.”

“Is that even possible?” He hears Ranboo whisper to Tubbo, to which the other shrugs.

“When the other person isn’t payin’ attention, maybe,” Techno chimes in jokingly, as he enters the room, “I see you two managed to find him,” he says to Tubbo and Ranboo.

“Don’t give them all the credit,” Tommy manages to pull himself out of Phil’s grasp, “I got here by myself.”

“Oh you did?” Techno says, quirking an eyebrow, “Then you’ll have no problem explainin’ how you did that.”

Tommy looks between Techno, then to Phil, then to Tubbo and Ranboo for some sort of backup against the other. But when he only receives looks of disappointment and headshakes of disprovement, he lets out a large sigh and flops backwards onto the couch. The rest of the room remain standing, making the situation feel like an interrogation; which Tommy makes known.

“I feel like I’m being interrogated,” he states.

“Well, because it kinda is,” Techno replies.

Tommy rolls his eyes, “Great.”

“Just tell us what happened, mate,” Phil interjects, taking a seat in an armchair next to the couch, “I mean, you went missing for two days, after being chased by vampire hunters. So forgive us for being concerned.”

“Okay fine. Fine, I’ll tell you.”

It doesn’t take more than twenty minutes for Tommy to go over the events of the previous night. He got chased by hunters, he fell asleep in the box, he was thrown out of a car in the middle of a desert, and then he pauses for suspense.

He was excited to tell the others about the possible new coven member that he’d met, so much so that he can’t contain the minuscule amounts of excitement that seep through the bond, like water through a mesh material. In return, Tommy feels the intrigue and anticipation that comes from both other parties.

Enough for him to stand, as though he was about to perform for an audience. Oh how the tables have turned, now he is the one on his feet, and the rest of the room are sitting in wait; except for Techno, who still leans against the doorway.

“So, I was shaking this vending machine, and the dumb thing wasn’t coming loose,” he begins, “And I must have been making too much noise, because the employee comes outside, and I thought, “This guy’s dumb as shit, leaving the safety of his stupid petrol station.”.

But because I’m such a merciful person- and also because I was too tired to kill him- I told him to fuck off. But this dick’ead stayed and must have used some mind control, because next thing I know, my arm’s stuck in the machine.”

Technoblade chuckles, “You sure you’re just not dumb enough to listen to whatever he tells you to do?”

“Shut up, Techno,” Tommy fires back, “You weren’t even there, how would you know.”

“Lucky guess.” He shrugs.

“Anyway, back to what actually happened. I tried to get my arm out of the machine, but, again, I was tired as fuck . I cursed the guy out for tricking me, said I could kill him, and he laughed! In my face! Can you believe it?!”

“Oh absolutely,” Ranboo says.

“Oi!”

“Ignore him,” Tubbo butts in, before any bickering could break out, “Keep going.”

Tommy huffs, “Fine. Where was I?”

“You told the guy you could kill him for tricking you?”

“Yes! So I cursed him the fuck out, but he didn’t care? It was super weird. And then he crouched down next to me, and grabbed my arm.”

There’s a collective, “What!?” that echoes through the room. And Tommy can feel the confusion that comes from both other vampires. He can understand why. It’s not every day that a random human- as Tommy has described the employee, up until that point- comes within three feet of a vampire, willingly. Let alone touch them, bare skin exposed and within biting range.

“But it was really fucking weird, because when he did I felt something.”

“A bond,” Phil mutters under his breath.

“Exactly,” Tommy pauses, “Wait, how d’you know?”

Tommy watches as Phil side-eyes Techno, who in-turn cocks his head in Tommy’s direction. He can tell that they’re having a conversation through the bond; one that he isn’t privy to. “You wanna tell him, or should I?” Techno eventually says, causing Phil to sigh.

“I’ll do it,” he replies, turning back to Tommy, “Last night we both felt something. Panic. And we know it wasn’t from you, because it was… different.”

“It was new,” Techno adds.

“Yes, exactly. Which is why we needed to know what you got up to, last night.”

“You guys felt it too?”

They both nod. “It was weak, but it was there,” Phil clarifies.

“What?”

Tommy had known that there was a possibility that they had felt it too. He knows what it’s like to form a vampiric bond with someone else, that’s how he knew what it was. That’s also how he knew how overwhelming it probably was for the other guy; because he’s been in his position before.

But he’d always assumed everyone felt it the same way, when a connection is formed. Therefore, the intensity that he’d felt, he thought the rest of the coven had also sensed. Phil had joked about a connection being weaker when the other person was “ out of range ”, but he didn’t think that was actually a possibility.

“Wait, so does that mean there’s another member of your guy’s coven out there?” Tubbo chimes in, “And he works at some random petrol station in the middle of the desert?”

“If we all felt it, then yeah,” Techno says.

“How does that work?” Ranboo asks.

“What d’ya mean?” Phil says.

“Well, from what we’ve been told by you guys, a bond is formed through blood and sire-ship.”

Techno nods, “Correct.”

“Yeah so, as far as we know, Tommy never bit this guy,” he says, “From what it sounds like, he’s a human who formed a bond with you guys through physical touch. No blood exchanged.”

“Well, it’s not entirely uncommon for vampires to form a type of bond with humans they’re close with,” Phil explains, “It’s rare, but it can happen.”

“But you just said it yourself, Phil,” Tubbo says, ““humans they’re close with.” If Tommy hasn’t formed something like that with, say, me and Ranboo. Then why did you all, with some random human?”

“I wouldn’t say he was fully human,” Tommy mutters, causing the room's attention to turn back towards him.

“What do you mean?” Phil says slowly.

Tommy sways back and forth where he stands, fiddling with his hands, before ultimately returning to his seat on the couch and rubs at his face in exhaustion as he thinks of what to say. The ride back home had given him enough time to consider whether to tell the story with the guy being human or a vampire.

The pros of the human version were that it makes more sense for the guy to be where he is; working at the gas station.

The cons were that it makes him look a little stupid that the guy tricked him into getting stuck in the vending machine. As well as having to explain the whole, “The guy had pointed ears and wings.”

Whereas the vampire version pros would have been that there was a vampire that the universe had decided was a part of their coven.

But the cons would be having to explain that this vampire had a literal heartbeat. Which would probably set off the others instincts to rush to find him, and help him through his transition into vampire hood. Because a vampire with a heartbeat meant that they were possibly in pain and suffering with their turning.

Ultimately, he’d decided to go the human route.

Anything to not set off his coven-mates instincts.

It seems as though that decision was pointless, seeing as he was about to tell them anyway.

“When he was next to me, I could hear his heartbeat,” he begins, cautiously, “But he also had pointy ears and claws and wings.”

Silence fills the room.

And Tommy doesn’t need a bond to feel the tension.

“This is bad,” Phil mutters.

“Why’s it bad?” Tubbo asks, and Tommy can’t blame him. With him and Ranboo both being human, they’re not as informed as the others as to possible the severity of the situation. Due to an increase in hunters, over the past couple of centuries, vampires have become more solitary creatures within their own covens. Therefore, what may be common knowledge for a vampire, is not longer for a human.

“To put it simply, if a vampire has a heartbeat it means that something has gone wrong with their turning, and they’re stuck in a limbo between being alive and undead,” Phil explains, “It’s known to be very painful, both mentally and physically.”

“He didn’t seem in pain,” Tommy mutters.

Techno lets out a huff that’s half a huff-half a chuckle, shaking his head before turning his attention to the pair sitting either side of Tommy, “You two should get goin’ home. C’mon, I’ll walk you.”

“What? Why can’t they stay?”

“It’s late and they need to sleep,” Techno explains.

“Plus, this is something the three of us need to discuss in private,” Phil adds, looking to the pair, “No offence.”

“It’s alright, we’ll just get the cliffsnotes version, at some point,” Tubbo says, “Let’s go, Ranboo.”

“Okay.” 

Tommy watches as the two leave the room followed by Techno, listening as the front door opens and closes again. He sits in silence for a couple of minutes, waiting to see if Phil says anything. But when the other sighs and leaves the room, Tommy takes it as a signal that Techno isn’t going to be back for a while, and therefore he should probably go and do something else to fill the time.

He heads up to his room to grab some less sweaty, more comfortable clothes, feeds his pet spider- Shroud- then hops into the shower. When he returns to the main room, stopping by the kitchen to grab a blood-filled snack, he finds Phil has returned to his seat in the armchair and is reading an old looking book.

Lying on the couch, Tommy occupies his mind with the games on his phone until he hears the front door open. Techno’s head appears around the doorframe, making eye contact with Phil, “Is it time?”

“Better now than never,” he sighs, closing the book, “Here?”

“Sure,” Techno shrugs, pushing Tommy’s legs out of the way as he sits besides the other on the couch. There’s a strong smell of blood coming from him, with flecks of it staining his white-collared shirt. Thankfully, it doesn’t smell like Tubbo’s or Ranboo’s, letting Tommy’s mind ease up as he moves into a sitting position.

“So, what’s the plan?” Tommy asks, looking between the two. He may be a vampire too, but they’ve definitely had more experience in their undead life than he has.

“I say we pay him a visit, then bring him back here,” Techno suggests.

“You wanna kidnap him!?” Tommy exclaims, earning another shrug from Techno, “We can’t do that.”

“Tommy’s right,” Phil says, “As easy as it would be, we can’t just take him from whatever life he has… well, I mean we can-”

“We’re not kidnapping him,” Tommy states.

“And what do you suggest we do then?” Techno side eyes him.

With a huff, Tommy leans forwards and holds his head in his hands, “I d’know. I thought you guys would come up with something that wasn’t kidnapping, because you’re both ancient enough that you’ve probably dealt with this shit before.”

The two share another silent conversation, “I mean, we kinda did with you. But you were already a vampire at that point.”

“Yeah, so what worked for me?”

“A lot of convincing,” Phil chuckles, seemingly reminiscing on the past.

“Well then just do that!”

“I don’t think it’ll be that simple,” Techno says.

“Why not?”

“You were lost when we found you. You had no one else” Phil says.

“Thanks for reminding me.”

“But, from the sounds of it, this guy has a life. He has a job, he probably has friends and a family.”

Tommy rolls his eyes, “Fine, so he’s probably not lonely. I get it. But it wouldn’t hurt to try, right?”

“He’s got a point, Phil.”

Phil seems to think over the plan, before coming to a conclusion, “I guess we could try that.”

“Great! Let's go,” Tommy jumps up from the couch, only to be pushed back down by Techno, turning to look at the others with fire in his eyes, “What the hell, man?”

“Rest first, we’ll go tomorrow.”

“But what if he’s not there tomorrow?”

“He will be,” Phil reassures, “Now get your ass to bed. And I better not hear you up at one, talking to Tubbo.”

Rolling his eyes, Tommy stands once again; this time not being pushed down. “Fine,” he grumbles, making his way into the hallways, “Night!”

“Goodnight,” Phil calls from the main room, as Tommy ascends the staircase and walks down the long corridor to his bedroom; passing varying photos and paintings of current and previous coven mates. 

When he had first joined the coven, and didn’t know much about vampires, he used to tell each painting good morning or good night, in case they heard him. All the vampires in the painting were still alive, according to Phil, so his naïve brain had assumed they could hear him.

He only does it in his head now.

As Tommy lies in bed, staring up at the stars on his ceiling, he can’t help but let his mind wander to the vampire-human at the petrol station. He curses himself for not checking for a name badge, when he realises that he doesn’t know the man's name. 

The strange man who’d tricked and then helped him.

With whom he’d made a vampiric bond with, completely by chance.

Who had shimmering black and white wings, in the artificial light of the station.

He falls asleep with a mix of questions in his head.

Chapter Text

He’s gone.

Now with enough energy, Tommy was able to pass through the doorway without being mildly affected by the crucifix. The other two had to wait outside however, seeing as he was previously invited in by the mysterious vampire-human, and they were not. It was no big deal, Tommy knew what he had to do.

Except, all of those plans were thrown out of the window when the one person they had travelled out to the desert for, was not there.

“What do we do now?” Tommy asks, looking to the ground and kicking a stray pebble across the tarmac.

“Did you ask when he’d be back?” Techno tries, “Because we can just wait out here ‘til then.”

“Of course I did,” Tommy explains, “The lady in there said he was meant to be working now, but randomly quit in the middle of the night.”

A rush of wind blows through the desert, and Tommy watches as it rustles the dead bushes that surround the building. It was weird seeing the place during the day. Well, sunset, to be more specific. They’d arrived earlier than the last time he had been here, in the hopes of catching the guy before he went inside the building.

And it seemed as though their timing had been correct, but foiled by an outside force beyond their control.

Now that he can see more of the area, Tommy takes his time looking around. He can’t understand what would propel someone, both dead and alive, to want to work here of all places. It’s hot, dry, and in the middle of nowhere!

His eyes trail from the ground, to the cracked and graffiti covered walls, to the roof, when his eyes catch on something.

“Ah yes!” He shouts, catching the attention of the other.

“What? What is it?” Phil asks, a semblance of hope in his voice.

Tommy doesn’t say a word. Instead, he smiles as he points towards the roof and waits for the pair to see what he’s found.

“Security cameras,” Techno deadpans, “Good find.”

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Tommy says, excitedly strolling back into the gas station and up to the counter.

The woman standing behind it, to her credit, seemed to be prepared for his re-entry into the building. There’s a silver cross now hanging from her neck and a stake on the counter; she was definitely expecting him.

“Hey, just a quick question-,” Tommy begins, but is quickly cut off.

“Look, I don’t know how you gained entry into this place, but you need to leave,” she spits, hand now gripping onto the stake, making no effort to hide it.

Tommy rolls his eyes, “Okay fine I’ll leave, I just have a question.”

“Make it quick.”

“The security cameras, do they work?”

Now it’s the woman's turn to roll her eyes, “Obviously.”

“Great,” he cheers, “Now, do you have the tapes from earlier today?”

“You said one question,” fury is in her eyes now, “LEAVE.”

“Oh c’mon,” he whines, “Y’know, your co-worker was a lot nicer than you’re being.”

“You mean the one you’re trying to stalk?”

Tommy sways from foot to foot, trying to look as least intimidating as possible, “I wouldn’t say it’s stalking. Me and my coven are just concerned about him, is all. You see-”

“I don’t care what you blood-suckers want,” she spits, “I want you out of this gas station, and to never come back again.”

Okay, he’s getting a little tired of this back and forth now. Time to actually use his powers to his advantage.

Dropping the approachable façade, Tommy sighs, “I didn’t want to have to do this, y’know.”

“Do wha-”

“Listen to me,” he begins with the hypnosis, “You will first invite my coven into the building. Then you will show us where you keep all recordings of your security footage. Got it?"

Fear now paints the woman's face, the stake she was once holding like a life-line clatters to the floor. She doesn’t say anything as she follows Tommy to the front of the building, until she grants entry to Techno and Phil, then makes her way towards the employees break-room.

The crucifixes hanging above the doorways do nothing to stop the three vampires from easily entering the room. Contrary to popular belief, crucifixes or crosses- whether they are made of silver or a mix of different materials- don’t do much to stop a healthy vampire. But if the being is injured, is tired, or hasn’t eaten in a while, then they may be compelled by them.

But other than that, they’re complete bullshit.

They just burn a little, as you’re walking through the doorway.

Once in the room, she types a passcode into a lone computer on a table, and pulls up a folder full of video files; each named with the date and hour they’re from.

“Now return to the till and don’t bother us,” Tommy commands, before turning to the computer in front of him.

“Hypnosis?” Techno questions, “Didn’t think you had it in ya.”

“Shut the fuck up, it was the only thing I could do,” he fires back, “Besides, I’m not above using it, like you are.”

“Whatever.”

“Alright you two, focus,” Phil reminds them, “We might be here a while. Now, how do we use this?”

Sighing at the other's slight incompitence with the computer (and who can blame him, the guy is, like, a bazillion years old) Tommy takes a seat at the desk.

[Authors note: Philza is not actually, "a bazillion years old", that is simply just what Tommy likes to think. His age is actually closer to around seven-hundred years old]

Cracking his fingers, Tommy sets his hand poised on the mouse, "So, where do we start?”

“Start after you left?” Phil suggests.

“What?” Tommy’s head whips around to look at the other, “That was almost a week ago. The woman said he quit within, like, the last few days.”

“So…?”

“We at least have a time frame to work around," Techno explains.

Tommy nods, “Right. So we should be working backwards.”

“Can’t we just ask the cashier for a work rota?” Techno asks, leaning on the back of the chair as he squints at the bright screen, “Would make this go a lot faster.”

“It would, if we knew his name.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

Tommy doesn’t bother answering, instead focusing on the videos he’s clicked on and puts the speed up to times two. That still means it would take half-an-hour to watch through each video. The group may be immortal, but none of them have the attention span or patience to sit and watch for that long.

Sighing, he opens the folder from the previous day, and the group sit in silence as they watch the black and white footage all the way through before moving on to the next; a joint boredom wavering into the room.

After the fourth video, Tommy begins to grow impatient, shifting around in his seat as his sighs, “This is so fucking booooring. Why can’t we just take all of the videos and watch them at home?”

“And does your USB-thing have enough space to contain all of these..." he waves his hand at the screen, looking for the right word to say, "videos?” Phil asks, raises an eyebrow as he looks at the other, who just rolls his eyes and looks back to the screen. “No? Alright. I suspected so,” he chuckles.

Countless hours pass by in the tiny back office of the petrol station; the only light coming from the screen as well as the cold LED’s of the store. The three take shifts in watching each and every tape, swapping out every three or whenever the watcher grows restless.

Each employee that happens to walk into the room, and sees the unwelcomed vampires, is quickly hypnotised like the first; not bothering the group for the rest of their shift, until the next arrives.

Currently, it’s Technoblade’s shift watching, with Tommy loosely leaning on the back of his chair. Phil has been out and retrieved food for them, and is sitting at a table behind them when Tommy spots a familiar looking mop of hair, in one of the video thumbnail.

He’s certain his sudden spike in excitement leaks through the bond, because the other two turn their heads fast enough to give themselves whiplash; an equal amount of intrigue coming from the others, as he seizes the mouse from Techno and clicks on the video.

The footage shows the inside of the gas station, from the position of behind the counter. It shows the back of the guy's head, with his wings very visible.

“Look!” Tommy exclaims, pointing at the screen, “Wings! I told you.”

“Look at that,” Phil mutters in disbelief.

On the screen, aside from the mystery vampire-human, is another human who he appears to be having a conversation with. The footage, unfortunately, has no sound. But the trio still watch on as their conversation appears to have its ups and downs; moments of confusion evident on the other human’s face.

It ends with the two shaking hands, before the human leaves the building and the employee emerges from behind the counter, grabbing a few things from around the store, and then also leaves.

“Are there any other angles?” Phil asks, once it’s evident that the guy isn’t coming back.

“There was that camera outside,” Techno reminds them.

Before leaving the folder, Tommy produces a USB stick from one of his pockets and places it into the computer tower; transferring the video into it. There are folders for each camera, it seems, all labelled randomly. It takes a couple of seconds for clicking on and leaving folders, to find the one with the footage from the camera showing the outside of the building.

And once they’ve located the correct video, the group watches as the employee- now with a visible face- exits the building and gets into a car that drives off down the road, in the opposite direction to which they came from.

Tommy transfers that video over too, before taking out the USB and standing from the chair; stretching as the other two get a look at the guy's face.

But the silence from behind quickly turns into mouse clicks, and then stifled laughs from the pair. And when he turns back around, Tommy finds that the video they’ve clicked on shows the moment that the vampire-human tricked him into getting his arm stuck in the vending machine.

Watching in horror as Techno precures his own USB and transfers the video onto that.

“Don’t watch that,” Tommy tries to grab the mouse to cancel the download and click off the video, but Techno has always a little bit stronger than he is.

By the end of it, Techno has the video and Tommy lives in fear of what he’s going to do with it.

Returning to the main store, Tommy takes one last look at the employee behind the counter. “We were never here,” he says, waving his hands around as though they'll distract them.

Once they’re back in the car, Tommy flops into the back seat, “What now?”

“Well, we don’t know where he went,” Phil begins, slipping into the front passenger seat as Techno starts the car's engine, “But we have a face of who he left with.”

———

“This is literally impossible,” Tommy complains, falling backwards onto his bed and almost landing on top of Ranboo; who had previously been sitting there, before moving out of the way to avoid being squished.

“Still no luck finding the guy?” Tubbo asks, turning back to the monitor displaying the security footage from a few days prior.

For the past three days, the vampires (mostly Tommy) have scoured all corners of the internet, and through every book- old and new- for the identity of either the vampire-human or the human he left with. At first, they thought it would be a pretty simple task. Their connections within their own widely spread coven, as well as other covens throughout the area, usually meant information is relayed back to them in record time. 

But no one they asked recognised the duo.

That evening, Tommy had invited Tubbo and Ranboo over for a fresh pair of eyes that may be able to identify them. But after the third watch through of the footage, they agreed that they didn’t recognise them either.

So now they’re back at square one.

“Maybe you should take a break from all this,” Ranboo suggests, watching as Tommy’s face turns sour.

“I can’t,” he says, “This guy is out there, definitely hurting, and he’s just been kidnapped by some rando' human.”

“I wouldn’t say he kidnapped him,” Tubbo retaliates, “Looks like he got into that car willingly. Did you try running the reg-plate, by the way?”

Tommy huffs, “Yeah. It was, like, the first thing I did. But look at that shit, it’s too fucking blurry.”

“Why can’t you just go back to the gas station?” Ranboo asks.

“‘Cause it’s three hours away and I was so bored in the car.”

“Y’know, that sounds like a you problem,” Tubbo jibes.

“Fuck off,” weakly, he throws a pillow in the others direction; but it falls to the floor, before it can even reach half way across the room, “You two are no ‘elp.”

Rolling his eyes, Tubbo presses pause on the video and gets up from the desk chair. “I’m getting a snack, you want anything Ranboo?”

“Water, please.”

“Tommy? Or are you just going to lie there and sulk?”

“I’m fine,” he says, “Just be quick.”

The bedroom door clicks shut behind him and Tommy listens as Tubbo’s footsteps grow fainter, as he descends the stairs. He doesn’t bother sitting up, instead just turning his head to stare at the security footage. Though the video is paused, he’s seen it enough times to know the two are mid conversation, and that something significant was just said; as the employee currently has his head pressed laying on the counter.

He wishes it had sound. He wants to know what the human said, to convince the other into going with him.

The room is quiet with the lack of audio footage, aside from the faint hum of Tommy’s computer and the noise coming from Ranboo’s phone. Tearing his eyes away from the monitor, he flips onto his stomach to peer at the video the other is watching.

“What’re you watching?” He asks.

“Oh, just some video about the creation of the univ-”

“Booooooring.”

“Well then don’t watch it,” they say, trying to push Tommy’s face away.

“Noooo,” he protests, “Lemme watch.”

“Nope,” they smile smugly, sliding up on the screen to play the next video, “Next video!”

Huffing, Tommy rolls his eyes, but watches the video regardless. On the screen is a young man, wearing a button down shirt, neck tie, and suspenders; with blue glasses sitting on his nose, and a wide smile. He’s holding the phone way too close to his face, and talking excitedly as he walks around a fancy looking restaurant; showing off the empty space.

The two watch idly as he hops behind the bar counter and pretends to mix a drink; despite looking like he’s never sipped alcohol in his life.

“-and I can’t wait for this place to be full of people,” he says, still smiling, “I’ve never worked in a casino, but I know it’s gonna be- Oh hey look!” The camera then flips from the man's face, focusing on someone who has just walked through the doors.”

“That’s my boss,” He points, “Quackity Nevada. Hey! Hey, Quackity. Say hi!”

Upon hearing his name, the other man turns; fully showing his face to the camera. “Yeah, Slime?” He says.

“Say hello to the internet people!” The camera zooms in, and a full range of emotions can be seen on his face.

“Wha- Slime!” He shouts, “Don’t- don’t film in here. Remember, we gotta keep this-”

But before he can continue, Ranboo frantically pauses the video and jumps up from the bed “Wait!”

“Huh? What now?” Tommy whines, trying to grab the phone, “I was watching that.”

“Hold on,” Ranboo says, rushing over to the computer. He scrolls back in the footage, as though looking for something, before stopping on a shot where the human’s face is clearly shown. Tommy watches as they hold up the phone, with the advert still displayed but now pause, next to the screen; head switching back and forth between the two devices.

“What’re you doing?”

“Look” They say, beckoning the other over.

Pushing himself off the bed, Tommy also crosses the room to the computer, “Alright boob-boy, what is it? You better not be- HOLY SHIT!”

“I know!”

Tommy snatches the phone and does the same as Ranboo, looking between the video on the phone and the human on the screen. There’s no doubt about it they’re-

BANG!

“I HEARD SHOUTING,” Tubbo yells, kicking the door open and entering the room with a glass of water and way too many bags of crisps for just one person, “Why are we shouting?”

“We found him!” Tommy exclaims.

“I found him,” Ranboo corrects.

“Shut up,” he fires back, “Tubbo, come look at this! It’s the human.”

Handing the phone to Tubbo, the pair watch as their friend does the same as they did; switching between looking at the screen and looking at the phone with realisation growing on his face. “Holy shit,” he breathes out, “Holy SHIT!”

“That’s what I said!” Tommy says, taking the phone back and beginning to pay more attention to the paused advert, “Who even is this guy though?”

“What else does the video say?” The press play on the video, which only lasts for a couple more seconds of the other man urging the guy filming to end the recording. But, the description of the video reads, “ Quackity says that Las Nevadas will be opening next week! I can’t wait.”

“Some fancy ass place called “Las Nevadas”,” he reads out, “Looks like a-”

“It’s a casino,” Ranboo butts in. And when the other two look at the monitor, he is sitting in the desk chair and has pulled up a news article about a place with the same name. ““Previously unknown founder and owner, Quackity Nevada, hopes to find success in opening the city’s biggest human only establishment.” ”

“A casino, huh?” Tommy repeats.

“You think it’s a front for something?” Tubbo asks, “Like, money laundering or some shit.”

“It says it's a human only casino,” they repeat with an air of suspicion, “Those are a thing?”

Tommy rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Unfortunately. Some humans still think they’re fucking superiour or something, endorsing places like that. It’s fucking stupid.”

“We should go! Cause some mayhem and stick it to the man!” Tubbo suggests excitedly, gripping onto the back of the chair and leaning to read the page, “Does it have an address?”

Ranboo returns to scouring the page, “Uhhhh… yep! There.”

“I like that idea,” Tommy smiles, “Boys, I think it's time for another road trip,” Tommy announces.

“YEAH!” They both cheer in unison, then Ranboo reminds, “You should probably tell Phil and Techno first,”

“Ughhhh, Fiiiine.”

Chapter Text

Wilbur hadn’t known what to expect when Quackity had strutted into the gas station, heading straight for the counter and talking to him; rather than perusing the stock like last time. Then he had made him an offer to come and work for him, completely throwing Wilbur off. 

Didn’t he learn from last time?

Even after questioning if this was a good idea, on Quackity’s part, the other didn’t seem to notice a problem.

Which is why Wilbur was somewhat hesitant to accept his offer.

But now, after a quick stop at home to collect his limited belongings and to change out of his Prime-awful work clothes, they’re sitting in Quackity’s car, hurtling down an infinite stretch of tarmac; the gas station having disappeared into the sand hours ago. 

“Why’d you bring fries? ” Quackity had asked, when Wilbur had first climbed into the car, “I told you to get chips. ”

“But these are chips? ” He’d questioned, shoving a handful of them into his mouth.

Quackity only scoffed and rolled his eyes, muttering something about, “Weird British people, ” before turning the key in the ignition and speaking up, “It’s gonna take about six hours to get back. I’ve got a stake and holy water in my pocket, so no funny business.”

Wilbur wasn’t sure what Quackity had meant by that, instead focusing on buckling his seatbelt before giving the other instructions on how to get to his home.

And now they’re on hour four of their drive, having spent most of it in relative silence as the same songs play on repeat through the speakers. Occasionally, one of them would pipe up with a question, but the answer would be short and clipped, soon returning to the hum of the overworked engine and the rhythmic music.

“I’ve never been out of the state, before,” Wilbur mentions idly, eyes focused somewhere out of the window, watching as they speed through the desert.

“Really?” Quackity responds. For the first time since they’d set off, his answer sounds mostly genuine, “That’s odd. Most people usually leave their home state, before even travelling to another country.”

“Oh, I’ve done that,” he says, “Been to a fair few countries. Can't say it ever ended well, however.”

Wilbur’s gaze falls from the window as he speaks. His hands lay in his lap as he fiddles with his thumbs. It’s not out of nerves. At least, not in this situation. It was a more of a semi-conscious habit he’d seemed to pick up during his presidency. “Self soothing ” Niki had told him, when she’d noticed him doing it in moments that stressed him out.

It was scary how well she used to be able to read him.

And whilst he wouldn’t say that sitting in the car with Quackity, going to a location he only had an idea of, was stressful for him. There was always a creeping sense of anxiety that came along with situations like this.

“Like what?” Quackity asks, after a pause of silence.

“A lot of fighting.”

No one speaks for the rest of the ride back.

———

“Welcome to Las Nevadas,” Quackity announces tiredly, stirring Wilbur from his sleep.

He hadn’t remembered falling asleep. But the hours spent in the car, watching the landscape remain the same, must have lulled him into unconsciousness. He hopes to Prime that no one outside of the vehicle had seen him, as he peels his face off the glass of the window; it was probably not a flattering look for him.

Finally looking around, Wilbur notices that the desert has since been replaced by sparkling lights and bustling noise; from cars and people alike. Even during daylight hours, the city appears alive, with flashing signs and structures lining the roads. Before it all disappears as they drive into a spacious underground room, surrounded by walls of grey concrete.

The space is mostly empty, with only a few other cars all parked in a neat row against the back wall.

And once the engine is off, and the two have finally stepped out of the car, Wilbur realises how quiet it is down… wherever they are. Sure, it’s not as silent as in the middle of the desert or in… limbo. But it’s nice enough for his ear to not be constantly assaulted by sound; the background hum of the city above is mostly tolerable, from down here.

His limbs crack and pop as he stretches out, taking a couple of steps to return the blood flow to his legs.

“Alright, c’mon,” Quackity says, clicking the car keys and walking away from the vehicle with them swinging around his finger. His dress shoes click on the concrete around them, echoping off every wall and pillar, unlike the soft steps that Wilbur’s own boots produce.

“Where’re we going?” Wilbur asks, as they approach one of the walls with a set of metal doors embedded in it.

A small button on the wall lights up, when Quackity presses it, before the doors open and the two step inside of the small box.

“Up.”

Inside, the space is decorated with polished wooden walls and golden trim that makes his brain buzz. It’s lit brightly by a single light situated in the middle of the ceiling, and when Wilbur looks up he finds that the entire overhead space is a mirror; causing him to become weirdly enraptured with his own reflection, for the small duration of the ride.

Meanwhile, Quackity stands firm and with his arms folded over his chest.

A quiet ping announces the end of the journey, with the doors reopening to reveal a spacious lobby, decorated similarly to the inside of the box. Wilbur follows Quackity across the room and then through another set of double doors, this time large and made of shiny oak wood, into a grand ballroom; twinkling under the light that comes from the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

If Wilbur is remembering correctly, Las Nevadas hadn’t looked this good the last time he saw it.

It may have still been under construction, but most of the buildings had been built and had their interiors completed and decorated. With the only thing that seemingly still needed doing, was for it to be opened to the public.

“Impressed?” Quackity smirks, and Wilbur is certain by his tone that the other had noticed the way he’d been gawking over the sight of the room.

“Very,” is all he says, turning in a circle to get the full picture. In the centre of the ceiling, there is a stained glass dome that casts a few coloured beams of light through it.

Meanwhile Quackity, whether because of the compliment or because he finds Wilbur’s actions funny, chuckles. “Well, if you’re impressed by this, then there’s no doubt that the casino is going to blow your mind,” he smiles.

Confused, Wilbur tilts his head, “Where are we now, then?”

“The ballroom of the adjoining hotel.”

“Smart,” he nods, “Two businesses in one.”

“Yes, which is why I need as many staff as possible,” Quackity says, “Speaking of, we should probably introduce you to some of them. I’m thinking of putting you in the-”

Wilbur doesn’t hear what Quackity says after that.

There’s a piercing noise that rings through his head, causing him to stop dead in his tracks at the sight of a familiar face. Well, two familiar faces, but the sight of only one of them has his eyes growing wide and his heart beginning to race, when they too walk through the doors to the ballroom.

His racing heart quickly takes over the sound of the ringing as he tracks their movements, walking straight over to Quackity as soon as they realise he’s also in the room. The other one the pair appears far more enthusiastic than the one that’s causing Wilbur’s rising panic. But he can’t hear what’s being said, over the rushing of blood filling his ears.

He watches as the three exchange a few words, most seeming lighthearted and of a joking manner, until Quackity is pointing in his direction and the other two turn to look at him.

Oh Prime, he can’t do this.

“-ilbur. Wilbur!”

The calling of his name shocks him back to reality. Blinking a few times and rubbing at his temple as he takes a couple of steps towards the group, “Sorry. I guess I zoned out a little there, huh?”

“Are you, like, good, man?” Quackity asks.

“Yeah,” he breathes, taking a place besides the other, “Yeah, I’m fine. So, what were we talking about?”

“Right, yes,” he nods, “Let me introduce you to two of my employees. This is Charlie, but we all just call him Slime.”

Wilbur gives a small smile to the other, who responds with a bigger smile and an outstretched hand, “Hello, Wilbur from Utah. It’s nice to meet you.”

Taking Slime’s hand, Wilbur shakes it firmly; muscle memory from his experience meeting people and associates as president floods back through his body.

“He’s my assistant,” Quackity continues, satisfied with how the greeting went, “And also technically a manager- Well, he handles many of the managerial roles that I don’t have time for.”

“So you’re, like, second in command, huh?” Wilbur asks Slime, with a tilt of his head.

“Oh I’m much more than that!” The lightheartedness of the other’s tone throws off the importance of the statement, slightly, “I know a lot about business and how things are run around here. So if you have any questions, I’m here to help!”

“Good to know.”

Back on the server, Wilbur hadn’t really gotten to know Slime that well; he only ever saw him by Quackity’s side. And any time that they did speak, the other appeared to have a strange, underlying air about him. Like he knew way more than he let on.

Actually, scratch that.

Slime definitely knew way too much about the server, its inhabitants, and its events.

Wilbur avoided him as best he could, after he found out that Slime knew relatively intimate details about his time during Pogtopia. And that was only the third time he’d ever spoken to the… guy? Slime?

Whatever he was.

So forgive him for being a little reserved around the man currently standing in front of him.

“And this is Fundy.”

Ah fuck, Wilbur had almost forgotten about the elephant in the room.

The last time he’d seen Fundy, the other had thrown himself off of a bridge to escape from him. 

Watching some he loved die, especially by his own free will, was a heartbreaking experience.

At least he got to know how everyone else felt, in the aftermath of him handing Phil the same sword that still sits in his inventory.

“Hey, how're you doing?” Fundy says, also offering his hand for Wilbur to shake. Which he eventually does, though with a little less enthusiasm and a little more hesitance, then he had with Slime.

It’s a lot smoother than he’d expected. Too soft, too unscared and unburdened. His nails are too round, though still shredded from excessive biting. Along with his ears and tail, he appears to be missing his claws too.

Like how he has yet to see Quackity’s wings. Even in the car, when it was just the two of them. Quackity had never been afraid to flaunt them around Wilbur; he knew what type of effect the golden feathers had on the other’s brain.

“I’m- I’m good, man,” he tries to smile, finally meeting the other’s eyes. And oh Prime how he has missed him. Pushing aside the way their last meeting had ended, the time he’d spent with his son before it all went south, he wishes he could relive again. “You?”

“Ehh I’m alright. A little overworked, but I probably shouldn’t be saying that in front of the boss,” there’s a grin on his face, as he looks over to Quackity. Who shakes his head in lighthearted disappointment.

“Fundy’s mostly based in the hotel,” Quackity explains, “For now he’s making sure that everything is in order, before opening night. But after that, he’ll be managing the night shifts, mostly.”

“Originally I applied to be a bartender. I’m a pretty good mixologist,” he proclaims, “Started with “potions” made of mud and leaves, and now I’m gonna be in charge of this place.”

“Only when I’m not,” he replies.

There’s a rather painful pause of silence that follows, only broken by Slime. “Quackity,” he pipes up, “Should I go and get the others?”

The other nods, “Please do.”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he says, before grabbing Fundy’s wrist, “C’mon Fundy, come and help me find everyone.”

“Alright,” he rolls his eyes, allowing himself to be dragged out of the room by Slime; who doesn’t let go of his wrist until they reach the doors.

Wilbur watches as they leave, and once Fundy is out of sight he feels as though he can finally breathe again; running both hands through his hair as he lets out an exhausted sigh.

“Hey man, you good?” Quackity asks, and Wilbur finds it odd how much the other has been checking in on him. Normally, Quackity wouldn’t be caring as much as he has been; even if it is the most basic human decency. “You looked a bit freaked out, earlier.”

“Yeah- yeah! I’m fine,” he lies. He is absolutely not okay. “Everything’s okay.”

Quackity only stares back at him with a look of, “I don’t quite believe you” in his eyes.

———

Wilbur doesn’t remember much of meeting everyone else. He recognises: Foolish, Sam, and Purpled, from his time back on the SMP; aside from them, everyone else was a brand new face. But his brain can’t seem to focus on remembering whose name belongs to which face, because he struggled to peel his eyes off of Fundy.

It was like seeing a ghost.

Ironic, isn’t it?

The next thing he knows, Quackity is leading him out of the room and dismissing the staff back to their jobs. He follows silently as they return to the metal box, and the other types a code into the keypad on the inside.

“All staff suites are on the fifth floor, which isn’t accessible to the public,” Quackity explains, almost falling completely on deaf ears, “The code is 2904, by the way.”

“Noted,” Wilbur responds, voice monotone as his eyes are glued to the patterned carpet, rather than on the ceiling this time.

The floor they stop at has a similar red carpet to most other places he had seen so far. The walls are white and decorated with dark, wood panelling and golden trim; though a little less in-your-face than in the lobby or the ballroom.

As they walk down the corridor, it doesn’t take long for Wilbur to notice that something feels odd about the space. Maybe it’s because he just feels out of place, dressed in his war torn, desert-worn clothing. Or maybe it’s the fact that, like at the gas station, each doorway has a cross hanging above it.

It’s a decorative sign that he still isn’t used to seeing, yet.

In fact, he’s so wrapped up in looking around the space, as well as having his head still whirring from earlier, that he walks straight into Quackity; when the other abruptly stops in front of one of the many identical doors that line the corridor. 

“Oof,” his breathes, as all the air is knocked out of him.

Throwing a furrowed glance over his shoulder, Quackity warns, “Watch it.”

Wilbur doesn’t say anything, just huffs and rolls his eyes, as his attention is drawn to the door in front of him. It’s made of wood that has been painted white to match the rest of the space; with golden thorns adorning it.

“Well, this is yours,” Quackity says, inserting a key into the lock and opening the door. The two are almost about to enter the space, when Quackity stops dead inside the doorway and looks over his shoulder, “Actually, just wait here.”

The door clicks shut behind him and Wilbur can hear the sound of what appears to be a chair being dragged around, from within the space. A couple of minutes later, the door opens and his initial thought of the chair is proven correct, as he watches Quackity manoeuvre the furniture into the corridor; climbing onto it and unhooking the cross that was previously hanging above it.

“Alright, you can come in now,” he says, retreating back into the room with the chair in tow.

As Wilbur enters, he catches sight of the other putting the chair back under a small dining table, before shoving something into this jacket pocket, then turning around like nothing had happened.

“Apologise for that,” he says, straightening up his shirt from where it has come untucked, “I should’ve been more considerate about… you. They’re placed in all the rooms as a precaution, but I didn’t even think about the fact that you’d be staying here until-”

“I’m staying here?”

Quackity ceases his rambling to stare at Wilbur as though he had just grown two heads, “I mean, if you want to find somewhere else in the city to live, then be my guest.”

“No no- I’m just… surprised,” he shrugs, making his way around the room, “It’s nice.”

The space is built more like a modern apartment, than a hotel room. It’s barely decorated, but there’s a joint kitchen and living space, with a couch, television, and dining table in. There’s a short corridor with a small bathroom attached to it, with the bedroom being located at the end. The curtains are still drawn, but in the light of the setting sun Wilbur can make out the sight of a double bed, dresser, and wardrobe.

Behind the curtains are two glass doors, with a small balcony that overlooks the city. It’s only big enough to comfortably fit one person- two if they squish together.

And Prime is the view beautiful.

He’s too busy admiring the sight, a cool breeze brushing against his face, to hear Quackity entering the room, until he begins speaking, “Yeah, so all of the staff that live here, live on this floor- including me. Mine is the room at the end. Obviously, don’t come bothering me outside of work hours, unless someone’s, like, dying .”

Wilbur slowly turns around, confused.

“Right. Bad joke,” he back-pedals, “Um… The rent for the room, including gas, water, and electrical bills are automatically taken out of your paycheck. Anything else, like groceries and shit, you pay for yourself.

He makes a mental note to ask someone where the nearest food shop is.

“You’ll also get a staff discount on food served here and drinks at the bar, but not in the casino. And- y’know what,” he pauses, dragging a hand down his face, “It’s been a long day, We can discuss all of this tomorrow, in my office. For now- Welcome to Las Nevadas.”

And with that, Quackity leaves Wilbur alone in the apartment. The noise from the streets below occupies the silence that follows.

Chapter Text

“So you’ll be happy to know that I’m putting you on the night shift,” Quackity tells Wilbur, as they leave his office, “Full time. Five days a week. Starting at eight PM and ending at three AM.”

It’s currently three PM, less than a week now before the official opening of Las Nevadas. After discussing the legalities and fine print of the job, as well as sorting out Wilbur’s uniform, the two take a right as they head down the staff corridor- turning into the kitchen and using it as a shortcut through to the adjoining restaurant. Like the rest of the hotel, the room is deathly silent and remains as pristine as ever with no one to occupy it. The only indication as to the place not being abandoned, are the crumbs and stains left over from staff usage.

Wilbur wonders if it’ll remain this way, after the casino opens to the public.

After all, the Las Nevadas that he’d known had always been devoid of any other people, aside from those who had to be there. Even then, there were very few people that Quackity had hired to work for him.

“I would have put you on the day shift, so I can keep an eye on you,” he explains, glancing over his shoulder, “But I’m sure you’d prefer to keep your nocturnal sleep schedule.”

From behind, Wilbur chuckles, prompting Quackity to ask, “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he waves him off, “I’m just surprised that you’re keeping me out from under your watchful eye. Y’know, you could never keep them off me. And now you’re letting me run free around your establishment.”

“Hmm I wouldn’t say you’ll be,“running free”,” there’s something smug in his tone, “I’ve given both Slime and Fundy express orders to keep a close eye on you. They know what you are. So don’t try shit.”

Right, Fundy. Wilbur had forgotten that he would also be working throughout the night. If he had it his way, he would be avoiding the other at all cost. The wound is still fresh. As for everything else, Quackity thankfully doesn’t see how Wilbur rolls his eyes at the constant surveillance, as the two come to a stop at the front of the restaurant, by the hostess stand. 

“Alright,” Quackity turns around, finally facing the other with arms crossed, “I’m putting you on front end duty. Which means you’ll be greeting and seating people. Now, stand behind that podium.”

Taking a few steps back, Wilbur moves to behind the hostess station. Muscle memory kicks in, automatically placing his hands on either side of it, just like he used to during the L’Manburg elections; and seeing Quackity standing on the other side of it, doesn’t help much either. Again, it causes him to chuckle lightly, at the memories of their various debates- always defeating Quackity with nothing but his words.

Quackity smiles, though not without an underlying smarminess to it, “See, that wasn’t hard, was it? This job should be pretty simple, even for someone like you.”

“Pardon?” He shouts, “I’ll have you know, Big Q- I’m a lot smarter than you may think.”

The other just rolls his eyes, “Whatever. Now, have you ever worked in hospitality? Or have you just been working at that gas station for, like, your whole life.”

“I’ve held quite a few jobs,” counting on his fingers, Wilbur begins to list them off, “Hotdog van. President of a country. Burger van. Remember?” He shrugs, “Never worked in a real restaurant though. Shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

Quackity doesn’t say anything, he just looks a little confused, then scoffs, “Sure, okay. So I want you to pretend that I’ve just walked into the restaurant. What’re you gonna do?”

Wilbur eyes Quackity, trying to figure out what he wants him to say. Like he’s been thrown into a game that he knows nothing about, and is expected to play regardless. Perhaps he should just play this the same way he would have, back at the gas station?

“Uhhhh- okay so,” he doesn’t know why, but he begins to feel himself sweat, “Hello, there. How- how many people?”

“Just one,” Quackity answers.

“Alright. Right this way,” he nods, beckoning the other to follow him. 

They make it a few steps past the podium, before Quackity pipes up, “Forgetting something?”

“Huh?” He looks over his shoulder, to see that the other is pointing back to the hostess stand; an expectant look on his face. Confused, Wilbur glances between Quackity and the podium multiple times, before he realises, “Oh! The menus. Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

Once he acquires the correct number of menus ( i.e. one), Wilbur leads Quackity towards a single table with two chairs tucked underneath it. The other still has that expectant expression on his face. However, this time he gives absolutely no indication as to what he wants; he just stares straight back at him.

After a few, very long, seconds of silence, where neither says anything, Wilbur is the one to break first. This is exhausting, he used to be able to read Quackity like an open book. But now something is different. He sighs with defeat, “What do you want?”

“That wasn’t very polite now, was it?” Quackity answers, “Try again.”

A grumble bubbles in Wilbur’s throat, glancing around the room as though that will help, “I don’t- Hmmmm. Okay,” he turns back to the other, “What can I help you with, sir .”

Quackity quirks an eyebrow, a smug smile creeping onto his face, “Better,” he nods, “I want you to pull out my chair for me.”

“Seriously?” The other asks, unamused.

“Yes.”

“Fine,” he huffs, moving to pull out the chair which Quackity takes a seat in.

That same smile is still on his face, “Thank you. Alright, those are the basics, for now. I’ll have Fundy go through the rest with you, just before opening night. We’ll need everyone available by then, even you.”

Wilbur’s stomach sinks slightly, sighing as he takes a seat too, “Great. By the way, do I have to pull out the chair for, like, everyone ? What if, say for example, a group of ten people arrives?”

From across the table, Quackity chuckles; clearly finding something funny about the other’s question. “No no,” he folds his arms in front of him, “I did that just because I could.”

“You’ve always had a weird sense of humour, Big Q,” Wilbur shakes his head, half unimpressed- half reminiscent.

“Yeah well, get used to it.”

“Oh, I already have.”

———

Wilbur's training session with Fundy is a lot more tense, than the one with Quackity had been. The air in the empty restaurant was so thick, you could cut it with a knife; and it wasn’t because the stress of opening night was looming over everyone's heads. It’s ironic, he thinks. A few years ago, it would definitely have been the other way around.

Every time the other had looked at him, he couldn’t seem to get the image of Fundy’s body plummeting down into the L’mancrater, seconds before it exploded into a cloud of smoke and dust; mixing with the water below.

They’re currently on their third run of a hypothetical dining scenario; each one different, and beckoning more complex than the last. Wilbur is actually surprised that they’re being so thorough with the training, seeing as back at the gas station he’d basically been thrown in the deep end, and had to learn on the spot.

And all his other jobs after then, hadn’t exactly been a shining example of how to run a business.

Currently, Fundy was playing the role of a stuck up, middle aged man, who is highly disgruntled.

“Actually, I ordered the salmon with no sauce,” he complains, mere seconds after Wilbur had set the invisible plate down on the table, “And I thought I ordered peas? Not broccoli.”

Keeping himself from rolling his eyes and grumbling, Wilbur fishes his notebook from his pocket, “No sir, you did order the broccoli with that. And there was no mention of no sauce, considering that is what the fish is cooked in.”

“Are you getting smart with me, boy?” 

“I’m just stating the facts,” Wilbur says, also growing increasingly more irritated, “And the facts are that your order is completely correct.”

Sighing, Fundy’s face loosening as he rubs his temple, “Okay, Wilbur. We’ve been over this twice now,” his tone sounds exhausted, “Just because you’re right does not mean that you need to let it be known. Got it?”

“Yes, but-”

“No no,” he cuts him off, index finger held up, “You can’t be arguing with the customers. I mean, you’ve worked around people before, surely you’re aware of the, “ The customer is always right ,” saying, right?”

“I can’t say that I am,” Wilbur shakes his head.

“Right, well I guess that’s where the issue lies,” Fundy mutters to himself, “Listen, it’s pretty straight forward. Even if they’re wrong, you’re still meant to agree with them. No matter the facts, or your opinion.”

“Got it.”

Wilbur still doesn’t get it.

“Great,” Fundy smiles, seemingly satisfied, “Now-” he clears his throat and resumes the voice he had previously been doing, “Get me a new plate. And make sure it’s right, this time. Oh, and no funny stuff.”

With a nod, Wilbur “picks” up the plate and walks it back towards the kitchen, returning a few minutes later and placing it down in front of the other.

He stands by the table as Fundy pretends to cut the food and places it in his mouth, “chewing” before pulling a disgusted face and spitting it back out. “Ugh! There’s a bone in this!”

“Well, it is a fish,” Wilbur plainly states, to which Fundy stares daggers at him; making his skin squirm uncomfortably.

With faux frustration, Fundy shoves the invisible plate across the table and folds his arms over his chest, “Get me another plate.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to order anything else?”

“No, I want the salmon. And I expect this one to be perfect.”

“You know what,” Wilbur hisses, slamming the notebook down on the table, “I’m not dealing with this shit.”

He doesn’t say anything else, instead turns around and storms away from the table and into the kitchen.

“Wha- Hey Wilbur, wait,” the other calls from behind.”

“Fuckin’- Leave me alone,” he spits, throwing open the doors, then fumbles a bit with the lock for the outside door, as he leaves the building as sits on the floor of the alley way it has lead him to.

It had been a rough day.

And opening night it became even worse. Not because of Fundy’s watchful eye constantly on him, for the majority of the night. But because it felt like everyone in that room was watching him. Like they were all waiting from him to mess up and say something wrong; to piss off or be pissed off by the wrong person.

Even the other employee on the hostess desk seemed to scrutinise his every movement. Judging him in silence, despite the fact that they’d never met before that day.

Like they’re all playing a secret game, and he is making every wrong movement that could be doing.

What does everyone else know that he doesn’t?

It takes a few more days before it  all seems to level out, as Wilbur gets more acquainted with his job and the people he has to work with. He still has that constant, irrational feeling of being watched; which, I mean, he kind of is being. But night after night there are less prying eyes boring into his soul for hours on end.

He even greets a few familiar looking faces, whilst he’s stationed at the front podium. But that’s all they really are to him- faces. It’s been so long that all he knows is that he once knew the person, and nothing else; not even their name.

Aside from all that, the week has been good to him.

Chapter Text

Wilbur knocks three times on the ornate, wooden door; listening as it echoes through the silent hallway. It’s both the same and different from the one back in Las Nevadas on the SMP. Made of a similar, polished dark wood, but decorated with winding thorns instead of repeating triangles and diamonds. He doesn’t wait to be signalled in, before pushing the door open and waltzing into the room.

“Hey Quackity,” using the toe of his new, fancy dress shoe, he closes the door with a startling slam, “One of your lackeys said you wanted to see me.” 

“Employees,” Quackity corrects. From the looks of it, he had been in the middle of some paperwork, when the other had arrived. “And don’t forget, you’re one of them too now. So be careful how you speak to me.”

Wilbur scoffs, standing in front of Quackity’s desk with his arms folded over his chest; posture lax and unbothered, “So, what d’you want from me?”

“Ah yes” he seems to remember, placing his pen down and turning his full attention to Wilbur, “I just wanted to see how this past week has been treating you.”

“And why do you care?” Wilbur asks. 

“I’m just trying to be polite, Wilbur,” he explains, “You’re one of my employees, I wanna know if you’ve settled in nicely. To make sure you’re not causing any issues, and that no one is bothering you, either.”

Back on the server, Quackity wouldn’t have cared in the slightest how Wilbur’s day was, before cursing him out of Las Nevadas. And, to be fair, that reaction was also partially Wilbur’s own fault; he hadn’t exactly been the kindest towards the other, in the past. 

So this sudden change in behaviour is definitely a surprise.

And a little bit suspicious.

So what is this game that Quackity is playing?

Well, why doesn’t Wilbur play along and see what happened?

“Good,” he eventually decides. A little simple, but he’s not about to let Quackity get any upper hand on him, “Your establishment has been adequate, and your staff welcoming. Overall, it’s a step up from last I saw.”

“Last you saw?”

“Of course. I half expected this place to be a dud. A failure. But I can see now that you’ve improved.”

The other smiles at the compliment, though he still appears to be a little confused as to what Wilbur is referring to, “Thank you? And what about the food? Have you been eating well?”

“Again, it’s an improvement on what I was consuming back at that dead-end gas station,” Wilbur explains, “Though, I wouldn’t say it’s the best I’ve had.”

“Oh cut the crap, Wilbur,” Quackity cuts in, his previously friendly tone doing a complete switch, now staring at the other with irritation.

“Excuse me?”

“Of course whatever you’re eating is better then at that fucking gas station,” he says, “Anywhere else would get you a better supply than that lousy trap you constructed.”

Now it’s Wilbur’s turn to fix the other with a confused stare, “A trap? What're you referring to exactly?”

The other falters slightly, quickly composing himself and returning to a cold exterior, “Where are you getting your blood from, Wilbur?”

“I- What?!” He sputters out.

“Blood,” Quackity states firmly, “You’re looking better than you did when you first got here. So obviously you’re eating properly.”

Wilbur smirks, “So you’re saying I look good? Big Q, I’m flattered.”

“This is serious, Wilbur,” he slams his hands onto his desk as he stands, “I need to know your sources, ‘cause it better not be my patrons!”

“Why would I need blood?”

Quackity stares at him with a dumbfounded look plastered over his face, the seething rage that was previously there has been replaced completely. 

“I-uh- Why would you need blood? Why would you need blood!?” He repeats, a slight chuckle to his tone, as though he finds the question amusing, “Wilbur, do I need to remind you that you’re a vampire!? You need blood to live.”

“A vampire?!” The statement comes as a surprise, causing him to chuckle, which turns into full blown laughter that has him doubling over; the plush chair in front of Quackity’s desk catches him as he falls backwards into it.

Meanwhile, the other is still leaning over his desk, even more confused than he was, just a few minutes prior. Once Wilbur’s laugh calms down to a giggle, he’s able to speak again, “Why would you- aha- What gave you that impression, Quackity? That I’m a vampire!?”

“Look at yourself, man!” He gestures, “You look just like one. O nly vampires have pointy ears, and claws, and animal features.”

“Animal features? You mean my wings?” Quackity nods at the question, prompting him to continue, “No no, those are probably from some recessive avian genetics.” Wilbur explains, his hand rubbing nervously up and down his arm, “Either that, or from my revival.”

The last sentence becomes a mutter that Quackity still picks up on. “Your revival? Like, when you were turned?”

“Turned into what?”

“Turned into wha- A vampire!” Quackity throws his hands up into the air, before also flopping back into his chair; seemingly for dramatic effect. That, or he’s exhausted from the back and forth of their conversation. He rests his elbow against the arm of the chair, and his head in his hand, “Why else would I have brought you here?”

“What?”

“Huh?”

“You only brought me here because you thought I was a vampire?”

“Well, yeah,” he shrugs as though the answer was obvious to both parties, “I needed a vampire on my staff, so other vampires wouldn't try coming into the casino to start shit.”

“Oh,” Wilbur leans back in the chair with a blank expression on his face, fiddling his thumbs.

Quackity tilts his head, eyeing the others sudden change in demeanour, “You look surprised?”

“Well, yeah. Because I am!” He exclaims.

“Why?”

“Quackity, I’m not a vampire!” He tries again, “I don’t even know what one of those is.”

His eyes narrow and eyebrows furrow, “You don’t know… what a vampire is?”

“Why would I? It's not like we have them on the server,” Wilbur explains, with an air of irritation, “And they definitely weren’t a thing when I first worked at that gas station.”

Quackity fixes him with a confused stare, “I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t remember the server?” He questions, mild exasperation fizzling away and replaced by confusion once again, “But how? It’s not like I lost my memory when I came here.”

“Wilbur, you must be confusing me for someone else, because I’ve lived here my entire life, and I’d never met you before that gas station.”

“No no no,” shaking his head, Wilbur stands, “You’re exactly who I know. You’re not a…different person?”

“Why’d you say that like it’s a question?”

A sudden realisation hits Wilbur with force, head snapping up to meet Quackity’s eyes, “Because what if you’re right?”

“What?”

“Listen Big Q, I hate to admit it, but you might actually be correct, for once. You might be a different person,” he begins pacing as he explains, “You’re still Quackity, but you’re not my- the one that I know.”

“Like from an alternate dimension?” There’s a pause as he thinks, looking to the floor as though it holds all the answers, and then back to Wilbur as he processes what he said, “You’re from an alternate dimension!”

“I guess if that’s what you want to call the SMP?”

“Is that where you're from?”

“No I’m from Utah… just not this Utah.”

“So if you’re from a different dimension, and you’re not a vampire. What are you?”

“Human?”

“Wilbur, you have wings,” Quackity pinches the bridge of his nose, “you’re far from human.”

“Bad habits last forever,” he shrugs, “I guess I’m avian now.”

“Now?”

He folds his arms, turning his nose up, “I’m not divulging my genetic makeup to you.”

“Okay fine, don’t then,” a beat of silence follows, before reality finally seems to set in for Quackity; who’s eyes go wide as he raises a hand to his mouth, “Oh my God, you’re from an alternate dimension.”

“Apparently so,” he rolls his eyes.

“What does- is something-,” he takes a moment to collect his thoughts, expression calming, “Wilbur, what exactly does this mean for me?”

The other feels his jaw drop slightly, “Wha- what does this mean for you!? Quackity, I just found out I’m not supposed to be here!”

“Well, you’re a part of my establishment, aren’t you!?” He exclaims, also standing, “There’s not, like, gonna be people coming after you… is there?”

“I d’know,” Wilbur shrugs, “Don’t think anyone cares enough about me to come looking.”

“Good. That’s good.”

The other scoffs, a hand placed on his chest as he fakes offence.

Quackity rolls his eyes at Wilbur's antics, “What I meant , was that it means that I don't have to prepare for any sort of, like, invasion. As long as you’re a part of my company, you’re under my protection. Got it?”

Wilbur can’t quite believe the words he’s hearing. If he hadn’t already had the realisation about this being an alternate reality, he probably would have picked up on it now. He hadn’t really noticed it yet, but, aside from his overall appearance, this Quackity is far from the one he knew on the SMP. 

He’s… nice.

Sometimes.

It makes Wilbur wonder how much his- the other Quackity could have been like the one standing in front of him. If it weren’t for all the wars and fighting and heartbreak he went through, how much would be different?

Because the Quackity that he knew when he left, was far from the one he’d met when the other had first joined the server, and tried to worm his way into L’manburg.

“Yeah,” he nods, a little too frantic than he would have liked, “Yeah. Of course.”

“Okay. Good,” the other agrees, “So, for both your safety and my business, we keep this between us, yeah?”

“Good idea.”

“And if anyone asks- you are a vampire. Not human. Not whatever an avian is. A vampire. Capiche?”

Wilbur nods again.

“Great,” he claps his hands together, “I- the whole blood thing was all I really needed you here for.”

“So I-”

“You can go,” he says, returning to his seat behind the desk. Pen poised to begin writing again, when he looks back up, “Unless you- uh- you want to stay here…”

The other shakes his head, “Nah. I’ve got a few things I need to- to sort out, elsewhere… Thanks, though.”

It’s all a lie. The having things to do, not his show of appreciation, not the invite to stay. If anything, that had caught him off guard a little bit.

“Alright, bye,” he hears Quackity mutter out, brain already too deep into his paperwork to focus on anything else.

It’s odd, he thinks as he closes the door behind him.

Had he been back on the server, Wilbur would have probably taken the opportunity- and Quackity unawareness- to investigate the office a little; with or without the offer for him to stay.

But his whole body just feels like it needs to lie down.

The walk back to his apartment is silent, aside from the way his shoes click down the staff corridors, and then leave soft footsteps on the carpet of the fifth floor. It’s a lot more noticeable, then any other time he’s made the journey through the hotel; despite the fact that his brain is swarming with various thoughts and feelings.

And when Wilbur arrives back to his quiet apartment, he doesn’t bother taking off his shoes before collapsing onto his couch and promptly passing out.

Chapter Text

A faint tapping noise is what eventually causes Wilbur to stir from his slumber.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

He momentarily curses his advanced hearing, paranoia, and also the stupid bird causing the disturbance, for being the reasons that woke him. Before rolling over to go back to sleep, only to tumble onto the carpeted floor of his apartment.

“What the fuck?” He grumbles, rubbing his eyes as he sits up; finding that he’s still in the main room of his apartment, where he passed out after his meeting with Quackity. 

Once he’s fully awake, his ears pick up on the tapping sounds more clearly; coming more urgently than before. Wilbur sits still, listening as it continues from somewhere around his apartment; anxiety rising in his chest, at the possibility that someone had broken in. 

But who would break into someone’s home, just to tap on the windows?

He turns his head, narrowing down the directions that it’s coming from. But as he does, he catches sight of one of the many windows around the room.

It’s nighttime.

And there definitely aren’t any owls in the city, so what the fuck is making that noise?

A few more minutes pass, at which point the tapping turns into a scarily human knocking. 

Concerning, but a lot easier to track down.

He follows the sound out of the room and into his bedroom, eyes landing on the faint silhouette of a person standing on his balcony; their features hidden behind a closed curtain, but backlit by the lights of the city.

Pulling his diamond sword from his inventory, Wilbur cautiously approaches the window, but hesitates just as he’s about to pull the curtain back; hands trembling as he mulls over whether this really is a good idea or not.

Or even if what he’s seeing and hearing is real.

Maybe he’s still asleep?

Running his finger along the edge of his sword, Wilbur feels the sharpness of the blade and the heat the fire aspect enchantment gives off. So much so, he manages to simultaneously cut and cauterise his finger; though a few drops of blood still stain his skin.

At which point, the noise stops.

Wilbur’s eyes fly up to the window to see the silhouette, with their hand poised to knock again, standing deathly still. He watches as they drop it to their side, head tilting as though they’re thinking.

“I know you’re there,” comes a voice, muffled by the glass and the noise of the city below.

Still, Wilbur remains silent.

The silhouette sighs, “C’mon man, it’s me. Let me in.”

In that second, those words throw him into the memory of a damp and dingy cavern, sitting in a carved out stone room, as a concerned voice comes from the other side of a shabby wooden door. It pleads with him to let him come inside, despite the fact that the door has no lock. 

Waiting in silence as muffled cries leak through the gaps in the wood.

Without a moment of hesitation, Wilbur yanks the curtain back to find Tommy standing behind the sliding glass door. The other smiles wide, bouncing on the balls of his feet and cheering upon seeing him, “Oh thank fuck! I was getting a little worried I’d gotten the wrong room… again.”

“Tommy, what the fuck are you doing up here? How did you get up here?!” He asks, unlocking the door and opening it; struggling slightly as his other hand still holds onto the sword with a tight grip. His brother was never the most skilled climber, and he lives on the fifth floor. So how the hell he’d managed to get this high, on his own and completely unsaved, Wilbur doesn’t know.

It puts him on edge.

Especially after his whole “alternate dimention” conversation with Quackity.

Because now he knows that this isn’t his Tommy.

“Hey man, I’m just impressed I got the right room,” Tommy laughs, looking over his shoulder and down to the streets below, “And there’s a lot of floors and rooms.”

“I don’t understand,” Wilbur questions, “How’d you even find me? This place is far from the gas station.”

Tommy waves a hand dismissively, “Oh y’know. I was just in the neighbourhood and thought I’d pay you a little visit.”

“Again, we’re six hours away from the gas station,” he reiterates, “And I highly doubt you live around here.”

“You don’t know that,” Tommy fires back.

“Tommy, I’ve known you for long enough to know when you’re lying.”

The other huffs and folds his arms as he looks away, “Okay fine. I may or may not be here for a reason.”

“And that is?”

“I can explain all of it. All you’ve gotta do is invite me in and we can have a nice little chat,” he says.

Wilbur stares at Tommy for a few more seconds, trying to get a read on what is really going on. Had it been anyone else that showed up on his balcony in the dead of night, he would have either called security or dealt with them himself. He does have a decently enchanted diamond sword in hand, so who really has the advantage?

But Wilbur was always a little more lenient with his brother, and this time is no different. Sighing he turns and heads back into his bedroom, putting his sword back into his inventory in the process. From behind he hears Tommy breathe out a, “Woahhhh ”, unsure as to whether it’s about the room itself or by what Wilbur just did.

“Alright, c’mon in,” he waves the other in, watching with tired eyes as the other practically prances into the room and up to him.

“How’d you just do that?” Tommy asks eagerly, as Wilbur guides him over to the couch and finally switches on the lights, before turning towards the kitchen. He doesn’t answer the question, instead all he can focus on is the feeling of the other's eyes watching his every movement.

Again, it reminds him of their time in Pogtopia, especially towards the end of its use. Except this time Tommy’s gaze feels different. Worry and concern are replaced by wonder and intrigue; just like when they were younger and his brother thought the world of him.

It’s unnerving.

“You want anything to eat?” He asks, eyes glancing away from the open fridge over to where Tommy is still sitting where he left him, looking a little more relaxed than before. “Or a drink? Nothing too exciting, there’s no broken vending machine in here,” he chuckles lightly.

“I’m good,” Tommy smiles, “Hurry up, man! I’m getting impatient over here.”

Chuckling again, Wilbur rolls his eyes as he shuts the fridge and grabs two glasses from a cupboard instead, filling them with water from the tap. He sets the cups down on the coffee table, before taking a seat next to the other; practically able to feel the excitement radiating off him.

“Okay, I’m ready,” he says, “Now, how did you find me? And how’d you get all the way up here? Also, why?”

“Why?”

“Why are you here?”

“Oh, that’s an easy one,” Tommy smiles, “The other’s wanted me to invite you to dinner.”

“Dinner?” He repeats, before the rest of the sentence clicks, “Wait- hold on. Who are “the other’s ”?”

“All will be revealed in time,” the answer is just as mysterious as it is unnerving, and definitely doesn’t send a thousand different thoughts and possibilities through Wilbur’s head; most of which don’t end too well.

“Woah woah, calm down man,” Tommy eases, hands poised like they want to reach out and touch him, but hold back on doing so, “I can hear you overthinking.”

“I mean, it’s kind of hard not to,” Wilbur says, hurried and frantic, “You show up at my home, on the fifth floor, like it’s nothing. Then you invite me to dinner with people you won’t even tell me who they are? Tommy, that’s not normal. It sounds like a trap.”

“But it’s not though!” He exclaims, “What would it even be a trap for?”

“Uhh to take me back?!” He says, “Because I’m not- I can’t go back to that server. All my apologising, it would- it would  be for nothing if I just came back.”

“The server?” Tommy tilts his head as though confused, “Is that what you call that petrol station? Because, and I was only there for like twenty minutes, and that place sucked. There’s no way you’re going back there.”

“What? No, that’s not what I'm talking about,” he corrects, tone even more frantic than before, “I mean the SMP. I can’t go back there.”

“Dude, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You too?!” He exclaims, leaning over as he runs an exhausted hand through his hair and across his face, “First Quackity and now… Oh fuck, of course.”

“What?"

Grabbing Tommy by the shoulders, Wilbur does his best to ignore the tingling feeling on his palms, “Tommy listen. I know you may think I’m your Wilbur, but I’m not. I’m not from this universe.”

Tommy stares into his eyes with surprise, and Wilbur can practically see the cogs turning in his head as he mulls over and reviews the information he has just been told. Quackity’s reaction hadn’t been as explosive as Wilbur had expected it to be. But he has a feeling that Tommy’s will; he always was incredibly expressive.

And Wilbur sees the exact moment all the pieces seem to click into place, and Tommy comes to a conclusion.

“Your name’s fucking Wilbur!?” He exclaims.

The surprise causes Wilbur to recoil slightly; missing the warm fuzz from his hands as they pull away from Tommy, “What?!”

“It’s good to put a name to the face, finally,” he sighs contently, before his expression becomes confused as he looks back to the other, “What’s wrong, Big Dubs?”

Wilbur slightly recoils at the nickname, even if it is Tommy calling him that. But now knowing that his Tommy isn’t his Tommy , it makes the situation even more unnerving. Though it is interesting to note that no matter the universe he’s in, his brother’s nicknaming conventions remain the same.

“You really don’t know who I am,” he eventually says with disbelief.

“Well, no,” Tommy shrugs, “Why’d you think I invited you to dinner? We want to get to know you more.”

“Right, you and “The other’s” who you can’t tell me anything about.”

“I wonder who it is? ” Wilbur thinks, “If everyone else is someone I already know, and Tommy is here, there’s a chance it’s probably-”

Shaking his head, he shuts down the thought before he can finish it

But the action seems to catch Tommy's attention, “What’re you doing?”

Wilbur is silent for a few seconds, head bowed and not daring to look at his brother. If Tommy is here and has no idea who he is, there’s a higher chance that his “ alternate universe ” theory is more correct than he’d originally thought.

“That night with the vending machine,” he begins, “You didn’t know who I was. You’d never met me before.”

“That’s right,” Tommy answers.

“But I called you by your name, and you didn’t care,” he says, then thinks, “Not like Quackity had.”

“I thought it was a little fucking weird that you knew it,” he admits, “But I was already having a shitty day, so I didn’t really care or think about it until after.”

“Oh.”

In that movement, he watches as Tommy’s eyes narrow and his face morphs into one of fake suspicion, “How did you know it?”

“I- uh, it’s a long story,” he says, hoping to divert the conversation away from himself, “Maybe I can explain it over that dinner you mentioned?”

The utter joy on Tommy’s face is worth accepting his weird- maybe a trap- invitation to see. Last time he saw his brother, he’d been standing on the shore, getting soaked by the pelting rain, looking lost and hopeless behind that fake smile he’d plastered onto his face. Wilbur hadn’t seen his brother this excited about something pertaining to him, since before Pogtopia.

“Really!?”

“Sure,” he nods, “What’ve I got to lose?”

“Awesome,” Tommy jumps from his seat with excitement, “I’ll text you the details. You got a phone?”

“Kind of?” Walking into his bedroom, Wilbur rifling through his bedside drawer, until he precures a rather scratched and beaten up device; held together by tape and sheer willpower. It’ll be a miracle if it works, considering he doesn’t receive any messages from the SMP anymore.

“Here,” he shoves the device into Tommy’s hands, watching as the other's face changes back to confusion as he tries to decipher what he’s just been handed.

“The fuck is this?” He asks, pressing one of the buttons, “I’ve never seen anything like this before. And I've seen a few brick phones in my time.”

“It’s my communicator,” Wilbur says, taking the device back and properly turning it on; to his surprise it still has power, but no new messages.

Tommy watches as he fiddles with it, but ultimately decides to give him the information a different way, “Forget it. You got any paper? And a pen.”

From his inventory, Wilbur retrieves a worn-down book and rips a yellowed sheet of parchment from an empty page, before handing it to Tommy and disappearing into his bedroom once again to find a pen. When he returns, the other is standing as still as when he left, holding the paper.

“Seriously, how’d you do that?” He asks, before narrowing his eyes and taking a small step back, “You’re not a witch, are you?”

“Do I look like a witch to you?” Wilbur says, before realising that he’s definitely thinking of something different to what Tommy is. “Nevermind,” he dismisses, “No. No I’m not. It’s just… something I can do.”

“What? Just magic-ing things out of thin air?”

Judging by the fact that the concept of an inventory seems to confuse Tommy this much, Wilbur comes to the conclusion that it’s not something that exists in this universe. He should probably stop doing it in front of people then. It would save him the headache of trying to explain what he’s doing, each time.

“It’s not magic- at least, not what you’re thinking. I think,” he tries to explain, “It’s like- I guess it’s a bit like a pocket dimension? I can put stuff into it and then take it out, at will.”

“So that sword-”

“You mean this?” In an instance, his diamond sword is back in his hand. It happens a lot quicker than the retrieval of the book, considering it’s something he would keep in his hotbar back on the server. But seeing as that doesn’t appear to be a thing in this universe, it’s more so muscle memory that allows him to retrieve it.

Tommy stares in awe at the weapon, “Literally, where did that come from?”

“You seem impressed.”

“Because I am!” He exclaims, “You just pulled a sword out of nowhere! Is it real?”

Wilbur scoffs, “Of course it’s real. Here.”

The other accepts it hesitantly, almost as though he’s expecting it to slip straight through his fingers. But once he realises it’s a completely solid sword, he begins giggling and swinging it around with a lot less precision than Wilbur knows Tommy to have. He assumes this version of his brother never had to fight any sort of wars, and it makes him feel a little guilty.

He feels a fond smile begin to creep onto his face, before realising that they were in the middle of exchanging information about this dinner he’s been invited to.

“So, about that dinner,” he says, watching as Tommy pauses mid swing.

“Oh yeah,” he picks up the paper that he’d discarded onto the couch, before handing Wilbur back the sword and being mesmerised when it disappears into thin air, “Did you find a pen?”

“Yep! Here you go,” handing the pen to Tommy, he waits as he scribbles something down, before handing both items back to him. As it turns out, all Tommy’s have the same handwriting, as the chicken-scratch on the page is almost identical to how he remembers his own Tommy’s handwriting being.

“Ballroom restaurant

Tomorrow, 7pm

Dress smart casual.”

“That’s it?” He looks to the other, as though there’s some sort of catch.

“That’s it!”

“How will I find you?” He asks, “The room is massive, and very busy at that time of day.”

Tommy thinks for a bit, “I can meet you here. Then you don’t have to worry about not finding us.”

“Yeah. Yeah sure.”

“Great!” He smiles, already making his way to the door and opening. Wilbur wants to make a joke about him using the door and not the window to leave, but keep it to himself. “See you tomorrow.”

“Buh-bye,” Wilbur watches as the door closes and clicks shut, before looking down to the paper still in his hands. He should probably tell Quackity that he won’t be working tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Knocking on his front door startles Wilbur out of the trance he currently finds himself in, having been staring at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror, for an extended period of time. 

It had started with him just needing to shave the stubble growing on his jaw. He wanted to make a good first impression, after all. But once he’d finished, looking back into the mirror to admire his clean shaven face, he’d quickly devolved into metaphorically picking apart every little scar and blemish on his skin.

Normally, he wouldn’t have given two shits if his appearance was less than perfect or not. All the individual details seem to further drive home the idea that he’s a vampire; one who has seen far too much, in their centuries of living.

But a gnawing thought as to who Tommy wants him to meet, has been stewing in the back of his head pretty much all day. Considering the fact that this Quackity still had connections to this world's versions of those involved in Las Nevadas, he has two ideas of who these mystery "The others” are.

And whilst there is one option he’d prefer over the other, it’s not going to make it even less strange.

Plus, Wilbur has absolutely no idea why Tommy had sought him out, and why there are people who want to meet him.

He also has no idea how he’s going to explain everything to them. He’d explicitly told Tommy that he isn’t “his Wilbur,” but the other had just laughed it off as if it meant nothing to him. It should though. Because if there truly is another version of him, that belongs to this world, that they know, then he’s fucked.

Another sequence of knocks echo through the apartment.

Sighing, Wilbur bows his head, letting it hang for a couple of seconds, before pushing himself up and making his way to the door. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he calls out, hoping to Prime that definitely Tommy doesn’t begin another round of those headache inducing knocks.

Seriously, when did that kid get strong enough to make a noise that loud?

“Hey, Tommy,” he smiles weakly, “You’re early.”

“Um excuse me, I’m perfectly on time. Thank you very much,” he boasts.

But when Wilbur looks at the clock on the wall, the time reads ‘6:48’.

“Nope, you’re definitely early,” the smile on his face lifts to a lighter one, upon seeing the way Tommy furrows his brows, “You know, there’s nothing wrong with being early, right?”

“Whatever, man,” he says.

“You comimg in?”

“Actually, I think I’ll say out here, for a bit,” Wilbur watches as the other fold his arm and turns his nose up, “I’m still a little hurt by what you said.”

The comment causes Wilbur to roll his eyes, trying to ignore the pang of guilt that flashes through his heart. He knows that Tommy is joking. That he hasn’t ever done anything to hurt this version of his brother, both intentional and unintentionally. But hearing that being said in a voice that he’s oh so familiar with… yeah, it hurts a little bit.

“Have fun in the hallway, then,” he says, slowly closing the door and watching as Tommy’s stance does a complete one-eighty.

“Wait no, lemme in,” Tommy pleads, “I was joking, I swear.”

Wilbur chuckles, “I know, man.”

He leaves the door a jar as he makes his way back into the bathroom, in an attempt to flatten his hair a little bit. Quackity had practically forced him to get it cut, within a day of him being in the building. Gone is the bird's nest that he’d had for months on end; both on and off the SMP. It now resembles the same cut he’d had when he’d first joined the server, bar the white streak.

Quackity had asked if he wanted to dye it out, and Wilbur really shouldn’t have been offended by that. Despite how much he’d first hated it, the white streak has grown on him.

“Isn’t that what you were wearing yesterday?” Tommy asks, and Wilbur can see him in the mirror's reflection, standing in the doorway to the bathroom, peering over his shoulder.

“It’s similar,” Wilbur corrects, “But not the same.”

The guide of “smart-casual” had left little idea of how exactly he was supposed to dress. He’d never dressed that way, within the last (physical) five years of his life. His L’manburg uniform was smart, but not casual. And his outfit post revival had been casual, but not smart.

Searching through his wardrobe earlier, he’d ended up with an outfit he deemed acceptable for the occasion.

Whilst the combination of a white dress shirt and brown dress pants were similar to his work uniform, the pants are made of a different material, and he’d ditched the tie and suspenders he wears for work. A yellow, knit vest, with white accents, sits over the shirt, and he’d swapped out the red glasses for his clear, silver framed ones.

The only thing that is the same, are the dress shoes that he’s yet to put on; still sitting by the front door.

Meanwhile, Tommy has ditched his red hoodie for a red button-up shirt; but is still wearing a pair of blue jeans.

Looking back to his own reflection, Wilbur runs a hand over the top of his hair again. There's a single strand that refuses to flatten down, no matter how much he tries to get it into place.

“C’mon, man,” Tommy complains, “You look fine. No one’s gonna care what you look like.”

“First impressions are always important, Tommy,” he reminds him.

“It’s, like, two-t’-seven, by the way.”

“Shit,” Wilbur hisses, eliciting a chuckle from the other.

———

If it was up to Wilbur, he wouldn’t be having this meeting in the place he works at. Being the only “vampire”, means that pretty much every other staff member knows who he is; even if they’ve never spoken to him.

So, if anything happens tonight, there's no doubt in his mind that he won’t be hearing the end of it for months! And that is something he really doesn’t want to happen, so tonight better go off without a hitch, for his own reputation (and maybe also for the sake of his job, but his reputation comes first).

They take the elevator down to the main lobby and then across towards the restaurant. The entire time, Tommy is explaining that the only reason he’d arrived at Wilbur's apartment early was because the people in the restaurant were giving him funny looks, and definitely not because he was excited to see the other.

Of course it wasn’t that.

(He definitely was).

“We’re in a booth at the back,” Tommy says, once they enter the room, “Usually it’s because people want us out of sight, but Ph- the other’s wanted this whole thing to be somewhere more private.”

Wilbur can accurately guess who Tommy was about to name drop, before he’d caught himself. He gives a courteous nod to his co-worker on the front end desk, as they pass through the entrance and make their way towards the back of the room. The entire time, Wilbur is making a mental note of who is staffed for tonight.

I.e. Who will fall witness to whatever tonight has in store for him.

They weave around the tables and chairs already full with people dining, before turning the final corner and-

Yep, just who he’d expected.

“We’re baaaaack,” Tommy announces, approaching the table and catching the attention of the two sitting at it.

“Finally,” Phil chuckles, “What took you so long?”

“Someone was being a bitch about his hair,” he says, pointing over his shoulder as he sits down, to where Wilbur is still hovering.

All parties' attention is on him now. Phil- dressed in a deep green button-up shirt and black slacks, but missing his hat- has a sort of inquisitive look on his face. One he often wore when Wilbur was younger, and he’d come running to his father with a question or an idea that the other found entertaining, but didn’t want to hurt his son’s feelings by laughing at him. 

Wilbur only knows that that is what it meant, not because Phil had told him, but because he'd found himself doing a similar expression with Fundy, Tommy, and sometimes Tubbo.

On the contrary, Technoblade- wearing a similar outfit to himself, but with a ruffled poet's shirt and red jacket- held a similarly, familiar, uncaring look. But with the way his head was slightly tilted, and there was a lift in his eyebrows, Wilbur could tell that he was also curious. He’d known his brother long enough to recognise that look in any version of him.

It was odd seeing it on his human form, however. He’d gotten quite used to seeing the fully Piglin version of Techno, ever since they decided on which forms they would primarily take, when they were teenagers.

Wilbur wonders if this universe's version of him has the ability to shift his appearance into the one he’s familiar with. Similarly, he wonders if this version of Phil has his wings, because he can’t see them currently.

“You joining us, mate?” Phil eventually asks, snapping Wilbur out of his head.

“I- yep!” He says, taking a seat in the booth next to Tommy and across from Phil; who is sitting in one of the chairs, as is Techno, “And, unlike what Tommy thinks, I believe first impressions are important. Therefore, I wanted to look my best.”

“Well, I’d say it’s going pretty well, so far,” Phil smiles.

“Eerie,” Wilbur thinks. He hadn’t seen his father for years, before he’d shown up on the server. And then, once he'd been revived, Phil only ever looked at him with an underlying sadness; even when he smiled. Smiles that were also often filled with guilt and pity, which made Wilbur’s skin crawl.

Seeing a genuinely happy smile from the other, after so long, looks almost unnatural.

“I think he looks like a hipster librarian,” Tommy pipes up.

“Well, I did own a library, for some time,” it comes out of Wilbur’s mouth before he can stop himself from saying it. Because, no. No he didn’t. Wilbur had never owned a library. 

Ghostbur did.

But ever since the ghost’s appearance after his death, their memories had belonged to each other. Whatever Wilbur had lived through, Ghostbur had memories of, and visa versa.

The comment seems to piqué Technoblade’s attention however, “What type of books?”

Now that, Wilbur has to wrack his brain for.

“Prime, it was such a long time ago,” he says, not a complete lie. Ghostbur’s sewer library had existed during his first three months after his death; for about a year and a half Limbo Time.

And, oftentimes, Ghostbur would go to the library to cry more than to read. Which meant that Wilbur didn’t have as good of a recollection of the place, as he should do. “If I’m remembering correctly, it mostly housed historical documents and the occasional book I would pick up, from across the land I was based in. It was only a small building.”

“Interesting.” 

That really shouldn’t have put Wilbur on edge.

And it must have shown, “Stop trying to scare him, before you’ve even introduced yourself,” Phil scolds, before turning back to Wilbur and holding out a hand, “I’m Philza. Philza Craft. But most people just call me Phil.”

Hesitantly, Wilbur shakes hands with the other. When he does, that familiar warmth he’d felt re-meeting Tommy returns. It creeps up his arm and down his spine; making all of his hairs stand on edge, as feelings of happiness and worry and protectiveness swarms his brain; causing him to drop Phil’s hand, as though it’s burning him.

At which point, the feeling goes away.

Next it’s Techno’s turn to lean across the table, hand outstretched. And Wilbur is even more hesitant to shake it. But he does, recognising the same shiver travelling through his body. “Technoblade,” he says, dropping Wilbur’s hand before he can do it himself.

Only briefly catching concern and protection.

“And you already seem to know Tommy,” Phil says.

“The one and only,” Tommy smiles, and Wilbur looks at him waiting for another handshake, “I’m not gonna shake your hand, though. That’s for the old people to do.”

“Mate, you’re also an old person, according to most people here,” Phil chuckles.

“Yes, but I still look young and handsome.”

Wilbur decides to join in on the teasing, “Well, you’re definitely still a child. That’s for sure.”

“Oi!” Tommy exclaims, “I’m a big man. I could throw you across the room, if I wanted to!”

“I’m sure you could,” he nods in feigned belief, before turning back to the others, who seem to have been watching the interaction in delight. “I should probably introduce myself too. My name’s Wilbur Soot, but I’m sure Tommy has already told you that.”

“He had. But either way, it’s nice to finally be meeting you, Wilbur,” Phil says.

“Yeah, about that, why exactly did you all want to meet with me?” He asks, “And how did you find me?”

Those are the questions that have been wracking his brain for the past… well, since Tommy showed up at his apartment. At first, Wilbur had wondered if it was the universes doing. That, no matter what reality he was in, his family would always be drawn to him and vice versa.

His second, and more logical, theory was that Tommy had gone home, told Phil and Techno about finding him at the gas station, and then they’d proceeded to track him down… somehow. 

That, he hasn’t quite figured out yet.

But if that is the case, then why?

It’s not like he did anything, aside from getting Tommy’s arm stuck in a vending machine, and then helping it get unstuck, that would warrant them putting in the effort to find him. Unless there was some ulterior motive to it. 

Which, again, he hasn’t figured out what that could be, exactly.

“We want you to join us, Wilbur,” Phil says, “Come home with us.”

Well that definitely wasn’t what he was expecting.

Wait… home?

“Home?” Wilbur questions.

“Yes,” he nods, “You don’t have to keep… running around and working in these pointless places.” There’s a dismissive wave of his hand, as though the world around them currently, Wilbur’s world of living, is nothing.

Confusion paints Wilbur’s face as he stares at Phil, waiting for him to continue his explanation. When he doesn’t, only smiling back, he looks to Technoblade and Tommy for any sort of explanation. But the other two hold a similar expression on their faces.

Expectance.

Phil’s words run in circles in his head. The more he thinks about them, the less they make sense or provide a full answer for the question he’d asked.

Why do they want him?

Unless…

“Oh,” Wilbur says, a realisation dawning on him. A theory he’d previously had, returning to his mind, “Listen- I should have said something before, but I think you’ve got the wrong guy.”

“What do you mean?” Techno says, leaning forwards. Wilbur can’t tell if it’s an intimidation tactic or not. Whatever it is, it’s working and he feels his heart rate pick up.

“Dude, chill out,” he hears Tommy say, but he can’t tell who it’s directed at. But when a hand is placed on his shoulder, he knows it’s towards him; feeling a sense of calm washing through his body, in that moment.

Taking a deep breath, Wilbur composes himself; though his hands still shake where he hides them under the table, “I’m not who you’re looking for.”

The other three share a silent conversation between them, and Wilbur can feel the rising tension in the air.

After a couple of minutes, they all turn back to him and Phil clears his throat, “You’re Wilbur Soot, right?”

“Yes?”

“And you’re the same guy who helped me outside of that gas station, in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere?”

“Yes… But Tommy, I told you yesterday, I’m not you’re Wilbur. I’m not from here!”

Tommy stares back at him with confusion, his head tilted slightly as he seems to ponder over Wilbur’s words. From the way he’d turned, Wilbur can’t see Techno nor Phil’s faces, but he can feel their eyes on him. And he has no doubt that they currently hold very similar expressions to his brother’s.

“Listen man,” Tommy begins, shaking his head as though he’s clearing it, “You keep saying that, but I have no idea what it means. I’ve literally never met another Wilbur, in my life. And I’ve been around for a loooooong time.”

“What?” He breathes.

“I mean, probably not as long as you, though,” he continues, tone light and joking, “You look like you’ve been through some shit. Seen a couple of wars, probably. So has Phil, but that’s because he’s fucking ancient.”

“I’m not even that old!” Phil argues back, “seven-hundred is young.”

“Pshhh, more like seven-hundred thousand.”

The comment elicits a chuckle from Techno, which draws Tommy’s attention onto him, “Don’t think I forgot about you. You’re ancient too.”

“And as I’ve told you before, three-hundred years old is young for our kind,” he says, “Besides, you’re older than me anyway.”

Wilbur feels his stomach drop. That can’t be right. Tommy’s comment about Phil had mostly gone over his head. He knew his father was old, that’s what happens when you’re immortal. But he and Techno should be the same age; if anything, Wilbur is older than him now. But his body is the same as the one he died in, which was in his twenties.

Fortunately- or unfortunately, depending on your view of the situation- Wilbur’s sudden silence doesn't seem to go unnoticed.

“Wilbur? You good, man?” Tommy asks, “You’ve gone all pale and shit… well, pale-er.”

“I- Yeah,” he swallows dryly, “I’m fine, I’m fine… It’s just, how have you lived for so long?”

A chuckle of amusement escapes from Techno’s lips, “Well, when you’re a part of a good coven, there are… some perks.”

“Like what?”

“Protection is a big one,” he begins, “Others don’t mess with you, when they know where you belong.”

“And the other perks?”

“Blood.”

Wilbur does his best to not let his fear show any more than it had been. His memory flashes back to yesterday… or was it the day befo- that doesn’t matter right now. The point is, Quackity had pulled him into his office, demanding to know where Wilbur was getting his blood from. And all because he assumed Wilbur was- “Blood as in…”

“Mostly human,” Phil says as though it’s no big deal, “Most vampires will substitute animal blood for it, because it’s easier to get a hold of.”

“It’s a lot less sus too,” Tommy chimes in, “Can’t be killing rando’s off the street.”

“Exactly,” the other nods in agreement, “But, we have our ways. And you’ll have access to all of that, once you’re back home.”

Right, the reason they were here.

Because, like every human in the vicinity, the vampirised versions of his family are under the same assumption.

That Wilbur is a vampire, just like them.

Quackity had warned him against interacting with vampires, especially in groups. “They’ll be able to tell,” he’d said, “Vampire’s want blood. Their hearing is specialised to hear a pulse miles away. They’ll hear your heartbeat, and they’ll know you’re not one of them. And vampires don’t take too kindly to impersonators.”

“What will they do?” Wilbur had asked.

“They’ll kill you.”

He has to get out of here, before his heart rate picks up anymore. 

“Wilbur? Wil?” He hears Tommy call, but his voice sounds distant. Like he’s speaking to him through water. But he can’t bring himself to answer, or even turn his attention to his- no, this Tommy isn’t his brother. That seems to confuse the other even more, “Phil, what’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know…”

“Maybe he hasn’t eaten in a while,” Techno offers, “I doubt that somewhere like this has good food.”

“When was the last time you fed, mate?” 

A light touch on his arm startles Wilbur out of his head, focus whipping to see what’s touching him. He finds Phil’s hand resting gently on his upper arm, as though he’s worried that anything more will break him. His fingertips send a light fuzz up into his shoulder, and Wilbur feels that familiar concern nag at the back of his mind.

“I- I ate earlier,” he lies. Not that he didn’t eat, he just ate human food. Because that’s technically what he is.

“You sure? Because we have extra back in our room, if you want some of the proper stuff,” there’s a chuckle at the end of his sentence, and Wilbur finds himself laughing along out of nerves. There’s not a cat-in-hell's chance he’s going to a secluded, second location with a group of vampires. “Hey man, there’s no need to be nervous, you’re one of us. What’s ours is yours.”

“How do you- What do you mean?” Wilbur asks.

“What’s ours is your? Well, we share our-”

“No- no, the other thing,” he says, “That I’m one of you.”

Phil quirks his head in confusion , when something seems to click, “Oh! You’ve never had a coven before, have you?”

“Coven? What?”

He sits in silence, waiting for an explanation, “Well, it seems as though when you first met Tommy, a bond was formed between the two of you. That means that you’re a part of our coven. That you belong with us, not here in this- this sorry excuse for a restaurant.”

“Oh,” he mutters, adjusting his body so Phil’s hand is no longer touching his arm; relishing in the way that his head seems to clear up upon doing so, “I don’t know what to say.”

Because he truly doesn’t.

There are so many questions running through Wilbur’s head, and none of them he knows he can ask the group, because then they’ll know his secret, if they haven’t figured it out already.

On top of that, as much as he likes the idea of his family being together again- as they appear to be, in this universe- he doesn’t know if he can go with them. 

He doesn’t want to go with them.

There’s a life for him here. He’s finally a part of Las Nevadas. The people here like him. Or, at least, they’re good enough at pretending that he doesn’t notice if they actually dislike him. Wilbur wakes up every day with a purpose. And funnily enough, one given to him by the same man who’d given him somewhat of a reason to actually keep living, back on the server.

What would he tell Quackity, this time? Now that he would have a chance to explain his reason for disappearing.

He can’t leave, not again.

Had he still been working at the shitty, run-down gas station, Wilbur doesn’t think he’d be as apprehensive as he currently is. Being taken in by a group of vampires probably would have been a lot more appealing, seeing as he knew less about them, and his life had nothing going for it; except for selling overpriced snacks and mopping floors.

“I don’t think I can go with you,” he settles upon, noticing the way the air around the table shifts into an uncomfortable one. Fuck, he can’t just tell them no, who knows what will happen to him? “I- It’s just, I have a job and all here. I should tell my boss I’m leaving to- well, we want to keep the peace with the humans, right?” He lies, “Knowing him, he wouldn’t be too happy about me leaving, when he tried so hard to get me here.”

“I guess that’s true,” Phil responds slowly, after a beat of silence, “We’d planned on leaving tomorrow, but a few more days won’t hurt, whilst you sort everything out.”

“Wait, does that mean we can actually do shit here?” Tommy asks, receiving a nod from the other, “Fuck yeah! I’m gonna gamble so much old people money.”

“And where do you plan on gettin’ the money from?” Techno quirks an eyebrow.

A smug smile creeps across his face, “Gonna pawn some of that gold we have lying ‘round.”

“You mean my gold?”

“You’re not using it!” He retaliates, “It just sits in the basement collecting dust and spider shit. And it’s not like you’re attached to it. Probably just nicked it from some old ass lord you killed.”

“He’s got a point, mate.”

“Wha- But it’s my gold!” Techno argues, “He can’t just steal my stuff.”

“Already did,” seconds later, there are a couple of gold rings, a few with jewels set into them, being scattered across the table.

Wilbur watches as they dance on the wooden surface, spinning and skipping before coming to a halt in the centre. Techno lunges forwards, but Tommy seemed to have prepared for him to do so; swiping them up and shoving them back into his pocket before they can be taken off him.

Shock, though his face doesn’t exactly portray it, Techno turns to Phil, “Phil, the child has my stuff.”

“I know, I know,” he sighs, as though this isn’t the first time Tommy has done something like this; Wilbur would be very surprised if it was. If he remembers correctly, Tommy had briefly stayed with Technoblade, during Ghostbur’s time on the surface. In which, his ghost witnessed his brothers bicker over Tommy’s thievery of Techo’s golden apples.

Nice to see that all Tommy’s steal gold from all Techno’s.

“Wilbur!” Tommy exclaims, “Show me where I can get money for this shit. I wanna play some games.”

“Maybe tomorrow night,” he says, “I- If you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to go back to my room.”

He begins shuffling out of the booth, when Tommy whines from behind, “Awww, but you didn’t even show them the cool sword thing.”

“Sword?” Phil and Techno speak at the same time.

“Perhaps another time,” there’s a tiredness to his voice, that he hopes Tommy will take note of, “Goodnight, everyone.”

“Night, mate.”

“Goodnight.”

“You better stick to that promise!”

Chapter Text

The carpet makes barely any sound as Wilbur walks straight past his own door, and continues down the corridor. He doesn’t even know why he’s doing this, all he knows is that he can’t go back to his own home, just yet. Tommy knows which one is his, so therefore so do Phil and Technoblade. And he considers it pretty lucky that they let him leave that easily. From what he’d been told, vampires are very protective and can be possessive over their coven.

And if they think he belongs with them, then it’s a miracle that they let him go.

Shortly, Wilbur finds himself in front of an identical door to his own, knocking on it in quick succession.

When there’s no response, he tries again; a little more desperate sounding this time, glancing backwards to make sure that he wasn’t followed.

Finally-

“Wha- Wilbur? I told you not to bother me outside of work hours,” Quackity states, brows furrowed and already reaching to close the door, “Fundy should be around somewhere. Go and find him.”

“No!” Wilbur blurts out, hand flying out to keep the door open. Finally turning away from the corridor, he meets Quackity eyes. The panic on his face must be showing, as he watches the other’s expression morph from irritation into concerned confusion.

“Dude, what’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, lips pressed tightly together as he looks back down the corridor once again. His eyes drag over every doorway, window, and possible hiding place that someone could be inside or behind, “Not out here.”

Quackity’s expression doesn’t budge, “Okay… Do you wanna come inside?”

This time, he nods furiously, “Yes.”

“Right…” the other steps aside, opening up the doorway for Wilbur to pass through, “Come in, then.”

There’s a muttered, “Thank you,” as he walks into Quackity apartment and proceeds to stand awkwardly in the centre of the room; listening as the other closes and locks the door. The space is roughly the same size and layout as his own apartment, though it is a little more decorated. A little more lived in.

“Uhh, you can sit down, if you want,” Quackity offers, concern lacing his tone.

Wilbur’s head snaps in his direction as his brain catches up to what the other had just said, “Oh… right- yes.”

Despite the anxiety and returning paranoia wracking his mind and body, Wilbur doesn’t miss the way that Quackity keeps his eyes on him the entire time he moves to the couch; where he literally sits on the edge of the seat, body tense and hand grasping for anything else than themselves to fiddle with.

He keeps his head bowed but his hearing vigilant, as he listens to Quackity moving around the room, until something cold is being pushed against his hands. When he redirects his vision, he finds that the other is holding a glass of water out for him. Wilbur fixes him with a muddled look.

Quackity rolls his eyes, and confusion and concern he had had minutes prior has fizzled out, “Drink.”

Accepting the glass, Wilbur takes a few sips of the drink. But when Quackity’s hard stare doesn’t lighten up, he drinks the entire thing, before setting the empty glass onto the coffee table.

“Better?” Quackity asks, after a couple of seconds of silence.

“A- a little bit,” he nods, head bowed once again.

“Good. Now, what the fuck is it that you couldn’t possibly tell me, out there?” He points over his shoulder to where the front door is. Momentarily, Wilbur had forgotten why he’d shown up here, gnawing guilt and distrust collecting in his stomach, the longer he sits on Quackity couch.

He needs to stop making rash decisions when he’s panicking.

“It doesn’t matter,” Wilbur mumbles, “I should’ve just gone home.”

But when he tries to stand, he finds himself being pushed back down by a steady hand on his shoulder. Confused, he looks to his side to find Quackity shaking his head, “What?”

“Wilbur, you showed up at my apartment, acting like someone was trying to kill you,” he explains, “There’s no way I’m letting you go, not without knowing you’re not gonna do somethin’ stupid.”

He huffs, rolling his eyes, “Seriously, it’s no big deal. Sometimes I just… get like that. I’m fine. Everything’s fine, Quackity. Really.”

“Y’know, for some reason, I don’t believe that,” he stands, fixing him with a suspicious stare, “If you were any other person here, I would've probably accepted your reasoning. But you’re you. Some weird bird person, who’s definitely seen some shit in his lifetime, and- may I remind you- is from an alternate dimension.”

“So? That doesn’t mean-”

“Wilbur, there are many reasons for me to not have trusted you. But I did,” he sits again, “For once, place just a little trust in me. What happened?”

And fuck , Wilbur doesn’t think he can say no to that. Not when there were so many nights before he’d shown up here, where he’d wished someone, other than his family, would have sat there and said willingly listened and tried to understand him. And when so many of those fantasies may or may have not involved the man on the couch next to him.

It’s almost comical.

He laughs dryly, voice low as he bows his head, “You’re right. I’ve seen a lot. More than you could know.”

“Then tell me,” Quackity urges, “If it’s something I can help with-”

“No. Not those things,” he shakes his head, taking a deep breath, “I- The reason I came here is because-”

Prime, why is it so hard to be vulnerable like this? Maybe it’s because he’s about to admit to doing one of the things Quackity told him not to do.

“It’s because I fucked up. Big time fucked up.”

“How so?”

“Vampires. I got involved… with vampires.”

Wilbur feels the air still around them as Quackity makes no move to respond. Then, “For fucks sake, Wilbur,” is hissed through gritten teeth. In his peripheral he watches the other paces back and forth in short steps, before stopping in front of the couch again, “The one thing I told you not to do.”

“I know- I know, but-”

“But, what? I just said I trusted you, man,” he throws his hands out, “I told you the risks. Why didn’t you-”

“They’re my family, Quackity!”

The silence returns as the two stare at each other with wide eyes.

“What?”

Wilbur nods, “My dad and my brothers, they’re here.”

“But I though-”

“That I'm from a alternate dimention? Yeah, I am,” he says, “They’re this reality’s version of them. They’re vampires and they found me, and they want me to go with them. Apparently, I’m a part of their coven? They think I’m a vampire, Quackity!”

"Well, that is what we wanted," he mutters to himself, "But fuck," Quackity then breathes, flopping back onto the couch, "Fuck man."

“Yeah,” he nods.

“How’d they know you were here?”

“I d’know,” he shrugs, “I couldn’t get a straight answer out of any of them. But I- The night after you first showed up to the gas station, so did my brother. And then he was on my balcony last night, inviting me to have dinner with him and “the others ”. Well, turns out they were my dad and other brother, and now they want me to go “home” with them. But not to my home. Or back where I came from. To- to their home.”

By the end of his explanation, Wilbur feels like he might break down again; words coming out frantically and breathing picking up.

“Your apartment balcony?” Quackity questions, to which Wilbur nods. “But that’s, like, five floors up! You’re telling me that you didn’t think that was fuckin’ weird?”

“I thought- I thought I was hallucinating him,” he admits, “He was too much like before the wars to be real.”

“Wars?!” He echo’s, “How the fuck have you lived through wars, multiple ?”

“Big Q, you’re not focusing on the worst part- they want me to go with them!” 

Quackity’s face drops, “Fuck.”

“And I- I don’t-" he begins, before changing the question, “It’s not like I can just tell them no, is it?”

“It’s not.”

“I don’t know what to do, Quackity,” the confession feels weird. In all his years of knowing the other- well, not this version of him- Wilbur would do anything in his power to solve an issue by himself, than to have help from someone else; with Quackity being one of the last people he’d ask for help. “I have no idea what I’m doing here. Like, there has to be a reason for all this, right? The universe wouldn’t just put me here for fun.”

“Okay, how about we focus on one issue at a time,” Quackity settles, “First the vampires. Then you can have an existential crisis about your existence. You look like you’re overdue one.”

“Oh fuck you,” he huffs, but there’s no mallice behind it, “In all seriousness though, what should I do?”

Quackity hums as he thinks, fingers drumming on the lower half of his face. Patiently, Wilbur waits for an answer. He’d come up with his own solution, if he knew what he was dealing with. And whilst Quackity wasn’t a vampire, either, he actually belongs here; he’s grown up with the knowledge of how to approach and deal with vampires.

For once, he was far more knowledgeable than Wilbur.

“Do you want me to ban them?” He eventually says, turning to meet Wilbur’s face.

And for a moment, the other genuinely considers it.

“I…” he pauses. There’s too much a stake, by pissing off a group of vampires like that; he’s sure of it. Plus, even if he’s not like them, nor from this world, they’re still his family. He can’t do that to them. “No. I don’t want that. It’ll make it too obvious.”

“Okay,” Quackity nods, “Then what do you want?”

“I don’t- I don’t know.”

He sighs, “Listen Wilbur, I can’t really do anything about this, if I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“Okay.”

“And if I can’t ban them, then the most I can really do is inform the rest of the staff to not let them get close to you,” he explains, “Otherwise, you’re on your own. And considering you’re here, right now, then I don’t think you want that.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes, “You don’t know that.”

“Wilbur, sometimes you’re incredibly easy to read,” he deadpans, “Now is no exception. So just shut the fuck up and accept the help, okay.”

“Fine.”

“Good,” Quackity nods, satisfied with the conclusion they’ve come to, “I’ll let everyone know, in the morning.”

“Thanks,” Wilbur thinks there should be a grateful smile that comes along with his appreciation, but he doesn’t feel his face change past its current blank stare. He’s far too worn out to force one now, he can only hope that Quackity understands. “Hey, Big Q. Can I stay here tonight? I don’t want to go back to mine.”

Quackity lets out another sigh, but this time it’s a lot lighter; even accompanied with a smile. “Yeah man,” he nods.

“Thanks,” he repeated, eyes dragging away from the other’s face to the coffee table in front of him; landing on the empty glass that still sits there. “By the way, why’d you give me the water, before? From experience, that’s not usually how people handle me getting all… panicky.”

Quackity chuckles, but fixes him with a sympathetic look, “You ever heard that tip about giving a child water, when they’re just crying for the sake of crying?”

“Oh fuck you,” he curses, but a finally smile begins creeping onto his face.

“Curse all you want, but it worked, didn’t it?”

“I’m not giving you the satisfaction of knowing,” he folds his arms over his chest and turns his nose up.

Rolling his eyes, Quackity picks up the glass and stands, “You don’t need to,” he makes his way over to the kitchen, “I know it did.”

Chapter Text

Wilbur decides to take a few impromptu days off work, following the dinner with his fa- the vampires. He tells Quackity such, as they sit at the other's kitchen table eating breakfast together; overlooking the city below. It’s a rainy day, slightly abnormal for the desert they’re located in, but Wilbur finds himself enamoured with watching. It’s been a while since he’s seen anything other than sun and cloudy days.

“I’d figured you’d wanna do that,” Quackity says, swallowing a mouthful of cereal, “It’s actually a good thing you came here last night, because now I know you’re not tryin’ to bullshit me.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, looking away from the window.

“As per protocol, you’re meant to report to my office if you’re calling in sick,” he explains, waving his spoon around as he talks; a few drops of milk splatter on the table. “Now, why do you think that is, Wilbur?”

“Oh you conniving fuck,” Wilbur hisses, but there’s no malice behind it, “Making people work, even if they’re ill, just because they might not look it!”

Quackity smirks, “I have a business to run,” shrugging, he folds his arms, “I need as many people on deck, as I can get.”

“It’s smart, I’ll admit that,” there’s some respect that Wilbur has for Quackity’s rule. It deters people from faking illness, just to get out of work.

“Well, it’s worked so far. So I’m not stopping, any time soon.”

———

The first day that Wilbur takes off work, he spends held up in his apartment. He sits by his balcony doors for at least half an hour, admiring the rainfall on the other side. It splashes against the window, and races down the glass; watching every second of it. Never did Wilbur think that he’d be entertained by watching a couple of raindrops. But when his chosen droplet beats the other’s to the bottom, he’s hit with a rush of dopamine and it feels good.

Briefly, he opens the doors and sticks his hands out, feeling the water tickling his hands.

But the memory of Tommy standing out there, after having climbed up to the floor, flashes in his mind, and he forcefully shuts and locks the doors; drawing the curtains closed as well, just for good measure.

“What now?” He thinks, pacing the room for something else to do. Eyes eventually landing on a stack of books that weren't there this morning, sitting on his coffee table.

“So you don’t die of boredom 

-Q.”

Reads the note sitting on top of them.

———

By day two, Wilbur had finished three of the five books, before he'd wanted to do something else. He was always a quick reader, even as a child. And as an adult, though he often preferred books more grounded in reality. But the tales of these fictional vampires and whatever the hell werewolves are, were enough to keep him entranced, and to keep his mind off everything else.

Though now he has nothing else to do. There’s nothing on the television that he finds remotely entertaining enough to hold his attention. So he switches it off and makes his way to the kitchen for something to eat, to fill that moment of boredom.

His fridge is just as barren as the desert, however.

He really should go grocery shopping.

Still wary, Wilbur steps foot outside of his apartment for the first time in a day. He’d half expected to find one of the vampires waiting outside of his door, for the moment that he finally leaves. But there’s no one in the stretching corridor, besides himself and a few moths filtering around the lights above.

He slides a note under Quackity’s door, explaining that he’s going out, just so the other knows where he’s gone if he comes looking for him. It would be so much easier, if everyone here had communicators, so he could just contact them. Alas, notes shoved under doors would have to surfice, for now.

When he reaches the ground floor, Wilbur leaves the lift with another cautious step; looking around the lobby for the familiar sight of green, pink, or red. Upon finding none, he breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Good. This is good,” he reassures himself, hands shoved in the pockets of his trenchcoat, which has been newly washed and with its tears fixed using mismatched fabrics, and crosses the lobby to the hotel's revolving doors.

He’s almost at the entrance when someone calls his name from behind, causing him to freeze as the step closer. There’s a stake in the left pocket of his coat, fingers curling around it, in case he has to defend himself; right hand ready to summon his sword, if he absolutely has it.

Back still turned, he hears padded footsteps on the carpet growing closer, until there’s a hand on his shoulder, causing him to flinch and whip around.

“Woah,” the person says, removing their hand, “Wilbur from Utah, is everything alright?”

Thank Prime, it’s just Slime.

“I- Hello, Slime,” he says, a weary smile on his face, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… a little on edge, is all.”

“That’s okay,” the other smiles, more genuine than Wilbur’s, “Y’know, I sometimes find myself needing some time to myself, too. Quackity informed me of your absence.”

“Oh he did, did he?”

Slime nods, “Yep! He said you were going through things that I’m not allowed to know about, but that’s okay.”

The other’s almost constant chipper tone is something he still isn’t used to, “Right.”

Finally, Wilbur pulls his attention away from Slime’s face to observe the rest of him. No longer is he dressed in usual uniform, but instead a white shirt with three hearts across the chest, deep blue jeans, trainers, a green and yellow hoodie tied around his waist, and a bag on his back. It’s the first time he’s seen anyone else here, aside from Quackity, in more casual clothing.

He wonders if today is one of Slime’s days off.

“Were you heading outside too?” Slime says, before Wilbur can ask anything. He too must have noticed how he wasn’t wearing his uniform.

Wilbur nods, “Yep.”

“What a coincidence, so was I!” He beams, walking past the other and beginning to push the door, “C’mon, lets go.”

“Go where?” He asks, following the other, until they're standing on the pavement outside.

“Well, that depends on where you’re going.”

Tilting his head, Wilbur fixes Slime with a confused look, “Did Quackity ask you to come with me?”

“Nope! I was just going for a walk,” Slime explains, “But, everything is always better with company.”

Wilbur continues to stare at the other, wondering if he’s really telling the truth. There’s a chance that he’s lying, and that Quackity did in fact send Slime to watch over him; especially with everything going on. But, if he wanted Wilbur to remain protected, then why not send someone like Foolish or Sam? They’re far more intimidating than Slime.

And could probably defend him a lot better, too.

No offence, Slime.

But that’s also why he’s inclined to believe that Slime was heading out on a walk, and just happened upon Wilbur also leaving.

He thinks about just asking Slime to leave him alone. But at the same time, there might be some benefits to having someone accompanying him on his journey to the grocery store. Maybe the other’s presence will deter the vampires from getting anywhere close to him. From what Quackity had told him, vampires don’t like humans interfering or knowing about them and their practices.

So this could really be a good thing.

“Well Slime, I’d be happy to have you on board for this journey, today,” Wilbur says.

“Awesome,” Slime smiles, “So, where’re we heading, conductor?”

The other’s small train pun makes Wilbur chuckle, “I was gonna head down to the grocery store. Not too exciting, I know. But I assume you know the city better than I do, so if you're willing, would you like to be my guide?”

Slime practically jumps for joy, gasping as he clasp his hands together, “Oh Wilbur, I’d love to be!” In one swift moment, he reaches forwards and grabs the other by the wrist, and begins dragging him down the street, “C’mon, I’ll drive, and I’ll make sure you see allll the wonders this place has to offer.”

“Fantastic.”

———

“Hey Wilbur, can I ask you something?” Slime pipes up.

They’ve been walking around the grocery store for the past ten minutes, Wilbur pushing the trolley as Slime walks besides him. When they pass by something he wants to purchase, he instructs Slime to grab it from the shelf; stacking it neatly in the cart. So far, they’ve collected the essentials, and are now standing in front of an array of fruit and vegetables; with Wilbur closely inspecting each and every one he picks up.

“Go for it,” Wilbur says, dropping another tomato into a brown paper bag.

“Why’re you even wasting your money on this?”

Wilbur freezes, turning to look at Slime, “What?”

“Well, vampires don’t need to eat, right? So, why buy human food, if you don’t need it to live?”

Ah right, so that’s what he’d meant. Because, in his moment of enjoyment, Wilbur had forgotten that everyone sees him as some other type of monster, than he was used to.

“Well, you see,” he turns his head back down to the vegetables, picking up another tomato in an attempt to not show any tells. “I like it… It- it reminds me of, y’know, before I got turned,” mentally, Wilbur congratulates himself for creating an on-the-spot lie for something he didn’t think he’d have to try to lie about. 

He continues, lifting his head to look at the other, “Plus, say if I had company ‘round- for example; you- I’d have the means to feed you, because I’ve already stocked up on food.”

Slime nods along with the explanation, hand coming up to rub at his chin, “I guess that makes some sense… But Wilbur, why not just buy food, when you know you’re having company over?”

“Like I said, I also like to eat “human food ””, he echoes Slime’s words from earlier, “Now c’mon, I wanna see what pastries they’ve got here.”

———

By the end of the day, the two return to the hotel with two bags of groceries, and a bag and backpack full of small trinkets, decorative items, and a few items of clothing. Once they’d finished at the grocery store and put the back in the boot of Slime’s car, they’d travelled to a different part of the city, lined with smaller, individual stores; making their way through each and every one, until the sun began to set.

Upon finding out that Wilbur’s apartment was still a little bare, Slime had encouraged him to purchase a few small items that could be used to decorate it; some paintings in frames and little trinkets that could be placed wherever.

The two also happened upon a rather ragged and worn stuffed squid plush, missing an eye and a limb or two, which they couldn’t seem to take their eyes off.

“He’s majestic,” Wilbur had said, standing side-by-side with Slime.

“I know,” the other agreed, “A being such as himself should not be wasting away, in a place like this.”

“Should we get him?”

Slime reached forwards, taking the plush from his place on the shelf; everything besides him had been in a lot better quality. Seemingly donated, before they could experience love.

But the squid? He had seen so much love, it had ebbed away at him and left him tattered and not as pretty as his fellow shelf-mates.

Wilbur would have been lying if he said he didn’t see himself in that Prime-damn plush.

Carefully, Slime treasured the plush in his arms, “Do you want him?”

“I mean, kind of,” Wilbur said, “He’s a little fucked up, in an endearing way. But, if you want him, you should have him.”

“No, he should be yours,” Slime disagreed, trying to shove the squid into Wilbur’s arms, “Look at him, he’s saying, “Take me home, Wilbur.” ”

“Really? Because all I’m hearing is, “No Slime, take me with you.”

Slime furrowed his brows, turning the squid back towards himself and staring into its single, button eye. He appears to be thinking about something, what with how he keeps humming. “What if… Hmmm yes, what if we have joint custody over him?”

“Like co-parents?”

“Yeah! We can be co-parents,” he looped an arm around Wilbur’s shoulder, “Taking on the world together. Just me, you, and our squid son.”

“Yeah- Yeah, alright. I can get behind that,” Wilbur nodded.

“Alright! Now let’s bring him home.”

———

Quackity is coming out of his apartment, when the two step out of the elevator and head towards Wilbur’s home. “I got your note, remind me to get you a phone,” he smiles as he approaches them, eyes glancing over the bags that they’re carrying, “You two look like you’ve had fun today.”

“Well, I was only planning on going food shopping,” Wilbur says, “But Slime decided to show me around the city.”

“That’s good,” Quackity nods, “Thanks Slime, for making sure he didn’t get lost.”

“Oi!”

“You’re welcome, Quackity,” Slime smiles, “I had a great day, and I’m happy to get back to work tomorrow.”

“That’s good to hear,” he says, “How about you, Wilbur? Do you still need another day off?”

Wilbur knows Quackity’s question isn’t meant to be snarky, and is most likely coming from a place of genuine worry. But, as a former business owner himself, he can understand that the other is probably a little on edge, not having his resident vampire’s presence down stairs.

But is Wilbur ready?

If the vampires are still here, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so,  Quackity,” he decides upon, “If that’s alright with you.”

Wilbur doesn’t miss the way that Quackity’s smile becomes a little less chipper, “That’s perfectly fine, Wilbur. Just let me know when you’re planning on returning.”

“I will, thank you,” he sets one of the bags down on the floor, in order to open his door, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some stuff to unpack.” He turns to Slime, “Slime, could you please take Bungled for the week? I’ll be over to collect him next Wednesday.”

“You got it, man,” Slime nods, handing Wilbur the bag he was carrying.

“Thanks, Slime,” he smiles, “Well, g’night guys.”

“See ya,” Slime responds.”

“Yeah, goodnight, man,” Quackity says.

And as Wilbur closes the door, he can hear Quackity asking Slime, “Who the fuck is Bungled ?”

Wilbur chuckles to himself as he listens to Slime beginning to explain their entire day, voices getting quieter as they walk down the corridor and away from his apartment. Finally, when they’re out of earshot, Wilbur turns away from the door and flicks on the light.

It isn’t until that moment, does he realise he’s not alone in the room.

“Hello, Wilbur.”

Chapter Text

“Hello, Wilbur,” Tommy greets, from where he’s sitting on the couch, staring the other dead in the eyes. From the way his posture is relaxed, leaning back into the cushions and arms stretched out over the back, Wilbur suspects that he’s been waiting for a decent amount of time.

But why?

Probably nothing good, if he’s being completely honest.

Wilbur doesn’t respond, continuing to hold eye contact with Tommy, as he blindly reaches for the door handle. He’d heard Slime and Quackity walking away from his door, so there’s a chance they’re still in the corridor. If he’s fast enough, he can be out of the door and regroup with them, before Tommy does anything.

Then again, he doesn’t know if Tommy is alone, or if Techno and Phil are also here; hiding in the shadows.

Because if they’re all here, there’s no way he’s getting out of this.

“Don’t leave,” Tommy speaks, having noticed Wilbur’s attempt to find the door handle.

Wilbur freezes, “What do you want?”

“Where have you been, Wilbur?” He asks.

His unnaturally serious tone catches him off guard.

“I’ve just- I’ve just been here, Tommy,” he responds, relaxing his posture in the hopes of not showing any sort of fear towards his not-brother, “I don’t see why that’s important.”

“Because,” Tommy pushes himself to his feet, head now bowed as he approaches the other. He gets about a metre away, keeping his head low and remaining silent. Wilbur notices the way his hands are bawled at his sides, as well as the way Tommy’s body doesn’t move as he breathes. 

Until he takes a sharky breath in, “Because-” finally he lifts his head, “you promised you’d take me gambling.”

Long gone is any sort of anger on Tommy’s face.

“What!?” Wilbur exclaims, confusion painting his face as he takes a step back, “Hold on, hold on-”

All tension in the room has suddenly dissipated

“Yeah man, remember?” Tommy continues, “You said you’d take me to the casino, because I pawned all of that gold and now I have a shit ton of money to get rid of.”

Wilbur feels his brain short circuit. Did he really promise to take Tommy to the casino? When the hell did he do that? If it was during dinner, then that explains why he doesn’t remember it. He was pretty out of it, from the moment he found out that his family here are vampires, up until he reached Quackity’s door.

“Not- maybe not tonight, Tommy,” Wilbur tries, in an attempt to get the teen to back down.

“But why not?” He whines, “Wilbur, you promised. And promises are a sacred thing, you need to stick to them.”

Wilbur hopes to Prime that that’s just Tommy saying things, trying to get him to change his mind, rather than being a part of vampire culture that he isn’t aware of. Because if it is, this might just blow his cover.

“I know, it’s just that I’ve had a long day,” he begins, “And I’ve got all this food to put away, or else it’ll go off.”

Tommy scrunches his nose up at the mention of food, “Eww, why’d you even that stuff? It’s not like we need it.”

Rolling his eyes, Wilbur takes the opportunity to grab the bags and walk to the kitchen. “Well, I like it… sometimes,” nice save, he thinks as he starts putting away the perishables first, “Plus, if I ever have company over, then I can feed them.”

He hears Tommy huff from behind. And when he looks over his shoulder, the other is sitting on his kitchen table, “I guess. But, like, we don’t even keep that much food at home, and my friends are there, like, allll the time.”

“Your friends?” He asks, closing the fridge and moving onto stacking cans in the cupboard.

“Yep, they’re pretty cool people.”

“And they’re both human?”

Tommy nods, “Yeah. It’s a funny story on how we met, actually.”

Leaning against the counter, Wilbur finally pays Tommy his full attention; something he knew he should have done with his real brother, “Oh yeah? Tell me it.”

“Fine, but only because I know you’re chill around humans,” he says, legs kicking back-and-forth, “Well, I was being chased by vampire hunters and-”

“Vampire hunters?”

“Uhh yes?” When he looks to Wilbur, he must have noticed the confused look on the other's face, “What? You never seen ‘em before?”

Wilbur shakes his head, “No.”

“Lucky. They’re all over my home,” he explains, “I guess in the middle of the desert, there isn’t any, eh? The name is self explanatory.”

“Why do they hunt… us?”

Tommy shrugs, “D’know. Bastards think they’re “Saving humanity” or whatever, by capturing us. But we’re just trying to live our lives and shit.”

“And it’s definitely not because you eat people?”

He scoffs, “Excuse you, I’ve never done that. I just drain ‘em until they pass out. No one actually dies. Like, I get that some others aren’t like me, but that doesn’t mean all vampires are the same. Human’s just think because one guy does it, we all do because they hate us. Tommy looks away briefly, then turns his head back to Wilbur,” D’you ever think about why this place is only for humans? Why you’re the only vampire here?”

“Well, yeah,” Wilbur nods. He was brought here to deter vampires from trying to enter the place, to cause chaos. “By having me here, no one’s gonna try to break in or overthrow the place.”

“And look how that worked,” Tommy rolls his eyes, “I got in pretty easily. So did Phil and Techno. So, whatever plan those humans in charge had, were pretty fucking stupid anyway.”

“I guess if you put it that way…” he trails off, making a mental note to speak to Quacktiy later about this, “Anyway, continue with your story.”

“Yeah. Yeah alright, so there I am, running from vampire hunters,” the vexed tone he’d previously held, is quickly switched for a more dramatic one, as he gets into his tale; gesturing wildly with his hands. “And I end up at a dead end, and they’re right behind me. But because I’m a super skilled guy, I start climbing the wall and escape through an open window.”

His smile grows wider, and Wilbur can’t help but smile himself.

“And I oh so gracefully climb through the window-”

“You fell through it, didn’t you?”

“-and I’m in this random, shitty looking flat, when this kid starts crawling up to me. Like, a literal human baby is right there. And I say hi to the guy, because I’m not just gonna ignore it. But it starts making fucking noises at me, and I don’t know what it’s saying, but then shouting comes from the other room, and these two, like, twelve year olds come running in.

So yeah, that’s how I met Tubbo and Ranboo.”

Wilbur feels himself blink in surprise, “Wait, what are you friends called?”

“Uhhhh, Tubbo and Ranboo?” He repeats, “Why? Do you know them or sommet?”

“I-” he pauses, unsure of what to say. Truthfully, Wilbur hadn’t meant to react the way he had, but he was far too distracted by just how happy Tommy had looked, to catch himself in time. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to hearing the names or seeing the people of those who he knew back on the server.

“I don’t think so,” he answers, rubbing his head as though he’d obtained a headache, whilst thinking too hard, “Their names just… ring a bell.”

“Okay then.”

“So, what happens next?”

Tommy tilts his head in confusion, “In what?”

“Your story,” he shrugs, “How’d they react to seeing you? I assume people aren't too fond of vampires breaking into their homes.”

“Oh yeah no, they weren’t. It wasn’t even their house though!” He throws his hands up dramatically, “That kid? They were babysitting him. So, naturally, they tried to attack me.”

“And did they succeed?”

“No,” Tommy’s tone suggests otherwise, however, “But that just upset the kid. And fuck man, that kid was a loud crier. Then someone started banging on the door, and I thought I was fucking done for, but it was just some neighbour who wanted the baby to stop crying. And it did, but only because it had climbed into my arms.”

“Awwww.”

“No, not awwww,” he scolds, “Little kids freak me out, but at least it was quiet. And they started pleading with me to hand him over, which I was cool with, but he just kept on crying. And then there was more banging, and this time it was the hunters!”

“Uh oh.”

“Yeah! They asked if I was there, and I was because I was hiding behind the couch with the kid. But they- I don’t know why they lied, but I guess they said I wasn’t there, because the hunters left and they let me stay.

That was- ooooo I don’t know, like, five years ago,” he taps his chin, “And we’ve been best friends ever since.”

There’s a now wistful look on Tommy’s face, smiling as he appears to think back on the events of that day. Though Wilbur now knows that this universe's versions of his old friends and family are all still connected, it has been interesting to hear all the stories of how people met each other. He was there, the day that Tubbo was found in a box on the side of the road, and he had also been there throughout Tommy’s own childhood, watching as he met and grew up with his best friend.

He hadn’t been… alive, when Ranboo had arrived on the server, and had grown close to Tommy and Tubbo, but he had heard bits and pieces of their meeting afterwards. Enough to put it all together in his head.

Everything about this world has been so similar, yet so different at the same time.

Wilbur doesn’t like to think too hard about the fact that everyone here has already lived their lives so far, without him being there.

“But now it fucking sucks,” Tommy continues, snapping Wilbur out of his own head, “Because they’re eightteen and they keep joking that I’m a child, just because I got turned at fucking sixteen.”

Tommy’s once happy face has now morphed into something bitter.

“Phil and Techno just don’t get it, because at least they look like adults. And, like, I’m older than Techno anyways, technically,” he continues, fingers gripping the table he still sits on. “But I-” and then his head flies up and meets Wilbur’s eyes, “I mean, you get it, right? You’re, like, young-ish looking. But- but you- I bet you’re what? At least like six hundred or sommet. Phil’s old as shit, but you’ve definitely seen more shit than he has.”

Wilbur is frozen. Standing in his kitchen, Tommy’s eyes feel like more than just one pair, boaring into his soul and making his body squirm.

He swallows thickly, “I mean, you’re definitely right, about the things I’ve lived through.”

Slowly, he approaches the table and motions for Tommy to scooch over a bit, so he too can sit down. It feels awkward, being able to sit by his not-brother like this. After his revival, whenever Wilbur would be in close proximity to his brother, he also got this feeling that he wanted to add a little bit more space between them, sometimes.

Other times, it was like Tommy wanted to be as close as possible, but was scared to do anything.

Worried about how Wilbur may react.

“I- uh… I’ve seen a lot,” he admits, “Like you, I was too young for all of it. And I knew people who were even younger than me, who lived through the same thing.”

His heart races, as he braces himself for what he’s about to say.

Something he wanted to say to the same person, but couldn’t. His fear of rejection, from the one person who always loved and cared for him unconditionally, was too strong for him to say it before.

“I’m- I’m sorry, Tommy,” he manages out, not daring to meet the others' face. Because if he doesn’t look at his not-brother, he can imagine- for just a second- that he’s another version of him.

“You shouldn’t’ve had to go through everything you did. You were too young for that. For- for everything. I- I should have been there to protect you,” Wilbur doesn’t realise he’s rambling, until he stops.

Tommy is staring at him with confused eyes, “It’s fine, man. You didn’t know, you weren’t there. But- but you are now. And I just want to get to know you. Everyone does.”

“Every- Oh right, yes.”

“Which is why-” suddenly, all of Tommy’s energy seems to have magically returned, hopping off the table and doing a small spin, “we should go gambling.”

He reaches forwards and grabs Wilbur’s hands, sending a familiar electric shock up the other’s arms, making him startle a little, “C’mon Wil! It’ll be fun.”

The nickname catches him off guard, something he hasn’t heard in a good few months. He wants to say no, and reiterate the fact that he’s tired and needs to eat and then go to sleep, but the joy and excitement currently coursing into his body is outweighing his other needs.

After a few seconds of contemplation, he sighs, “Okay fine. I’ll take you gambling.”

“Yes!”

“But, let me eat something first,” he says, “I have routines that I like to uphold, and- and that’s one of them, so yeah.”

“Okay yes do that, and then we go,” Tommy rushes, “But hurry up.”

Chuckling, Wilbur pushes himself off the table and makes his way over to the kitchen; setting a pot on the stove, and taking a can of soup from a cupboard. He sets out two bowls, just in case.

Chapter Text

“Come on… Come on!” Tommy exclaims, repeatedly pushing the button in front of him as fast as he can. Which, to give him some credit, is extremely fast; so much so, that Wilbur worries that he may either break it, or out himself as anything other than human. 

And yet, despite his speed, the horse he’d betted on is still losing. 

“Press faster!” Wilbur yells, shaking the back of the chair.

“I am!!” He shouts back, hands now a blur, “Go faster you stupid horse!”

“Ding. Ding. Ding. Green wins! ” The machine announces, and one of the other people at the game cheers; coins falling into the tray in front of them.

Tommy’s horse came third.

Wilbur recognises the person who’d won, they work for the casino.

The house always wins- even on games you wouldn’t expect it to.

He fails to point this out to Tommy.

“This is bullshit,” Tommy huffs, swivelling around in the chair. He keeps that defeated look on his face for a few more seconds, before it’s completely replaced by one of excitement, and he hops up, “On to the next game!”

The two have been at the Las Nevadas casino for roughly an hour and a half now, and it’s surprising that Tommy still has any money left; seeing as how quickly he seems to be burning through it. He’d tried four different slot machines, when they arrived- switching to the next when he kept repeatedly losing money. That had lasted for about half an hour, before he got bored.

Next, he’d switched some coins for chips and had a go at Roulette. His intuition skills seemed to be a little better than his pure luck, winning a few rounds of that when he started. But then he got too cocky and gave up after a ten round losing streak.

At that point, the money had started to dwindle, and Tommy had practically begged Wilbur to try his hand at something; seeing as the others had mostly stood behind and cheered him on, since they arrived. Oftering quips and jokes in an attempt to lighten his mood.

Reluctantly, Wilbur had taken the remaining chips from Tommy, in exchange for some cash for a drink, and shooed him away as he stepped into one of the more quieter areas of the casino- a room with just under a dozen tables of varying sizes, occupied by strange and familiar faces.

Wilbur takes a seat at one of the tables.

And by the time he’s exiting the room, finding Tommy leaning against the wall beside the door, he had tripled the amount of chips in his hands.

“How the fuck d’you do that!?” Tommy had asked, eyeing the plastic cup.

“I’ve had a lot of practise at card games,” is all Wilbur says, making his way back into the room.

A few friendly, no stakes games of pool and three horse races later, the two find themselves wandering the carpeted floors of the casino, waiting for something new to catch Tommy’s eyes.

Wilbur, admittedly, does not spend a lot of time in the casino; both on and off the clock. He has worked a total of two shifts at the bar, and had also done a trial run as a dealer for the poker tables- all of which went well. He’d found that the repeated exposure to the blinking lights and flashing noises from the varying machines was something that he could only tolerate for so long, before needing to step aside for a bit.

Which is why Tommy’s begging for him to score them some more money, couldn’t have come at a better time.

“So, what now?” Wilbur asks, as they walk through the building; passing by a couple who just won on machines, the man in the chair exclaiming “BAZINGA!” as coins fall out of the machine.

Tommy hums, jangling the cup of chips around as he looks around the room, “I don’t know.” Then he pauses, turning around to Wilbur and holding the chips out to him, “Hold these for a second. I’m going to get us some more drinks.”

“Okay?” He accepts the plastic container, though a little confused by the other’s sudden change in demeanour.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” and within seconds, Tommy has weaved his way through the slot machines and out of sight.

Now alone, Wilbur takes a seat at the machine in front of him, fishing around in his pockets for the appropriate amount of money to put into it. The lights flash as it eats the note and he presses the start button; watching as his first go rolls.

Two cherries and a lemon.

Not bad, but also not great.

He pushes the button again.

A bar, a diamond, and a heart fix themselves into the screen.

Even worse than the last time.

On his final turn, he finally feels the betting adrenaline begin to course through his veins.

Three bells.

The jackpot.

Coins clattering rings out around him as he watches the pieces of silver tumble straight into a separate, plastic pot that someone else had left in the machine. Wilbur feels a smile begin to spread across his face, as he watches the multicoloured lights of the casino bouncing off the coins that fall.

Debating on whether to not keep trying his luck, once the noise comes to an end.

He’s counting out the appropriate amount of coins for another round, when a hand settles on his shoulder and sends a fizzle of familiar static through his nerves and down his spine.

Smiling, Wilbur swivels around in the chair with the pot of change in his hand, “Hey Tommy, look what I just w-”

“Hullo,” it’s not Tommy, but Technoblade.

“Oh,” he glances around the space for any sign of the other. But when he doesn’t spot the familiar mop of blond hair, Wilbur turns his attention back to the vampire in front of him, “Technoblade, what a surprise. I didn’t take you for the gambling type.”

Huffing in amusement, Techno also takes a look around the room, “I’m not. I was actually lookin’ for Tommy, but I can’t seem to find him.”

“He went that way, I think,” Wilbur points in the general direction of the bar, a little turned around in the maze of machines, “Said he was going to get a drink.”

“Okay. Well uhhh- I’ll wait,” he says, and the two laps into silence. It only lasst for a few seconds, before Techno pipes up, “So, how have things been with you?”

Wilbur can tell that he’s just trying to make friendly conversation, but if he knows one thing about Technoblade, as much as he’s good at bullshitting and waffling on to distract your attention, he’s terrible at small talk. Which only makes the current situation, in which Wilbur knows the other would rather stand in uncomfortable silence, more awkward.

“Good. Good,” he nods, finally getting up from the chair and standing tensely beside the other; both facing the direction of the bar, waiting for Tommy to break them out of this hell of a situation.

“That’s good to hear,” then he turns his head to face Wilbur, “Tommy told me about your… heart-to-heart, earlier.”

Heart-to-heart? Does he mean when they spoke at his apartment?

“He did?” Wilbur questions, “When’d he get the time to do that?”

Technoblade stiffens up a little, “Well, he- uhh- he didn’t say anythin’ directly. But we’ve got a special connection. I can feel how he feels, the same with Phil and-” he pauses, cutting himself off from what he was about to say, then he chuckles, “Also, he messaged me about it. Said somethin’ about how you treat him with more respect, than I do? Or whatever he means.”

“Oh,” he says, “Well. Yeah, I guess I have to. I mean, I don’t know him or you as well as you know each other, right?”

“Right,” he then clears his throat, “Speakin’ of that. Tommy thinks it’d be a good idea if we got to know each other. That’s kinda why I’m here also. Seein’ as dinner didn’t really get anywhere.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes, internally cursing himself for falling for yet another one of Tommy’s schemes, “Of course he does. Well- uh, tell me about yourself then, Technoblade. What’s your deal? What’s your backstory?”

As Technoblade seems to think of what to say, Wilbur prays to Prime that he doesn’t throw the question back on him.

“Well, I used to live in a small village. Like, really small,” Techno tells him, an air of uncaring laced in his tone, “I was a vampire hunter.”

“Really? I mean,” he responds, with genuine surprise, “I knew you were a warrior. But I wouldn’t have guessed that .”

He nods, “Yeah well, I was pretty good at it.”

“Why’d you stop?” He asks, tilting his head as another thought fizzles through his brain, “You did stop… didn’t you?”

Techno sighs, “Yeah, I kinda had to. I- Look, Wilbur I’ve only ever told Phil this story, because I trust him. But, well I-” he still appears to be a little apprehensive, but keeps talking anyway, “One night I was out on a mission, and I got ambushed and bit. But I thought, “Hey, I’ve done a lot for these guys. They’ll still love me, even after this. ”. 

His eyes become downcast, “I was wrong. They chased me out of the village, the first chance they got.”

“Oh,” he feels a little bad asking about it now. But at the same time, he can’t help but feel pride swelling in his chest. Technoblade trusts him? Enough to keep something this personal to him a secret. Does Tommy even know this?

“Is that when you met Tommy and Phil?” Wilbur then asks, approaching the subject as carefully as he can.

Techno shakes his head, temperament lightening, “Naahhh. I lived in a cabin on my own for, like, a century after that. Y’know, retirement. Then I met Phil,” he seems to chuckle at the memory, “Old man got past all the traps I’d set to keep people out.”

“Phil’s pretty great. He was kind just wandering from place to place, but decided to stay for a bit when he found out I was, like, a year turned,” he continues to explain, “After like a year he started planning on starting a coven. Which I wasn’t going to join him, at first. I liked my life. Farming potatoes was a good pastime.”

That causes Wilbur to chuckle. He’s noticed a few things about this world's version of his friends and family. That a lot of the relationships formed and the more mundane aspects of their lives, tended to exist in this world too. Tommy’s best friends are Tubbo and Ranboo, the same staff work for Las Nevadas, and Technoblade has an innate urge to farm potatoes.

“What changed?” He questions.

“Revenge,” Techno shrugs, but doesn’t elaborate.

“Revenge?”

He nods, “You see Wilbur, I have a code I like to live by. Those who are kind to me, I will repay that kindness tenfold. But those who use and betray me. That hurt me and those that I care about. Then I will repay that injustice a thousand times over.”

A shadowy cloud finds itself hanging around them as his explanation closes. It creates a dark bubble, where the colourful lights and the blaring noises of the casino, that once surrounded them, are no more. Wilbur feels the chill of the air begin to creep into his bones, wondering if this is all in his mind, or if Technoblade truly has created an endless void in the middle of the room.

In silence, the two continue to stare at each other, with Wilbur not wanting to acknowledge the black hole they’re standing in. Technoblade, on the other hand, watches him with a hardened stare; eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched in a way that makes it look like he’s snarling.

Wilbur knew about how Technoblade chose to live, but it doesn’t make it any less terrifying to hear. Especially when he’s certain that the other is referring to himself.

He also knows that if he ever crossed his own Techno, he probably wouldn’t do anything bad to him. Maybe just make him eat something rotten, or hide something that he loves for a few hours, whilst denying that he has anything to do with it. 

Not like he would to someone outside of his family. People have lost vital body parts, and countries have crumbled, by Techno’s hands; all because someone betrayed him.

But this version of his brother, despite the fact that he seems to trust him, Wilbur still has no idea how he views him. 

Because Wilbur definitely doesn’t see this world's version of his family, like he would the ones back on the server.

“Got it,” is all he says, but the cloud doesn’t lift.

It’s not until another voice joins the conversation, that it fizzes out and the blinking lights of the room return; for once to Wilbur’s relief. That place reminded him way too much of limbo, to keep up the calm charade for any longer.

“I’m back!” Tommy announces, appearing from behind one of the machines with two glasses in his hand. “Ahhh Technoblade, so happy you could finally join us.”

“Yeah well, it’s not like I was doing anythin’ else,” he responds, shrugging.

Then Tommy turns his attention away from him, and back to Wilbur, “Wilbur, you remember Techno, right?”

“Of course I do,” he nods, “I also know that this was all your doing. This little setup.”

“Whaaat nooooo,” he denies, crossing his arms “This was all a pure coincidence. Now, what’re you talking about?”

The sudden switch in tone from the void, to the bright casino, and now to Tommy gives Wilbur slight whiplash. Especially when the other goes from lighthearted denial, to an almost serious, interrogatory voice; one of the drinks he’s holding, sloshes a little bit onto the floor, as he waves the glass around.

“We were just talkin’ about him quittin’ his job,” Technoblade butts in, lying. He settles a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder, as though to further convey his point. From the hand, Wilbur feels a new feeling of unease mixed with a little bit of desperation.

This answer seems to disappoint Tommy a little; who frowns as he crumbles.

“Ha ha yes,” Wilbur nods, also feeding into the lie. From what it seems, despite the fact that Technoblade came here by Tommy’s request, for the two to have a “ heart-to-heart ”, he also doesn’t seem to want to let the other vampire know that he did just that. 

Wilbur has a sneaking suspicion that Technoblade wants to avoid having to hear Tommy gloat about how his plan actually worked, and was mildly successful.

And, despite his hesitation, he continues, “It’s going- Yeah, it’s going well,” he doesn’t dare tell them the truth. That he probably would have welcomed them all again, but upon realising what this version of his family wanted, it had sent him into a spiral. Instead, he plasters a sure smile onto his face, “There’re still a few ducks that I need to get into order, I’m just waiting for my boss to sign off on a few things.”

Technoblade only hums in response, nodding along before asking, “Yes. Your human boss?”

“Yes,” he confirms.

“Right. I’m surprised he’s taking so long to do that, it’s not like he’s got alllllll the time in the world,” Tommy spins around for emphasis on the “all ”; spilling more of his drink, in the process.

“That’s very true,” he agrees, “Though, if I know Quackity, he’s always very efficient with his work. With Las Nevadas just opening, he’s probably got a lot of paperwork to get through.”

And if that statement is correct, Quackity wouldn’t be finding anything referring or belonging to Wilbur among the many piles of paperwork that are stacked on his desk.

“Maybe I should pay him a visit,” Techno begins suggesting, and Wilbur already has a “No ” on the tip of his tongue, before the other continues, “Knock a bit of sense into him.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says, “He’s a fighter.”

Wilbur hadn’t been present for whatever happened between his Technoblade and Quackity; for the latter to end up with the scar across his eye. Quackity had never devolved that information to him, other than a simple, “It was fucking Technoblade.”, which was something that the rest of the server seemed to know.

Tommy had said something about a pickaxe, which is enough for him to paint a picture of that encounter.

“I know,” he says, “So am I.”

“Look, all I’m saying is that I don’t want you threatening him, on my behalf.”

The other fixes Wilbur with a confused look, “Why not?”

When he’d realised that the version of Quackity here, unscared- with two working eyes and all of his teeth- was a different one to the one he once knew, fills him with a sense of protection for the other. Wanting to keep him and Technoblade as far away from each other, through fear of what may happen if they meet.

“Because I-”

A grumble escapes from Tommy’s throat, though he doesn’t seem physically angry. “But it’s taking, like, forever already, Wil.”

“I know, Tommy,” Wilbur says, “But these things can’t be rushed. There are a lot of legal factors that need to be considered.”

“Yeah, sure,” the other rolls his eyes, “Didn’t you just run away from that stupid, shitty petrol station job, though? Y’know, your coworker wasn’t too happy that you did that.”

Shit, he’s got him there.

“Well, yes. I- I did,” he nods, “But- y’know- that place was terrible, anyway. Who wouldn’t want to run away from it? Besides, it’s not like my boss even cared about anyone that actually worked there. But a place like this? Built on lies and manipulation and exploitation? That’s a lot harder to get out of.” 

He lies through the skin of his teeth. If he wanted to quit- which he doesn’t! Because he’s enjoying his life here, and doesn’t want to leave that all behind. But back to the matter at hand. If Wilbur truly did w ant to leave this job, all he’d have to do is hand in his two week notice, and then it’s done.

And if he wanted to quit without benefits or extra pay, then he’d just run away like he did at the gas station.

However, the pair seem to pay no attention to his half-assed explanation.

“Which is why you should let Techno go and talk to the big man in charge,” Tommy argues, “Y’know how much more efficient all this would be, if he did?”

Sensing that he’s getting nowhere, as well as also getting genuinely tired from the night of gambling, Wilbur sighs and rubs his face with his hands- a bubbling irritation growing in his chest. He wants to let it out. Yell at the two to not go anywhere near Quackity or the other employees. 

Ban them from even looking his way.

But he can’t.

That action may have irreparable consequences.

“Look,” Wilbur keeps his tone calm but firm, like you might with a child who’s asking too many “but why?” questions, “I cannot control the rate at which my resignation is processed. And neither can you. Do not . And I mean it. Do not fuck with that shit, I-I don’t want it to make things worse. Okay?”

“But what if we-”

“Tommy,” he cuts him off.

“That’s so dumb though! Back me up here, Technoblade,” he lightly taps the other on the arms, “Tell him he’s being stupid.”

Sighing, Techno folds his arms, “I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but Tommy has a point. If we sit around and wait for it to get done, it’ll take ages. Plus Phil is-”

“Don’t. Just don’t,” Wilbur repeatedly clenches and unclenches his fists, trying to find the words to say. But they never come. “Just leave me alone.”

Without anything more to say, and not wanting to stick around to see their reaction, Wilbur turns and makes a beeline for the exit. He doesn’t look at which exit he’s heading out of, but is pleasantly surprised when the cool, nighttime air hits his face; sighing in relief as it calms him slightly.

And whilst he’d also much prefer the silence of his own apartment, to the blaring sound of car engines and horns that now assault his ears, he has a feeling if he goes back inside any of the buildings, he’ll run straight into the vampires again.

Like the universe is doing nothing to stop them from finding him.

Prime he needs a smoke.

Chapter Text

“We need a new plan,” Tommy states, furiously shoving open the door to his, Techno, and Phil’s adjoining hotel rooms. It slams against the wall with a THUD ; way too loud for this time of night, to not be concerning. But he doesn’t care right now. Instead, he storms into the room and flops down onto one of the beds and stares at the ceiling.

Technoblade follows him in, catching the door as it rebounds and almost hits him; gently closing it behind him with a huff.

“‘Cause that was fucking shit,” the other continues, arms folded over his chest as he sulks, “I mean, how the hell did it not work?!”

“I’m gonna be honest, I expected this,” Technoblade admits, opening the wine fridge that had come with the high-end room; any complimentary alcohol that had previously lived in it, has been replaced by bottles and bags of blood. He retrieves two water-bottle sized bottles, placing a straw into one of them and hands it to Tommy, whilst sipping from his own.

“What’d you mean?” Tommy asks, beginning to drink the blood.

The other shrugs, “I mean, tryin’ to convince you was already a nightmare. So I kinda expected some pushback, y’know?”

“Yeah. I guess that makes sense.” he sighs, still visibly upset as he starts chugging the drink, grumbling out, “Thanks.”

Satisfied with the conversation, Technoblade also begins enjoying the blood; finally realising that something is different with it. It’s rich and thick, clearly fresh and with a bit of an alcoholic kick to it; definitely not some of the blood that they brought with them, when they had arrived around a week prior.

Technoblade knows that neither him nor Tommy have been out hunting, so it could only be Phil’s doing.

Speaking of, he checks the adjoining room, only to find that the other is nowhere to be found. Concentrating, Technoblade sends a feeling of worry through the bond, quickly receiving a safe and helping back. Though he can’t exactly ask Phil where he is or what he’s currently doing, he has an idea of it; possibly out hunting again.

“Hey,” Techno says, rounding the door to see that Tommy is still on the bed; though now he’s sitting upright; almost all of the blood from the small bottle is gone. There’s a slightly relaxed look on his face, and he begins to wonder if it was a good idea to accidentally give Tommy liquor blood.

Then again, he’s no longer sulking. Technoblade thinks he’d much rather deal with a tipsy Tommy, than an angry one; he’s a lot less likely to get scratched or bit. “Phil’s gone out.”

The other sighs, "Okaaaay. You wanna, like, watch tele or sommet? Bet they’ve got some right weird shows here.”

“Didn’t you wanna come up with a new plan, first?” Techno asks, “I mean, you were pretty adamant about it, like, five minutes ago.”

“Yeahh I do,” he nods, “But m’ brains not fuckin’ workin’ right now. ‘s like this blood was spiked or sommet.”

Techno hums, “Yeah, I think I might have accidentally given you alcohol.”

“Whaaat!?” Tommy’s face lights up, “Ooooooooo you’re gonna be in so- so much trouble, when Phil gets back.”

“Tommy, you’re more than old enough to have alcohol,” Techno deadpans, taking the empty bottle from the bedside table and throwing it in the trash. He puts the cap on his own, and places it back into the refrigerator for later.

“Whatever,” he moves his head in a loose circle, before flopping backwards onto the bed once more, “Give- gimme, like, twenny minutes and I’ll be fine. Back to normal. Totally normal. Then- then we can start planning.”

He hiccups then yawns, “I think am gonna slumber for a bit, Technoblade.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Techno agrees.

“I know, I’m full of them.”

And with that, Tommy is out like a light. Technoblade sits in silence for a few minutes, waiting for Tommy to spring back up from his pretend slumber. But when he doesn’t, and he realises that the other was telling the truth and is currently out like a light, he gets up and retrieves a notepad and pen from his bag; taking a seat at the small table and beginning to come up with a new plan.

———

“Okay, why can’t we just hypnotise him?” Tommy suggests.

Technoblade quirks an eyebrow, asking, “Tommy, you do know vampire hypnosis doesn’t work on vampires, right?”

“Yeahhhh but, like,” he seems to think, backtracking a little on his idea “If he’s not fully turned… does it still work?”

“For some reason, I don’t think that’ll work,” Phil says, shutting down the idea for what has to be the third time tonight, “So no, we’re not hypnotising him.”

“Fiiiine,” he rolls his eyes, “I still think we should prank him into thinking the place is haunted. Then he has to leave.”

“Tommy, that has to be the worst idea you’ve had today,” Technoblade disagrees.

“Yeah, I agree,” Phil nods, “What if he’s not even scared of ghosts? Some people aren’t, y’know?”

“Whatever,” Tommy huffs, sitting down on the edge of the bed, “You got a better plan then? Because, so far, I’m the only one coming up with ideas and shit.”

It has been roughly a day since Tommy and Technoblade had returned from the casino, unsuccessful in getting through to Wilbur. Tommy had proceeded to slumber for almost half a day, after accidentally drinking almost a full bottle of liquor blood. Which means that Techno and Phil have already had an adequate amount of time to come up with the next, best way to approach Wilbur.

So far, every plan they’ve had, has had too many issues to put into action smoothly.

Which is why, when Tommy had finally woken up, they’d let him have the floor; currently on hour two of listening to him spitballing his thoughts and ideas.

“That’s because me and Techno have already talked about, like, half of the same ideas that you’re having,” Phil explains, “And, y’know, they’re all great plans, but I still think that I should try talking to him.”

“And we’ve been over this , Phil,” Tommy fires back, “Wilbur keeps getting, like, all cagey and shit around you. All we had to do was say your name, and he just- shut down the conversation and left. I’ll be honest, King- I don’t think he likes you.”

“Oh come on, that makes no sense!” The other throws his hands up in exasperation, “It’s not like I’ve given him a reason to not like me, right? So, like, where’s it even coming from?”

“My bet is on his boss,” Technoblade chimes in, “He’s got humans whispering in his ears. Tommy, you saw how he defended him. Any self respectin’ vampire wouldn’t say that about a human. No offence to you, Tommy. Or Tubbo and Ranboo.”

“Nah it’s okay man, I get where you’re coming from,” he shrugs, “So what? Maybe because he’s not fully turned, he's, like, clinging onto his humanity and still thinks of himself as one? I d’know, that doesn’t really sound like Wilbur.”

“Tommy,” Phil begins, chuckling, “You’ve known him for two weeks, and you’ve only talked to him a handful of times. I don’t think you can truly gauge what someone is like, just from that.”

“Excuse you, Phil. I am an excellent judge of character,” Tommy responds, “Besides, I’ve talked to him way more times then you two combined, so I think I know more then you do.”

“That still doesn’t explain his aversion to Phil,” Techno points out.

The room lapses into silence once more.

Tommy thinks that it’s dumb of Wilbur to keep bouncing between jobs, like he is. Sure, it makes sense why he left that shitty petrol station, when he was given a better opportunity; Tommy can’t fault him for that. The casino is pretty cool. But now he’s being handed something even better than said opportunity, and on a silver platter no less.

Like, if he wasn’t already a part of one of the top ten most powerful vampiric covens in that area, and was offered a position to join it, with nothing wanted of him, he absolutely would have taken it. No second thoughts. No questions asked.

Goodbye human-only casino, hello a great coven of vampires!

Technoblade still wants to try his idea, of paying Wilbur’s boss a visit; maybe giving him a little scare, in order for the resignation to become an absolute priority. From the sound of it- at least, from what he’s gathered from Wilbur’s often muddled explanations- his boss hasn’t even considered processing it, let alone started it yet.

In the past, a little friendly threatening has always worked, for convincing both humans and vampires.

He’d say he’s pretty good at threatening.

And Phil thinks… Well, he isn’t really thinking much different to the other two combines, right now. Why the hell would Wilbur want to stay here? The fact that he could just leave and come with them, but doesn’t, confuses him. Furthermore, his apparent protectiveness over his human boss is even more baffling.

The only explanation for that is that it’s all his bosses doing. What if he’s pulling the strings, behind the scenes? Keeping Wilbur here, against his will, whilst also having him defend him to the faces of everyone else who challenges him?

If that’s the case, then it would explain everything.

“When I fucking find that human, it’s over,” he thinks to himself, before asking outloud “What was it he said to you?” Head looking up to the other two, “Right before he stormed off?”

“Uhhh I think,” Tommy’s eyebrows furrow, as he racks his brain for the memory, “I think he said he wanted us to leave him alone?”

“Hmmm interesting.”

Silence befalling them once more, until-

“So what if we do that?” Technoblade suggests, much to the dismay of the other two; who let out a collective, “WHAT?” in confusion.

“Why the fuck would we do that?” Tommy fires back, “It’d mean all this shit was for nothing. That’s such as stupid idea, Techno. I can’t believe you would even suggest it. And here I was, beginning to think that you were actually smart, too.”

“I am smart,” he retorts, “And if you’d let me finish, then you’d know that. WE leave him alone, but we have someone else watchin’ him.”

“What? Like working undercover?” Phil asks.

“Exactly, Phil,” he nods, “We have them feed back to us, on how Wilbur’s doing. Havin’ them convince him that this place is worth leavin’. Which, let’s be honest-” he looks around the room, mentally noting down a few negative points of the room. It’s far inferior to any of the room back at their home, “Thaaaat shouldn’t be too hard. Then, we come back here to collect him.”

Tommy’s mouth hangs open, clearly impressed, “Technoblade! That’s an amazing idea.”

“I know it is.”

“You got anyone in mind, mate?” Phil asks, “Or have you already decided on who’d gonna do it?”

Smiling, Techno nods, “I do.”

Chapter Text

One week ago, when he and Slime had rescued Bungled from that manky shelf, inside an even dustier second-hand store, he hadn’t expected both of them to take to “co-parenting” him so seriously. At the time, it had just been an offhand comment, seeing as they couldn’t agree on who got to have him more. 

But when next Wednesday, "Swap-over day", finally rolled around, and Wilbur had already swapped to an even later shift to cover for someone, Slime had suggested that they make the most of the time and hang out.

“I just want Bungled to know that, even though we don’t live together, we’re still on good terms ,” Slime had told Wilbur, over the phone. Which was the first indication as to the fact that Slime was still very much involved in the bit; prompting Wilbur to play along too.

“Yeah, man. Of course,” he’d responded, “So, shall we say six PM tomorrow? Yours or mine?”

“My place is fine. I just got the new Supreme Slam Brothers game, and I’ve been looking for someone to play it with,” Wilbur can hear the excitement on the other’s face, through the speaker on the phone.

Except, “Huh. I- Actually, I’ve never heard of that game before,” he tells him, “So I can’t guarantee I’ll be any good at it.”

“That’s alright, man. I’m a pretty good teacher… Plus, it’s not that hard to play so you’ll be fine.”

Wilbur chuckles, “If you say so.”

“Alright, I gotta go,” Slime says, and the other is about to say goodbye, when he pipes up again, “By the way, you don’t have any, like, dietary restriction? I mean, aside from, like, garlic. But do you prefer things to have a high blood volume?”

“I- uhh,” he blanks for a minute, “Yeah. Yeah, please try to avoid garlic. Anything else is fine, it doesn’t really need to have any- any blood for me to be able to eat it…Yeah. Why? Are you making us dinner?”

“Yeah. I found a recipe that I wanted to try,” Slime explains, and Wilbur can hear him moving around his apartment; seemingly trying to find the recipe. “But I haven’t really had any reason to make it.”

“Right, well I’ll be happy to try it, Slime.”

“Great! Okay, I’ve really gotta go now. See you at six? ”

“Yeah man, see you then. Bye.”

“Bye! ”

———

Dinner was good. Even if the meal was simply just spaghetti bolognese. That didn’t matter to Wilbur, seeing as his eating habits over the last decade have been less than acceptable. Spending thirteen and a half years in limbo, not having to eat or drink, messed with him a little, when he was revived; surviving off steak for an entire year until he left the SMP.

But since he got back to Utah and then moved to Las Nevadas, he’s been trying more stuff.

So the spaghetti bolognese, after over a decade and a half of not having it, was heavenly.

Supreme Slam Brothers wasn’t what Wilbur was expecting either. He’d never even heard of Nindento, let alone played anything made by them. It took a couple of rounds, and a lot of button mashing for him to get a hang of it. Which ended up with the two of them losing track of time, playing round after round after round for hours on end; until the sun was setting and the apartment was now shadowed in darkness.

At which point, they both realised the passage of time and decided to call it quits; Slime having won the majority of their games.

———

“We should take a break,” Slime says, setting his controller down on the couch beside him, and stretching his arms upwards. Surprisingly, his bones make absolutely no noise as he does so. Not even a single pop, as he stands up and leans backwards to stretch his back and shake out his legs.

Almost like his body is made of jelly.

On the contrary, aside from the quiet music from the television, the only other noise in the apartment is the horrific snapping and crunching of Wilbur’s bone, when he does so much as extend his elbows. Compared to how silent the other’s body had been, he’s sure his own is like that of an eldritch horror.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Wilbur agrees, leaning back into the couch and sighing, “So, what do you want to do now?,” he looks to the window, seeing how dark it has gotten outside, “Or should I go?”

“Mmm not yet,” he shakes his head, sitting back down.

The two remain in silence, Wilbur staring up at the ceiling as the faint sound of the casino below, and the cars and people on the streets outside, filter into the room. He thinks he hears footsteps running down the hallway and past Slime’s door; a small smile stretching onto his face as he imagines that whoever it is is most likely late for their shift.

He wonders how it’s going downstairs. Midweek is never too busy, but he can still imagine Quackity sitting in his office, working through stacks and stacks of paperwork; probably struggling to stay awake.

Would he still be in his office at this time of night?

“Hey Slime,” he begins, lifting his head; he knows there’s a dangerous look in his eyes, “I have an idea.”

———

“Shh shh shhh,” Wilbur holds finger up to his lips, the other hand on the doorknob of Quackity’s office door. Behind him, Slime has a smile stretched across his face; his shoulders shaking as he tries not to laugh.

“Okay,” he snickers, hands covering his mouth.

CLICK

The office is still and silent; shrouded in darkness, aside from a single light sitting on the desk. And there, passed out and drooling all over his chequebook, is Quackity.

Perfect.

“Oh this is brilliant,” Wilbur whispers, creeping into the room.

Quietly, the door shuts behind him and the two stand side-by-side, “So, what now?”

“Here,” from his pocket, he retrieves a marker pen and hands it over to Slime, “On his face.”

“Alright,” the pen cap opens with a POP as Slime sneaks over to the desk and leans closer to Quackity’s face. Then he pauses and leans back, “Umm what should I draw?”

The question causes Wilbur to chuckle, entertained by his confusion, “Whatever you want to, mate. I am going to start turning everything in this room upside down.”

“Wilbur, is that a good idea?” Slime questions.

“None of this is a good idea,” he rolls his eyes, removing Quackity’s jacket from its hook on the door, then re-hanging it up by the bottom of it.

The two work fast, but silently. Once Quackity’s face has been aptly decorated by marker pen, and every piece of furnishing- aside from the desk, but not it's belongings- has been turned on their heads, the two leave the room still giggling.

“That was so fun, Wilbur,” Slime smiles, “I wish we could see his reaction.”

“Well, why don’t we?”

“What d’you me-”

KNOCK

KNOCK

KNOCK

He spares no expense, banging on the hard-wood door hard enough that there was definitely no way that he didn’t not hear him. Pressing his ear to the door, he beckons Slime to do the same, and the two listen as there’s a startled noise from within the room.

“Wha- Huh… What the fuck?!” Quackity exclaims, his sleep ridden brain definitely not helping in his confusion, “Who the fuck did- Wilbur, I swear to God!”

“Run!” Wilbur hisses, grabbing Slime’s arm and pulling him away, as soon as he hears his name.

The two laugh as they sprint down the staff corridor as fast as they can, rounding the corner just as Quackity’s office door opens and he storms out; scanning the space with a furrowed brow. Immediately he makes eye contact with Wilbur, steam practically blowing out from his ears, as he points an accusatory finger at them.

“I knew it!” Quackity shouts, “Get back here.”

“Go go go!” Wilbur instead says, frantically patting the other’s shoulder as they begin to run again.

———

Thankfully, Quackity doesn’t follow them past the first floor, and they manage to escape back to Slime’s apartment without anyone stopping them. After catching their breath, the two make their way back to the couch to play one more game of Supreme Slam Brothers.

Which turns into two games.

That turns into three, before they decide to stop before they get sucked in again.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you back to yours,” Slime tells him, waiting by the door as Wilbur puts his shoes back on; the other is already wearing his.

“Oh, how gentlemanly,” Wilbur quips with a chuckle. He finds it funny because his apartment is literally at the end of the same corridor as Slime’s. It’s sort of like telling someone to “get home safe” as they leave your place, only for them to cross the street to their own home.

He’s recently discovered that Slime’s sense of humour can be very similar to his own. Allowing them to bounce off each other, in a way that doesn’t take too much brain power to be funny. Back on the SMP, he’d never really spoken to the other aside from a few exchanged greetings. 

That Slime had always rubbed him the wrong way. Especially after he’d divulged information to him, that someone who wasn’t living in Wilbur’s own shoes, should know.

But, now he knows this version of him, perhaps he should have been more friendly to Slime? Maybe they would have gotten along just as well as they do now. It would have also been a great way to piss off Quackity, by stealing the attention and friendship of his assistant.

“Right, let's go,” Wilbur says as he finishes tying the laces on his shoes and scoops Bungled into his arms.

The two chat idly about what they’re going to do for next week's swap over- brainstorming more possible pranks that they can play, as they walk the short journey to Wilbur’s apartment. Wilbur suggests that they make it a weekly thing, and that Slime should have tea at his week, if their schedules line up. The other thinks that it’s a great idea.

“-gotta give me that spag bol recipe,” Wilbur says, “I need to practise my cooking, again. I kind of lost my touch.”

“Yeah man, I’ll send it when- Wait, “spag bol” ?”

“Uhh yeah? That’s what I just said,” They come to a halt in front of Wilbur’s door, the other brushing off Slime’s confusement, “Well, this is me.”

Slime shrugs, looking like he’s going to say something along the lines of a goodbye, when his eyebrows furrow and he looks past the other; eyes focused just over Wilbur’s shoulder. Then he points, “What’s that?”

Confused, Wilbur turns around to see an envelope taped to the door, that wasn’t there when he left for Slime’s earlier. It’s folded pristinely, with a red wax seal keeping it closed; stamped into it is the letter “S ”. Wilbur’s first thought is to look back at Slime and ask, “Did you do this?”

“No way,” he shakes his head, “That’s a little too advanced for me.”

“Huh okay,” Wilbur shrugs, procuring a small pocket knife from his inventory and ripping open the top of the letter. As he does, he idly explains to the other, “Y’know Slime, there's a lot of misconceptions about how to open these. You’re not meant to open it from the seal, like you see in TV and movies, but rather like this.”

The other just nods along, seemingly mesmerised, until he asks, “Where the fuck did that knife come from?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he waves dismissively, pulling the paper from out of the envelope. At first glance, he notices that it has been handwritten and looks to have been done using a quill, rather than a pen. As well as that it unusually hasn’t been written on any sort of modern paper- more so like the parchment he is already familiar with.

Clearing his throat, he begins to read it outloud, “Dear Wilbur Soot…”

...

“We regret to inform you that we must return home, on some official business. 

However, rest assured that you have not been forgotten. Should your resignation finally be finalised, or you just want to leave, please call us on ‘xxxxx-xxxxxx’.

We look forward to seeing you again.

-The Syndicate.”

(p.s. Tommy and Technoblade apologise for how they conducted themselves upon your last conversation).

...

“Oh, so that’s who it’s from, ” Wilbur thinks, “Thank Prime! They’re gone.”

He looks from the letter to Slime, a growing smile on his face that immediately turns concerned when he sees how the other is staring at him; mouth agape, eyes wide and shocked.

“Uhhh Slime?”

“The Syndicate?!” Slime exclaims, echoing down the hallway

“It seems so,” the other shrugs, tapping the back of his fingers on the paper, “Why? What’s so important about that?”

From what Wilbur remembers, The Syndicate was an anarchist organisation consisting of; Technoblade, Philza, Niki, Ranboo, and another unnamed person. Apparently, Connor had also been a member of it, but he hadn’t received a fancy title like the rest. Also, he hadn’t really taken it as seriously, mostly just reaping the benefits of the resources it brought.

Connor hadn’t really been a threat to anyone, so that’s probably why he got away with it.

Phil had mentioned it to him, when he was catching him up on what he’d missed, during his death. But Wilbur never asked, and neither Phil nor Techno had extended an invitation for him to join, so that’s the extent of his knowledge.

From what he does know, however, is that the group- whilst consisting of some of the most powerful people on the server- didn’t really do much. Sure, they organised and executed a prison break, but aside from that, their list of achievements hadn't been very long.

However, the look on Slime’s face tells him differently about this world's version of the group.

“The Syndicate are an extremely powerful vampire coven. Their- their main home is believed to be a few hours out from this city, but they’ve got members all over the place. People are scared of them for a reason, Wilbur.” Frantically, he grips the other’s upper arms, “What the hell are they leaving you letters for? You’re- you’re not one of them, are you?”

“What? No- no I’m not,” Wilbur shakes his head, “I’m not even-”

“Not even what?”

“We should go inside,” he tells him, voice low as he looks up and down the corridor, “I can’t talk about it out here.”

“Okay...” Slime hesitantly nods, following Wilbur inside the apartment and shutting the door behind him.

Bungled is set down on the couch and the letter is discarded onto the dining table, as the two make their way through the small space to the kitchen; the furthest point from the door.

Nervously, Wilbur grabs a glass and fills it with water, downing it in one gulp; the memory of his night spent at Quackity’s apartment still fresh in his mind. The two stand in silence, Wilbur still with his back to Slime, hands gripping the counter by the sink.

“What I’m about to tell you, cannot leave this room,” Wilbur says, slowly turning around to face the other, “Seriously, Charlie. No one else can know, alright?”

“Yeah man, I won’t tell anyone,” he then mimics zipping his mouth, “My lips are shut.”

“Right. Alright so- Basically- Fuck,” he stumbles over his words, kicking the cupboard behind him in frustration. Why is it so difficult to tell Slime the truth? “I’m- I’m not actually a vampire.”

“WHAT?!” 

“Shhhh shhh,” Wilbur shushes, slowly approaching the other; hands held out in front of him. “Listen, only Quackity and now you know so just- keep quiet, alright?”

“But- but you look so much like a vampire,” he comments, face still confused, “Y’know, with the wings and the claws and the teeth and the-”

“Alright alright I get it,” He rolls his eyes, “I know how I look. But yeah, that’s also why Quackity hired me in the first place. Because he thought I was one. A vampire. Which, I should’ve really realised sooner, but I had no fucking clue what one was until, like, a few weeks ago.”

Slime stares at him dumbfounded. I mean, it’s not everyday that your non-human looking colleague tells you that he’s not actually the things he’s been saying he is, since you met him. “So you’re not actually a vampire?”

“No. No I’m not.”

“Then what are you?” He tilts his head as he asks, looking Wilbur a once over, “Because, and in the nicest way possible, man- you’re definitely not a fuckin’ human.” 

He ends his sentence off with a nervous chuckle.

Wilbur rolls his eyes, again, “I’m very much aware of that. But- uhhh… Look, where I’m from, people aren’t just limited to being human. There are a lot of different hybrids and species. And I guess that’s what I am? I’m… not actually sure what I am, anymore.”

“Huh, cool,” is all Slime says in response. Less than the reaction that the other had been expecting, “Wait, where you’re from?”

“Yeah, that’s a whole other thing,” he tells him, folding his arms over his chest, “Long story short, I’m not from this world, but a very similar one where vampires aren’t a thing. But also, like, the majority of people here I also know. So, like, an alternate reality? Sorry, it’s a bit confusing.”

Slime hums, “That’s an understatement. But, hey, your secret’s safe with me.”

“Thanks man,” he nods, “And, y’know, if you do tell anyone else, then just know that I could kill you, if I wanted.” He lets his sword manifest from his inventory, holding it up to show Slime. Wilbur hadn’t really wanted to threaten him, but there’s no better way to keep someone quiet, than telling them that they’re a dead man if they let slip confidential information.

He learnt that from Technoblade.

In response, the other holds his hands up in surrender, “Yeah. Yeah I’ve got it, I won’t- IS THAT A FUCKING SWORD??”

Scoffing lightly, Wilbur puts the weapon back into his inventory, “Yeah.”

“Where the fuck were you keeping that?”

“Somewhere,” he shrugs, “Now, you want a drink before you head back?”

Chapter Text

With ease, Wilbur lets himself into Quackity’s office. He knocks, just like he has done previously, but this time he doesn’t wait for an answer from inside to enter. He already knows that the other is in there, sitting behind his desk, filing whatever paperwork he’d decided to dedicate today to doing.

But now it’s late. Seven PM to be exact.

Quackity should have clocked off by now, and gone back to his apartment, but he’s still there. As for Wilbur, today happens to be one of his nights off, and he’s in rather good spirits, now that his fake family have vacated the premises and are leaving him alone.

Which is why he’s in Quackity’s office, to give him the good news.

“Knock knock,” Wilbur verbally says, whilst simultaneously tapping on the ornate door with his knuckles, as he enters the room.

“Y’know, I’d much rather you actually knock, before being allowed to come in,” Quackity responds, not looking up from his paperwork- Wilbur was correct on that assumption.

“Oh but Big Q, does that really even matter?” He retorts back, “I’ve seen Slime walking in and out of here without your permission.”

Finally, the other glances up from his desk, if only for a second to address Wilbur; who has now plopped himself comfortably into one of the chairs that sit on the other side of the table. 

Quackity rolls his eyes, “That is because Slime has the authorization to do so, as a manager of this establishment. Need I remind you, Wilbur, that he is my second in command. Not you.” He goes back to writing, no longer paying attention to the other “Now, what d’you want? I’m busy.”

Wilbur smiles, “Well, Quackity, I just thought you’d be happy to know that the whole, “Vampire family” situation has been resolved.”

Quackity pauses, once again looking up to meet Wilbur’s eyes, “It has?”

He nods, “Yep. I thought I’d give it, like, a week, to make sure they don’t come back. And, would you know, they haven’t.”

The shocked look on the other face morphs into one of please, slamming his pen onto his desk and fully sitting up, so all attention is now on Wilbur. “Wilbur that’s- that’s amazing! Well done,” he congratulates, then looks a little sceptical, “You didn’t piss them off enough that they left, did you? You kept things civil, right?”

That makes Wilbur chuckle, “Oh Big Q, why do you always have to assume the worst in me?”

“It’s probably because you just have this, like, untrustworthy air around you,” he says.

Feigning offence, Wilbur places a hand on his chest, “How dare you. But, I guess I can understand, seeing as you have the same.”

“Hey!”

“However, if you must know, I simply explained to them that I have no desire to go with them,” he explains, opting to omit the fact that when it happened in real time, he was a lot more furious, “And they understood, said that they wanted the best for me, and left.”

Quackity on the other hand, has returned back to being shocked, “Wha- Just like that? They left?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” he nods, “I know you don’t exactly know this, because you don’t truly know me, but I did use to be a bit of a diplomat. I ran a country, for Prime’s sake. I have a way with words, Quackity.”

The other hums, “I can tell. You talk a lot.”

“Oi!”

“Anyway,” he stands from his desk, walking the short distance to a cupboard across the room, “I think this calls for a drink, don’t you? In celebration.”

And how can Wilbur say no to that, “Well, if you’re offering.”

———

Three hours later, and the two are still in Quackity’s office. They’ve lost track of how many drinks they’ve had each, but all they know is that the bottle of wine that Quackity had originally offered, is now sitting completely drained on the desk; a new one next to it, almost completely finished. And that doesn’t even take into account the other odd glasses of alcohol that Wilbur had been offered to try, from the cupboard in Quackity’s office.

Long story short, they’re both definitely past the tipsy stage of the night. Still talking, and not having yet ripped out each other's throats surprisingly.

“What was your Quackity like?” Quackity asks, during a lull in the conversation; leaning back into his chair as he points weakly in Wilbur’s direction. It’s nothing accusatory in nature, just a gesture.

Tilting his head, Wilbur asks, “What?” Later, if he remembers tonight when he is more sober, he’ll realise that the question asked was relatively direct, and shouldn’t have confused him. Later, he’ll blame it on the alcohol coursing through his system.

“You heard me, I know you did.”

“I did, it’s just- why’d you want to know?”

Quackity smiles, “Humor me a little.”

A multitude of images and events flash through Wilbur’s brain, like a slideshow of memories; both good and bad. From the day that he first spoke to Quackity, to the last. He did a lot of thinking about his time alive, whilst in limbo. Eventually, he’d come to the conclusion that maybe he could have avoided the election and exile and Pogtopia, if he’d just sucked up his pride, and let Quackity into L’Manburg.

Then again, past him was untrustworthy of anyone new, after what Eret had done.

So maybe, if he could go back in time, he’d make sure that never happened first.

“Are you sure?” He asks, after having just relived so much in that very short amount of time. He’s hoping that Quackity didn’t notice, on account of the fact that he’s just as drunk too.

“C’mon, Wilbur. He can’t have been that bad.”

“You’d be surprised,” a chuckle escapes from Wilbur’s throat, it’s nothing light- just nerves.

But that only seems to spur Quackity further, “Oh yeah? What’s the worst thing other me did, then?”

Wilbur doesn’t miss a beat, responding to the question.

“Ate your ex-husband's heart.”

“What!?”

“Oh yeah, he was the president too. The ex-husband, not you. You were just the vice. He treated you like shit though.”

“Oh.”

“I wasn’t there for it… I was- I was dead too.”

He doesn’t know why he’s telling Quackity this information, because he’s fairly certain that Ghostbur wasn’t even there for the events of Schlatt’s funeral. No matter how hard Wilbur tries, he has no memory of it. And if he once did, then his ghost probably just forgot about it.

He only knows the outcome of the funeral, through being told by someone else.

“Dead!?” Quackity exclaims, sitting up in his chair. The glass of whatever he’d been drinking, tips dangerously in his grip, threatening to spill its content over the desk and carpet.

“Mhm,” Wilbur nods.

The other stares into nothingness for a couple of seconds, and Wilbur suspects he’s trying to imagine what it was like to eat someone else's heart. Whether other him had eaten it raw or cooked it first. Whether he’d cut it up into pieces or eaten it whole. Whether it had been a clean meal or there was a lot of blood.

The answer: he’d ripped it straight from Schlatt’s chest and taken a rather large bite from it. Apparently, the blood had stained the suit Quackity had taken from his ex-husbands closest, before it had been discarded and burnt into a pile of ashes.

“How?” Quackity eventually asks, still sitting rather stiffly in his chair.

It takes a couple of seconds for Wilbur to realise the other is asking how he’d died, “Sword through the chest. Assisted suicide by the hands of my own father.”

“Shit.”

“I- I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“No shit,” he sighs, finally leaning back into his chair, “Tell me more about other me.”

Again, Wilbur tilts his head in confusion, “You sure? Even after what I just told you?”

“I’m…,” he waves a hand around, as though he’s thinking of the right words to say, “morbidly intrigued.”

“Fine, gimme a minute to think,” the slide-show of memories flash through his head, before landing on a few key moments, “Well, you’d just gotten out of jail, when I met you. You beat me at my own rigged presidency.”

Quackity chuckles, “Sounds like you deserved that one.”

“Wish I could say it was the start of my descent, but that happened way earlier.”

“What else?”

“My memory is a little hazy after that,” he takes a sip of his drink, looking down into the glass as the liquid swirls around, “I was dead and all. I had a ghost, I have his memories.”

“Ghosts are real!?”

“He was,” he nods, before continuing to answer Quackity’s previous question, “You’d strip, quite often… A lot, actually.”

“Oh God,” the embarrassed blush that creeps onto his cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed, even as he tries to hide it behind his hands. Wilbur had a feeling that, seeing as this version of Quackity seemed to appear and act closer to Quackity after his revival, then he probably had a lot more… respect and self-awareness for his actions.

And a want to keep a respected reputation.

“Heh yeahhhhhh,” he drags out his answer, revelling in the way Quackity throws a death-glare in his direction

“Was it…” he begins, “Was it ever in public?”

“In public. Behind closed doors,” Wilbur pauses, a weirdly nauseating feeling creeps from his stomach into his throat, causing his next response to be just more than a whisper, “At birthday parties.”

“At a birthday party!?”

“Yeah, but you were drunk… everyone was. Myself included,” the feeling persists, but he still smiles at the memory, “Man, Niki’s birthday was, like, the last good thing before the sixteenth.”

“What was the sixteenth?”

“The day I died.”

“Oh.”

“There was cake, and a snowman, and it was so fun making Karl jealous.”

There’s no immediate response, and Wilbur feels as though he just unlocked a memory of Quackity’s. His suspicions are confirmed, when the other finally speaks. “I- I knew a Karl…”

Bingo.

“Lemme guess, ex-fiance? Brown hair, bad memory?”

Quackity stares at him with a mix of confusion and intrigue plastered on his face, “Yeah. How- how the fuck d’you know that?”

Smiling, Wilbur answers, “It appears as though there are some things that happened in my world that happened here too.”

The other hums in acceptance at the explanation, taking a sip of his drink before asking, “How’d you make him jealous though?”

Wilbur feels his cheeks begin to warm, much like Quackity’s had earlier; bowing his head, which only makes him look more suspicious. He hopes to Prime that Quackity doesn’t notice, “I shouldn’t say.”

“Wilbur, you’re going red,” ah great, so he did see, “Now I really wanna know.”

Now it’s Wilbur’s turn to fall silent. Should he tell Quackity the truth? Is that really a good idea? Back on the server, he’d never really had to deal with this sort of thing. Everyone who was at the party, saw what they saw. And anyone who asked him about it- usually Tommy- he’d just shrug off, and say that it was nothing.

But this is different.

This is like having to recount your history, to someone with memory loss.

Every embarrassing detail that the two of you never spoke openly about.

And the longer he dwells on it, the hotter Wilbut can feel his face getting.

Later, he’ll blame it on the alcohol.

“I kissed you.”

The red returns to Quackity’s face, “Shit.”

He chuckles, a semi-fond smile creeping onto his face as he turns to look Quackity dead in the eyes, “You made my night. The memory kept me going through limbo, for a while.”

“Did you ever get out… of limbo, that is,” he asks; it’s spoken like he’s treading into dangerous or unspoken territory.

“Well, I’m sitting right in front of you,” Wilbur gestures with his arms held wide, “What do you think?”

“I don’t know, man. I d’know how your universes logic works.”

“When I came back, you were different.”

“How so.”

“You had a nation… Las Nevadas.”

“That’s how you know about the casino,” Quackity exclaims, face lighting up in a way that suggests that he’d been trying to figure out how Wilbur knew of Las Nevadas, since he’d met him.

“Sort of. I thought you were him, when I met you.”

“How was I different, other than the nation?”

“He was an asshole,” he smirks, “But I liked it.”

“Weirdo,” fake disgust plastered on his face, then he goes a little read, “But… uh- interesting.”

“Yeahhhhh,” he leans his head back, tipping it over the edge of the plush chair; staring up at the pristine, white ceiling. “You didn’t want me in your stupid ass nation, but I kept trying. No matter how many times you kicked me out,” he looks back up, “You kept me going, and I liked that.”

“Why didn’t I let you in?”

“Because you thought that because I blew up my own nation, I’d do the same with yours,” Wilbur explains, quickly following it up with a clarification of, “Which I wouldn’t have, if you’d just let me in.”

“Did you blow up his Las Nevadas?!”

“Nooooo,” he drawls, “I just happened to have a lot of TNT and I put it underneath the entire city.”

“Wilbur,” Quackity begins, taking a breath in, seemingly trying to compose himself, “you’re not going to destroy this Las Nevadas? Are you?”

“Definitely not, I can assure you,” he says, sitting up, “I don’t even know where to get the materials to get it from. I mean, you don’t exactly have any creepers here.”

“Wha- creepers? Like in Minecraft?”

“Hehe Minecraft,” Wilbur smiles, “That’s my dad’s surname.”

“Wilbur… Are you from a fuckin’ video game!?”

“Huh?? Nooooo. I think I’d know if I was from a video game, Quackity… I mean, sometimes life doesn’t feel real.”

“I can drink to that.”

Chapter Text

Quackity still has no idea what to make of Wilbur, despite the fact that he has been working for him for a little over a month now. It’s not every day that the random vampire that you picked up, from his job at a abandoned-looking gas station, in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere Utah, isn’t actually a vampire. But instead is an even weirder bird person. Not only that, a weird bird person from another universe.

Wilbur is an odd person. He’s stuck up and annoying; often sauntering into Quackity’s office like he owns the place. It’s like he had this innate urge to get under his skin.

Other times, he’s quiet and calculated; staring off into nothingness with a gaunt look on his face. Just looking at the guy, Quackity wouldn’t be surprised if, in those moments, he’s remembering something harrowing from his past.

Which is the exact face that he has on right now, sitting in the chair across from Quackity’s desk.

“Yeah so, as you can see her name is Niki Nihachu,” he tells Wilbur, despite the fact that the other is holding a piece of paper with her name clearly at the top of it. “She shouldn’t be too hard to spot, what with the pink hair and all that.”

Still Wilbur doesn’t respond, he just continues to stare at the sheet; leading Quackity to wonder if he truly made the correct choice.

Let's backtrack to a mere few hours earlier.

Quackity often clocks into work at 6AM, working in his office and around Las Nevadas for the entirety of a standard eight hour shift. However, more often than not, he finds himself still in his office way past the end of his shift; sometimes working twelve plus hours, with minimal breaks. Not that it really matters to him, he is the boss after all. If he wants to work for twelve hours one day, then only four the next, then he can.

It’s also because of this, that sometimes he doesn’t realise that he’s lost track of time.

He’s got his nose buried in some financial paperwork, calculating the profits from the casino over the past week, when someone knocks on his door.

“Shit,” he hisses to himself, the sound distracting him enough to lose where he was up to. 

Setting his pen down and rubbing his face, Quackity gets up from his chair and opens the door. Usually he would just shout people in, from where he is sitting, but one look at the clock above the door tells him that he’s been at his desk for too long, and stretching his legs would probably do him some good.

Also, because whoever is on the other side of the door is not a regular visitor to his office. Those who he is not familiar with (i.e lower level employees) tend to wait to be signalled in, but they don’t often come to him directly; usually going through another manager on shift.

Whereas, someone like Slime or Fundy will knock a few times, before letting themselves in.

Wilbur does this too, but solely because he somehow knows how much it irritates Quackity.

Which is why, based on the knocking, Quackity expected to see an unfamiliar face on the other side of the door. And, surely enough there is.

“Hi. How can I help you?” He greets the woman in front of him. She’s young, probably in her early twenties, with baby pink hair and blue eyes; there are also a few nicks and scars on her face.

Her white blouse and black dress pants combo give Quackity the impression that she’s possibly from some high-end business. However, that impression is thrown off when he spots her brown hiking-style boots, which are worn and scuffed; like they’ve had a lot of use out of them. There is also a waist length, black shawl, with a golden chain clasp, sitting over her shoulders; it looks warm but rough, like it’s made out of wool.

“Hello,” she smiles at him, “Are you Quackity Nevada?”

He nods, “I am.”

“Great. I’m Niki Nihachu,” she holds out her hand for him to shake, “I’m here for the position of nighttime security.”

Quackity shakes her hand, but pauses and draws back as she explains why she’s here. Nighttime security? Didn’t he give that position to Wilbur? He did want a vampire to fill in that roll, after all. Seeing as there needed to be someone who could take care of them, without the threat of also being turned or killed.

Or maybe he just forgot to take down any advertisements for it?

“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe we’re hiring for that job role, at this current time,” Quackity tells her.

“Oh,” she- Niki responds, a disheartened look on her face; now he feels a little bad for turning her away.

“But, if you’re still interested in working within Las Nevadas,” he begins, “I’m sure that there’re plenty of other positions open. I know that the restaurant is always looking for more wait staff.”

Niki sighs again, head bowed; indicating that that’s clearly not what she wants. Then that saddened look on her face is quickly replaced by something more stony, “I’m sorry, Mr. Nevada, I didn’t want to have to do this.”

“Do wha-”

The next thing Quackity knows, he’s back at his desk, chatting to Niki about her life and experience, and why she believes that she’d be a perfect choice for the Las Nevadas night security. He was a little taken aback to find out that she was a vampire, something he hadn’t really clocked at first. But the more she speaks, the more he can’t help but be inclined to hire her.

He hadn’t even considered hiring another vampire to work at Las Nevadas. Currently, they have none; which isn’t ideal when you’re trying to keep other vampires out of the establishment. A lack of staff of the latter, even if they say they already have one vampire staff member, still isn’t a good look to defenceless humans who want to feel safe.

“Well, Miss Nihachu, you’ve certainly made a good case for yourself,” he tells her, relooking over her resume, “I think that you’ll be a great fit for Las Nevadas.”

“Really?” She seems surprised, “Wow, I’m- Thank you, Mr. Nevada.”

“Please, you can call me Quackity. Everyone does, there’s no real need for formalities.”

She nods, “Okay.”

“Great. So, do you have any other questions, before we get started on the boring, legal stuff?”

“Actually I do,” her eyebrows are slightly furrowed. Not in an angry way, but also not confused. “Are there any other vampires currently working here?”

Quackity had really hoped that she wouldn’t ask him something along those lines. He can understand why she may want to know, so he can’t fault her for that. To be one of the only people like yourself in a grand building filled with hundreds of others, it’s natural to want to seek out anyone else like you.

However, if he knows anything about vampires, then letting Niki and Wilbur meet in person, could have catastrophic consequences.

Vampires are protective creatures; over both their covens and also their identities. Someone seriously pretending to be a vampire, should they be found out, will absolutely lead to certain death for them and those who also keep their secret.

It’s why he’d warned Wilbur so much about getting involved with vampires, after he found out that he wasn’t actually one. Especially when a group of them showed up, and had tried to convince the other that he was a part of their coven and that he should leave Las Nevadas.

“Fuck. Why’d I agree to hire her?” Quacktiy thinks to himself, brain foggy as he tries to recall his change in decision, but unable to uncover the memory.

“I- Yes. Yes there is,” he eventually nods, trying his best to keep his cool, “But, seeing as I’m putting you on the night shift, I’ll have to move him to daytimes. We don’t really get many other vampires wanting to work here, so it’s probably for the best, if there’s cover at all times, rather than, like, just at night. Y’know?”

Niki hums, “I guess,” but she doesn’t sound entirely convinced. “Can I at least know their name? Y’know, it’d be nice to not be entirely alone, in this place.”

“Sure,” Quackity has a strange feeling that he’s going to regret this, “Well, his name is Wilbur. And you’ll- you’ll definitely know him when you see him. He’s, like, freakishly tall, and not the most “ human ” looking person. If you get what I mean.”

“I think I do,” she agrees, “I’ve lived around vampires of all types for hundreds of years. We can come in all different forms, it’s just that some of us are better at hiding and blending in, than others.”

“Exactly. Alright, if that’s everything then shall we start on the boring stuff?” Quackity diverts the conversation, “Hopefully, if it all checks out, then you should be able to start next week.”

———

Later that same day, after Niki finally had left his office, Quackity sends Slime to fetch for Wilbur. He’s entirely aware that the other is still probably sleeping, however he simply does not care. It’s better to get this out of the way and done with now, warning him about the new vampire presence in the establishment, than waiting for Wilbur to find out first hand.

Over an hour later, the other finally decides to grace Quackity with his delayed appearance. He’s groggy and doesn’t look too happy, knocking lazily on the office door before letting himself in; irked eyes landing on Quackity, who sits patiently behind his desk.

“Ah, Wilbur. So glad that you could finally make it,” Quackity says, sarcasm and smugness lacing his tone.

“Quackity,” despite the displeasure on his face, the other’s voice is light, “Is there a reason as to why you’ve woken me up this early? You do realise that doing this to your own employees, may have a negative impact on their ability to do their job.”

He rolls his eyes, “Of course I do. But that won’t matter in the long run, because you’ll be seeing a lot more of this hour soon, anyway.”

“What’re you talking about?” Wilbur’s eyebrows furrow, folding his arms over his chest as he shifts his weight from one foot to another.

Smiling, Quackity leans comfortably back into his chair, “It means that I’m takin’ you off the night shift, and moving you to the day.”

The shock on Wilbur’s face is highly amusing, with his eyes blowing wide and his jaw dropping; most likely because it was the last thing that he expected Quackity to say. It causes him to let out an airy chuckle, asking, “You seem surprised?”

“Wha- Well- Well yes, that’s because I am, Big Q,” he answers, though a little confused, “But why?”

There’s a slight shift in Quackity demeanour, as he sighs and gestures for Wilbur to take a seat, “Unfortunately, it’s not out of the goodness of my own heart.”

“Ha! I’m surprised you even have one,” Wilbur jokes.

“But it is for your own safety,” he continues, ignoring the other’s jibe, “And also for my business's reputation.”

Wilbur shakes his head, chuckling still, “Ever the self centred business man, huh?”

“I’m sorry, but did you just miss the point where I said that I’m also doing it for your safety?” He punctuates the question with a hard stare and a finger being jabbed in Wilbur's direction.

“Of course I didn’t,” he waves him off, “It’s just that I’m not completely used to you caring about people outside of yourself, besides maybe, like- I d’know, Slime.”

Sighing again, Quackity rolls his eyes, “Yeah well, I do. I care about all of my employees, in case you forgot.

Quackity can’t help but feel a little annoyed at the fact that Wilbur still doesn’t seem to believe him, despite the fact that he has repeatedly shown him that he holds some care for him. Perhaps, even a little more than he does for other employees. 

He can understand if it’s because, in previous jobs, the bosses and managers that Wilbur has had, hadn’t been as kind as Quackity is trying to be. God knows he knows what it’s like, to work for someone who doesn’t give a single shit about those under tem; only about making more and more money.

Or maybe this has to do with something else entirely? Didn’t Wilbur say that he and the other version of Quackity that he knew, hadn’t always seen eye to eye?

“Maybe that’s what your version of me was like. Because, Wilbur, if so, then I suggest that you stop tryin’ to compare me to him, because we are not the same person.”

“Alright, alright. Don’t get your beanie in a twist,” he all but apologises, “Now, why’re you putting me on days? I know you’ve got a proper reason for doing so.”

“Right, yes. Well, the reason is because I’ve hired a new vampire to take your place,” he explains to him, “A real vampire. And I need you to know, so that you can avoid her at all cost. Do you know why that is, Wilbur?”

“Because she’ll know that I’m not actually a vampire?” He answers.

“Bingo,” Quackity smiles, “I’m putting you both on different shifts, for that exact reason. Unfortunately, there may be some overlap. So I need you to know who to look out for, so you can stay as far away from her as you can.”

Wilbur nods, “Alright. D’you have a picture of her? Or am I just meant to go off of your impeccable descriptive skills?”

The other scoffs. In his opinion, he’s actually pretty good and giving good descriptions of stuff. Also, because Wilbur assumes that he has a photo of Niki, that he can just show here. Which, to be fair, he does.

“Of course I do.” He pulls a binder full of plastic wallets out of one of his desk draws, setting it onto the surface and flicking through it, absentmindedly telling Wilbur, “I make sure to have everyone's photo. Just so I can keep track of who’s who. Also, because everyone needs to carry an employee ID card.”

The folder is meticulously tabbed, with alphabetical spacers separating the A’s from the B’s, and so on and so on. Quackity flicks to around the middle of the binder, turning over each plastic wallet, until he finds the one he is looking for; unclipping it from the rest and passing it over the desk for Wilbur.

And when the other finally lays eyes on the paper, is when his face drops and we’re now back to the present.

“Yeah so, as you can see her name is Niki Nihachu,” he tells Wilbur, despite the fact that the other is holding a piece of paper with her name clearly at the top of it. “She shouldn’t be too hard to spot, what with the pink hair and all that.”

Still Wilbur doesn’t respond, he just continues to stare at the sheet; leading Quackity to wonder if he truly made the correct choice. He gives him time to process and to say something, but when a few minutes more pass, and the other’s face still has that gaunt look on it,  the piece of paper is becoming crumpled from his grip, does Quackity speak.

“Uhh Wilbur?” He says, concern lacing his tone, “Is something wrong?”

“I know her,” Wilbur responds, voice monotone; plain and simple. “Quackity, I know her.”

“What, like, from at the gas station or in-”

“Back where I’m from,” He briefly looks up, meeting Quackity’s eyes with a worried look in the, then looks back down to the paper, “She- Niki was one of my closest friends.”

Furrowing his brows further, Quackity asks, “But she wasn’t, like- like with your family…?”

“She might as well have been,” Wilbur admits, a nostalgic look slipping onto his face, as he seems to delve into a happy memory, “I know that after I died, she started hanging around Techno and Phil. Everyone loved Niki.”

The other shrugs, nodding, “Yeah, she seemed pretty nice when I interviewed her.”

Wilbur’s head shoots unp, locking eyes with Quackity, “What?”

“Hmm?”

“You interviewed her?” He clarifies.

Quackity is still confused, “Uh yeah? I’ve interviewed everyone who works here. Had to make sure I was hiring the best of the best. Obviously, I didn’t exactly interview you, but that was for other reasons.”

“But you interviewed and hired Niki?”

“Yes?” He’s now even more confused, “Wilbur, I don’t see why that’s a shock to you.”

“Because it means she applied to work here. She wanted a job here,” he says, as though Quackity isn’t aware of that, “Quackity, what if- what if she did that on purpose? She- she could be working with those vampires. This could be all of their doing.”

“Woah woah. Calm down,” he tries to comfort, “Wilbur, I think you’re thinking too much about this. What’re the chances that that is the reason she applied for a job here?”

There’s a bewildered look on the other’s face, mouth opening and closing as he tries to comprehend the question that he was just asked; like it was something painfully difficult to find an answer to.

“Uhh high?” He states, eyes still wide, “Listen, Big Q. Everyone who I know associated with the Las Nevadas, where I’m from, works here. And everyone that my family is close to, they’re close to them here. Even you should be able to see that having Niki working here is a bad idea. There’s no doubt in my mind that this is the vampires doing.

Hell! She’s a bloody vampire too, for Prime’s sake!”

A groan bubbles in Quackity’s throat, rubbing his face as he realises what Wilbur is getting at; beginning to regret his choice. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind, to double check the people that he hires with Wilbur. Especially if they're vampires, because for some reason he seems to have a lot of unwanted ties to them.

“Fuck, you’re right,” he curses, leaning further back in his chair; willing himself to just melt into the leather and to become one with the seat. He tips so far back, that the back creaks like it threatens to break.

“I didn’t even know there was a position open,” Wilbur laments, holding his head in his hands, “For a vampire.”

Quackity chuckles, with it coming out like there’s something funny about the situation. Actually, it’s more because he’s just realised his own stupidity, “Neither did I.”

“What?” He stares at him in disbelief, "Wait, wait- hold on. Quackity, you’re telling me that you didn’t see anything odd about a random vampire showing up for a job position that wasn’t even open?”

“Look man, I’m realising that now. Okay? Stop rubbing salt in it,” he sighs, “I’ve just been really busy. I guess it slipped my mind.”

Another bout of silence falls between them, both parties stewing in their own mind.

Again, Quackity tries his best to recall the moment he remembered that there was an open position, and what it was even for; agreeing to hear Niki out and interview her. But, like last time, it’s like he’d blacked out for those few minutes, until he was waking up as the interview had come to an end. Somehow, he’d made it through the whole interview, hiring Niki practically on the spot, and has no memory of it what-so-ever.

Maybe if he acts now, he can tell her that something came up or that her background check came back false, as a reason to quietly let her go.

It could work.

Sighing, Quackity picks up the phone on his desk, flipping through the binder for Niki’s phone number. When he doesn’t find it, he remembers that Wilbur has it resting in his lap.

“Can I have that back?” He reaches out over the desk with one hand, the other holding the phone up to his ear; a quiet tone buzzing into his ear.

“Hm? What, why?” Wilbur asks.

“I’ll call Niki,” he explains, “Tell her something came up, and I’m rejecting her applications. Issue solved.”

“Don’t!” The other says, instead. It’s not what Quackity had been expecting, from the same man who’d been mildly freaking out about the prospect of Niki working in Las Nevadas, having an ulterior motive.

“And why not?” Confused, Quackity lowers the phone back one to the receiver, “What if she is here for you? We’ve gotta break it off now, before anything happens.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “That’s a bad idea. If I am correct, then that means that they’ll know something is up, if she’s suddenly let off.”

“So what? We just keep letting her wander around here?”

“I mean, you let me free roam wherever I want,” Wilbur shrugs, with a smug smile.

“That’s different,” Quackity fires back, “You’re- Well, you’re a completely different problem that I have to deal with-”

“You’re welcome.”

“-But, with you both doing that, there’s a chance that you could bump into each other. Even if she’s never met you, she probably knows who you are. She might seek you out.”

Wilbur hums in agreement, then sighs, “Looks like our hands are tied. I guess we- well, we’ll just have to wait and see what happens. If luck is on our side, then maybe all of our worries are just that? Worries.”

“I guess,” Quackity shrugs, “God, I just want one week where nothing fuckin’ happens.”

“You and me both.”

———

Later than night… or morning, technically seeing as he’d clocked out of work at 2AM. So, as Wilbur lies in bed, eyes open and staring at the plain white ceiling of his apartment, his mind can’t help but wander back to Niki’s file; specifically her ID photo.

Niki had looked just like she had, when he’d last seen her. Despite the fact that they left off on good terms, there was an air of melancholy upon Wilbur’s departure; that sad smile she’d held he can picture like daylight. She was definitely still angry at him for leaving, even if she did forgive him for doing so.

But all anger had been missing from those eyes that stared back at him, on that piece of paper.

It was probably only because she wasn’t staring at him directly. She’d looked less tired too. Less lost and unsure about life.

Niki was always such a strong person.

Even throughout the war and Pogtopia, she’d never stopped fighting. Even when Schlatt had treated her unfairly, by raising the tax on her bakery, she’d fought back. She’d never backed down, always fighting for what was right.

He’d always admired her for that.

After he’d died, Wilbur doesn’t have any of Ghostbur’s memories of seeing Niki. Niki herself had never confirmed if the two ever interacted. He’d later heard from Phil that she hadn’t truly believed that Ghostbur was real. She’d seen him amongst the smoke of Doomsday, and assumed that he was merely a hallucination. Ghostbur could never seem to find her, to pay her a visit.

He always wondered what Niki had been doing, between his death and when she joined The Syndicate.

As Wilbur thinks harder and harder to dig up any lost memories, he feels his eyes growing more tired, until he finally drifts off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Unfortunately, avoiding Niki is a lot easier said than done. Mostly, on account of the fact that she is everywhere. In the hotel lobby, the casino, the ballroom, and the restaurant. No matter where Wilbur goes, she is there. Which is probably because of the job position that she holds, as a part of the security team for the Las Nevadas establishment. 

Wilbur still isn’t convinced that she didn’t play some sort of trick, mind game, or hypnotise on Quackity (if that’s even possible for vampires to do).

[Author's notes: yes, it is. However, Wilbur does not know this information. In fact, he does not know a lot of things.]

The first time he spots Niki, it’s her hair that he sees first. Quackity, as it turns out, had been correct in the fact that it wouldn’t have been hard to miss her- she stands out from the rest of the room, like a plastic flamingo amongst more boring, common birds.

It happens during his last few days on the night job. Unfortunately, Slime (who Wilbur found out was in charge of shift rotas) was unable to move around a few shifts, to allow Wilbur a smooth transition from working nights to days. Which meant that he had to spend the next week, after he was informed of the change, in a nocturnal state. 

Slime does inform him that Niki won’t be starting her job, until the middle of the week. Which gives him some peace of mind, walking into his shift that Tuesday. 

However, that light, unbothered feeling that he had been holding close to his chest, is quickly shattered, when he crosses through the hotel lobby and sees her. Niki is casually chatting to the women sitting behind the front desk, still dressed in casual clothing; not paying any mind to Wilbur, as he speed-walks straight past her and through the staff entrance to the restaurant.

“Fucking hell,” he curses to no one but himself, as the door closes behind him and he carries on down the corridor.

Thankfully, he doesn’t see her for the rest of that night.

———

The day that Wilbur starts his first day on the day shift, is a doozy. Not only is he still extremely tired from not having yet adjusted his sleep schedule to fit the change, but an entire wedding is taking place. Now, for everyone else working that day, it doesn’t seem to come as a surprise. They've apparently known about the event for weeks now.

Someone of a higher power just neglected to inform him about it.

Go figure.

The wedding itself isn’t set to take place until mid-afternoon. But that doesn’t stop a large amount of the party reserving a table in the restaurant for lunch. They have to push at least three tables together, to accommodate the fourteen person party; all of whom show up to the restaurant a little bit tipsy, by the time they’re set to eat.

Wilbur is, thankfully, not one of the waiters assigned to the table. He was on his third week in that position, and it really isn’t something he wanted to deal with. Not that he would have had a say in the matter. The manager that day- a person who he doesn’t recognise- just didn’t assign him to it. That job went to his unlucky coworkers, who’s faces fell and both sighed as they walked away from the morning briefing, upon hearing the unfortunate news.

However, it isn’t until he goes for his break, deciding to check out the venue that had been set up in the ballroom, that Wilbur finally encounters Niki face-to-face.

She’s standing at the end of the aisle, staring down it at the flower arch on the stage, head whipping around when the doors across the room unexpectedly open. Now, had Wilbur seen or known that she was in there, he probably would have come back at a later time or never.

Instead, the two have now locked eyes, and it’s becoming a little too awkward for Wilbur to just leave without saying anything.

“Umm hi?” He greets, trying his best to keep his racing heart to a minimum; through fear that Niki can hear it and the jig would immediately be up. Quackity had warned him not to get too close to her, for that exact reason. 

But that’s becoming increasingly difficult, with the rush of adrenaline that is coursing through his body, courtesy of his out-of-whack fight-or-flight response.

“Hello,” Niki responds, a warm smile on her face; keeping her lips sealed as she does. “Sorry, am I interrupting something? I don’t want to get in the way of your work,” she then apologies.

Wilbur wants to tell her “yes” if it means that she’ll leave him alone faster. However, his brain and his mouth don’t seem to agree at that moment; the latter acting before he can think differently.

“No no, it’s okay,” he tells her. “Fuck, why’d I say that?”

Niki still doesn’t seem convinced, “Are you sure? I can go, it’s no problem. I just wanted to check it all out. I saw them setting it all up earlier.”

Cautiously, and also not to seem like an awkward person, Wilbur takes a few steps forwards. He also wants to get a better look at the decorations, but that’s not really the point right now. “It’s pretty spectacular, I must admit.”

“Isn’t it?” She nods, “I haven’t been to many weddings, but this one looks nice.”

The image of his own Las Nevadas’ wedding chapel flashes into his head. With its quartz walls and ceiling, and all of the plants and open air that flowed through it. It was actually very beautiful, a lot more than the makeshift set up in front of him. 

Wilbur had, many a time, used the existence of the wedding venue to poke jabs at his Quackity’s own relationship status; as if his own is any better. The other had never been too fond of the jabs, which made it all the better for Wilbur. 

One time, they had had an encounter with the building. He thinks Quackity must have been reminiscing, when Wilbur had walked up the aisle and stood beside him by the altar. And, just for that moment, the two could imagine that they were standing in front of an audience of all their closest friends, family, and allies.

Rather than about to metaphorically rip each other’s throats out.

Wilbur’s memory of the rest of the night is blurry, but he’s pretty sure there was at least some physical contact between them; if only for just another fleeting second.

“Eh,” he then shrugs, chasing away the thought, “I’ve seen better.”

He then pretends to check his watch, apologising to Niki that he has to leave and get back to work. Wilbur spends the rest of his break stewing outside the back door of the kitchen. The clattering and shouting from inside, doing enough to keep many unwanted thoughts at bay.

———

Their next encounter, a mere few days later, Niki is the one to approach Wilbur first. He’d been placed on the hostess podium, to cover another colleague's shift as she’d called in sick that day. However, at three PM on a Tuesday, he’s beginning to wish that someone else had been assigned to this job, because the shift is so boring.

But that doesn’t mean that the restaurant is empty. There are a few tables that he has seated over the last hour. Mostly just elderly couples who are looking for a good meal, rather than are interested in the other facilities that Las Nevadas has to offer. 

From where he’s standing, Wilbur can hear his other co-workers' conversation drifting out from the kitchen; unintelligible chatter and laughter, among the sounds of pans crashing and cutlery on porcelain. 

No one talks to him, unfortunately. Mostly because he’s new and no one really knows him. And also because he’s currently right at the front of the room, unable to leave his position. Those two things combined, mean that he’s the last person that someone will talk to.

Which, in all honesty, he’s fine with.

He’s sure that there’s a third reason- that they all believe that he is a vampire- which is also why people tend to leave him alone. But he doesn’t dwell on it for too long usually, because if he does he might actually start getting angry. He didn’t ask to be assigned as Las Nevadas’ resident vampire; Quackity did that to him.

Other than that, Wilbur is still a little jealous of the fact that no one else speaks to him, unless they have to. The occasional wait staff asking him for extra menus or cutlery, of which he's reorganised twice already, is the most human interaction he’s had in the last few hours. So Prime knows he’s dying for a more exciting and sociable life, after all of those years spent in his own company. 

Thankfully, someone else, who was probably also bored on the job, seemed to have printed off some childrens colouring book pages, along with a small pot of coloured pencils, and left them under the podium. Originally, Wilbur had just been idling filling in one of the pages in, until he gets so invested that the rest of the world around him disappears.

It’s not until the restaurant doors open, that he so much as glances up from the half-colourful space scene, and spots Niki walking straight into the room.

Her face lights up, expression shifting from blank to smiling, when she spots him standing behind the podium. 

Wilbur, on the other hand, feels an impending sense of dread, as she approaches.

“Oh hi!” Niki smiles, now standing in front of the podium; the closest the two have been in proximity to each other so far, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Yeah well, I work here so…” He shrugs nonchalantly, “table for one?”

“Umm no- actually… I was just,” she fumbles over her words, “I was actually just checking out the restaurant during the day. Yeah.”

He slowly nods along, “Right yes. Yeah, you’re on the night shift, right?”

“Mhm yes.”

“Then how come you’re up now?” Wilbur then asks. Briefly wondering, “Do vampires even need to sleep?” As he’s asking the question. “When I was on nights, I spent, like, all day sleeping.”

“Yes well, I- I actually couldn’t sleep, you see,” Niki explains, “It happens a lot, especially in newer places. And I thought I might as well see who else is up right now. And then I found you.”

A nervous chuckle escapes from Wilbur’s lips, as he repeats, “And then you found me.”

“Actually, I don’t think I caught your name, the last time we spoke.”

“Right yes,” he nods subconsciously, “I’m Wilbur.”

The other just smiles, that sweet curl of her lips having an underlying victory hidden in them and also in her eyes. Wilbur, for one, doesn’t like that. He also feels weird introducing himself to her, mostly because he already knows who she is, without her even saying anything. But also because there’s a version out there that already knows who he is.

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Wilbur,” she says, holding out her hand for him to shake, “My name is Niki.”

Hesitantly, Wilbur takes it- shaking once before pulling back. Surprisingly, unlike when Tommy, Technoblade, or Phil had touched him, he didn’t feel that fizzing spark run through his body. Not entirely, at least. It was there, but just extremely low and easy to miss, if he hadn’t been expecting to feel it.

“Well, it’s good to put a name to the face,” Wilbur lies, “I’m sure you’ve noticed, there are a lot of people here. And I don’t exactly have the privilege to know them all.”

Niki seems to nod in agreement, an “Mhm” as she does, “Yeah, I have noticed that. Actually, you’re one of the only people I’ve spoken to, for more than a few minutes, here. Aside from, like, Quackity when he was doing my interview.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” her eyes drift around the room, landing on the few wait staff that hover around and tend to the patrons, “I’ve noticed that a lot of people are nice to me, but I think it’s because they’re scared that I’ll do something to them, if they’re not. I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’m also a- a vampire. And humans don’t really like being around us.”

And how can Wilbur disagree with that? Well, he can. On account of the fact that he’s not really a vampire. He’s actually surprised that Niki still hasn’t realised that fact, yet.

But he can definitely relate to her, in the sense of people only being polite to him because they fear that if they aren’t, that if they cross or upset him, then he’ll do something drastic. He hadn’t realised it during Pogtopia. Mostly because he was so in his own head, tunnel vision already obsessed with destroying Manberg, that it didn't matter what people said to him.

At the end of the day, his mind was set.

After his revival, however, he definitely felt it. Tommy, although still as loud and brash as ever, always seemed to take a second to think. Like his mouth was buffering, when they would speak. Only ever not considering his words in high stress and emotional situations.

Tubbo had seethed silent anger, always keeping a friendly face and cheery tone; but Wilbur could tell otherwise. It was only made more apparent after what happened to Ranboo. Who, speaking of, hadn’t even known Wilbur before his revival, and was still extremely cautious around him.

Though, he supposes that the other had heard stories of what Wilbur had done, from both friends and foe alike; forming their own fearful version of him in their head. Even if Ranboo was still friendly with him, it was almost as though they’d been warned to watch their tongue, or Wilbur might decide to blow up Snowchester or something.

Like he even still had the alliances to do so.

The only person who didn’t walk on eggshells around him. Who wasn’t afraid to call him out and get under his skin. To fight with both words and fists, until they were bloody and bruised, was Quackity.

Coincidently, he was also the only person who still viewed and treated Wilbur as a person. Not the monstrous threat that the rest of the server had built him up to be.

It was nice.

Instead of telling all of that to Niki however, he just nods, “I get it. It’s- it’s hard out here. Y’know, people were scared of me too, when I started working here. But, I promise, once you find the right people, then it gets better.”

“Really?” She has this almost hopeful look in her eyes, even though Wilbur knows that it’s probably fake. He suspects that once her mission is complete, then she’ll be out of here; probably having made everyone else forget that she was even a part of the staff, in the first place.

“Really,” Wilbur echos, just less than enthusiastic, “I’ve found my people here. And I’m sure you will too.”

Sensing an oncoming lull in the conversation, he tilts his head down and carries on with his colouring; all whilst highly aware that Niki is still standing in front of him. Somehow no one else has come through those doors, to give him a natural escape from her.

“Wilbur?” She says, after a few minutes of silence.

“Yeah, Niki?” He looks back up at her. Unfortunate timing, he’d almost finished colouring in the space rocket.

“Will you be my first person?”

It’s an innocent question, given the context of their previous conversation. But Wilbur has a feeling it was phrased differently from how she’d imagined it in her head. Which is confirmed when Niki finally seems to realise the other implications of her question, eyes blowing wide as she waves her hand out in front of her, “Wait no- I meant-”

“Woahhh Niki!” Wilbur gapes, playing into the unfortunate phrasing, “Listen, I’m flattered, but unfortunately I’m not-”

“Noooo I didn’t mean it like that,” she explains, frantically; though a laugh does escape from her throat at the same time, “I promise, that’s not what I meant.”

Wilbur also finds himself laughing too, “I know. I know that’s not what you meant. How about you try again?”

“Okay,” she chuckles, “Wilbur, will you be my first friend here?”

Again, Wilbur’s mouth seems to work faster than his brain. His want for more one-on-one interaction with people, where they treat him as an equal because he is one, not because they’re trying to avoid his past. Or where they don’t hold him to some sort of standard or on a pedestal because, again, of his past, takes over before he can think of a reasonable way to tell Niki, “No.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he realises what he’s saying as his mouth moves. The other’s face lights up, like a child who’s just made their first friend at school, and is about to ask if they want to play tag.

“But- uhhh. Y’know, seeing as we’re kind of on opposite shifts, I don’t know how much we’ll be seeing each other,” Wilbur then tells her, hoping to steer Niki away from the idea that they’ll get to hang out all the time.

She hums in annoyance, hand coming up to her chin as she thinks, “I guess that is true.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” he shrugs. Not in an asshole-y way, because there’s still a part of him that can’t help but care for Niki, and doesn’t want her to be sad. But as well, he is trying to avoid her at all costs.

“Well,” she offers him a sorry smile, then yawns; causing Wilbur to subconsciously do so too. “I’m- I guess I’ll see you when I see you next, yeah?”

“Sure,” Wilbur nods, offering a small smile, “Now, you should probably go to bed. You’re looking a little tired.”

“Yeah, I think it’s finally caught up to me,” she agrees, chuckling, “Goodbye, Wilbur.”

“Bye, Niki,” he responds, the two waving to each other as she leaves through the same doors she’d entered through. Once again leaving Wilbur alone, with nothing but his colouring page for company.

Prime, he’s fucked.

Chapter Text

Wilbur is currently looking for Slime. Not by his own accord, mind you. No, Quackity had asked him to help him find him. Apparently, his assistant had left his office half an hour ago, to drop off some newly updated and laminated menus in the restaurant, and was then set to return. 

But when twenty minutes had passed, and he hadn’t come back, wasn’t answering any calls or texts from Quackity, and wasn’t in the restaurant, then the other had enlisted his help; not on purpose, Wilbur just happened to walk into the room at that moment. He’d actually been in the middle of retrieving a hotel key card for his co-worker, who was currently manning the front desk.

He doesn’t remember her name, but she’d offered him a cookie from a box she had brought in and hidden under the desk. They were homemade, Wilbur could tell.

It made him miss Niki, a little bit.

His Niki, not the one that now works here.

He hasn’t actually spoken to her in about a week, aside from passing smiles and “Hello ”’s as they’re clocking in and out of their shifts.

She’d actually offered the cookie to him, and then asked if vampires could eat “human foods”, to which he had to say yes and that it was a common misconception that they couldn’t. Mentally thanking Quackity for the “Vampires 101” lesson he’d been given, to make sure he didn’t do or say anything wrong or suspicious.

Swiping the keycard from behind the front end podium, he follows Quackity out of the restaurant.

“You check the ballroom, I’m going back to my office again, in case he’s there,” Quackity says, “I’ll text you if he is.”

“Okay,” Wilbur responds, turning towards the ballroom as he hears the staff-only door close behind him. 

He does a quick check for his phone, feeling it laying in his pocket where he always puts it. He’s still not used to carrying it around, despite the fact that it is a similar shape to his old communicator. It doesn’t help that he can’t seem to put it in his inventory, and instead has to keep it in one of his pockets.

Passing by the front desk, Wilbur swaps the keycard for a cookie and then continues the ballroom. The room is empty, as there isn’t anything on during the day, unless someone rents out the space. But, standing around the bar, he finds Purpled, Fundy, and Slime; just who he was looking for.

The three turn their attention towards the doors when they hear it opening, conversation stopping briefly before continuing. Slowly, Wilbur approaches the group, doing his best to keep his gaze as far away from Fundy as possible.

There’s a general greeting from the party as he joins them, to which he gives a slight nod back, “Gentlemen.”

“Wilbur, I have a question for you,” Slime begins, causing the other two to groan in exhaustion. 

“Oh yeah? Fire away.”

“D’you think a desert is still a desert, even if it’s cold?”

Oh.

Well… that’s something Wilbur couldn’t have prepared for.

Because he’s experienced that. And, whilst the Las Nevadas on the SMP had been advertised as a desert- scorpions and all- it was built on a snowy biome. That meant that, whilst it was warm during the days, the nights were frigid. It also snowed quite often, as well.

It was a fake desert.

A ruse.

“I think you’ve broken him, Slime,” he hears Purpled say, followed by a snicker from Fundy.

“Huh- what?” Wilbur says, blinking. He quickly realises that he must have been silent for longer than he’d thought; too wrapped up in the memory of the fake desert. But the others must have taken it as the question frying his brain. “Sorry, I was just… thinking about the logistics of it.”

“I think it counts,” Slime says, “If it’s got sand, then it’s a desert.”

“But it’s cold!” Fundy argues, “We’re in a desert right now, and it’s hot as balls out here.”

“Technically, you’re both wrong,” Wilbur interjects, all attention turning to him, “What categorises a desert is not the amount of sand an area has, nor is it to do with the temperature.”

Slime tilts his head in intrigue, “What is it then?”

“It’s to do with rainfall.”

“So basically, how much it rains?” he asks.

“Yes, exactly,” he nods, “A desert is somewhere with very little rainfall. Though, I’ve always wondered, if it was somewhere cold, does snowfall count too?”

Both Slime and Fundy look at him inquisitively, before Purpled pipes up, “He’s not wrong. Look.” Holding out his phone, the two read the words on the screen with a resounding, “Huh” between them.

Slime is the first to look away, “Why’d you know so much about deserts, Wilbur?”

“I lived in one for quite a while,” he lies… kind of.

Sure, he may have lived in the Utah desert for most of his life, before he moved to the SMP; and then returned to that very same desert, once he left. But the real reason was one built mostly out of spite and pettiness, he now realises.

Just thinking about that sandy mound, covered in cacti and imported scorpions, makes something boil within him.

“Anyways, I didn’t come here to chat,” he says, “Slime, Quackity’s been looking for you. He wants you back at his office.”

“Oh right!” The other perks up, “I’ll see you all later,” he waves to the group as he leaves the room.

“I should be going, too,” Wilbur says, also walking towards the door. He doesn’t want to have to stay in that room any longer than he has to. With Slime there, he acts as a buffer for conversations. But within seconds of the other leaving, he could feel the creeping tension growing around the group.

“Wilbur! Hey, Wilbur. Wait-” Fundy calls, right as he pushes the doors open. It appears that the other had decided to follow him.

Great.

“I’m busy, Fundy,” he answers bluntly, not bothering to face the other and instead continuing to walk towards the casino.

From behind, he hears the other let out a frustrated groan, “What the hell is your problem?” The anger lacing his tone finally causes Wilbur to stop, freezing in place but not daring to turn around.

Because what is he meant to say?

“Hey, sorry that I keep avoiding you, and always try to get away from you when you talk to me. But I’m from an alternate reality and my version of you is my son. And, the last time I saw him, he threw himself off a bridge to get away from me."

Definitely not that.

But it appears as though Fundy is getting a little impatient, “You’re friendly with everyone. But when I’m in the room, you practically ignore me. You never talk to me, unless you have to.”

Wilbur continues to listen with his back turned.

“Are you even listening?! Face me-”

“Shut up, Fundy!”

It’s harsh, and catches them both off guard. Wilbur feels his hands beginning to shake where they’re clenched at his sides. He immediately regrets it. Had he said the same thing, a couple of months ago, he wouldn’t have cared if he’d upset the other. But, after all of the time and effort he’d put in to apologise to everyone, including Fundy, he doesn’t want to fall back into his old habits.

But the ugly feeling that had been growing in his chest, that’s usually in his stomach whenever he sees Fundy, had bubbled over and could no longer be contained.

For what it’s worth, however, it works.

“I- I’m sorry,” he says with a shaky breath.

“Yeah? Then tell me that to my face,” Fundy demands.

Wilbur hesitates for a second, before slowly turning to look over his shoulder. Finally, he sees the pained look on the other's face. Anger and hurt painted across his face. And Wilbur so desperately wants to look away. Not because the last time he’d seen his son, he’d worn the exact same expression.

No.

His Fundy had looked calm.

But this one, standing a mere few feets away from him, dress shoes sinking into the already worn carpet, looks distressed.

Taking another breath to compose himself, Wilbur turns fully around, “I’m sorry, Fundy. I shouldn’t have- You don’t deserve it.”

Upon seeing what remorse Wilbur hopes is on his face, Fundy shuffles in place awkwardly; almost as though he hadn’t expected the other to do what he just did. “It’s… fine, man. I shouldn’t have come after you like it.”

“No no, you were right to,” he shakes his head, trying to find the right words. Prime, it was so hard to apologise to his son last time, but why is this time even harder? He doesn’t know this version of Fundy as much as he knew the other. But something about seeing this version of his son, who grew up without seeing the horrors of war and the world, makes him realise how much he royally fucked up, back on the SMP.

“You haven’t done anything. But, it’s just-”

Prime, how is he going to explain this?

There’s no way he can give Fundy the full truth.

“It’s just, what?”

Right, an explanation.

“You remind me so much of someone I used to know,” he breathes.

“Oh.”

“I hurt that person… a lot,” he continues, no longer able to meet the other’s eyes. Wilbur feels his breathing beginning to pick up, as he clenches his fists again, “I- The last time I saw him, we were on a bridge and he-”

“Hey man, it’s fine,” Fundy rushes out, hands waving in assurance. He seemed to have put two and two together, sensing what Wilbur was about to say before said it. “You don’t have to tell me. I just wish you’d told me sooner that you, y’know, didn’t actually hate me. I was convinced that you did.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

Fundy hums in agreement, “Would have saved me from being shouted at by Quackity.”

“You went to Quackity about it?”

“I was pissed, alright?” He rolls his eyes, a smile creeping onto his face, “I didn’t even know you, but you already hated me. Quackity just told me to mind my own business, then cursed me out of his office.”

Wilbur chuckles, his mind wandering every time Quackity did the same to him, back on the server, “Sounds like him.”

“He was so scary…”

“You get used to it,” Wilbur shrugs.

“I’d rather not.”

The two of them break out into a lightheate chuckle, before Fundy speaks again, “Can I ask, was this person your friend?”

Wilbur freezes again. He knows he shouldn’t, but he does. 

“He was my son, actually,” he whispers.

“Shit, man… Did you have him before you were turned?”

He fixes Fundy with a look of confusion… Oh right, Fundy thinks he’s a vampire. But the other seems to take his change in expression as offence, rather than for what it truly is. “Sorry I- I shouldn’t have asked.”

Silence falls between them.

“It’s alright, I- I did,” he says, “It was… hard, watching him grow up and then almost surpass me. I wish he could have done so.”

In what seems an attempt to comfort him, Fundy reaches out a hand and gently touches Wilbur’s arm. It’s grounding. Wilbur doesn’t know why, at first, until he realises that every time he’d seen Fundy, since he got here, he’d always compared him to a ghost.

Always avoiding talking to him. Always doing his best to keep his distance.

Though his touch is light, he’s real.

The Fundy standing in front of him is not a ghost. He’s not a hallucination. He’s a living, breathing person, and he’s willingly reaching out to him.

“Do you… do you want a hug?” Fundy asks, softly but still with some hesitance. Wilbur has no doubt in his mind- after Quackity had explained to him what vampires are truly like, so he could play the part- that Quackity had told his staff to not get certain appendages too close to his face; drilling in the idea that Wilbut is a vampire.

“I’m- It’s alright, you don’t need to,” he says, taking a small step back, “Really.”

The flash of relief on Fundy’s face doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Okay- yep,” he drops his hand back to his side, but still keeps an air of unsureness about him, “Just, y’know, if you ever wanna talk about… him. I- I’m all ears.”

“That’s ironic,” Wilbur thinks, suppressing an eye roll, “Not the ones I know.”

“Thanks, man,” he says instead, letting a smile creep onto his face, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Yeah… I should- I should probably get back in there,” the other points over his shoulder back towards the ballroom.

“Have fun,” Wilbur waves, heading back towards the front desk to see if he can get another one of those cookies.

Chapter Text

As someone who’s only experience and involvement in the foodservice industry was, both times, a self-run fast food truck. One which was a front for the real drug business he was running. And the second, whilst he was more involved in- even having real employees making actual food- he still spent most of his time plotting for new ways to get under Quackity’s skin.

So it’s safe to say that Wilbur isn’t as qualified for the position as waiter, as he thought he would be. Granted, if he got a choice in having to be a waiter every day, and having to man the hostess podium for his entire shift, Wilbur would for sure choose being a waiter.

At least then he got to mingle with his co-workers and patrons more freely.

Walking back towards the kitchen, skillfully swerving around tables, chairs, and other constantly moving co-workers, Wilbur scoops up the two plates of dessert for table twelve; carrying them with now-trained ease as he wades his way back through the maze that is the restaurant's first floor. 

It’s not too busy, but it’s growing close to rush hour, so the snail-like flow of hungry customers filtering into the room has slowly begun to pick up the pace. Coincidently, it’s also coming closer and closer to his break; just an hour left before he can clock out entirely.

“Alright ladies, here is your strawberry trifle,” with a fake smile plastered on his face, he places the dish down on the table, “And your honeycomb cheesecake. Again, if you need anything, just let me know.”

The two older women at the table throw much warmer smiles back at him than he is giving to them, one of them beginning to speak, “Thank you dear. And, y’know, it’s so nice to see such calm people like you.”

“Like me?” Wilbur asks, head tilting in confusion.

“Well yes,” she nods, “I’m sure you can tell, we’ve both been around for a long time. And I used to work as a nurse, so I’ve seen countless horrific attacks and injuries caused by vampires.”

Agreeing, her friend decides to throw in her two-cents, “Yes. We were both very speculative about coming here, knowing that there were vampires working here, even though it’s a human exclusive building. But you. You’re so… so…”

“Docile.”

Silence befalls them, and Wilbur waits for there to be another “but” or for one of them to tell him that they're joking. Unfortunately, they just continue to smile at him, obviously waiting for him to oh so graciously accept the double-edged compliment.

If it could even be called that.

“Oh,” Wilbur gapes, a sure dumbfounded look on his face. He’s actually quite surprised by the comment. Never, in the last decade has Wilbur once been called “docile”; or anything of the sorts. It’s always, “Be careful around him,” and “Don’t piss him off.”

But “docile” ?

That one’s new.

However, Wilbur’s not stupid enough to let the blatant back-handedness of the compliment go completely over his head. He’s faced enough similar types of comments from other people, to know the real meaning of it. And, despite the fact that he isn’t a vampire, he can’t help but feel a little bit offended; mostly due to their assumption being because of his outward appearance.

And yet, he, unfortunately, cannot go off on these two ancient, ignorant ladies.

“Oh. Well, thank you,” he instead decides to say, “I’m just trying to set a good example for all vampires.”

They both nod, almost as if they understand, “Well, you’re doing a very good job at it.”

“Riiiiight,” Wilbur has no idea what else to say; still a little flabbergasted. “So, like I said before. If you need anything, just let me know.”

Neither say anything else, instead smiling at him again before digging into their desserts; something Wilbur wishes they’d just done in the first place. Rather than having to comment on the mask he puts on specifically for when he clocks into work.

The mouth watering feeling that he’d had, as he was taking the food over to table twelve, is now completely gone. His stomach empty and his mouth dry, as he finally walks away; muttering insults under his breath that he knows their old-age hearing would never be able to hear.

Sighing, he dips into a small area in the corner of the restaurant, hidden from both the rest of the room and far enough away from the kitchen to ignore most of the commotion coming out of it, that has been aptly dubbed, “The Crying Corner ”. A place where other employees like to go, should they need to bash their head against a wall.

Quackity has yet to find out about this.

Standing in said corner, Wilbur leans his forehead against the wall and closes his eyes; willing the rest of the world around him to disappear for just a few seconds.

Wilbur would never want to return to limbo. Not ever. Never. That place was hell. 

Cold. 

Dark. 

Numb.

But sometimes, he wishes he could experience it again, when in situations like this.

He remains in the corner for a couple more minutes. Not enough to fully heal how he feels. But also not enough for his sudden absence to be suspicious. 

Until he feels someone lightly tap on his shoulder, startling him slightly as he didn’t realise that there was anyone there. Turning around, he’s met with the vaguely scared look of another waitress; like she’s fearful for her life, because she disturbed him.

“Uhhh, Wilbur?” She speaks, hesitantly.

He stares back at her, eyes feeling heavy as his brain fully commutes that she’s speaking to him and he should probably respond, “Yeah?”

“You’ve- umm… you’ve got another table to attend to,” she tells him, “Sorry, but the lady asked for you directly. It’s- it’s table thirty.”

Confused, he asks, “Thirty? But that’s not in my section for tonight.”

Nervously, she fiddles with her hands, not daring to look him directly in his eyes, “I- I know. But, like I said, you were asked for. She- the woman was pretty sure of that.”

“Alright,” he sighs again, rubbing at his face, “I’ll- I’ll head there now. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” and with that, she scurries back off to the hostess podium. Her behaviour is a far chance from what he usually sees, when she’s seating people. Usually, she’s confident and friendly. He can’t help but wonder if it’s because she was speaking to him or because of how this supposed customer had spoken to her… it’s probably both. From what it sounds like, the person at table thirty is less than polite.

Turning the corner towards tables twenty-five to forty, Wilbur begins mentally preparing himself for the nightmare customer that he’s about to face. He pats down his pockets for his pen and notebook, not paying attention to where he’s heading, until he’s finally standing in front of the table.

“Hi, welcome to the Las Nevadas casino restaurant, what can I get for you to- Yo, Niki,” Wilbur finally locks eyes with the person at the table, “I’m gonna be honest, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Hello, Wilbur,” she smiles at him, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“It has,” He nods, observing her. She’s not dressed in her usual work attire, which is similar to his own, except the waistcoat is replaced by a knitted, black vest; suggesting that she’s not currently working.

Instead, she’s dressed in a more formal, knee length black dress, with a matching black shawl, and heels. Her makeup is also more done up, with glittery red eyeshadow that matches the dark red lipstick that she’s also wearing. It’s a look that he hasn’t seen since her birthday party.

“So, what drink can I get you? Anything pique your fancy yet?” It’s easy for him to slip back into “customer service ” mode; even whilst talking to someone he’s more acquainted with than other patrons.

Niki hums as she thinks, picking up the menu off the table; eyes scanning up and down the page multiple times, before setting it back down again, “I think… What wine would you recommend?”

“That depends,” he says, “We have red wine, white wine, rosé, sparkling. Pretty much any type you can think of.”

“Hmmmm I think I’ll have…” she tilts her head as she thinks, “Red.”

Niki stares Wilbur dead in the eyes as she makes her request, flashing a toothy smile as she does; it causes a chilling feeling to run down Wilbur’s spine. Compared to his own teeth, which have become stained from coffee, alcohol, smoking, and his overall poor hygiene over the years, the other’s are pearly white and far too sharp to seem normal.

He’d felt similarly, whenever this universes’ Tommy had smiled. Except, he was used to seeing his brother with those features, so it hadn’t inwardly freaked him out as much.

Wilbur swallows, “Okay. And what type of red wine? Do you prefer more dry or sweet wine?”

Niki appears to think again, before shrugging, “I don’t know. Whatever you think is best.” 

“Merlot it is then,” Wilbur concludes, scribbling the simple order onto his notebook, “A medium glass?” She nods in response, which he also adds to the page. “Right, and d’you know what you want to eat? Or should I give you a few more minutes?”

“Yes please.”

“Okay, I’ll be back with that in a couple of minutes.”

“Thank you, Wilbur,” Niki continues to smile at him; though her lips are sealed now. Even as he walks away, he can still feel her eyes boring into the back of his head; all the way until he turns the corner and makes a beeline for the bar.

When he returns to table thirty, about five minutes later after checking in on another one of his other tables, Niki is busy typing away on her phone; eyebrows furrowed and looking a little irritated. She’s too distracted to realise the other’s approach, until he is announcing his presence.

“Here is your wine,” Wilbur carefully sets the glass onto the table, directly in front of her, watching as she eyes it curiously, not daring to take a sip. “And have you decided on what you want to eat yet?”

Now, a couple of weeks ago, Wilbur would have been more suspicious of Niki’s presence in the restaurant, potentially about to order and eat food. From what he’s heard- mostly from humans, so he’s not too sure on the credibility of it- vampires aren’t exactly known to eat “ human food”. It explains why Slime had been confused by him buying groceries, when they went to the store together.

But he’s seen Tommy down multiple large glasses of Coca Cola (plus there was the whole incident with the vending machine, back when they first met), to at least understand that they can still drink stuff other than blood.

Maybe that’s why Niki ordered red wine?

So it should also come as no surprise to him, when she decides to order the home menu item that contains the most amount of blood that the restaurant can legally offer.

“Hmmmm, yes,” she nods, glossy, painted black nails pointing to the menus, “The steak, please. Extra rare.”

There’s another quick flash of her fangs, as she orders. He supposed it’s her way of saying, “If you know what I mean” without verbally voicing it.

“An excellent choice,” he instead commends her, “And do you want to change any of the sides that come with that? You can swap out the standard chips for sweet-potato fries, or add any of the other sides available on the menu.”

“Huh? Oh. Yes, those are fine,” Niki confirms, waving dismissively, “I’m not really interested in those, as much as the steak.”

“Understood,” Wilbur once again scribbles down the details onto his notepad, “So, an extra rare steak, with regular fries?”

She nods, “Yes.”

“Great, that should be ready in about fifteen minutes,” he tells her, “I- My shift’s gonna be over soon, so hopefully it’ll be done and I can get that to you by then.”

“Thank you again, Wilbur,” she says, “Y’know, maybe I’ll come back here more often. This place is a lot nicer than some of the other restaurants I’ve visited before.”

He smiles, “Yeah, well I try to make sure everyone has the best experience coming here. Some don’t always take it as well as others. Like, you see that young couple behind me?”

Covertly, he gestures over his shoulder with his thumb, hopefully to where a table he’d served earlier is still sitting. He watches as Niki leans back in her chair slightly, in order to get a good look, “The man and the woman, currently sharing an ice cream sundae?”

Wilbur nods, “I guess my gracious kindness was too much for the guy, who accused me of flirting with his girlfriend. The thing is, that’s his third “girlfriend” I’ve seen him with, in the last two weeks.”

“No way,” Niki’s mouth opens in shock.

“Niki, when I tell you that I had to bite my tongue hard, to stop myself from telling that to his date.” Then he gestures to the other side of the room, where a group of older gentlemen are, all dressed in suits, “Those guys over there? Despite the fact that I was just doing my job, they requested a different server.”

He hears Niki scoff, “Disgusting.”

“All I’m saying is that the wine I “ accidently” spilt on one of them, wasn’t actually an accident. But don’t tell anyone that,” he punctuates his sentence with a wink.

“My lips are sealed,” she mimics zipping her lips together, before giggling, “Y’know, it seems as though you’re enjoying this job a little too much, Wilbur.”

Playfully, Wilbur rolls his eyes, “Whaaat. Nooooo. But, in all honesty Niki, this is kind of the most tame fun I’ve had in a while. It’s nice to spread a little chaos, without there being massive and irreparable damage.”

“I guess so,” she nods.

“Well, I guess I should get back to actually doing my job,” Wilbur remembers, his notebook with the other’s order still in his hand, “Hopefully, I’ll be back soon with your food.”

———

Forty minutes later, Wilbur is clearing the table that Niki is still sitting at. The two idly chat about even more hijinks’ that have happened in the restaurant, with Niki throwing in her own experience in hospitality. The bottom line being, the tax man messed with her business, so she made his life a living hell, then closed up shop and left town.

“Please could I get the bill?” Niki asks him, as he’s carefully balancing the wine glass on the plate. Surprisingly, despite how she’d acted when both were brought to the table, they’re empty. Aside from the chips that came with the steak, one of which has a small bite taken out of, and the rest sitting cold and untouched.

“Yeah, sure,” he nods, “I’ll grab that for you, just let me take these to the kitchen.”

“Thank you.”

After quickly dumping the dirty cutlery in the sink, Wilbur returns to table thirty with the bill for the meal; which is paid for entirely in cash so crisps, it appears as though it had been withdrawn for the sole purpose of tonight's meal.

“So, you going to the casino after this?” He asks her, placing her receipt and change on the table, “Or are you just gonna head home?”

“Take a seat, Wilbur,” she instead responds, gesturing to the chair across from her; a smile still on her face, though it does little to reassure the other.

“Pardon?” He asks, confused by her shift in tone.

“C’mon, sit with me,” Niki repeats, “Let’s catch up.”

“Look, Niki,” he begins, “I’m- My shift ends, like, half an hour. If you wanna stick around, we can chat then. But I’m still working.”

Wilbur thinks that it’s a respectable ask, if not that then a compromise. Back at the gas station, he didn’t give two shits about talking to customers on the clock. It wasn’t like many people even came into the building, so it was really the human contact that he got.

But here he gets enough of his social quota here.

However, being asked to wait doesn’t appear to be a reasonable response for Niki. She fixes him with a hard stare; that look of anger, that Wibur had become familiar with seeing, is back in her eyes. She once again points to the chair across the table, though with a lot more demand, “Wilbur, sit.”

Finally complying, Wilbur takes a seat.

Niki is still staring at him, her hands folded on the table in front of her. Meanwhile, Wilbur’s face remains neutral; adopting a familiar poker face that he would put on whilst in meetings, back during his time as president. As well as when he would visit Las Nevadas, a trained mind winning game after game of cards, until he was finally removed by security.

Despite this, he can’t help but sit up as straight as a ruler; a subconscious, more animalistic, part of his brain making him do so, to appear as less of an easy target.

Because, for some reason, he feels a little threatened right now.

After a minute or so of silence, where the two do nothing but stare at each other, Niki is the first to break; breathing out a deep sigh as she seems to deflate slightly. “Wilbur, I have something I’ve been meaning to tell you. But you- you’ve got to understand, there was a reason I had to keep it a secret.”

“And what’s that?” He asks, the wooden chair creaking slightly as he leans back in it and folds his arms over his chest.

“I didn’t apply for the job here, because I wanted to work in the casino,” Niki explains, and Wilbur has a feeling that he knows where this is going, “I- I did it, because I was asked to. The Syndicate, they’re-”

“I can’t believe- You are working with them!” He exclaims, bowing his head and beginning to stand, “I mean, I already assumed that you were, based off everything else. But now I know I can’t- I cannot believe you, Niki.”

He shakes his head, “It’s a shame, really. Just another person who’s broken my trust.”

“I’m- I’m sorry, okay? But I did it because it was the right thing to-”

“Niki, please,” he interrupts her explanation, holding up a hand, “You need say nothing more. Now, leave me alone.”

Wilbur doesn’t so much meet her eyes again, as he makes his way away from the table. From behind, he can hear Niki calling his name; a hint of pain in her tone, that he consciously chooses to ignore. He doesn’t know why, but there was a small part of his mind that had been hopeful that he was thinking too much about the other working here.

That maybe, just maybe, it had been that familiar paranoia, of believing that everyone was out to get him, that was influencing the way that he viewed her and her actions.

For once, the paranoia was correct.

Storming through the restaurant, he also collectively chooses to ignore the shouts of assistance coming from the tables that he passes. A few of his co-workers glance in his direction, confusion, concern, and worry all visible on their faces; actively making an effort to get out of his way.

Lest they become victims to whatever he may do to them, should they try to ask him if he’s alright.

Unlike earlier, when he’d been put into a sour mood by a patron, Wilbur is not heading for The Crying Corner. Instead, he fully intends to head straight to Quackity’s office, informing him that his hunch about Niki had been correct, convincing him to fire her, then clocking out and going home as he had intended to.

That is until about halfway down the staff corridor, something sharp and cold is grasping at Wilbur’s wrist, and dragging him with ease into a nearby supply closet; the cool on his arm feeling like it’s burning his skin. He tries to fight back, but the movement is so strong and so sudden that he doesn’t get time to react, aside from a jerk of surprise at the unexpected contact.

The world around him spins, as the cold white light of the narrow and stretching service corridor is quickly replaced by a pitch black, cramped space. Wilbur frantically pats down his pockets for a lighter, completely aware of another presence standing in front of him, making absolutely no sound.

Then there’s a quiet CLICK, followed by the overhead light flickering on, and he sees who it is.

It’s Niki, again.

And not only does she look pissed, but she also looks hurt.

“What the fuck, Niki?!” He shouts, “I told you to leave me alone.”

He attempts to push past her, but quickly both of her arms come up to shove him away; causing him to stumble into the shelves lining the wall behind him.

“No! You’re not going anywhere, Wilbur. Not until- until you actually listen to me,” her tone is frighteningly low.

Rubbing back of his head, the other rolls his eyes, “Alright, fine. Explain to me how you’re not as bad as them, now that I know you also want me to leave everything I have here?!”

“I don’t!”

“What?”

Niki sighs, “When I agreed to come here, Phil told me to keep an eye on you. To- to gain your trust and to report back to him on how you were doing. Eventually, he wanted me to, like, convince you to go home and join us, and all of that. That he, Techno, and Tommy would be back to come and get us.

But- But I saw how happy you are here. You have friends, and a job, and you’re happy,” she seems remorseful, “I didn’t want to take that from you, y’know?”

Wilbur tilts his head, still a little confused, “So you don’t actually want me to go back with everyone?”

“Not anymore,” she shakes her head, tears beginning to form in her eyes, “I’m- I’m sorry, Wilbur. If I’d- I wish I’d known better, then I never would have agreed to do this. It’s- it’s just that I know how important covens are. The Syndicate, they’re like m- my- my family, and I’ve always wanted to be a part of a big family.”

“Oh Niki,” Wilbur feels a little bad for shouting now. He can understand where she’s coming from. Back during the war for independence, his fellow L’Manburgians had been like his family; Niki included in that group. They fought together, laughed together, sang together, and cried together.

And whilst he has no idea about Niki and her history with those that she calls her family here, at least knows a little of what she’s feeling.

“Come here,” he tells her gently, arms open and waiting for her to make the first move before returning the hug; uncaring about if she can hear his heart beating loudly in his chest. 

Instead, he hears a couple more sniffles escaping from her nose.

“Y’know, I’ll be honest, you remind me of someone I knew, once,” Wilbur begins to speak, filling the semi-awkward silence, “She was an amazing person. Strong, resilient, and really scary when she wanted to be. She was my best friend, I miss her a lot.”

“Yeah?” It’s muffled by his shirt.

“Yeah,” Wilbur nods, “I- uhh… I’ve fucked up a lot, in my time on earth. I wasn’t always the best. The last time I saw her, I apologised for everything that I’d done to her.”

“What was her name?”

“I- I don’t remember,” he lies, “All I remember is that the last time we spoke, she helped me to sacrifice a sheep for some god-”

“Hiss .”

“-It was just some… pointless thing. But, y’know, who hasn’t done that?”

From below, he begins to hear Niki’s sniffles turning into giggles; which also causes him to laugh too. In all honesty, Wilbur still has no idea if sacrificing Friend even sent them to the same place that Ghostbur was in. Limbo seemed to be different for everyone who went there. For all he knows, Ghostbur could still be sitting alone, in that Prime awful train station, and Friend is lost somewhere in the afterlife.

Either stuck somewhere.

Or cursed to wander for all eternity, looking for their owner.

He doesn’t like to think about that possibility, too much.

“She- she sounds like a pretty cool person,” Niki says, disembarking from the hug and taking a step back. She wipes her eyes on her wrists, and Wilbur only just now notices that her cloak is missing.

“Yeah. Yeah, she was.”

After a few more seconds of silence, Wilbur checks the time on his watch, “Y’know, my shift should be over now, if you still wanna hang out?”

“Okay. I just need to go back and get my stuff,” she tells him, “I- uh- I left it at the table, when I followed you.”

“Yeah, Yeah, sure,” he says, opening the door, “After you, My Lady.”

“Thank you. Thank you… Again, I’m- I’m sorry about all of this,” the two walk side-by-side down the corridor, entering back into the hustle and bustle of the restaurant, “I think I’m going to hand in my resignation, tomorrow. There’s no point in me staying here, anymore.”

Wilbur nods, “Y’know, if you like it here, you don’t have to leave. I know I’d be happy to still see you around.”

“I don’t know, Wilbur,” she shrugs, clipping her shawl over her shoulders, “I don’t think that I belong here. I do already have a coven to get back home to… Now, where is my phone?”

She rummages in her purse for her phone, but does seem to find it; beginning to remove items and placing them on the table. Meanwhile, Wilbur crouches down and scans over the hardwood floor; making a mental note to have someone sweep this side of the restaurant. As he’s looking, a muted light comes from underneath one of the chairs.

“Ah,” he says, reaching further under the table and picking it up, “Here it-”

“Oh, thank you so much,” Niki says, becoming confused when Wilbur doesn’t immediately hand her the device, “Ummm… Wilbur?”

Instead, the other’s eyes had glanced over the lit up screen long enough to read the messages plastered onto it. Mainly, the one under the contact “Tommy” which reads, “we’re on our way” , received roughly an hour ago; around the same time that Niki had ordered her meal.

“Niki, what’s this?” He asks, turning the screen around so she can see it.

“It’s nothing,” she tells him, reaching out to grab the phone, “Don’t- Don’t worry about it.”

But Wilbur backs away, causing her to narrowly miss taking it back from him. Then it lights up again, and quickly the message is read, “where are you? we’re outside.”

“Shit,” Wilbur curses, practically throwing the phone onto the table, “I need to go.”

“No no- Wilbur, wait!” She calls after him, once more. This time though, she doesn’t follow in an attempt to apologise and reason with him.

This time, he’s a lot less angry than he had been previously. Still a little upset at the fact that his trust appears to have been betrayed yet again; twice in the last hour is a new low. 

Now he feels a lot more frantic, all but running through the winding tables of the restaurant; doing his best to dodge running into other wait staff and people meandering around, ditching his apron as he bursts through the main doors. 

The lobby is, thankfully, clear of any familiar vampire sightings; allowing him to make a beeline for the stairs. Except, just as he’s taking the first few steps up, a figure comes down them and blocks his escape.

It’s Phil.

Chapter Text

Now seething with anger, Wilbur locks eyes with him. “Get out of my way,” he says, trying to move past the other, but is unsuccessful when he is gently pushed back; until he’s standing back on the lobby floors, and Phil is standing on the last step. Making it so that they’re now on eye level with each other.

“Not until you let us help you,” he responds, a worried expression on his face and hands held out in a way that Wilbur supposes is meant to be comforting, by making him appear less threatening.

He takes another few steps away from Phil, only to collide with a larger body behind him. When his head whips up, he catches sight of three more presences circling him; Techno, Tommy, and Niki are now cornering him like a wild animal.

They all have similar expressions to Phil’s.

Wilbur’s eyes dart around for any gap in the circle that he could get out from. Tension growing in his chest as his jaw clenched tightly. Prime, his head is beginning to hurt. He doesn’t want to be here.

Then an electric shock runs through his shoulder and down his spine, as someone from behind places a gentle hand there; brief waves of calm washing over him. But instead of having that effect, his whole body jerks and he whips around. The look on Techno’s face is sturdy, as his hand hovers where it had been lay on Wilbur’s shoulder, for just a millisecond before he’d retracted it.

“Don’t- Don’t touch me,” he smacks the hand away.

“Wilbur, you’re hurting,” Phil says, far too softly and far too reminiscent of how his father had spoken to him, post revival. It makes the tense, sinking in his gut feel worse, “We can all tell- you’re suffering. Let us help. Come home with us.”

“No!” He blurts out, before he can stop himself; a hand flying up to his mouth. He did it, he finally told them. No more, “Give me a few days ,” or, “I’ve been busy, give me time. ”

It was a definite no.

The whole group is staring at him with shock on their faces, and he can’t take it; looking away as shame and horror begin to take over.

He’s really fucked now.

Refusing the asks of a vampire- Quackity had told him- is the quickest way to assure injury or death.

Prime, where the hell is Quackity when Wilbur actually needs his backup?

“What? What d’you mean, “No ”?” Tommy questions, and Wilbur knows the expression that he holds, without even turning to look at him. Unfortunately, Tommy seems to have other ideas; grasping the front of his shirt and shaking him once, “Look at me, dick’ead.”

“I can’t,” it comes out as a whisper, still refusing to lift his head.

“Why not!?” He asks, “You were so happy to see me, all the other times. Why the fuck d’you keep pushing us away. Pushing me away, Wil?!”

“Because you’re not him!” Wilbur shoves Tommy away, both parties stumbling backwards by the force.

A small crowd is beginning to form around them.

“And- and I’m not one of you!” He shouts, adrenaline coursing through his veins and clouding his judgement, “And I didn’t even ask to be here. I guess the universe just thought it'd be funny to drop me off here, as some, like, sick-twisted game.”

He pauses, only for a brief second to catch his breath in a few, short intervals.

“And- and everyday I have to see the people I love and who fought side-by-side with, have no idea who I am and fear me!”

Silence blankets the groups, with Wilbur still taking in heavy but rapid breaths.

“Well, that was a lot,” Techno eventually states, once they have all seemed to take in what the other had just told them.

Slowly, Wilbur looks between the faces of his fake-family standing around him; still staring at him like he’s some caged animal lashing out. Tommy no longer looks angry, which is good; anger never looked right on his brother's face. Techno remains ever stoick, but Wilbur can see the way his eyes are slightly widened in shock.

Niki also looks shocked, but there was more sympathy on her face. He assumes it is due to their conversation, less than an hour ago. But, Wilbur had to guess, he assumes that any version of Niki is as perceptive and understanding as the one that he’d gotten to know and view as family.

And Phil.

The imitation of his father.

Who, above everything else, looks confused; head tiled in the way a bird may.

Wilbur hadn’t noticed it until now, but he was finally seeing the other’s wings, for the first time; grand and bold and completely blocking his view of the stairwell. Images of a stone room, with words carved and scrawled onto the walls flash in his brain. That empty but eerily calm feeling that he’d once felt, sits comfortably in his chest as he begins to accept his fate.

This is where he will perish, by the hands of his own father- once again- with the rest of his family watching.

“Mate, we already know that,” is all Phil says.

It’s the last thing that Wilbur had expected him to say.

He knows? 

What does he mean he knows?

How long has he known?

Do the rest of them know?

Wilbur takes a breath in, “You know?”

Phil shrugs as he nods, “Yeah. In fact we’ve known since, like, the first day we met you.”

“Uh, excuse you! I think you mean since I met him, at that dumb fucking petrol station,” Tommy chimes in, then turns his attention to Wilbur, “Full vampires don’t have heartbeats, man.”

Subconsciously, Wilbur’s hand rests itself on his chest, feeling for the gentle, slow thrum of his heart. During his first few years of limbo, he had done the same, but found nothing but a hollow rib cage devoid of life. And, after his revival, in moments where he’d still felt dead, often all it took was someone around him to guide that same hand to his chest, to feel the beating that sti; lay inside of him.

He can’t imagine never being able to feel that again.

“So- so if you’ve known all along,” he swallows, “then why am I still alive? From what I’ve been told, you guys- vampires don’t like people impersonating them.”

Techno hums, “You’re right, anyone else wouldn’t have lasted this long.”

“But you’re not just anyone, Wilbur,” Phil chuckles, “Tommy’s told us the things that you’ve lived through. All of the wars and pain, but now it’s time for you to rest. We can help you out of that limbo between life and death. Y’know, by finally making you a full-fledged vampire.”

Different pieces of a puzzle are finally all falling into place for Wilbur.

They knew all along, and they stuck around and dealt with his repeated pushing away because they wanted him to go with them so that they could also make him into a vampire.

He can’t let them do that, he was beginning to enjoy living again; even if his human body has its issues.

“And what if I don’t want that?” He asks, with some hesitation.

An echo of laughs chimes around him, “Ayy?? Why the fuck wouldn’t you want that?” Tommy says in disbelief.

“Wil, mate, if you stay like you are, then you’ll be living in pain forever,” Phil explains, “I know it might not feel bad now, but it will centuries down the line.”

“Like I’m even gonna live for that long,” Wilbur scoffs, rolling his eyes, “I’m- I’m not immortal, like you guys. Sure, my mum may be Death herself, and also might be the reason for why I’m here…” he trails off, muttering to himself; before shaking his head and getting back on track, “But ! That doesn’t mean I will live forever. Or even want to, for that matter.”

“Just think of everything you can do though!” Tommy says, “I mean, if you’ve already lived for this long, then you definitely will in the future.”

“Tommy, everything I’ve already lived though was in a completely different world,” he tries to tell them, getting a little bit desperate for the vampires to understand, “It happened at a completely different pace to how life moves here. With different laws and rules and shit!”

Still no one seems to be listening

“I mean, once you live through one world altering event, you’ve kinda seen ‘em all,” Technoblade shrugs, and Wilbur begins to think that he’s finally getting through to someone, “But also, an eternal retirement is kinda cool.”

“For fucks sake,” he throws both his hands up out of a mix of frustration and exhaustion, at the back and fourth; letting out an anguished groan.

Then his ears pick out a voice, over the bustling crowd that has grown around their smaller, inner circle.

“What the hell is going on?!” Whipping his head around, he spots his saving grace. Quackity is peering over Niki’s shoulder, eyes looking tired as they lock with his own, “The fuck did you do, Wilbur?”

“Hey man,” Tommy pipes up, seemingly annoyed that they’re being interrupted, staring daggers at Quackity, “This isn’t about you. Fuck off.”

Quackity scoffs, “Clearly it is. That’s my employees you’re hounding, in my fucking establishment.”

“You own this place?” Phil asks, eyes now off Wilbur and on the other.

“Yes,” he nods, standing firm and folding his arms over his chest, “And unless you leave, I’m gonna have to call security.”

“That might be a problem, Quackity,” Wilbur says, pointing.

“What, why?” He looks to where the other is pointing, eyes blowing wide when he sees, “Niki? What the hell?”

“Sorry, Quackity,” she shrugs, a little bit of remorse in her tone, “But my loyalties lie here, over Las Nevadas. You should- You should probably leave, before you get hurt.”

“Like fuck I’m leaving.” He points an accusatory finger directly at Phil; voice low but face full of concealed anger, “If you so much as lay a finger on him, it won’t end well. How’s the sound?”

Phil, on the other hand, laughs. And so do the other vampires. He takes a few steps forwards, wings still outstretched and looming, pausing by Wilbur’s side and setting a hand on his shoulder. “Is that a threat, Quackity? Because, I don’t know if you know, but The Syndicate doesn’t take those very lightly.”

“The Syndicate?” He gapes in disbelief, eyes once again locking with Wilbur’s, “Fuckin’ hell, Wilbur. I knew you fucked up, but I didn’t think it was this bad.”

As he’s berating Wilbur, Quackity doesn’t realise how Tommy and Techno have moved aside, extending the circle to where he is now also trapped inside of it.

From the hand on his shoulder, Wilbur can feel anger and threat and prey run through his mind; knowing full well that they’re directed at Quackity. The longer they stand there, the more he can feel it, especially when Phil’s mind shifts to kill ; at which point Wilbur decides he's had enough of this back and forth over him.

“Stop!” He shouts, pulling himself free of Phil’s grip and placing himself in the middle of the two feuding parties, “You both need to stop.”

He watches in real time as his fake father’s expression softens, eyes landing on him; though his wings are still puffed up in a way that shows his unease.

“Dude, Wilbur it’s fine,” he hears Quackity say from behind; voice steady, but still with hints of irritation. Like he’s masking how upset he is with him, whilst also trying to reassure him.

Wilbur rolls his eyes, “It’s clearly not though!”

“No no, he’s right, Wilbur,” Phil chimes in, eyes narrowing, “This man has kept you from us for far too long. He needs to be dealt with.”

“Wha- What’re you talking about?” He questions, confused, “Like hell he has. Did you- did any of you consider, for just a second, that I don’t want to leave with you by my own choice? Because, judging by all of this, you apparently didn’t.”

He hears someone scoff.

“Why’d you think that, though?” Tommy asks, “Seriously, what’s the point?”

“They’re all gonna die eventually,” Techno chimes in, “Stickin’ around just makes it worse, when it happens.”

“Techno,” he hears Niki hiss, followed by a muted “thump”, which probably came from her elbowing him.

“What? I’m not wrong.”

Still where he stands, just a few metres in front, Phil sighs; holding his face in his hand. “He’s got a point, Wil. You’re just delaying the inevitable by staying h-”

He takes a step forward.

Wilbur feels extra threatened now.

“Don’t!” His diamond sword materialises in his hand; the gleaming blue of the diamond blade reflecting off the artificial lights above. Though he doesn’t hold it up, pointing it directly in the other’s face, he still knows that the mere sight of it is enough to deter him, seeing as he freezes. “Don’t you dare come any closer.”

“I fucking told you he had a sword,” Tommy whispers.

He hears Technoblade hum in acknowledgment.

“Wilbur, what’re you doing?” Phil asks, a slight lift in his voice accompanied by a chuckle; as though he’s amused by the situation. He speaks in a way a parent would when their child is doing something dumb, but doesn’t want to make it apparent that they think they’re about to do said dumb thing.

In turn, Wilbur huffs, standing his ground, “Whatever it takes to stay as far away from you lot as possible.”

“Good luck trying” he says. The SNAP from Phil’s fingers rings loud in his ears, masking the sound of struggle coming from behind, until it’s too late to intervene.

When Wilbur whips around, Technoblade now has Quackity in his grasp; the sharp edge of an equally threatening knife held up to his throat. It’s silver in colour, probably made from iron and not nearly as strong as Wilbur’s own. But that doesn’t make it any less dangerous. Because even if he did go head-to head with Technoblade in a sword/knife fight, even with a more powerful weapon, he knows he wouldn’t win.

Wilbur is competent with a weapon.

But Technoblade is a master.

“Okay, so, here’s how this is gonna work. If you come with us, we’ll let him go,” Phil speaks from behind, resuming his position of gripping Wilbur's shoulder; tighter this time. “Pretty simple. He’ll get to continue living his boring, mortal life, until he dies of whatever it is that kills him.”

Wilbur feels a chill run down his side. For the first time, that sense of threat is directed at him.

“But, y’know, if you don’t. If your loyalties truly do lie here, with this- this casino,” he all but spits out the word, “Then it’s not going to end well for your “friends”.”

“Oh okay. Cool. So you’re threatening his life, to get what you want?” Wilbur questions, meeting Phil’s eye.

“Not just his,” he responds, “Tommy, if you would.”

Within seconds, a phone has been shoved in Wilbur’s face; a video already playing on it. For the first few seconds the screen is black, with inaudible muttering coming from the speakers. The clicking of a lightswitch can be heard somewhere off camera, before it finally lights up, showing a dank, concrete room. 

From all of the crates and cardboard boxes, it looks to be a storage room of some kind.

The camera pans around, as though it’s looking for something.

Wilbur watches in confusion as Technoblade appears inframe, also seemingly searching for something. He tears open the boxes with his nails, throwing them around the space, before chuckling darkly and reaching down. 

Which is when another familiar face, this time shaking and scared, appears on screen.

“No no please don’t-” Slime pleads, trying to scramble away from his grasp.

Technoblade huffs, dragging the other up with very minimal effort, that it’s a little terrifying, “Get up.”

“C’mon man,” Tommy chimes in from off screen, “this’ll be a lot easier if you just cooperate.”

Although it’s only been a minute since Slime had been found, he’s already a blubbering mess of no’s and pleads to be let go, and to not be hurt, “I don’t- I don’t wanna die.”

“You won’t be,” Technoblade says, grip still tight on the back of the other’s shirt, “But that’s also not your choice to make.”

A cold shiver runs down Wilbur’s spine as Technoblade looks dead in the camera, and the video ends; red eyes still boring into him, from beyond the screen. Silently, the phone is pulled away, leaving Wilbur staring at the floor where the device had once been.

“Do you understand now, Wilbur?” Phil asks, tone still condescending like he’s speaking to a child.

In turn, Wilbur scoffs, meeting Phil’s eyes, “Okay. Cool. So you’re threatening his life, to get what you want?”

“If it’s what must be done,” he responds, “But I wouldn’t call it threatening. More of an ultimatum.”

He rolls his eyes, “Prime, that’s low. Even for you, Phil.”

The other pays no mind to the comment, “It’s what must be done. Now, choose. It is their lives on the line.”

From across the circle, Wilbur looks between each of the other vampires; all with equally cold expressions. It’s like they’re trying to hide how they really feel about the situation. Though Tommy is doing the worst job at it, a mixture of both excitement about finally being able to get out of this place, and guilt at what it’s come to get to that point.

Niki too seems to be remorseful, face bowed as she tries to hide her current expression.

And then there’s Quackity, who’s life also hangs in Wilburs hands; still with an irritable expression plastered all over his face, despite the fact that there is a knife to his throat.

The two’s eyes meet.

“Hey. Wilbur. Hey man, listen,” Quackity begins, tone way too calm for his current situation. Despite that, he can see the beads of sweat rolling down the other's forehead, “Me and Slime, we’ll- we’ll be fine. Just don’t let him win.”

“They’ll kill you both,otherwise, “he tries to reason.

Quackity rolls his eyes, “Didn’t you hear him. We’re gonna die anyway, this is just- call it speeding up the process.”

“Bastard. Not for me you’re not,” he spits, “Duck!”

In one swift movement, Wilbur swings his sword upwards and cuts straight into the flesh on Technoblade’s forearm; causing him to stumble backwards and let go of his hostage in the process. He hears the crowd still surrounding them gasps in horror, along with some shocked screams mixed into the sound. The people closest to the vampires take a few steps back, and others begin to disperse out of the building.

However, as Technoblade moves, so does his knife; rising in defence, and subsequently catching on the side of Quackity’s face. From what Wilbur can see, it narrowly misses his eye, but does slice a decent chunk of his face and eyebrow, which begin to bleed.

“AHHHH FUCK! SHIT! FUCK! YOU FUCKING BASTARD!” He curses, gripping his face as blood begins to seep through the gaps in his fingers; staining the already hideous carpet below.

Technoblade, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be phased at all, aside from the initial shock of being attacked. The fabric of his white, poet's shirt is ripped, but the wound below it is quickly healing over right before Wilbur’s very eyes.

Finally, the commotion- along with Quackity still repeated cursing- draws the attention of nearby security; who start pushing the crowd further back and ushering them out of the lobby. But they’re an immovable force. The few who don’t fear for their lives are still trying to stick around to witness the outcome of the oncoming fight.

Meanwhile, back in the central circle, Wilbur stands with his sword held with precision; a shared glare between him and Technoblade. Opposite him, the other stands tall, throwing down the blooded knife and pulling out a sword from the sheath on his belt; now ready to attack.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Wilbur,” he growls, baring his fangs as he takes a step forward.

“If it’s what must be done,” he says, repeating Phil’s previous words, “I’ve made my choice.”

“You have,” Phil states, his words feeling icy cold and echoing in Wilbur’s ears. 

There's only a short window of action for Wilbur to avoid the attack; rushing out of the way of the sharp end of Technoblade’s sword as a gust of air whooshes past him. The other moves inhumanly fast. Far faster than Wilbur is used to, when he’d previously spared with his version of Technoblade. 

He’s a little unsteady on his feet, rusty from a lack of practice over the last decade of his life. Wilbur’s eyes are blown wide, mouth hanging open as he breathes heavily; adrenaline running laps through his veins. 

Now crouched on the floor, Quackity is behind him still holding his face; though the utter fear of Technoblade attacking seems to have shocked him out of his pained, screaming phase. Some of the blood on his hands has begun to dry, but some still drips down his chin and onto the carpet.

Wilbur only has a few seconds to glance at the other, before Technoblade is turning around with a loud huff. If smoke could exhale from his nostrils, it absolutely would at that moment.

This time, he’s a little more prepared for when Technoblade charges next; raising his sword to block the attack. The CLINK of the metal clashing echo’s around the lobby; mutters and gasps erupting, each time someone moves.

Speaking of, the spectating crowd has now moved back further, allowing more space for the two to fight in. The hotel security is still trying to get them to vacate the premises, but that appears to be tough when the majority of the people are already at the establishment, wasting their lives. So the events of tonight are definitely more exciting than whatever else Las Nevadas has to offer.

“Just say the word, Wilbur,” Technoblade tells him, forcing his sword down and causing the other to bend backwards further, to accommodate for the weight, “And I’ll stop.”

“There’s no reason for this, Techno,” he pleads, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to push back.

“There’s every reason for this,” the other responds, adding more pressure.

“Believe me, there’s not.”

“Hey!”

Both parties head whip to the side, from where the new voice has come from. Only to see that Quackity is no longer cowering on the floor behind Wilbur, but is now on his feet with a blade held to Tommy’s throat. He has him pulled far enough down and backwards, that the other’s spine may snap; ending with Tommy on the floor on his ass.

From where the blade is touching the vampire's throat, his skin is sizzling and welts are beginning to develop; a fearful look on his face.

It’s pure silver.

“Quackity, what’re you doing?” Wilbur hisses, but the others attention remains on Technoblade.

“You’re making a mistake, Quackity,” Technoblade warns, clearly angry at Quackity and concerned for Tommy’s safety.

From the corner of his eye, Wilbur sees Phil beginning to move; from where he’d been spectating the fight, like it was some sort of cheap entertainment. Coincidentally, Quackity also seems to notice the movement.

“No one fucking move,” he spits, eyebrows furrowed in anger and teeth bared. Physically, he’s not as threatening as being up against a vampire that could rip you in two, with their bare hands. But the fact that he has something that could end Tommy’s life, pressed right into his jugula, then his threat level has gone from zero to one hundred; as far as the other vampires are concerned.

Tommy cries out in pain as the knife is pressed further into his skin; causing smoke to rise from the affected areas. “Ah fuck! What the fuck’re you playing at, man?” He directs to Quackity, then locks eyes with Phil, “Phiiiil, do something.”

“Let him go,” Technoblade demands, and in a moment of vulnerability he loosens his pressure on Wilbur’s sword; allowing the other to push him away and regain his footing.

Quackity grins sadistically, the bloody injury on his face only adding to his outwardly freakish appearance, “Give us back Slime, and the get the fuck out of my establishment. Then I’ll let him live.”

“We’re not leaving without him,” Phil chimes in.

“Well, that’s gonna be a problem because…” he pushes the blade in even further, causing a few beads of blood to begin dripping down Tommy’s neck.

“Ow! Fuck! SHIT! Stop it, you bastard!” He calls out, beads of sweat sliding off his forehead.

“Tick Tock,” the other still smiles, and it’s hard for Wilbur to not see any reminicents of a Quackity he once knew, in the other’s monstrous smile.

Prime, is it alluring.

“You’re fucking mental, you,” Tommy still protests, despite the fact that it’s his life on the line. “An absolutely mad, crazy son of a bitch. If I didn’t have a knife to my throat, I’d kill you. I’d actually do it. I don’t care how much Wilbur cares about you, I’ll tear you limb from limb.”

“Those sure are fighting words, from someone moments away from death.”

“Oi!! Ah! Okay okay fine,” he winces.

“You should leave,” Wilbur now commands.

“Not without Tommy.”

“Then return Slime to us.”

“Well, it looks like we’ve come to a stand still,” Phil says.

“So we have,” Wilbur agrees, holding up his sword, “Put away your weapon Techno. Once you give us back Slime, then Quackity will let him go. Then you leave.”

With a grunt of annoyance, Technoblade rolls his eyes and reluctantly sheaths his weapon; arms held up in defence. He takes a few steps back, now standing next to Phil, “Should I-”

“No,” Phil cuts him off, a hard stare on his face; Wilbur can see the anger seething beneath it.

“But what about Tommy?” He asks, confusion creeping in.

The other doesn’t pay him any attention, instead keeping his eyes forward and tilting his head, “You know this means war, right?”

Wilbur doesn’t say anything.

“You have twelve hours. Consider yourselves lucky that we’re even giving you time to prepare, because it would be easy for me alone to kill everyone in this room right now,” Phil then turns his attention to Tommy, expression softening, “We’ll be back, don’t worry.”

“Phil, please,” the other begs, tears welling up in his eyes; the reality of the situation finally setting in for him.

“If you hurt him. Your friend is as good as dead.”

In the back of Wilbur’s mind he thinks, “I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to,”. Though he doesn’t say it outloud, because if he does he knows that they would lose the upper hand that they barely have on the vampires.

“The same goes for Slime,” Quackity pipes up, instead.

With a tight smile and a curt nod, Phil’s harsh glare doesn’t waver as he beckons for the currently free vampires to follow him; the sea of people that had stayed to watch the situation, parting for a smooth exit. A few stragglers push their way forwards, also trailing behind the trio, and it isn’t lost on Quackity nor Wilbur that it hadn’t been just the main vampires in the room.

That they could have stepped in at any time, but didn’t.

Like this was all just fun and games to them.

Only once they’re out of the doors, does the screaming and shouting and overall chaos begin. Leaving a very shaken up Wilbur, still partially bleeding Quackity, and one terrified Tommy amidst the mayhem.

Chapter Text

From the start, Niki should have known that this was all a bad idea. When Technoblade had approached her, with information regarding a new member of their coven that had shown up out of nowhere, and who needed help, then it had sounded too good to be true. Rarely does the universe ever gift vampiric covens new members, so this was something that she absolutely had to be a part of.

Running her own branch of The Syndicate had been fun, but Niki had been growing restless for something new. Something exciting. And all she had to do was get herself a job at Las Nevadas, and to keep an eye on their target; feeding back helpful information to Phil and Techno.

Nothing one hundred percent new, Niki knew how this would all play out.

Eventually, they would use that information against him.

Breaking down his ties to all the people and the places that he loves, until The Syndicate is the only option left.

Then he would become one of them, completely.

But then Niki had realised that maybe, for the first time since she had joined the coven, they were wrong.

Wilbur was actually happy about his life. He had friends, a job, and a secure place to live.

Technoblade had told Niki that the other was sad. That he was working for the sake of having something to occupy his time, and to keep his mind off the pain that he felt as a half-turned vampire.

That he was lonely.

And that he needed them, but was being held back by humans.

Niki had never thought that Technobalde would ever lie to her.

It was because of that, that Niki believes is why their plan had fallen apart completely. Tommy had been taken hostage by the very same person that she had been told was practically harmless. And now things have spiralled out of control.

After leaving the hotel, the remaining Syndicate members had raced to their car, with the local vampires that they’d brought with them for backup following suit; dispersing once they passed through the doors. Which was fine, it wasn't like any of them had actually done anything. 

Most of them were just there for a good time, wanting to see the inside of a building that they had been banned from; with the added bonus of watching lowly humans try to square up to a group of high-ranking vampires.

“You should stay, Niki,” Phil had directed her, “We’ll be back with more men, and more weapons. But I want you to keep watch over the prisoner, and make sure that they don’t do anything to Tommy. If you can get to him before we get back, do that.”

“On my own?” Niki had asked, wishing that she could revel in the trust that was being put in her, but she couldn’t help from letting guilt creep into her veins.

“Of course,” he’d nodded, putting a hand on her shoulder, “You’re perfect for it.”

From the passenger side of the car, Technoblade pipes up, “We wouldn’t trust anyone else.”

“Okay,” she finds herself smiling, “I’ll try my best.”

Patting her shoulder, Phil also smiled as he finally climbed into the car; the engine roared as Niki was quickly left standing on the pavement, watching the vehicle disappear amongst the millions of lights of the surrounding city.

———

Sneaking around the casino is a lot more of a difficult task, now that pretty much everyone who works there knows that she is involved with the same vampires that are hours away from turning the entire building on its head. She had grown used to the constant stares or worried glances that would be thrown on her, just in her daily life.

If she was ever spotted somewhere where she shouldn’t have been, then she would simply say that she “ got lost ”, or was “ running an errand ”.

But now people know who she is, so everything that she does is automatically suspicious.

And hypnotising practically every person that she comes across is getting rather tiring.

Especially since there is an increasing number of people in the corridors, running around like headless chickens, leading up to where she can feel that Tommy is being held. The pull of their coven bond is getting stronger and stronger, the further into the staff areas of Las Nevadas that she goes; feeling it deep within her chest, warm and burning.

Ironically, it appears that wherever they’re keeping Tommy, is not too far away from where The Syndicate currently have their hostage; in one of the many identical storage rooms in the basement of the building.

Right. Then left. Then right again. Another right… hold on no, go back. Okay, keep going forward. It’ll be a miracle if Niki can find her way out of here, once she gets Tommy back.

Finally, she stops at the end of another dead-end corridor. Only, this time, does it have a person standing in front of one of the doors; wearing a security guard uniform and looking poised.

That’s the room.

Unfortunately, before Niki can come up with a plan of attack- metaphorical or literal, she hasn’t decided yet- he notices her presence.

“Hey!” The security guard shouts at her, “What’re you doing down here?”

“I- uhhh I got lost?” She lies.

He fixes her with a confused look. She’s seen him around the hotel. What was his name? Fearless? No, Forgetful? Not that either, but it was something along those lines… Foolish? Yeah, that sounds about right.

The golden highlights in his hair glimmer in the cold light of the space, as he tilts his head to the side and then points, “Oh… well, if you turn around and take a left and then a right, you should be back to the main area.”

Niki doesn’t move.

“Everyone's leaving, y’know?” She asks, instead, “Why are you still down here?!

“Ah ah I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

Smiling, she rolls her eyes, beginning to stalk forwards, “Actually, I think that it is.”

Without hesitation, Foolish pulls a silver crucifix from where it’s hanging around his neck and holds it in her direction. It makes her flinch slightly, mostly out of surprise, and then she feels any exposed skin beginning to burn; ignoring it in pursuit of her main objective.

If anything, it just serves to encourage her even more.

Rushing forwards, Niki flexes her now exposed claws and practically launches herself at the other; just narrowly managing to scratch part of his face, before she’d thrown away. He hisses in pain, dropping the crucifix as a hand comes up to clutch at the cuts on his cheek, which allows her to snap the chain and send it flying away from the two of them; landing somewhere back down the corridor.

“What the fuck?!” Foolish cries, “That really hurt!”

Throwing him a cold stare, she responds, “Good. It was meant to.”

Then, just beyond where the other is standing, from behind the metal door loud bangs echo out into the narrow corridor.

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

And then, “Niki!?” Tommy’s voice calls from the other side, a mixture of excitement and worry mixing his tone.

“Tommy!” She shouts back, “Are you okay? Have they hurt you?!”

“No. No, I’m okay,” he tells her, voice muffled slightly by the door, “It’s dark as shit in ‘ere, though.”

Hearing that he’s okay, Niki sighs with relief, “I’ll get you out of there soon, just hold on.”

From in front, practically forgotten during the quick interaction, Foolish laughs in her face, “Good luck. Because you’ll have to get past me first to do just that.”

Again, Niki considers her options. Does she really want to fight this guy? A little bit, yeah. It’s been a while since she got to let off steam like this. All it would take is one wrong move, on his part, and she could rip this guy's throat out; her mouth watering and fangs beginning to grow at just the thought.

But who knows what other weapons this guy has on him. He already has the crucifix, so it’s clear that he came prepared to guard the door. If he has a stake or a bottle of holy water hidden somewhere on him, then it’s all over for her.

Plus, she’d be completely outnumbered, if he were to call for help.

Niki doesn’t know if she wants to take that risk.

“Alright look,” she begins, looking him straight in the eyes, “what if we come to a compromise, instead?”

Foolish stands firm, arms crossed over his chest, “Like what?”

“Well, I know where The Syndicate are holding your friend. In fact,” she fishes around in her pocket, “I have the key to unlock the room that he is in.”

“Go on…” he appears intrigued.

“You want your friend back, and I want Tommy,” she states, “So, how about an equal exchange?”

Silence follows her offer, only the buzzing of the lights above and the batted breathing from beyond the metal door filling the air. For what it’s worth, the security guard seems to be considering her offer; humming as his eyes look from side to side, as though he’s sorting out his thoughts.

“And how do I know that this isn’t just some sort of cruel trick, to get me to leave your friend alone, so someone else can come in and snatch him, whilst I’m not looking?” He asks, pointing at the door behind him.

“What?” Niki tilts her head.

He continues, nodding, “Yeah, because, if you ask me, then this would be a perfect situation to stab me in the back. How do I know you're goin’ to hold up your end of this deal?”

“Seriously? I’m- I’m putting a lot on the line here. I’m betraying my coven, and their trust! I’m betraying my own people,” she explains, feeling herself becoming more and more heated, “There’s no going back from this, for me. I’ll be cast out, just for helping your guys out. Do you think that I want to lose everything? Of course I don’t, but the guilt it’s- it’s too much,” she wipes away a tear from her eye, “...It’s too much.”

Again, the quiet return. And even through the door, Niki can feel Tommy’s eyes staring at her.

“I’m gonna be honest, Niki,” he begins, “it’s not like Phil and Techno have any right to be mad at you, for this. I mean, they fucking left me behind. At least you’re actually trying to make this right, instead of just escalating shit.”

“I guess...”

“And, y’know, if you’re that worried about being kicked out, you can just, like, walk away and not risk it. They’ll come and get me, eventually,” the faint sound of knuckles cracking can be heard, as Tommy’s tone becomes more angry, “Then I can actually give them a taste of my fucking mind.”

His comment makes her smile, “Thanks Tommy. But I- we’ve gone too far now. I’m just trying to make things right.”

“I know.”

“Awwww,” Foolish coos, no amount of malice in his tone; genuinely touched by the short interaction, “Alright, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go along with your plan. But I’ll have to check in with Quackity about it,” he tells her, “But yeah! I mean, I’m down for doing that.”

“Really?”

He nods, “Yeah man.”

“Great!”

“Cool. I’m just gonna call him now, if that’s alright with you?”

“Go ahead,” she smiles, “I mean, you’ve got a lot more on the line here, than me so…”

“Hey!” Tommy shouts in annoyance, “I can hear you both, y’know! I’m just as important- if not more important than anyone in this building right now!”

Chapter Text

Wilbur feels like he hasn’t slept a wink all night. Even though he knows that he did, because he’d woken up in the last place he’d passed out; on the couch in Quackity’s office. Notes of plans and names of associates still sitting in his lap, though the papers are strewn all over the place.

Quackity, on the other hand, looks like he hasn’t slept a wink; and it’s probably true. The left side of his face is now completely bandaged up, courtesy of himself; you don’t live through multiple wars and conflicts, and not learn how to properly dress any type of wound. But the markings on the other side suggest that he definitely passed out at his desk, doing the same thing that Wilbur had. 

He’s already up and is pacing around the room, his phone to his ear, when Wilbur finally wakes.

“-yes, I know that, but if you could just… well, what about… no no wait, don’t- Fuck!” He only catches the end of the conversation, but can take a guess at what it was about. Either it was with an investor, an insurance company, or he was trying to get people on his side in the fight against The Syndicate.

Wilbur doesn’t move, watching as Quackity continues to stalk back and forth; incoherent mumbles and grumbles escaping from his throat as he does. It isn’t until he sits up, groaning at the way his body protests and his head feels like it’s being split open, that he catches the others attention.

“Good, you’re finally up,” he says, only glancing at him before turning away, picking up another piece of paper and typing a number into his phone.

“Mmm 'morning,” Wilbur yawns, “What time is it?”

Quackity doesn’t verbally respond, he just points to the clock on the wall, whose hands read 3:15 AM. Less than four hours to the attack. Soft orange light flows in through the small office window. The sky outside is clear and dark- the perfect time environment for a vampire attack.

“Right,” he says, “I’m- uh- You want food? I’m kinda hungry.”

“Yeah, sure,” Quackity waves him off, already holding the phone back up to his ear, attention quickly turning away from Wilbur as he begins to speak again, “Hello… Hi, yes I’d like to know what-”

Wilbur stops paying attention to the one sided conversation after that. Pushing himself up from the couch, bones crunching and cracking and neck stiff, as he does so. He throws another look over his shoulder, still seeing Quackity standing in the middle of the room, growing more and more frantic and stressed; sighing as he finally exits the room, into the creepily silent casino.

———

“I don’t know, man,” Quackity is still on the phone when Wilbur steps foot back into the room; though, this time he appears a lot more relaxed. Not to say that he isn’t still radiating frustrated energy, but at least he has stopped pacing. 

Setting down the plate that he’d brought back with him, he takes a seat back on the sofa.

“I don’t know if we can- Yeah, I know that, you already said. It’s just…” he pauses, rotating his wrist as he thinks of what to say, “there’s always something else with them… Okay. Okay yeah. Yeah, take a stake with you, and don’t let yourself get jumped. Good luck… yeah. Yep, alright. Bye. Bye.”

“Who was that?” Wilbur asks, once the other finally pulls the phone away from his ear; any more time spent on it, and it might become a permanent part of his body.

Quackity sighs, “Foolish. Niki apparently wants to make a deal for Tommy, in exchange for Slime.”

“Just like that?” He questions, “That seems too… easy.”

“That’s exactly what I thought,” the other confirms, "But… What other choice do we have? We don’t know where Slime is. Or what state that he’s even in. If The Syndicate are offering a fair exchange, we might as well take it.”

“And what if it’s not?”

Pinching his brow, he huffs, “Can we- Can we not talk about this right now, Wilbur? There’s not a lot of time left, and I still need to figure out what the fuck to do about you.”

“About me?” Wilbur echoes, confused.

“Yes you! Wilbur, you have to leave,” Quackity urges, “Take- Get in a cab and tell them to take you to the airport or the train station, I don’t care. Just get out of here.”

“What? No!” He retorts, standing, “I’m not leaving. Not again.”

“They want you, ” he points, frantically, “And if they get you, they’re not gonna let you go. Vampires are possessive shits, and once they turn you then they won’t let you out of their sight for years.”

“And what about you?!” He asks, eyes blown wide, “If I’m not here, then they’ll kill you just to get to me. Quackity, you can’t stay either.”

The other sighs, head bowing, “I don’t have a choice. I have to. Someone has to keep Las Nevadas running. I’ve got people here relying on me.”

“What people?” Wilbur explodes, “All of you customers left at the first sign of danger. We- we told them to leave. There’s only a few of your staff left.”

Quackity looks at him in horror and confusion, “What?”

Wilbur sighs, rubbing his face exhaustedly, “You saw it. When The Syndicate first announced their attack, people started leaving. After that, we- I told everyone else to leave too. There’s only a handful of people left,” he chuckles, “I’ve got to hand it to them, they’re loyal as shit to you.”

Aside from the two of them, only two other people remain in the building: Foolish and Slime, for obvious reasons.

Purpled was gone with the others. Sam hadn’t shown up that day. And Fundy had wanted to stay, but Wilbur had urged him to leave; not wanting to see his son become injured or die, again. He was gone with the others, after helping to completely clear out the building.

The other doesn’t respond, instead he continues to stare at Wilbur for a few seconds; seemingly looking for the lies in his explanation, or for him to say that he’s joking. But when nothing comes, he turns away; eyes focusing on his desk as he flops back into his chair.

Silence hangs between them, Quackity having now turned his chair away from Wilbur so he faces the wall instead. From across the room, the other hears him sigh in defeat; and he can picture the look on his face.

“Quackity, listen-” Wilbur begins, but is quickly cut off.

“You went behind my back,” he mutters, still facing away.

“Yeah, I did. And I’m not gonna apologise for it,” he remains firm in his decision; this was his problem to deal with, no more people need to be involved. Last time that happened, well… it didn’t exactly end well for anyone. “But I’m sure you can understand why I-”

“You went behind my back,” Quackity’s tone is more firm this time, “You gave an order that was not yours to give, Wilbur.”

“So what?” He fires back, approaching the desk, “I’m trying to help you here. Having hundreds of innocent deaths on your property won’t help your business in the future. That is, if you even survive to keep it running!”

“Of course I will!” Quackity spins back around in his chair, and resumes standing, “There’s no way I’m losing this. I have-”

“You have no one, Quackity,” Wilbur cuts him off, it comes out a lot harsher than it should have. But it was also the only way that he may listen to him, “No one’s coming to help. And you can’t do this on your own. So just- just stop trying.”

The anger on the other’s face remains, stalking around his desk and now standing directly in front of Wilbur, “Stop trying? Stop. Trying!?” He half laughs-half shouts, “Never. I’ve put too much on the line to give up now.”

Rolling his eyes, Wilbur sighs, “You’ve always been too stubborn for your own good, Quackity.”

“And how the fuck would you know that?” He questions, jabbing Wilbur in the chest with his finger, “You just showed up one day, and you think you know everything about me?!”

“Because I do!” Wilbur retorts, “You’re like me. You’re too stubborn for your own good. You put your heart and soul into everything… but you can never win. Quackity, I may not know you, but I’ve known a version of you. And, no matter what he did, he could only stay on top for so long, before falling victim to his own hubris.

And- and I’m not going to sit back, and let that happen to you again.”

In the midst of his rant, Wilbur’s hands have found purchase on Quackity’s shoulders; gripping hard onto them, creasing the fabric. Rarely does he ever cry in front of people, but over the years he has found it difficult to not do so, when confronted by certain people.

The list is short. But aside from his family, Quackity had somehow weaved himself on it.

So the feeling of tears pricking his eyes- either out of worry of frustration, directed towards the other- has become a familiar one.

Similarly, Quackity stares at him; still searching Wilbur’s face for any sign of a falsehood in his statement. But, currently, the other is an open book with all of his contents on display and printed in bold lettering.

His arms drop to his sides, hanging limply as he holds their gaze for as long as Wilbur allows. At which point Quackity sighs and leans forwards to rest his forehead on the other's chest. Exhaustion from stress, a lack of sleep and food, and their argument just now, finally catching up to him.

A few more unmoving seconds pass, before Wilbur wraps his arms around the other’s back and pulls him into a hug.

It’s something that feels long overdue, and creates a short moment of peace for the two to exist in. A weight then settles itself on the top of his head, which he can only assume to be the other’s own. They stay like that, just for a bit. Until a sigh once again escapes from Quackity’s lips and he’s pulling away.

“Thanks,” he tells Wilbur, who also takes a step back; seemingly realising what he’d just confessed and done. Almost as though he is embarrassed to have admitted that he holds some care for Quackity.

Getting them back on track, Wilbur turns his attention to his wrist watch, then double-checks the time on the clock hanging over Quackity’s door. “We’ve got a minimum of three hours now,” he says, voice low.

Quackity doesn’t respond, but there’s already a radiating feeling of defeat coming off him.

Then, Wilbur has an idea.

“Come with me,” he says, eyes still on the clock.

“What?” Quackity asks.

He turns to meet the other’s eyes, “Quackity, come with me. Away from all of this. Let The Syndicate attack, we can be long gone by the time they get here.”

“But what about-”

“Let’s get a train to somewhere. Anywhere!” Wilbur continues, now pacing, “We can start anew, wherever we end up. Just come with me.”

“Wilbur, The Syndicate aren’t going to stop looking for you,” Quackity explains, “The only place safe for you is back where you came from.”

Wilbur stops and shakes his head, “I can never go back there. Not after how I left. Not after who I left. I’m willing to run from this now, Quackity. But not without you. I’m not leaving you behind, again.”

Turning his head, Quackity looks to the wall next to his desk. Still hanging on it are framed photos and newspaper clipping about the opening of his casino and hotel. One of the images depicts him standing in front of the casino, a pair of scissors in hand as he prepared to cut the red ribbon to announce its grand opening.

Wilbur is in that photo, standing next to Slime, who is beaming; along with the rest of the staff.

“Do you mean it?” Quackity mutters.

“Hm?”

“That you won’t leave me behind?” He re-words the question, meeting Wilbur’s eyes.

“Of course I do,” Wilbur nods.

Quackity takes another look at the wall, before his shoulders sag, “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Go and grab anything you wanna take with you,” he instructs Wilbur, as he himself moves behind his desk and begins opening draws, “If you see anyone else who’s left, tell them to leave. Meet me in the parking lot in an hour… I’ve got some shit to sort out here, first.”

With a curt nod, Wilbur is out of the door to make a beeline straight for his apartment, when Quackity calls out his name.

“And Wilbur?”

“Yeah?” He spins around in the doorway, to see the other quickly crossing the room towards him. He doesn’t process fully what’s happening, even as Quackity pulls him downwards into a chaste kiss. Wilbur feels all of his internal organs jump in surprise, settling just as quickly as the connection lasts- when the other takes a step back and stares straight at his speechless face.

“Don’t die.”

———

Exactly an hour later, the two find themselves putting their bags into the back of Quackity’s car. It’s one of the only vehicles left in the underground carpark, creating an eerie feeling of isolation in the space.

A sense of deja-vu had hit Wilbur, as he’d crossed the now empty lobby after gathering his stuff. The last time that he remembers Las Nevadas being this empty, was when he'd first gotten there; when the concept of vampires and alternate realities, wasn’t even a thought that crossed his mind.

He wishes he could go back to that.

He also wishes that he had some sort of amazing plan of action to combat the impending attack.

But his days of war planning are far behind him. And all Wilbur wants is to just live a peaceful life again.

“That better be everything,” Quackity says, staring at the surprisingly little luggage in the boot of his car.

Since beginning his life at Las Nevadas, Wilbur still hadn’t accumulated much to his name, even after his and Slime’s shopping spree; a lot of it that he was fine with leaving behind.

There were truly only a few things he cared about having in his possession. Items of sentimental value, if you will. His small suitcase sits next to Quackity’s, with a duffle bag sitting on top. Wilbur’s guitar lies safely across the backseats of the car, where he can keep a careful eye on it.

“It better be,” Wilbur jokes, “Not like I want to go back up there.”

Quackity hums, hand raised to close the car boot, “Let’s get going, then.”

The other nods, preparing to head to the passenger seat, when a voice calls out from behind, “Wait!”

The two freeze in panic, heads whipping around to see where the echoing voice had come from. A mutual first thought that the vampires had arrived early, and had cornered them far too easily. Going out without any fighting spirit, in a shitty parking garage, beneath a grand hotel, was not how Wilbur expected to lose his… fourth life.

But when they look, to their surprise they find Slime and Foolish running towards them; backpacks and duffle bags hiked over their shoulders.

“Wha- Slime, you’re okay!” Quackity exclaims, embracing the other in a hug, before quickly pulling back, “What’re you guys doing here? You need to get the hell away.”

Still breathing heavily and sweating, Slime frowns, “Las Nevadas is my home. I have nowhere else to go.”

Ah fuck, Wilbur had failed to consider that, when he was telling people to get as far away from Las Nevadas as possible. He hadn’t even considered how many other staff members lived within the hotel, who had to find somewhere to stay for the foreseeable future, until the attack was all over.

“Fuck,” Wilbur hisses, “Sorry about all of this, Slime.”

He half expected Slime to respond with a snarky comment. Cursing him out for putting him in danger and letting him get kidnapped and held hostage. Or for just ruining his life, by making his home the subject of a vampiric attack. But instead, the other only smiles, “It’s okay, Wilbur Soot.”

“And what about you, Foolish?” Quackity turns his attention towards the other new arrival, “Don’t you have a home outside of the hotel?”

Foolish sighs, “Yeahhh. But it’s kinda boring there. I was gonna go, but Slime said that he was gettin’ out of here, and I’ve been looking for a new adventure. I thought I might tag along, and then we found you guys, so… the more the merrier.”

Quackity rubs his face, “Foolish, you do understand that if either of you come with us, it’s putting you at risk of being killed by The Syndicate?”

“Yeah, but doesn’t staying in the city also do that?” He shrugs, “Might as well make the most of it, before we all die. Right?”

“I guess you’re right,” Quackity says, “Alright, put your shit in the trunk and get in the car. We need to leave right now.”

“I hope you guys don’t mind sitting with my guitar,” Wilbur chuckles, beginning to turn towards the car when his eyes catch on two silhouettes standing at the entrance to the car park. To him they’re haunting shadows of two people that he let down the most, to everyone else they’re an immediate threat. “What’re they doing here?” He points just beyond Slime’s shoulder.

The rest of the group turn to where he’s looking, and only Quackity appears surprised by the new presences.

“Oh don’t worry about them,” Slime says, “They just wanted to make sure that we got out of here.”

“Why would they do that?” Quackity asks.

The other shrugs, “I d’know. But they were adamant on it.”

Foolish hums in agreement, “Yeah. I think it’s the guilt. Niki was pretty broken up about that.”

“So what? They’re just gonna stand there and wait for us to leave?”

“I’ll- I’ll talk to them,” Wilbur says, not waiting for a response as he begins walking away from the group, “You guys get the car ready.”

From behind he hears Quackity hiss out his name, trying to call him back to the group, followed by Slime and Foolish’s reassurance of, “Let him. They’re not here for him. Not anymore. ”

Tommy and Niki don’t so much as move as he approaches them, not even their expressions change from beyond neutral; almost like they’re statues. Despite his insistence on the other’s getting ready to leave, Wilbur can still feel their eyes on him; watching in anticipation for the meeting to go sideways.

“Hey guys,” Wilbur greets, now standing in front of the two, “What’re you still doing here?”

“We just wanted to make sure you friends got here safely,” Tommy tells him, “They’re actually pretty cool people. I kinda wish this had, y’know, gone differently.”

“Me to,” he sighs.

“And I wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, for all of this, Wilbur,” Niki apologises. Her once stoic expression morphing into one of remorse, “I’d take this all back, if I could. We should have never taken it this far.”

From beside her, Tommy sets a hand on her shoulder, “Hey hey, it’s okay. I’ve got your back, okay? I mean, yeah this is gonna piss Phil and Techno off, like, a fuck-ton. But they’re also the idiots that decided to wage a war against a fuckin’ casino. So, look on the bright side, at least you’re not that stupid.”

“I- I guess? But I- I don’t know…” she trails off.

“What’re you talking about?” Wilbur asks, clearly missing some context.

Tommy sighs, “We’ve both decided that all of this,” he gestures into the air, “is fucked up. We don’t wanna be a part of it anymore. Phil and Techno abandoned me here, too wound up in getting revenge. Honestly, it’s so dumb.

Plus, when they find out that Slime got out and that you all managed to get away, they’ll probably banish Niki from the coven. I- I can’t let them do that, not in good conscience.”

“So we’re leaving too,” Niki adds on.

“Yeah,” Tommy pulls the other vampire in by an arm wrapped around her shoulders, “Just me and Niki, against the world. Also Tubbo and Ranboo, because I ain’t leaving them two behind with those dick’eads.”

To his own surprise, Wilbur finds himself smiling; both out of proudness and also sadness. Another version of Tommy is about to lose his home, and some of his closest people because of him. It seems inevitable, in every universe. At least this time he won’t be all entirely alone.

“That’s- I’m really happy for you guys,” he settles on, placing a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, “And I’m proud of you, Tommy. Look at you, you’re all grown up.”

“Fuck off, man,” he laughs, “Now I know I’m defo older than you, you can’t say shit about me being, like, a little kid or sommet anymore.”

“That’s true,” Wilbur nods, “Old man.”

“Oh fuck you!”

The duo’s laughter is broken off abruptly by the honking of a car horn, and when they look back to the group of humans, they have finished loading all of their stuff into the car, including themselves. Quackity is standing with the driver's side door open, leaning against the car as he shouts over to them, “C’mon, Wilbur. We’ve gotta go.”

“Just a minute,” he shouts back, turning back to the two vampires, “Y’know, if you guys are looking to get away, you could always come with us. I’m sure we could fit you into the car, somehow.”

“Thanks for the offer, Wil,” Tommy says, “But we’ve got some unfinished business, first.”

Niki nods, “Yeah. But, hey, maybe we’ll see each other again, in the future?”

“That’s a nice thought,” Wilbur smiles, “Well… I guess this is goodbye. Again.”

“Again?” They both say in unison.

“Again for me,” he clarifies, memories flashing in his mind in quick succession, “It’s a lot to explain, so I’ll just leave it at that.”

“You’re a weird fucking person, you know that, right?” Tommy chuckles.

“I’ve been told… I- uh… Goodluck, you two.”

“Thanks man,” he nods, “And to you too. Hopefully you can outrun those fuckers.”

“Thank you, Wilbur,” Niki also tells him, “I’m so sorry that it came to all of this, just- Thank you. Seriously, we don’t deserve it.”

Wilbur shrugs, unable to find it in himself to be upset at them; just pawns in the plans of others. “It's all water under the bridge. But I should really get going, and so should you.”

“Yeah. See ya, mate,” Tommy waves, as he and Niki ascend back up the car park and finally out of sight.

Besides him, Quackity’s car pulls up, the window rolling down, “It’s time to go.”

He continues to stare at the point that they’d disappeared from, for just a few more seconds before finally rounding the vehicle and climbing into the drivers side seat; Foolish and Slime thankfully having clambered into the backseats, along with all of their stuff.

“Ready to go?” Quackity then asks, looking at him with a certain softness in his eyes; as if there’s anything else that could possibly be done to better the mood in the car.

There isn’t.

“Yeah,” Wilbur nods, “Let’s go.”

———

“Alright, here’re your tickets,” Quackity appears back on the train platform, handing out small, rectangular pieces of paper to each of them. Taking his own, Wilbur notices how old the tickets seem to be; brown in colour and fraying at the edges. Listed on them is a place that he doesn’t recognise, along with his own name and the ticket number.

“I’ve never seen a ticket like this, before,” Slime says what everyone else had been thinking.

Quackity nods, “Yeah, me too. I just asked the guy in there for four tickets going to the furthest place away from here, and he handed me those saying, “I hope you enjoy the island.” Which is kinda weird, if you ask me.”

“That’s really creepy,” Foolish chimes in, “Especially since they’ve got our names on them.”

“Yeah, I don’t know how that happened,” he says, “But he didn’t charge me for them, so that’s good.”

Not saying anything else, Quackity takes his seat as the other two go back to talking amongst themselves. As for Wilbur, he’s moved from staring down at the ticket, to staring at the platform of the train station. Its concrete floors and metal benches are much like the ones that were present in his limbo; causing his brain to freak out a little.

But, unlike his limbo, the air is warm and it’s outside and there are other people here- not many, just the four of them- making the place not feel as isolated as he was, for those thirteen and a half years. 

It calms his nerves just a little.

A train has yet to pull into the station, though. And Wilbur isn’t too sure how his mind will react, to the haunting sound of the tracks rattling under the movement of it.

He takes a deep breath in, holding his hands tightly in his lap to steady them.

Quackity appears to notice.

“Hey man, you doing okay?” He asks from the seat beside him, bumping his shoulder into the other’s.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m just- how’re you?” He deflects the question, “Sorry about your face.”

The other shrugs, “Eh, I’ll live. Plus, now I’ve got a cool ass scar.”

“Mmmm yeah,” he hums, “Makes you even hotter.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Quackity laughs, once again knocking into Wilbur’s shoulder with his own, before his tone becomes more serious again, “Seriously though, you feeling okay? You’re looking a little pale… Well, more than usual.”

Wilbur chuckles, “I’m a little… nervous, is all. Y’know, about the,” he gestures to the tracks, “train.”

“What? Have you never been on one before?” He jabs. 

And Wilbur can’t really be mad at him for it. Quackity is probably just trying to take his mind off things. Trying to lighten the situation, by joking around like the two of them have come to do. Had this been his Quackity, Wilbur would have probably decked him in the face without a second thought; because he distinctly remembers a cold night in Las Nevadas, where Wilbur told Quackity about what he experienced in limbo.

But this wasn’t his Quackity, and he has no idea.

He sucks in a sharp breath, head tilting slightly to gaze at the tracks, “No- no I- I have. I just don’t have the best… memories with them.”

Moments later, Wilbur feels a hand gently resting itself on back. He knows it’s Quackity’s, which is why he keeps his head forwards; even as it begins moving in small, comforting circles. “You’ll be fine, Wilbur,” he says, “Once we’re onboard, you can pass out and not have to think about anything until we stop.”

“Yeah,” he nods, “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Good,” Quackity smiles, “Because I think I hear the train coming.

In the distance, the familiar sound of a train roaring down the tracks begins creeping towards them. 

It still causes all of Wilbur’s hairs to stand on end.

———

Wilbur wakes up still on the train, and still moving. There’s bright sunlight coming through the carriage window, shining directly in his face, where he’s been resting his head. Blearily, he rubs his face yawning, and takes a look around the rest of the space.

Across the table from him, also waking up, is a familiar looking man in blue-framed glasses. Wilbur gets a sense that he knows this person. But then there’s a creeping feeling that something is wrong. That there’s something or someone missing.

His rucksack and guitar are under the table and on the seat beside him, but Wilbur swears that there should be another person there, instead.

But he doesn’t have too long to dwell on it, as the rest of the carriage also seems to be waking up, and the overhead announcement sounds-

“Welcome to Quesadilla Island.”