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Outside Las Nevadas, Wilbur ruled the world. He controlled- by his and Niki’s estimations- 90% of all villain and other underworld activity, had the ear of quite literally every person across the country, and made his power know with frequent bombings and arson stunts.
But that was when he was Siren. Here, he wasn’t Siren. Here, he was Wilbur, or sometimes Persephone. And most importantly, he was Quackity’s. His sunrise.
This time, he’d made it all the way through into the casino and two rounds into a game of poker before Foolish appeared at his elbow. Miriam had already vanished, saying she had to meet a friend, and Wilbur had tried to not be disappointed. She was thirteen now. She had her own life, and it wasn’t just about her villain parents.
“Persephone-“
“One moment. I’m about to teach someone a very valuable lesson about putting their money where their mouth is.” As he spoke, he laid his hand, smirking as the woman’s face fell.
“Seriously, he is not happy he wasn’t told you were here….”
“Well, tell him you didn’t know either.”
“Persephone-“ There was a note of desperation in Foolish’s voice, enough to make Wilbur set his cards down and step away from the table, letting someone else step in to take his place.
Carefree, he tucked his hands in his pockets, raising his eyebrows at the healer in interest. He was teasing, really. It had become a game between him and Quackity. To see how long Wilbur could sneak around the casino before the shrike caught wind of it.
“I’m listening.”
“Good, because you’re also coming with me.”
Foolish grabbed his wrist, tugging his through the crowds of the gambling hall. Wilbur let him, chuckling. It was always funny to see someone more scared of Quackity than him. Not that he blamed them.
He nodded to the few fellow villains he recognised, clearly shocked to see him letting himself by dragged anywhere. He shrugged helplessly, mouthing ‘husbands’, then giggled to himself.
“May I ask-?”
“No. You can ask when I fear slightly less for my life.” Foolish sighed in the manner of a man who was far too harried to be running errands for two lovesick avians. “Which I appreciate may be never, but I chose this job.”
Laughing, Wilbur let himself enjoy the ride, revelling as always at the extravagant decor his shrike favoured, all gold accents and sparkling chandeliers.
Eventually, they were outside Quackity’s office, and Foolish let out a quiet sigh of relief.
“Its good to have you back, Persephone. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an actual job here, and it’s not to be your tour guide.”
The golden skinned man nodded in a brisk farewell before striding off like a man on a mission. Wilbur watched in amusement, then knocked on the door.
Before his knuckles had a chance to make contact a second time, it was wrenched open and he was treated to an excited chirp, then the full bodyweight of his husband as Quackity threw himself onto the magpie.
“Songbird! I heard you were back.”
“I think you traumatised Foolish, darling.” Wilbur hugged Quackity back, letting the shrike bury his face in the fallen heros neck as he made his way into the office, nudging the door at least mostly shut behind him. “But it’s good to see you.”
“I’m never letting you leave again.” Quackity spoke directly into Wilbur’s collar, still managing to make him laugh.
“I think there are a few people who would notice my absence.”
“Nope. I’m kidnapping you.” Finally letting go, Quackity slid down to the floor, and smoothed out his shirt like nothing had happened.
“M’kay. If you’re paying my ransom too, can you include another cheque, for me? I’m building another clinic.” He ruffled his shrike’s hair in mock sadness as Quackity huffed, crossing his arms and glaring.
“You are such a fucking sugar baby. I’m only giving you money under one condition.”
“And that is?”
“You let me spoil you tonight.” Quackity smirked, then reconsidered. “Actually, that’s not a request. Get changed, amor, I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Wilbur gasped in mock horror, glancing down at his outfit with exaggerated shock.
“Wow. Abuse of wealth much? And there’s nothing wrong with my clothes.”
“I’m rich, you’re fucking adorable in a suit. I see no problem with my terms.” Quackity raised an eyebrow and hit Wilbur lightly with his wing. “Come on, songbird, you’re losing the best husband competition to Ranboo.”
Wilburs second gasp turned into a laugh, and Quackity chuckled too, leading the way to their room.
As soon as they were inside- and he didn’t miss the way the shrike was careful to close the door behind him- Quackity shoved him lightly into the nest.
“Clothes off, please.”
“Shouldn’t you take me out to dinner first?”
Even without an explanation, he didn’t hesitate for long before shrugging off his coat and undoing his belt. But Quackity wasn’t looking anyway, too busy rummaging through a wardrobe.
“Are you asking for something, amor? Because you should know it’s never a good idea to tempt me…” Quackity was grinning as he perched the edge of the nest, a pile of clothes in his lap.
“Menace shrike.”
“Needy magpie.” The retort came easy to the villain, and Wilbur didn’t miss the way Quackity’s eyes didn’t leave him again until he was undressed, at which point the shrike handed him trousers, a waistcoat and a fresh shirt.
Once Wilbur was wearing clothes his husband deemed marginally more acceptable for a date, Quackity handed him a tie and jacket, then stood up to go over to his desk.
“Sunrise… do you have a jewellery box?” Wilbur half giggled as he fastened the tie.
“You know, I was going to let you off easy, but that comment gives me free rein to make you wear whatever I wish.” There was a quiet clinking of metal on metal, then Quackity sat back down next to Wilbur, and gestured for his hand. “I’ve got something different to your choker too, so you can take that off.”
A blush crept into Wilbur’s cheeks as he unfastened the leather strap with one hand, while Quackity slid rings onto the fingers of the other. The shrike paused when he saw their wedding ring, and hummed to himself.
“I’ll be honest songbird, I’m surprised you still wear this.”
“It’s my way of remembering you when I’m halfway across the country, sunrise.”
Wilbur pressed a kiss to Quackity’s forehead, smoothing over his husband’s brief melancholy.
Besides, it was a pretty ring. They’d spent a lot of time thinking about their rings, with input from almost anyone they could get their hands on. Quackity’s was- as to be expected- far more extravagant, a dark metal band of intertwining feathers creating an intricate, yet chunky pattern. A semicircle lined with diamonds arching over a heart shaped sapphire made it look like a sunrise, and small, thorn like vines of feathers curled around it, small enough not to distract from the motif, yet creating the overall effect of luxury.
Wilbur’s was… simpler. A curled feather of dull gold set with minuscule rubies set along the shaft rested on his ring finger, delicate music notes etched into the barbs. They’d agreed on the core themes together. Each other’s colours, set in each other’s metal, with a little nod to their own nicknames, and personalised to what the wearer wanted people to think when they saw the jewellery.
For Q, it was power. A little puzzle, the abstract depiction just obscure enough it left most people guessing, and a clear display of wealth. The shrike had told Wilbur once he quite enjoyed the layers of meaning. It made people curious about his songbird. For Wilbur, it was a reminder of what was his to protect and to cherish, and a link to his sunrise, a promise they were meant for each other.
“Songbird? Are you dreaming about our rings again?”
Quackity brushed against Wilbur’s cheek with the tips of his fingers, bringing the magpie back to reality with a small smile.
“Yeah. They’re pretty.”
“And you say you don’t like shiny things.”
Chuckling, Quackity tilted his chin up, and Wilbur closed his eyes on hearing the animalistic purr from his shrike, smiling despite the threatening note to the sound.
“I always forget how pretty you look with my marks on your neck, songbird.” A gentle touch traced the pearly lines and dots littering his throat, then pulled away. “I’m getting distracted.”
Wilbur’s breath fluttered as he felt cold metal against his skin, and Quackity tugged it a little tighter than was strictly necessary before it loosened as he fastened it at the back.
“What am I wearing, Q?” Cautiously, he raised his hand to trace the necklace. He could feel multiple chains, and some charm in the centre, but couldn’t quite make out more than that past his subtlety shaking fingers.
“Looks good on you, amor.” Quackity noticed Wilbur’s increasing frustration with not being able to hold his hand still, and smiled gently.
Leaning forward, the shrike took his wrist and kept it as steady as possible so Wilbur could try to work out what it was.
“Ok… there’s two chains… and they’re both attached to… a ring? No- another heart?” He laughed, rolling his eyes at Quackity.
“Mhm. Bit more formal, I thought. Still red, you’ll be delighted to know.”
“I’m sure it’s lovely.” Wilbur placed his free hand over Quackity’s, smiling despite the stab of pain to his gut every time he felt his shrike’s lack of claws.
As he moved, he remembered the rings on his hands, and took a look at those too. It was hard to make out the actual patterns or colours of the stones from within crimson drapes, but they were pretty.
“Ah, it’s a surprise, songbird.” Quackity snapped his fingers to keep him from looking too closely at his outfit. “Right, I need to get changed too.”
The shrike had precisely zero shame in stripping in front of Wilbur, catching the magpie’s staring and smirking.
“Eyes up here, amor.”
Wilbur raised his gaze to his shrike’s face, meeting his mischievous eyes. “Not like there’s anything I haven’t seen before.”
“You haven’t seen this before, that’s for sure.”
Taking a step back, out of the scarlet silk hanging around them, Wilbur watched Quackity’s silhouette pull something over his head, tucking his wings in against the fabric. Then the magpie got bored, and ducked out of the nest too, making his husband chirp in surprise.
“Wilbur-!”
“Shut.” Grinning, he took a look at his shrike’s outfit, and his smile widened. “Holy shit… that’s looks really good on you.”
Quackity was wearing a floor length, corseted dress of crushed velvet the colour of drying blood. The sleeves hung off his shoulders, resting on his upper arms, and the skirt swirled like a waterfall of crimson at his feet.
“Give me a goddamn second, I’m not done.”
Huffing, Quackity turned back to his desk, and Wilbur leaned against the wall, watching him drape several long necklaces across his bare shoulders, some brushing against the base of his wings, exposed from the backless dress. A few thin bangles later, and the shrike seemed nearly happy. Then, as if he’d just remembered, he turned back and grabbed a golden crown, setting it at an angle on his raven hair.
“A crown? Really?”
“Don’t think you’re getting out of this. Over here, and take your glasses off.”
Quackity beckoned, and the magpie sighed fondly, setting his glasses on the desk as his husband picked up a circlet of twisting strands of gold, set with a shining ruby in the centre. On his gesture, Wilbur bent down, letting the shrike fix the headpiece in his chestnut curls.
“Happy?”
“Hmm. It’ll do.”
Wilbur stood up, feeling small chains hang from the circlet onto his forehead, and grinned.
“You sure? I feel like I could definitely wear a few more rings before my fingers break.”
“Shush. You look wonderful.” There was something adoring in Quackity’s eyes as he sat back in the chair, staring as Wilbur gave a small twirl.
“Can I look at what I’m wearing now?” His teasing was slipping into affection, but he kept his eyes on Quackity, obeying the shrike just for the fun of it.
“Of course, songbird. Tell me if you like it.”
Glancing down, he felt his breath catch in his throat. Oh, Q. He spoiled the magpie.
He was wearing a crimson waistcoat under a charcoal jacket and matching tie, with a white shirt almost glowing underneath the layers of almost volcanic ash hues. His trousers were jet black, and every single ring was made of gold, and most were set with rubies in varying sizes. He was sure his new necklace matched.
As he tucked his tie into his waistcoat, he glanced up at Quackity, practically bouncing in excitement.
“I love it, Q. Very you.”
“You’re mine tonight, songbird.” Standing up, Quackity ran his fingers down the side of Wilbur’s arm, curling their fingers together firmly. “Mine. Understood?”
“Loud and clear, Hades.” Wilbur brought their entwined hands up to his lips, kissing Quackity’s knuckles with a chuckle.
Quackity’s chirp was probably meant to be menacing, but in practise it just made Wilbur smile fondly and his magpie trill in giddy response. They were both indulging each other tonight.
They held each other’s gaze for a long, long time, and Wilbur felt his heart soften. He wasn’t home enough. It was so painfully easy to read his husband, and he knew the only reasons his shrike’s instincts were running so high was that he didn’t see the magpie as often as their flock instincts demanded of them. There was a reason every night he was home was a haze of energy and adrenaline. They had to cram it in to such an agonisingly short time.
“Don’t be sad, songbird.” Quackity murmured, letting their hands fall to rest between the two of them. “I know what you do is important. And I’m happy you still make time for this.”
It was a heart-wrenching beat before Wilbur nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak.
“Good. No feeling guilty about changing the world, ok?”
“…ok.”
Quackity gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, then turned and tugged him towards the door, already laughing as if nothing had happened.
“Come on, I’ve got something to show you!”
They practically ran down the hallway, only slowing a tiny bit when Quackity nearly tripped on his skirt, and even then the shrike barely paused, dragging him like a giggling schoolchild.
Everything was a blur of gold and music pounding in his ears until Quackity practically shoved him into a chair, and Wilbur collapsed, laughing as he realised they were sitting in a box, above a stage. Below them, dinner tables littered the stalls area, and all spotlights were trained on a heavy curtain.
“Sunrise, what is this?” He was still half breathless with laughter as Quackity sat next to him across their small table, grinning ear to ear.
“Something I thought would play to your interests.”
Wilbur was enthralled as he turned back to the stage. He hadn’t even know there were theatres in the casinos. Then again, it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that they’d left the casino entirely, and this was another neighbouring property Quackity owned.
It was barely a minute later that the lights dimmed, and the magpie held his breath as the curtain rose.
For a moment, it could last forever. That second before the curtain rose, before it fell for the last time, before anything had to happen, and he could just exist.
Then a young woman stepped forward, wearing a bright crimson gown lined with gold and black, onyx crowing her brow, and started to sing.
Admittedly, Wilbur’s first thought was that she wasn’t as good as him. Then again, the second was holy shit she’s pretty close.
He was enthralled, leaning forward to watch her twirl around the stage, assured and confident, smiling to the world like they were damn lucky to have her. Quackity watched him in silence, more interested in the magpie than the singer.
Her song went on for what might well have been eternity. The words were sad, but the tune was upbeat, like she was saying that yeah, shit happened, but you carried on. You kept singing, you kept dancing, you kept going.
And as she danced from one side of the stage to the other, some of the audience looked away, some stayed enraptured, but her music was heard the same by all of them. Music was like that.
Wilbur felt himself try to match her notes, and hummed to himself as he realised it was a bit of a challenge. With some practice, he could probably sing like she did. But the dancing. There were some things that you couldn’t do with powers. Some things you just learnt.
She came to the end of her song with a flourish, and bowed to polite applause. Wilbur started clapping belatedly, not overwhelming but in true admiration.
A tug on his sleeve made him glance over to see Quackity grinning.
“God, what have you done, sunrise?” His voice was pure elation and fondness, overriding the faintly snarky words.
“Nothing… yet. But there’s no one meant to be on that stage for another, hmm, I’d say hour or so.” Quackity smiled affectionately as Wilbur gasped like a child on Christmas. “Want to show off a little, songbird?”
“I’d love to.” Wilbur was giddy, reaching up to adjust his circlet as he bounced in his chair.
“Oh, I love spoiling you, amor.” Chuckling, Quackity stood up, holding out his hand to help Wilbur up too. The magpie took it, beaming, kissing his husband’s forehead softly.
“Thank you.” It was barely a murmur, then Quackity was dragging him out of the box and down some back passage, all the way to a backstage area.
Wilbur always had, and would continue to, deny that he was a theatre kid. But there was something in him that got childishly excited at seeing the makeup table, the small array of furniture and outfits, ready and waiting for someone to transform into something else entirely. The singer was there too, and froze on seeing Quackity.
“Oh- sir, I didn’t realise- is something wrong?”
“Not at all. Persephone here just wanted to take advantage of the audience you gathered.” Quackity nudged him, drawing her attention to the fallen hero. Her hand came up to cover her mouth, and there was pure, unembellished fear behind eyelashes laden with mascara.
“S- Siren. What do you-?”
Wilbur was feeling a little awkward, ridiculous he knew, but he was still kind of amazed with her performance. So he didn’t say anything, long enough for her expression to soften to confusion and Quackity to laugh.
“Stage fright, amor?” He patted Wilbur’s shoulder half mockingly, half sympathetically. “It’s ok, Delinda. Wonderful performance by the way.”
“Thank you sir.” She curtseyed shyly, rapidly shifting into anxious bemusement at Wilbur continued silence and rising blush. “Happy to say I didn’t spot anything too out of the ordinary. Woman on table seventeen looks a little uncomfortable though, could need a check in.”
“Sounds good. I’ll send someone round.” Quackity nodded, and she smiled shyly back, hurrying off to take her hair out of the onyx headpiece keeping her curls up.
As soon as she was gone, Wilbur let out a heavy breath and turned to try to save face with his husband.
“Ok, that was embarrassing. I wasn’t expecting her to recognise me.”
“Songbird, most of the country could recognise you by voice alone.” Quackity picked up a spare mic, testing the weight as one would a dagger. “I think you scared her a bit. Wonderful lady, a bit shy when she’s not performing. She’s my new lookout-disguised-as-talent after the last one missed one of my decoys. They keep an eye out for anything that looks like it might go wrong.”
Grinning, the shrike tossed the mic over, and Wilbur caught it with a chuckle. He loved Quackity for his odd little ways of taking care of his patrons.
“Can I just… go on?” He was practically vibrating with eager energy, glancing nervously towards the heavy curtain. Fuck, he didn’t even know what he was going to sing.
“You can do whatever you want, songbird.” Quackity took a small step back, giving Wilbur the floor. “I’ll be watching.”
Wilbur laughed, nearly manically, turning to the curtain. He had an idea of what to sing… maybe. It was a bit of an odd choice, but… well, it was one he’d been working on for a while. Sad, sure, but Quackity would probably get it. Grabbing a guitar, he turned to face where he knew an audience was waiting for him.
One foot in front of the other, until he was standing on the stage, listening to the rowdy chatter die to an apprehensive silence. For once, it disappointed him. Just once, he’d like to walk into a room, and for people to see a musician, not a murderer. But maybe this was a small way he could change that.
He walked to the centre of the stage, slotting the microphone into the stand and tapping it.
“I’m sure everyone here knows who I am.”
Silence. He grinned, feeling a rush of power through his wings. No matter if it was out of fear or wonder, he could command a room.
“I’m also sure everyone knows it’s hard to always be the villain.”
Small laughs, nervous. He spread his arms wide and spun on the spot, demonstrating he wasn’t armed.
“And tonight, I’m not Siren. Or anyone, really. Just someone with music in his heart, and whose wonderful husband gave him a stage and an audience.” He saluted to Quackity, relaxed far above the stage, watching Wilbur like he was just another act.
On hearing the magpie’s direct address to him, Wilbur saw him laugh, and lean forward to watch.
His voice was soft as he leaned into the mic, running his fingers over the strings of his guitar, barely even whispering as he smiled wider than he had in a long time. “I’m honoured to be here.”
Then he raised his head, strumming out the first tender, lingering notes and summoning everything he had in him, channelling it into this, this performance, this chance to rewrite his story, even if only for a few minutes.
“I thought I couldn’t love anymore…”