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“I always loved you.”
“I know.”
“Thought I’d tell you anyway.”
Quackity laughed at himself, leaning his head on Wilbur’s shoulder.
It was quiet. The sun was rising. Or it might be setting. Or it could be in the middle of the sky, or nowhere at all. Maybe there was only the moon.
“You can’t have always loved me.”
Wilbur’s teasing was rebuked by a hiss from the shrike avian, and Quackity wrapped his wing around his songbird.
“Always. Now, and forever.”
A shrike’s chirp. A soft purr. Everything was soft, hazy at the edges with the gentle light. Wilbur laughed.
“Ok then. I suppose I’ve loved you for a pretty long time too then.”
“Aww… imagine you being affectionate.”
“I’m always affectionate!”
The magpie avian chirped in protest, his own wings draped across the rooftop, royal blue feathers poking out under Quackity’s wing.
“Sure, songbird. Not as much as me though.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Could be.”
Quackity was all innocence, and Wilbur’s wings shook with soft laughter.
“Alright. What about the way I kill any hero who even tries to look into your businesses?”
“Acts of service are different, amor. I do physical touch.”
“Words of affirmation?”
Quackity whistled in thought, quiet for a moment.
“Ok. I love your wings, I love your words, I love the way you make anything sound beautiful and true. I love that you scare me, just a little bit.”
There was a small rustle as Quackity’s hand rose, tapping Wilbur’s forehead. They both giggled. Like children. They were cute together. Then it was the magpie avian's turn, and he hardly had to think about it.
“Not bad. How about… you’ve never scared me. Even when you think everyone should just run away from you. You’re intelligent in ways I can’t even understand, and you are terrifyingly good at cards.”
“Comes with the territory. How’s yours, by the way?”
For a moment, they were both quiet. Wilbur seemed to be thinking, perhaps confused. Then he made a small noise of recognition.
“Oh- that thing? Pretty good. Everyone’s happy, everyone’s alive… it’s good. Life’s pretty good at the moment. Right?”
It did seem nice, here. Soft lights, sprawling city, two birds who needed no one but each other. And a few other people.
“Apart from the heroes.”
“Are they causing you any problems, sunrise?”
Wilbur’s voice was light, but you could hear the danger the politeness disguised. An unsubtle threat, hidden not by pretence, but by being exactly what he was. No more hiding. Not now, not ever. He’d left that behind.
“Hey, don’t get all protective on me. I can handle myself. I did for a long while before you came along.”
“But you don’t have to anymore.”
“I could.”
Quackity was determined on this point. He wasn’t giving an inch of ground, something that made Wilbur chirp in amusement, pushing gently.
“Really?”
“Ha- you think I couldn’t take care of my own nest before I had a fallen hero to run around after my enemies?”
“I’d like to hear how you did it.”
Yes. That would be nice to hear. Quackity’s stories were so interesting. The shrike made a hissing noise that was almost laughter, wings twitching as he prepared himself.
“Well, I’ve had Slime, and Tubbo and all of them for a whole. So the casino was never really a problem, and a fair few low ranking heroes take bribes pretty easy.”
“I would never have.”
“You were never low ranking, amor.”
The chiding was gentle, a kind of encouragement, and Wilbur made a huffy, chirping noise of acceptance.
“Fine. What about when you were a vigilante?”
“Oh, that’s far more interesting… well. I say interesting. This… is one you haven’t really heard before. You sure you want me to tell you?”
Wilbur barely hesitated for a moment. By the shift in his shoulders, it looked like he took Quackity’s hand, probably holding it tightly.
“Of course. If you do.”
“Ok. Shrikes are territorial, as I’m sure you know. And- and we protect the territory we have… with a partner. Mine was- mine-“
The shrike avian cut himself off, and Wilbur moved to hug him. They were silent for a moment, almost as if the picture had frozen. Then Quackity tried again, voice so small you could barely hear it.
“Time Stop. My- my partner was Time Stop. And- and he was with Pyro too and- we- we were supposed to be happy…”
“Hey, hey. Calm. You’re good.”
Wilbur’s hand rubbed small circles in the shrike’s wings. Everything was slow. They could take their time here.
“Don’t- I’m fine. I promise I- I’m fine. I should probably tell you by now.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything, sunrise, not if you don’t want to.”
“I want to.”
Quackity’s voice was suddenly fierce, almost a snarl, even if it hardly penetrated the thick, soft air that enveloped them, muffling any aggression or disturbance. A moment later, the shrike calmed himself, and shook his head with a gentle laugh.
“Sorry. That- that was an overreaction. We- he- they- we protected each other. That was- that was what we did. All the time. From everything. And- and we- we were meant to- to love each other. Always.”
A pause. There was no noise from the world around them. Just them. Alone. Quackity carried on, even if his voice was hoarse.
“The- the heroes hurt you, songbird.”
“They did.”
“You weren’t the first. He- K- Time Stop was the first. Their very first. And their last. For a long, long time. I- I only realised exactly what they did to him when you- when you told me and- and I could have helped him, I should have-“
“You couldn’t have done anything. Gods I- I didn’t know they were- that was years ago.”
Wilbur sounded horrified. Quackity just sounded numb.
“Yeah. I- I think I scared them off trying. For a while.”
There was a crackle in the air. Yes, something was about to happen. It was tangible, static threading through their feathers and the still, soft air.
“How?”
“Because I killed him, Wilbur.”
Silence. A perfect, unbroken silence.
Cut. End scene.
But things didn’t end like that, not here, not now. Whenever now was.
So, after a few minutes had passed, a few soft, agonising minutes, Wilbur was the one to speak.
“…why?”
The magpie didn’t move. Nothing moved. Nothing at all, apart from them.
“I had to. Or- I- I thought I did. I- I’m still- I still don’t know.”
Quackity’s voice was so raw, so broken, so desperate and tired and guilty.
“He might not be dead. That’s the worst part, Will. I don’t even know if I killed my own partner.”
“You sure you want to talk about this, sunrise?”
Yes. He had to talk about it. It had to be said, to put it out there into the world. So the truth was there, somewhere, if you knew where to look.
“He- he said he was broken and- and Sa- Pyro said he could be fixed but I- I knew he couldn’t and-"
Quackity took a deep, shuddering breath, wingtips spasming in time to the rise and fall of his shoulders.
"And it all- it was all so much, so fast I- I don’t think I ever could have done anything different.”
That was the thing, wasn’t it? They never changed anything. Not matter what you knew, no matter how much you saw. It all went the same way, in the end. Made things like this kind of useless, really.
Quackity wasn’t done. It sounded like he would never be done. Like this was a torrent of anger and regret that no one could reach the end of.
“That’s why I had to fix you. You can be fixed. Because he- he was everything. And the heroes ruined it all.”
“Pyro fell. You became a villain.”
Wilbur spoke softly, piecing it together. Quackity nodded. It sounded like he was crying, quiet, hiccuping sobs.
“And he- he just- disappeared. That’s what they said.”
“Yeah. That’s what they said. Thank you, darling. For telling me. He sounds wonderful.”
“He was. He was funny, and clingy, and adorable, and his wings were even prettier than yours. And he could laugh at anything, or just read those books he loved all goddamn day.”
“What about Pyro?”
Wilbur knew what he was doing. They both knew what he was doing. But Quackity seemed to appreciate it anyway.
“He was just as protective as you. And silly, when he wanted to be, but a soldier at heart. I- I can barely recognise him with Smile…”
Wilbur hugged him tighter. They made a nice picture, framed against the skyline that could be anything, gazing out over a city whose details were hard to make out. The magpie pressed a kiss to the top of his head, chirping as quietly as possible.
“They sound amazing. Truly.”
“They were. They really, really were.”
And the scene began to fade.
***
Miriam woke up smiling. Apollo, you crazy bird. That was a hell of a vision to get in a dream.
Yawning, she stretched, and rolled out of bed.
It was always nice to look to the future.