Work Text:
Wilbur stood atop the Needle, all alone. The cold wind blew against his face. Despite the goosebumps lining his skin and the approaching numbness, he did not mind. Death had left a permanent chill in his bones that he would never be able to free himself of. The numbing cold was more comforting than any foreign warmth could ever be. This was the same for the life he had reclaimed, this was why he could not leave Las Nevadas–or the man running it–behind. Quackity was just like the unsympathetic wind. The bluntness of reality was something Wilbur craved. He had a hunger to feel alive that he could never seem to satisfy. Sometimes, however, the fervor of Quackity's rage could help suppress it.
Despite his usual intentions when he entered the city, he did not stand here with hopes to encounter Quackity tonight. It was deep into the night, he was sure Quackity would be asleep. However, it seemed he stood here for no reason at all.
He could not sleep, this was nothing new. He had not been able to sleep soundly since before Pogtopia, before everything went downhill. From Paradise's ruins, where he found himself as the sun's last light was swallowed by the horizon, he saw the needle. It was lit up and shining like a beacon, beckoning him.
When he got to the top of the Needle, he stood on the soaring platform. Looking out, the city was like Medeusa, it turned him to stone. He felt like he couldn't move, and he wasn't sure why. Maybe it was his fear that came with facing the great monster before him. He felt alone up there, and he was sure this was how Quackity must feel from anywhere in the city. The lack of commotion made it feel like a real desert. From where he stood he was convinced that no one else inhabited the place, even though he knew otherwise.
The night dragged on, and the wind blew, only ever picking up speed. Wilbur did eventually light a cigarette, providing him with some warmth as he inhaled. Snow began to fall, covering the empty city in a veil of silence. It reflected the light of the few illuminated buildings and polluted the dark night sky.
An unexpected breeze came up behind him. This one was gentler than the wind, if he had not been paying attention he wouldn't have noticed it. He looked to his side–it was Quackity.
“Why are you up here?” Quackity asked him. He did not ask it with the usual enraged temperament that he held towards Wilbur. He just seemed tired.
“I wish I knew.” Wilbur was tired too. “Same goes for you, can't sleep?”
“Nightmares.” Quackity looked out on his city, and there was a sadness in his eyes. Wilbur was surprised by his demeanor, it was nothing like his usual anger at the sight of Wilbur. However, this was not untrodden territory for the two of them, and for an instance Wilbur was back to that button lined mineshaft that had driven him mad.
“I know how that is.” Wilbur tried to let out a laugh, but nothing came out. He couldn't even bring himself to force a smile.
The two rivals looked out at the country of Las Nevadas together. What a failure of a country. Wilbur thought to himself– not with malice, but camaraderie.
As if reading his thoughts, Quackity aksed, “Where did we go wrong?”
“I think it started in the womb.” Wilbur thought about his own statement for a moment. “I don't think there's a world where we could've made different mistakes.”
And that was a revelation that found Wilbur since he was revived. Before Pogtopia, he might have been a better person, but he knows that his cruelty was in him from the beginning. In Limbo, he would promise himself that if he ever got another chance he would be better, kinder. That resolution did not last long. When he looked out at “his sunrise,” he did not know he was looking the wrong way. He did not know the sun was really setting.
Quackity did not respond to this, and Wilbur did not expect him to. Wilbur found himself able to pull his eyes off the city to look at the man next to him. The falling snow was landing in his dark hair, and it looked like stars lighting up the night sky. His posture was not uptight as it usually was, his hair slightly messy. For once, he wasn't fighting to look put together. For once, neither of them were playing an act. They were simply existing in tandem.
Quackity, probably sensing Wilbur's movement, turned to look at him as well. His eyebrows were slightly creased, his lips parted like he was trying to remember a forgotten question. Wilbur was a mystery he was trying to solve. But he never asked a question. He simply closed his mouth and looked at Wilbur.
Wilbur took his hand and gently, as though he were valuable porcelain, placed it on Quackitiy's cheek. They were both like porcelain, cracked and glued back together. Their cracks were still showing and there was a light inside them bleeding out. Quackity did not flinch, but his eyes widened for a moment, and Wilbur thought he would pull away, disgusted by the contact with Wilbur's ice cold hand. Instead, Quackity took his own hand and placed it on Wilbur's.
They looked into each other's eyes and it felt like the first time they had seen each other since Pogtopia. This is how their reunion should've gone, nowhere near the direction that they had taken it. Was it true that there was too much bitterness between them to have this exist? This moment must've been adjacent to their own reality.
And in Quackity's eyes existed so many words, along with so many answers to Wilbur's questions. But the answers were in another language that Wilbur no longer knew how to decode. Quackity looked at Wilbur with a softness. His eyes, one a milky white, the other a pale yellow, looked like water colors, and Wilbur wanted to paint the whole sky with them.
A sound startled the two out of the molasses they were in and Wilbur turned to his side. There stood Foolish.
“Oh, I'm so sorry I'm totally interrupting something. I'm just grabbing something from this chest and then I'll be gone. Don't mind me! Sorry!” He sputtered out, clearly confused by the site before him.
Quackity's entire demeanor shifted and he once again became President Quackity. The mask back on, a sternness in his eyes.
“It's fine, I was just leaving,” he told Foolish. “It's about time for me to get started on work anyway.” And just like that, he walked away from Wilbur and towards the elevator.
Wilbur watched him walk away. He wanted to tell him to wait. He wanted to hold him closer. He wanted to tell him everything. But his mouth was glued shut. As Quackity entered the elevator with Foolish, he glanced back at Wilbur, a quick glance and nothing more. As soon as they locked eyes, he turned away, but not soon enough for Wilbur to miss the look he gave him. It was the same one from moments before when Wilbur held him almost close enough for him to feel real. That moment was over. Quackity did not say goodbye, he got on the elevator and disappeared, leaving Wilbur staring after him.