Chapter Text
Quackity had broken his phone two weeks ago now. The only contact he'd had over the internet was through the form of emails, which were basically all for work related things anyway. The absence of Wilbur didn't go unnoticed, however a large part of him was enjoying being freed from the annoyance. He assumed that the other man was most likely off somewhere, getting drunk and hooking up with anybody possible, as he usually did to free himself of his hardships. However, that wasn't the case. No, that wasn't the case at all. Wilbur had been sat at home, denying himself of anything even remotely positive.
Quackity got his new phone later in the evening after he had worked tirelessly all day; the exact thing that Wilbur used to tell him off for. He had to admit, he'd kind of missed that side of him. The constant nagging to get away from his desk and come have a drink to de-stress Sometimes with Wilbur it was even more than that but that was okay sometimes. He understood that the man has his needs that don't often get fulfilled in a way that is suitable.
He took himself back to the penthouse after he picked up the phone, and began to set it up. He put in all of his details, keeping everything the same as it was before. His phone number hadn't changed either. When he signed in to the phone, he checked through his unread messages. He had many, but practically all of them came from one person: Wilbur Soot. The first messages were the same, usual nagging that drove Quackity insane every day. He also took note of the one voicemail that he'd been left.
'Come down to the bar, Q. Got to speak to you.'
'Come to L'manberg, got something to show you.'
Quackity scrolled past the messages without a thought, but the final one caught his eye.
'Need to go away for a while. Don't call. Ignore voicemail.'
That is what made Quackitys heart skip a beat. He felt like he could've hit himself then and there. Why did he care so much? Wilbur is sporadic, he does things on a whim every day. 'He's fine', is what Quackity told himself, but he felt sick. He knew that wasn't true. He just knew that something was wrong. He could feel it. He navigated to the voicemail that Wilbur had left, pressing play.
Wilbur's quiet cries immediately fell down the line. Even his sobs sounded slurred, a clear indicator that he was intoxicated even before he had spoken. He spoke lowly into the phone mic.
"I don't know, Q. Maybe I'm not built for a life like this. I remember when ... uh- Yeah, when I was revived. Everybody said that Ghostbur guy was muchhnicer." He slurred. "You don't respond anymore. That's okay. Not your fault. You have a life ahead of you and I just stoat around, getting drunk and stoned and letting myself be used. Then I come crawling back to you for any sort of love. Sorry. Tangent- Uh." He trailed off, losing himself. "Sorry, head's slow and messy. Don't call."
Quackity called. He called multiple times. He didn't get a single answer. Not even a text.
He didn't hesitate to make a move. With a heavy heart and a swirling mind, he threw on some shoes that would be okay to run in, and an old hoodie. He ran out the door of the penthouse, straight down the stairs, ignoring the sight of the elevator. Quackity didn't stop running that night. Something in his mind took control of him and he kept a steady pace all the way to L'manberg. He knew what Wilbur's so-called house looked like; it was run down and unkempt, in a random plot, the easiest and cheapest place it could possibly be.
When Quackity reached the doorstep, he knocked. No answer. He knocked again. No answer. He slammed his fists heavily against the door. Radio silence.
"Damn it Wilbur open the damn door!" His voice reverberated against the old wooden door. "I know you can hear me. I'll break this shit down if I have to."
Still no answer. Quackity figured that a decaying wooden door wouldn't be too hard to push open. He slammed his fists against the door. Once. It rattled. Twice. It shook harder. On the third slam, the door rattled open, swinging inwards and hitting the wall to its left. If that noise didn't open Wilbur's ears, then he didn't know what would.
As Quackity stepped into the house, the smell of alcohol and tobacco hit him immediately. It was strong. Very strong. He found himself looking into every room. The house was eerily quiet, but he knew that Wilbur would be here. That's why the quiet scared him. He always knew that death was a possibility, but he was trying not to think about it.
Quackity relaxed, as he could hear breathing as he walked upstairs. The breathing was oddly calm for a man who is supposedly going through some form of mental break. He followed the sound of breathing into the bathroom, and what he saw absolutely broke his heart. He never thought that he'd feel such strong emotions towards anyone, let alone Wilbur fucking Soot.
He saw the man, sat slumped on the bathroom floor, back to the wall. He sat in an old outfit; his usual white button up and black jeans, but god only knows how long he'd had them on. His hair was greasy and dishevelled, and had clearly been left unwashed for too long. Several different empty bottles lay on the ground around him. Wilbur has always been thin, but he is now thinner than he has ever been before. It looked like it physically hurt.
Wilbur turned his head to look at Quackity's horrified expression. He looked immediately remorseful, even though this is really not his fault whatsoever. Wilbur has had things like this before but never to this extremity.
"Don't ... just leave me. I didn't mean for you to see me like this. I told you to not ..." His head clearly wasn't working right. The cogs were visibly turning as he tried to speak.
Quackity didn't know what to do, where to start. He didn't say anything initially. He sat down on the floor beside Wilbur, and ever so gently took him into his arms. He could feel Wilbur's bones and suddenly felt like he could break him at the slightest touch. He took a breath in, trying to figure out the best thing to say to the broken man.
"I ... It's okay, Wil. It's alright. I'm gonna help you. 'Kay?" Quackity found himself speaking quieter than he'd meant to. He felt tears welling in his eyes but he fought them off, for Wil.
Wilbur's head slumped weakly into the smaller man's shoulder, listening to his words carefully. He felt empty. He couldn't even cry.
"... 'Kay. Love you." Wilbur slurred softly.
Quackity paused. He wasn't sure if he could let those words leave his mouth, even in a moment like this. But he decided he should. Wilbur probably won't remember this properly anyway.
"I love you too Wil. You're gonna be fine."