Chapter Text
"We've got word on Wilbur's whereabouts, Captain!" A navy officer calls out as he runs across the deck of The Killer Whale and up the stairs that lead to the ship's wheel.
"Great, where is he headed?" Quackity asks as he turns to face the officer.
"Witnesses from Brine Harbor had spotted his ship docked and was seen heading northwest from here. We've figured out he must be headed for Greymist Peaks."
"So he's hoping to use the fog and mist for cover." Quackity says out loud, mostly to himself. The navy officer nods regardless.
"That's what it looks like, yes."
Quackity nods. "Then we head that way too. Set course for Greymist Peaks!"
A round of 'aye ayes' can be heard across the Navy ship as the helmsman sets course for the foggy cliffs.
He's not getting away again. Not this time. Quackity thinks to himself.
-
Greymist Peaks was named that for a good reason. It's always covered in a dense mist, making visibility very difficult if you weren't experienced with the area or had the proper tools, and the water was completely covered in a dense fog, making it appear as if the ship was sailing through clouds. The entire area was covered in large, sheer cliffs with dense pine trees.
Needless to say, it's a popular spot for people like criminals and pirates to hide and use for cover.
Which meant Quackity was almost certain he'd find Wilbur here.
Wilbur was one of the most wanted pirates out there, and a thorn in Quackity's side. Not necessarily because he was dangerous or had a large head count like most pirates, but because he was a notorious thief, having stolen whatever treasure he could get his hands on, and that includes raids on various Navy ships. Not to mention how annoying he was and his skills in persuasion and charm, almost like a siren.
He didn't look it on the outside, but he was dangerous, which meant he had to go down.
"Keep your eyes peeled, men! We don't know what his next move is." Quackity calls out as he walks down the stairs and onto the deck of the ship before coming to a stop in the middle. The entire ship had gone silent as everyone on board kept an eye out, their hands resting on their holsters and sheaths or standing in their positions by the canons.
The air was quiet apart from the sounds of the area filling the air. The occasional faint bird song, the rustle of the leaves, the light howling noise from the wind between the rocks and cliffs caused by the wind passing through them, and all of it paired with the eerie stillness of the place. It felt wrong to even breathe too loudly.
"Perhaps we were wrong about him being here, Captain." One of the officers says almost hesitantly, as if he is afraid to make a sound. Quackity's eyes were narrowed as he surveyed the foggy surroundings.
"He's here. He just has to be."
Another long moment of silence washes over them, and even Quackity was about ready to call it quits when a bunch of hooks attached to ropes came flying out of the fog and secured themselves on the railings of the boat.
"They're here! Get ready!" Quackity shouts and the crew immediately becomes a flurry as a familiar ship comes into view, much smaller than The Killer Whale but still an impressive vessel for a pirate ship.
The Symphony's outline is noticeable through the fog. The small crew flies over to Quackity's boat and immediately the sound of steel clashes together as both crews engage in a fight. And it wouldn't be long before Wilbur had sent himself over and lands a few feet away from Quackity, sword already in hand, wearing that smile that makes Quackity want to stab him.
"Ah, Captain! It's been far too long, hasn't it? I was starting to think you'd have given up on finding me!" Wilbur gleefully states, waving his cutlass around like it's a pen.
"I won't stop until either you've been brought to justice or I'm dead." Quackity bluntly replies, no smile or jokes. He's long since run out of those. Now all of Wilbur's theatrics and jokes just make Quackity feel like he's losing brain cells.
"Well, then I'm afraid we'll be at this for a long time." Wilbur replies before he raises his sword, ready for the inevitable fight.
Quackity and Wilbur engage in a sword fight, just one of many. It was practically routine at this point. Their swords strike against each other in fast motions, metal screeching against metal as the two move across the deck, almost like it was a dance. Wilbur continues to fight with a smile on his face, as if he never gets tired or struggles to keep up with Quackity, acting like they're doing nothing more than playing.
"Why don't you just turn yourself in? Why do you keep fighting??" Quackity asks as they were currently in a blade lock, both of their arms lightly shaking against the force that they're trying to push against each other.
"Do you hear yourself right now? Where's the fun in turning myself in?" Wilbur asks lightly with a tilt of his head. "Don't you have fun with this whole cat and mouse chase we've got going on?"
Quackity's eyes narrow. "No. I hate you more than anything else! You're so annoying!"
Wilbur laughs like he did nothing more than make a joke. "That's part of my brand!"
They break away from the blade lock, making space between the two of them. But before Quackity could go back in for another swing, a shrill whistle is heard for a few seconds, causing everyone to look for the source. It came from someone on Wilbur's crew, a taller man with shoulder length blonde hair pulled back in a bandana and a small whistle in between his lips. A man stood next to him, just a little taller with broad shoulders holding a burlap sack over his shoulder.
"Aw man, looks like we have to cut our dance short unfortunately. Welp, until next time, Captain." Wilbur says with an exaggerated bow before he runs to the edge of the boat with the rest of his crew.
"Wait! Stop-" but before Quackity could reach them they all swung back over to their own boat and quickly took off, disappearing completely into the mist. Quackity's free hand is clenched on the railing and his knuckles are white as he lets out an angry groan as he hits his sword against the railing once.
"Should we go after him, Captain??" One of the officers asks but Quackity lets out a frustrated huff while running a hand through his hair.
"No, there's no way we're going to catch up to them in this mist. Set sail for Alt Harbor! We need to report what just happened." Quackity orders. The crew lets out an 'aye-aye' before they quickly get to work with heading back to Navy Headquarters. Quackity wasn't thrilled to have to go back empty handed once again and report about the attack, he never was, but it was his job.
He looks back out at nothing in particular before he sheaths his sword and walks away.
-
"You let him get away again??" Quackity's advisor, Dream, asks, although it's more as a statement than an actual question.
Quackity stood in the middle of the room that made up Dream's office. A circular room with dark oak floors and walls with a giant, navy blue circular rug in the middle of the room. The walls were decorated in the banners of the Navy and the kingdom as well as weapons and various paintings, giving it all a regal feel.
"Yes, but-"
"There are no buts!" Dream interrupts harshly. "You let one of the most wanted criminals get away again, with the money from the Royal Treasury no less!"
"Well, why do we even still have to keep a bunch of gold on our ships?? Doesn't that just make our ships more of a target?" Quackity suggests. Dream simply shakes his head.
"The money is for necessities like for providing for the crew or needing to make emergency repairs. It is not an option to remove that. Besides, it's supposed to be your job to protect it better!" Dream explains while waving one of his hands around and pointing at Quackity.
Quackity sighs. "I know he keeps getting away but I swear that next time that won't happen!"
"Your words don't mean much without results." Dream points out before he runs a hand down his face. "I will give you one more chance to capture Wilbur. If you fail this time, you'll be forced to resign. And that goes for your entire crew. Do I make myself clear?"
Quackity opens his mouth to say something but eventually closes it before giving Dream a light bow. "Understood."
Dream nods. "Good. You're dismissed."
Quackity turns and walks out of the office, the large double doors closing with a soft thud. A couple of his crew members were waiting outside for him, the most notable of them being his right-hand man, Thorne.
"So? What'd he say?" Thorne asks as he stands there with his arms crossed.
Quackity sighs. "He said that we get one more chance and if we don't capture Wilbur this time, we'll all be forced to resign."
"What?!" Throne's eyes widen while the other crew members appear shocked.
"He can't be serious!"
"All of us??"
Quackity nods. "Yeah, it's not looking great. But I promise that's not going to happen. I'll make sure of that." He says with resolution in his voice. "We have to."
Thorne exchanges glances with the other two officers next to him before they all nod in unison and Thorne turns his attention back to Quackity. "Very well then. We'll follow your lead. We'll start tracking him down."
Quackity nods. "Perfect. We'll set sail soon so get prepared." He tells them before he walks away. Thorne waits until he turns the far corner before he turns to speak to the other officers.
"There's no way we're going down with him. I've worked too hard to make it to where I am."
The jungle buzzed with heat and insects. Vines draped the crumbling stone ruins like a shroud, and the scent of salt clung to every breath. Quackity stood at the edge of the overgrown clearing, slowly looking around the small island.
"This is it," he murmured. "This should be the island that the Merchant ship said he was headed to. It's a small island so it shouldn't take long to find him."
Thorne stepped up beside him, posture somewhat tense. "So what now, Captain?" He asks, voice tight.
Quackity didn't look over as he took a few steps forward. "We should look for him. There are not many places he can hide here."
Throne's mouth twitched. "We didn't even see his ship when we pulled in. There's no way we could've missed it."
Quackity turned, frowning. "Are you saying that merchant ship lied to us?"
"I'm saying that maybe you're just trying to protect him."
A tense silence settled. The other men shifted behind Thorne, uneasing in the air. The kind that meant something ugly was about to break loose.
"I mean," Thorne stepped closer, "you've had a dozen chances to end Wilbur Soot. And every single time, he gets away."
Quackity's eyes narrowed. "You think I'm letting him go?"
Thorne didn't answer. Not with words, at least. Just raised his pistol, slow and sure, and pointed it at Quackity's chest. Quackity's eyes widen and his heart suddenly starts pumping faster.
"You've gone soft," Thorne said coldly. "Too many chases. Too many 'almosts.' You protect him. You like him. You've forgotten what side you're on." He cocks the gun, keeping it pointed at Quackity's chest. "And I'm not going to lose the position I worked hard to earn just because you've decided to take favor of a pirate." He says the last word with malice, spitting it out like it was something disgusting.
"That's not true," Quackity said, jaw clenched.
Thorne's expression hardly changes, simply remaining as eerily calm. "You talk about bringing him in, but the crew sees it. You hesitate. You let him breathe when we should've sunk him."
Quackity took a step forward, opening his mouth to say something—and the shot rang out.
Pain exploded on his side. Quackity's eyes blow wide open and his jaw drops as he's thrown off balance. He hits the ground hard, the world tilting and spinning. Blood soaks through his coat, hot and fast. Quackity groans in pain and clenches his teeth, looking to the rest of the crew through blurry vision. The other men didn't move. Didn't help.
"Leave him," Thorne ordered, slipping his gun back into his holster. "He'll bleed out before the tide rises. We'll say the pirate got him."
Boots thudded away and leaves rustled. The jungle swallowed their footsteps. Quackity turns over onto his chest and tries to crawl after them, clutching the wound with his other hand as he tries to drag himself through the sandy shore.
"W-wait..!" His cries fall on deaf ears. He watches hopelessly as they all board the paddle boat they took over to the island and disappear. And then he's left alone with the hum of the bugs and the distant caw of a gull circling overhead.
Quackity laid there, vision swimming, hand pressed weakly to the wound, and yet among his feelings of panic, he felt anger simmering below the surface.
He wanted to curse Wilbur. He wanted to curse Thorne. But mostly, he cursed himself—for every time he let Wilbur get away, every brief hesitation, every choice that led him here.
Then darkness crept in, and the world slipped away.
Quackity slowly came, surprised to see himself still alive, although his thoughts were muddy and sluggish, feeling like he was stuck in quicksand. The sound of the jungle and sea slowly starts coming back to him as he gains his bearings, which includes the burning pain in his side.
The jungle buzzed with heat, the kind that clung to skin and soured the air with the scent of blood. Quackity's hand trembled as he dragged himself over the broken ground, teeth gritted together, breath coming shallow. Every movement was fire under his skin. The gunshot wound pulsed with a wet, searing rhythm, and by the time he collapsed against the base of a crooked palm tree, he knew this was it.
This was where he died.
He titled his head back against the bark and let his eyes close, the pain dulling into something distant, which should've concerned him more than he currently was but he couldn't seem to find himself to feel much at the moment. His shirt couldn't soak up the amount of blood coming from the wound and it soaks the dirt around him, dark and spreading. Overhead, the sky swirled a lazy blue, clouds drifting like sales, with no wind to catch.
"Guess this is it," he muttered to no one, closing his eyes. "This is the end of the line for me."
That's when he hears footsteps approaching him. Not the heavy, purposeful treat of Navy boots. These were lighter. Confident. Almost jaunty.
Quackity didn't bother to open his eyes. He didn't see the point. "You're late," he rasped. "Come to finish the job, Soot?"
There was a brief silence.
Then a laugh—low, warm, and amused. That dang smirk was in the sound.
"Captain Quackity," Wilbur said, his voice filled with amusement. He was enjoying this too much. "you're looking a little worse for wear."
Quackity manages to peel his eyes open and squints into the sunlight, blinking a couple of times against the harsh light. Wilbur stood just a few feet away, silhouetted by the golden light of the afternoon sun. He looked infuriatingly untouched by the jungle heat. Shirt half-buttoned, hair a windswept mess, boots far too clean for someone trekking through a ruin-infested island.
Quackity gives him a half-hearted glare. "You gonna monologue, or just put me out of my misery?"
Wilbur stepped closer and crouched beside him. "Tempting," he said, inspecting the wound carefully with a raised brow. "But I think I'll do something more interesting."
Quackity blinks at him a couple of times. "What?"
"I'm going to help you."
Quackity lets out a dry, stunned breath that might've been a laugh. "You're kidding, right? Help me? Why?"
Wilbur reaches into the satchel slung over his shoulder, pulling out a flask of water and a strip of cloth. "Let's just say… you're much more useful to me alive than dead."
"I'm not gonna tell you anything," Quackity mutters as Wilbur uncorked the flask.
Wilbur lets out an amused huff. "Please," he says, pressing the rim to Quackity's lips. "If I wanted Intel, I'd have gotten it from your crew."
Quackity drank despite himself, choking slightly on the rush of cool water which causes him to cough a couple of times, sending searing pain through his body once again. When Wilbur pulled back, Quackity stared at him, his brow furrowed.
"Then why?"
Wilbur's smirk faded just enough to let something quieter slip through.
"Because I need your help," he said simply. "And because despite all logic and every good reason, I don't want you dead."
Quackity stares at him bewildered before his head falls back against the tree and he stares upwards. "I must be dying," He mumbled. "I'm hallucinating you saying something almost sincere."
Wilbur chuckled, and even that sound felt too warm for the hell Quackity was in.
"Oh, make no mistake, I'll probably regret this," Wilbur said. "But right now, I need you. There's a map. It's ancient, coded in some Navy cipher. One I'm sure only a bright-eyed, regulation-obsessed Captain like you can read."
"Of course that's why you want me alive. You're unbelievable." Quackity groaned.
"And you're bleeding out," Wilbur says as he tightens the makeshift bandage. "So if you'd like to stay alive long enough to insult me properly… don't move."
Quackity looked at him, truly looked at him—for once without fury clouding his vision. Wilbur was still smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Fine," Quackity huffs. "I'll play along. For now."
Wilbur leaned back, satisfied. "Good. You and I have a treasure to find, Captain."
Wilbur straightens his back and claps his hands together. "Alright, brace yourself. I'm going to try and get you back to my ship."
Quackity doesn't resist as Wilbur reaches down and hooks his arms under Quackity's arms, lifting him up with one big heave. Quackity does his best to try and help but the pain has come back, causing his legs to give out as he keels over. Wilbur quickly adjusts to hold him up, draping one of his arms over his shoulder. Quackity had his other arm wrapped around his side, teeth clenched together.
"You're heavier than I would've expected." Wilbur comments as he starts to carefully walk back to the shore.
Quackity huffs. "Maybe you're just weak."
"I can't believe you're still insulting me even as I save your life. Such a shame." Wilbur says with a shake of his head and a smile.
He half-dragged, half-carried Quackity through the trees, grumbling under his breath as roots snagged at their boots and branches lashed his arms. Quackity, barely conscious now, kept slipping in and out of awareness.
When they finally broke through the jungle and onto the sandy cove where The Symphony bobbed gently on the tide, Wilbur whistled a short signal. A rowboat was already cutting its way toward them. The boat barely stops before Tommy quickly hops out, making a splash in the water as he runs towards them.
"What the [heck] is that??" Tommy's voice cracked, pointing at Quackity's practically limp body.
Wilbur, sweat-slicked and out of breath, waved. "A guest!"
By the time Tommy caught up to them, Fundy and Ranboo were hopping out of the rowboat and heading over themselves, eyes going wide when they saw the blood-soaked figure slumped against Wilbur's side.
"Is that Quackity??" Fundy hissed, fox ears flattening against his head. "Wilbur, he's Navy!"
"No," Tommy said, eyes blazing. "He's the Navy captain who tried to blow us out of the water three times last month!"
"Four, technically," Tubbo added helpfully from behind them, his arms crossed.
Wilbur raises both hands with a reassuring smile. "Everyone breathe. He's not here as an enemy."
"He's bleeding out," Fundy says sharply as he steps forward, his tail flicking back and forth behind him. "Which means he's either dying on our boat, or we're about to throw him into the sea."
Tommy crosses his arms. "You really want a Navy officer aboard? That's asking for a noose!"
Wilbur met all of their gazes steadily. "He's going to help us decode the map. The old cipher is Navy. He's the only one alive who could actually read it."
"And we just have to trust him to not slit our throats the second we turn our backs?" Fundy asks, voice filled with suspicion.
"He won't," Wilbur said firmly. "Because he owes me his life now. And because, believe it or not, Captain Quackity isn't as straight-laced as he wants people to think."
Ranboo wrings his hands together nervously. "Still feels risky bringing him aboard."
Wilbur gave a weary grin. "Wouldn't be the first time I've done something stupid for a good reward."
There was a long silence. The four of them exchanged weary looks, murmurs passing between them. Finally, Fundy sighs and runs his hand through his hair.
"Alright, fine. Then we better get him back to the ship before he dies." He mutters.
One by one, the others joined in. Begrudging. Suspicious. But loyal—to Wilbur, if nothing else.
Wilbur carefully lowers Quackity into the boat before they start to row back to the ship. As they rowed back, Quackity stirred again, eyes fluttering open just enough to catch Wilbur watching him.
"Your crew hates me," He mumbled.
Wilbur smirks. "They'll get used to you."
"And if they don't?"
Wilbur leaned in closer, lowering his voice for him. "Then we'll just have to make them."