Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Quackity from Las Nevadas?”

“Yes?”

Truthfully, Quackity didn’t quite have the patience to keep the edge from his voice, as he called Charlie in. His assistant sounded more buoyantly cheerful than usual, which was a clear recipe for sparks flying, when Quackity was as close to the end of his tether as he was.

It didn’t help that, when Charlie opened the door, he let in Ranboo, grinning to the enderman before skipping off without even a nod to Quackity.

“Well?” Quackity glared, making a mental note to look into what relationship Ranboo and Charlie had. He didn’t know of any of his assistant’s friends outside Las Nevadas. “Make this worth my time.”

He really had no idea why Ranboo would be here. If it was to see Tubbo, they could do that on their own time. It could be something to do with Wilbur, of course.

“Uh- Wilbur- well, he didn’t send me, but I- I’m here for him.”

Bingo. Quackity sighed, already mentally rearranging his timetable around whatever the idiot was pulling now.

“What does he want now?”

“I don’t- I don’t know.” Ranboo’s voice cracked, and Quackity heard a hissing that, on looking up, he was fairly sure were tears evaporating on contact with his skin. “He’s- he’s not moving, and it’s kind of scaring me, and- I don’t know where Tommy is, so… you’re sort of the only other person he talks to.”

Quackity narrowed his eyes. Ranboo seemed genuinely distressed, but he wouldn’t put it past Wilbur to be pulling the enderman into some sort of con.

“Is he alive?”

Ranboo nodded, chewing on his knuckles anxiously.

“I- I think so. Please. I- I can’t just-“

Quackity felt his throat tighten slightly as Ranboo choked back a sob, and without really thinking about it, he stood up, hurrying over to offer the enderman a box of tissues.

“Ok. Fine. I’ll go see him.”

“R- really?”

Ranboo accepted a tissue gratefully, still sniffing. Quackity could see him shaking, and started to fiddle with his rings, irritation already building with Wilbur scaring his own employee so much.

“Yes. And you can stay here. There’s a room down the hall, ask Charlie for one of the guest suites. I won’t be long.”

Ranboo nodded, breathing heavily as he sounded like he was trying not to start crying again.

“Th- thank you. Yeah, I- I can do that. Thank you.”

Quackity just hummed, already walking for his door.

“Thanks for coming.”

Wilbur had a lot to answer for already, and Quackity’s patience for bullshit had just hit zero.

——————

So, between the short distance between Las Nevadas and Wilbur’s shitty burger van, Quackity had quite acutely remembered why a desert wasn’t the most habitable place to exist. There was sand everywhere, even between his teeth, which he felt like he was grinding to the bone.

Still, it wasn’t far. Wilbur liked to push boundaries, and had set up not far from the border. Quackity shoved open the door, already throughly irked, and looked around the cramped van for any sign of a zombie.

“Alright, what-“ His eyes landed on Wilbur, face down on a bench only a few metres away, unmoving. “Are you dead?”

For a moment, there was nothing. Then the slightest twitch, one that could almost have been a nod, and, frankly, Quackity was fairly sure his rival had reached a new low.

“Ok, I didn’t believe Ranboo, but this is kind of pathetic.”

Quackity crossed the short distance over to Wilbur, and crouched down slightly, pulling a face as he combed his claws through greasy curls. Wilbur twitched weakly, making him laugh a little. The former president normally managed to pull some sort of good mood out of him, after all, even if it was mostly driven by mockery or disdain.

“Going to get up any time soon?”

Now he was closer, Quackity could hear Wilbur hyperventilating, in a quiet, desperate way that turned into a small whine, which appeared to be the only answer he was getting. It was truly, shockingly pathetic, in the same way a starving, kicked puppy with dirt matted into its fur would almost provoke sympathy, then a substantial concern if it had rabies.

“Wow, this is… really sad, actually.” Quackity tried not to laugh, knowing it would come out maybe a little too mean, even for him. “You’re a mess, Soot. What the hell are you even trying to do?”

Quackity scanned Wilbur, straightening and narrowing his eyes. He was fairly sure Wilbur was crying. It was hard to tell. His impatience was thoroughly making itself known, but there was a soft spot in his heart for his least favourite zombie, and he didn’t want to be terse.

Particularly when, between this and Ranboo’s borderline meltdown, Quackity was, actually, embarrassingly, quite worried. Screw it, he cared about Wilbur, because even if he was a street mutt, there was still something fascinating and adorable about his mangy charm.

So, when Wilbur’s hands twitched, curling into fists as his shoulders shook, Quackity softened his voice, sensing he wasn’t going to get any actually words out of his rival for a while.

“Huh. Are you dying?”

Wilbur managed a nod. And Quackity couldn’t help but smile, because at least he was trying, and it was always nice to know his presence was still sufficiently motivating to make Wilbur pull himself together a little.

Also- bullshit. Quackity rolled his eyes, because he’d said he was done with that, and that included from Wilbur.

“Nope. If you were really dying, you wouldn’t be taking it so easily.” Pausing, he leaned on the table, drumming his fingers thoughtfully. “Are you sick? Work with me a little here, Soot.”

Always good to explore all the options. And he was relaxing, a little, and he owed Wilbur that much from dragging himself away from the report he’d been killing himself to read.

But no dice. Wilbur didn’t move, no more than he was already trembling, so Quackity moved closer, tracing the former president’s shoulder blades and feeling a certain new irritation building in his throat.

“If I looked at your arms right now, Soot, what exactly would I see?”

It might not be his place to ask, but fuck it, he could do what he wanted if Wilbur wanted to throw himself on a gambler’s mercy. Besides, Quackity had to vent a little of his frustrations, and making Wilbur feel a little fucking guilt for once in his life would do nicely.

Quackity gave Wilbur five seconds. Five seconds of grace, patience dredged up from somewhere deep within him, spent silently glaring at the zombie and weighing up whether murder or marriage would be a better solution.

Time was up. Quackity dragged his claws down to Wilbur’s bent elbow, forearms acting as cushioning under his head, and tugged viciously, not particularly caring if he pulled a muscle.

Because he was an idiot, Wilbur actually tensed up, whimpering as Quackity flipped his hand palm up, and groaned in pure exasperation. He had not a shred of ground to stand on, but the sight of rusty lines from his rival’s wrist to his elbow was still frustrating, to say the least.

“Yeah. Fine, alright. Don’t know what I fucking expected.” Quackity hissed, then took a moment to calm himself, just to he didn’t tear Wilbur’s hand off. “Alright, Soot, either you’re getting up or I’m dragging you through the fucking desert.”

Quackity dropped his wrist before he actually put his claws through Wilbur’s joint, getting a brief flare of satisfaction at the painful way it fell to hit the side of the bench.

It must have hurt, because Wilbur tried to twist away, making some kind of pathetic noise. But Quackity was past mere frustration, beginning to get a bit of his energy back, if only in irritation against his rival.

“Come on, are you getting up or not?” Quackity crossed his arms, then snapped out something else, just out of pettiness. “You don’t need to worry about Ranboo, if you even were. He’s fucking fine, no thanks to you.”

For a moment, he just examined Wilbur, searching for anything else the eternal idiot might have done to himself. Apparently not. That gave Quackity a free pass to carry on scolding him.

“You scared him senseless, asshole. I did not need to be woken up by a teenager having a panic attack on my doorstep, but here we are, I guess. He’s in my spare room. Because this is not fucking fit for human habitation.”

In a slight fit of emotion, Quackity kicked the leg of the table he was standing next to, scowling as it actually wobbled like it was about to fall over.

“Are you fucking listening?” For lack of anything better to do, Quackity yanked at Wilbur’s hair, then regretted it. Ok, he was making Wilbur have a shower, if nothing else. “Get up, Soot, or you’re getting carried. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you, and don’t particularly care, but you’re not sleeping in this shithole until I’m satisfied you’re not dying.”

Nothing. Fuck him, then, he was practically asking for it.

“Right. Fine. I’m going to fucking murder you if it turns out you’re actually trying to kill yourself. Don’t fucking move.”

Without hesitation, Quackity bent down, scooping Wilbur up in the most uncomfortable way he could manage for the zombie, letting his claws curl around his rival’s shoulders as he frowned, anger giving way again to genuine concern.

“Fuck- have you been eating, like, anything?” Just to test, Quackity lifted Wilbur a little higher, and nearly chirped in pure frustration. “Fucking idiot, what have you even been fucking doing?”

Kicking the door back open- he wasn’t spending a second longer in here than he had to- Quackity hardly stopped talking as he headed back towards Las Nevadas, growing more irate by the second.

“You get brought back to life, brought back from the fucking dead, and the first thing you do is try to kill yourself in every way you can fucking find- listen to me, Soot, I’m not talking to myself here.”

Honestly, Quackity didn’t care if Wilbur was listening, he just needed to rant, and he was actually rather appreciating the former president for staying quiet and letting him blow off some steam. Still, he was on a roll now, and not about to stop.

“You’re not listening, are you? Ugh, I can’t believe you’re making me come and give you therapy in the middle of the goddamn night.” Quackity couldn’t really even make himself believe that one, given Wilbur really hadn’t asked him to do anything. “I’d ask if you’re drunk, but no, fucking idiot ex-president didn’t think to mention to anyone that he wasn’t exactly coping with the shit he’s been through, so now I have to-“

He cut off abruptly, as a realisation hit him. It wasn’t a big shock, not really, but it was enough to shut him up.

He didn’t have to be doing this. He’d chosen to come out here, if anything, Wilbur didn’t seem like he’d wanted it. He was a dead weight in Quackity’s arms right now, for certain, merely letting the avian’s anger wash over him.

So, really, Quackity couldn’t blame Wilbur. Not at all. Certainly not for whatever was going on in his fucked up head. That was no one’s fault the world’s, and yes, maybe his, but that had been a long time ago.

“…fine.” Quackity shook his head, pushing down the guilty feeling in his gut and holding onto Wilbur a little tighter. “I’m done. You’re still an idiot, but you don’t need me to tell you that.”

For a moment, it was quiet. Wilbur didn’t even seem to react, even as Quackity breathed carefully for a few moments.

They passed the welcome sign, and Quackity smiled to himself, remembering when he’d yelled at Wilbur never to come past this point again. Look how long that had lasted. Maybe he’d known he’d never be able to keep him out.

“Side entrance.” His voice sounded a little hollow, a little exhausted. He was exhausted. “I’m not letting people see me actually giving a fuck about you.”

Too late.

Quackity slipped around the side of the casino, nudging open a less-decorated door with the toe of his boot.

The lights inside were far brighter than the evening sun, and Quackity was startled when he felt Wilbur actually moving, curling closer to him with a small whimper. Idiot probably hadn’t seen anything brighter than a shitty lightbulb in days.

Luckily, this was a staff corridor, and it wasn’t far to the elevator, which Quackity was delighted to discover was already on this floor. Well done to the universe, for cutting him a break in this patience-testing day.

About halfway up, Quackity realised he was drumming his claws against Wilbur’s knees, and scoffed quietly to himself.

Wilbur literally felt like a dead weight, clinging to him slightly but otherwise entirely unprotesting and unmoving. Which was ridiculous, given he was at least a foot taller than Quackity, but somehow felt like he weighed half the avian.

The door dinged. Quackity mimicked it under his breath, sarcastic and short. Wilbur may get a free pass on his impatience, but everything else didn’t.

As he carried Wilbur down the corridor, Quackity spared a moment to glanced at the room he’d directed Ranboo to, and was mildly relieved to see it looked occupied. There had been no sign of Charlie either, which Quackity was grateful for.

Then he huffed to himself, realising he was actually taking Wilbur to his bedroom. Fine. Yes. It was going to be the best place, and Quackity wasn’t letting the idiot out of his sight any time soon.

Quackity shifted a little, scanning his thumbprint to unlock his door, and brushing through Wilbur’s hair vaguely as he whined. The door locked behind them.

Dropping Wilbur on his bed, Quackity sighed, and spent half a second mildly enjoying the sight of the former president curled on top of his sheets.

“I don’t know why I let you out of my sight.” Quackoty sat next to Wilbur unhappily, playing with his hair just for something to do with his hands. “Seriously. You’re so useless, can’t even ask me for help when you need it. You’re not leaving, either, Soot, not until I let you. Someone needs to take care of your helpless ass.”

Which would be him, in case it wasn’t very clear. Quackity had made up his mind. If Wilbur was going to keep bothering him, and keep being unable to take basic care of himself, he really wasn’t leaving him any choice.

Bending down, Quackity undid his boots, listening carefully for if Wilbur started crying again, or panicking.

Then- well, he was tired, because he laid down next to Wilbur, smiling involuntarily at having his rival in his bed.

“Useless. Honestly.” Reaching out, Quackity ran one claw through Wilbur’s hair to the base of his spine. “It’ll be ok, Soot. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Because fuck it, Quackity tugged Wilbur a little closer, nuzzling against him as exhaustion made itself known in his bones. Wilbur, the absolute idiot he was, actually had the nerve to whimper slightly, in fear or disbelief, and Quackity rolled his eyes internally.

“Just go to sleep, idiot. You’ll be ok.”

Wilbur mumbled something in agreement, and Quackity smiled, face pressed against his shoulder.

It wasn’t so bad, to have Wilbur here with him.