Actions

Work Header

incendiary

Summary:

Before Wilbur leaves the server for good, he stops by Las Nevadas for one final conversation.
It goes...a little differently than he'd planned.

 

(Based on the tntduo ending that Wilbur revealed during the wine stream)

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

The first thing Wilbur noticed about Quackity was that he was wearing red. 

Dark red, specifically. It reminded Wilbur of his own burgundy coat, which in turn reminded him of how Quackity was still in his shadow, right down to the dramatic costume changes. (Whether or not Quackity wore it better was besides the point.)

The second thing he noticed was that Quackity's hair had grown. It was as wild as ever, but now it reached his shoulders, and Wilbur wished he didn’t find it quite so striking. Especially paired with that stormy expression, and the way it blew in the wind as Quackity approached.

Wilbur had been searching for an opening remark on the way here, something like, fancy meeting you here, or perhaps more in the direction of glad to see you’re still alive. Nothing seemed to fit, and Tommy had only laughed at him for trying. “Hello, Quackity,” he said, attempting to sound calm and unbothered.

“Wilbur.” The fury in Quackity’s eyes could have started a fire. Wilbur hoped he’d still be the target when it ignited. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here? Don’t you know—” His eyes darted around the immediate area in a display of suspicion that was far from unwarranted, but it still rubbed Wilbur the wrong way. “You can’t be here.”

It dawned on him that Quackity’s agitation wasn’t just anger; it was fear, dangerously and deliciously potent. Wilbur didn’t delude himself into thinking he was the primary cause. He wasn’t a threat anymore, and Quackity would be able to see that on him.

God, he was glad he’d asked Tommy to wait a distance away for this. He could practically taste the smoke in the air between them.

“Quackity,” he said, “I have something I need to tell you.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Quackity said.

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t need your—your apology, or whatever this is, okay, I have shit to do—”

“I’m not apologizing,” Wilbur said, unable to hold back a smile. “I came to tell you that I never fucking liked you.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Quackity growled, and yes, there was that fighting spirit, the thing that had kept what was left of Wilbur burning for so long. “You think you can just come here and say that to me? Out of nowhere?”

“I can,” Wilbur said. “I can say whatever I want, and you’ll listen to me. I can tell you your nation’s a piece of shit, that you only made it to follow in my footsteps because that’s all you know how to do—”

“Oh, because your nation was so successful,” Quackity shot back. “L’Manberg lasted for what, two months before you blew it to shit? These buildings have stood here longer than anything in your crater of a country ever did!”

It was this back-and-forth routine of theirs he would miss the most—the way they took turns raising the stakes, going for lower blows, abandoning all restraint in pursuit of victory. Quackity’s words were water on a grease fire, and Wilbur was all too eager for an excuse to boil over.

“I tried to destroy this place,” he said. “I tried to destroy you too, plenty of times, but I never did. You’re still standing. That’s the beauty of it, isn’t it?” It was impulsive and stupid, but Wilbur had never been anything else—he seized Quackity by the upper arm, some misguided need to make sure he couldn’t get away. “You don’t need me to be your downfall, Quackity. You’ve got that covered all by yourself, don’t you?”

Quackity was fuming, pulling out his sword, and Wilbur was nothing but fire, flames licking up his dead and greying flesh at the promise of destruction. “I don’t need this,” Quackity said, and Wilbur could read all of what he was thinking just by looking at him. “I don’t need you. Let go of me, Wilbur, or I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Do it,” Wilbur said. If he let go now, it would be the last time he ever did. “Go ahead. Kill me.” I know you won’t was implied, not said. Wilbur didn’t need to say it. Quackity would know.

Quackity would look up at him any second, and know.

Quackity would—

Quackity was raising his sword and he wasn’t looking, and—stupidly, impulsively, because he’d only ever been himself—Wilbur moved into the path of Quackity’s swing, positioning himself in Quackity’s line of sight. By the time he finally met Wilbur’s eyes eyes, it was too late to correct its course. Quackity threw out his other arm as if to catch the blade with his own hand, and Wilbur couldn’t react fast enough to stop him.

“Fuck!” they both shouted in perfect unison, as Quackity’s hand hit Wilbur’s shoulder and the sword sliced into them both.

It was a shallow cut, by some miracle. Wilbur could handle it. But the same couldn’t have been said for Quackity, who dropped the sword and began clutching at his hand, blood seeping between his fingers.

Without thinking, Wilbur reached out for him. Quackity pulled away with a hiss, baring his teeth like a cornered animal, his golden incisor glinting in the sun. Maybe I should let him bite me again, Wilbur found himself thinking, for old times’ sake. But the moment passed, and he watched as Quackity snatch up the sword with his good hand, returning it to his inventory. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

He deserved that, probably. Still, Wilbur wasn’t going to stand there and watch him bleed without doing anything about it. “Tommy!” he called in the vague direction of where he’d seen his brother last. Tommy appeared from behind a nearby sand dune, where he’d almost certainly been eavesdropping on them. “Do you have any gapples?”

“In my ender chest,” Tommy said, racing into one of the nearby buildings. He returned only moments later with a golden apple, tossing it up and down in his hand like a softball. “Q, you alright, big man?”

“Hey, Tommy,” Quackity said through gritted teeth, accepting the proffered apple. “What are you still doing with this guy?”

Tommy blinked in confusion, like he didn’t understand the question. “How’d that even happen?” he asked, pointing to Quackity’s hand. He looked over at the matching slash on Wilbur’s shoulder. It was barely bleeding, so Wilbur didn’t bother to ask for a gapple of his own. Nothing but another tear in his jacket he’d never get around to mending.

“Stupid accident,” Quackity said.

“Oh. Well, eat the gapple then, dumbass.”

Quackity bit into the apple with a wince, chewing and swallowing before speaking. “Okay, out with it, Wilbur,” he said. “What the fuck do you want? Are you just here to antagonize me?”

No more pushing this off, not if it would result in further injury. “Quackity,” Wilbur said, his voice oddly hoarse, “I came to say that it’s been nice knowing you.”

Quackity took another bite of gapple, then another. “That sounds like a goodbye,” he said. With his mouth full it was hard to tell what tone he’d been going for. Each bite sprayed droplets of juice from the apple, and Wilbur almost forgot that Quackity was not a messy eater. Almost.

“Yeah, well…” Wilbur glanced over at Tommy, who had defaulted to what was familiar, hovering at Wilbur’s side. He hadn’t meant it to turn out this way, but he might as well rip off both band-aids at once. “That’s because it is.”

“The fuck do you mean?” Quackity got out, and there was that fire again. It’d be enough to keep him rowing for months at this point. “Why would you be saying goodbye? What are you even doing?”

“I’m going,” Wilbur said simply. “It’s time for me to go.”

He didn’t expect Quackity to understand, not yet. He’d recognize the signs of a self-destructive spiral anywhere, and he knew Quackity wasn’t going to be making any good choices for himself until it was over. For once, Wilbur didn’t want any part of it. He didn’t want to get hooked on the smell of sulfur as he rigged things to explode. He didn’t want another war. He wanted to go home, and Quackity, for all his familiarity, was not home.

You’re going,” Quackity repeated scathingly, but he looked at Tommy—a mistake, if he wanted to understand Wilbur. Tommy could usually be counted on to know what Wilbur was thinking, but this time around, Wilbur had been intentionally keeping him in the dark. When Quackity looked back at him, there was pity in his eyes—the genuine kind, not the disdain that Wilbur normally got in its place. Like he’d stared into Wilbur’s hidden depths and realized just how sad and broken he was.

The joke was on Quackity, of course. Because Wilbur was many things right now, but he wasn’t sad. He was the least broken he’d ever been in his life. He was alive.

“Wilbur,” Quackity said, “what are you trying to say?”

“I think I was pretty clear,” Wilbur said. “I’m going. I can’t stay here anymore, so I’m going.”

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Tommy said when Quackity’s eyes moved to him, “I’ve got no idea what he’s on about either.”

“Tommy, I’ll explain all this later,” Wilbur said. “I promise. You go on ahead, alright? I’ll…catch up with you, man.”

“Go on where?” Tommy asked, rolling his eyes.

“That direction,” Wilbur said, pointing to the left of the casino.

“Whatever. If you two are going to kiss again, I don’t really want to see it anyway.”

“I don’t think we are,” Wilbur said mildly. He knew he’d missed his chance.

Once Tommy was a good distance away, Quackity said, “I’m guessing you’ve already made up your mind, then.”

“I’d invite you to come with me,” Wilbur said. “Really, I would. But I already know your answer.”

Quackity sighed. “I could really use your help about now, you know.”

“You’re still on about the vice president thing?”

He laughed bitterly. “Nothing to be vice president of anymore.”

“That bad, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

Wilbur couldn’t say he was surprised to hear it. “If I were you I’d make a run for it.”

“I can’t do that,” Quackity said. “I can’t leave him. Even if—” He shook his head. “Never mind. Where is it you’re going, exactly?”

“Home,” Wilbur said. “I’m going home.”

“That doesn’t answer my question at all.”

“I’m leaving the SMP,” Wilbur explained. “Going back to where I came from.”

“So this is going to be the last time I ever see you, then.”

“It is.” 

Quackity seemed to be making up his mind about something, but for once, Wilbur couldn’t tell what it was. He took a step closer, unsure what compelled him to do so. It didn’t prepare him at all for when Quackity grabbed him by the collar, pulled Wilbur down to his level, and kissed him.

It was funny—Wilbur had always expected Quackity’s kiss to feel like a wildfire, uncontrolled and overpowering, something that would reduce him to a pile of ashes. Instead it was much more subdued, like a flickering torch in his hand, gentle but sure. As long as he held it steady, it would never go out.

Quackity was not his home, but maybe in another life, he could have been.

“Well then,” Wilbur said when they broke away. “I guess Tommy was right after all.”

Quackity crossed his arms, the faint evidence of a smile visible on his face. “Go fuck yourself, Wilbur Soot.”

Wilbur took one last look at him, flushed red and defiant as ever. Quackity was as unapologetic as Wilbur for the way things had turned out, and Wilbur wouldn’t have it any other way. He didn’t need Quackity to be sorry. He didn’t need him any other way but this, wild hair and wilder eyes, tasting like all the colors of an open flame.

The last thing he noticed about Quackity was that they’d been missing each other the entire time.

“You’re alright,” he said, and forced himself to tear his eyes away. He was glad he’d saved this stop for last. If he’d had any more time to waste, things might have turned out very, very different.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” Quackity said, amused. “Goodbye, Wilbur.”

“Goodbye, Quackity.”

He headed north, towards Tommy, towards home.

Notes:

i also posted this to tumblr if you wanna reblog it or smth idk

please leave comments ok bye