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When Quackity came to, it was in bits and pieces. He wasn’t…he wasn’t aware, really. Wasn’t in control.
He could see, sort of, what his body was doing. Knew he was saying things, knew time was passing, but it all felt so fuzzy it was hard to say for sure. He was only really aware for a few minutes at a time, only able to see select moments.
What Quackity remembered most was Wilbur. He wasn’t sure why—the man was hardly even around, yet it seemed he was present in Quackity’s (was it really him, though?) every waking thought. When he saw Roier, the passion in his eyes for Cellbit…it’s like a part of Quackity burned. He wasn’t sure why. He didn’t know what was going on.
He shouldn’t have made that deal with the Federation. He knew he shouldn’t have. But they had promised him. They promised him her.
Tilín, his darling, his sweet, sweet child. She was gone, and that hurt so so bad, but if Quackity could get this right, if he could just—do what they asked of him, he could have her back. If he could just—stop being such a fuck up for once, he could redeem himself. Be the better parent he knew his son deserved.
Quackity just wanted to see him again. In the haze of his mind, in the monotony of aware unaware aware you are alone you are always with Us, he wasn’t really sure anymore whether or not they were even real in the first place. But he’s in too deep now to acknowledge the horrors of it all being a lie. Doesn’t think he could bear it. Doesn’t think he could live if he was finally free and found that they were just a figment of his fractured mind.
He thinks he’s in love with Wilbur. Well—no. He’s not in love with Wilbur. He values the hospitality Wilbur has shown him, values their friendship (what little of it may be left), but he doesn’t love Wilbur like that. Doesn’t seriously want to pursue a relationship with the man. His eyes—the real Quackity’s eyes, that is, are on others. And yet the words come out anyway.
Recently, he’s been more “awake”. He isn’t in control, but he can see much more than he could before. Love is in the air, it seems, and he cannot stop singing the praises of an absentee musician.
“I love Wilbur!” He will say, which doesn’t inherently mean anything until he hears his voice claiming that Wilbur is his lover. That they are partners.
When word of Roier and Cellbit’s wedding gets out, it is that they are fiancés. Quackity’s body is filled with rage—jealousy that he knows deep down is not his own. The Him-Not-Him begins to plan. He plans for a wedding he knows will not happen, from what Quackity can gather he wants to be the first? The first to marry? Why the Federation (or…whoever is controlling him) is so insistent on this matter he doesn’t know, but they are dedicated.
Day after day, hour after hour, every deranged interaction has people staring at him in pity. Wilbur is gone, and he isn’t interested—in anyone, probably—and yet Quackity-Not-Quackity insists that they are together. That they are lovers. That Wilbur will return and they will have a wedding—the first wedding on the island.
And somehow, it happened. Wilbur had returned, and there they stood, together at the altar. Cucurucho themself was there to officiate. Quackity…He felt a tingle in his hands. In his arms and legs and wings and spine. His body felt live like a wire, and yet his heart felt dead. Wilbur stood beside him, eyes void and inexpressive. Cucurucho recites the appropriate scripts, and when the time comes for the I dos, Quackity-Real-Quackity is the one to say yes. He doesn’t know what else to do.
The wind blows and thunder booms in the seas beyond the island. Quackity swallows as he seals his fate, and mourns for Wilbur as he repeats the words.
This day was supposed to be one of the best of his life, so why can he only feel dread?
He misses Tilín. He should’ve been here to see this. Part of him is glad they aren’t. Glad they don’t have to see this.