Chapter Text
Quackity was at a loss for what was happening. One moment, he is just calmly doing his rounds around the server y’know, the usual, and the next he is face to face with a man he knew should be dead. While he of course knew of the revival book, he had never considered it a possibility for Dream to revive Wilbur. It didn’t make sense. Wilbur had spent most of his time on this server making Dream’s life hell, so why would the masked bastard revive him? He should have known though that a man as desperate as Dream would do anything if it gave him even the slightest bit of power back. He should have known.
He didn’t speak with Wilbur long, the wounds that the other had left still too fresh for him to just brush off. While he recently had been slowly realising that some of what Wilbur had once told him was right, he wasn’t an idiot and neither was the man across from him. Wilbur had been delusional from the moment he got a taste for power. He was obsessed. His teachings, no matter how smart and poetic they might have once sounded, were ramblings of a man so far lost in his own spiralling that he started to drag others into his madness. He was wise, but also lost. His words didn’t hold up anymore.
Yet still, Quackity found himself still hurting over the elections, over Wilbur’s constant berating and instance that he was the only proper president for L’manberg. That only he could keep the country running. It hurt even worse considering they had been friends before that. Not close friends, but still friends. To hear from your own friend that he thinks you are unworthy of something you are convinced you could do, hurts on a different scale.
Wilbur hadn’t even been right. While yes, Schlatt had been a bad choice to team up with, Quackity did an alright job keeping L’manberg, or Manberg, afloat. The country was flourishing, the economy booming and the citizens were mostly content. It was only when Pogtopia started to get involved and Schlatt got more… heavy handed, that things turned to shit. But that wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t have known what kind of tyrant Schlatt was. It wasn’t his fault.
Of course he still felt guilty for what happened to Tubbo, for the mistreatment of the younger teen. If he had known, he would have never sided with Schlatt during the elections. He knew Tubbo didn’t blame him for what happened, but he did blame himself. He could have stepped in, he should have stepped in, but he didn’t. He had hoped things would be different with New L’manberg, but that went about the same as Old L’manberg had, though this time he himself had a hand in it too.
Going after Technoblade had been a bad idea, he could see that now. Forcing Phil into coercion and putting him on house arrest had been a bad idea too. Letting a teenager who was traumatised by war, who was grieving the loss of a brother figure, who was clearly struggling to keep it all together, lead a nation had been another bad idea. New L’manberg’s foundation had been built upon bad ideas. It wasn’t just one thing, it was dumb idea after dumb idea after dumb idea. It was never meant to work out.
But things would be different now. Las Nevadas wasn’t a bad idea, it’s foundation stronger than any other nation this server had ever seen. Quackity wasn’t going to watch another nation crash and burn, he had seen too many. If that meant that he couldn’t bring his fiances in to join his nation, then so it would be. They would be safer this way. Power corrupts people, and he can’t put them through that. (Somewhere in the back of his mind, a poisonous voice reminded him that even if he wanted to show them Las Nevadas, they wouldn’t be interested. They had their own nation to run, afterall. A nation they started without him.)
A sigh escaped his lips as he met Wilbur’s gaze, finally snapping out of his thoughts. “So you’re back huh.” He drew out, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. The man looked different, almost older in a sense. He carried himself differently, his shoulders more relaxed than Quackity had seen in years. “I am. Did you miss me?” A wry laugh came from Wilbur as he averted his gaze to the orange horizon above them. “Don’t answer that, I know you didn’t. Look, I’m sorry. Not just for y’know,” he blew a raspberry, hands making the motion for an explosion, “but also for what came before that. I was a dick. I should have let you run for president fairly.” He looked back at Quackity from the corner of his eyes, the duck hybrid meeting his eyes with a frown.
“Why apologize now?” Quackity questioned, feeling like Wilbur might have an ulterior motive. This was the man known for having a silver tongue, for being the smoothest talker on the SMP. There was no way he was just apologizing out of the kindness of his heart. “I had some time to… consider what I’ve done, and I’ve come to the conclusion I was the villain where I thought I was the hero or the martyr. My actions hurt others and benefited nobody but myself. L’manberg was a tool for my own selfish needs. I can see that now.” Wilbur mused, taking a step towards the fence near the edge of the platform they were standing on, peering down at the ravine below them.
“This is my second chance, and I want to make amends. I’m done leading countries and playing the hero. I’m done hurting people I care about. It’s time I retire. Maybe I’ll go up north, see if Tommy told me the truth about Philza and Technoblade living up there.” He sounded tired, the smile on his lips reminiscent of the smile Quackity used to see on Tubbo back during their cabinet meetings. A smile that screamed exhaustion, but having no intention of resting any time soon.
“Retirement, ay?” The duck hybrid repeated, joining Wilbur at the fence. “I don't forgive you for what you’ve done. You hurt a lot of people, including me. But, I’m willing to move on. Times have changed, and so have all of us. If you can prove to me you’re a changed man, I’ll believe it. But until then, I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. I don’t care what you plan on doing, just stay away from me or Las Nevadas.” While he knew it sounded cold, Quackity had every right to be suspicious of Wilbur. Just because he died doesn’t mean he automatically had a change of heart. It could all still be an act.
“That’s fair. I won’t bother you big Q. I wish you good luck with your nation.” He could tell the smile on Wilbur’s lips was genuine as the man walked away, leaving Quackity to peer over the edge on his own. It felt like he was having a fever dream, talking to a dead man, but on this server he was starting to grow accustomed to talking to dead people. Ghosts, revived players… This server truly was a mess.
-x-x-x-
Dream still hadn’t given him the forsaken book he had been trying to get for weeks now. Quackity would have suspected Dream didn’t have the book in the first place if he hadn’t just seen a dead man walking down the prime path. His ways of getting the information out of Dream might have been unconventional, but one of these days the masked man would crack. No man could last weeks upon weeks being tortured. He had to crack some day.
His axe’s durability was threatening to enter the red area by the time his weekly visit to the prison was almost over, red staining the netherite blade. He stared down at the beaten prisoner, tilting his head to the side as he narrowed his eyes. Dream was babbling, but Quackity couldn’t make out what he was saying. It didn’t sound English, but that might just be because of how badly wounded the man was.
“Speak up, or stay silent.” Quackity huffed, delivering a kick to Dream’s leg. The pained grunt that came from the man at least made his whispering stop for just a minute. A grin formed on Quackity’s lips as he made his way towards the exit of the cell, slowly watching the lava go down. “I’ll see you next week, Dream. Y’know, this would be much easier and less painful if you just told me what is in that book. This could all be over Dream. Consider it.” He drew out in a sing-songy tone, throwing one last look over his shoulder towards the prisoner.
That’s when a wave of dizziness hit him, one so bad he stumbled over to one of the obsidian walls to keep himself upright. Something was wrong, incredibly wrong. “What did you do?!” He yelled at Dream, who was slowly getting up from the floor with a smirk on his face. “You wanted to know what was in the book, so I thought you might like to experience what is in the book for yourself.” Quackity reached for his axe, but couldn’t find the strength to lift it up, his entire body feeling heavy.
“This isn’t over, you green son of a bitch! Stop this right now!” Quackity tried to keep fighting the waves of nausea and dizziness flooding his system, but to no avail. His knees gave out from under him, hands getting scratched by the rough of obsidian as he tried to catch his fall. The last thing he saw was Dream standing over him with that same forsaken smirk before everything turned black. He swore he heard a nether portal ‘vroomp!’ before he was fully out.
-x-x-x-
Quackity awoke with a start, panting as he bolted upright. He wasn’t in the prison anymore, that much was obvious as he stared up at a grey sky. Moving around a bit, he realised he was laying on the ground near what looked like a trashcan, in an alley he didn’t recognise. Now, Quackity prided himself on being pretty familiar with the SMP; He knew most areas at least to some extent, but wherever he was right now, he had never seen before.
As he made his way towards the main street the alley led towards, his confusion only grew as he watched minecart looking vehicles zoom past him. The street was more crowded than the street of the Dream SMP had ever been, which was another thing Quackity noted as odd. A few of the people he spotted were holding small devices similar to his communicator, but they were about half the size. Panic started to set in when he realised that not only was this clearly not any area of the SMP he was familiar with, this might not even be the SMP at all. Had Dream forcibly sent him to another server? Was that something the revival book could do?
His train of thought was halted when a loud rumbling noise tore through the air, catching his attention. Quackity looked up, trying to spot the source of the sound. While there were a few other people who also looked around, most acted like this was a normal occurrence, that it was totally normal to hear the sound of ten minecarts all taking off at the same time on a wednesday afternoon. Another red flag, though Quackity couldn’t dwell on it for long as the source of the noise came into view. And boy, was it confusing.
There in the sky, flew what looked like a red and gold robot. While Quackity had seen people fly before, both hybrids and creative players, this was… different. For one, the figure was moving at such a speed it was clear they weren’t in creative. Secondly, there were no wings anywhere on the figure’s frame. How were they flying? The longer Quackity looked at the robot, the more he realised how screwed he was. This wasn’t the Dream SMP.