Chapter Text
“Shit,”
Quackity grumbled to himself almost slamming the empty cabinet drawer shut. Has it really been that long since he re-upped his blood storage? He got out from behind his desk, making quick strides over to his office door. Clawing at one of the tiles of the floor he winced, getting a finger beneath the flooring and wrenching the loose tile up. A light bit of dust fluttered through the air, and the hybrid’s heart sank seeing a half-full blood bag in the small compartment.
He muttered some curses under his breath, reaching for the bag. Q dusted it off, replacing the tile and going back to his desk. He opened the small semi-lid of the bag and nearly gagged. He quickly plugged it again, holding the traitorous bag up to the light. The blood had obviously gone sour, smelling of rot, and the previously hidden coagulation became clear.
The short man groaned, but didn’t have time to mourn the spoiled meal, brought out of his stupor by a knock on the door.
“What do you want?” he barked.
The door clicked open, and Quackity threw the blood bag across the room, landing it squarely in a waste bin. He silently thanked prime that the sudden guest didn’t notice, and Foolish slowly entered the office.
Quackity leaned back on his desk, “Well, what is it Foolish?”
If the god minded the man’s tone he didn’t comment on it, “I’m almost done with my current terraforming project, but I’m going to need more materials. Do we have room in the budget?”
“Of course we have room in the budget, just, order whatever,” he waved a hand dismissively.
The golden man stepped a bit closer, a look of concern growing, “Are you alright Quackity? You look exhausted.”
Quackity bit the inside of his cheek, “I’m fine, Foolish. Just- get back to work,” he finished, turning his back to the man, making it clear the conversation was over.
Foolish didn’t protest, quietly exiting the office, sparing one last glance at his boss before leaving.
Quackity took a deep breath, thinking over his options. His schedule this entire week is completely packed, a mix of formal meetings, trade discussions, and meetings with his citizens. He groaned, walking around his desk and flopping into his desk chair. There was even still a stack of paperwork he needed to complete, taunting him as it sat unfinished on his desk.
He hated hunting live animals, shuddering remembering the look in their eyes as life drained from them.
With a resigned sigh he rolled closer to the desk, and got back to work.
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After a guilty murder of a rabbit, and 3 days straight of political meetings, Quackity felt like death. He still had a bit of energy, deciding to put it towards finishing the last 2 sets of paperwork.
The hybrid shuffled into the elevator of his office building, pressing the button and letting himself drift in a daze. The elevator hummed and he felt grounded by the force pushing him down as the metal box rose.
Finally, it dinged and the doors opened. Quackity walked to his office, and practically collapsed into his chair. His eyes drifted pitifully over to the waste bin in the far corner of his office.
He sighed deeply, holding his head in his hands. The short term of a few seconds of relief wasn’t worth the very likely food poisoning drinking that soured blood would cause.
He ran a hand through his thick black hair, looking down to the papers strewn on his desk. Quackity slowly lowered his head onto the cool wood of the desk, mumbling to himself, “Just for a minute. I deserve a break.” His eyes felt heavy, drifting shut and the tired man fell into the depths of dreams.
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Quackity bolted awake, inhaling deeply and immediately regretting it. A vaguely familiar scent bombarded his senses, and his eyes widened, coming into focus on the man standing in his office.
“Good morning sleeping beauty,” Wilbur teased.
Quackity swallowed thickly, trying desperately to not breathe through his nose, “What- How did you get in here? I thought Slime-”
Wilbur chuckled, waving a hand, “Your little slime friend was easy to slip past, and your building security is otherwise pretty shit.”
Quackity sighed, too tired to yell, “Well then let me ask, why are you here?”
Wil faltered slightly at the subdued reaction, “Really? No yelling? No swearing, telling me to get the fuck out of here?”
“Okay, tell me why you’re here and then get the fuck out,” he grumbled.
“Alright, fine. I’m here because I’m worried about you.”
Quackity couldn’t hide his expression of shock and confusion, “What? Why?”
“Well you haven’t come to tell me and Tommy to ‘fuck off’ in nearly two weeks,” Quackity rolled his eyes, but the hybrid continued, “I also haven’t seen you out and about in Las Nevadas during the day, and considering your sorry state I think my prediction was correct,” Wil said, gesturing to the shorter man’s disshevled appearance.
“And what would that be?” Quackity drawled sarcastically.
“You haven’t been eating properly,” Wilbur stated very matter-of-factly.
Quackity barked a laugh, “And how the fuck would you know that? I have to have a polite meal with every single political meeting. I’ve been eating plenty, Wilbur.”
Wilbur’s small cocky smirk nearly made Q’s stomach drop, “Well I imagine it’s been your well kept secret, but people tend to have a bit of a looser tongue around a sweet amnesiac ghost.”
The color drained from his face, ‘No there’s no way-’. He took an instinctive breath in as Wilbur took a step forward and his heart raced, the thick and rich scent of the hybrid taking over his thoughts. It smelled so good. Sweet, and with a slight tinge of gunpowder. Prime it was taking all his self control not to pounce on the man and sink his teeth into the soft flesh of his neck.
Wilbur was leaning over slightly, and snapped his fingers, “Hey, my eyes are up here.”
Quackity came back, mortified to realize he’d been staring at Wilbur’s exposed jugular, gaze snapping back to his face only to see a cocky smile. His expression screamed, ‘Gotcha.’
Quackity shook his head, trying to shake off the hunger-induced fixation, “Why the fuck would you care about my diet Wil?”
Wilbur stepped closer, and Quackity rose from his chair. The taller man leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk, “Am I not allowed to be concerned for your well-being?” Quackity gave him a skeptical look. Wilbur just rolled his eyes, “I think we could make a deal.”
Q hesitated, trying to focus on anything but Wilbur’s scent, “What kind of deal?”
Wilbur nodded lightly, “I give you a blood source, and you owe me a favour.”
“What kind of favour?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I’ll figure that out soon enough.”
It sounded too good to be true. Quackity stared down at his desk, exhaustion blurring the letters on each of the papers. He sighed, shaking his head before looking back up. Wilbur looked genuine. Quackity looked over him up and down searching for some inkling of malintent, but there wasn’t any. Before him stood his old rival, expression painted with concern.
Wilbur waited patiently for an answer, and gently added, “Look, you don’t have to. But whatever food source you have been using, it’s clearly not good enough.” He sighed, “One undead to another, I’m just offering a favour.” The tall man held out his arm across the desk, pulling up his sleeve.
Quackity bit the inside of his cheek, nearly drawing blood, “Okay fuck it.” Wilbur smiled and he continued, “I have a few rules though.”
“Of course”
“Your favour can’t be for me to let you join Las Nevadas in any way.”
“Gotcha.”
“And I can drink as much as I want?”
“As long as it doesn’t kill me,” Wilbur joked.
Quackity nodded, walking around the desk, and Wilbur turned to face him, shrugging off his trenchcoat. Quackity took a shaky breath, “You have to tell me if you feel light headed,” Wilbur nodded, “or if you feel like you’re going to pass out.”
Wil cocked his head to one side, “Just go for it.”
Quackity gently reached up to his shoulder, sliding a hand under Wil’s shirt collar to push it down. Wilbur shivered slightly, “Jesus- your hands are fucking cold!”
Q glared at him, “My hands are cold even when I’m well fed dipshit.”
Wilbur did his best to relax again, and Quackity leaned into the crook of his neck. He took a deep breath, taking in the hybrid’s scent. Without even tasting it he could tell Wilbur’s blood would be sweet. His skin smelled of gunpowder, smoke and salt.
He mumbled a quick, “This might sting,” before biting down, fangs protruding and sinking into the meat of Wilbur’s neck.
Wil gasped slightly, but stayed quiet, and Quackity was thankful. He felt like he was in heaven as Wilbur’s blood flowed into his mouth, and over his tongue. The flavour was overwhelming. It was warm, sweet, and had a sting like fire. He wasn’t sure if it was an effect of being revived, or because of how long he’d gone without fresh human blood. Probably a bit of both. It stung, but it hurt so good. He savoured every second, feeling the warmth flow through his being as his energy was restored. Wilbur leaned onto the shorter, and Quackity kept going, hungrily draining the hybrid.
After a few minutes, Wil took a deep breath. The crow’s wings twitched, and he gently tapped Quackity’s shoulder, “Hey.. starting to feel light headed- I think that means we should stop.”
Quackity thought about ignoring him, continuing to drink and drain the hybrid until he was a shriveled corpse, but he stopped. He felt disgusted the thought even crossed his mind. Quackity pulled away slightly, retracting his fangs. He licked the bite wound, getting one last taste and stopping the bleeding, a great compromise.
The shorter backed up slightly, and Wilbur stumbled, leaning heavily on his shoulder, “Woah Wil are you okay?”
“Mhmmm ‘m fine,” he mumbled.
Quackity took a better look at the man, seeing how pale he’d become, “Wilbur- Did you really just start to feel lightheaded?”
Wilbur was off balance, still unable to get his footing, “Mmmaybe not. But you seemed to be enjoying yourself.. Dimn’t wan’ to ruinnit,” he slurred.
Quackity shook his head in disbelief, “Jesus Wilbur, let’s get you something to eat.”
The hybrid hummed in agreement, slowly shuffling as Quackity picked up his coat, and led him out of the office.