Poplar St. (OFFICIAL WATTPAD UPLOAD)

Seance

"Tubbo doesn't know about this," Ranboo said as he handed a glass to Quackity. "I don't want him to. Keep this between us, 'kay?"

Quackity hesitated, standing awkwardly in the center of the kitchen. Now that he had his margarita, he wasn't sure what to do.

"Uh," he said nervously, watching as Ranboo poured the last of the margarita mix into his glass and downed it in one swallow. "How... how old are you, even?"

"Seventeen," Ranboo mumbled.

Then the boy sat in a chair and rested his forehead on the kitchen table. "Go ahead and sit down. Don't make a lot of noise. I don't wanna wake up Michael'n'Tubbo."

Quackity slowly sipped his drink, frowning.

He'd never been too sure about where he stood with Ranboo. Sure the kid was a powder keg waiting to explode, but to be fair, he seemed to be a genuinely nice and upbeat person.

Seeing him like this was... worrying.

"How do you even know how to make a margarita?" Quackity finally asked. "You're still a kid, man."

"Techno taught me a while ago," Ranboo mumbled. "He was tryin' to get me this job as a bartender... didn't really pan out. My anxiety was so bad I kept messing up and spilling things."

"Sounds like him," Quackity grumbled.

It was quiet for a moment.

"I wanna say thanks," Ranboo blurted, jolting upright. "You saved my son's life, okay? I mean you were kinda a jerk to me a while back and you kinda have a death grudge against my friend but you still pulled Michael out of the pond and got the water out of his lungs and he would've died. I—if you hadn't intervened, I mean... look, I wanna pay you back for what you did. I don't know how. I'm just... really tired, okay? I feel like shit. This... weird thing's been happening. I can... I can make my hands glow, and I can use the... particles, or whatever they are, to make a shield. Or move stuff with my mind. But my Enderwalk is happening more and I don't know what's happening to me and I'm so scared of hurting someone and I almost got Michael killed—"

Quackity sighed.

"Deep breaths, buddy," he huffed. "You're gonna pass out if you don't stop and breathe."

Ranboo buried his face in his arms, letting out a muffled sob.

Quackity winced.

"Look," he blurted, before he could lose his nerve. "I know a thing or two about being scared of myself. I have this... this thing I can do. With water. I used to do it more, but then..."

The sickening CRACK of breaking keratin and bone.

Schlatt's startled cry. Choking, ragged gurgles.

Blood, so much blood. Gushing everywhere.

Quackity tensed, and he felt his fingernails digging into the wood as he shuddered in terror at the horrible memory of blood roaring in his ears, Schlatt's broken horn lodged in his own throat, Schlatt twitching on the floor of the Camarvan, rushing wind, freezing rain, the crossbow bolt tearing through his wing—

No more.

Never again.

"The water thing?" Ranboo mumbled.

"Y—yeah," Quackity blurted. "I... I did something really bad. I murdered somebody in cold blood, okay? Twice, actually. Hell, he fuckin' deserved to die but not like... not like that. And so I don't do it anymore. But after what happened at the lake today Phil wants me to do it again. I... I don't know. He thinks I'm a member of a species he was paid to wipe out a couple hundred years ago, and that I'm part of a prophecy or whatever—"