A Series of Smokebreaks

Chapter 3

A/N: Hello!! So i've been thinking, and i've decided to post new parts once a week, maybe twice. Thought i should lay out some kind of posting schedule lol. Glad y'all seem to be enjoying this so far, if you want to tell me about any issues or suggestions feel free to dm me or add me on discord (in my bio).
Image cred: @/poopypantssu on insta

Major TW: Descriptions of medical procedure/torture, trauma and abuse. Summary located at bottom.

It was the same nightmare as always. Bright lights, shining on him, knives and needles picking and poking at his wings and limbs. Sterile tweezers and scissors picking away feathers and tissue, placed in sealed containers as though it was diseased. And above it all, the voice. His voice. "This is your punishment," he whispered in Quackity's ears. "You failed me. I thought that you loved me, but I suppose not if you're determined to be such a fucking disappointment. Stop squirming, you're such fucking pussy. Can't even take a little pain for the greater good. I can't believe I ever loved such a little bitch." Quackity tried to flinch away from the voice, but he was held in place by restraints, and as he struggled the voice intensified. Going on and on about what a failure, what a disappointment he was. How he was the reason the nation was falling. It was all his fucking fault, and he was trapped on that damn table as Schlatt examined him, tried to bottle his magic, stealing his feathers and muscles and bones. Slicing him open while whispering into his ear how much he loved him, how much he cared, how noble Quackity was for helping the nation. And all he could do was lay there, pleading and begging for an end to no avail.

Like every night, Quackity tried to will himself awake, tried to put an end to the flashbacks. As hard as he tried, he was never able to escape the night terrors until he would wake up hours later, covered in sweat and feeling no more rested than before. Eventually giving in, Quackity just laid still, hoping Schlatt would be merciful if he played along. He cried silently, knowing that there would be no respite until he awoke.

And then it stopped.

End of TW. Summary: Quackity recalls traumatic events regarding his past and abuse he endured from Schlatt. Just as everything seems hopeless, the pain suddenly stops.

Suddenly, the bright surgical lights faded to a soft, orange-tinted glow that smelled like cinnamon smoke, and the view around him turned calm and inviting. He couldn't quite make out any features around him, but it felt warm and comfortable nonetheless. Was he awake? He didn't feel very awake, but this definitely wasn't his usual dreamscape. Whatever. He definitely wasn't complaining about the new location. He laid down on the ground to find that it was soft enough to swallow him up, with a texture like old leather and flannel that welcomed him in. No longer afraid of what sleep held, he laid his head down and slipped into real sleep for the first time in a very long while.

He was next aware of being awoken from the orange place, briefly slipping out of sleep. He protested inside his mind, aware that his body was being moved around. His left side came into contact with something pleasantly soft, and he noticed something on his face. As he inhaled into the soft sensation, the cinnamon smoke filled his senses and he instinctively curled around the source of the scent, protecting it with his body. Just as he started to drift off again, something very warm and heavy covered his body. He burrowed into it, the weight making him feel safe and protected. He buried his face deeper into the material and discovered it smelled much the same as the object tangled in his hands. The last thing he could remember before permanently drifting off was a breath ghosting his face, a warm press to his forehead, and murmured words of endearment indistinguishable to a morning memory.

Quackity slowly awoke from what he was pretty sure was the best sleep of his entire life. He began to push himself upright only to discover that his hands and forearms were tangled around... Wilbur's scarf? Deciding to deal with that after coffee, he unwound the scarf carefully from his arms and sat up from underneath a heavy brown leather blanket.

Hold on.

He didn't have any leather blankets.

Under closer inspection, he realized that the blanket was actually a coat. A very nice coat, with the faded tag in the back reading "Wilbur Soot" in perfectly crooked handwriting, the ink rubbed almost invisible by time and wear. His brain refused to parse this new information.

He got out his communicator to contact Wilbur and ask him why in the fuck his coat and scarf were in Quackity's bedroom. He found a message already waiting for him in their chat.

"Big Q- you fell asleep last night, so I carried you back. don't worry, nothing happened and nobody saw us. message when you wake up and i'll come pick up my stuff.

p.s.- you should sleep more often. makes your face look less angry."

Quackity laughed a little at the message before replying.
"Im awake now asshole, come get ur shit."

To his surprise, Wilbur replied almost immediately.
"good morning sleepy. i'll meet you at the sign in 15."

Quackity went to agree, then stopped. Something about the messages, the clothes left behind, and the fuzzy memories from last night gave him pause, the dots not quite connecting. Wilbur always had very concrete, well-thought out reasons for every single thing he did; or at least reasons that made sense to him. It took a little while for Quackity to catch on, but after the elections where he devoted quite a lot of time and effort to predicting Wilbur's next move, it came quite easy to him now. 

However, Quackity couldn't quite make sense of this particular development. Why would Wilbur leave his coat, which contained all of his most precious possession, things he didn't trust to keep anywhere else but on his person with Quackity, who had a reputation for dishonesty and violence? And, maybe more importantly, why had Wilbur left him his scarf, arguably the thing he valued most, made for him by Ranboo before his death. The pieces weren't fitting together in his mind. He needed more information So he replied back:

"be at the sign in 5min. foolish will bring you into the bar, we'll discuss over lunch."

The message bubbles appeared, then disappeared. Then after a few minutes, a message popped up.

"see ya in 5. finally get to see if Las Nevadas alcohol is anywhere near as good as you claim it is. Maybe my amazing charisma will convince you to let me join ;)"

Quackity scoffed.

"dont get cocky shitstick. i'll see if i can dig up some absinthe for your nasty ass. don't be late."

A/N: Yayy! glad i got this part out lol, it's been lurking in my brain and then disappearing when i try to write it. annoying little fuck. anyway, it's put down in words now so it's not going anywhere. Just a lil context note: Absinthe is licorice-flavored alcohol and i fully believe Wilbur would drink it because he is classy like that and Quackity thinks it is the nastiest thing ever but still keeps absinthe on hand for Wilbur. eheheeee

alright final edit to the playlists. wattpad will only let me link one, so i'm linking the playlist for the two of them, then you can see the other two on my profile. if it still doesn't work, the playlists are called 'Revivebur "reminiscing"',  'c!Quackity "reminiscing"', and 'tntduo healing with each other <3', and my profile name on spotify is "beeps!!"