Dilemma [Pumpkin Duo]

4: And it's my obsession

Meanwhile, Schlatt stayed at the bar, unsure what to do. He'd enjoyed his evening with Quackity, but it made him wonder what they could've been. What could they have been if he hadn't have drank himself to death? Why couldn't he had just saw how great Quackity was back then? Or maybe Quackity was different then. Quackity seemed so more secure, so mre independent with Las Nevadas. Maybe Quackity depended on Schlatt in Manburg because Schlatt was so commanding over everything. You have to micromanage everything, was what Quackity had used to say, and that seemed to ring an element of truth; Schlatt probably had been overbearing, before his alcoholism. And then during his alchoholism, he'd turned from a micromanager to someone who didn't care about anything at all; meanwhile neglecting Manburg, neglecting Quackity. Fuck, he used to be an asshole. Schlatt glanced at his beer bottle in disgust.

"Fuck!" Schlatt exclaimed once more, standing. Quackity had always been so intelligent, and he didn't get enough credit for it. He left some money on the counter, before turning to the barman. "Hey, what's the fastest way to the offices? Fuck, where even are the offices?"

The barman looked at Schlatt with an indifferent face, as if he didn't care about him or what he was even asking about. He finally responded: "The offices are in the Space Needle. It's in the tower, the big tall one. My friend works there."

"Thanks, man. Keep the change."

Schlatt turned away swiftly, intent on finding Quackity. He was halfway there when he realised that he'd actually been there before.

...

Quackity was still reading the note over and over again, as if any additional information would come out of it, but unfortunately it did not. The only thing he knew was that he would have to find a way to deal with this issue and soon. The longer he waited, the worse things could get. He got up from the chair, looking around, hoping to see someone who could clarify his doubts or help him in this situation, but so far it was just him in the office; he had sent Fundy away, intimidated by someone else seeing him so vulnerable.

He stared at the city, his city. Las Nevadas was expansive and large, and maybe it wouldn't even come to a full blown war, surely. A sense of dread grew in Quackity's stomach, and he was loosing himself in his thoughts of anxiety, most being haunted by the shadow of what Dream could possibly do.

"Quackity!" Came a pound on Quackity's door, which made him jump; Quackity turned to the door and opened it just a crack, to see Schlatt.

"Fuck, you scared me," Quackity whispered.

"Yeah, sorry," Schlatt whispered back. "Are you gonna let me in?"

Quackity was fully aware of the skull on his desk, which made him feel sick just thinking about. "I dunno, maybe..." He said, his voice quiet.

"You look pale. Are you alright? Like, really pale," Schlatt said, crossing his arms.

"I'm fine-"

"Don't fucking lie to me. Can I come in?" Schlatt said quietly, and his tone was more insistent this time.

Quackity hesitated. "One moment," He said, before walking to his desk swiftly and putting the bird's skull, the feather and the note in the drawer of his desk. "You can come in!" He announced, and Schlatt did, staring at Quackity with a disapproving expression. "What?" Quackity seethed, and Schlatt's expression dropped.

"Nothing, I-" He started, before cutting himself off again. "I must apologize. For everything I did back in Manburg. I was the worst person," Schlatt hung his head. "I hope you can forgive me," the taller man said, and Quackity smiled sadly. He approached Schlatt and put a hand on his upper arm and leaned against his shoulder in a half-hearted embrace.

All those sleepless nights, all that worrying all those years ago. What was it worth? What did it stand for? That moment then. That moment, when it was just them in Quackity's office. They had gone from strangers, to lovers, back to strangers again, and then now, finally they were friends.

And now, Quackity needed Schlatt for his nation. He needed his risks to revive him to be worth it. He needed to put Dream in his place. So Dream should never have even considered messing with Las Nevadas.

"Schlatt, there's something I need to show you," Quackity whispered, and Schlatt nodded.

"Alright."

Quackity turned away from Schlatt and reached into his desk, pulling out the skull and the feather stained with blood, and finally, the note, which he held out to Schlatt.

"What the fuck?" Schlatt whispered, taking the objects in his hands, before reading the note. "What are these?"

"They're from Dream," Quackity replied. "Dream is pissed about the Revivebook I stole from him, and I think he may have escaped prison."

"He may have fucking escaped Pandora's Vault? I was a ghost and I could barely get in there!" Schlatt exclaimed, putting the items gently back onto the desk. "And, how'd he get the feather? They were yours-"

Schlatt fell silent when he realised he'd mentioned Quackity's wings. "Fuck, I'm so sorry."

Quackity turned away from Schlatt, and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands, not saying anything. His wings were a sensitive subject, Schlatt assumed, as Quackity no longer showed them. All Schlatt knew was that the golden wings were a shadow of their former beauty. "I'm genuinely, I didn't mean to, I'm so sorry. I'm a shit person and I know it and I'm willing to apologise for the rest of my life-"

The wings were gone because of Schlatt. Fuck his drunkenness, fuck Manburg, fuck his past self, fuck anyone that would ever want to hurt Quackity ever-

Quackity inhaled softly. "I don't want your apologies. I need to kill Dream."

"What? How?" Schlatt answered but then realised that Quackity knew exactly how.

"You're going to be a double agent."