Quackity sat with his back to the stone that blocked the entrance, slowly banging his head against the wall next to him, again and again, with the vague idea that maybe if he did it enough, it would dislodge the thoughts swarming him like vultures. So far it hadn’t worked, but the pain was a welcome distraction from the emptiness he otherwise felt. The repetitive motion of rocking back and forth was oddly comforting as well. Maybe eventually he’d get a concussion. That would be nice.
He was already bruised and bleeding from his fall. Respawn was never a perfect health regen. It never fully healed anything; it just brought you back in one piece, or near enough.
The sound of breaking blocks behind him cut through the monotony of his pity party. Before he could turn to see who was trying to get in, the block directly behind him broke, and he fell back, landing him at the feet of none other than Wilbur Fucking Soot.
Wilbur stowed his pickaxe. “Were you punching the wall just now?” He asked.
“Something like that.” Quackity stood to face him, arms crossed defensively. “What do you want?”
“You’re hurt…” Wilbur started to reach out, and Quackity took three steps back.
“What. Do. You. Want.” He repeated.
“I saw you fell.”
“Yeah. Happens.”
“Where were you that you fell?”
“None of your business.”
“Why are you acting like this?”
“Why are you here?”
Wilbur hesitated. “Were you at L’Manberg?”
“How’d you-” He caught himself. “Why do you want to know?”
“Ran into Schlatt’s ghost earlier. He said you were upset about something?”
“And?”
“Do you want a health pot? I don’t have one on me, but I think Ranboo has some if-”
“I don’t want your fucking health potions. I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.” Wilbur glanced around. He looked strangely concerned for someone who acted like such an ass all the time. “Were you hitting your head against the wall over there?”
“Why are you here?”
“Did Schlatt rattle you that bad?”
“Look- I’ve had more than enough of people pretending like they give a shit about me to put up with whatever you’re tryna pull right now, so I suggest you spit out what you want, or get the hell out.”
“That might work on your stupid, little followers, but you’re gonna have to try harder if you want to scare me away, Quackity.”
Quackity gritted his teeth and equipped his netherite axe. “This scary enough?”
“You gonna kill me?”
“I might.”
“Do it then.” Wilbur challenged, looking him dead in the eyes. “Put that axe right through my head.”
Quackity glared back and raised the axe over his head. Wilbur didn’t break eye contact. He didn’t even flinch as Quackity started to bring it down. At the last moment, Quackity changed the direction of the swing and threw the axe to the side. It stuck in one of the chests on the wall.
“So can we talk now that you’re done bluffing?” Wilbur asked calmly. That axe had come within inches of his face, and he wasn’t even flustered.
“Whatever…” Quackity sat slowly on the bed, defeated. “Do whatever you want. I don’t care.”
