Imperial Deserter | TnT Duo AU

☆ FIRST EVENING

Wilbur looks up from his spot on the floor, knees pressed to his chest. His hair falls in front of his face in long rivulets. He does not make a move to fix it.

Quackity pauses from unloading his basket, a brow raised. The fire burns bright between them, and the deep set smell of mold and moss makes Quackity's nose wrinkle the slightest bit. 

“You should eat. I bought some fruit, some bread, some meat. Not sure what his highness would prefer.” 

Wilbur makes a noise, unable to deny his hunger, long legs dropping into a crossed position. He fixes his cloak around himself. “I wish you wouldn't call me that.” 

Quackity smiles slightly. “Only teasing.” He has grabbed out a piece of meat and an apple for himself, passing the basket onto Wilbur. The first thing Wilbur grabs out of the basket is the knife Quackity had left in it for him. 

It's heavy in his hand, yet Quackity seems to wield it with such ease. Quite admirable, yet quite sad. He doubts Quackity had learned to wield his weapon the way he does just by cutting apples. 

Quackity begins to cut the meat he laid in front of himself with a different knife, occasionally glancing up at Wilbur. “You do know how to use a knife, don't you?” 

Wilbur scowls. Well, sort of scowls. Quackity thinks that maybe Wilbur has never made an ugly face in his life, just awkward ones. He looks less angry and more like he'd eaten a lemon. “Of course I do.” 

“I would hope so. Your brother is quite the well regarded swordsman.” 

Wilbur smiles a smile that does not reach his eyes. “Yes, well. I am not him, am I?” 

Quackity grins. “Of course not. You two are very different. For one, your brother has got a… scary air to him. I don't think he's capable of looking so terribly sad and helpless, not in the way you do. Also, he isn't outlawed in his own country, just the neighboring ones. Now move over.” 

Quackity stands, passing by the fire and sitting next to Wilbur, leaving his steak behind. He wipes off the knife on a cloth inside the basket, grabbing out an apple and beginning to cut it into slices. Wilbur watches with an odd fascination, head resting on his knees. 

“Where did you learn your skill with the blade?” He prompts.

“Your brother, of course.” 

“You've trained under him? At the castle? How come I've never seen you there before?” Wilbur straightens, fixing hair from his face, tucking it behind his pointed ears. His legs drop once more, laying sideways. 

“Well, it's a bit more complicated than that. He gave me this scar, that's how I came to know him.” Quackity looks at Wilbur for a moment, and Wilbur studies the scar. Its a long gash, one Quackity is missing an eye because of, leaving a cleft in his lip and a visible gold tooth, which shines in the firelight.

Quackity looks back at the apple. “I was unfortunate enough to meet him on the battlefield, you see. He gave me this.. thing, but he also spared me. He told me he didn't like killing people with so much potential.” 

Quackity sighs, offering an apple slice up to Wilbur with the tip of the knife. Wilbur takes it, hesitantly, nibbling on it. 

“My brother is not known for his generosity, so he must've been in a really good mood. Or you just really impressed him.”

“The latter, I would assume. He took me on as his… secret apprentice, you could say. Trained me, taught me. He's really very wise, you know.”

Wilbur huffs. “Do you really think so? I think he's a total brute. Good with swinging his sword, sure, but wise?” He takes a bite of the apple slice, making a noise. 

Quackity shakes his head, a small laugh sounding from him as he takes a slice of the apple for himself. When he bites into it, a noise escapes his chest, and his wings flutter. These were a special kind of apple, only sold by select foreign vendors for a hefty price. Incredibly sweet. “God, I haven't tasted an apple like this since.. I was little.” 

“Really?” Wilbur asks, looking at Quackity's golden wings, tinted orange by the firelight. At his face, at his smile. Wilbur's eyes widen just a fraction, and he blinks. “Why- Why don't you have the rest? I'm not that hungry anyways.” 

“Don't be ridiculous, I bought plenty. And it's not me I'm worried about feeding. I can go a while without food, but you… not so much. You're skin and bones. And we're setting out tomorrow, so who knows how much we'll be able to eat on the road.” Quackity offers up another slice of apple, and when Wilbur doesn't take it, he shakes his head. 

“Come on, Wil. You need to eat more.” 

“Wil?” He parrots. “I don't believe you've called me Wil before.”

Quackity blinks. “Sorry. That's what your brother always called you. Now, don't try and change the subject. Take it.” 

“Wait, he told you about me?” Wilbur squints. “What did he say? Embarrassing things, probably. I was never half the swordsman he was. I know he thought less of me because of it.”

“Will you just take the apple, please?” Quackity reaches over and grabs his hand, forcing the apple off the edge of the blade with his thumb. Quackity's hand is warm.“I'm sure he thought the world of you, Wilbur.”

Wilbur's face reddens rapidly, and he blinks several times, like he's about to cry. For a second, Quackity thinks he's hurt the guy, or made him angry. Did he seriously think his brother thought so little of him? Or was he just angry that a commoner like Quackity was touching him? Either way, he holds Wilbur's stare, preparing to be berated or lectured or both.

Instead, Wilbur just huffs, fixing his hair from his face with a grumble and turning away to finish the last slice of apple.

Quackity wipes the knife off before sitting it back in the market basket, standing up. He rewraps his half-cut steak, storing it, and sitting the basket against a wall. He draws the curtains of their singular window shut, watching as the moth-bitten cloth flutters in the slight breeze. He checks the rickety door, locking it. The lock feels like it disintegrates in his hand.

“I'll stand watch. You get some rest, grump.” Quackity sighs, leaning against the stone brick wall, wincing at the cold seeping from it. “We're setting out at first light. I'll wake you then.”

Wilbur, with a huff, begins to undo the clasp of his cloak. “You will not. You will wake me in a few hours and I will take second watch, or whatever you want to call it.” He pulls the cloak off, revealing silky, black wings. Big wings, much larger than Quackity's. They flap, sweeping dust from the floor. 

Quackity pretends not to notice, frowning. “And what will you do if we're attacked? Charm our attackers?” His eyes slide over those dark wings, particularly the way the golden firelight reflects off of them, before his eyes find the large, circular vent hole in the ceiling.

“If I must. It is not something I often like to do, you know.” Wilbur balls up the cloak, laying it down and using it as a pillow. He lays on his stomach, wings over him, head angled towards Quackity for the moment. “And I'm not entirely useless in terms of combat, despite what my brother has told you.” 

“I would still think you should wake me regardless.” Quackity shifts, looking at Wilbur. 

Wilbur holds his stare for a beat more before turning his head over and sighing. His wings tighten around him.

Quackity waits for the sound of his light snore to fill the room before he lets the tension leave his body.