Chapter Text
He’s in hell again.
Wilbur is sitting in the corner. It's one of his favorite corners at the train station, right under one of the seats with his back to the wall. In this place, he can see all the entrances to the train car that never moves; he can watch every door and almost every window.
Right now he has his hands in his hair, pulling at the strands ever so slightly to remind himself that he’s here. As always, part of him wants Dream to come through the door. Part of him dreads the nightmare that will come with it. But no, he immediately feels bad for that.
Why would he even think something like that? Dream is his friend. Dream is his best friend, and he loves him, and nothing else matters because there is nothing else. But it doesn't matter. He’s grateful. He has to be.
Time passes. He doesn't know how much. Time is just so fluid in the station. It passes slowly or just... stops. Wilbur counts his inhales and exhales as time crawls on. Finally, he hears the telling sound of the door sliding open, and he looks up with wide eyes.
Dream steps inside, and the door closes behind him. They stare at each other for a minute, a silent moment, watching, and then- Dream steps forward, grabs Wilbur by the hair and yanks him forwards, making him yelp.
He doesn't struggle, lets himself be dragged further towards the middle of the train car.
And then he shoves Wilbur back to the ground, lets his head slam back against the ground. His ears ring loudly in his hollow head, and he looks up, sitting on his knees.
“...not even a greeting?” Dream is saying, staring at him through the mask. “After everything i've done for you? Ungrateful little shit-”
“I'm not!” Wilbur rasps. “I'm not ungrateful, i'm sorry, i'm not, please- I- i'm not, i'm so grateful, d-don't-” he grabs Wilbur’s hair again, this time to lift him slightly off the ground, making him wince and cry out in pain.
“Don't what?” Dream demands. “Don't fucking what, Wilbur? What am I going to do?” Wilbur doesn't say anything. It's better not to, at this point.
Something has upset Dream, and he doesn't think that it was him. He’s frustrated, angry about something, and Wilbur knows there’s nothing he can do about it.
He keeps his mouth shut. Finally, Dream lets go of him, lets him fall back to the ground in a heap.
Dream walks away, cursing to himself, beginning to pace, and Wilbur draws back, hauls himself backwards, pressing his back against the edge of the seat and wishing he could melt into it.
He suppresses a whine. He wishes Dream didn't come here in moods like this. They never end well. Not for Wilbur, anyway. Eventually, Dream calms somewhat, sitting on a seat and sighing. Wilbur takes a chance and draws closer to him.
“I'm- i'm sorry,” he mutters, and Dream sighs again, turning towards him.
“It's not your fault,” he responds. “I shouldn't blame you for things like this.” Dream runs a hand through his hair, and Wilbur can't help but lean into it and close his eyes, even though he knows it'll cost him.
He misses the most basic of human contact, and having somebody actually touch him feels like heaven. He shouldn't have done that, because after a second, Dream’s hand stills. Wilbur opens his eyes. Dream’s expression is unreadable through the mask. “
Wilbur?” he asks, voice cold and unforgiving. “Are you being greedy?” Wilbur flinches back.
“N-No!” he insists. “N-No, i'm sorry, Dream, I would- i'm sorry, i'm sorry, I didn't mean to- I didn't- didn't mean to-” Dream stands up and Wilbur throws himself back, crawling backwards, this can't end well, it won't, it never does, pleas fall on deaf ears,
Dream’s going to hurt him again and it's not going to stop, and the worst part, the worst part--
Is that he loves this so much more than being alone.
Quackity wakes up in his bed, alone.
He sits up, confused, blinking in the dark. He reaches to the space opposite him, and finds no one there, the covers messed up. He frowned. The bathroom light isn't on, where did Wilbur go? The door’s ajar, too.
He could have just gotten up for water or something, but still… Quackity gets up, walking out into the hallway. Wilbur is there, surprisingly, just… standing there, right in front of the window. Quackity blinks.
“Uh… Wilbur?” he asks. Wilbur flinches at his voice, turns slightly, and his panicked eyes meet Quackity’s. Something was wrong with Wilbur. Something was very wrong. He looked terrified, shaking, eyes glazed over like he was somewhere else. The normally tall man is hunched over, like he was trying to make himself look smaller.
Quackity took a hesitant step forward.
“Wilbur?” he repeated. “Hey man, are you… are you okay?”
“‘M sorry,” Wilbur mutters, and a shudder runs through him. “‘M sorry, I didn't mean to- didn't mean for…” he stumbles forward and Quackity just manages to catch him before he falls over, and they both sink to the ground, Wilbur’s head in Quackity's shoulders and Quackity’s arms around his boyfriend. He rubbed Wilbur’s back gently.
“What's going on, Wil? Are you okay?” Quackity asked.
“Sorry,” Wilbur rasped, shaking. “I'm sorry, Dream, I'm sorry, I didn't- I'll do better, I'm sorry.” And that, that sent lightning bolts down his spine. Wilbur thought he was Dream. Why would Wilbur think he was Dream? Was he sleep walking? It didn't seem like it.
He was pretty sure Wilbur was awake, if tired. So he was hallucinating? Or just… stuck in some kind of panic attack? A flashback maybe? Fuck, how do yout talk someone down from a panic attack? He remembers somebody talking to him about this, right?
“Fuck, Wilbur,” Quackity muttered, rubbing his back gently. “Okay, let's… where are you right now, Wil? Name some- name something you can see.” Wilbur tenses and words fall out of his mouth without moving his head to look around.
“The t-train station. We’re at the train station, we’re at- at the train station, we are, i'm always here, never would be anywhere else, I don't want to be anywhere else, please don't leave me, please don't leave me, please don't leave me, please don't-”
“Woah, woah,” Quackity soothes as Wilbur buries his head in Quackity’s shoulders. “It's okay, Wil. You're okay, I promise that you're okay. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere, I'm right here.” Wilbur just… breaks apart, whimpering sorry’s through sobs, burying his head in Quackity’s shoulder. And Quackity… doesn't know what to do.
He doesn't know what to do. Wilbur is the self assured one in their relationship. He has issues, deeper in his brain, repressed to the best of his abilities. And he’s broken down before in front of Quackity, very quietly and somehow still seeming composed in a way, and it had never… it had never been like this before.
Quackity isn't good at this part, though he’s tried before. He doesn't know how to help, so he just… holds Wilbur. There’s nothing else he really can do. Eventually, the sobs die down, they get quieter and then stop.
Eventually, Wilbur relaxes a bit, and Quackity just keeps muttering gentle encouragement and telling him that he’s safe. Finally, quietly, Wilbur begins to breathe evenly. He pulls away after a second, confused.
“Can uh… can you walk?” Quackity asks gently. Wilbur nods and Quackity helps his boyfriend to his feet, quietly guiding him back to the bedroom and sitting him on the bed. “I'm gonna go get some water, okay?” Wilbur just nods, exhausted, pulling a blanket around his shoulders.
Quackity comes back and hands him the glass, and Wilbur is quiet for a moment.
“Sorry,” he croaked after a few minutes. “I'm- fuck, Q, i'm sorry. You shouldn't have had to see me like that, you shouldn't have- I shouldn't have-”
“Wil,” Quackity interrupted firmly. “What are you talking about?” Wilbur swallowed.
“I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to deal with my shit. You shouldn't have to- to see me like-”
“Wilbur Soot Craft,” Quackity stated, glaring, crossing his arms. “Exactly how many times have I dissolved into an incoherent mess in front of you?” Wilbur blinked.
“I- I don't know.”
“A lot. It's safe to say that it's happened a lot, okay? Shit Wil, you're always there for me. I want to be there for you, okay? I want you to tell me if you're upset, please. It's really important to me. You don't have to talk about anything that makes you uncomfortable, but you don't have to feel bad for having a panic attack either.
I don't know half the shit you went through, because you won't tell me. And don't go saying that you're fine, because you're not.” Wilbur was quiet.
“I… I don't…” he just closes his eyes. “I can't- it wasn't that bad. Compared to other shit, it wasn't. I need to- to just stop thinking about everything, and- and- and get better. I have to be a good person this time, I- I have to.” Quackity is silent.
“I don't- I don't think you were a bad person, before,” he muttered. “I think you… were scared. And I think you were paranoid. And I don't think- I don't think you were in any position to be in the position you were in. I think you screwed up, but you're not- you're not a bad person, Wilbur.
You weren't. You were scared, and nobody was there. And I don't- know what to say to the other stuff, like, at all. I'm not a therapist. But you- we’re going to Puffy in the morning, okay? We just- you just- you've gotta take care of yourself. But like, for now we can just- how are we feeling about cuddles?” Wilbur laughed wetly and laid down.
“Cuddles sound nice,” he muttered. Quackity curled up next to him. “Don't think I'll go back to sleep. Hate more nightmares.” Quackity nodded.
“That's okay. We can just lay here until the sun comes up.”
“Yeah. That sounds nice.”