Proximity

by mossybee_exe

Summary:

Quackity sat in the back of the classroom, his eyes glazed over as the teacher’s voice droned on about equations and variables. The numbers danced across the board, but his mind was elsewhere, caught in the monotony of a routine he had perfected over the years. Straight A’s—his golden ticket to a life without bruises. The only thing that kept him safe from the wrath that awaited at home.

He glanced at the clock, willing the seconds to move faster. It was all the same—day in, day out the same tired faces, the same endless chase for perfection. But today, something felt different, though he couldn’t quite place what. That’s when the classroom door creaked open, and a boy he’d never seen before walked in. Quackity’s boredom dissipated, replaced by a curiosity that made his heart beat quickly and he wasn’t sure why.

Or: Quackity takes interest in the new kid, but the new kid may not be so new to him.

Notes:

these are the CHARACTER'S y'all! if you're gonna be salty you can leave! thank you! :3

Chapter 1: Quackity's POV Third Person

Quackity sat in the back of the classroom, his eyes glazed over as the teacher’s voice droned on about equations and variables. The numbers danced across the board, but his mind was elsewhere, caught in the monotony of a routine he had perfected over the years. Straight A’s—his golden ticket to a life without bruises. The only thing that kept him safe from the wrath that awaited at home.

He glanced at the clock, willing the seconds to move faster. It was all the same—day in, day out the same tired faces, the same endless chase for perfection. But today, something felt different, though he couldn’t quite place what. That’s when the classroom door creaked open, and a boy he’d never seen before walked in. Quackity’s boredom dissipated, replaced by a curiosity that made his heart beat quickly and he wasn’t sure why.

"Ah, that's right! Class, please welcome our new student, Wilbur Soot!" Mrs. Mathis announced with a warm smile. "He just moved here a couple of days ago, so make him feel at home." She gestured to an empty desk, positioned diagonally from Quackity’s, and nodded at the tall, skinny boy. Wilbur gave a shy smile before making his way over and settling into his new seat.

Mrs. Mathis resumed her lesson, but Quackity found it impossible to concentrate. His attention was entirely absorbed by the boy sitting diagonally from him. From his side profile, Quackity noticed the thick, curly brown hair that tumbled out from beneath a red beanie—an almost mirror image of how his inky black hair escaped his blue one. Wilbur's baggy gray t-shirt and worn blue jeans gave him a relaxed look, and the messenger bag slung over his shoulder only added to his easygoing style. His round glasses framed his eyes in a way that made them seem even more expressive, drawing Quackity in despite himself.

He quickly looked away, shaking his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts, and placed his hands on his now slightly flushed cheeks. What on earth had gotten into him? This had never happened to him... well, ever!

“Alexis!” Mrs. Mathis’ sharp voice snapped him out of his trance, and he looked up with wide, startled eyes, like a deer caught in headlights. Every pair of eyes in the classroom seemed to turn toward him. “What’s the answer to this question?” she asked, pointing to an equation on the board. Heat rushed to his face as he felt the weight of the class's attention, and he mumbled the correct answer under his breath, barely loud enough for anyone to hear. Mrs. Mathis narrowed her eyes at him, clearly unimpressed, before instructing him to pay attention. With a final stern look, she returned to her lesson, and the pressure of all those eyes gradually lifted from him.
He needed to get this together. He didn’t know what his issue was.

-

Quackity finished paying for his questionable-looking school mac 'n' cheese and went toward the table where his friends sat, laughing and chatting loudly. He slipped into a spot at the end of the table, settling in next to Karl and across from Schlatt, who was currently locked in a playful teasing war with Punz. The chaotic energy of the group surrounded him, instantly making him feel at home despite his lingering thoughts from earlier.

"Quackity! You must’ve been pretty distracted for Mrs. Mathis to call you out like that! Something on your mind?" Charlie asked, loud enough to draw more attention than Quackity wanted. Of course, that was just Charlie being Charlie—blunt and curious.

"I’m fine," Quackity said quickly, trying to sound casual as he brushed it off. "I was just thinking about my grade for another class." He didn’t want to dive into the real reason, not yet. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his friends, but this… this was different. Weird. Something he needed to figure out on his own first.

“If it’s about failing one of your classes or something, I could help tutor you! If you want,” Foolish offered with a friendly smile.

Quackity shook his head quickly. “Nah, I’ll be fine. It’s just my dad getting into my head again.” He forced a light chuckle, though he could feel himself tense at the mention of his father—if he could even call him that.

“Ugh, the less you think about that crazy old man, the better!” Schlatt groaned, rolling his eyes with a smirk that instantly lifted Quackity’s mood. That familiar expression of Schlatt's had a way of cutting through the tension, making him feel just a little lighter.

He and Schlatt had known each other their whole lives. Growing up on the same block since they were eight, they’d been in the same classes year after year, naturally falling into a close friendship. Schlatt knew firsthand what Quackity’s father was like and had made it his mission to keep the old man out of Quackity’s life as much as possible—while also irritating him whenever the opportunity arose. Quackity couldn’t help but find it amusing, watching Schlatt rile his dad up for no reason other than to get under his skin. Maybe that’s why his father constantly insisted Quackity's friends were "bad influences," labeling them as delinquents.

Sure, Schlatt could be prickly at times, but that didn’t make him a bad person. It was just part of who he was, and to Quackity, that was never a dealbreaker.

A sudden commotion erupted from across the already noisy lunchroom, loud enough to cut through the usual chatter. Whoever it was, they were winning the noise competition. Unfortunately for Quackity—and his friends—they knew exactly who it was without needing to look. Instinctively, they all turned their heads toward the source of the disruption. Sure enough, it was the ever-popular Dream, surrounded by his pack of soccer team lackeys. The classic group of stereotypical jocks, always loud, always obnoxious, and never missing an opportunity to pick on the smaller or less confident kids, roping them into doing whatever they wanted.

But this time, something was different. Instead of their usual antics, Dream and his crew were gathered around a mostly empty lunch table—except for one person: Wilbur Soot.

Schlatt scoffed. "It’s this kid’s first day, and they’re already trying to bully someone into their sadistic idea of fun? Typical." His voice dripped with bitterness, and Quackity couldn't help but agree. Bullying someone on their first day at a new school was just pathetic.

He glanced over at Wilbur, and his heart sank a little. Despite towering over everyone on the soccer team, Wilbur was hunched over, trying to make himself small. An open book sat on the lunch table in front of him, but his wide eyes were locked on the group surrounding him, fear written all over his face.

Everything about him—from his bland, earthy-toned clothes to his wire-rimmed circular glasses and his hunched posture, to the way his leg bounced nervously beneath the table—screamed that he just wanted to be left alone, to blend into the background, unnoticed.

Unfortunately, you don’t get that kind of luxury with Dream and his merry band of followers.

Quackity couldn't make out what they were saying, but he could see Sapnap and George circling Wilbur like predators closing in on their prey. Another boy, one with dirty blonde hair, casually draped an arm across Wilbur’s shoulders, causing the brunette to tense up visibly. Quackity frowned. He didn’t recognize the blonde guy, but it didn’t matter—he wasn’t interested in keeping track of every idiotic popular kid.

“How much do you wanna bet they’re gonna try and make him their new homework machine—wait, Quackity, what are you doing?” Foolish asked, eyes widening as Quackity abruptly stood up and started marching toward the group of boys.

Ignoring his friends' questioning stares, Quackity’s mind was set. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say or do, but seeing Wilbur surrounded like that, tensed up and alone, triggered something in him.

“Still trying to inflate your ego as always, huh, Dream?” Quackity called out as soon as he reached the group, his voice cutting through the tension. The chatter instantly died down, and all eyes turned toward him. A slow, smug grin crept across Dream’s face.

“That’s big talk coming from you, shrimp. Just leave us be, Quackity. This doesn’t concern you,” Dream said, his tone dripping with condescension.

Quackity crossed his arms, standing his ground. “Yeah, well, you disturbed my lunch, so now it does. It’s his first day—leave him alone.” His words came out sharp, unwilling to back down, especially with Wilbur’s wide-eyed stare still fixed on the group.

"And what do you think you can do?" George sneered, giving Quackity a light shove. The push made him stumble back a bit, but it only fueled the anger simmering inside him. Before he could respond, however, he didn’t need to—Schlatt suddenly appeared at his side, flanked by Foolish and Punz.

"Got a problem with him?" Schlatt asked, his voice low and taunting as he cracked a smirk. Foolish and Punz stood behind him, arms crossed, clearly ready to back Quackity up. The tension in the air thickened as the tables seemed to turn.

It felt like a scene straight out of one of those dramatic standoffs Quackity had seen in movies. The cafeteria seemed to quiet down, or maybe it was just his adrenaline, but everything around him blurred as he stood there with Schlatt, Foolish, and Punz at his side. Dream’s cocky smirk faltered ever so slightly as the power dynamic shifted, his crew looking a little less confident with the sudden appearance of Quackity’s friends.

For good reason too! While Quackity and his friends didn’t have the larger-than-life reputations that Dream and his crew had, they all had their strengths. Foolish, for example, might seem laid-back and easygoing, but he was a lot smarter than most gave him credit for. Quackity knew firsthand how knowledgeable Foolish was about computers—he’d even teamed up with Fundy for coding projects more than once.

Punz was probably the most well-liked out of all of them, effortlessly charming his way into the good graces of almost every student and faculty member in the school. When Punz needed something, whether it was a favor or some intel, he usually got it with ease.

And then there was Schlatt. His sharp wit and silver tongue had earned him a place on the debate team, where he could talk circles around just about anyone. His ability to persuade and manipulate a conversation was uncanny, and Quackity had seen firsthand how quickly Schlatt could get people to see things his way.
Quackity, on the other hand, considered himself “lower ranking” compared to his friends. He wasn’t as tech-savvy as Foolish, as charming as Punz, or as smooth-talking as Schlatt. But that didn’t mean he lacked fight. Far from it. As much as he hated to admit it, he’d inherited some of his father’s harsher tendencies—developing thick skin after years of dealing with the man.

And while he didn’t go around picking fights, the few times he had been pushed into one, he usually came out on top. That resilience, born from his upbringing, gave him an edge most people didn’t see coming. He wasn’t flashy or known for anything special, but when it came down to it, Quackity knew how to hold his own.

They may not have been Dream's group, but they were far from pushovers.

After what felt like an eternity of tension—one that Quackity usually only felt at home—Dream finally scoffed, rolling his eyes in exaggerated annoyance. “Whatever. Let’s go, guys. This was getting boring anyway,” he grumbled.

With that, Dream and his crew turned away, walking off with scowls and glares. Quackity and his friends couldn’t help but exchange triumphant smirks, watching the group retreat until they disappeared from the cafeteria and out of sight. The heavy atmosphere lifted, leaving a sense of victory hanging in the air.

After the confrontation ended, Quackity turned back to Wilbur, who still seemed frozen in shock. “Hey man, you good?” he asked gently.

Wilbur didn’t respond at first, his wide eyes still processing what had just happened. Finally, he gave a small nod, muttering a barely audible “thank you” before hurriedly closing his oversized hardcover book, shoving it into his backpack, and heading straight for the cafeteria door without another word.

It wasn’t the reaction Quackity had expected, but he couldn’t blame the guy. Wilbur had been through enough for one day.

"You just really don’t know when to quit, do you, Big Q?" Schlatt remarked with a grin, slinging an arm around Quackity’s shoulder. Quackity just shrugged, offering a small, sheepish smile. "I just hate Dream and his goons. It wasn’t anything special," he replied casually, though a hint of pride crept into his voice.

 

Before anyone could respond, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. The cafeteria buzzed with activity as everyone gathered their things, hurrying off to their next classes. Quackity and his friends exchanged quick goodbyes before heading in different directions, ready to face the rest of the day.

-

Quackity couldn’t help but sigh in relief as the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. Within seconds, the classroom erupted into a flurry of movement—students packed up in a flash, backpacks slung over shoulders, and everyone heading for the door, barely paying attention to the teacher's last-minute reminders about homework.

Quackity wasn’t any different. He was one of the first out, already speed-walking down the hallway, eager to leave the day behind him. All he wanted was to get home and have some peace.

Not that his house was any better than school, but at least there, he had a room with a lock. It wasn’t much, but it gave him a sliver of control, a place to shut the world out—even if only for a little while. Quackity quickened his pace, weaving through the crowd of students in the hallway, his mind already preparing for the tense atmosphere waiting for him at home.

Quackity pushed open the heavy metal doors of the school and stepped outside, passing the line of cars at the curb where students were being picked up and others heading to their vehicles in the parking lot. Ignoring the commotion around him, he made his way to the row of parked buses. Climbing the bus steps, he instinctively headed toward his usual seat.

But as he walked down the aisle, something caught his eye—Wilbur, sitting almost at the back, earbuds in and his gaze fixed out the window. The tall boy seemed lost in thought, completely disconnected from his world.

Quackity noticed another kid eyeing Wilbur with a mischievous smirk, clearly planning on causing trouble. Without hesitation, Quackity marched right past him with a casual smile, plopping down next to Wilbur. The sudden movement made Wilbur jump, his wide eyes snapping to Quackity in surprise.

"Thanks for saving me a seat, dude! I wasn’t sure if I was gonna make it in time," Quackity said cheerfully, throwing a glance at the other kid, who huffed in disappointment and begrudgingly took a different seat.

Wilbur blinked, still processing what just happened, before slowly pulling out one earbud. "Uh... sure," he muttered, clearly confused but relieved.

"Sorry about that. I just saw that kid was going to try something. I won’t disturb you, but I’ll move if you want me to," Quackity said, glancing at Wilbur with a hint of concern. Wilbur quickly shook his head, his voice soft and uncertain. "N-no, it’s fine... uh, thank you, again..." he muttered, his words barely audible.

Quackity flashed him a warm smile. "No problem!"

With that, Quackity popped in his AirPods, letting his music drown out the world as he leaned back in the seat. Wilbur did the same, slipping his earbuds back in as the two fell into a semi-comfortable silence. More kids began boarding the bus, their chatter fading into the background as both boys settled into the rhythm of the music, sharing the space without needing to say a word.

Once the bus filled up, the doors slid shut with a hiss, and it rumbled out of the parking lot. The ride was bumpy, the occasional dip in the road causing the bus to jostle the kids inside. Quackity, lost in his music, scrolled through his phone, occasionally humming along to the beat.

But he couldn’t help himself. His eyes drifted over to Wilbur once again, taking in his side profile just like he had in class. There was something about the way the afternoon sun hit Wilbur’s face through the window, casting soft shadows that highlighted his features. His thick brown hair, the way his glasses caught the light—it all seemed more noticeable now.

Quackity felt his face flush, heat creeping up his neck. He quickly looked away, mentally shaking himself. Get a grip, Quackity! You’re going crazy, he scolded himself.

After about 20 minutes of driving, the bus finally rolled into a small neighborhood. The houses were either modest trailer homes or small, worn-down structures, scattered along the road with little consistency—some crowded close together, others set farther apart. There were no sidewalks here, just gravel, dirt, and weeds lining the edges of the street. The entire area looked deserted, as if life had abandoned it long ago.

The bus slowed with a light screech, coming to a stop at a simple, unmarked bus stop. With a hiss, the doors slid open. Quackity grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and headed down the aisle, stepping off the bus along with two other kids. They all silently parted ways, each heading toward their respective homes.

As Quackity made his way down the rough gravel path, he heard the bus start up again and rumble off into the distance.

The roads were unusually quiet, save for the distant sounds of a dog barking or kids playing in their backyards. Most of the houses were fronted by towering, old trees, casting deep shade over the cracked roads and gravel paths, giving the entire street the illusion of being swallowed by nature. It was the kind of place that felt stuck in time, a constant backdrop to Quackity’s life. Despite everything, there was something comforting about the familiarity—the trees, the uneven lawns, the way nothing ever seemed to change.

Whenever things got too tense at home, he’d slip outside for a walk, losing himself in the quiet streets. And if things were really bad, he’d escape to his treehouse, hidden up in the thick branches. Lord knows his father was too lazy to drag him down from there. It was his sanctuary—out of sight, out of reach, and for a little while, out of his father’s control.

He hadn’t been up to the treehouse in a while, though. Things had been calmer lately—at least calm enough that he hadn’t felt the need to escape. He considered that a good thing. Maybe it meant things were getting better, or maybe he was just getting better at handling them. Either way, not needing his old hideout felt like a small victory.

Quackity soon reached the end of the street, where a small maroon-colored trailer home sat. The front porch was slowly rotting away, the wood sagging from neglect. The yard, once green, was now dry and yellow, with patches of dirt visible through the brittle grass. It looked depressing—worn down, tired—but so did most of the houses on this street.

It wasn’t much, but in a way, it fit right in.

Walking up the porch he stands in front of the front door for a moment, taking in a deep breath before he heads into the house, shutting the door softly behind him.

Chapter 2: Quackity's POV Third Person

Summary:

Quackity wants to know more about Wilbur. Wilbur is acting strange.

It was a Friday. Those were always Quackity's favorites!

Fridays were always a toss-up for Quackity. The shorter school day seemed like a gift at first, a small reprieve from the endless hours spent in class, but it also meant more time at home—and home wasn’t exactly a place he looked forward to being. His father was usually around more on Fridays, and that tension made school, of all places, feel more like a haven.

As he walked through the halls, his backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, he mulled the pros and cons. The short school day meant he'd have more time to hang out with his friends, especially if his father disappeared for the weekend like he often did. And, if nothing else, his treehouse was always there—a quiet escape where he could forget the world for a little while.

The thought of spending more time with his friends made him feel a bit lighter. Maybe they’d hang out, or play online games together.

"Just gotta get through today," he muttered under his breath as he walked toward his locker. Fridays were always unpredictable, but he could make it through without too much trouble with the right distractions.

As Quackity stuffed books into his locker, the familiar sound of footsteps approached. He glanced up just as Foolish appeared beside him, sporting his usual carefree grin.

"Morning, Quackity! Ready for Python class today?" Foolish asked with a teasing tilt of his head.

Quackity let out a sarcastic huff, slamming his locker shut. "Oh yeah, can’t wait to get yelled at by Mr. Grayson for the hundredth time," he joked, rolling his eyes as they started walking down the hallway together.

Foolish chuckled. "You’re too hard on yourself. It’s not like you're the only one who messes up. Mr. Grayson just needs to chill."

"Tell that to him when he’s breathing down my neck because I forgot a semicolon," Quackity retorted, shaking his head with a grin.

The hallways weren’t too crowded yet, with it still being early and school not starting for another 25 minutes. The brick walls were lined with posters for everything from club recruitments and student council campaigns to event announcements. The biggest and brightest of them all were for Harfest—by far the most popular event the school hosted each year, second only to the Winter Dance.

As they walked, Quackity’s gaze lingered on the posters, catching Foolish's attention. "Thinking about Harfest, huh?" Foolish smirked. "Do you know what you're going as for Halloween yet?"

Quackity shrugged, nonchalant. "Eh, I don’t think I’m dressing up this year. Kinda feels like I’m getting too old for that."
"What? You can’t be serious! It’s Halloween, man! You’ve gotta dress up," Foolish protested, his voice dramatic. "At least for Harfest. Otherwise, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb."

Quackity snorted. "Yeah, right. Like anyone cares."
"Everyone cares!" Foolish insisted. "Trust me, you’ll regret it if you don’t."

"Eh, I guess it depends. Are you and the others going?" Quackity asked, his tone casual.

Foolish gave him a look like the answer was obvious. "Well, of course, we're going! Schlatt said he *has* to crush the Freshman in the Wheelbarrow Race before he's outta here for good!"

Quackity let out an amused huff. He almost forgot that Schlatt was a year ahead of them, already a senior. It was easy to forget how much he acted like he belonged with their group. "Right… I forgot about that."

"You always forget," Foolish teased with a grin.
"I don’t know. I guess I’ll think about it," Quackity said, still unsure.
Foolish rolled his eyes. "Don’t think too hard, man. It’s Harfest—we’re all going to be there. You’ll miss out if you don’t."

Quackity gave a noncommittal shrug, but the thought of spending Harfest with his friends lingered in his mind. It would get him out of the house that night, after all.

"Alright, well, I’m going to go meet Fundy in the computer lab! Catch you later!" Foolish said with a wave before turning down another hallway, his steps light and quick.

Quackity watched him go, then exhaled softly, now left to his own devices. With no one else around, he decided to make use of his time and finish the homework he hadn’t gotten to last night. Heading towards the library, he pushed open the door, greeted by the familiar quiet atmosphere. The scent of old books and the faint sound of flipping pages always had a calming effect on him.

Finding an empty circular table in the corner, he sat down, unpacking his backpack and spreading his folders across the surface. The quiet hum of the library allowed him to focus as he immediately got to work, losing himself in the papers and tasks in front of him.

-

"Alright, before you leave today, I want to talk about a group project you’ll be doing over the weekend," Mrs. Mathis announced, causing the whole class to groan in unison. Group projects were always the worst. "I'll assign you into pairs of two, and you’ll get a paper with the rubric for your PowerPoint presentation," she explained while walking around the room, handing out the dreaded rubric to each student.

Quackity sighed, already dreading what was to come until he heard Mrs. Mathis start listing the partners. "Quackity and Wilbur, you two will be partners."

He perked up at the sound of his name, glancing over at Wilbur, who visibly jumped at hearing his name. Their eyes met briefly before Wilbur quickly looked away, clearly startled. Quackity felt a small smile tug at his lips—this could be more interesting than he thought. Maybe working with Wilbur wouldn’t be so bad, especially if it meant he’d get the chance to know him better.

As soon as the bell rang, Quackity wasted no time packing up and heading over to Wilbur, who was slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder and adjusting his yellow sweater. "So, we should probably meet at one of our houses, huh?" Quackity suggested with a smile. Wilbur nodded, still avoiding eye contact.

"U-uhm, yeah... We could do my house. O-only if you want," Wilbur stammered, clearly a little nervous.

"That's perfect! Saturday works for me," Quackity replied with enthusiasm.

"Yeah—yeah, here, I'll give you my number so I can text you my address..." Wilbur muttered as he fumbled with his phone for a moment.

After exchanging numbers, the two headed down the hallway, blending into the flow of students. They boarded the bus and settled into their usual spots, each plugging in their music, choosing to drown out the rest of the world.

For Quackity, the decision to go to Wilbur’s house was an easy one. Whenever it came to group projects or any excuse to meet up outside of school, he always chose to go to the other person's house. His own home was off-limits, a place he would never let anyone see. That part of his life was his secret, one he intended to keep hidden.

-

Wilbur’s house wasn’t as far from Quackity’s as he’d thought. Biking there took about 20 minutes, but in that short time, the whole environment shifted dramatically. The cracked, gravel roads Quackity was used to give way to smooth, paved streets with actual sidewalks—some with weeds poking through, but still an improvement. The houses transformed too, gradually becoming less run-down, with neatly trimmed front lawns. They were proper homes, bigger than the small, sad trailer homes from his neighborhood. And this wasn’t even one of the wealthy areas.

As he pedaled past, Quackity couldn’t help but notice details that felt foreign to him. Street lamps dotted the area, more in just one block than his whole neighborhood combined. His street was pitch-black most nights, illuminated only by the occasional flicker of a porch light. But here, even in broad daylight, there was a sense of security he wasn’t used to, as though the homes were protected in a way he never had been. It almost felt like stepping into a different world.

Mind you, this wasn’t Quackity’s first time in one of these "regular" neighborhoods. He’d been to his friends' houses before, and they all had that same familiar look—especially Punz’s, who lived in one of those tight-knit communities where every house seemed like a carbon copy of the next. Narrow streets, neatly maintained lawns, and identical driveways. Still, it was always a bit strange to Quackity. No matter how many times he visited, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place like he was walking into a world that was only a stone's throw away, yet completely different from his own.

Quackity eventually reached Wilbur's house, and though it wasn’t anything extravagant, he couldn’t help but feel impressed. The pale blue two-story home looked simple but warm, with toys and bikes scattered across the front lawn, giving it a lived-in, family vibe. After locking his bike to one of the fence posts, Quackity made his way up to the porch, hesitating briefly before ringing the doorbell.

He heard movement from inside almost immediately—footsteps shuffling closer until the door creaked open. Wilbur stood there, wearing his usual yellow sweater and black sweatpants, the same nervous posture and slightly awkward expression Quackity had become familiar with. His round glasses sat crookedly on his nose as he gave a soft, tentative smile.

“Hey,” Wilbur greeted, his voice quiet but welcoming.

“Hey,” Quackity replied, grinning. “Ready to tackle this project?”

Wilbur nodded quickly, stepping aside to let Quackity in. "Y-yeah, come on in."

Quackity stepped inside, slipping off his worn-out sneakers and placing them neatly by the door. As he readjusted his backpack, he followed Wilbur down a narrow hallway, his eyes naturally drawn to the family photos hanging on the walls. There were pictures of Wilbur at various ages, alongside what seemed like siblings and parents—snapshots of family vacations and birthdays that Quackity couldn’t help but quietly admire.

The hallway opened into a spacious room, the living room on one side and the kitchen on the other. In the kitchen, a tall man with messy blonde hair stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot. The scent of food cooking lingered in the air, making the place feel even homier.

Wilbur shifted nervously beside Quackity. “Hey, Dad, uh... Quackity’s here, so we’re just gonna... head to my room.” His voice wavered slightly, though his father didn’t seem to mind.

The man glanced over his shoulder, flashing a friendly smile. "Alright then!" was all he said before turning back to the stove.

Quackity followed Wilbur up the carpeted stairs, feeling a bit out of place but intrigued. His own home didn’t even have a second story, so climbing the stairs always felt like stepping into another world, a kind of quiet wonder. He couldn’t help but think how different everything seemed from his place.

"Here it is..." Wilbur mumbled, pushing the door open to reveal his bedroom. The space wasn’t anything extravagant but had a cozy feel, similar in size to Quackity's room. A twin-sized bed was tucked neatly into one corner, a black and gray checkered comforter draped over it. A small nightstand sat nearby, cluttered with a few personal items and a lamp. At the far end of the room, a wooden desk held another lamp and a computer, with a guitar propped up against the side. A modest dresser topped with a TV and various game consoles completed the setup, while the closet door stood shut on the other side of the room.

Quackity's eyes lit up as he took in the room. "Wow, it looks nice! I don’t even have a TV in my room! And you play guitar too? That’s cool!" He sounded genuinely impressed.

Wilbur seemed a bit flustered by the compliment, glancing down at his feet with a shy smile. "U-uhm, t-thanks... I guess... It’s nothing special," he muttered, clearly not used to the attention.

Quackity chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Are you kidding? You’ve got a whole setup here, man!" he said, still in awe. You have no idea what it's like at my house. I still have my old, slow gaming computer because there's no way my father would ever get me another one. Not like we could afford it. He thinks internally.

"Alright, well, uhm, we should... get started," Wilbur said, walking over to his bed and grabbing his backpack from the foot of it. He seemed a little hesitant, but Quackity nodded, taking a seat on the floor near the desk. Within a few minutes, both boys had spread out their papers and notes, Wilbur pulling up a blank PowerPoint slide on his computer for them to start working on.

As they got into it, Quackity naturally took the lead, tossing out ideas for slide designs, images, and transitions. He talked animatedly, pointing out which parts of the assignment they could expand on, and choosing fonts and colors while Wilbur quietly clicked away, following his suggestions. Quackity noticed, though, that now and then, Wilbur would flinch slightly—especially when Quackity got too loud or leaned in a little too close.

He bit his lip, realizing he needed to dial it back. "Sorry," he muttered, leaning back and giving Wilbur a bit more space. "I can get kinda... intense, I guess."

Wilbur glanced up from the screen, offering a small smile, clearly appreciating the effort. "It's okay... I'm just not used to, you know... this," he said softly, his voice trailing off as he looked back at the computer.

Quackity laughed lightly, shaking his head. "Hey, don't worry. I got enough excitement for both of us," he teased, trying to lighten the mood a bit. Wilbur just gave a half-hearted smile and they got back to work.

After about half an hour of working, the two decided to take a little break. Quackity stretched his legs out in front of him, leaning back on his hands, feeling the quiet shift in the room as Wilbur got up from his desk.

"Uhm, do you... want anything to drink or eat?" Wilbur asked, pausing near the door, his gaze shifting downward toward Quackity still sitting on the floor.

Quackity glanced up, smiling a bit. "Just some water is fine," he replied casually.

Wilbur gave a small nod, lingering for a moment before heading out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. Quackity watched him go, letting out a soft sigh once he was alone. He looked around the room again, taking in the little details he hadn’t noticed before, like the way the guitar in the corner had a few stickers on it or how Wilbur had a stack of books on his nightstand. It was a different vibe than his own house—quieter, less chaotic.

Quackity rubbed the back of his neck, waiting for Wilbur to return, his mind wandering as he listened to the faint sounds of the house beyond the door.

Quackity pulled out his phone to scroll through it when he heard soft footsteps approaching from down the hallway, pausing just outside Wilbur's doorway. Glancing up, he spotted a young boy with tousled blonde hair standing there. He looked to be in middle school, though he was surprisingly tall for his age. Dressed in a red and white T-shirt paired with blue jeans, the boy stared at Quackity with a look of confusion.

"Who are you?" the boy asked, his tone blunt.

"Oh, I'm Quackity, Wilbur's classmate. We're just working on a group project," Quackity replied, trying to sound casual. He noticed the boy's expression shift to a mix of frown and glare, which caught him off guard. "Oh, I see," the boy said flatly, his tone almost rude, leaving Quackity even more puzzled. "Uh, who are you?" Quackity asked, attempting to lighten the mood that had suddenly grown tense.

"Tommy, Wilbur's younger brother."

Quackity blinked, unsure how to read the sudden shift in Tommy’s tone. The younger boy stood there with a look that bordered on both curiosity and disdain as if sizing him up. Quackity felt a little unsettled, but he tried to play it cool.

"Oh, nice to meet you," Quackity said, offering a friendly smile, hoping to break the awkwardness.

Tommy didn’t smile back. Instead, he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, his eyes narrowing a bit. "I didn’t know Wilbur had people over today," Tommy muttered.

"Yeah, it’s for a school project," Quackity explained, still trying to keep things light. "Just trying to get it done."

Tommy nodded but didn’t say much else, lingering for a moment longer as if trying to decide whether or not he liked Quackity. Before the silence could grow any more uncomfortable, Wilbur appeared, holding a glass of water.

"Tommy, stop being weird," Wilbur said with a sigh, handing Quackity the water. "He's just here for schoolwork."

Tommy gave his brother a look but didn’t argue. "Fine. Whatever," he muttered before walking off down the hallway, leaving the air a little lighter but still awkward.

"Sorry about that," Wilbur apologized, sitting back down at his desk. "Tommy’s... Tommy."

Quackity chuckled softly, shaking his head. "It’s fine. He seems... interesting. It's like he doesn't like me for some reason!" Quackity says mostly with a playful grin but Wilbur just seemed to let out a fake short chuckle at that, "Yeah... uhm, anyway... Where were we?" He asks as he sits back down and stares at his screen, avoiding Quackity's gaze.

"Wilbur, are you okay?" Quackity asked, concern creeping into his voice. Wilbur continued to stare at his screen, his hands nervously wringing together. After a moment of contemplation, he let out a heavy sigh.

"You don't remember... do you?"

Quackity was taken aback by the question. What was Wilbur talking about?

"Remember what?" Quackity asked, brows furrowing in confusion.

"...Me," Wilbur replied, finally glancing over at him. Quackity's expression remained perplexed, prompting Wilbur to hesitate, weighing his words before finally giving in.

"Back in third grade... remember when you pushed me off the swings and I landed on the woodchips?" he began, his voice cautious as he studied Quackity's face for a reaction.

Quackity furrowed his brow, still lost in the moment. "I mean, I remember that, but like, that wasn't..." He trailed off, his thoughts drifting as a flood of memories rushed back to him.

-

"Ow!" The brunette boy yelped as Quackity had just pushed him off of the swing he was on, landing on the painful woodchips that felt like they were digging into his skin. Quackity laughs at him. "Gosh, you're so sensitive! I'm just playing around!" He teases while still laughing. Tears build up in the boy's eyes as he stands up, brushing some dirt and woodchips off, sniffling. "You're so mean, Alex! Just leave me alone!" He cries out before he runs off towards the field.

Quackity just shrugs and hops don't the swing that was once occupied by the boy.

 

"Wilbur Soot has transferred schools because of the constant bullying he was receiving. I want to remind you all that bullying of any kind is prohibited and if anyone has witnessed anyone who has made fun of her, we'd highly recommend you tell us who so they can be punished." The principal announces to the class, all of them keeping their heads down before another boy speaks up.

"Alexis and his friends were the ones!" He calls out while pointing over at the raven-haired boy, catching him off guard as everyone suddenly turns to him. "W-what?? But that's not true!" He tries to lie but then one of his friends speaks up. "it is, though. You took it way too far, man."

Quackity felt like a fish out of water, his face heating up from embarrassment and guilt as the principal took him down to the office, even calling his parents.

Needless to say, his father wasn't very happy.

Quackity felt like he couldn't breathe. How could he have ever forgotten that moment? "Wait... I didn't... I didn’t realize that was you," he said softly, the weight of realization crashing down on him. Wilbur looked away, visibly uncomfortable, curling in on himself as if trying to retreat from the conversation.

Before he could fully process his emotions, Quackity quickly packed up his things, the moment's urgency propelling him forward. "I... I'll just... see myself out," he muttered, bolting for the door. Before Wilbur could find the words to stop him, he was down the stairs and out of the house. As he slammed the door behind him, the sound echoed in his ears, a sharp reminder of the turmoil he felt inside.

He hopped on his bike, legs pumping furiously as he pedaled down the street, urgency fueling his speed. His muscles burned, but he didn’t care. All he could think about was the implications of what he had done. That must be why Wilbur was so awkward around him. That must be why Tommy looked at him as if he were some kind of menace. He had hurt Wilbur once, and now he had thrust himself back into his life without even realizing the impact.

Questions raced through his mind, but there was no way he could stick around to ask Wilbur. He just needed to get home and find some clarity amidst the chaos of his thoughts.

As soon as Quackity got home, he leaned his bike against the side of the house, just like always. But this time, he bolted inside, heart racing as he took the stairs two at a time. The fear of making any noise consumed him—his father couldn’t know he was home yet. Silently, like a ghost, he slipped into his room, closing the door behind him without a sound.

His chest heaved as he stood there, his back against the door. The memories of Wilbur, the revelation, and his reckless actions swirled in his mind, almost overwhelming him. He hated this feeling. This guilt.

And then, a darker thought surfaced—one he couldn't shake.

He hoped he wasn’t like his father.

Chapter 3: Quackity's POV Third Person

Summary:

Wilbur is too nice sometimes. Quackity doesn't think he deserves it.

Notes:

dw we will get to wilbur's pov soon

It was Sunday now, a day after Quackity had bolted from Wilbur’s house, unable to process the weight of their shared history. The realization still hung over him like a storm cloud, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop beating himself up for not recognizing Wilbur after all these years.

He’d retreated to the safety of his room, wrapped up in his blanket cocoon with no intention of facing the world—least of all his dad. The music in his earbuds was cranked up to drown out the thoughts swirling in his mind, the familiar comfort of loud songs and muffled reality keeping the world at bay. Normally, being under the covers like this would leave him sweating and uncomfortable, but with the chill in the house and no heat to speak of, the warmth felt perfect.

He tried to stay buried in the music, but now and then, Wilbur’s words and that memory of the playground came rushing back.

Quackity sat under the towering tree, knees pulled to his chest as he stared down at his velcro shoes. Recess was usually a time for running around, joining in on games, or at least talking to his friends—but things hadn’t been the same since Wilbur moved schools.

It wasn’t that he missed teasing Wilbur. No, it was something deeper, something lonelier that clung to him ever since the change. The playground felt different, and emptier, and the echo of his old friends' words still stung, especially the way they had said his full name.

"We don't like you, Alexis. We don't want to be your friends anymore."

He could still hear them, voices sharp and cold, leaving him no room to argue. As much as he wanted to pretend otherwise, a part of him believed they were right to abandon him. The rumors that had spread around the school hadn’t helped either, making him feel like an outcast. Normally, Schlatt would be there to keep him company—a kid in the grade above who didn’t care about what everyone else said. But today, Schlatt was out sick, leaving Quackity alone.

So, he stayed under the tree, counting down the minutes until the school day was over and he could finally go home. He just wanted to see his mom, where things made a little more sense and the world didn’t feel so heavy.

Quackity stared at the red kickball near his feet, his hands resting on his knees as a boy came running over. He looked up, about to respond when another boy interrupted.

"Mike! Don't talk to him, he can't play with us." The second boy's words stung, but Mike hesitated, confused.

"But why?" Mike asked, his tone softer.

"Haven't you heard? He's mean. He bullied a kid so much he had to switch schools."

Quackity listened in silence, his throat tightening as the boys walked back to their game. The words echoed in his mind, the accusation feeling heavier each time it replayed. He buried his face into his arms, trying to block it all out. His lip wobbled, and his eyes burned, but he blinked quickly, shaking his head.

He couldn’t cry. His father hated it when he cried. "Crying makes you weak," his father always said. "And you’re not weak, Alexis. You’re stronger than that."

But no matter how much he tried to believe it, the truth was harder to ignore. He felt weak. And more than that, he felt lonely. The isolation pressed down on him like a weight he couldn’t escape. All he wanted was a friend, someone who didn’t judge him or bring up the past. But right now, all he had was the cold bark of the tree and the fading sound of the kids' game in the background.

Quackity rubbed his eyes, groaning softly as he sat up in bed. He glanced at his phone again, seeing Schlatt’s message sitting on the lock screen. He didn’t feel like getting out of bed, but the school project gnawed at the back of his mind. It was due tomorrow, and he had no choice but to get it done today.

Slipping out from under the covers, he padded over to his desk, pulling his chair out with a soft scrape against the floor. He opened his laptop and logged into Discord, ready to join Schlatt in the voice chat. At least working with him made the project a bit more bearable. As he waited for the screen to load, his thoughts drifted back to Wilbur.

He knew Wilbur probably wouldn't even ask about the project, but Quackity wanted to finish it anyway—for both of them. He didn’t want Wilbur to have to worry about a failing grade because of him, especially with how awkward things had been since that strange realization at Wilbur’s house.

With a sigh, he clicked into the voice channel.

“Yo, you there?” Schlatt's voice crackled through the speakers.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” Quackity muttered, adjusting his microphone. “Let’s get this thing over with.”

"Wow, someone sounds awful. What happened? Is it your dad again? Because if it is, I swear—"

"It's not my dad, Schlatt." Quackity cut him off, running a hand down his face, exhaustion tugging at every word. "Yesterday was just... rough."

He pulled up the PowerPoint slide on his screen, the familiar layout blurring as his mind replayed everything from the day before. Just one more slide. Then the works cited, and he'd be done. Simple. He wished his head felt as clear as the task in front of him.

"You want to talk about it?" Schlatt asked. Quackity’s eyes remained fixed on the screen. Quackity took a deep breath, staring at the PowerPoint as the cursor blinked at him. He wasn’t sure how to explain what had happened, but if anyone would get it, it was Schlatt. He had been around back when things went wrong before—he’d seen how Quackity was treated, how he had pushed people away.

“I guess… it’s Wilbur,” Quackity finally said, his voice quieter than before. He could almost hear Schlatt raise an eyebrow through the silence on the other end. “You remember that kid who switched schools because of me? That whole rumor?”

“Yeah,” Schlatt replied slowly. “Wait, don’t tell me—Wilbur’s that kid?”

Quackity let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, he is. And I didn’t even realize it until yesterday.”

Schlatt didn’t say anything for a moment, and Quackity took the opportunity to click through the PowerPoint slides, his thoughts jumbled. It felt surreal that after all these years, the one person he thought he could finally connect with had turned out to be someone he’d hurt in the past.

“And you’re still working on this project together?” Schlatt asked, sounding almost impressed.

“I was going to finish it alone,” Quackity admitted. “I don’t want him to worry about it. I just… I don’t know what to do. It’s like, I didn’t even mean to mess everything up back then, but now I’m doing it all over again.”

Schlatt’s voice softened a little. “Look, man, you can’t change what happened, but you’re not that same kid anymore. If Wilbur’s still talking to you, maybe you’ve got a shot to make it right. You’re trying to help him with this project, so that’s a start.”

Quackity leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah, maybe.”

The silence between them lingered for a moment before Schlatt’s voice cut through. “Alright, here’s the deal: you finish those last two slides, and then when you're done, I’ll pick you up. We’ll grab some food because you need to get out of that house and out of your head. Plus, I doubt you’ve eaten since yesterday.”

Quackity’s gaze shifted, a pang of guilt twisting in his stomach. He hadn’t eaten, and the ache only confirmed it. But he knew better than to argue; Schlatt would drag him out whether he agreed. With a resigned sigh, he let a small smile tug at his lips. “Okay, fine. Deal.”

-

Quackity slipped on his shoes and zipped up his worn blue jacket the second his phone buzzed with a message from Schlatt. The assignment was finally done, and he had already texted Wilbur to let him know he’d finished and submitted it online. He powered down his phone, pocketing it before heading out to the familiar, beat-up truck idling outside. The cold air hit him immediately as he stepped out, but the warmth inside the truck was a relief. Climbing into the passenger seat, he rubbed his hands together, letting the hot air from the vents chase away the lingering chill.

"Alright, you choose where to go. I'll even pay," Schlatt offered, shifting the truck into drive and pulling away from the curb.

Quackity shrugged, staring out the window. "Just... wherever. I don’t care."

"Fine then. iHop it is," Schlatt said decisively.

Quackity let out a soft chuckle. "Really? iHop? Of all places?"

"You didn’t decide, so I did!" Schlatt shot back with a smirk, glancing over at him. Quackity just shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. It wasn’t fancy, but maybe pancakes were exactly what he needed.

Schlatt’s playlist filled the quiet of the truck as they drove through town, the hum of music mixing with the soft thrum of the engine. Quackity sat slouched against the window, his breath fogging up the glass. His eyes were distant, fixed on the blur of buildings passing by. Even with the beanie on his head, Schlatt could see the mess of unkempt hair beneath it, the tangles that had been neglected.

"I know what you’re thinking," Schlatt said, his tone softer now. "Everything that happened back then—it wasn’t your fault. Well, not all of it, at least."

Quackity scoffed, shaking his head. "Yeah, right."

"I’m serious, Quackity," Schlatt insisted. "Besides, it’s not like you were the only one who made fun of Wilbur back then."

"Yeah, but they threw me under the bus. They got off scot-free."

Schlatt’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as he glanced over. "True, but we both know the only reason you acted like that was because of your awful father." His voice was laced with the kind of fierce loyalty only Schlatt could muster.

Quackity didn’t respond, his gaze still locked on the outside world, but Schlatt knew the words had hit home.

"Either way, you were just a kid with a rough home life," Schlatt continued, his voice steady but not without a hint of understanding. "It’s not like I have a clean record either."

Quackity nodded, though his eyes remained cast downward, focused on his hands as they fidgeted in his lap. The skin around his knuckles was pale from the cold, but his fingers wouldn’t stay still. "Yeah... I suppose you’re right," he muttered, though the weight of guilt lingered in his tone.

Schlatt glanced over at him again, his gaze softer this time. “You did what you had to do to survive back then. That doesn’t make you a bad person now.”

Quackity didn’t respond, but the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease if only a little.

-

"Here is your food, enjoy," the waitress said, setting down two plates stacked with pancakes, eggs, and bacon in front of them. She gave a polite nod before walking off, leaving the two boys in the comfort of their booth.

Quackity didn’t waste a second, diving right into the meal. The warmth and taste hit him hard, and he only realized how hungry he was. "I’ll admit," he said between bites, "this was a good choice. Exactly what I needed." A small smile crept onto his face, his spirits lifting as the food settled in.

Schlatt nodded, watching him for a second before biting his scrambled eggs. "I knew it would be," he replied, his tone casual but pleased.

"Uh, thank you by the way. To do this. You didn't have to..." Quackity mutters but Schlatt shrugs. "It's no big deal. That's what friends are for."

Quackity stared down at the text on his screen, his mind racing as he reread Wilbur's message.

"Hey, I don’t know what I said to scare you off, but I’m sorry. I saw you finished the project, though. You didn’t have to. I want to know if you want to meet me in the library after school so we can talk about some things. I can explain myself better. Only if you want, though."

He let out a quiet breath and read it aloud, letting Schlatt listen as he worked through it in his head.

Schlatt took a thoughtful sip of his drink. "Why not just meet up with him tomorrow?"

Quackity bit his lip, hesitant. "But what if he... I don’t know. What if he yells at me? Calls me names or something?" Even as he spoke, he couldn’t shake the nagging thought that maybe he deserved that reaction.

Schlatt rolled his eyes. "He doesn’t strike me as that kind of guy. Look, it might make you feel better to talk things out. And worst-case, you’ll know where you stand."

Quackity took another bite, chewing thoughtfully as Schlatt's words sank in. "Man, when did this have to get so complicated?" he muttered, more to himself than anything.

But Schlatt answered anyway, shrugging as he tore off a piece of pancake. "Look on the bright side. This is your chance to make things right. You’ve changed, no thanks to your dad, but still—you’re a good person now. The least you can do is apologize to Wilbur and move on.”

Quackity huffed a laugh, glad for the slight lift in his mood. “Since when did you get so wise? Age finally catching up to you?” he teased.

Schlatt chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, right! Let’s just say I learned from experience.” He smirked and went back to his food.

Quackity leaned back, feeling the first hints of relief settle in. Maybe talking to Wilbur was exactly what he needed.

-

Quackity sat at one of the library tables, his leg bouncing nervously as his fingers drummed against the edge of the wood. He couldn’t keep still, his mind racing as he waited for Wilbur. Every passing second felt like an eternity, but before his thoughts could spiral any further, the sound of approaching footsteps pulled him back to reality. Wilbur appeared, his shoulders slightly hunched and his hands stuffed into his pockets. He slipped into the seat across from Quackity, his gaze fixed on the table as if it held all the answers he needed.

Quackity glanced at him, but his own eyes quickly darted away. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Wilbur’s gaze, not when his own guilt felt like a weight pressing down on him.

“So,” Wilbur said after a beat of awkward silence, his voice tentative, “uh, I saw that you... finished the project. And submitted it.”

“Yeah, I did,” Quackity replied quietly, his voice almost lost in the library’s stillness.

Wilbur gave a small nod. “I... thank you. But you left before I could explain some things, so... I’m going to do that.”

Quackity swallowed hard, his throat dry as he nodded back. He didn’t trust himself to speak, too busy bracing for whatever Wilbur was about to say.

Wilbur rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uneasy as he stared down at the table. “I’ve been trying to figure out what to say since yesterday,” he began, his voice quiet but steady. “And, honestly, I think I’ll just come out with it. When I realized who you were... well, it wasn’t easy for me to process.”

Quackity’s hands clenched in his lap as his stomach twisted. He’d been bracing himself for anger, for accusations, but Wilbur’s tone was calm—too calm, almost unreadable.

“I’m not going to pretend like what happened back then didn’t hurt,” Wilbur continued, finally meeting Quackity’s gaze, though his brown eyes held no malice. “But I’ve also had a lot of time to think about it. And I know now that kids don’t act like that for no reason. I don’t know what you were going through back then, but I do know people don’t just wake up and decide to be cruel.”

Quackity’s throat tightened as guilt clawed at him. “Wilbur, I—” he started, but Wilbur held up a hand.

“Let me finish,” he said, his voice firmer now. “I’m not saying it excuses what you did, but it does help me understand. And... seeing you now? It’s obvious you’re not that person anymore. People grow, Quackity. They change. And I think you have too.”

Quackity blinked, his chest feeling both heavy and oddly light at the same time. “I don’t even know what to say,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve spent so long feeling like I can’t ever make up for what I did to you.”

Wilbur leaned back in his chair, his expression softening just a bit. “Well, maybe this is a good place to start,” he said simply. “Talking about it. Owning it. And maybe even moving past it.”

Quackity nodded, his throat too tight to speak. For the first time in years, the possibility of redemption felt like it wasn’t just some distant dream.

"I feel like you at least deserve an explanation—for why I did what I did to you," Quackity began, his voice wavering with a mix of guilt and determination. Wilbur, however, shook his head softly, cutting him off.

“No, really, you don’t have to,” Wilbur said, his tone calm and steady. “That’s for you to know. Just the fact that you stood up for me the other day was proof enough.” A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Quackity frowned but pressed on, sincerity lacing his words. “I know, but still. I’m so sorry, Wilbur. Like, really sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

Wilbur’s smile grew, warmer this time, as if a weight of his own had been lifted. “Apology accepted,” he said simply.

Quackity exhaled deeply, a small, relieved smile breaking across his face. The tension between them dissolved, leaving an unexpected sense of lightness in its place. He knew there was still a long way to go, still so much to prove and repair, but for the first time in years, it felt like they were finally moving forward.

 

"You were right."

"You'll have to be more specific. I'm always right," Schlatt quipped, a smirk tugging at his lips as neither boy tore their eyes away from the game on the TV. They sat cross-legged on the floor of Schlatt’s living room, controllers gripped tightly in their hands.

"Wilbur and I talked today. In the library," Quackity said, his voice soft but filled with relief. "I apologized, and he... accepted. He wants to move forward. He even said he can see I’ve changed." A small smile played on Quackity’s lips at the thought, the memory still fresh.

Schlatt glanced at him briefly, a grin spreading across his face. "See? Told you!"

"Oh, shut up and let me destroy you on Rainbow Road," Quackity shot back, his competitive streak kicking in.

"You're on!"

Chapter 4: Wilbur's POV Third Person

Summary:

Quackity invites Wilbur over for a block party

Notes:

I think i changed c!Dream being on the football team to like the track/cross country team cuz it made more sense cuz like... yknow speed running

It was Saturday, and Saturdays were always Wilbur’s favorite.

Saturdays meant no school and, most importantly, no dealing with the mean boys from the track team. Saturdays were freedom—a chance to stay home, lose himself in video games (sometimes with Tommy), strum his guitar, or tinker with the half-finished songs piling up in his notebook. It was his weekly breath of fresh air, a welcome escape from the weight of the weekdays.
Sitting cross-legged on his bed, Wilbur gently strummed his guitar, the soft notes filling the quiet room. Every few chords, he paused to jot something down in his notebook, the corner of his lip caught between his teeth in thought. The buzz of his phone on the nightstand pulled him from his creative flow. Reaching over, he glanced at the screen, finding a text from Quackity.

Quackity
Hey, this is a little last minute, and sorry if it's strange, but would you want to come to my neighborhood block party tonight?
Think of it as my way of making things up to you.
You'll get free food!

Wilbur tilted his head, reading the message twice. He set the guitar down and leaned back against his headboard, considering. He didn’t have anything planned for the rest of the day, and honestly, who would say no to free food? Plus, the effort Quackity was putting into making amends was hard to ignore. The idea of showing up to a block party full of strangers made him hesitate, but declining felt unnecessarily cold. It wasn’t like it was some formal event.

Wilbur
Sure, just send me the address and I'll be there.

The reply came almost immediately.

Quackity
Cool! See you there!
[MAP LOCATION ATTACHED]

Wilbur sighed, setting his phone back on the nightstand. This would be fine. It might even be fun.

-

After getting the green light from his dad, Wilbur was dropped off at the end of Quackity's street. He waved as the car pulled away, then turned to take in the scene before him. The usually quiet, dimly lit neighborhood had transformed into a bustling hub of energy. The small, worn-down houses were alive with activity, the streets filled with the laughter and chatter of kids darting around and adults arranging an array of dishes on long tables that spanned the yards.

Strings of colorful lights hung from the trees, casting a warm glow over the festive scene and illuminating the street just enough to make everything feel cozy. The mouthwatering aroma of a dozen different foods wafted through the air, causing Wilbur's stomach to growl audibly. He realized he hadn't eaten dinner, and the tempting smells only made his hunger more pronounced.

"Hey, Wilbur!" Quackity's cheerful voice broke through the noise, drawing Wilbur's attention. Quackity jogged over, a bright smile on his face. He had traded his usual blue jacket and black jeans for a black tank top and beige cargo shorts, a practical choice for the unusually warm October evening. Despite the change in outfit, he still sported his signature beanie, a detail that made Wilbur chuckle under his breath.

"You made it!" Quackity beamed, his excitement contagious.

"Uh, yeah, I mean... I said I was coming...!" Wilbur replies nervously, doing his best to force a small, somewhat awkward smile.

"Alright, well, come on! I'll show you around and explain some things." Quackity motions for Wilbur to follow, and the two start walking down the gravel road together.

"What do I need to know?" Wilbur asks, glancing around at the lively scene.

"Honestly, just one thing. This whole street is kind of a small Mexican community," Quackity says with a grin. "So, I hope you like spicy foods!"

Wilbur chuckles, feeling his nerves ease a bit as he smiles genuinely. "I'm fine with anything. I'm open to trying whatever."

Suddenly, a shout from one of the nearby front yards grabs their attention.

"¡Hola, Quackity!" ("Hey, Quackity!")

Both boys stop walking and look over to see a group of teenagers around their age gathered in the yard. One of them, a boy holding his arms up in mock exasperation, calls out again.

"¡Pasa el balón de vuelta!" ("Throw the ball back over!")

Quackity glances down and notices a basketball lying a few inches from his feet. Grinning, he bends down to grab it and shouts back with a playful tone, "¡Los tengo, muchachos!" ("I got you, guys!")

He tosses the ball back to them with an easy, practiced motion, and the teens cheer as they resume their game. Quackity turns back to Wilbur with an easygoing smile, as if this kind of interaction was second nature to him, and they continue on their way.

"Wow. So, do you know everyone here?" Wilbur asks, his curiosity evident.

Quackity nods confidently. "Yup, pretty much! Everyone here has lived on this street for as long as I can remember, way back to when I was a kid. My house is just over here." He points to a small house and leads Wilbur toward a grill set up just past a chain-link fence. Wilbur notices that, unlike the other houses on the street, Quackity’s isn’t lit up or decorated.

"Did you not want to decorate with the others?" Wilbur asks casually. But he catches the subtle way Quackity tenses up for a split second before relaxing and shrugging it off.

"Nah, wasn’t in the mood," Quackity replies, brushing off the question. "Besides, I was busy all day prepping my special hamburger patties! I think you’ll like them." He flashes a quick smile, deftly changing the subject as he crouches to pull something from a blue cooler beside the grill.

Wilbur notices the shift in his demeanor but doesn’t press further. It didn’t feel like his place to ask. Instead, he watches as Quackity pulls out several small patties wrapped in wax paper, placing six on the grill. The sizzling sound fills the air, mingling with the lively noises of the block party around them.

Wilbur looks closer at the patties, intrigued by their appearance. They’re not the typical hamburger patties—these have a rich, rusty red hue and seem to have other ingredients mixed in with the ground meat.

Quackity catches him staring and grins. "Pretty neat, right? It’s my mom’s special recipe for homemade burgers. You just grind up some thawed meat, mix it with spicy salsa and black beans, shape ’em, and boom! You’ve got a burger that’s way better than anything from a fast-food place."

"That sounds delicious, Quackity! I didn’t know you could cook," Wilbur says, his voice warm with genuine admiration.

Quackity shrugs nonchalantly but wears a smug smile. "It’s just a useful skill to have. Plus, these burgers are great for experimenting with toppings you wouldn’t normally find on a fast-food burger. I’ve got everything in the cooler. You wanna set it up for me on that table over there?" He nods toward a wooden picnic table in the middle of the road.

"Sure," Wilbur replies, grabbing the cooler and heading toward the table. As he unpacks it, he finds an assortment of condiments, fresh vegetables, and a few unique toppings he hadn’t expected. The variety makes him smile as he organizes everything, already imagining how good those burgers are going to taste.

After setting it up Wilbur takes a seat at the table and makes small talk with Quackity as he occasionally flips the burger patties before placing the done ones on a paper plate next to him. Occasionally someone would walk over and start talking to Quackity and introduce themselves to Wilbur, making more small talk before they take a burger patty and bun, putting on the different toppings sitting out on the table before walking away. After the third person came around-an older looking woman-Quackity turns to Wilbur. "You don't have to just sit there, y'know. You can grab yourself a burger if you want. Or go see what other foods we have," Quackity suggests. Wilbur chuckles nervously as he tries to force his tense shoulders to relax, walking over to place one of the patties on the bun before sitting back at the table. He grabs a slice of Swiss cheese and tops it off with a tomato and what looked to be a bottle of hot sauce. He'd never thought to put hot sauce on a burger but he'd trust Quackity's judgement.

And boy was his trust not let down. The burgers were delicious! The meat was thick and juicy, a strange texture and taste but in a good way as it blends perfectly with the toppings he chose. The tomato and buns kept the hot sauce from burning his mouth while also adding a strong flavor that melts in his mouth. Wilbur couldn't help but devour the burger before looking up at Quackity, eyes wide with joy and a bright smile. "Wow, you can really cook! These are delicious!" Quackity laughs and blushes slightly from the compliment, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's nothing. It's just my mom's recipe," He explains sheepishly. "Well then she's quite the genius!"

After Quackity finishes cooking all of the patties he had in his cooler, he leaves the plate on the table next to the toppings and bag of buns with another paper plate placed over it to keep it warm while he has his own burger, Wilbur happily taking another one. They talk and laugh as they finish their burgers before Quackity drags Wilbur over to the other foods the neighbors have cooked. They had lots of sweet and sour dishes and plenty of spicy ones before they finish it off with some dessert. It was some of the best food Wilbur has had in his life. Once the two finished eating the sun had almost fully set and most of the kids got tired and headed off to bed while the grown ups help clean everything up.

Wilbur thanks Quackity and his neighbors for inviting him and for all of the delicious food which is how he got sent home with five containers filled with different leftovers for him and his family, including Quackity's burger patties. He got picked up by his dad who was impressed and thankful for all of the food. Even Tommy didn't seem to complain.

All in all, it was probably the best Saturday Wilbur has ever had.

Chapter 5: Quackity's POV Third Person

Summary:

Quackity goes to Harfest

Notes:

Not me thinking "it took me a while to get this out but at least it's a longer chapter!" when it's only a few thousand words long *sobs* still I hope you enjoyed! I'm trying to update it somewhat regularly!

"IT'S HARFEST DAY!" Schlatt shouts from the other end of the Discord voice call, causing Quackity to wince and turn down his headphones volume with a chuckle. "Geeze man, you don't gotta be so loud about it!"

"Come on, Quackity. Lighten up! Where's your Harfest spirit?"
"Our town does this every year, dude. Plus, aren't you getting a little too old for it?"

Schlatt scoffs, as if he couldn't believe what Quackity was saying. "No, it's not just for kids, Q. Harfest is for everyone! Besides, Foolish said you're already going to be there! What's your costume going to be?"

Quackity shrugs as he boots up Minecraft on his PC. "I think I'm just going to go as a sheet ghost. It's simple yet the best costume ever."

Schlatt scoffs, but Quackity knows there's no true disgust behind it. "Man, that's boring!"
"It's not boring. It's called simplicity."

"Yeah, whatever you say. I, on the other hand, am going to go as a demonic goat!" Schlatt proudly declares that he and Quackity have created together, as he joins the world. Quackity laughs as he mines some redstone. "Let me guess: you've been playing Cult of the Lamb again recently?"

"Oh, you know it, sugar pumpkin!" Schlatt replies, earning a very loud groan followed by a laugh from Quackity's end. "You did not just say that!"

"I did!"
"Come on, man! Are you seriously going to use that stupid nickname every year??"
"Of course I have to!"

Quackity shakes his head with another laugh. "Whatever, man. Just focus on the game instead, yeah?"

-

It was a few hours before Harfest started at Rosen Family Farm. It's a Halloween/Fall type of event their small town puts on every year. No one knows why or how it first started, but everyone just goes along with it now. They had everything from fall carnival games like bobbing for apples, a pumpkin carving contest, delicious fall food stands, a spooky ghost story reenactment, a haunted hayride, and plenty more. There were also some made-up traditions from the kids and teenagers of the town, such as the annual Midnight Train Watch. It's based on an urban legend that once a year on Harfest, if you're lucky, a spectral train can be seen gliding down the rails before disappearing into thin air. So, kids and teenagers will gather around the train tracks near the fairgrounds in hopes of seeing the train.

Quackity remembers when he used to do that, back when things were simpler. Back before his life got all screwed up. He doesn't do any of that anymore, not only because of that, but also because he doesn't believe in ghosts, much less ghost trains.

Harfest also always took place on the day right before Halloween, as they realized children still wanted to be able to go to Harfest and trick-or-treat, so they moved it from Halloween night to the night before.

Quackity was finishing up his costume, adding a few decorations and accessories to his otherwise blank costume, like gluing on some fabric stars and patches before draping it over his head, lining it up so he could see out of the eye holes. Then, for the finishing touch, he puts on sunglasses and looks at himself in the mirror and grins underneath the sheet. Perfect! He thinks to himself before taking the sheet off and draping it on the back of his desk chair, then falls back onto his bed with a sigh and stares up at the ceiling.

He wasn't sure what to do for the next few hours. His father wasn't home for once, so he didn't have to stay up in his room, but he wasn't sure what to do. He got bored eventually and pulled out his phone to watch YouTube when he suddenly thought of Wilbur. I wonder if he's going to Harfest.

Before Quackity could think, he pulled up Wilbur's contact and sent him a quick text.

QUACKITY
Hey man! Harfest is tonight! Was just curious if you're going because I am. I figured you'd want to, considering it'd be your first Harfest since you moved back.

He didn't think much about it after that, closing out his messages and going into YouTube to pull up some gameplay video. About ten minutes into the video, he gets a notification that Wilbur texted back.

WILBUR
Nah, I don't think I will. Harfest isn't my thing anymore, I don't think.

QUACKITY
Aw, but you should go! I heard they're even going to have a fortune teller!

WILBUR
Do you believe in that stuff?

QUACKITY
No, but it's Harfest, so it's still cool! Come on, it'll be fun!

The bubbles pop up for a few seconds, then disappear for a bit, then pop up again before disappearing again. It made Quackity nervous. He hoped he wasn't pushing him too much; he just thought Wilbur would enjoy it. He was just about to send back an apology, but then Wilbur messaged him back.

WILBUR
Ok fine, I'm coming. I'll see what kind of costume I can scrounge up.

QUACKITY
Nice! See you there!

Quackity smiles as he goes back to his video. He's glad Wilbur is going. He just hopes he didn't force Wilbur into it. He'll just make sure to let Wilbur know he can leave whenever he wants.

-

The sun had set, and with it, the lights of Harfest sprang to life, casting a warm glow across the fairgrounds. Twinkling fairy lights were draped between lampposts and fences, creating a canopy of gentle illumination, alongside some jack-o-lanterns. Sturdy pavilions dotted the grounds, each sheltering picnic tables beneath their roofs. Long horse trailers had been cleverly transformed into booths for games and activities, including one promising fortunes from a local psychic. Nearby, a haunted house loomed, its eerie facade drawing visitors toward other spooky attractions like the Haunted Hayride. All of this was nestled within a wide, dusty expanse at Rosen Family Farm, brought to life under the star-streaked sky.

By the time Schlatt had found a parking spot and both he and Quackity reached the front of the fairgrounds, it was in full swing and packed with children, teens, and adults alike. Quackity adjusts the sunglasses that sat on his face in front of the eye holes he cut into the sheet for his sheet ghost costume. Schlatt stood beside him in a demonic goat costume.

"Come on, man! That costume is so boring! Where is your Harfest spirit?" Schlatt teases as the two of them walk into the fairgrounds. "Less is more in most cases. Besides, being a sheet ghost is awesome!" He replies with a huge grin underneath the white sheet. "You could've at least added some accessories!" Schlatt replied with a shake of his head, although there was no true malice behind it.

The two of them walk towards the pavilion where they saw the rest of their friends sitting at a table; Fundy and Punz were surrounding Foolish, laughing constantly, and the two of them knew why as soon as they got close enough. Quackity and Schlatt burst out laughing themselves.

"Oh my gosh, Foolish! Is that seriously your costume?!" Quackity cries out in between laughs while staring at Foolish's funny shark onesie as he gives them a big, toothy grin. "And so what if it is? It's the best costume out of all of you!" He replies, which causes everyone to laugh again. "I don't know, man. Punz is over here with his whole mob boss look, you better watch out!" Schlatt adds as he gestures to the blonde, wearing a fadora with a fancy suit on.

"Speaking of, who wears a brand new suit to a dirty farm?" Fundy asks while looking over at Punz, who simply readjusts his tie. "What can I say? It's a special night. Besides, it's not new. It's my father's. He doesn't know I took it," Punz explains with a toothy grin. "Besides, at least I'm not a furry." He jokes while nodding to Fundy. "I AM NOT A FURRY!" Fundy shouts with a light punch to Punz's shoulder, causing everyone to join in on the laughter.

"So, what are we doing first, gang? The haunted house? The corn maze?" Foolish asks while listing off potential activities they could do while glancing at everyone in the group.

"I'm actually gonna wait here for a little bit since I'm waiting for Wilbur to arrive. I'll catch up with you guys later!" Quackity explains. His friends all murmur and make some teasing comments but eventually decided to go do carnival games first while Quackity stayed near the entrance, keeping a keen eye out for Wilbur.

After a few minutes, he did finally arrive.

Wilbur walked through the entrance with Phil and Tommy next to him. Wilbur was wearing a simple scarecrow costume, Tommy was dressed as a wizard, and Phil... was Phil. Once Wilbur met Quackity's eyes, he turned to say something to his family before heading towards Quackity while the other two walked off to do their own thing. Wilbur approached with a nervous smile and his usual slouched posture.

"Hey, Quackity. Sorry, I'm late...!" He apologizes, but Quackity just lightly waves a hand at him. "No worries, man! I arrived not that long ago. Anyway, what do you want to do first? Your pick!" He replies. Wilbur doesn't seem to be expecting that, as he is caught off guard a bit. "O-oh! Uhm, yeah, yeah alright alright uhm..." Wilbur looks around for a moment before he makes a decision. "I guess we could start with the haunted house before it gets too busy. Uh, only if you want!" He suggests, adding the last bit on quickly, but Quackity just shrugs casually in hopes it'll make Wilbur relax a bit. "Yeah, sounds good to me! Let's go!"
"Oh, alright then...!"

The two of them made their way over to the already growing line for the haunted house, probably one of the most popular attractions at the fair, alongside the corn maze. They get into their spot in line and wait in somewhat comfortable silence, listening to the sounds of the fair while avoiding eye contact. It was still strange for both of them to be near each other despite things having gone well in the past few weeks. Quackity just didn't want to mess it up again.

"So," Quackity begins carefully, "Nice costume." It was all Quackity could think of on the spot, and he immediately mentally berated himself for such a stupid opener, but Wilbur chuckled lightly at it, which made him relax. "Uh, thanks! It's nothing crazy. Since you invited me so last minute, I had to dig around for an old costume. I like yours, though," Wilbur replied, to which Quackity smiles under the sheet. "Thanks! Is it because it's the coolest costume idea ever?"
"That, and also because it'd mean I could just hide from people."

"Ah, fair, fair. To be honest, I wasn't planning on dressing up either, but my friends bullied me into it!" Quackity replies to and the two of them chuckle together. "Yeah, sorry for inviting you on such short notice. I didn't realize Harfest wasn't your thing. Why's that?" He asks with a curious tilt of his head. "Oh! Uh, just... felt like I was getting too old, y'know?" Wilbur quickly replies. Quackity nods in response. "I get that," and left it at that.

Quackity left it at that, and the two of them moved on to enjoy the rest of the night. After stumbling out of the haunted house—both still clinging to each other from the last jump scare—they decided to wind down with some classic (and clearly rigged) carnival games. They tried their hand at the bottle ring toss, took turns at the shooting gallery, and mixed in a few seasonal booths: bobbing for apples, a pumpkin carving contest, and eventually splitting a warm bag of freshly made kettle corn that smelled like sugar and campfire smoke.

As the evening went on, Wilbur gradually began to loosen up. His laughter came more freely now, bright and unguarded, and the tension that clung to his shoulders earlier had started to melt away. He was smiling without realizing it, actually having fun—and that, to Quackity, was the biggest win of all.

They found themselves standing together in the middle of a wide dirt clearing, still catching their breath after a particularly stupid joke from Quackity. Their laughter faded into a comfortable quiet, both sighing in unison with soft grins lingering on their faces.

“Okay,” Wilbur finally admitted, nudging Quackity’s shoulder, “this has actually been pretty fun.”

Quackity’s face lit up beneath the thin sheet of his last-minute ghost costume. “That’s the spirit! I’m glad! But—” he added with a mischievous glint in his eye, “we’re not done yet. There’s one more thing we’ve got to do.”

“Oh?” Wilbur tilted his head curiously. “What is it?”

Quackity simply grinned and beckoned him forward. He led him toward a line of people gathered near the edge of a vast open field, where hay bales sat scattered under the moonlight like forgotten ruins.

The Haunted Hayride.

Easily one of the most popular attractions of the season, and for good reason. A massive tractor, its headlights flickering dimly, waited at the front with several carts hitched behind it. Each cart was filled with loose hay, the bales covered in scratchy wool blankets to sit on. There were no safety rails, nothing to hold onto. The ride twisted and turned sharply around the field while actors—dressed as deranged clowns wielding fake weapons and buzzing chainsaws—leapt out from the shadows and chased the carts, making even the boldest guests scream. Some even said it was more terrifying than the haunted house.

“Come on, this’ll be fun!” Quackity called over his shoulder as he started toward the line for the hayride, practically bouncing with excitement. But when he glanced back, he noticed Wilbur hadn’t moved.

He was still standing a few paces behind, rooted to the spot, staring at the tractor like it might come to life and swallow him whole. The blood had drained from his face, his expression frozen in wide-eyed fear. Quackity slowed, his brows knitting together with concern.

“If you’re scared, we don’t have to go on it,” he offered gently, his tone shifting.

Wilbur quickly shook his head, eyes darting away from Quackity’s face. “N-no, it’s not that. I-I just… uhm…”

His voice trembled, the words fumbling out like he couldn’t get a grip on them. His shoulders had risen again, drawn up tight near his ears, and his whole body had gone stiff like he was bracing for something invisible. Quackity’s concern deepened as he stepped closer, softening his voice.

“Hey. What’s going on?”

Wilbur flinched slightly. “It’s nothing! I just— I-I'm feeling tired. I think… I’m gonna head home for the night.”

“What?” Quackity blinked, confused, his worry growing. “Wilbur—”

But he didn’t get the chance to finish. Wilbur turned on his heel and bolted, weaving through the crowd without looking back. He was probably headed off to find his family, but Quackity could only watch him go, standing there under the carnival lights, trying to make sense of what just happened—what he might’ve missed.

He didn't have to wait very long for an answer though.

"Still scaring the boy off, I see," A familiar smug voice comes from behind him, causing Quackity to internally groan as his expression turns from worry to annoyance as he turns to see the captain of the track team, Dream, standing there with his arms crossed and a smirk plastered across his face.

"I know you're blind, Dream, but I didn't do anything," Quackity retorts, albeit a bit weakly. Dream simply shrugs. "Maybe not this time, but surely you remember the last time."
"Last time?"

"Y'know, the last time you went on this ride with Wilbur. Don't tell me you've forgotten?" Dream hints at with a knowing smile. Quackity meanwhile looked down at the ground as he wracked his brain to figure out what he meant.

But the longer he stood there, the more Quackity’s smile faded, his expression slowly twisting into one of dawning horror. A memory surfaced—sharp and unwelcome—dragging him back to a Harfest from years ago, when they were just kids in elementary school. Before everything went wrong.

He remembered it too clearly now. He had begged Wilbur to go on the hayride with him, masking mischief with a fake smile and a voice full of false kindness. Wilbur had been hesitant, nervous—but Quackity had pushed, insisting, until he agreed.

And then, halfway through the ride, right as the tractor turned a sharp corner, Quackity had shoved him. Not hard enough to cause serious injury—or so he thought—but enough to send Wilbur tumbling off the cart and into the dirt.

The hayride screeched to a halt. Workers and festival-goers had rushed to help. The rest of the night was a blur of chaos and guilt, the ride shut down early, the field buzzing with panic.

The next day, Wilbur came to school with his left arm in a cast.

Dream, knowing his job was done, turned away once again with a knowing grin and walked off, leaving Quackity to the old memory and overwhelming guilt that rushed over him.

It explained why Wilbur didn't want to come, why he said Harfest wasn't his thing. It's because of Quackity, because of course it was. It was always his fault. Once Quackity had broken out of his trance, he tracked down Schlatt and asked his friend to drive him home, ignoring his friend's questions of what happened and if he was okay. He simply took Quackity home and the boy snuck through the quiet house (as to not wake his father) and quickly get out of his costume, hiding under the covers of his bed.

It's always my fault.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of But not just for a moment could we ever possibly (forget for just a breath that we could ever be)