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The president of Las Nevadas was fading away.
Phantom pain wasn't something new for Quackity. As soon as his back would start throbbing, he knew it was coming. He was lucky if he had the painkillers nearby - which he almost always had, but it wasn't the problem. His body seemed to get used to any medicine he'd take sooner or later, and the fear of one day being completely tied up to his bed for the rest of his life was becoming more and more obvious.
People say that time heals, but his bones were getting weaker every day. The pain wasn't new though. Before his second death he'd had to deal with the scar on his face, which stung periodically. Well, with the scar it was easier, because he didn't have the need to one day look for a way to walk again.
First it was a simple cane, then he switched to crutches, and as time went, he found himself using a wheelchair. Not an ideal solution, but it was at least something.
Sometimes, when no one could see, he locked himself in his room and tried to stand up, failing miserably. And sometimes, he woke up in the middle of the night because he couldn't feel his legs anymore. There were multiple scratches right above his knees from when he would dig his nails into the skin in order to feel at least something while the rest of his body shuddered with sobs.
Quackity would never admit it bothered him, not only because it was embarrassing, but also because it actually didn’t that much. His body was breaking, but his soul felt quite at ease. There were people who visited him in Las Nevadas, there was Foolish, who helped him with the paperwork and with the country in general. And no one of them seemed to have problems with Quackity’s condition – so he kept all the problems to himself. It was his pain, after all.
He couldn’t bring himself to visit the top floors of any building since losing his second life. The height made him dizzy, he soon discovered, so any new building in Las Nevadas wasn’t higher than 4 floors. The best excuse he came up was the fact that it was problematic to use elevator with a wheelchair. And maybe Foolish refused to comment on that out of pure politeness. Just maybe.
It was customary for him to spend the evenings on his veranda listening to music disks and dozing off from time to time. This evening wasn’t an exception.
He was tapping his foot on the floor and smoking, following the melody with silent humming. Two rings on his fingers were shinning gloomily under the sunset, together with glasses hanging by the collar of his shirt. Quackity lowered his gaze to look at the rings. Two pieces of soulless metal looked at him back. He didn’t know why he kept them: he told himself that it was because he tried to be grateful for the memories they were connected to. To the people they were connected to.
But he was known to be a big liar.
His other hand went to fiddle with his braid. It was resting on his shoulder like a black snake, crawling under his beanie. Quackity just didn’t bother to cut his hair at this point. He was perfectly fine with the braid. It didn’t take long to make it, and he could leave it like that for weeks before he’d feel the need to wash his hair, which he rarely ended up doing. Showering can be a problem when all your bones are failing you.
His cigarette soon was put out, and he relaxed a bit more, closing his eyes and sighing deeply. The sunbeams licked his skin softly, and he felt the slight aching in his limbs more clearly. He couldn’t care less about it. Maybe he deserved it.
Even if his life seemed peaceful, it was certainly lacking something. Las Nevadas was doing great, he had people who cared about him, he felt like he was becoming a better person. And still, the small empty space in his heart felt bigger ang bigger. This fact genuinely disappointed Quackity. After so much healing, after so many attempts to fix his mistakes, to make his country a good place – and he still wasn’t exactly happy. It just felt stupid. It didn’t make sense.
The music disk stopped. He put another one in the jukebox.
Sometimes he wondered if happiness was even real. If the things he felt before all this – before this server had become so messed up, and he together with it – were true. Young Quackity would be so disappointed if he found out what would become of him. But the present Quackity didn’t want to bother him. He’d believed in better things, he had done better things. He’d been loved and welcome, and he hadn’t had to fake the smile they’d all seen before.
Young Quackity didn’t feel that empty.
After this thought, his mind started to feel fussy from tiredness. He didn’t know how long he sit there, considering that the disk stopped playing long before he considered opening his eyes and moving inside the house. But it was a nice warm august evening, maybe one of last pleasant summer moments he would have a chance to enjoy.
He didn’t think this evening would be any different from others. Until he heard a quiet voice.
“Hey,” it called.
Quackity would just pretend he was asleep if it was Foolish or anyone else. He would try to ignore them or excuse himself inside. He would if he didn’t recognize the voice immediately.
He snapped his head up, and his eyes widened.
“I knew you weren’t really asleep,” the voice said with a chuckle. It held a slightly annoying British accent and a bit of hoarseness.
Wilbur looked different, yet still like himself. Slightly longer hair, more relaxed and softer expression, his clothes more casual. Other than his famous round glasses he wore a short jacket and a sweater, loose jeans, and a bunch of colourful bracelets on his wrists.
“What?...” Quackity found himself saying. He frowned with astonishment.
Wilbur smiled more. “Hello, Quackity. Sorry, am I still not allowed in here?” he said.
The man in the chair sat there in confusion, not sure if he was asleep and just having a dream. But as the slight pain in his bones returned, he realized it was pretty much real.
“How did you end up here?” Quackity asked, and it felt stupid.
“You know, I got your letter and decided to come over,” Wilbur shrugged. “And I don’t wanna sound rude, but I think I should be one asking how you ended up… like this,” he nodded at the wheelchair.
As if not completely understanding the gesture, Quackity looked down at himself and only now seemed to realize what was happening. He quickly put away the disks and moved himself from the veranda, at the ground next to Wilbur. The man before him looked amused with the fact that he was even taller now, but didn’t mentioned it, waiting for Quackity’s answer.
“You know, thing happened,” he mumbled, his fingers instinctively came to fiddle with his braid.
“And you’re still wearing these glasses? Aren’t they the ones you wore during the elections?” Wilbur asked playfully.
“Dude, I’m an old man living in a desert, give me a slack,” Quackity rolled his eyes.
“Oh yeah, the desert that isn’t even real,” Wilbur chuckled.
“Shut up,” he couldn’t but smile himself finally.
Wilbur scrutinized the short man. He looked mostly tired, and there was a grey tone in his face that made the little freckles on it stand out less than he remembered. He could feel Quackity’s discomfort, and he wondered if it was because of the vulnerable position he was in, or just the way the conversation didn’t go anywhere.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” Quackity suddenly said, not looking at Wilbur.
The taller man only smiled with a corner of his mouth. “Mind showing me around? You’ve got a big country out here,” he said.
Quackity looked up at him and tried to find any malicious intentions in his eyes. He found none. He silently nodded, and then Wilbur casually came up to the back of his chair. Quackity felt his hands taking the chair handles as he slightly pushed it forward.
“Lead the way, president,” Wilbur announced cheerfully, and Quackity left himself relax.
As they passed through the streets of Las Nevadas, they talked about the things that in usual circumstances they wouldn’t even think about: their routine, their everyday worries, some recent events. Wilbur guided the wheelchair as Quackity’s hands rested on his lap, showing him the buildings, and telling stories related to them. It led to them talking about the times they both were around, which led them to talking about their friends, then to million other topics about who they used to be.
Wilbur was listening to Quackity’s voice, watching the sun setting, and suddenly his gaze caught the Space Needle. The tower shone quietly, rising above the country and its stone jungle, and it felt awfully alone. Wilbur thought for a second before starting to head closer to it. The fountain in front of the casino appeared at the distance.
“You know,” Wilbur said thoughtfully. “After all what happened, I wanted to visit you before I’d leave, but you didn’t seem to be home.”
“Oh, right,” Quackity cleared his throat. “Tommy mentioned it. Where did you go anyway?”
Wilbur laughed. “I don’t think you really wanna know.”
“Alright, keep your secrets, creep,” Quackity chuckled.
“You’re just insufferable,” Wilbur shook his head. Then, his smile faded. “I just…I’ve always felt like I kind of owed you after everything. But…there were miles between us, and I think it was an excuse for me not to care.”
Quackity didn’t answer, and Wilbur didn’t notice how the short man’s head lowered a little. Making excuses for not caring wasn’t exactly something he could judge Wilbur for. he’d be the biggest hypocrite if he did.
Wilbur stopped beside the Needle and let go of the wheelchair. He sighed deeply, looking back at the fountains. “It doesn’t feel like I’ve really done much healing after I left.”
It felt like the words slipped from his lips unintentionally, and Quackity stayed silent again. It was almost dark now, and the lights of Las Nevadas were beginning to take their place. Quackity breathed in the twilight air and bit his lips.
Has he been healing himself?
“Come on,” he heard Wilbur saying, and to his misfortune, he saw the man heading toward the bubble elevator.
“Wait,” he called. Wilbur turned to look at him. “I… I can’t really go there with the chair.”
Wilbur seemed puzzled for a moment, and then his face blushed slightly with embarrassment. Did he expect Quackity to just stand up like this? He was into his own thought for such a long time he completely forgot about the wheelchair.
But he got an idea.
“I can carry you.”
“W-what?’ Quackity laughed.
“No, actually,” he replied casually. “Hold on.”
Wilbur’s first thought was - Quackity was light like a feather. He lifted him from the wheelchair carefully, making sure he was comfortable. And even though Quackity squealed when he felt himself being torn from his chair, his body didn’t tense that much. The short man instinctively squeezed Wilbur’s jacket in his hand as he started moving. Quackity was so caught off guard with the whole situation that as soon as he realized there was a reason why he shouldn’t go up the tower, Wilbur already stepped into the bubble elevator.
He felt Wilbur landing on the floor and heading towards the railing.
“Wil, wait…” he tried saying.
“Come on, we’re already there,” Wilbur protested. He came up to the railing and lowered Quackity on it only to realize the man in his arms was hiding his head with his eyes shut and trembling. “Hey, you good?”
“I’ll fall,” Quackity said quietly, and Wilbur couldn’t but feel the pure fear in the tone of his voice.
“It’s okay, I won’t let go,” and as if proving the point, Wilbur shifted them so his one hand was holding Quackity by the waist, and the other was pressing his knees to the railing, his legs hanging towards Wilbur. Quackity didn’t open his eyes.
“Q?” Wilbur called as he felt Quackity tried to press into him more.
“I can’t do this, can we please go back down?” Quackity whispered.
Wilbur was unsure of what to do. He brought Quackity here because he’d hoped they would watch the city from up high together, like they used to. But only now it started to come to him – if Quackity couldn’t go up the Needle, he might’ve just been not used to being there. But it still felt strange for him to act like that.
He wrapped his hand around the trembling body and started talking quietly.
“Look, I’m holding you, you’re safe. Just open your eyes and watch.”
Quackity didn’t know why he complied. He didn’t do it immediately, but something in Wilbur’s voice felt familiar and safe. Maybe it wasn’t the first time they’d been together like this.
He lifted his head, catching a glance of Wilbur’s eyes before turning to the city below them. His city was shining like he never thought it would, filling the air with light fog of colours. The towers, the casinos, the hotels, the clubs – the symphony he created looked as if he saw it for the first time. And as soon as he realized that it was his, it was what he created, the fear started to disappear.
This felt unreal. He sometimes saw Las Nevadas in his dreams, but it was the Las Nevadas he once lost. The one that was destroyed by Dream, that he was building for two people who never ended up seeing it, for the glory it would bring him. But this was real Las Nevadas – it was the real him. And if he could shine this brightly even after all he’d been through, brighter than ever, maybe there was a special place in his heart that healed and bloomed.
He turned back to Wilbur, who watched the city with him. The lights reflected in his tired soft eyes, and Quackity saw something undeniably sad behind his gaze. Wilbur looked at him and chuckled.
“See? There’s nothing to fear.”
Quackity pursed his lips and thought for a minute. Then, he slowly raised his hand so Wilbur would see his communicator. There, just in the corner, a single red heart appeared.
“You have one life left.” Wilbur said with a frown.
“I was pushed from the top of the building when Dream tried to attack Las Nevadas,” Quackity replied quietly, tracing his gaze to the hotel.
“That’s what the falling is about?” Wilbur asked. Quackity nodded. “I’m sorry.”
Quackity smiled sadly and looked back at Wilbur. “I’m just a parody of what I was, aren’t I?”
The taller man frowned more and shook his head.
“Listen,” he said. “If anyone here is a parody of anything, it’s me. Just look at this. You built ALL this by yourself, and it’s fucking great. I always told you before, that it could never be anything like L’Manburg, but now? I destroyed my own country when I had everything, and you’re still building it while you’re in a goddamn wheelchair!”
Quackity felt himself blushing and turned away.
“You didn’t give up everything because you were selfish,” Wilbur continued.
“I was selfish, and that’s why I made this country in the first place,” Quackity protested.
He felt Wilbur sighing and pressing his forehead into his temple. “We are both two stupid men who did stupid shit,” he said in a slow voice.
Quackity smiled. He knew Wilbur was smiling too. No one could argue with that.
Soon Quackity felt comfortable enough to sit on his own and let Wilbur go. The taller disappeared inside and came back with old Quackity’s guitar that he’d apparently left here long time ago. Wilbur sat on the floor with the back of his head leaning on Quackity’s knees.
He tuned the guitar in the silence, then started playing random tunes from his head.
“I remember how you played for Ghoustbur,” Wilbur suddenly said.
“Really?’
“Mhm. He liked it.”
“Maybe he just liked me.”
“Sure,” Wilbur laughed. “You know, when I was in limbo, I would hear him play my guitar anytime I fell asleep. And sometimes I heard other people playing to him.”
“How do you know it wasn’t him playing?” Quackity shrugged.
“Well, if you’re asking about yourself, then I can say for sure it was you who sang to him.’
“Oh fuck you. He asked me to sing.”
Wilbur laughed again. “And you still agreed.”
“Well duh, he wasn’t a jerk like you.”
“You know I can still knock you off.”
Quackity shut his mouth for a moment. “Please don’t.”
Wilbur looked at him with the reassuring smile. “Wanna sing for me again? I’ve got something in mind.”
Quackity would never admit the pain bothered him. He wouldn’t admit that he was terrified to sit at the railing like this, going back with his mind to the day he lost his second life.
But he would admit that seeing Las Nevadas from high up made him smile like a child. That he let his pale fingers run through Wilbur’s hair while he played. That singing with Wilbur felt like he was free. That it didn’t matter if two soulless rings meant nothing.
That even if he wouldn’t ever see Wilbur again, he never regretted having him in his life.