ヽ｀、☁ヽ｀𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐛𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬 💕˚｡、ヽ｀☽ヽ｀

i dont love you (☽)

cw// song fic, angst, mentions of death, mentions of abuse

well when you go, so never think i'll make you try to stay

endless tears were shed on that night, when the explosions shook a country that was already far beyond repair. the tax fraud, the war, the tyranny and the issues between the leaders that were way past the point of being underlying. pogtopia's army was led by an extremely determined teenager, who had never once given up on getting his country back. and manberg had fallen into the hands of a tyrannical president who would have done fucking anything to protect his country, and yet, he died of cardiac arrest that same day.

because of the explosions. the smoke and ash, the cries of despair and physical agony, tears turning black from soot smeared across faces as people watched the country they had known for so long explode into nothing but pathetic rubble in a crater. and then there were calls, begs, pleads from the man that had caused it all, begging for his own father to take his life there, because he was going to die either way, because every one of them wanted him dead.

and his pleas were relieved, and everyone watched as he was embraced and stabbed through the stomach, and he was dead, gone for fucking ever.

and maybe when you get back, i'll be off to find another way.

but it didn't matter anymore.

not now. not after all the years that had passed, not after all the sad days of el rapids and manberg and the butcher army, not after physically dying and coming back to life, not after all those years of abuse and terror and heartbreak, agony and hopelessness and tears in an endless and endless cycle. the maniacal man who the avian actually considered a friend just died before his eyes, and the trauma of watching it happen just piled up onto everything that had happened months before in Manberg, and it all just kept piling and piling until he fucking broke down and disconnected from everyone that had hurt him and disassociated from all of the pain of the past so that it didn't fucking matter.

and yet, he still can't escape it.

but things are different now. from a petrified and broken soldier, fighting a country to get revenge on the man who attempted to break him so much that he could never be repaired; to the smp's most famous nation owner, with a facial scar running from his left eyebrow all the way through his lip, deep crimson eyes that could captivate absolutely anyone, graceful golden wings with fluffy feathers that clung to his shoulders, and a terrifying smile with the occasional casino chip slid between his teeth.

he was on a different path now. he wished he hadn't been so naïve back then, he wished he would have spoken, wished he could have saved himself and stopped the people that just walked all over him and used him to get to a certain point before discarding him like a piece of trash they forgot they had in their pocket.

despite all that had happened, despite the pain and baggage he carries with him on a daily, he's stronger now, much more so than he used to be.

so when wilbur returned, when that all-too familiar crooked expression formed on his face as he stepped into Las Nevadas, the white streak running through his soft brunette hair blowing across his contrasting locks with the cold wind, he barely recognized the person in front of him. the alex that he remembered to be weak and scared seemed as if he was thriving, and wilbur couldn't help but smile.

and after all this time that you still owe, you're still the good for nothing i don't know.

the rivalry that they had carried with them in the distant past was definitely different now. hell, for a little bit of time, they had considered one another to be friends. but there was a new-found respect now, a feeling that neither of them could really identify, because they hadn't felt it before. it lingered in the wind, in the air between them, as they stared into each other's eyes and smiled, and as alex recalled all the tears he had cried over wilbur's body, the strings of swears and sobs, because he thought that he was never going to get this person back. but he was, he was the same person as before, and standing right in front of him again. and as much as the avian had seemingly changed.. well, he was still alex.

so take your gloves and get out. better get out while you can.

wilbur was the same wilbur. it was beyond evident, that his intentions hadn't changed, that his mind was always swirling with death, the ways that he could get people close to them and play with their emotions and force them to let him in and either metaphorically or physical explode what was most important to them. and a part of alex wanted to listen, he wanted to listen to the revived man's words, his praises and proposals, all the offers of what he would be able to do for Las Nevadas.

but he wouldn't. he never did.

he wasn't as naïve as he used to be, he could see through all of these person's smiles and promises, and knew that they were totally fake. because that's the way Wilbur Soot was, and even though he knew Alex Quackity wouldn't let him right in, he thought his manipulation skills would get the better of the latter.

and he was wrong. alex didn't care how much the smile on wilbur's face twitched and twisted, he didn't pay a single ounce of attention to the gloved hands trembling with anger at his sides. he stood his ground, with his hands held loosely and calmly, only letting himself relax when he saw the older turn, and leave. and walk away again, and hopefully, never come back.

it was a good thing this time that wilbur would go away.

when you go, would you even turn to say, "i don't love you like i did yesterday."

a/n
sorry for not uploading i've been dying
the song is i don't love you by mcr
words without a/n: 1042
- lex