Other Side Of Paradise (Quackbur)

Start Of It All

Context:
This is set before Wilbur's revival, when Quackity was desperately trying to get the revive book off Dream in order to revive Schlatt (acting on Glatt's demands).
The thing is, he has no idea how to use it, and it sort of... malfunctions.
Schlatt and Quackity swap places.

Yesterday

Quackity was victorious.
After so, so long trying to get the revive book off Dream, he'd finally got it! This morning, he went into the prison with his axe and Dream finally broke.

He gave him the book.

And Quackity knew what he was going to do with it- something to do with a certain dead, horned man with muttonchops and an inflated ego.
He was so happy, he could cry!
Rushing out of the prison, book in hand, Quackity announced it to all the server.
>Quackity< I've got the revive book!!
jschlatt joined the game
>jschlatt< great now revive me pumpkin
>Quackity< I will!!!
"Now, how the hell do I use this thing?"

Present

Huh? Where am I? Quackity thinks in a panic. He's in a place that he can only describe as blue.
It's cold.
He shivers.
Taking account of his surroundings, he realises that he's in something that resembles a train station, but it's empty, cold and eerie here. Not a single train seems to be stopping here, and the only thing displayed on the flashing board that usually displays train times are the words: I wish Wilbur could be here. 12/3/21

Wilbur? Quackity thinks. Another message pops up, replacing the old words.
Yeah, he would have liked this.
The date reads 12/3/21- again.
With a jolt, Quackity realises that these are things people are saying, displayed in real time, and that he's watching a very slow conversation about Wilbur.
Wait...
Wilbur?

He takes another look at where he is.
A dark figure is sat, head in knees, against a dirty wall. He's- by the look of it- wearing a trench coat and a beanie, and his hair sticks out.
"Wilbur?"

Wilbur turns, his eye glinting in the weak light, as he looks at Quackity's silhouette in the dark train station.
He pauses.
"Quackity? Is that you?"
"Yeah. Where are we?" Quackity says, confused.
"What do you mean, where are we?" Wilbur asks with a smile, getting up. "We're in limbo! My limbo, to be exact, so I don't really know how you got here. Where's Schlatt?"
"I- I revived him. But- God, I think I messed up somehow, and- and maybe we switched places or something-? Because I definitely have not lost all my lives," Quackity says frustratedly, trying to figure out what the hell has happened to him.
"Oh. Oh. You switched places with him, you poor soul," Wilbur says almost pitifully. "Welcome to the most boring Hell you'll ever be in."
"Thanks for the comforting words there, asshole," Quackity remarks annoyedly, rolling his eyes.
"I'm just brutally honest, Big Q," Wilbur says, smiling weakly. "If I told you this place was nice, I'd be setting you up for a massive disappointment."

"How is it even Hell? Isn't it just boring?"
"Oh, no, Big Q, I've been losing my mind daily. I've been dwelling on my thoughts so much that I don't even know who I am any more," Wilbur says, eyes wide. "I've overthought everything to the point that I don't even know what's happened and what's not any more."
"Wh- didn't you have Schlatt to talk to, though?" Quackity asks.
"Oh, I did, but we couldn't talk forever. Sometimes we'd go months without saying a word to each other, you know? We wouldn't do anything in fear of it imprinting on us," Wilbur replies, shrugging.
"Imprinting?"

Wilbur sighs.
"See this?"
He holds up his palm to reveal a scratch mark that looks fresh as anything.
"I cut myself on the wall four years ago. This still fucking stings."
"Four years?" Quackity says. "You've been dead three months. Nearly four."
"Time works differently in here, dear Quackity. A day there is a month here. So twelve days for you would be a whole year here. It's hell in this train station."
"I mean... it's a train station, right? So why isn't there any trains?"
"There was a train. Two, actually. Tommy came here," Wilbur says with a smile. His eyes have become distant, like he's reminiscing on something. "But then he left."