Get A Load Of This Monster

Chapter 1

Wilbur had known on November 16th.

It hadn't been long, he wasn't even completely sure since he'd had no symptoms. But the deep feeling in his gut, knowing that he was pregnant again, settled in like a wool blanket. Suffocating and too warm.

There was only one person who could be the other father. The traumatized avian who stubbornly pretended he didn't cry himself to sleep every night. The man with gorgeous golden wings. The one, the only, the married Quackity.

Would their child have gold wings? Or would they be more fox-like, like Wilbur and Fundy?

He tugged on his hair, struggling to stop those thoughts. The future was uncertain. His future in particular was hanging by a thread. He couldn't make plans that may never work. He couldn't think about a life he was never made for.

Wilbur Soot made history. Alone.

(It sounded fake, even in his own mind. A blatant lie from the silver tongued bard. He'd never actually been alone, no matter how alone he felt.)

He stared at the ceiling of his small room, the father of his child sound asleep next to him. In a few hours, they'd be in battle. In a few hours, they may both be dead. Wilbur could die forever today, and the thought was almost appealing. No, it was appealing.

He never wanted to see another sunrise on this miserable hell of a server. Breathe another breath of this wretched air. Force himself through another godforsaken day when all he wanted was to lie in bed and do nothing. He was sick of constant exhaustion, sick of waking up to a world of gray.

Even if he let himself wonder (which he did not), he knew Quackity wasn't ready to be a father. He still whimpered another man's name in his sleep, and not always in the throws of a nightmare. He flinched at raised voices and hands, and he smoked like a chimney. He couldn't really comment on that last one, but still. He didn't know everything, but what he knew of Quackity told him the man had a million demons he was fighting. Even if Wilbur survived today with their child, he couldn't tell the other man.

He got up and grabbed his coat, hiding away in it. Ever since he was 11 or 12, he'd always worn sweaters or sweatshirts or jackets. Anything baggy, anything that hid him. And even years later, when he had been more confident, he'd never been able to let go. These days, confident was a bit of a stretch. But his jacket and sweater provided a small amount of comfort, and that was all that mattered.

It wouldn't matter after today.

"I'm sorry." He whispered into the silence. Quackity stirred a little beside him, putting his arm around Wilbur and cuddling up. Oblivious to the hurricane in Wilbur's mind.

Oblivious that in less than a day, he would lose more than he knew was possible.