silly tnt duo oneshots (discontinued)

🌥️ Regretting Deal. [Part 3]

Sup.
This took way too long and it is awful. I don't feel like rereading this shit so um 🤕
Ignore the sudden writing change in the middle, I took a massive break from writing this cuz' of testing and stuff, so when I came back to it, I magically became funnier (I think).

Uhm, I might write more for "Regretting Deal" because I stopped the chapter super abruptly and it didn't even seem it's finished, but I NEEDED to get something out, it's been like three weeks.

Maybe when I get the chance I can rewrite the parts, and add more parts (like with Wilbur and Dream, that'll be fun to write maybe), I might be able to turn this into an actual story or something. If I get the time and motivation.

Brief mentions of torture, death, and harm (but not in an angst way) 🎉

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Quackity sighed, walking back over to the bed, staring at Wilbur for a moment in thought. He'd never expect this, it was never a situation he could imagine happening, in fact, he wasn't even aware this could happen.

He sat on the bed, next to Wilbur's dead-looking body. Gazing at Wilbur's face, trying to find any hint of tiredness, or fear, or just anything.. He placed a blanket on Wilbur and began adjusting it in case it wasn't comfortable, or wasn't doing the justice a blanket should. "I'll call Tommy later." Quackity muttered, looking at the space next to Wilbur, like he was zoning out. Wilbur slightly tilted his head, and blinked. 

"It'll be alright, Wil." Quackity whispered, though he sounded unsure, almost like he was telling himself that instead of Wilbur. He readjusted himself, sitting on his lower legs while his knees were barely covered by the sheets. Quackity grabbed a book from the pile of them on his nightstand, not really caring which one he grabbed, not caring to read the title. He opened the book and flipped through the pages, assuming he could figure out the beginning of the story from there.

Wilbur hummed, not a hum from a tune or song of anything, more of a hum of acknowledgement. His eyes were still wide, he was looking at the ceiling, watching the fan move with great content. "Go to sleep." Quackity said sternly, not looking up from his book. Wilbur shifted onto his side, and looked at Quackity, then the book he held. 

"What, you want me to read to you or something?"

No response.

"Fine." Quackity huffed, putting the book he was just reading down, and grabbing another book, an older book. "You liked poems, right? I heard you talking about them before." Quackity asked, feeling like he was only talking to himself, and there was no worth in trying. But Wilbur was there, just deep down, hidden away.

Quackity flipped through the pages, reading a few words every few pages to himself. He stopped flipping, slightly stroking the page he landed on with his thumb. He inhaled sharply.

He began reading out the poem "This, Too, Will Pass" by Grace Noll Crowell, keeping his eyes on the paper while occasionally glancing at Wilbur, who seemed to be listening deeply. Once finished, Quackity closed the book and set it back into the pile. 

Quackity began stroking Wilbur's pearlescent colored hair, taking note of how soft it seemed, also taking note that Wilbur probably hasn't showered in forever, but what could he know? Maybe Wilbur kept up on hygiene during those moments of repeatedly dying and probably being tortured, maybe. 

Wilbur's eyes fluttered shut, and the sound of almost silent breathing could be heard. 

Did Wilbur still have open wounds? Did he have any infections? Quackity wondered, gazing over Wilbur. That was the next thing he'll take care of, the aftermath of being tortured, that's important. But until then, Quackity will let Wilbur sleep, maybe even letting himself nap if he lets his guard down enough.