Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Quackity was tired. As tired as a ghost could be, his limbs never felt heavy anymore, but they didn’t have much feeling to them at all. His eyelids didn’t slide shut anymore after a long days work, just keeping open and uncomfortably growing annoying.

Quackity’s body never really felt tired anymore. Being a ghost was quite frustrating. His body never felt pain, his muscles were never able to wear out enough to make them cramp. As a ghost he never had bursts of energy anymore, never felt exhausted either, just low on fuel and tired of existing.

His body couldn’t grow tired, but his mind did. He couldn’t sleep anymore, his body wouldn’t let him. He couldn’t eat or drink either, without feeling uncomfortable or stuffy. His body didn’t need food now so it tended to reject it. 

Quackity was a husk of the man he once was, unable to enjoy the mortal pleasures of life that he’d long overlooked. It was the little things he missed the most, like pebbles in his shoes or cutting his fingers accidentally with a piece of paper. He missed pain so dearly, it used to remind him that he was alive and real. Now pain was a distant memory.

He didn’t feel alive anymore, and in all fairness he wasn’t. Everything he did felt uncomfortable, there was no feeling of touch left in his fingertips, his neck didn’t cramp up from sitting in an awkward position too long. His body was like a sad rubber band, unbreakable and forgiving. 

What Quackity hated even more than the lack of physical pain, was the absence of his emotions. On the surface he could feel anger and sadness, but the broiling mess of emotions within him never hurt anymore. The feelings of sadness were just ever present and useless, a void of something they once were. 

He felt so disconnected from everything around him, in life he had been able to do all the little things, crying in the shower, binge watching shows until his body felt gross and cramped, hell he even missed sleeping. 

As a ghost Quackity was forced to just kind of exist, no one could see him, he didn’t have powers like Wilbur did. Wilbur had unfinished business to attend to so he was granted emotions. Something that Quackity knew he should’ve felt jealous about. 

Nevertheless Quackity was happy to wander around the server. He liked to know that people were okay without him. It had hurt the first few days where he had to watch people learn of his death and grieve, Tubbo had seemed to take his death personally, unable to eat for days. Quackity was forced to watch the young boy deteriorate, withering away until Ranboo knocked some sense into him and got him to shower and eat a warm meal. 

Quackity couldn’t have been more proud of his boys, watching them now on their own, taking care of each other just as he had always hoped they would without him. 

When the boys seemed well on their own, Quackity left to spectate someone else, he wandered for two days before he found his next person, Technoblade.

Quackity didn’t know what to think of the man, Technoblade had killed him once before and in life, Quackity hated him for it. But now after his final death Quackity only felt confused, the old rage and resentment transferred into immense sadness and Quackity didn’t know why he felt such pity for the man.

He trailed behind him curiously. He watched over Technoblade for several days and grew to respect the man. 

As Quackity followed him, he learned immediately that Technoblade had built a small grave for him, just to honour Quackity. It was a small marble temple only a foot taller than Technoblade. On the front there was a picture of Quackity smiling and on the inside of the little grave was a bouquet of roses and a pickaxe engraved into the stone with a quote below it, “A man with a big heart, whose legacy will live on in the people whose lives he’s touched. A valiant fighter and a brave soul, a fierce opponent.”

Quackity had never thought Technoblade would be sentimental. The warrior never cried in the time Quackity spent watching him. It was weird to think he cared so much, in life Quackity thought Technoblade had thought little of him. He had never considered the warrior a friend, but it touched him to see the little honourary mausoleum. 

Quackity’s body was burried far away in the ruins of L’manburg, but he couldn’t help but to appreciate the care and effort that Technoblade put in to make a respectful grave for a man he’d considered an enemy once. Quackity wished he could feel emotions, he wanted to know what this was supposed to feel like. 

He wanted to know what his alive self would’ve done, but he just watched, powerless. 

Technoblade was a fascinating man, indecipherable and cunning but nonetheless odd. One day while Quackity was still spectating him, Technoblade travelled off into tundra, suspiciously close to the little town that Tubbo had built for himself. There was a short moment where Quackity tried to stop Technolade, pulling and pushing at his body to no avail, his ghostly hands simply weren’t fit to touch things in the material world, Technoblade walked through his body unknowingly. 

When Technoblade finally reached the foothills of Snowchester, Quackity was powerless to do anything but watch. He watched carefully as Technoblade’s heavy steps thundered up the stairs to Tubbo’s house, one hand resting on the handle of his sword. His knuckles rapped on the door and Quackity just stared at Technoblade, trying to figure out what reason he would have for all of this. In a short moment, Tubbo was suddenly at the door, reeling it away carefully with a tiny zombie piglin in hand, a baby. 

Technoblade stared at the child for a moment before snapping out of his haze, turning his attention to Tubbo. “I have something I’d like to show you,” he said calmly. Tubbo rocked the babe in his arms a few times, glaring down at the creature in thought as though it could explain all the questions of the universe, “Why?” Tubbo asked quietly. 

Technoblade took something small out of his pocket and handed it to the baby, “I’ve built a memorial for your… old associate. I know you and Quackity were close in Schlatt’s cabinet. I wanted to give you a proper place to mourn.”

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back, Tubbo’s eyes started watering and the tears streaked down his cheeks before he had the chance to formulate a response. Tubbo tilted his head up again and made sure to make eye-contact with Technoblade, “Why would you… why would you do all of this? Technoblade we’re not close. If this is some scheme of yours, you’ve lost all of your morality. Don’t be cruel.”

Technoblade took a step down from the door, “I assure you it’s no scheme, I just figured that any adversary of mine at least deserves a proper funeral. The co-ordinates are on the piece of paper I gave the kid. Come when you’re ready.”

Quackity felt a bubble of pride in his chest, his tired mind happy that his new favourite person could be so kind to his adoptive son. Neither of the two men were aware of his presence, probably not aware of his fondness for them either. He watched as Technoblade gave a final nod to the little ram hybrid, his best attempt at looking friendly. 

Quackity had watched him practice in the morning, he had always thought that Technoblade never smiled around him because the warrior was just a hateful person. He only learned today that Technoblade didn’t smile often because he found his smile odd. Quackity had watched him stand in front of a mirror and practice, smiling over and over again, changing the positions of his lips just slightly each time. He did look a little childish, his eyes squinted tightly and his tusks pulled his lips up higher than they should’ve been. He looked vulnerable in the moment, weaker than he let himself appear. More emotional then he let himself appear. It made him seem real, more human in his insecurities. 

Quackity watched as Technoblade chose not to smile at Tubbo. He saw as the warrior turned away, stoic as ever, testing his smile again as soon as Tubbo couldn’t see his face. 

Quackity watched as Tubbo sat down in his doorway, tears dripping down as he unfurled his baby’s tiny fist to retrieve the coordinates. In an odd way, Quackity felt complete. He felt seen. He was glad his boy would be able to mourn in such a nice place, the little mausoleum would give him a dignified place to cry. Quackity felt at peace.

He followed Technoblade home numbly, floating behind. The warrior kept his face solemn but it was clear he was tired, his movements slow and bags under his eyes. Part of Quackity wondered how nervous he must’ve been. The piglin went to cottage and dropped off his sword and cape, placing his crown on the entranceway table. He gently greeted his wolves, pats on the head and belly rubs. 

He walked back outside in his dressshirt, exposed to the chill of the arctic air. 

Technoblade went up to the grave site and stood at the door. He hesitated for a moment before walking inside and pausing, “Hi Q, I don’t know if you can hear me, or would care to hear me. Just wanted you to know I’ve sorted out everything for you. I hope you can rest now, wherever you are. I know between us… things were never perfect. I know you probably wouldn’t even consider us to be friends, but I remember the days in Pogtopia, the nights you used to insist on learning how to play chess and then sang over me anytime I tried to teach you the rules. I remember your kindness. I’m truly sorry for the way life treated you. Any friend of mine deserves at least the bare minimum.”

With that, Technoblade turned on his heels and shut the large marble door behind him, leaving the ghost of Quackity around in the darkness of the grave. Quackity felt hollow and full at the same time. He had learned quickly that Technoblade was completely alone out here, but he had never expected the warrior to remember the nights they spent together when Quackity would sneak away from Schlatt to visit Pogtopia. He was sure that if he was capable of crying he would’ve been bawling. The ghost just stayed in the darkness, overwhelmed with emotions he couldn’t compute. He felt like he had to come back to life. He had to find a way to make things right. He had to thank Technoblade. 

Chapter Text

After that day, Quackity had found himself gravitating towards Technoblade. He didn’t know how to thank the man or repay him, so he simply followed around and tried to make the most of it. 

During the daylight hours, Quackity would follow Technoblade through his daily routine, keeping him company and watching him live his life. Quackity figured out very quickly, that Technoblade was completely, and insufferably, alone. 

He didn’t make any effort to talk to others on the server, and others didn’t make an effort to talk to him either. When Quackity was alive he had just assumed that Technoblade avoided him after his death, and that was why they never ran into each other, but now, it doesn’t seem so true. 

Technoblade’s not necessarily a hermit. On the fateful day that Tubbo does come and visit, wishing to see the mausoleum built in Quackity’s honour, Technoblade is immediately at his side. It almost surprised Quackity to see how seemingly eager Technoblade had been. When Tubbo sent Technoblade a message on his communicator saying he was going to come by, Technoblade had practically lit up. 

He had cleaned his whole house top to bottom, and he baked several sheets of cookies, even though Quackity knew that Technoblade hated sweets. Technoblade had gone out to cut fresh flowers for the grave, he had gone three biomes away just to find fresh wild roses and tulips, given that he couldn’t grow anything in the arctic biome that his house resided in. 

When Tubbo finally did arrive, Technoblade did his best to act indifferent. He gave Tubbo all the cookies, telling the younger man that they were ‘taking up too much space’ in his inventory. Tubbo took the cookies reluctantly and asked for some time alone at the grave to which Technoblade obeyed immediately. 

Technoblade didn’t cry like a toddler. He wasn’t visibly upset. That was what hurt Quackity the most. He had watched Technoblade get all excited about a visitor, just to be turned away. Technoblade showed no emotion, and somehow that was worse. He was so used to it.

When Tubbo left, he didn’t say goodbye to Technoblade, and Quackity watched. Technoblade had been sitting in the living room, perched beside the fireplace with a pleasant view of his property. He had seen Tubbo leave, and maintained his neutrality. 

It became even more obvious then, that not only was Technoblade alone, but furthermore that he was accustomed to the loneliness. 

When Quackity spectated him during the day now, he felt a sense of contentment, that maybe Technoblade would sense his presence and feel a little less lonely. During the night, when Technoblade slept and Quackity was forced to do something else to keep himself occupied, he tried to read Technoblade’s books. Quackity hadn’t exactly figured out how to pick things up or move items with his mind, but every now and then he could create a tiny breeze of wind. He relied heavily on Technoblade’s habit of leaving books wide open so he could read them, blowing each page over so gently to the next. Of course, this wasn’t the most effective, Quackity could only read the books that Technoblade had decided to read, and he could only control so much wind. But eventually, he figured it out, and he made it work.

Technoblade read through his books fairly quickly, so Quackity was almost always able to read something new. Technoblade’s collection of books was impressive, but very quickly, Quackity realized they all fell into the same genre more or less, fantasy. 

Whether it was a story about a princess going undercover as a soldier and falling in love with a general, or another story about a prince befriending a dragon and breaking a magical curse with his love, Technoblade seemed to deeply enjoy romance novels. 

To Quackity, it was another display of Technoblade’s vulnerability. 

It was painfully obvious how badly Technoblade wanted to be loved. Almost every book ended with a beautiful happy ending or a lovers' tragedy. The characters loved each other so much that it was to the point where they could not exist without one another. Quackity couldn’t fathom Technoblade’s apparent interest in love. To his knowledge, Technoblade had never had a romantic partner on the server or even expressed an interest in pursuing someone with romantic intentions at all.

How had no one noticed?

Quackity had originally believed that Technoblade spent most of his days with Philza, getting totems of the undying and gathering supplies for massive military bunkers hidden randomly around the world. He couldn’t have been more wrong. 

The more Quackity learned about Technoblade, the more he wanted to speak with him. Perhaps just a few kind words of thanks, an apology for assuming the worst of him throughout the years, perhaps Quackity wanted to tell him that it’s… okay to be vulnerable. 

Technoblade lived in complete isolation from the rest of the world, and even in the comfort of his own home he never let his guard down. He kept his expression solemn and kept to himself. He always responded to messages through his communicator, but never reached out first, and never asked for anything. 

It was sad, truthfully. Quackity watched Technoblade get new flowers for his grave every time the old one's started to wilt. Quackity followed Technoblade around to a matching grave one day and learned that it belonged to the memory of Wilbur. Technoblade didn’t visit this grave nearly as often as he visited Quackity’s, but nonetheless, Technoblade brought it fresh flowers every time. 

It was heartwarming, even to a ghost that didn’t have a heart anymore. 

When Technoblade finished up his short daily conversations with the graves, he always returned home to read again, curling up by his chair beside the fireplace to read through his collection again. It was a sad pattern of repetition but Quackity had grown to accept it. Originally he had kept his distance from Technoblade, sitting in the chair opposite of him or hovering over Technoblade’s shoulder so he could read along with him (even though Technoblade read faster than him and Quackity always ended up missing half the story). 

As Quackity had learned more about the man and grew more attached to him, he began to sit nearer. He liked to sit beside Technoblade as he read, leaning his head against Technoblade’s shoulder, peacefully absorbing the fuzzy energy that radiated off of the fireplace. Sometimes, he felt guilty about being so close to the living man without his knowledge, but Quackity found he didn’t care. Technoblade would never know, and Quackity found comfort in the closeness, even though as a deadman the comfort to him didn’t mean much. 

That became the 'normal'. Technoblade lived his life, lonely and quiet in the arctic, and Quackity followed close behind. Days passed and the schedule repeated. Tubbo visited twice more after the initial visit, and Quackity watched Technoblade get excited for a house guest every time, only to be disappointed again and again.  

Sometimes Quackity felt a twinge of guilt, he was able to watch Technoblade at his most vulnerable and the warrior would never know. It felt like an invasion of privacy. It was in these moments that Quackity dearly hoped Technoblade could feel his presence and feel less alone. 

Even though Quackity was dead, and ethical laws for the dead were practically non-existent, he still wanted to be respectful of Technoblade’s wishes. He kept his distance and allowed Technoblade some privacy, Quackity never followed him into the bathroom, and always left when Technoblade got changed. 

In a weird way, Quackity fell into the rhythm of their relationship. Even though Technoblade never acknowledged him, and their relationship was wholly one-sided on the ghost’s behalf, it was pleasant for Quackity. He liked spending his time, curled up on one of the small armchairs, peacefully watching the other, simply existing nearby.         

***

It had been just another peaceful afternoon, Technoblade re-reading a particular book about two star-crossed lovers that realized they were soulmates on the battlefield. He was curled up in a stance that betrayed his normal stoic facade, with his knees tucked close to his chest, adorable reading glasses pushed up to his nose. 

Quackity had been sitting across from him, watching the flicker of the flames at the large brick fireplace, zoned out and content to just sit still in the other’s presence. He saw a blink of something in his left eye and turned his head, only to find a beautiful woman sitting in the chair to his side.

Another thing that Quackity pondered about was the amount of furniture littered about Technoblade’s house, the kitchen had a table with four seats, the living room had extra grand chairs that Technoblade never sat in, and there was even an empty guest room on the second floor that Quackity had never seen used. Seeing another person in the house so suddenly was alarming. Quackity had gotten used to the perpetual silence and emptiness of the house, it was normal.

Visitors didn't really belong.

Curious he turned to look at the woman, taking her in. She had a dark purple wide brim hat that flopped slightly, covering the side of her face. Her skin was stark pale, and her long hair was jet-black, a compliment to the slight colour of the hat. Her eyes were a soft honey colour, but they looked out of place with her pale complexion. She had a full face, rounded cheekbones with a soft jawline, and yet she still radiated power in a way that Quackity had never bore witness to before. 

She was wearing a midnight blue cloak around her shoulders, draping over her body and covering her in her entirety. Even though she had made no sound upon her arrival, she was curled up contently in a position similar to Technoblade’s, reading a book.

Quackity couldn’t help but stare, looking her up and down, trying to find missing details to piece together just who it was that suddenly found themself so comfortable in Technoblade’s home. 

Without warning the lady shut her book swiftly and took a deep breath in. The sound of the book closing rang out in the air, and yet Technoblade didn’t react, which only served to further confuse Quackity. He just stared. 

The lady slipped her book into a black satchel she had evidently brought with her on the floor, closing the clasp with a soft click before she yawned and turned her attention to Quackity.

She looked him right in the eyes, and for a second, Quackity was convinced she could see him as clearly as he was seeing her. She tilted her head to the side curiously before Quackity came to the conclusion that she must have been able to see him. She waved a hand cautiously, smiling when Quackity nearly fell off his chair in surprise. 

“You can see me?” he asked in a hurried whisper. He felt stupid as soon as he’d done it. He knew there was no risk of Technoblade hearing him, and yet, he still whispered anyways like a kid afraid of being caught by the teacher. The lady smiled wider, “Of course I can, why wouldn’t I?” she asked, her voice sweet and so much kinder than Quackity had heard anyone speak in a long time.

“I’m invisible,” he replied, whispering again, dumbfounded. 

She frowned lightly, “Aw that’s not true, you’re just a ghost. Only the players can’t see you, darling.” She had phrased the statement so matter-of-factly, as though it was supposed to make him feel better. Quackity just watched her for a moment, unsure how to feel, or rather what emotions he would have been able to feel if he were alive.

“Are you not a player?” he asked, eventually processing the words spoken to him. The lady smiled again, chuckling softly, “Oh no, I haven’t been for a long time.” Quackity was only left more confused. He had seen the lady pick up a book and move it around with her hands, Quackity couldn’t do that, other ghosts couldn’t do that. “Can he see you then?”

Her eyebrows knitted together in thought, “Sometimes, not now in particular though.”

“What do you mean? Why are you here then if you’re not… dead?”

“I’m Technoblade’s mother,” she replied proudly, looking over to him reading quietly in his chair, oblivious. “The Goddess of Death.”

“Oh.” Quackity stilled, unsure what to do next. His thoughts were foggy, the permanent haze of death making it difficult for him to comprehend. He spat out the first conclusion that came to his mind, “Are you here to collect Technoblade? Please don’t do that,” he rambled.

The lady seemed shocked, her eyebrows raised, “No, I’m not here to ‘collect’ him. I’m not going to kill my son just for a few words. He’s immortal anyway, if he ever decided he did want to come and visit me, he wouldn’t be gone for long,” She paused, clasping her hands together. At the back of Quackity’s mind, he thought about Wilbur, but he let the thought slip so he could focus on the words she was saying. “I came to chat with you actually.”

Quackity nodded, confused but intrigued. “Why? I’m not… I’m not special. I’ve been gone for the better half of a month. My loved ones are moving on,” he had grown used to his life like this. He couldn’t hurt anyone while dead, it was serene, even if it was lonely. He was able to keep himself entertained, and he could still watch over the people he loved, even if he couldn’t be a part of their lives anymore. 

The goddess chewed on the inside of her cheek, eyebrows furrowed in thought, “I know, and I have thought long and hard about this offer. I… I noticed your interest in Technoblade,” she said. Quackity felt a bubble of shame, nullified of course by being incorporeal. “I don’t think what I’m doing is wrong. I’m not hurting him. I respect his privacy and such. I like being close to him, it’s not like I could ever do anything to harm him.”

Her eyes softened and she put out a hand to calm him down, “I know, I know darling. I didn’t mean to sound judgemental. It’s just an observation.” She let her eyes flick over to Technoblade before she continued speaking. “I don’t think it’s wrong. I think that if anything you would understand by now, just how… alone he is.”

Quackity stared at her, waiting ever so patiently for her to keep speaking. “I’m only going to make this offer once, and if at any time I feel as though I have misjudged you, and that this is a bad decision, I will rescind my offer.” She looked over at Technoblade again, watching him flip a page before turning back to Quackity, her eyes full of unreadable emotion. “Would you like to keep him company again…? Technoblade doesn’t have many friends, or companions, I just… I think he needs someone. If I were to revive you, would you be there for him?”

Quackity couldn’t think straight, simply staring. The goddess continued, “Needless to say, I don’t want you accepting my offer so you can carelessly take chances in hopes of another revival. I’m offering this to you because I would like to believe that you have grown attached to him, and would actually enjoy being revived if it meant you could spend time with him.” Her expression was sincere in a way that made Quackity sure that it was out of motherly concern. He felt fuzzy in his chest. 

Her eyes glinted gold for a moment and her demeanour changed, “However, if you take me for a fool, and take advantage of my son, or throw away your life because you think I’m soft, you have another thing coming.” Quackity didn’t react though, his eyes glued to Technoblade in thought. He ignored her last comment, he would never dream of hurting this intricate man.

He looked back to her, “What if he doesn’t want me here? Don’t you think it will look suspicious if I return from the dead now? We don’t really have a past relationship to build off of. Won’t it all be one-sided?” he replied, concerned and ultimately terrified of the rejection that was sure to come. Would he die again if he couldn’t convince Technoblade to hang out with him? Would he be forced to spectate him again when Technoblade decided that Quackity was creepy and unworthy of his time and affections?

The lady smiled apathetically, eyes softening again, “If he doesn’t want to spend time with you, and you have made a fair effort to try and be his companion, you will be free to live your life again.”

Quackity nodded, internally trying his best to weigh his options. Tubbo had already mourned him and accepted his loss, would it kill him if Quackity was suddenly revived again, would it be too much for him to handle emotionally? 

Sure, Quackity wanted to thank Technoblade for giving him a proper goodbye, and of course, Quackity wanted to cuddle up to Technoblade and feel his body heat and listen to his heartbeat. The offer seemed a little unreal. It seemed all too good to be true that a lady Quackity had never met before was willing to bring him back to life on the chance that her son might actually want a friend. Quackity wanted nothing more than to make Technoblade smile genuinely, and to hear his laugh, he wanted so badly to make the other man happy for once. 

“What do you say? Do you accept?” Lady Death asked him, interrupting his thoughts. Quackity looked over to Technoblade, the man still reading happily, a soft blush on his face. Quackity could tell what scene of the book he was reading. 

Quackity took a moment to collect his thoughts, but he already knew his answer. 

“Yes, of course.” 

Chapter Text

The air was cold and stale, darkness suffocating him. He felt sick. He was trapped, he could feel a semblance of floor and something similar to bumpy walls, the cold stone making his fingers numb. As much as he tried to turn around, all he could see was darkness in all directions. It made the pit in his stomach grow and he felt as though the air was being slowly stolen from his lungs. He felt so irrevocably confused and hopeless.

The cold air felt like it was leeching away at his strength, draining him even faster. He felt tired. He just wanted to give in. He wanted peace. Yet still, his body panicked, his ribcage begging for air, pressing up against his lungs so hard it felt like they were going to burst. He hit his fists against the walls, pushing and punching as hard as his body allowed. 

Just as he felt his head swim with nausea again, it moved. One of the walls moved. With a burst of all of his remaining strength, he pushed and pushed, moving the wall out of the way, and suddenly, it just gave way. The huge wall swung open, and he tumbled forward into the snow, gasping for air and wincing in pain at the feeling of tiny shards of ice scratching against his skin. He was so cold that the ice burned him. His body was sore and in pain and tired but he was breathing freely again, and that was a good thing. 

He just focussed on breathing, gritting his teeth at the painful cold sensation around him as the ice melted from the temperature of his skin and seeped into his clothes.

As his eyes adjusted he could make out some of the landscape now. It seemed to be snow and trees surrounding him in all directions, blobs of white and dark green clouding across his vision. He felt like giving up. He had already made it this far, he was breathing, that was enough right ?

Just as he laid his head back in defeat, gazing up at the watchful moon and stars, he heard a ground-shaking howl. Fear ran hot through his skin, another burst of adrenaline trying to get him to keep moving. His heartbeat sped up again, ringing in his ears, he just had to get up and start moving again. Shakily, he pushed himself to his feet, shaking off all the snow that had stuck to his pants and hands. Carefully and slowly, he managed to wobble over to the stone cage that he had apparently fallen out of. He used it for support and tried his best to scope out anything that didn’t look like snow and foliage, stumbling around the building, always keeping one hand on the stone to hold himself up. 

To his delight, as he rounded one of the corners of the building, a yellow blur come into view. It seemed bright along the nightscape, looking promising compared to the surrounding snow and misery. Another howl sounded through the night air and he decided it was time to go. Cautiously he pushed himself away from the stone box, walking towards the blob of light. The small walk seemed almost impossible, the slight difficulty of trudging through snow felt like too much for his body. He just wanted some rest. He just wanted to lie down and sleep. He pushed himself to keep going.

Sometimes his feet would sink farther in the snow than he had anticipated and he would fall forward, only chilling his hands more each time he fell to the unforgiving earth. His joints shook from each fall, stiffing in the cold. The wind was strong, pushing him in all directions too. He couldn’t feel his fingertips or the tip of his nose anymore. They were pleasantly numb to the point that they didn’t hurt from the cold, but he couldn’t move his hands anymore. His hands had lost their dexterity with the cold and his body ached. 

The little light off in the distance wasn’t so far away now, but the rest of the trek seemed impossible. He felt like a zombie, traipsing poorly through the snow. His vision started to grow blurrier, tiny black dots filtering through the edges of his view. His eyes lids felt heavy, and his cheeks felt windburnt. 

He just about collapsed onto the stairs when he tried to go up them. His body was tired, and he made it close enough. He had made it to the steps of the little cottage he had been longing for, he knew there was warmth on the other side of the cottage door, but he just couldn’t make it up the stairs. He just couldn’t. His body couldn’t do it anymore. It was okay , he told himself, close enough .

Just as he’d closed his eyes to sleep and began to settle, the door opened with a creak, warmth spilling out over the stairs, so much so that he nearly cried at the sensation. “Quackity?” A man’s voice called out, and suddenly the world went blank.

***

When he woke up again this time, it was peaceful, content and slow. He opened his eyes first, taking in his surroundings, he took slow, full breaths. One by one he moved all his limbs, wiggling his toes, scrunching his nose, rolling his shoulders, filling out his mental checklist one by one. He recognized where he was, he knew he was safe here, and the relief of that thought washed over him pleasantly. 

He was in a cozy room, with wood panelling from floor to ceiling, a nice rug decorating the part of the floor he could see. He was in a bed, a luxurious mattress underneath him with big cushy pillows. He was covered with warm furs and quilts, keeping him at the perfect temperature. He didn’t know the name of the place, or where he was exactly , but he recognized it and felt safe nonetheless. 

“You awake yet?” A gravelly voice called out. It startled him, and he turned to face it quickly, rolling over under the covers.

The man who had spoken looked almost… angry. Which made no sense given that he had been so nice, providing a warm bed and shelter. He was a tall man, a muscular frame hulking over the bed. He was pretty too, his facial features strong and defined, his skin a light shade of pink. The man had long pink hair wrapped up in a messy bun and he had these little adorable teeth poking from his lips. He was wearing a tight-fitted white dress shirt that stretched across his chest and a dapper pair of black dress pants that left little to the imagination.

The man in the bed just stared up at the pretty man, in momentary awe.

The pink man crossed his arms, “Quackity how the fuck did you get here? How did you just- come back to life? Is this some sorted of twisted fake-out? You never died in the first place, you just wanted to see how everyone would react? That’s fucked up, even for you.” The tall man spoke, startling him. 

He cowered back into the sheets, trying to capture some of the heat before it escaped from him. He didn’t know why the pretty man was mad at him. He tried to think, tried to remember anything from beyond the night prior, but his mind drew blank. It made him feel guilty in a way, to see he had made the pretty man so mad and couldn’t even remember how.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, “Do I know you?” he asked quietly. The pretty man stared at him, eyes unrelenting and judgemental, only for a moment before he relaxed a little, letting his arms fall from their crossed position. The pretty man pursed his lips, his eyebrows furrowing in thought, “Are you serious?” he asked, this time his voice a little nicer.

Again, the man in the blankets nodded weakly, “I… I’m sorry, but I don’t remember my own name. What was it that you called me earlier? Is- Was that my name?” he asked. 

The pink man stared at him for another moment, before moving to the corner of the room and grabbing the armchair that sat there. He dragged it closer to the bed before he took a seat. “Your name is Quackity, and mine is Technoblade,” he explained gently. 

“Quackity?” the other man asked, “Like- like a duck?”

The pretty man- Technoblade- gave a gentle smile, “Exactly like that, that’s how you told people to spell your name.” Technoblade folded his hands in his lap, and his smile faded a little, “You really don’t remember? Anything? I mean- I found you on the doorstep last night, how did you even get here? This is a secret location.” he asked.

“Um, no sorry. I don’t… I don’t know. I woke up and I was really cold. I was trapped. I-I escaped- but then it was all cold again and I saw the light so I tried to make it but I just… I couldn’t walk anymore.” Quackity replied.

Technoblde’s eyebrows tensed again, “What do you mean trapped? Did someone do this to you? Did someone bring you here?” The smaller man sat up a little and waved his hands in the air, “No! No- I was just… in a box. I was completely alone. I don’t know how I got there, but it was cold and dark.”

Technoblade nodded, taking his words into consideration.

Quackity didn’t know what to think of the man. He had shown him nothing but kindness, but the way he tensed and bristled when he asked questions made it seem like perhaps they hadn’t been on good terms. 

He cautiously gripped the edge of the blanket wrapped around him, “Am I really dead?” Quackity asked curiously. Technoblade straightened up at the question, leaning back against the chair and crossing his arms. “Everyone thought you were. I mean, the whole server got the notification that you had died and left the game.”

“Oh,” Quackity replied, unsure how to react. He furrowed his eyebrows and looked up to Technoblade, watching his face for a moment. “What were we then? How do you know me? You seemed mad earlier. Were we close?” he asked quietly. 

The question made the pretty man raise his eyebrows, almost looking amused as he contemplated his answer carefully. “I… I’m not quite sure. We- we were friends a long time ago and things… things changed and we ended up on different sides.” The man paused, his eyes flicking down to the floor before looking up to reach Quackity again. “I took one of your lives,” he finished.

Quackity felt his blood run cold and he tried to burrow himself further into the sheets, trying to hide from the man who had apparently killed him once before. “Why? What did I do to you? I thought you said we were friends,” he spat out hurriedly. 

The pretty man let out a heavy sigh and leaned back against the armchair, giving Quackity some room to breathe. “Things got complicated, you tried to have me executed. I survived and tried to escape but you caught me and we fought.” Technoblade looked down to his hands, almost nervous, “You didn’t win,” he finished. 

Quackity didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know why Technoblade was still treating him with so much kindness, it didn’t make sense to him. He pursed his lips but looked up to Technoblade’s sorry eyes and couldn’t hold back any longer. “Why are you being nice to me then? Aren’t you mad at me? Why would you risk bringing me into your home when you know I’ve tried to hurt you before?” 

The taller man straightened up at his words, his eyebrows tensed and for a second he looked almost angry, quickly his expression changed, his scowl shifting to a pout. “I- I don’t know. I mean… I never hated you. At the end of your life, we weren’t on bad terms. You were a worthy adversary through and through. I suppose when I found you last night you were completely at my mercy. You were sickly and vulnerable and yet, you came to my doorstep. I thought you had a reason for coming to see me, especially from the dead.”

Technoblade paused, his eyes scanning over Quackity once more, “But… you don’t remember? You don’t know how you got here?” he asked carefully. 

Quackity nodded, feeling almost embarrassed. He felt ashamed for forgetting everything between them, it seemed to hurt Technoblade that he had been forgotten. He tried to recall his memories of anything before, but his mind drew a hazy blank. There were flashes of images, but nothing concrete to rely on, he didn’t trust his memory enough to believe the things he was seeing. “No sorry, I… I think I briefly remember being dead. I don’t know where I was but I remember the feeling of it, the emptiness and hollowness. My memory isn’t working with me very well. Maybe later I’ll remember more? I… I just remember like a- like a familiar presence.” 

Technoblade’s eyes softened, “That’s alright, we’ll figure it out with time, surely it’ll come back to you.” His sincerity and confidence caught Quackity off-guard, it made him feel safe again, “I was going to make breakfast for you. Is there anything, in particular, that you’d like?”

Quackity was surprised once again, he hadn’t expected Technoblade to offer him more kindness. Then again he hadn’t realized how hungry he had felt, his stomach growled and churned on cue. He couldn’t remember the names of any breakfast foods and it pained him. “I.. I don’t know. What do you like?” he asked absently. Technoblade seemed to warm to him more, “Pancakes, waffles are good too. We could do an omelette with cheese or something, I have the ingredients for pretty much anything.” he replied. Quackity caught himself salivating at the words, “Whatever’s quickest,” he replied, hoping that he didn’t come off as desperate as he felt. 

Technoblade smiled, his lips hooking over his tusks, “I’ll make an omelette.” He paused, hands on his knees ready to stand up, “Do you think you’ll be able to join me downstairs for dinner or would you like me to bring it up? Can you stand?” he asked hesitantly.

Quackity hadn’t even thought of the physical toll on his body. Sure there were dull aches and pains but nothing too painfully sharp. He looked over himself cautiously, noticing now that his jacket had been removed alongside his track pants. He was only in a measly white undershirt and a pair of boxers. He flushed at the idea of Technoblade changing him before putting him in bed. “No- I, I think I can manage.” Technoblade stood up and Quackity looked away, his cheeks burning red now, “Could I borrow some clothes? Or- or if you have my jacket and pants ready I could take those?” he asked hesitantly. 

Technoblade hummed and went over to the large wardrobe on the wall opposite to the bed, “Your clothes are drying by the fireplace, I think I have some stuff that might fit you left behind from Tommy.”

Quackity fought back the urge to question who Tommy was in the first place, but he watched as Technoblade moved regardless. Technoblade turned around with some clothing in hand, he set down a white neatly-folded dress shirt and a pair of refined-looking black slacks. What he set aside for Quackity had seemed almost too nice to wear, they were fine gentlemen's clothes, certainly unsuitable for a houseguest of such low calibre. 

Technoblade must have caught the confused look on Quackity’s face, “Do you not like it? Is something wrong?” he asked, ever the gentle host. 

Quackity felt small for his reasoning, “Those clothes seem too nice for me,” he replied.

Technoblade pouted, he looked almost lost in his expression, “Sorry, I don’t understand. I don’t think I have anything else to offer you. You- you’ve been wearing a lot of business attire lately, I didn’t think you’d mind. I have some more casual clothing for myself but I don’t think it would fit you without some hemming and tailoring.”

Quackity felt guilty,” No- no you don’t have to change any of your clothes. I just- won’t I ruin this? Are you sure it’s okay for me to wear something this expensive?”

Technoblade’s eyebrows raised and his expression slipped into surprise, “No one else is ever going to wear it. I got them for Tommy when he stayed with me, but he found it too stiff for his liking. The clothes are yours to keep if you’ll wear them.”

“Oh, okay, thank you.” Quackity responded softly and Technoblade smiled at him. The taller man clapped his hands together, “I’ll let you get changed, I’ll go make breakfast but you’re free to come and join me whenever you’d like. If you need something you can just call for me.” 

“Thank you,” Quackity replied again. Technoblade nodded, turned and left. As Quackity watched him trail away down the hall, he couldn’t help the warmth that spread in his stomach. Perhaps it was because of something about his huge size or his teddy bear personality, but for unbeknownst reason, Technoblade made him happy.