Work Text:
Ranboo and Quackity weren’t exactly… close, back in L’Manberg. They’d maybe exchanged ten words outside of the Butcher Army, and Ranboo is pretty sure he got the impression that Quackity didn’t actually like him all that much?
That’s why it surprises him to get a message from the guy asking to meet him by the old L’Manberg crater at sunset.
His first thought is that he did something wrong. His second thought is that this could be how he dies. He has no idea what Quackity is up to these days, and he doesn’t know what he could have done to slight the man, but clearly he did something if he wants to meet.
He wants to ask Tubbo. Ranboo really, really wants to ask Tubbo. Tubbo and Quackity were close, he remembers that much.
(“Hey, hey,” he vaguely remembers Quackity saying with more gentleness than Ranboo thought him capable of. “There’s no box. Technoblade isn’t here. You’re okay.”
Tubbo took in a shaky breath. “I’m okay.”
“I’ve got you, Twobo,” Quackity assured. “I’ll keep you safe.”)
But the message had been very specific, is the thing. He is under no circumstances allowed to tell Tubbo that they’re meeting. The or else wasn’t stated, but Ranboo doesn’t think it’s unfair to assume. Not with a man like Quackity.
He also doesn’t think it’s unfair to show up armored. Paranoid, maybe, but not unfair. Especially considering the look of the netherite axe strapped to Quackity’s back. He isn’t wearing any himself, but between the axe and the way he stands with his arms crossed, he’s not any less intimidating for it.
“Ranboo,” he says evenly.
“Quackity.” Ranboo does his best to match the tone, but he has no idea if he actually succeeds. “What did, uh- what did you want to talk about?”
Quackity rolls his eyes. “Calm down, dude. You haven’t done anything wrong yet.”
Ranboo blinks. “Yet?”
“Yet,” Quackity confirms. “See, Ranboo, a little birdie told me about what you and Tubbo have been up to.”
Ranboo is suddenly glad for his enderman physiology. If he could, he would be sweating right now. “What exactly have we been up to?”
“Look, I know why Tubbo didn’t tell me he married you, but what happened to tradition, man? Ever planning on asking for his hand?”
“I thought…” he says slowly, eyebrows furrowed. “I thought it was the dad you had to ask for permission.”
Quackity raises an eyebrow. “Your point?”
“You’re, uh. You’re not Tubbo’s dad, are you?”
Ranboo doesn’t know what to make of the sound that comes out of Quackity’s throat. It’s defeated and angry all at once as he grumbles out something under his breath. After a beat, he sighs, hand twitching in the air like he’s physically searching for the words. “How much did Tubbo tell you about Schlatt?”
(Ranboo remembers passing by the camarvan one night, and hearing raised voices from inside. He recognized the voices as Quackity and Tubbo, but he didn’t recognize the tones they were using. They were angry- really, genuinely angry- with such a sharp undercurrent of fear Ranboo could almost taste it. They argued like they were afraid they were in physical danger, like giving up ground would end with them bleeding or bruised. Tubbo still argues like that sometimes, but he’s gotten good at reining it in.
But that night, that didn’t seem to occur to either of them, not until Ranboo heard a fist slam down on wood. By the sounds of it, the hand was probably hurt worse than the table. Something fell to the floor, and suddenly Quackity was the only one shouting.
After a moment, he seemed to catch himself, and then all he could hear was “Wait, wait, Tubbo, I shouldn’t have- I didn’t mean to- breathe, okay? Breathe. Schlatt’s not here.”
Ranboo slipped away after that. He hadn’t been in L’Manberg long, and Tubbo’s panic attacks weren’t his business yet.)
“Not much,” Ranboo admits. “I know bits and pieces. I know he used to be president- and I know he wasn’t a good person- and I know you and Tubbo worked with him. He had Tubbo executed because he was- he was a spy, right? And he made him decorate the execution. I think he died on the same day Wilbur did?”
He has no idea how much of what he just said is correct. Tubbo… Tubbo doesn’t like talking about him, outside of the inane little comments that Ranboo happens to write down. He once told Ranboo that Schlatt was the reason he never drank, tempting as it apparently was. He once told Ranboo that Schlatt didn’t like it when he cried. He once confessed that he wondered if there was a chance the man could have changed, or if he’d ever been proud of him.
Quackity nods at Ranboo’s words, though. His eyes are distant as he opens his mouth to speak. “He was… he was awful, okay? A fucking monster. But you know that. Everyone knows that. Tubbo and I were the ones that had to work with the guy, though. And he had these… these moments. When he was just drunk enough that he wasn’t thinking about what he said, but not drunk enough to be more of an asshole than usual. He wasn’t nice when he was like that, but you could- you could actually hold a conversation with him, you know?” He huffs out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.
“Yeah,” Ranboo says, for lack of any better words. He’s not sure what Quackity wants him to say. He wonders if he’s meant to say anything at all, or if Quackity is just thinking out loud at this point.
“He once made Tubbo promise to never take up drinking. Told him he was smarter than both Tommy and Wilbur put together and that was why Tubbo was his right hand man and they were out there. Schlatt wasn’t a good man, but when he wasn’t a total dick, I think he actually saw something in the kid. That’s why he got so mad when he realized he betrayed u- him. When he realized he betrayed him.” Quackity shakes his head at the last part, like he’s banishing away an old way of thinking.
“That’s why he executed him?” Ranboo finds the courage to ask.
Quackity’s shoulders slump. “That’s exactly why he executed him.”
Ranboo lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding at that confirmation. “Why- why does that matter, though? To me asking for your permission, I mean.”
“Because Schlatt was the worst fucking person I’ve ever met, but he paid more attention to Tubbo than anyone else here. More attention than Phil, at least. Hell, Wilbur barely gave him the time of day before he made him the goddamn president,” he explains. “And I was married to the guy. Schlatt fucking left us, so that made me the only one left that was bothering to keep an eye on him.”
(“Hey, hey!” Quackity hissed three days after the Butcher Army had tried to execute Technoblade. Three days after Tommy was declared dead for the first time. “Don’t fucking go in there.”
“Don’t go into… Tubbo’s office?” Ranboo had asked, papers that he had only just remembered Tubbo asked for days ago clutched in his hands.
Quackity nods. “This is the first time he’s slept in days and I swear to Prime if you wake him up-”
“Okay!” Ranboo squeaked. “Okay. I’ll come back later.”
Quackity simply nodded, sharp and authoritative. “You do that, Ranboo.”)
“Oh,” is all Ranboo can think to say.
“Yeah,” Quackity snaps. “Oh.”
Ranboo doesn’t think he has ever felt more awkward than he does in this moment. Or, if he has, he’s glad he doesn’t remember it. It’s excruciating. “I’m… sorry, then?”
“You should be. Tubbo and I made a deal, before you came along. I have his back, he has mine.”
(Quackity hadn’t put the axe to the horse’s neck until Tubbo had called out for his help, Ranboo remembers abruptly. After everything, Tubbo had fretted over his eye, and for the rest of L’Manberg’s lifespan, Tubbo had always stood to Quackity’s right- in his blind spot- and nudged him in his side when he noticed someone approaching from that way.)
“Right,” Ranboo agrees, but Quackity isn't done.
“So right now it’s my job to make sure you’re not using him or some shit like that.”
“Using him?” Ranboo finds himself repeating. There’s a feeling bubbling up in his chest that isn’t shame; it’s more akin to frustration. It’s nice and all that Quackity is looking after Tubbo, but he hasn’t been by Snowchester in weeks. How should he be able to judge whether or not Ranboo is using Tubbo?
“You betrayed L’Manberg,” Quackity reminds him. “I haven’t forgotten that.”
“Didn’t you approach me literally the day after to ask me to go against Dream?” Ranboo asks- really, genuinely asks. All of Doomsday kind of blurs together, but he’s fairly sure he wrote that down somewhere.
“And you said no,” Quackity snaps. “Now you’re living with fucking Technoblade of all people.”
“I’m living on his property,” Ranboo corrects weakly. “And Tubbo forgave me. He doesn’t care where I live. You know he can fight his own battles, right?”
“I know he can! The problem is that he never fucking does! He lets everyone push him around, and he lets everyone betray him all the fucking time- ” Quackity cuts himself off with a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, like he wants to scream and is only barely managing to rein himself in.
(Ranboo remembers standing around a table, wanted posters pinned to the wall. What exactly Tubbo had said escapes Ranboo, but he remembers the tone of it. Frustrated and a hint of fear. There was an exhausted look in his eyes, and Ranboo wondered exactly how much sleep he’d gotten the night before.
Quackity hadn’t liked what Tubbo said, apparently. “Tubbo,” he had called. “Don’t you remember Schlatt? ‘Cause you’re sounding a hell of a lot like him right now.”
Ranboo had no idea who Schlatt was at the time, other than some monster under the bed that seemed to haunt all of L’Manberg, other than a portrait on the wall with eyes that seemed to follow him across the room. Nonetheless, Tubbo flinched backwards at the sound of his name like he’d been physically slapped. “I- you’re right. I’m sorry,” he stammered out.
The line of Quackity’s shoulders hadn’t eased with the apology like Ranboo expected. Instead, he just nodded. “That’s what I thought.”)
“Going after Technoblade was your idea,” Ranboo reminds him. He knows he should be trying to deescalate the situation- Quackity’s armed and he’s not, even if Ranboo’s the only one wearing armor- but the words are crawling out of his mouth before he can stop them. “Don’t act like you didn’t push him around, too.”
“I did! I know I did!” Quackity yells. “Why the hell do you think I was planning on leaving L’Manberg?”
“What?” Ranboo blinks, the fight going out of him at once. He’s forgetting something, he knows he’s forgetting something, but that’s-
Quackity sighs, his shoulders starting to slump. “After Dream said you were a traitor,” he starts slow, tasting each word individually as he tries to find the way to put them all in a row. “I wanted to execute you.”
“What?”
“I was angry, and I wanted to execute you. Tubbo said no. Said it would be treason if I went after you. And I kept pushing, and pushing, and- and the kid held his ground,” Quackity laughs, low and hollow. “I finally found his line in the goddamn sand, and it was you.”
Ranboo opens his mouth, unsure of what to say. “I… I didn’t realize.”
“‘Course you didn’t. Can’t imagine he’d want to tell you about that, especially after Doomsday. He’d had enough on his plate. But I- I realized, when we were fighting. I was pushing to execute you, and I kept expecting him to just stand down. At some point, I wasn’t trying to convince him, I was trying to shout him down. That was all I’d been doing his whole fucking presidency.”
“Dream did say you were more of a president than him, didn’t he?” Ranboo muses. He doesn’t remember that part, either, but Tubbo had admitted it to him once in a hushed voice when Ranboo was talking him down from some nightmare or other.
Quackity nods. “I- I couldn’t do that to him. I can’t. The kid needs to learn to stand his fucking ground, and he was never going to be able to do that with me breathing down his neck, even if it’s my job to protect him.”
Ranboo almost wants to laugh at that, irrational as it is. “They’ve gotta leave the nest sometime,” he points out. “Maybe… maybe you’re more his dad than I thought you were.”
Quackity actually does laugh, which startles Ranboo. “Don’t call me that. It makes me sound old. Do I look like fucking Philza Minecraft to you?”
Phil had killed Wilbur, hadn’t he? “No. Not at all.” Quackity wouldn’t do that. Not to Tubbo.
Quackity gives him half a smile, pulling at the scar across his lip. “Maybe you’re alright after all, Ranboo.”
“Thank you.” He tries not to preen at that. He’s not entirely sure he succeeds, though, judging by the look on Quackity’s face.
“Don’t get cocky,” he chides. He looks like he’s about to say something else, but his communicator beeps. He looks down at it, and back at Ranboo. “I’ve got to go. Sam needs me. But… look, Ranboo. Tubbo can fight his own battles. Kid’s learned to defend himself. But don’t think that means you can betray him again and get away with it. Tommy won’t be the only one you have to be afraid of if you fucking hurt him. Don’t make him regret caring about you.”
Just as Quackity is about to turn to leave, Ranboo finds the courage to speak. “The same goes for you, you know.”
He laughs, loud and unrestrained and genuinely delighted. “That’s what I like to hear!” he calls.
“Come visit Snowchester sometime. Tubbo misses you."
Quackity pauses. “No promises, but I’ll… I’ll think about it.”