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Water lapped gently against the side of the wooden dinghy, rocking it gently back and forth like the arduous ticking of a grandfather clock. Time was meaningless out here, signifying nothing but the long wait until nightfall so that the sun could finally stop beating down on him, searing his skin a blistering red.
It was hot. So, so fucking hot. And yet Quackity couldn’t even pull the beanie from his head to grant himself the faintest semblance of relief. Not with the harsh rope binding his hands together. The skin around his wrists had grown red and raw from his repeated attempts to brute force his way out of them, yanking up and around against the knot bound to the middle of the boat. The rope itself was only a few inches long, forcing him into a hunched sitting position that left a dull ache along his spine.
Sweat and seaspray soaked through his once pristine white button-down shirt, blurring the bloodstains left on it into blooming pools of faded red. His tie hung limply over his chest, yet sat far too tight around his collared neck. What once acted as a symbol of his authority and professionalism now served as a cruel reminder of his entrapment. His feet, while unbound, were contained in their own personal ovens inside his dress shoes. Once pristine and regularly polished, steel-heeled to give that overdramatic click against the tiled floor of his estate, those shoes were now scuffed and spoiled in the midday sun. If leather could melt, he was sure they would have done so by now.
The boredom made matters worse still, although he hardly had the mental capacity to ponder the endless expanse of open ocean with the gnawing pains of hunger and dehydration creeping in. Quackity was no stranger to starvation and had endured many trials by deprivation in his time, but 2 days on the open sea had really started to push him to his limits.
Still, he had his thoughts to keep him entertained. That was the point of this whole ordeal, wasn't it? To give him the rest of his soon-to-be-cut-short life to sit and think about what he’d done, like a scorned child sent to sit in the corner. Not as easy as killing him outright, perhaps with a bullet between the eyes or a knife at his neck. You know, the old-fashioned way.
But no, his crimes- no, misdeeds, were deemed too severe for a quick and simple death. It had to be complex, it needed to be grand. He needed the illusion of a way out and the slow painful realisation that this was really it, that there was no escape this time. He was well and truly meeting his end.
Fortunately for him, Quackity wasn't one to arrive at those conclusions so soon. He would rather die with the whim of safety on the horizon, a last-ditch effort of rescue before he would take his final breath (not that he had let himself rely on anyone else’s help before).
What did they take him for, a coward? A sham?
He was a man of empires. Of legacy. They could kill him, but they could never kill what he had made himself into. And that, he was sure, would withstand beyond death.
Or maybe the delirium of dehydration had finally taken its toll.
Even if the rope granted him enough space to lean across the side of the boat and stick his head into the water to drink, he knew that would only make matters worse. Seasalt and all. But ahh, the way it glistened in the sunlight only made it more tantalising. He licked at a bead of sweat that rolled down his cheek and tilted his head to the side, tempted to roll his eyes back in his head and call it a day.
Not a scrap of food or stray bottle in the tiny boat. No rope, no weapons or tools. Just him and the fucking fish. What a way to go.
For maybe the hundredth time, Quackity threw his head back and screamed in frustration. Not for help, he never called for help. Only hurled curses at the thin blue horizon, at the motherfuckers who put him in this situation, at his idiot employees and good-for-nothing business partners who just stood by and watched the fallout. At himself even, for being so pathetic and weak that he couldn’t even stop his own kidnapping.
It didn’t help, not even remotely. It left his throat ragged and sore along with the rest of his sun-baked body.
Still, it was something to do.
Quackity lowered his head again with a dull thump, only to scream again as a flash of colour disappeared past the side of the boat. His eyes blew wide and he strained against his restraints to catch a glimpse of whatever it was.
He could only manage to see just over the edge of the dinghy, pulling against his short allowance of rope. As the boat rocked downwards again and the sea inched closer, he saw nothing but the deep blue abyss below and his heart sank.
Was he going insane already? He swore something golden passed by with a shower of sea spray.
“Hello?!” he called for good measure.
No answer, of course, but it wasn't like there was anyone out there to judge him.
He slumped back onto the bench, causing the boat to jostle gently. Maybe if he rocked hard enough he could capsize the thing and drown instead. Make this whole thing go quicker.
Another splash sounded behind him, and this time Quackity was sure there was something there. He reeled around, straining his sunburnt neck to try and catch sight of it.
“Hey!” he barked, gnashing his teeth. “I know something’s there!”
He expected to find a bird perched on the boat's edge, maybe the streak of a golden fish launching through the air, even an animal maybe, if he really was going insane.
But not a human man’s face staring back at him.
Quackity screeched, recoiling with such unexpected alarm that he almost tripped off the bench, his wrists smarting with abrupt rope burn. “What the fuck!?”
“Hello!” the man replied cheerily, either oblivious to the fucking heart attack Quackity was currently experiencing or completely on board with it. His fingers gripped the edge of the dinghy, tipping the boat downwards towards him in the process.
“Wh-!?” Quackity’s heart hammered in his chest, barely sparing him enough oxygen to reply, let alone the brain power to comprehend how a whole ass man just appeared in the middle of the ocean to taunt him.
The man blinked, then absently wiped his wet curls away from his forehead. Unnaturally yellow eyes drifted up and down Quackity’s form, taking in his sweaty, haggard, blood-stained state.
“What’re you doing out here in the middle of the ocean?” he asked with a tauntingly posh British accent.
“I could ask you the same thing!” he snapped back, shoulders hunching defensively. “Wh- what the actual fuck?!”
“What do you mean?” the brunette tilted his head as if Quackity was the weird one here. “I live here. You’re the guy in the boat just kinda…loitering.”
“E-excuse me?” Quackity’s eyes somehow managed to widen even more, spluttering in bewilderment. “You live in the middle of the fucking ocean? Where?”
Did this guy have a houseboat? Ohhhh god, he better. This is the ticket out of here that Quackity has been waiting for! He was saved, and by a crazy man that goes swimming in the middle of the ocean, for miles…with no sign of land…
“Uh…down? I dunno how to explain it. It's like, west of the coral reefs and then north a bit up from the ravine..”
His eyebrows bunched in confusion. “I’m sorry, down?” Quackity leaned towards the stranger, peering over the side of the boat to get a full look at him.
His heart sank at the sight of a long, golden tail fish, dotted with iridescent scales and sharp jagged fins that raced down the back and sides of it. A large, webbed fin swished lazily back and forth in the water, catching against the sunlight and throwing shimmering patterns all around it. He was shirtless, other than an adornment of belts and leather holsters that sported a variety of pouches and tools.
A siren. Of course.
But Quackity couldn’t actually say ‘of course’ because never in his hours of being out at sea did he expect a fucking siren to appear. He didn’t even know sirens were real, let alone obnoxious and British.
“Uh, my eyes are up here,” the siren grinned, tilting his head up at Quackity.
A startled laugh left Quackitys mouth and he leaned forwards, a manic grin spreading over his face. “Excuse me? A-are you trying to flirt with me? While I’m tied up, in the middle of the ocean? Like this is some kind of fucking joke?”
The siren recoiled before they could get nose to nose, looking at him with a baffled expression. “What? You’re tied up? Why’re you tied up?”
“Because someone tied me up, obviously,” he snapped back with a slight giggle in his voice. Oh god, he really was delirious. “You think I would come out here voluntarily?”
“Uh…I guess not?” The siren peered over the side of the boat to take a look at Quackity’s restraints, his mouth forming into a thin pout as his confusion grew. “Woah. They have you tied up good. I could try and help, but my brother would know a lot more about knots than I do. That seems too complex for me to untie.”
“Are you serious? Can you go get your brother then?” he failed to keep the desperate whine out of his voice.
“Oi. You’re in no position to be making demands,” the siren scoffed back, clearly not appreciating the gravity of Quackity’s situation, or even the concept of dehydration, most likely. “And I can’t go get him, he’s off hunting right now.”
Quackity groaned in frustration, his nose wrinkling up in the process. “Okay, well then do you have a knife?”
The siren frowned and opened his mouth to give a retort, but then paused as realisation lit up on his face. “Oh, I do actually!” He beamed, hands rapping against the boat with excitement. “I got it from this huge pirate ship that passed over our-!“
“Great!” Quackity grinned, shoulders slumping in relief. “I need you to cut off the binds real quick.”
“Please don’t interrupt me when I’m telling a story,” the siren snipped, giving the most pathetic pout as his tail flicked in circles under the water.
“Wh- I am literally baking alive right now-!”
“Well that in itself is quite rude of you. Please refrain from dying until the end of my tale,” he huffed.
Quackity groaned and dropped his head forwards. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. Now, as I was saying. I got the knife from a pirate ship that my dad, Techno and I intercepted. I have the best voice out of all of them so of course I enchanted the pirates and led a few to their deaths, looting their stuff of course. I don't eat people, I'm not a monster-”
“You can hypnotise people with your voice?” Quackity raised an eyebrow, then let his head drop in defeat. “Great, can you do that to me so I forget this nightmare?”
The siren closed his mouth this time, hurt spreading over his face. “O-oh. Really? Is the exchange really that unpleasant that you want me to enchant you?”
“Well, uh... N-no, no, actually,” Quackity was quick to correct himself. For some reason seeing that sad expression struck him more than he thought it would. “It's not you, it's just- you know, the whole ordeal of being…well, left to your death in the middle of the ocean. It can get to you.”
This seemed to reassure the siren somewhat and his shoulders slumped in relief. “Oh. Good. I mean, not good, that you’re dying and all. But I’m glad I’m not that much of a bore.” He gave a short, humourless laugh and shook his head. “So you’re not kidding about those restraints though, huh.”
Quackity sighed and looked off to the side. “Yeah…I’m really not.”
“Alright then. One second-”
The siren ducked his head under the water, his brown curls disappearing under the waves and leaving Quackity alone in the crushing silence of the open ocean. For a long painful moment, he assumed the Siren had abandoned him and he prepared himself to start despairing again. But then the water erupted in a large splash as the Siren launched himself out of the water, hands gripping the side of the boat as he hoisted himself upwards.
The boat lurched to the side when the siren put his weight on it, and for a horrible, terrifying second Quackity was sure he was about to capsize the whole thing. But then the siren twisted around and in one swift motion had perched himself on the side of the boat, rocking back with the upswing and managing to pull his whole tail into the dinghy with him. The rocking was nauseating, making Quackity’s pounding headache increase tenfold, and he had to quickly shift his feet out of the way so the sea-soaked tail wouldn’t fall on them.
When the stars cleared from his eyes and pain stopped pulsing in his temples, Quackity was met with the sight of the fish man curled up on the floor of the wooden boat. His tail was long, a lot longer than Quackity had first thought , coiling around itself to fit in the dinghy like a spool of rope. It was even brighter and more radiant out of the water, its slick golden scales shining like diamonds in the sun.
The siren made no comment at his staring this time. If anything he was watching him right back, as if Quackity was worth staring at in the first place. Maybe his scars and tattoos peeking out of his partially rolled sleeves, or his split lip and bruises.
As their respective gazes drifted upwards and met in the middle, Quackity was the first to duck his head and look away. He tried to ignore the way his heart sped up and willed away the blush that threatened to creep over his cheeks. Like he hadn’t caught that spark of fondness that light up in the sirens golden eyes.
Instead, he thrusted his wrists forwards, exposing the knot of rope that bound him to the godforsaken dinghy. “Here.”
“Oh. Sure,” the siren mumbled back, fumbling with what was indeed a long knife tied to his belt with old knots of leather. He grabbed the middle of the rope and started haphazardly sawing away at it, the sound grating and foreign after hours of hearing nothing but waves.
“So do you…have a lot of those then?” Quackity mumbled, eyeing the blade. “Pirate treasures?”
“Oh, like this?” The siren paused his work to hold the knife up, practically thrusting it towards Quackity and making him flinch back in surprise.
“Fucking hell- careful with that thing,” Quackity hissed, but he couldnt deny that up close the dagger did seem very ornate, with an intricuitly carved wooden hilt and a silver plated guard.
“Dad brings all kinds of stuff like this from pirate ship raids,” the siren beamed excitedly, the end of his tail flicking a little as he spoke. “He gets us cool treasure in his travels, too. But he never brings down a whole boat. Morals and ethics, and all.”
“Huh.” So even sea creatures with the power to drown whole crews of pirates knew when to hold back. There were plenty of people he knew on dry land who could learn a thing or two from them. “What about already-sunken ships,” Quackity mused out loud. “Those’ve gotta be loaded with treasure.”
“Oh, yeah. We live in one of them,” the siren grinned. “It's great. Much cosier than caves. We get our own rooms and everything.”
“Must be nice,” he murmured.
Quackity had a room all to himself back in his city, so he knew what a luxury that was. It hadn’t always been that way though. Back in juvey, he had shared bunks with dozens of other kids and after that he had bunked with strangers in shitty lodges. He knew what it was like to crave space, room to breathe and think without constant interruption or fear.
“Yeah, but we usually gravitate towards the same room anyway and sleep in a big pile together,” the siren shrugged. “Tommy gets lonely otherwise.”
“Ah.”
His gaze travelled back down to the rope binding his wrists, the siren still sawing away at the thing.
“I didn’t catch your name,” Quackity found himself saying, surprised he hadn’t asked sooner.
“Hmm?” the siren lifted his head from his work, hands stilling once more. “Oh, it’s Wilbur. You?”
Quackity almost considered lying, not wanting his name to draw the other back to his history, what his so-called legacy spoke of him now. But this wasn’t the mainland and this wasn’t his city. He felt nameless, out here. Right back where he was, fresh out from behind bars with no money and nothing to call his own.
“Quackity,” he mumbled.
The siren, Wilbur, smiled. “Pleasures all mine.”
By the time the rope snapped in two, the siren's hair had already dried out in the sun, lifting it into vibrant curls that bounced as he worked the knife back and forth. The salt crystallised on his cheeks and over his skin, giving it the appearance of shimmering glitter. Quackity didn't even realise he had been staring until the snapping sound brought him out of his thoughts. He watched as Wilbur lifted his head in a beaming smile.
“Done!”
“Oh thank god,” Quackity sighed in relief, bringing his bound hands up and finally, finally getting to stretch his back out. He regretted the action immediately though as the ache of his muscles forced into that hunched position for hours doubled as soon as he moved them. Cringing and hissing through his teeth, he slowly eased his arms back down.
“Oh, sh-shit are you okay?” Wilbur gasped, holding his hands up as if to stop Quackity from falling forwards.
“Y-yeah. Yeah ‘m fine,” he mumbled, making sure to be very slow this time when he moved. He twisted side to side, easing the muscles and feeling the uncomfortable rub of his sunburnt neck against his collared shirt.
His hands, still bound together in knotted rope, moved up to tug his tie down from his strangled neck. It only managed to grant him the smallest relief from the hot choking collar, since the top button was still done up. Groaning in frustration, he tried desperately to unbutton the damn thing, but with his hands crossed over each other under the rope, he just couldn’t get a grip on it.
“Do you, um…need help with that?” Wilbur mumbled, eyeing Quackity’s struggle. His fingers were threaded together in a nervous fidget as if to stop himself from reaching out preemptively.
Quackity paused, hands stilling as he considered this. “Oh, yeah. That’d be great,” he nodded, dropping his bound hands into his lap and falling still again.
Wilbur smiled and rocked forwards on his tail, awkwardly positioning himself just above head height of Quackity. He had no idea how Wilbur balanced on that thing, or even how the bone structure of a siren worked, but he didn’t have much time to ponder it as the siren's hands reached for his throat.
Quackity forced himself to stifle a flinch, reminding himself that it was just Wilbur helping him with the button, not a knife or a gun or calloused hands choking the life out of him. But the slight fumble of those slender hands around the button eased Quackity’s anxiety. The siren seemed perplexed by the simple clothing, his short fingernails picking at it clumsily.
“You good?” he chuckled, tilting his head in amusement.
“Shut up,” Wilbur huffed. “Stop moving.”
Quackity just laughed again, moving even more. “Do you even know what buttons are?”
This earned an incredulous gasp from the other. “Of course I do. I just- never had to use them before.”
“Uh-huh,” he smiled, lowering his chin again to jostle Wilbur, only to freeze as one of the siren’s hands brushed against his neck. It wasn't that the touch itself was startling, but the fact that his hands were cold. Blissfully, ocean-cold against his burning skin. He involuntarily leaned into the contact, relishing the relief it brought from the sweltering sun. For a moment he forgot that the hand belonged to a person, only caring that it chilled his irritated skin. That was until the hand slowly moved to cup his cheek, trailing icy fingers over his skin.
Quackity’s eyes fell closed, a content sigh escaping him. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, he realised the shameful position he had been put in, forced at the mercy of a stranger to keep his head from cooking alive, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Oh, what delirium does to a person.
That was all it was. Dehydration and heatstroke made the siren's touch feel like the first breath of air after a lifetime of drowning.
“I’m sorry for what they did to you,” Wilbur murmured, that gentle hand stroking a thumb slowly under his eye.
Quackity’s eyes snapped open and he recoiled, leaving the blissfully cold hand hovering in the air. “I-I’m fine. It’s fine,” he muttered quickly.
Endlessly dark brown eyes searched Quackity’s face, looking for the lie. “You can’t honestly tell me that. You said it yourself, you’re hours away from death. I-it’s okay to be upset about that.”
He pulled his lips back in a scowl, eyebrows furrowing. “I am upset. It's just- none of your business okay? Here-” he held his bound wrists out in front of himself. “If you want to help, cut these off.”
Wilbur sat back on his tail, just staring at him with a displeased expression. Golden eyes no doubt scanning over all the things wrong with Quackity. Finally seeing him for the pathetic, useless man that he was.
Looking like he wanted to say more, the siren just huffed and picked his knife back up. He brought Quackity’s hands down into his own and positioned the knife between them. This time Quackity pointedly ignored the way his cold fingers brushed against his as he held the bindings steady.
This rope, doubled over several times around Quackitys wrists, was much harder to saw through and caused an achingly long silence to stretch between the two. Wilbur ended up being the first to break the silence, stubbornly ignoring Quackity’s desire to avoid conversation.
“You know, I don’t judge a person by how others treat them,” he hummed, tail flicking idly back and forth. “If someone tied you up and pushed you out to sea, that might be because they’re the horrible one and you’re just the victim here.”
Quackity looked at him incredulously. “Might?” he grumbled, “You don’t seem to have much faith in me.”
Wilbur shrugged. “Well, I do. Even if you did something wrong, I judge people based on their current actions, not their past ones. And you seem trustworthy to me.”
“Oh yeah? And why’s that?”
“Because…because I know malicious people,” the siren shrugged back. “Or even desperate people. You just seem…I dunno, resigned. It's kinda sad actually.”
Quackity shot him a sour expression, not appreciating his pity. “Uh huh…”
If there was any benefit to Wilbur believing him to be a good person then he supposed it was something he could take advantage of. That was what people like him did, they found loopholes and points of leverage over others. Anyone in his position would be acting the exact same as him, good or otherwise, right? Wilbur must just be too trusting. It was a flaw he hoped he would be the last person to take advantage of.
This time as the ropes fell away, Quackity was able to rub his sore wrists and unfasten his collar button himself. He sighed softly, glad to have that choking thing off finally. He pulled the tie off next and tossed it to the floor, cursing it and everything it stood for under his breath.
This seemed to catch Wilbur's attention and he lifted the discarded fabric, turning it over in his hands. His tail started flicking back and forth again with what Quackity was growing to learn was excitement, and it made a fond smile spread over his lips. Quackity opened his mouth to comment, but Wilbur spoke first.
“I know what it is,” he announced. Then, after a pause, murmured, “I just… don't know what it’s actually for?”
Quackity leaned back and chuckled softly. “Uhhh…they’re pretty useless, um, functionally. They’re like…accessories? Status symbols I guess. For business.”
“Business,” Wilbur raised an eyebrow, unsatisfied by the answer. “So you wear this piece of knotted fabric and, what, parade around to tell people you’re important?”
“Pretty much,” he shrugged. It was odd to hear it said out loud so plainly, but that honestly felt like all that they were. All that his little game of clawing his way to the top chalked up to be.
“So you’re an important person then?”
Quackity hummed and lulled his head to the side, considering the question. “Yeah. You know what, yeah. I was super important. The most important.”
“Well don't get ahead of yourself there,” Wilbur chuckled. He lifted the tie up to the sun, then placed it down over his own neck, similar to how someone might award themself a medal. “Here. Now I’m important too. More so than you, even, since you no longer have one.”
It was an odd sight to behold, that’s for sure. Wilbur with his long winding golden tail, bare chest and assortment of leather belts, now with a bright - slightly stained - red tie hanging loosely from his neck. He lifted his chin with the same sort of childish pride as a kid who had just raided their parent's cupboard for dress-up material.
“Very handsome,” Quackity smirked in a joking tone, yet Wilbur's face lit up nonetheless.
“Damn straight,” he grinned, tail flicking back and forth happily.
Quackity rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated chuckle. “Alright, Mr Important. Do you have any idea how I can get back to dry land or am I supposed to bask in your presence until I die of dehydration?”
Wilbur's smile faltered for a moment as if he hadn’t even considered helping Quackity leave the ocean until that moment. “Oh, uh. Well, I suppose I could go get Dad…given he’s back from hunting already. He would know what to do. Although…” he sighed softly for a moment, eyebrows bunching together and his lips pressing up into a pout. “He’s not gonna like me bringing around a random human.”
“Well I’m not random,” Quackity interjected, leaping at the opportunity to not get left behind on this boat forever. “We’ve been thoroughly acquainted, yeah? You know me. I’m sure your dad will love me. I-I’m great with dads.”
The desperation must have overtaken the humour in his voice because Wilbur just looked at him with a sad smile. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll be super chill about it. And Techno knows all about ship routes so we can probably intercept a trading vessel a-and maybe enchant the captain into letting you join the crew? Yeah!”
He snapped his fingers decisively, the cogs turning in his head practically audibly. “Easy. You’ll be home in no time, I promise.”
Even if the plan sounded far fetched at best, and its foundations as stable as the rickety old driftwood of the dinghy he stood on, Quackity played up his relieved smile and sighed heavily. “Great. That sounds great Wilbur. Thank you.”
The siren's shoulders slumped in relief and he nodded, “cool…So, yeah. Stay right here, I’ll go get someone. Don't- um, don't go anywhere?” He chuckled awkwardly, and Quackity pretended he wasn't mentally kicking himself for cutting their time together short so abruptly.
He didn't mean to prompt the siren to leave. But, no, he needed him to leave. Quackity was still dehydrated, still starving and still stranded. This was necessary.
Why did it feel so wrong all of a sudden?
“Right, yeah,” he mumbled. “A-and you’ll be right back?”
Wilbur's eyes widened and he nodded vigorously. “Of course! Soon as I can, I promise.”
Pushing himself up and over the side of the boat was a much harder and frankly dramatic ordeal for Wilbur than getting into the boat. Without the momentum of the water, it took a lot of awkward flopping around his excessively long tail until it hung over the side of the boat, before the difficult task of pulling himself over the edge. He hit the water with an inelegant thwack noise and sent a rain of seawater onto Quackity’s head. Thankfully this time he had his hands free to wipe away the droplets
When Wilbur's head popped back up from the surface, a mop of soggy curls plastering to his forehead, Quackity was able to lean over the edge of the boat on his elbows and see the full thing. His tail trailed lazily behind him, cutting through the deep water like a flag on a breezy day, while his hands paddled in small circular motions in front of him to keep him afloat.
“You’ll be alright while I’m gone…right?” Wilbur mumbled with an unwarranted amount of concern lacing his voice. Since when did this guy care if he lived so much? “You’re not gonna, like, I dunno…keel over within the hour?”
“Yes, Wilbur, I’ll be fine. Just, uh, be back before sunset, yeah?”
He gave another nod, water dripping down his cheeks and under his chin. Wilbur’s eyes fell to the ocean's surface, studying the pattern of the water lapping against the wooden dinghy. “You can't just swim down with-?”
“No Wilbur, I would drown,” Quackity sighed, a soft smile playing at his lips. “I’ll be right here. Can’t exactly go anywhere else.”
“Right, yeah. Human and all that…Okay. I’ll go hunt down Phil and Techno. They should be back soon. Don’t go anywhere.”
“Mhm.” Quackity rested on his knees on the floor, his head resting on his folded arms propped on the boat’s edge. “I won’t.”
Wilbur’s eyes locked onto his, a fierce determination alighting behind him as he gave one last definitive nod before his head submerged. The rest of his body followed suit, gliding effortlessly through the water. That golden tail trailed beneath the murky waves like the burning tail of a shooting star, vanishing beneath an endless void.
And once again, Quackity was alone.
For now.