Chapter Text
Wilbur remembers getting into a fight with a witch.
He remembers hearing her footsteps, just as he sent Ranboo home for the day, and just as he was closing for the day. He recalls mistaking her for another customer, slowly pausing in his actions, and bracing himself to put on an award-winning customer service smile and act that only someone like his employer Ranboo could have perfected.
Until he heard her cackle.
He remembers peeking his head out to find her, and the unfortunate attempt to dodge the bottle thrown his way.
How a few seconds delay resulted in him getting hit right in the face with a glass bottle, shattering and spreading the magic over him immediately, the back of his mind quietly wishing that he broke his no-armor rule just to mitigate the oncoming damage,
He remembers how quickly the intended effects set upon him.
He remembers his face heating up, headache setting in just as his body started transforming, contorting in a way that wasn’t painful, but was just on the cusp of it. He remembers cramping up, his body closing in on itself, curling up as if it was trying to make himself as small as possible.
Then he remembers waking up as a cat, sprawled out on the bottom of the burger van and dizzy.
It all felt so surreal. When he stood, his balance was off, and he immediately fell over again. Everything was spinning, and he was so abnormally off-balance that it threw him off. He was just content with just laying there until he started gathering his bearings again.
Then it all seemed to hit him all at once.
He was a cat.
He was a fucking cat.
And he was stuck inside of the Paradise hamburger van, between the door of the van being closed on him, and the witch pacing around outside trying to get in… but he felt the most pressing matter was the fact that he was a cat, and he had no idea why, and had no idea how to turn himself back, or how long he was stuck…
His first thought was to find some way to get out. But again, with the witch outside, there was no way for him to sneak past without her catching him, and easily hurting him. He was, after all, at a severe disadvantage… But, even if he could find some way to get out and sneak past her, where would he go?
Who’s attention would he need to get, or who would help him?
Seeing that she wasn’t breaking in anytime soon, Wilbur decided to wait it out. Until he turned back into a human, to rethink the plan to get back at the witch, or until someone came back the next morning.
He curled up in the front seat of the van, arguably the most comfortable spot in the whole van. Though he had a bed set in his father’s arctic commune, that trip back from paradise was a long one, and his efforts to annoy Las Nevada’s very own president was a consistent one, so he usually spent his nights trying to get comfortable in the van.
This time, it was easier for him to fall asleep.
Wilbur woke up to the sound of a scuffle outside. Judging by the scream and sizzle he heard, he guessed that it had to do with the witch stalking the outside of his van.
He was up in an instant, realizing a little too late that he was still in the body of a cat, and couldn’t thank or talk to the person that’d finally killed her for him.
He guessed at first that it was Ranboo that finally took her out, judging by the light outside, and the schedule that clearly set him up for working the next day. And the fact that Ranboo was usually the one to wake him up in the mornings when he fell asleep behind the wheel. Wilbur stood on all fours expectantly, stalking towards the door waiting for him to open it, and for him to somehow communicate his situation to him.
But instead of the familiar jangling sound of keys, there was a knock.
“Wilbur?” Quackity’s overly polite voice rang out, and Wilbur’s hope for help plummeted.
The knocking continued, undeterred. “Wilbur, are you in there?”
Wilbur internally huffed, and curled up on the seat again.
He wasn’t expecting the door to open.
As Quackity stepped in, clear, undisguised disgust painting his face as he stepped into the van, Wilbur remembered that he never got the chance to properly close the night before.
“Why is it…”
Quackity trailed off when he finally saw Wilbur.
“Oh.” Quackity said, uncharacteristically quiet, before he began to approach him.
Some small, petty part of him wished that Quackity would’ve gotten hit with the same potion as him and got stuck in the same situation as him, just to have someone to be by his side throughout the whole thing. Something he could hold over his head, if they ever got the chance to turn back. Another part wished that it’d been Ranboo finding him instead, anything to prevent his rival from finding him in such a vulnerable position.
“Quackity.” He tried to say, but all that came out was a strangled hiss.
Maybe, if he could speak more, he would’ve insisted that all of this was somehow intentional, and planned.
Quackity’s hand hesitated before sticking it in his face, near his nose.
His hands smelled of something metallic. Wilbur flinched, froze, and Quackity took it as a sign to start petting him, long nails scratching at a spot that Wilbur didn’t even realize was itchy until it was scratched and he was given relief. He practically melted into the touch, not even realizing that he was pressing his face further in until Quackity’s nails were digging deeper, and he was pressing further into it.
“You have a collar…” He heard Quackity murmur.
Then, fingers brushed against his neck.
Then he realized- oh, yeah, Quackity is sort of his enemy here- and backed up a little. When his hand remained near, he swatted at it.
Quackity wasn’t phased.
“Were you that witch’s cat?” He asked.
Wilbur’s tail flicked in annoyance, and he hoped that it, paired with his glare, was getting his point across more than enough.
“No, witches have black cats…”
His face dropped again.
“Are you Wilbur’s cat?”
Wilbur continued to stare.
Quackity knelt down, close enough to be eye-to-eye, but not close enough to get swatted in the face.
“Do you know where he is?”
“Yes.” He said, but all Quackity heard was, “Meow.”
“I’ve been looking for him.” He said, as if he was expecting this supposed cat to understand, “I don’t like the thought of him wandering around my country. He could be setting up explosives right as we speak, and I won’t know where it was until it’s too late.”
Wilbur meowed. If he could, he’d be doing just that.
Quackity’s face lit up slightly.
“I could use you as leverage.” He murmured, “If Wilbur does something…”
No!
No he could not!
Wilbur involuntarily hissed at the suggestion.
“Come on.” He held out his hand again, and Wilbur backed up more, almost losing balance and falling off the seat, “What does Wilbur have that I don’t?”
Quackity pulled something out of his inventory. The smell of cooked fish hit him immediately.
His stomach cramped.
He could remember the time before he got revived, in Pogtopia, when his appetite was nearly nonexistent. But since being revived, it was almost the complete opposite. Opening a popular fast food van meant that he was never low on food, and could eat whenever he was hungry. That also meant that, at the sight of the cooked fish in Quackity’s hand, he was starving.
He reached for it, swiping his paw in the air as if he could reach it.
“Pspsp.”
Quackity waved it around, a smile slowly spreading on his face at the sight of Wilbur’s adept attention.
“Come on.”
Quackity backed up a little, out of the van, trying to coax him out of it.
Wilbur had one of two options. Try to go about this on his own, or with Ranboo, and possibly save himself the humiliation of getting caught… or take this opportunity right in front of him, and take the food that was being handed to him so easily. Maybe, if he played his cards right, he could get out of this with most of his dignity intact.
Maybe he could go with Quackity now, and leave later.
After he eats something.
Thinking he didn’t have much less to lose, Wilbur strode towards the door, and followed Quackity into the bright city of Las Nevadas.