"...I trust you enough to hear you out." 

“…I’ll give you a month. A month of me staying away from Quackity. Playing nice.”

He's.... not totally sure he believes that. Scratch that, he doesn't believe that. He's willing to be pleasantly surprised but he doesn't believe it.

It doesn't matter. He's hugging Wilbur anyway, holding tight. "Thank you." 

Oh. Hugs. He’s maybe blinking away tears again. Come on, Wilbur, play it cool. 

He hugs back, clinging to Quackity like a lifeline, and doesn’t let go. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. He doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for. He figures he’s probably done something. 

"'S okay," he says, against Wilbur's shoulder, "you're okay," and he doesn't let go. 

"I'm not," he says, "I'm really, really not." He doesn't know how to explain it, isn't sure he wants to even if he could, because if Quackity understood then he might stop hugging him.

"Do you want to talk about it? If you say no I won't keep poking." 

“I don’t know. I think—I think I might be broken. I want to be better, I really do.”

He holds on almost imperceptibly tighter. "Broken how?" 

“I destroy things, I hurt people. Sometimes because I’m trying to but even when I’m trying not to.”

This... might not be the best idea, at least on the level on which this conversation is about feelings. 

But he does, actually need to know, so. 

He doesn't let go of Wilbur, shifts so his head is on Wilbur's shoulder. And, careful, voice still gentle, he says, "...How hurt is hurt?" 

“I blew up L’Manberg. I—” and his voice dies, because how is he supposed to explain Pogtopia to someone who wasn’t there? “I let Tubbo die.” It’s not the worst of his sins, but it’s easier to explain. He buries his face in Quackity’s hair. “I hurt Tommy. I mean, I hurt everyone, but—” It’s not an answer to how hurt is hurt, but it sounds like a confession, the way he’s saying it. “I don’t understand why he still…”

"...okay. 

I mean, that's not great, I'm not— I'm not trying to say that it doesn't matter, it does matter. But, Wilbur, I've killed four people, and none of them got back up again." 

Wilbur breaks down sobbing. 

(It’s still different, Wilbur is pretty sure it’s different somehow. He doesn’t know how but he knows that this Quackity is kind and that he is not. But Quackity is holding him and he is not immune to that kindness.)

"Okay, okay, it's okay, I got you—" Maybe they should be sitting down so the height difference isn't quite so awkward. 

Sure, they can be sitting down. This way Wilbur can cry on Quackity's shoulder rather than the top of his head. It'll be a minute before Wilbur's talking again.

"I'm going to go back to the other Quackity at some point. I can't just--let go."

"I know. Or, I figured. I'm not gonna like, ask you for monogamy, or the arson equivalent of monogamy, or whatever." 

"I am sorry. I want to change. I'm just--still me."

"I believe you." That he's sorry? That he's trying? Both? 

Wilbur's mostly cried out but his breathing gets raggedy again, at that.

"Thank you. You know, I think I needed that. Um, all of that."

"You're welcome," and it's only as he's saying it that he finds that he means it. 

"You and me, we have to, we have to stick together, man. 'Cause we've both done bad shit, right? I don't-- uh, sorry, I shouldn't-- I'd change the subject but all of my topic switches are about antagonizing Quackity. Other Quackity. We really need shorter names to differentiate."

Does he want to get into his personal history or his feelings about the bad shit he's done or whether he regrets any of it or who he needs to stick together with? Why is he even asking this question, of course he doesn't.

"I could go by Q, half the people I know call me that anyway and he was here first. Sometimes I go with 'this whoever' and 'my whoever' in my head but that doesn't work quite as well when I'm talking to other people."

“You’re Q, he’s Quackity. I like that. Might take me a while to get used to it, but it’s neat.”

"Gets a little weird if I try to extend it to anyone else I know but it works for now, I think."