Chapter Text
The realization haunts him long after that night. He thinks about it for days. He thinks about it when they eat together, while he collects supplies, in the dead of night when both of them are asleep. So they know he’s lying. They know and they don’t care. Does this mean he can stop? If they already know it’s a lie then it shouldn't matter if he’s honest, right? Because they already know the truth. So he should be able to tell them when he doesn’t want to do something, when he’s sad, when he’s hurt. And it would be fine because they already know.
But Quackity knows he can’t do that. As nice as that might be, he knows there are conditions. They don’t care that he lies, as long as he keeps on pretending. Schlatt was the same way. Sure, he could see through Quackity’s little act, but Quackity still had to do it. He still had to lie. And it’s the same here. They’ll let him keep up the charade, as long as he doesn’t make it a big deal. As soon as it becomes an inconvenience, something they have to train out of him, then he’ll be thrown to the streets. He can’t let that happen. So he has to keep lying.
In a way, it’s like nothing changed at all. He still has to do all the same things, still has to pretend, even though he knows they’re just tolerating him. If anything, now it’s worse, because he knows how little he’d need to do to fall out of their good graces.
He resolves to be the perfect fiancé. If he doesn’t mess up, they’ll have no reason to get rid of him. So his lies just have to be better, tighter, stronger, until they believe him. He just has to make sure the mask never cracks, never falls, not even when he’s alone. It should be easy. It should have been what he was doing already.
But as he’s wound tighter and tighter, he should have known that eventually he would lose control again.
It’s one of those nights again, when they’re all tangled up on the bed, sharing kisses and laughter. They spent the whole day together and Quackity knew what was coming. He was happy the whole day, he did everything he was supposed to, but his chest feels so tight that his lungs ache.
He knew what was coming. He’s shoved onto his back, wings flaring slightly so they’re not fully pinned beneath him. Sapnap looms over him, one palm pressing into feathers that sting and pull whenever Quackity twitches.
He feels another hand stroke across the top of his other wing. He turns his head to see Karl staring down at him almost reverently, fingers stroking gently through the down by Quackity’s shoulder. Quackity barely passes off his shudder as a shiver of pleasure, but no one comments on it.
“Is this okay?” Karl murmurs. Quackity hears the unspoken implication there: Say yes. Be happy. Have fun. Lie. Lie. LIE.
He nods and Karl’s hand digs in deeper.
Both of them seem focused on his wings now. They’ve never really done this before, never really talked about it, even. Quackity purposely avoided the subject. He didn’t want to talk about what made him different, what set him apart. He didn’t like when people touched the softest, most fragile part of his body. But he can’t stop them now.
It doesn’t hurt, exactly. Both of them are gentle, careful. They explore him like he’s made of glass, but Quackity knows how easy it would be for them to make it hurt, to grab a fistful of feathers and pull.
It was the one thing he never let Schlatt do. Schlatt wanted to clip his wings. He said it would be convenient, easy. That it wouldn’t be a big deal, that it wouldn’t even make a difference after the feathers regrew.
But Quackity never let him do it. He couldn’t stand the idea of being flightless. Grounded. Trapped. Even after their worst fights, even on their most terrible nights, Quackity always knew he could get away if he needed to. He could jump out a window and soar away, far and fast enough that no one would be able to stop him. On those nights that he thought about leaving, that knowledge gave him comfort. It made it possible to endure whatever came next.
No matter what, Quackity can’t lose that.
He feels Sapnaps fingers run through his flight feathers and stifles a sob.
Sapnap raises his head, gaze catching on Quackity’s face. “Oh?” he asks, fingers still tracing the outline of feathers. “Do you like that? Feels sensitive, babe?”
Quackity feels sick with the realization that Sapnap thinks he’s quaking in excitement instead of fear. Bile presses at the back of his throat as he nods, pulling his beanie down to cover his face.
Sapnap’s touch grows more possessive and Karl follows his lead. It still doesn’t hurt, but Quackity keeps flinching when they reach for his primaries. He’s not even trying to disguise the little jerks as shivers of pleasure, but they don’t stop. Quackity knows, he knows that he’s not even being a good liar at this point, he knows they must be able to see how he’s feeling when they’re watching him so intently; they just don’t care. As long as no one acknowledges it, they’ll just let him keep lying.
He wonders what would happen if he spoke up. If he told the truth for once. He wonders if they’d back off or if the punishment would just be that much worse when they weren’t trying to pretend it was love.
He sinks his teeth into his lower lip so hard he tastes iron when Sapnap weaves his fingers between the long feathers at the very tips of his wings. Quackity presses the beanie harder over his face, the wool scratchy and damp against his skin. The heat and itch of it is suffocating, almost claustrophobic, but when he presses his fingers into his eyes the sparks of white dancing on his lids are almost enough to distract him from the distress in his wings.
Sapnap tugs on one of his flight feathers. It’s not enough to pull it out, doesn’t even hurt that much, but the pain of it registers so much more brightly than anything else. Quackity jolts as icy cold fear floods his chest, images of his future flickering through his mind almost faster than he can comprehend them. He sees himself surrounded by his own plucked feathers, sees himself standing at the edge of a cliff and feeling the fear of heights for the first time, sees himself cuffed and grounded, chained to the earth like an animal.
The movement doesn’t go unnoticed by Sapnap, and Quackity can hear the grin in his voice when he speaks. “Is that a good spot, Q?” Then, a little quieter, “Karl, tug on his feathers a bit.”
Quackity wants to beg them to stop, but his own hands are plastered over his mouth and he can’t get the words out before Karl is doing as Sapnap suggested. Quackity flinches again, a full body quake, as pain pricks at him from both sides. He should… he should let them do it, right? If that’s what they want. He should let them chain him to the earth because they’re his lovers, right? And he should want to be with them, here on the ground, all the time. He should want this. But he can’t stop another sob from bubbling out of his chest, spilling around the edges of the beanie.
Karl notices first. Delicate hands trace up Quackity’s arms instead of his wings, resting soft and tentative on his hands. Quackity doesn’t know what to do. He can barely remember how to breathe. But then Karl is slowly peeling the beanie away from his face, and though Quackity keeps hold of it in a white knuckled grip, he lets the fabric be dragged from his face. He realizes how wet his skin feels when Karl furrows his brow, a careful hand swiping across Quackity’s cheek. “Q, are you… crying?”
No. No no no, is all that Quackity can think. Panic rushes through him, searing hot and icy cold at the same time. The lie, he thinks desperately, I have to keep up the lie. I can’t let them find out, can’t let it fall apart, I have to keep up the lie.
He wrenches himself from Karl’s gentle touch, pulling away from Sapnap in the process as well. Quackity scrambles up to press his back against the headboard, folding his wings around himself so that the small ball of his body is almost completely hidden from outside eyes. He struggles to breath, scrubbing at his face between sniffles.
He feels a hand, he doesn't know whose, brush over the top of his wing and he curls himself tighter. Dread fills his chest with metal and dirt. He knows what happens next. Now that he's stopped playing along they rip him apart. Now, they pull each feather out and throw them to the floor, and in their anger they make it hurt more. Now they break his hollow bones and rip the wings from his back all because he couldn't keep it together for one night.
Each sob aches in his chest like it's being ripped from his skin. Between hiccuping gasps he tries to speak, to plead. "I - I'm sorry, I don't want -" No, you have to lie, lie, LIE. "I mean, you can do whatever you want -" You can do better than that. "I - I mean I want it, I want whatever - I want you to do it."
"Do what, Q?" Karl prompts, painfully soft.
Quackity twists his hair around his fingers, digs his nails into his scalp, and tries to focus. This shouldn't be so difficult. He's been doing it for so long; he should be better by now. He's spent his whole life lying, so why is it so hard now? "Whatever you want," he chokes out between copper and ash.
"Maybe we should stop for t-" he hears Sapnap start to say before the voice in his head blares louder. Lie, lie LIE.
"No!" Quackity spits, unfolding himself to surge towards Sapnap, closing a fist around the other man's shirt as he pleads., "Please, I'm sorry! I want it, I promise." He turns to Karl, desperate. "You can do whatever you want, you can hurt me, I- I want it, I swear -"
Karl speaks again, eyes so sad and soft that Quackity feels it in his lungs. "You're crying, Q."
"I know, I know." Quackity releases Sap to sit back in his haunches, scrubbing his sleeve over his face. "I - I can stop, I'm sorry, I just need a minute -"
"You don't need to stop, love," Sapnap murmurs, a hand coming to rest on Quackity's shoulder.
Quackity's gaze snaps over to Sapnap, some of the tension seeping from his body. "Is that what you want? Is - do you like it better when I cry? Because I can do that -"
"What? No!" Sapnap recoils, disgust etched across his face.
Quackity lists forward after his touch, confused. "But you just said -"
"I didn't mean it like that and you know it," Sapnap hisses, and Quackity's heart sinks. Sapnap is angry, but Quackity doesn't even know how to fix it. He was trying so hard. He just doesn't understand what he did wrong.
"So I should stop, then?" he tries. When Sapnap's face twists in rage, he knows he made the wrong choice.
Sapnap opens his mouth, but Karl speaks first. "Hey! Hey." He puts a hand on Sapnap's shoulder, staring into his dark eyes with a commanding calm. "Take a walk, Sap." Quackity has never heard Karl speak like this before, stern and eerily blank, almost cold.
"But he -" Sapnap starts.
"I've got this." Karl's tone leaves no room for argument. "Take a walk."
Sapnap scowls. "Whatever," he spits, but he gets up and leaves, slamming the door shut on his way out. A trickle of smoke rises from where he grabbed the door before dissipating just as quickly. Quackity glances down to where Sapnap was sitting and sees that the sheets are singed, black handprints burned into the fabric. He feels sick.
"Hey," Karl murmurs, much softer now. Quackity turns to look at him as Karl gently takes his hands. "It's alright. You're safe. Do you think you can breathe with me?"
It's not really an order, but Quackity takes it as one, following the slow rise and fall of Karl's chest. When Quackity's suddering inhales have evened out a bit, Karl speaks again.
"There. Doesn't that feel better?" Quackity nods. "Now, do you want to tell me what happened?"
It doesn't escape Quackity that Karl keeps using questions instead of statements. As thankful as he is for that, Quackity still feels the pressure of expectation bearing down on him like a physical weight. He still knows what Karl really wants, even if he won't say it. Quackity compromises. "I didn't mean to make Sapnap mad."
“I know,” Karl assures him, squeezing Quackity’s hands. “But it doesn’t matter.” Quackity feels dread rush through his veins as words push their way into his throat. He opens his mouth to speak, but Karl is already continuing. “You don’t need to worry about him. He just needs some time to cool down. He’ll come back when he’s ready.” Quackity snaps his mouth shut. “But I want to talk about you right now. What was that all about, Q? You don’t - do you really want us to hurt you?”
Quackity stares down at their clasped hands and shrugs. He’s so tired. “Does it matter…?”
He hears Karl’s sharp intake of breath as he shuffles forward, trying to catch Quackity’s gaze. “Of course it matters,” he says, so earnestly that Quackity’s vision unfocuses for a second. “Why would we - you have to know that we would never want to do something to you that you didn’t want. We’d never want to really hurt you.”
Quackity shifts, leaning away from Karl just slightly. How could he possibly explain this? How could he tell Karl that all he’s ever done is lie, lie, lie? How can he explain that he’s always been a liar? “I know,” he settles on.
Karl doesn’t take the bait. “Do you, though?” he prompts. “Because earlier it seemed like you really thought we were going to hurt you.”
Quackity is so tired. He can practically feel the adrenaline draining from his system, the inevitable crash looming foggy and dark on the horizon. He just wants this to be over. “But that’s what the lies are for,” he supplies weakly, still staring at their hands. “So we can just… pretend.”
“What lies, Quackity?” Karl presses.
Quackity swallows around the lump in his throat. “The - the…” He abruptly pulls his hands from Karl’s. “It’s everything, all the time…” He grabs at his biceps to stop himself from gesturing. “The way I’m supposed to feel. The - you know, the instructions so I can…” Why does he keep following orders? The thought barely passes through his mind before he already knows the answer. “So I can stay with you,” he finishes, finally raising his eyes to meet Karl’s. They shimmer and spin, but they stay locked on Quackity.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Karl says.
Is this part of it? Is this another test? Quackity dismisses the thought as quickly as it comes. His fiancés are careless, not cruel. Karl just wants the truth. (Why now, though? a voice whispers in the back of Quackity’s mind. Why would they confront him if not to correct his behavior?)
He tries again. He starts simple. "If I don't lie, you'll be mad, right?"
Karl pulls back, brow furrowed. "Wha… why would we want you to lie?"
Quackity falters before he remembers that this is part of it. "I know it's not supposed to be a lie, but… but if I wasn't acting the way you said you'd be mad, right?"
"We've never told you how to act," Karl protests.
"Yes you have," Quackity says immediately.
Karl sputters for a moment before speaking. "Wha - when?! Name one time."
Quackity hates looking at him, hates being stuck in this room, hates having this conversation. It feels so wrong, gross in a way he can't articulate. No one is supposed to see this part of him. Knowing that Karl is trying to peel back the lies to reveal the soft truth underneath is as frightening as it is humiliating. But Quackity has never been able to say no, especially not to his lovers, so he forces the words out anyway, gagging as they come up.
"Just now," he chokes, staring at the pillow. "You… you wanted me to like it."
"Of course we wanted you to like it," Karl says, voice painfully gentle. It makes Quackity's stomach churn.
"So that's what I did." He still doesn't look at Karl.
"But…" It sounds like the beginning of a question. "But you didn't like it. We - I could tell."
Quackity's vision blurs. So that's what this is about. That's why they stopped. His performance wasn't good enough. His one job was to make the lie believable, something that should come easily to him when he's spent his whole life being a liar, and he failed. He swallows down the sickness at the back of his throat. "I'm sorry. I - I'll do better next time."
"That's not what I was saying," Karl insists. "I… I don't want you to pretend that you like things. I want… I want you to decide it on your own."
Quackity raises his head, studying Karl's face. He doesn't know what he sees there. "You want the lie to be better," Quackity states in confirmation.
Karl's frown deepens. "Wha - no, I… I don't want it to be a lie!"
It's the same thing that Schlatt wanted. He wanted Quackity to decide on his own, to believe how he felt. He wanted Quackity to make all the right decisions without Schaltt telling him what to do. And Quackity did. He was good at it. The best. So why is it so hard to do the same thing for Karl and Sapnap?
"I know," Quackity says, looking at his lap as he parses through his next words. "I - I'm trying, I promise, I just… I just don't want you to be mad…" He trails off, lapsing back into silence.
Karl releases a heavy sigh and Quackity almost succeeds in hiding his flinch. "I wo -" Another sigh. "Why would we be mad, Q?"
"Schlatt was," Quackity mutters without thinking.
"What." Quackity's head snaps up at Karl's tone, sharp and cold. Karl's face is blank.
"I - I'm sorry," Quackity rushes to say, almost reaching out for Karl before burying his hands in the bedsheets. "I didn't - I shouldn't have said that. I- I don't want to complain, I mean I'm grateful, of course, it was just -"
There's a knock at the door.
"Guys?" Sapnap's voice calls from the other side of the wood.
Quackity’s heart jumps into his throat. His eyes dart back and forth between Karl and the door, but neither of them make a sound. Finally, the door creaks open to reveal Sapnap, who steps forward to stand next to the bed, hovering at Karl’s elbow as he stares at Quackity.
“Repeat what you just said,” Karl demands, tone frighteningly flat.
Quackity racks his brain, searching back for whatever he was saying. “I… I’m grateful?” he tries hesitantly, eyes glued to Karl’s stony expression.
“Before that,” Karl says.
Quackity shifts, chewing on his bottom lip. “Schlatt…?”
Before Karl can say anything else, Sapnap cuts in. “What does Schlatt have to do with this?!”
Quackity watches Sapnap’s eyes flicker red. His gaze darts down to Sap’s hands, the faint glow in his palms. He looks to Karl, meeting that dead-eyed gaze, the flat line of his mouth. Nausea pushes at the back of Quackity’s throat.
No. No, no no no, this is the worst possible thing that could have happened. Now they’re both here, both angry - God, what are they going to do to him? No one else is even close to here, where would he go? If he’s badly hurt he won’t be able to travel very far and if they’re already this angry he doesn’t think they’ll be rushing to give him medical care. He could probably take care of it himself. He knows how to clean and dress wounds, he could keep infection at bay - but if they take his wings - he wouldn’t be able to reach - what if they don’t let him bandage it? They’re not that angry, are they? Even if he couldn’t bandage it they’d still let him clean it, right? He could still do that. Unless they break his hands. Or his arms. Or his spine. Unless they kill him. Oh god, are they going to kill him? They wouldn’t - would they? They’ve never fought before, he’s never seen them angry, really angry, he doesn’t know what they’re like - what is he going to do?
He just has to do what they want. He’ll just have to do whatever they want or else they’ll... He just has to do what they want. And they want him to tell the truth. So he just has to tell them the truth.
He spits the words out like venom. “Schlatt told me how to feel. All the time. He - he wanted me to lie but, but he didn’t want it to actually be a lie. I just did what he wanted but he knew it was a lie and he didn’t like that so I just…” Quackity can’t look at them. His whole body is shaking. “I just got better at it and eventually I just felt the way I was supposed to feel and he didn’t have to tell me, I could just do it on my own. And - and that was good so when I - when we got together and you told me the same things I really tried, but… but it still starts out as lies and that can change, of course, but it just takes a long time to - to change so many things but I can still do it I just need a little more time -”
“We’ve never told you how to feel,” Sapnap protests, eerily similar to Karl’s words from earlier.
“You, you’ve…” Quackity struggles to put it into words, so he uses their words instead. “Don’t be nervous. Don’t be sad. Be happy. Like it.” He takes in a shuddering inhale. “You wanted me to -”
“We never asked you to do that,” Sapnap interrupts, a little sharper than before.
“B-but you did…” Quackity whispers, even as he cowers back.
“Not on purpose, though,” Karl compromises. The warmth is seeping back into his voice, into his eyes. “We never wanted to force you to do or feel a certain way. You know that, right?”
Quackity shrugs, gaze stuck on Sapnap’s hands. It might just be shadows, but he thinks there might be soot caught in the creases of his palms. “But you liked it better when I lied…” Quackity mutters without conviction.
Sapnap heaves a sigh, dragging a hand down his face. Ash streaks from his cheekbone to his chin. “Because we didn’t know you were lying,” he says, exasperated. “We want you to enjoy it for real, not just for us.”
Quackity chews at his lip, picking at his cuticles. He’s not sure they really know what they’re asking for. He knows how much he can be. They just don't know yet, they don’t understand. In a small, fragile voice he asks, “but what if I do it wrong?”
Quackity starts as Karl tugs his hands apart, knitting their fingers together. “There is no wrong,” Karl says. “Whatever you’re feeling, we’ll still love you.”
A lump forms in Quackity’s throat. Those words feel so new and yet so familiar. When was the last time one of them said they loved him? “And… you’ll tell me if you don’t like it? Or it annoys you?” he presses.
“Of course,” Sapnap says at the same moment that Karl says, “that won’t happen.”
After a sharp glance from Karl, Sapnap’s smile turns sheepish. “We’ll never be mad at you for how you feel," he amends. He takes Quackity’s other hand and his skin is warm to the touch, blood and life instead of charcoal and flames.
Quackity doesn’t know if he believes them. He doesn’t know if this is just another lie, some elaborate ploy to get him to incriminate himself, but… but he wants to try. He wants to trust them, trust himself. For the first time in so long, he wants to tell the truth.