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Quackity was exhausted.
While, at long last, his pounding headache had finally disappeared, the remnants of the crazy party he had thrown with some other islanders were still bothering him, making him feel extremely weak and irritable. The nausea has not stopped completely yet, possibly worsened by a hangover-induced fast he pulled the day before, making him unable to either fly or use the warpstone to commute, lest he puke his guts out once again. He silently cursed all the islanders as he made his way across the spawn, annoyed at just how far apart every faction lived.
His trek from the North all the way to the Polski Cave made his legs burn, unused to walking such long distances. The frequent breaks he had to take only made his journey longer, yet they were completely unavoidable and very necessary.
He couldn’t walk past the KFC and not get some food. Or pass by the Regime’s Pantheon and not take a leak on the side of the building to show his respect for the Supreme Leader. And he absolutely, definitely couldn’t not visit Juan’s art store to stare at Roier’s infamous naked portrait for a while.
Only the essentials.
That’s exactly why he got to his destination so late. The sun had already set, bathing the pier in a soft, twilight glow. Polski Cave was stunning at any time of the day, yet the diffused, bluish light only made its charm all the more enchanting. The row of colorful kamienice welcomed him, so unassuming considering what horrors hid deep beneath them. Like pretty wildflowers blooming over a grave.
Quackity followed the process of entering the lab as if on autopilot, long used to every step of the procedure. Multi was a very particular guy. Had he missed any point, skipped any stage of the decontamination, the scientist probably would have definitely noticed.
And he definitely would have given him another lengthy lecture, berating him about the dangers of radiation, contamination, and his ‘suicidal tendencies’. Something he dreaded and tried to avoid at all costs.
As the elevator took him down into the depths of Multi’s lair, the Mexican smiled softly at the thought of his friend.
They haven’t seen each other in a long time, both busy with their respective tasks and roles on the island. And while Multi’s job was far more demanding and difficult, Quackity’s certainly required more time. Becoming a friend to every single islander was not something one could accomplish overnight, after all. But it was a necessary step on their path to divinity.
Ultimately, it was easy to bestow the title of a god upon oneself. Convincing others of that role and gaining full control, however, was far more difficult. The Regime was living proof of that. Very few took them seriously, deeming them a nuisance at worst, and Ash’s princess larp party at best.
And while Multi handled the technical side of things, searching for something that would grant them unmatched power, Quackity had the tedious job of gaining trust, building connections, and getting close to everyone and their mother. In the end, if they believed him wholeheartedly, why would they ever question his divine position?
That’s exactly how that damn chupi party came to life in the first place. Much to his dismay (not really), the path to the hearts of some was expertly hidden, and alcohol was the only thing that would reveal it. Hence why he got absolutely fucked up to the point of, once again, running around town half-naked.
But that’s a story for another day. Back to his scientist friend.
Multi was a man full of mysteries. Heaven only knew what he really did down in his lab, holed up inside all day, barely showing his face to other islanders. Both he and his faithful workers were like enigmas, carrying themselves with an air of authority and terrifying brilliance. Most people were simply scared of the group, as interactions with them rarely brought any good news. It was either ‘congratulations, you have radiation poisoning’, or ‘congratulations, Doctor Multi is interested in you’. The second was, honestly, the worse option.
Unless, of course, you were a member of the Federation, a fellow scientist, Katie, or Quackity.
Even the other Poles have apparently distanced themselves from Multi, which was yet another strange occurrence. The four of them used to be inseparable during their first days on the island, sticking close and working to build themselves a shared home. Sleeping close together in case of any danger. Springing into battle if any of them were disrespected or threatened. Now, however, Ewron, Graf, and Nexe all seemed to have their own agendas. Their own goals. Their own paths.
That made Quackity feel sad, but also a little bit guilty.
If the three really were avoiding Multi, it meant that the man was all alone most of the time. Surely, even with his antisocial tendencies, he got a little lonely sometimes, right?
And, judging by their most recent encounter, Quackity was apparently the closest to him now.
Did he dare call himself his friend? Not really. Nevertheless, their mutual trust ran deep. So did their worry for each other. And complete isolation (save for the CNE workers, who didn’t really count) for days at a time could not be healthy.
Hence why Quackity felt guilt. He wished he could check in more often. Pay him visits and maybe even aid in his research. Make sure the man ate and slept, since he often forgot to do so.
But Multi, despite their promises and shared goals, still kept him at a distance. They still had secrets. Still were wary of each other’s moves. And it drove Quackity crazy.
Some part of him, maybe that self-destructive, masochistic one, made him yearn for the scientist’s attention. There was something about him, about his calculating gaze and confident stride, his piercing, blue eyes tinted with green, his dangerous smiles and sharp fangs, that was intoxicating. Addicting. Exhilarating.
It made Quackity feel more alive than ever. It made him hunger for the adrenaline that spiked whenever Multi was near. It made him feel seen.
Not many looked at him the way the scientist did. Like he was a puzzle, waiting to be solved. A mystery, yearning to be uncovered. An anomaly, begging to be examined.
Something other than a friend. Different than just an asset. More than a test subject.
The elevator came to a stop with a quiet creak. Quackity made his way through the reactor room all the way to the hidden office entrance, expertly avoiding any traps the scientist had left for unwanted guests, and enthusiastically saying hi to Yoko, who insisted on getting some well-deserved belly rubs. He sent small smiles and waves to all the cameras he passed, expecting Multi to be watching him. Because he always did. And it made goosebumps rise on his nape every damn time.
At long last, he pushed the final code in and stepped into the office.
It was a complete mess.
He froze when he saw the smeared tracks of blood, covering the usually pristinely white walls and floors. The shattered glass and scattered papers. The scientist’s lab coat, equally as tattered and painted crimson.
Cold sweat washed over his entire body, images of grotesque worst-case scenarios flashing through his mind. Multi, mauled by his own clone, bleeding out in his lab. An empty room, his friend long gone, taken by one of his countless enemies, only to be tortured and questioned. An experiment conducted on himself gone wrong, making him slowly die in agony, drowning in a pool of his own blood.
In panic, he followed the trail into the small room Multi had dedicated for his rare moments of rest.
And sighed with relief.
Multi was sitting on the table, his exposed chest littered with cuts, burns, and bruises. Some old, some fresh, some still actively bleeding. He was reading a report, cussing under his breath from time to time as one of his workers expertly stitched the worst wound on his stomach back together. Beside them was a tray filled with bloodstained shards of glass, possibly extracted from the lacerations. The biggest one, long as a blade of a knife, made Quackity’s gut twist, his breath hitching. Had it pierced the wrong spot, it could have-
“Are you going to just stand there and watch, or are you coming in?”
The scientist’s monotone voice snapped him out of his daze. The CNE worker, having patched their boss up, gave Quackity a small bow and swiftly left the room. They knew better than to disturb them in such an unfortunate moment.
Quackity approached the doctor as he wrapped his chest with gauze, the avian’s cheeks slightly reddening at the sight. He noticed him struggling to tie the bandages together, his fingers equally as battered as the rest of his body. Wordlessly, Quackity reached out and fastened them for him.
He silently mourned his lost chance to stare as the Pole put his black t-shirt back over his chest.
“So,” the duck started, “are you going to tell me what the fuck happened to you? And why you didn’t reach out to your partner for help?”
Multi slid off the desk and made his way over to his closet, pulling a fresh lab coat off a hanger, “It’s just a failed experiment. And, as you can probably see, I had everything under control.”
The Mexican gave him a flat, unimpressed glare, his arms crossed over his chest, “Right. Because it’s completely normal for you to end up so bruised and battered from playing around with some uranium. Totally not suspicious.”
He raised his brow and glanced at the avian, “Who’s the scientist here? Me, or you?”
“It certainly isn’t the Supreme Pendejo of the Regime either, and yet I saw his name on the reports.” A cocky, irritated smile bloomed on his lips. “Are you cheating on me with Ash, Doctor Multi?”
The Pole furrowed his brows and snatched the reports off the table, then hid them in a drawer, away from the bird’s curious eyes. “You assume that I’d ever associate with such trash? You wound me.”
The two stared at one another for a moment, the tension growing with each passing second. Finally, Quackity’s thin patience snapped.
He banged his fist on the table in anger, making the glass shards jump and clatter on the tray. “I assume a lot of things, since you don’t fucking tell me anything! You got seriously wounded, and I don’t even know why! All I know is that it’s got something to do with the Regime, which can’t be good news!”
Multi only rolled his eyes, completely disregarding his animosity, “Do I have to disclose every single detail of my experiments to you?”
“If they directly put you in danger?! Yeah!” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself down, “You sit in this damn lab all day and night. I rarely ever see you. If something were to happen to you, I wouldn’t even know! So I’m sorry for wanting to know more about what goes on down here! May I remind you, we’re supposed to be working together!”
He sighed and shook his head, “If anything disastrous were to happen, my workers would alert you. We have procedures for such things. You’d get full authority over the place as well as access to the self-destruction protocol, so you could do whatever you wished with it. You could erase any trace of our cooperation. Your reputation would be unharmed.”
The Mexican let out a frustrated laugh, “Well, I’d rather know what’s going on beforehand than be handed your dead body and a self-destruct button. And fuck my reputation. That’s not what I’m concerned about.”
“What the hell are you so worried about then?”
Quackity glared at him, dumbfounded, his feathers ruffled with fury. “Don’t you understand that the thing I’m most worried about is you? Screw the research, screw the reactor. Screw even the ‘let’s be gods’ thing. You have so many people lurking in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to get rid of you. So, excuse me for not wanting to have to organize a fucking funeral for my f-” He cut himself off and bit his lip, tearing his gaze away from the Pole with an angry huff.
Multi stared at the avian, eyes wide, surprise very clear on his face, “What… were you going to call me?”
“You’re smart. You can figure that one out on your own,” he mumbled quietly. “Unless you despise the idea so much that you refuse to even name it.”
The scientist lowered his gaze, his emotions so jumbled they were hard to discern from his expression alone, “I… I just didn’t expect it, that's all.”
“I put my life in your hands. I helped you sabotage other islanders, even those I considered close to me. Is it really so unexpected, or are you just scared to draw that conclusion yourself?” When the Pole, visibly uncomfortable, didn’t respond, Quackity chuckled, “Or do you think I’m going to abandon you as soon as the opportunity arises, just like the Hussars did?”
That, finally, drew a reaction out of him, a spark of anger in his eyes, “How do you know-?”
“I’m more perceptive than you think, Doctor Multi.” He paced the room, his wings rustling with the movement, counting each betrayal on his fingers, “Graf spent more time up North, chasing his crush, than in here. Then he disappeared fuck knows where. Ewron has been getting way too cuddly with Sir Supreme Diva, possibly trying to get into his bed, definitely collaborating on something bigger. And Nexe just straight up vanished into thin air,
“The Hussars have disbanded quite catastrophically. Is that why you doubt my loyalty? You think I’m like that scum? You wound me.”
Having his own words shot back at him, Multi winced, “Nobody on this island has pure intentions. Things like loyalty are rare around here. Don’t blame me for being sceptical.”
“Don’t blame me for getting angry, then. Because I believe I’ve shown my loyalty enough. And I’ve proven how unconditional it is.”
The Pole glanced at him, something vulnerable hiding behind his eyes. A crack appearing in the impenetrable wall of his heart. Willing to finally give in, yet still too scarred by the past treason to do so.
In the end, he sighed with resignation, “I… I need some time to think this through. I do trust you; I just don’t know what to make of what has happened yet.”
———҉———
Although not a roaring success, his conversation with Multi wasn’t a complete disaster either. In the end, he did manage to confirm a few suspicions, as well as fracture his bulletproof defenses. He only wished he could have told the scientist how he really felt about him. But that was a conversation for another, less eventful day.
Sadly, though, he did also get one more reason to worry about his already permanently endangered partner.
While he did expect him to butt heads with the Federation, their policies clearly being against any sort of power that didn’t come from them directly, a war with the Regime was not on his agenda at all. Though their operations had so far borne barely any fruit on their road to complete control, they were not an enemy that could be simply ignored.
Haiper was a skilled spy, hard to detect and easy to underestimate because of his friendly demeanor. His cute foxy face completely distracted any foe from the fact that he was a formidable fighter. He was like a sharp blade, hidden in plain sight.
Tubbo’s machines were deranged at times. If Multi was a crazy scientist, the Regime’s Chief of Engineering was a crazy inventor. Quackity feared how far his genius would take him someday. He often wondered if the reason why the Regime had yet to score any major achievements was that their full focus was on some huge project, waiting to be revealed and possibly kill them all.
And then, there was Ash.
To Quackity, the Supreme Leader was like a particularly difficult riddle. He was certain he’d only met the man on the day they all crashed on the island. And yet, somehow, he swore he could see his youthful face, not yet fully obstructed by the glitch that enveloped him, hiding somewhere within his repressed memories. It was like a hyperrealistic dream, hard to distinguish from reality, merging with the true images of his past.
He knew how messy his head was. How many gaps and missing bits were in his recollection of the events prior to this island. He’s been slowly regaining them, piecing this complex puzzle back together, yet with so many fragments still unaccounted for, it was borderline impossible to complete. He also knew that many of the memories he held weren’t probably his, likely planted by the Federation at some point of his captivity. It only muddied the waters even more.
And yet, something about Ash and their entangled past was headache-inducing. It didn’t feel like a consequence of being tortured or brainwashed. It felt real.
He could almost see himself, reaching his bruised hand out to a tiny, scared, darkskinned boy with a face half-obstructed by some sort of corruption, both of them dressed in hospital gowns. Both covered in gauze and bandages. Both emaciated and weak. Huddling together for warmth on the coldest nights in the lab.
He could almost hear a young girl’s laughter, happy despite their shared misery, like a windchime’s song amidst a terrifying thunderstorm. A mess of long, golden hair tickling his fingers as he tried and failed to braid it for the hundredth time. A flowercrown in her palms, made entirely with buttercups because ‘they reminded her of his pretty wings’. Her knees bruised, not from their oppressors for a change, but from chasing butterflies and climbing trees.
He could almost feel an older boy’s strong arms enveloping him in a hug while he bawled his eyes out, thrashing in agony as blood trickled down his back, the absence of his wings’ familiar weight making him suffocate in panic. Getting nursed back to health, his freshly sprouting, fuzzy golden feathers, so akin to those of a small chick, being carefully groomed. Being held upright as he still struggled with keeping his balance. Getting caught whenever he fell as he re-learned how to fly.
Ever since his stay on that strange, floating islet, those visions have been invading his dreams with growing frequency. He wondered if those things really did happen, or if it was just his wishful thinking. Because maybe, just maybe, whatever was wrong with him wasn’t innate. Maybe it was a consequence of a childhood filled with pain, experiments, and loss. And maybe the harm he had self-inflicted to escape that floating island opened a floodgate that allowed him a glimpse into that repressed past.
Too many questions. Not enough answers.
He needed a very, very long nap.
———҉———
Apparently, the nap was, indeed, very long.
Three days long.
Quackity was suddenly torn out of his slumber by a barrage of messages from Katie, claiming she ‘required his assistance ASAP’. He cursed under his breath, rubbed his eyes, and set out to search for any clean clothes to put on while making a mental note to do some laundry later. At least, thanks to that long-ass nap, his hangover had completely disappeared, allowing him to quickly warp wherever he was needed.
Right now, it was the KFC food truck.
As soon as he teleported to the waystone nearby, his ears were assaulted by shrieking and screaming from Katie and Schlatt.
He rubbed his forehead in annoyance before finally approaching the two.
Schlatt was sitting on the grassy patch by the food truck, throwing a drunken fit and rolling around like a toddler. Katie was pacing around him, her pink suit stained green on both her knees and her ass, implying that she had taken quite a tumble during their scuffle. She was trying to wrestle the inebriated man off her property and failing miserably, other patrons of her establishment eyeing them in amusement, not hesitating to take embarrassing photos and videos of the two.
Quackity finally took mercy on the panicked businesswoman and kicked Schlatt in the shin, momentarily stunning the man. Soon after, however, he began his hollering anew, this time directing it at the avian.
He threw an empty whiskey bottle at him, luckily missing by a mile because of his intoxication, “What the fuck?! What was that for?!”
Quackity kicked him again, now even more annoyed, “What the hell are you doing, pinche briago? Making a ruckus in the middle of the city… Go home!”
“I can’t go home! That son of a bitch kicked me out!”
Katie frowned, scratching the back of her neck in confusion, “Wait, what? Who the hell kicked you out of your own house?”
“That fucking scientist guy! His folks in orange pajamas came over and fucking evicted me!”
The avian, finally realizing what had happened, dragged Katie aside, leaving the drunkard on the ground. He stuttered, trying to figure out how to break the news to her,
“So, uh… Multi and I- I mean, his workers, they uh-” he glanced at Schlatt, making sure the man couldn’t hear him, “They moved him because his house was irradiated.”
“Seriously?” She pulled him closer, whisper-screaming in the least subtle of manners, “How the hell did his house get radiated?”
“I don’t know! They’re working on it. We- I mean, they temporarily moved him to Tina’s place. I guess she… Uh… Got pissed and kicked him out too.”
A small rock hit the back of his head. “She didn’t kick me out! I left! I needed to get a drink because this whole thing is stressing me the fuck out!”
Quackity turned to him and also grabbed a stray pebble, ready to retaliate, “And you came to a fucking KFC?!”
Katie bristled next to him, then mumbled under her breath, “Well, technically, we do sell alcohol.”
“Since when?!”
“Since I noticed how profitable it is! Oh, so what, Ewron can sell małpeczki at his Żabka, but a woman can’t sell some drinks too?! It’s called business, buddy!”
Quackity rubbed his face, already exhausted by the whole situation, and hissed through clenched teeth, “Oh my god…” He stared at the sky for a moment, waiting for some divine intervention. When none came, he approached Schlatt once more; “Get up, you dumb goat. I’ll message Multi and ask if your house is okay. If not, I’ll let you crash on my couch.”
“I’m not a goat! I’m a ram!”
———҉———
Although he did not manage to get hold of his scientist friend, a kind worker of his did confirm that Schlatt’s house was completely safe now. Apparently, someone had stopped by the North’s Mansion to notify him and help him move back in not too long ago. However, by that time, he had already left to make a ruckus in poor Katie’s establishment.
Quackity led the man through the front door, his entire bodyweight relying on the avian’s strength. He finally managed to throw the ram onto the couch, then bent over to catch his breath.
“Kurwa, pendejo… You really need some serious professional help. Getting wasted in the middle of the day like some boozer…”
Schlatt groaned at him, his face buried in the pillow, “Blame your little new boyfriend... He was the one who evicted me.”
Quackity felt his cheeks heat up, his feathers puffing up from embarrassment, “He’s not my boyfriend! We’re just… working on some stuff together!”
“I don’t like him.”
“Well, that’s too damn bad.” He tossed a blanket over the drunkard, making sure to cover his annoying face. “I’ll get you water. Get some sleep and get fucking sober already, briago.”
Just as he was about to go to the kitchen, Schlatt grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer, only his eyes visible from under the blanket. He then repeated, his voice much colder than earlier, “I don’t like him.”
Quackity furrowed his brows, staring at his trapped hand in confusion, “You said that already. What the hell do you want me to do about it?”
“He’ll put you in danger… You need… someone who’ll keep you safe.”
He stiffened, a small oh escaping his lips. He dropped his gaze and huffed softly, “I can protect myself. And I know he would never harm me.”
“He has enemies. And he’s a weirdo. I have money and a house far away from others. I can-”
Quackity harshly pulled his hand away, then took a few steps back, “Schlatt. I’m not doing this again with you.”
The ram sighed, turning onto his back to take a better look at him, “You’re remembering more… More of our shared past. More of the things I regret.”
The avian clenched his fists, suddenly overcome with anger. “If you really regretted them, you wouldn’t be drinking yourself to death every single day. You know how much I hated that.”
He chuckled, his speech becoming more and more slurred, voice getting raspier with each word, “I know how much you want affection. I know how many guys you’ve been flirting with. Why can’t we… start over? It’s not like he loves you back... He only loves his dumb experiments… and his dumb uranium… Dumb… fucking… son of a bitch…”
By the end of his drunken speech, he had fallen asleep. Quackity left his house without a word.
———҉———
It’s not like he didn’t already know it.
He’d noticed ages ago how the man reacted to his shameless flirting, his inappropriate jokes, and his unsubtle advances. How he didn’t turn him down, yet didn’t reciprocate it either. How he simply ignored it, treating it like some joke.
It was obvious that Multi held him in high regard. That he trusted and liked him. Possibly even considered him a friend, but was too scared to admit it. To face the fact that he might actually care about someone for once. Especially after their last argument. Especially after the other Poles had left him.
It didn’t make it sting any less.
Schlatt really did know him best. Notably when it came to hurting his feelings.
And here he was, thinking they could go back to being friends. Yet his past still continued to haunt him.
He took a swig of his beer, staring at the city bathed in the sunset’s golden glow. Some islanders rushed down the streets, either messing around and pranking each other or fulfilling their self-inflicted duties. Ishan was interviewing some Northerners, probably for the next issue of his paper. Juan was sweeping the stairs of his little art store, wrapping up for the night, a pensive expression on his face. Mike, Molly, and Katie were skipping over to the gay bar, eager to party until dawn, unaware of Ewron spying on them from afar.
But what was the point of it all anyway?
They were trying to build a society, create friendships on this godforsaken island, as if the Federation wasn’t breathing down their necks all the damn time. As if their fate wasn’t up to Cucurucho’s whims. As if they could ever achieve anything.
Even though he trusted that Multi would one day surpass the Feds in power, he still had his moments of doubt. Especially whenever new memories popped into his mind.
The phantom pains were still there. The scalpel sliding across the base of his wings. The drugs making him delirious. The clawed paws holding him down as they cut into his flesh over, and over, and over again.
He stood up, his feet dangerously close to the cliff’s edge.
If he fell, would his wings carry him, or fail like they did in the past?
Would Cucurucho revive him once again, forcing him to keep on living?
Would anyone catch him?
Would anyone mourn him if he-
I don’t know if it’s related to you, but it started to rain for the first time ever.
Now it stopped.
We are trying to find you.
Yes. There was one person who would.
He heard a loud flap of someone else’s wings behind him and let his body sway backwards, right into that person’s arms.
———҉———
“Ouch! You don’t have to be so harsh!”
Multi glared at him, a bloodied cotton swab inches away from his cheek.
“I think I do, actually.”
He ran it over his cut once more, the disinfectant’s sting sobering him right up. The duck hissed in pain.
Quackity pushed his hand away, his lower lip jutting out in a pout, “Stop being so overdramatic… I didn’t know you would fall with me!”
The Pole took his gloves off and tossed them onto the table right next to where the avian was seated. He sighed, visibly deeply upset, then stared him in the eyes.
Quackity’s cheeks reddened, having Multi so embarrassingly close. The scientist was standing right between his legs, not minding the proximity, instead using it to force the Mexican into having a very uncomfortable conversation.
“Who the fuck gets drunk on a fucking cliff? Are you, kurwa, stupid?”
Quackity closed his eyes.
Okay, now that he thought about it, it really wasn’t the smartest idea.
“You caught me. I’m fine.”
Multi grabbed his shoulders and shook him, not amused by his explanation in the slightest,
“And what if I wasn’t there?! What if I didn’t catch you?! What if you fell right to your death?!”
Still a bit tipsy, he let his mouth run with no filter. “Cucurucho wouldn’t let me die. Trust me, I’ve tried.”
Only once he heard Multi’s audible gasp did he realize just how badly he had fucked up. He immediately opened his eyes, only to see the utter horror written on his friend’s face.
He giggled nervously, his hands flying up in defense, “I-I’m joking, I’m joking!”
A period of tense silence stretched between them, filled only by the reactor’s distant humming. No matter what he did, Quackity could not escape his friend’s intense, somewhat hurt stare.
Finally, Multi asked, “You’re not telling me everything, are you?”
Quackity inhaled, ready for another defense. To build another wall around his bubbly persona, the one that’s been crumbling to dust lately. To tuck that small, gold-winged child in a hospital gown behind yet another false smile.
Instead, his vision blurred, and he felt hot tears spill over his cheeks.
“I’m not. But I wish I could.”
Multi’s hand flew to his face, as if on instinct, ready to wipe his tears away. It hesitated, however, awkwardly hovering between the two.
Quackity took the initiative, nuzzling his cheek against the cold palm,
“There are so, so, so many things…”
Unwilling to resist any longer, Multi caught his face, cradling it and wiping the unending stream of tears with his calloused thumbs, especially careful not to let any of them flow into the cut on his cheek.
It would sting. And he didn’t want the avian to experience any unnecessary pain.
“Why can’t you?” he whispered, his voice softer than ever before.
Quackity let himself drown in that softness.
He laughed wetly, shaking his head, “You know why. No matter where I am, no matter what I do, he’s always in m-my head. Listening. And he told me what would happen if I… ever…”
Cucurucho’s words came back to haunt him once again.
He broke down completely, falling off the ledge once more.
And once more, Multi was right there, ready to catch him.
The Pole held him close to his chest, letting Quackity cry for as long as he needed. Letting him spill all the pain, all the bitterness, all the anguish that has been filling his heart for years now. It was only a matter of time until it overflowed, until the chalice shattered under the constant pressure. And he was lucky to have someone there, ready to collect the pieces and put them back together without hesitation.
“Is that why you were so eager to join me? Was it to become so strong that they can’t hurt you or your friends anymore?” He felt the avian nod against his chest, so he kept on prying, “Was it why you were so angry at the thought of me getting killed?”
This time, Quackity shook his head. He leaned away, his eyes watery, but no longer crying,
“I told you already. I don’t care about becoming a god. But I do care about you.” He sniffled and averted his gaze, the embarrassment of breaking down so spectacularly in front of his friend catching up to him, “I just don’t want to be left behind. Because that would mean you’d abandon me in your divinity. And they’d still have control over me.”
The scientist furrowed his brows, “Who said I’d abandon you? Even if I had no feelings toward you, you’ve been indispensable in my DNA research. I’d still take you with me, even if only out of sheer gratuity.”
Quackity stared at him in surprise, his head cocked to the side, cheeks dusted pink. Only after a moment did Multi realize what prompted this reaction. He looked away, scolding himself internally for losing focus in such stupid way.
The avian licked his lips, his mouth suddenly running dry, “What… kind of feelings?”
He saw the hesitation on the Pole’s face. The kind of dread that came in tow with a very difficult decision. One that could either create something beautiful or bring ruin to everything he held dear.
Fear was natural, especially for a person like him. Admitting his feelings meant admitting to a weakness he’s been trying to hide ever since they met. With so many enemies, who was to say what would happen if they were uncovered?
Luckily for him, Quackity was a sucker for adrenaline spikes. For playing with fire, especially if it meant getting burned in the process. For taking leaps of faith, even if he had no guarantee of a safe landing. Like a seasoned gambler, ready to risk it all for the slightest chance of winning big.
Soft palms grabbed Multi’s face, and even softer lips connected with his own. Salty with tears, yet the sweetest in the world.
Suddenly, it was as though any reservations the scientist might have held had disappeared, bursting into nothingness like a bubble. His hands found their home on the back of the avian’s head, no longer hesitating, tangling into his hair and pulling him even closer. As if, once any distance between them was removed, they would merge into one.
Right after this sudden spark of confidence came the insatiable hunger, one that’s been suppressed for ages, now impossible to satiate with only one drop of sustenance. When Quackity initiated the contact, he couldn’t have guessed he’d lose control over the situation so quickly, forced to hold onto his beloved for dear life. His hands slipped from the Pole’s face, finding purchase at the back of his lab coat, fingers twisting into the fabric - the only thing that still grounded him in this divine sensation.
Multi didn’t stay in one place for long, his love for exploration making itself known even now, as he let his lips wander from the avian’s, peppering kisses along his cheeks, jaw, and neck. Quackity, too lost in the pleasure, leaned his head back, exposing his vulnerable throat to a starved beast, no thoughts spared for self-preservation in his ecstasy.
As soon as he felt the avian’s quickened pulse under his lips, Multi couldn’t suppress his animalistic urges any longer. He bit down, sinking his fangs into his flesh, finally tasting his beloved’s sweet blood. A flavor he’s yearned for months. The embarrassingly loud moan that slipped from Quackity was all the more rewarding. Tears once again slipped down his cheeks, yet this time his lips were stretched in a blissful smile, letting out gasps and groans as Multi’s fangs dug deeper into him.
He felt his mind growing fuzzier, his vision blurring and darkening around the edges, his limbs getting too heavy to hold up. Only once Quackity’s hands slipped from his shoulders, no longer strong enough to hold on, did the scientist notice just how badly he’d fucked up.
Panicked, he immediately got away from his beloved’s neck, holding him upright as Quackity drifted away. The last thing the avian did before losing consciousness was use the remnants of his strength to drag Multi closer, tasting his own blood in a messy kiss, smearing it all over their lips.
———҉———
As soon as he woke up, he saw a very concerned pair of eyes observing him intently.
Despite his still present dizziness, he smiled brightly in response. Multi wasn’t so happy.
“Kurwa, Quackity, why the hell didn’t you stop me? I could have seriously hurt you…”
The avian hummed contentedly, unbothered by the near-death experience, “My counterarguments are: ‘god, that was so fucking hot’, and ‘I regret not doing it earlier’.”
Multi pinched the bridge of his nose, worried even as his partner rolled around his bed and giggled. He finally grabbed his shoulders, pinning him against the mattress,
“Stop moving so much, kurwa! At least let your wound heal fully!”
The avian saw the close proximity as a good chance to pull the scientist into bed with him, rolling them over and finally resting his head on his chest. His wings fluttered behind him excitedly, a few feathers falling out and getting tangled in his messy hair.
“Now, I can stop moving. Dzień dobry!”
Multi really wanted to keep up his stern face, his lecture about ‘safety while kissing vampires’ still pending. The sight of his beloved, however, still softened by sleep and positively glowing despite the blood loss, made his facade crumble. He sighed, letting a small smile bloom over his lips.
“Dzień dobry, pendejo. You should eat something.”