Chapter Text
The funeral was nothing special really.
Quackity knew it was fucked up to think that, but he was just being honest. He idly shifts in his seat, but his stare still remains locked in place. Hey, it’s not like he’s saying it out loud, as much as he’d like to. The sentiment didn’t come from some depressing sense of cynicism or lack of care- oh far from it.
Far. From. It.
No, he’s bitter and screw anyone who took issue with that! He’s gonna let it fester as much as he fucking wants. It’s not like there’s anyone here to get upset about it, not anyone who matters anyway. He can hear others start to fidget more as they begin to grow restless, and barely bites back an ironic chuckle. The memorial is coming to a close. He knows they all just can’t wait to get out of here, and put an end to this play.
Even if he ignored the others it’s hard not to indulge the volatile feeling as the soft gaze coming from the framed photo of his Tilin- the one they took for picture day 3- no 4 months ago- pierces through him. If Quackity’s grip could clench more it does. His baby deserved better then some rehashed fucking funeral.
Because really that’s just what this all is isn’t it? Here he is listening to the same priest drone on, sitting in the same building, and worst of all being fed the same cliched empty lines that had been spouted out all throughout Juana’s funeral. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” “We’re here for you.” the exact same fucking words! He knew it for a fact! Quackity was right there saying it with them, but at least back then it felt like it actually had some sincerity the first time around. Hell, he’s pretty sure the church is still decorated with the same exact sad little white flowers from last time too!
He doesn’t turn as Maximus makes his way up to the podium, each step sounding like it took longer than the last. Quackity wondered briefly if Max could hear the concerned coos and prying whispers from the audience from up on the stage, is the noise drowned out by the April rain beating on the church windows or whatever thoughts must be fogging his own mind?
He couldn’t help but hope it was the former.
Quackity can see the photo of Trumpet in the corner of his eye, it’s to the left of Tilin's. As if the blatant repeat wasn’t insulting enough, the ‘geniuses’ governing this town had the brilliant idea of holding two funerals on the same day! All he could do was laugh when they first told him about it, after a lot of screaming that is. Not even in death could anyone here spare an ounce of damn consideration for his dear Tilin.
He didn’t feel any ill will towards Maximus of course. Really if there was anyone he was going to share this misery with it’d be him wouldn’t it- luck always seemed to fall short for people like them. What a fitting pair they were, alone mourning the loss of their young children. The poor man can’t even get through his eulogy without falling apart into tears.
A whisper said not so softly enough and not silenced quickly enough by stern shushing invaded Quackity’s mind. “... yes and as if that’s not bad enough do you remember what they said about the body? What could even cause something like that, he wasn’t even gone that long.” Quackity pursed his lips. He barely even registers Bad swiftly raising from his seat to help guide Max back down from the stand as the priest tries his best to keep the memorial going.
Well… Quackity was trying to not feel any ill will towards Maximus. It’s really not Max’s fault, but it was hard not to let those comments get to him. If he wasn’t hearing stock condolences he was hearing the latest gossip over Max and his son… What about Tilin huh? Was his existence not important enough- his death not shocking or tragic enough?!
“... Quackity?”
No one cared about Tilin! No one! No one but him! Fine he wasn’t a perfect parent he can admit it, but fuck he tried his fucking best! And as usual it wasn’t ever good enough, not for the vultures circled around him claiming to be doves and not enough to keep his child safe apparently! Not even enough to give her a decent fucking funeral of her own! And God deep down he can’t help but feel like Tilin would find it sadly fitting- when has life ever given her more then second best or less! Now people can’t even spare the poor dead child a fucking thought!
“Quackity.”
It’s just not fair! For years he and his family had been the hot topic of the neighborhood but of course now no one has anything to really say! They’d read him the riot act over his parenting and chat shit when they thought none of them could hear it, but now they have nothing to say about her. He doesn’t remember any of them ever saying fuck all about Trumpet before, but now he’s all they talk about while Tilin goes forgotten! What kind of bullshit is that! No one here ever really gave a fuck about Tilin except for-
“Quackity-”
He’s torn from his child once more as his eyes dart over to the hand on his shoulder, and then up to Roier’s face. The dark circles under his eyes seem more pronounced than ever, they’re at odds with the sharp burning look in his brown eyes.
“It’s your turn to speak man.”
The hand resting on his shoulder falls to the space in front of him. Wordlessly Quackity accepts the gesture, and follows the hand up from his seat. As soon as that is done Quackity discards the hand; eyes pulled back to Tilin’s photo until he makes it to the stage where the old priest welcomes him over to the podium.
And here Quacktiy is now, standing grand to the crowd in front of him.
His gaze turns down hiding the humorless grin curling on his face. He’s been aching all day for this moment, to finally give everyone a piece of his mind. Finally he looks up and skims the crowd once more to take in the sorry looks on all their faces before he rips them a new one… and then his face falls.
His attention catches on a little boy who, for once, isn’t wearing his signature blue overalls. Who, for once, does not have a big shit eating grin on his face. Who, for once, is sitting completely quiet and behaving like he’s supposed to.
And Quackity feels like the wind has been knocked out of him all over again.
Looking away does nothing to save him, because now all he can see is how many of the kids are here.
He blinks back just in time to stop the tears- God how long has he been standing up here- Everyone is just staring- Fuck shit- He needs to say something.
Now!
“U-um…” The microphone sends the pathetic quiver that is his voice reverberating through the church and he swears he can feel it stab back through him when it returns. He feels sick. He needs to keep going. With a hard swallow he forces himself to open his mouth again.
“Thank you all for joining us here this afternoon. As you all know, Tilin… Tilin is- Tilin was- my one and only child, and they were the best child anyone could’ve asked for. I treasured every moment we spent together. Like last summer, when we went to the park. I remember Tilin tried chasing the ducks, and ended up falling into the pond. I was so mad, we had just gotten those clothes for her but… man, do I feel like a fool now, what I’d give to have to clean messy clothes one more time.” He couldn’t stop the tears this time.
“There was also the time when… when um…” Quackity snapped his fingers a few times subconsciously as his voice trailed off “... Right, there was also the time when him and Roier’s-” His gaze briefly connects with the man in the crowd- gaze still as intense as it was earlier- “ Bobby got into a bit of a fight once… Many other moments too… Just, so many times you don’t think you’d ever miss until you suddenly lose them forever.”
“Tilin was a kind, funny, and just all around great kid… and I just know her and Flippa are resting peacefully up in heaven, but I’d do anything to have her back, or to be able to tell her how much I love her just one last time! It’s just not fair you know. I mean my poor baby only got to live to be 7 before she was senselessly slaughtered, and that’s just-”
“Que-?”
Everything stops, all eyes turn to the voice: it’s Roier.
The man’s mouth clamps as he looks back, nervous. Everyone is staring right at him, and Quackity’s stare is slowly morphing into a harsh glare. It’s not enough to keep Roier from opening his mouth back up.
“Eh… Um… Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt… but-“ God Quackity feels like he’s about to start screaming, Roier continues. “7? No man, Tilin was 8 weren’t they? I- I mean, Jaiden and I were at their party back in December right-” He turns to his partner who is already nodding her head in agreement.
“Can I please continue- “ Quackity immediately seethes almost fast enough to cut Roier off, but it’s too late. Everyone is turning back, most of them with an all too familiar judgment flowing from their once sympathetic eyes. The tension is palpable enough to drown in.
“... You know what…” he breathes out with a bitter smile “ I think… I think I’ve said enough. Yeah, I’ve said all I wanted too. I’m always going to love Tilin, and I don’t need to make some shitty ass speech to prove that.”
The second the last sentence leaves his mouth Quackity begins to walk. Not to his seat but straight to the door. He takes one last look over at Maximus before making his way out, still being consoled- now by Baghera- and then a quick glance at Tilin’s photo, still smiling.
That’s all it takes for the spark to come back.
He made it to his car after nearly slipping to the ground on the slick mud. A soft hum left Quackity’s throat as he fumbled around his pockets for his keys. Yes, him and Max were a fitting pair, but Quackity wasn’t going to allow himself to be like him. Because Max has already accepted his role in this misery and welcomed the sadness. Ah there’s the keys, now to get out of this fucking rain. No Quackity knows he has spent far too long fighting against the current and god be damned if he was going to just accept it now like everyone wants him to. He quickly wipes the water off of his sunglasses. Life can take it’s fucking lemons and shove it up it’s ass-
“Pinche mierda…” it takes 3 tries to get the stupid car to start up, but the brief rush of embarrassment and annoyance only add further fuel to his flare.
He’s going to take this anger and get the justice he deserves and then he won’t ever have to hurt ever again. He’s going to get the life he deserves even if it breaks his heart knowing Tilin won’t be able to be a part of it. The car screams out as he floors it out of the parking lot- he doesn’t have time to waste. There’s someone waiting for him and he’s kept him waiting long enough.
And as the church fades into the distance, all Quackity can hope is that each second ticking by feels like a noose tightening even closer.