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Schlatt had horns.
He had ram horns that curled out from the sides of his head, tucking under his ears. They framed his face perfectly, their starting point always covered by his hair. Schlatt was proud of them, he never would shut up about them. He was proud of how the looked, of how they grew and how they fit him, how they just looked right. Schlatt was proud of his horns. He was proud when Tubbo's horns started to grow in from spending too much time around the hybrid, from being corrupted by his touch, by his rule. Tubbo's horns were small and fuzzy, jutting out from the top of his head instead of the sides. Tubbo hated them, he hated the way that he was constantly reminded of Schlatt and what he had done.
Quackity has horns.
They look like Schlatt's.
At first, he was convinced that it was a mistake. That he didn't actually just grow horns, that he hadn't become a hybrid like Schlatt, like his tormentor. Surely, he had just been dreaming. Surely, he didn't actually have horns. Surely. But when he looked in the mirror the next morning, they were still there. They curled under his ears, framing his face nearly perfectly. They were golden unlike Schlatt's pale brown. Quackity wasn't allowed to wear his beanie whenever Schlatt was around. It was another form of control, and Quackity..
When Schlatt found out, Quackity wanted to vomit.
He had been praised, Schlatt's gentle coos mocking him constantly. "Look at 'em! They're so pretty, Quackity. You should be proud of them." Quackity never once was proud of his horns, and he never, ever will be. He saw the way people looked at Tubbo when they realised that he had horns, that he was a hybrid. They looked at him with pity and guilt and support. They looked at him like he was a fragile, broken boy.
Tubbo never even got the fucking worst of it.
Quackity was always the one that took the brunt of Schlatt's abuse. He was the one who was supposed to be politically married to him, he was the one who stayed in his mansion every night. Tubbo was allowed to live outside of Schlatt, to have a small amount of freedom away from the President. Quackity never got that. He could either sleep in Schlatt's home or he could live on the streets of Manberg, and he couldn't do that. The people there hated him, they all did. Every single one of them, they all hated him. If they saw him alone, without Schlatt's protection, they would kill him.
They would see his horns.
He had no choice but to stay. To listen to Schlatt's coos and gentle murmurs of approval and acceptance. Quackity left the mansion as often as he could, desperately trying to escape the eyes of his President. He left at any chance he got, claiming that it was for business, that he was looking for Pogtopia, that he had a meeting with Tubbo, that he was just trying to get Niki to finally turn to their side.
"Why are you hiding them from everyone?" Schlatt had asked him. "Alex, are you..are you embarrassed? Are you embarrassed of your horns? They're so pretty, and they look just like mine. Why are you hiding them? Even Tubbo flaunts his."
His horns only brought him pain. They were something new for Schlatt to grab onto, to drag him around by. To hold over his head as leverage. To keep him in place. Schlatt saw the opportunity and he took it, because he always took it, he always took everything. He took everything Quackity had ever had and he burnt it in front of him. Schlatt grabbed him by the horns and he made him watch as he destroyed everything Quackity used to love.
"I had to," Schlatt would say. "I had to keep you safe. You'd get hurt, you know that. You're a fucking idiot, Quackity. I'm the only reason you're still alive. Don't forget that, yeah? Good. Come on, now. Let's go."
"Quackity?"
Quackity breathes in sharply, refusing to flinch, refusing to act like Tubbo's presence scared him. "Hey, Tubbo," he puts on a smile, shifting his beanie down closer to his face. "What's up, Mr. President? You need me for somethin'?" Tubbo blinks at him.
His horns are getting bigger. They don't look like Schlatt's. They curl upwards, like a stag. The more Quackity looks at the President's horns, the less he sees Schlatt in them. Why the fuck didn't he get lucky like that? Why..
"You're just.." Tubbo shrugs, looking away. He reaches up, gently touching one of the tines on his horns, his antlers. Quackity can see it in his eyes, he can hear it in his voice. They still remind him of Schlatt, even if they don't look like his. "You're the only one who understands," Tubbo murmurs. "You're the only one who knows what happened."
"Yeah," Quackity swallows, feeling his throat seize up. "Yeah, uh..yeah. What's, um, what's this all about?" He chuckles, pulling his beanie down even more. "You don't really get all that sentimental with me, you know?"
Tubbo nods, looking away again. "Tommy doesn't understand what happened to us under his rule. You're the only other one who went through the same thing, and I.." he breathes out. "I want to stop visiting his grave, but I can't. I feel like I have to prove something to him, and I..I just.." Tubbo shakes his head. "You understand. Right, Big Q?"
Quackity does. He understands better than Tubbo ever thinks he will.
"I do," he whispers. "They don't look like his," Quackity tells him. "They're antlers. They're like, um, they're like an elk. Not like..not like a ram. Not like his." Tubbo's smile is so bright and pained and conflicted that it hurts Quackity's chest.
"Thank you, Big Q. I wish I didn't have them," he laughs. "I hate them. I hate him."
"I fucking hate him," Quackity whispers back. "I hate him so much," he reaches up, his hands trembling. He slides them under his beanie, feeling his horns, feeling the indents and scuffs Schlatt left them with. "Tu- Tubbo," he breathes out. "I've got..I have..I have them. I have them, too." Quackity feels tears prick at his eyes, and then he's crying, and he can't stop, and he's thrown off his beanie and Tubbo is looking at him and-
"Oh." It's all he says, and it's too much, and Quackity is fucking sobbing because he's stupid and he's so-
"They look like Puffy's."
Quackity fucking shatters. "They look like his," he hiccups, shaking his head. "They look like his." Tubbo reaches out, gently setting his hands on Quackity's horns.
"They look like Puffy's," he repeats, this time firmer. "Not like a ram. They're like sheep horns," Tubbo tells him. "They look just like Puffy's horns. They don't look like his, not at all, Big Q. They don't look like his. Not at all. Do- do you remember what you told me, Quackity?" His voice is soft and low and gentle. "He doesn't define us. I hate my horns because they remind me of him, and I don't think I..I can't get over it. But he, he isn't what makes us us. He hurt us, but he's not..he can't hurt us, not anymore. I've got elk antlers, and you've got horns that look like Puffy's. We're okay. We're okay- we'll be okay."
Quackity feels Tubbo's arms around him, and he buries his head into the President's shoulder, choking on sobs that don't fully exit his throat. "Yeah, he whispers. "We- we'll be okay."
Quackity doesn't believe it. He doesn't believe the words, but he knows that, one day, he will.
They'll be okay.