Work Text:
Quackity isn’t sure what he expects when he steps into Schlatt’s office at 3 am, but the man sitting on the floor with pictures scattered around him was not it. His jacket and tie had been discarded, his shoes kicked off and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Schlatt’s usually perfectly slicked back hair was falling from its place, the locks curling around his face and horns. On his desk was a bottle of whiskey and a whisky tumbler, but the glass was empty and the bottle unopened. It’s the first time in a while that he’s walked in this late and Schlatt isn’t drunk or nearly passed out from exhaustion, but he’s not sure this is much better.
Schlatt’s ears twitched, the tag on his left ear jingled with the movement and Quackity found himself caught with Schlatt’s startled gaze. The hybrid settled down again as soon as he recognized who had entered and his shoulders relaxed. “Quackity, what do you need?” He asked as if he were sitting at his desk and not criss-cross on the plush rug on the floor. The vice president paused and looked down at the stack of papers in his hand, ones needing Schlatt’s signature. More policies, more treaties. The work never ended, especially not for Schlatt.
Quackity just shrugged and carefully stepped over the photos scattered across the rug, wobbling on his toes as he tried not to step on the small papers. He finally reached the desk and set the stack down before turning around and looking down. Schlatt was peering up at him with dull, tired eyes before he looked down at the photos he was holding. Across his lap was a worn-out yellow blanket, the edges fraying from age. “What are you looking at?” He finally asked and Schlatt scooted over a bit, motioning for him to sit down.
Quackity settled down in the same position, shoulders brushing Schlatt’s as the hybrid showed him one of the photos. “Old photos of my son.” He jerked back, the back of his head banging against the wood desk. Schlatt looked over at him with a confused look. “The fuck are you doing?” He demanded and Quackity shook his head.
“Go back. Son? You have a fucking kid?”
“Had.” The word was quiet and flat, Schlatt’s head dropping to stare hard at the picture in front of him, his other hand dropping to fist in the blanket in his lap. A baby blanket, his son’s baby blanket. There were some flowers embroidered in one corner and there were some patched and sewn up spots, some spots neater than others. Schlatt swallowed harshly, thumb stroking over the cheek of the baby in the photo. “I was a fucking awful dad.” He admitted quietly, not looking over.
He passed the photos he was holding over to Quackity and picked up a different one; it was one of a much younger Schlatt, looking barely older than Tommy or Tubbo, holding a baby in a bundle. His horns weren’t as long in that photo, just barely starting to curl, and he had no facial hair. It was different from the wide circle of horns and mutton chops that Schlatt had now. The baby was holding on to his fingers and he was grinning down at the child, an expression Quackity has never seen before on his face.
The baby looked familiar, but not because he had Schlatt’s hair and nose. He looked familiar in a way that Quackity couldn’t place. He hadn’t seen these photos before, hadn’t even known Schlatt had the capability to try and parent a child, but it seemed so familiar. Perhaps it explained how fond Schlatt seemed towards Tubbo and Fundy. He tilted his head and squinted. The baby... Sort of looked like Tubbo. He found that thought ridiculous. He doubted Schlatt could have a kid that was a teenager. He blinked a few times and looked over, deciding not to speak for once. He waited until Schlatt spoke up for himself.
It took the man a minute, but he did start to talk. “I.. was young. And stupid. Knocked up some girl I never knew the name of, got a call from the hospital basically telling me to come get my kid or to pass him off to services. I, uh, had been in the system as a kid and well..” He motioned to his horns and ears, “I didn’t know if he had gotten hybrid features. Being in the system as a hybrid was... Not fun. So I went and I, uh, I picked him up. His mom was gone by the time I got there. No contact info, nothing. I didn’t really care, but still.” Schlatt shrugged and reached forward, pulling a little box over. He pulled a tiny wristband out of the box, with the baby’s length and weight printed on it.
“He was a tiny fucker, but um, I really tried.” Schlatt’s ears drooped and he dropped the band back into the box. “God, we were so fucking poor. I lived in a shit apartment that didn’t have really any working heat and I worked a terrible fucking job. He had, like, maybe 12 pieces of clothing. Total, socks and all. Also, do you know how expensive formula and diapers and shit are? God, I lost so much weight from stress and not being able to eat. We had no money at all. I was so stressed all the time.” He ran a hand through his hair, still staring at the baby in the photo. Quackity stopped watching him and reached forward to pick up a different photo from the floor.
The child was a bit older in this one with fluffy brown hair and cute pointed ears just like Schlatt. He could see the resemblance and his heart sank. “What.. what happened?” He asked hesitantly. Schlatt barked out a watery laugh, giving him a look. They watched each other for a moment before Schlatt turned away, setting all the photos down to lift the blanket up. He clutched it to his chest and Quackity felt his own eyes narrowing. “Schlatt.” He pressed.
The president’s look was withering. “I ate him. What the fuck do you think I did? One of my friends had some kids already and he was older than me and had more money and experience. I dropped the kid off with him and left. Didn’t want him being homeless since I was getting evicted and had lost my job.” Quackity’s lips parted in shock and he thought back to Schlatt’s earlier words. ‘I was a fucking awful dad.’
Quackity picked up more of the photos, looking at Schlatt’s thin face and worn-out clothes. He looked at the dark bags under his eyes and the exhausted look. Then he stared hard at how happy the kid was, how Schlatt smiled at the baby with a soft expression that Quackity now realized was adoration. He’s seen shitty parents, he’s seen ones that hate being parents and hate their children for being children. Looking at the countless photos of this boy and the few with Schlatt himself in them, he thinks that Schlatt sees something he isn’t. “You weren’t.” He said and Schlatt looked over, confused.
He held up the picture of Schlatt holding the newborn. “You loved him. You still do or you wouldn’t have kept these pictures or his hospital band or his fucking baby blanket. You look awful in most of these photos, but you still were smiling at him and..” He trailed off, scanning the photos before snatching one up. It was Schlatt and the baby, now a toddler, sitting in the middle of a living room. Schlatt had a worn-out stuffed animal in his hand and was playing with his son, who held a stuffed bee. “Playing with him. You look like you didn’t eat or sleep.” Schlatt snorted at that.
“I didn’t, not really. He was a growing boy, he needed to eat more than I did. As for sleep… Too stressed to.”
“And you say you were a bad dad…” He trailed off before licking over his lips. He looked down at the photo. Schlatt looked so alive in this photo, even if he was tired. The look in his eye was different, it wasn’t the dull one he had now. “You left him because you wanted him to have a good life. You loved him so much and you still let someone raise him.” He looked hard at his boss, watching a stunned look cross his flushed face. There were tears brimming on Schlatt’s waterline and Quackity swore this was the most alive he had ever seen the man. “I don’t know shit about being a parent, but, as a person, that’s probably the most selfless and loving thing you could do.”
Schlatt stared at him and he watched as tears slowly slid down the man’s cheeks. He blinked a few times, reaching up to touch his wet cheeks, and Quackity settled closer. He pressed their arms together and tried not to gape when Schlatt murmured, “I haven’t cried since I left him.” He just hummed and offered his hand. Schlatt settled next to him and sniffled weakly. There was no sobbing, no screaming or heaving. It was quiet and he wondered if maybe, just maybe, Schlatt was more broken than he could ever imagine.