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Schlatt had a lot of problems… a lot. And Quackity knew this. He’s known it since high school, even before Schlatt opened up to him about anything.
Obviously Quackity didn’t know everything about Schlatt, considering the man had a hard time opening up in the first place, which was understandable. He was never taught how to really feel things; Quackity knew that Schlatt wanted to raise his son differently. Who wouldn’t?
He was just so… readable, though. Maybe it was because Quackity genuinely knew him, but he could tell from one glance how Schlatt felt, what he could be thinking. Was he always 100% right? No, of course not, he wasn’t a mind reader. But he was always close. And when he was close, he would pry, and he would get the answer he needed. He wanted Schlatt to know that he was there for him- he would pry gently, because he knew that Schlatt would just shut down eventually if you tried to shove down the walls of his mind. And it wasn’t his fault, he was just made into that way.
Going back to the problems- they were easy to identify before they actually became a problem, simply because Quackity was good at reading Schlatt. In high school, when he would talk about a test, Quackity could tell that his friend was horrified of absolutely bombing it, of being humiliated because he couldn’t do calculus well. Or when he talked about the night with the girl he knocked up, how he hadn’t meant for it to go the way it did, how everything was fine before he forgot about the lack of protection, when she had lied to him and told him that she had it covered, how she was wrong. He talked about it like it was a joke, like it was no big deal, but Quackity knew that he felt like shit. That he was scared of an unplanned pregnancy because he was drunk that night and didn’t think about really asking her if she was serious or not. They were both under the influence… stupid teenagers “in love” for a night. That he regretted ever getting with her in the first place, that he regretted that she wanted to do anything with him at all. It was dangerous, it was stupid. Naive.
That’s when the problems became more than just test anxiety and break-ups. Schlatt was never a fan of alcohol until that night where he and the girl had too much fun at the party they had gone to, the one party Quackity said he couldn’t attend even though he wasn’t really sick when he said he was to get out of it, because he knew if he didn’t have some kind of excuse, Schlatt would coax him into coming. So in a way, it was his fault. All of Schlatt’s problems were his fault; the pregnancy, the drinking, the meds that weren’t actually meds. The smoking. It all came a month later when the girl finally got back to him, telling him she was pregnant and he was the father. That was the last conversation they ever had. When he was handed the baby at the hospital, he asked if the mother had anything to say to him- the doctor just shook her head. It was a solid no.
When he arrived at Quackity’s house that night, 18, tired, cold, rained on, baby crying, Quackity knew something was wrong, terribly wrong.
“I’m all alone. I’m all fucking alone, Alex.”
He had muttered these words, tears blending with the pelting rain against his pale, vampire-like skin- he looked sick. So incredibly sick. But the way he clutched the baby in his arms burnt a permanent memory into Quackity’s mind-
His friend looked so weak, so beaten down, but the way he held the child- his child- said something along the lines of “if you fuck with him, you definitely fuck with me”; the baby was held with such confidence, such strength, such warmth, like how Quackity’s mom would hug him after he had a nightmare when he was a child.
So despite Schlatt literally tearing at the seams, letting his stuffing fall all over the floor, allowing his exterior fabric to fall off of him, he would never let the same happen to Tubbo. He would never let Tubbo run low on stuffing, he would sew up the patches of him that happened to come apart. But Quackity knew that when it came to the man himself, he was reluctant to accept help or help himself. He just didn’t seem to care. Schlatt seemed to have the idea that if something were to happen to him, Tubbo would be just fine, that Quackity would provide a good home for him, even if it wasn’t Quackity’s home.
And Quackity knew all this. He could tell because Schlatt didn’t ever stop drinking, he didn’t ever stop smoking occasionally (though he was getting better), he didn’t ever stop starving himself, and he certainly couldn’t cease to work, because that would make him feel like he had no control.
And in reality, he didn’t.
He called Quackity about the smallest of things- not so small anymore, sure. He didn’t call when Tubbo would fall down and get hurt, he didn’t call when Tubbo was sick, none of that anymore. But he still called consistently; not that it bothered Quackity, the man was happy to help, and he felt terrible when he wasn’t able to. He often joked about just moving in with Schlatt, and was surprised when his friend got rather excited about it. It showed Quackity just how much the man relied on him, and while that was okay as he was happy to be around, he knew Schlatt would want to do at least some things on his own- it would give him a boost of confidence, it would make him feel more achieved. So that’s why Quackity let the man handle simple things these days- like the cooking. Nothing was life threatening, so he knew Schlatt couldn’t fuck up too bad.
He would never humiliate Schlatt, ever. At least not intentionally. Not even as a joke. JSchlatt’s pride was sacred to him.
While Schlatt called Quackity when it came to issues that dealt with Tubbo, he would never let Quackity in on what was going on with him. The sleepless nights, the alcohol, the starvation, the self hatred, the self doubt.
But the thing was that… Quackity already knew about all of this. He could see it. How Schlatt’s clothes hung off of him, or how his body looked when he would take off his extra layers and the shirt would ride up a bit. How hollowed out his eyes were, how near dead the man looked, but always flashing a smile to his four-year-old son no matter what. He was also sure that if he were to take a pencil to the man’s horns, they would just burst into small pieces of matter. They certainly weren’t growing and hooking as rapidly as they were in high school. Quackity didn’t think they even could, not with the malnutrition.
The “I’m fine”s and “it’s fine”s weren’t real, they never were. Not when Schlatt looked the way he did. It was ridiculous, Quackity thought, how the man continued to lie to him when everything was so painfully obvious. He needed help, and god forbid that something happen to him in order for him to finally realize it and accept it.
That “something” was coming sooner or later though, whether he liked it or not.
The cabinets had been bare for weeks, nothing but small things and canned food, all of which Schlatt was feeding to his growing son.
“Hey man, I could maybe get you something?”
“I’m not hungry.”
It was always that these days. Quackity knew it wasn’t Schlatt’s fault though- he simply got used to never eating, so his mind just rejected any kind of food he tried to offer his body. And Alex knew that was dangerous. Not only was Schlatt unable to eat because of the funds, but he was literally unable to eat. He wouldn’t allow himself, saying that Tubbo needed it more than he did, that he was fine, joking about how he could survive off alcohol alone.
How the fuck had he not died of motherfucking alcohol poisoning yet?
It was nights like these where Quackity was at ease, for once. When Schlatt was at his house, eating the food that Quackity provided because it was there and he would feel bad if he didn’t eat it. It was easy to tell that he really appreciated it though, because he would practically inhale the meal.
The nights that Schlatt fell asleep, limp against his shoulder on the couch where they were watching a movie with Tubbo, who was perched on Quackity’s lap, watching the moving pictures intently, completely oblivious to any problems at all.
But the next morning hadn’t gone how the mornings usually go, no. Usually, Quackity would wake up and find Schlatt having a hot cup of coffee while he read the newspaper that was thrown to the door. That just wasn’t the case, not when he woke up to a shrill cry from a child.
“Tubbo? Tubbo what’s-”
Tubbo was on the floor next to Schlatt, who was stone cold on the floor. The child was yelling, crying, patting at his dad’s face that was pressed to Quackity’s living room carpet.
“Fuck-” Quackity breathed as he shuffled in his spot for a second, his fight or flight or freeze instinct kicking in for some reason. He couldn’t be frozen now though, not now.
Before he could think anymore, the man dropped beside Tubbo and stuck his fingers to Schlatt’s neck- there was still a pulse. He was alive.
“He’s okay buddy, just sick. Will you sit on the couch for me for a moment?” Quackity tried to remain calm, though he couldn’t hide the quiver rising in his throat. He didn’t even know what time it was, or what had even happened. When did this happen? How long was Schlatt on the floor, passed out for? What the fuck?
Tubbo nodded, sniffling, clutching to his bee as he moved to the couch. Quackity put an ear to Schlatt’s lips- there was a small breath but nothing more.
Quite frankly, Quackity had no idea what the hell to do. He didn’t know for sure what happened, but he assumed that it could’ve been a couple things.
- Schlatt drank alcohol and blacked out again, like he usually did on stressful nights. But nothing to Quackity’s knowledge was stressing Schlatt, at least nothing that wasn’t already stressing him out, and Quackity didn’t even have alcohol at his house. And the only bag that Schlatt brought was one with Tubbo’s things in it for the night, so it wasn’t like he brought any himself. So that takes out number one.
- Schlatt had an underlying heart condition. This is obviously unlikely, because he’s only 22 without any prior illness and if anything, it would be a liver issue more than cardiac arrest. Quackity would know if the man suffered from a heart condition, because Schlatt would’ve shown signs before any of this happened. Moving onto the third possibility.
- Schlatt’s literal starvation of himself finally caught up to him after all this time. Now this was more likely, considering the man didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, and only drank alcohol and coffee. Quackity was almost certain that the man’s insides weren’t doing too good. He would notice that Schlatt had been faltering when he stood still, or how he couldn’t really pick Tubbo up as swiftly as he used to- in fact, he could barely pick Tubbo up at all, and it’s not like the boy weighed much.
So it had to be the third option. Third time’s the charm, they always say.
Once Quackity was done psychoanalyzing what had happened to Schlatt, he started to think about what to do. Does he call an ambulance? Or does he just haul him into a bed and try to get him to eat when he wakes up?
The second option probably wouldn’t work, the duck concluded. Schlatt wouldn’t take it seriously; he would just play it off as if it wasn’t a big deal. He would act like it was normal, like nothing was wrong, as if he just slept through the night, even though his child is now traumatized from seeing his lifeless-like body laying on the floor.
He would have to call an ambulance.
Schlatt’s eyes cracked open to ugly fluorescent lighting and bright, white walls surrounding him. When he opened his eyes a bit more, noting how they stung, he looked around the wall in front of him.
There was a door in front of him to the right, and along the wall were a few inspirational posters. Mounted onto the wall was a small, sad TV that displayed some dumb sports game. Schlatt always wanted to get into sports and watch them for fun, but he could never get interested. On his chest that was draped in a blanket was Tubbo’s plush bee, looking at him with almost sad eyes.
The room definitely wasn’t his living room, though. It wasn’t Quackity’s, either. Which is… where he had been last night. Right?
His eyes shot open at the thought. White sheets, white walls, enclosed bed, something in his arm, ugly lighting that he remembered having a very strong distaste for ever since he experienced it for the first time.
He was in a hospital room.
He sat up in a fit, huffing and looking around, his eyes glossing over. Why the fuck was he here? Why was his son’s toy with him but not his son? Why-
“Schlatt! Schlatt!” A familiar voice stapled him into a still position as he snapped his head to the left. “Hey man, it’s okay! We’re right here.”
It was Quackity. And Tubbo. Oh, they were right there this whole time. He felt his face heat up as he calmed a bit.
“Why the fuck am I here?” Schlatt nearly slapped a hand over his own mouth when he heard how hoarse his voice was. “Oh my god I sound like a fucking sixty year old smoker.”
Quackity laughed. “You’re in the hospital.”
Schlatt looked around, no kidding he thought. No other place could ever manage to be as terrifying and bleak. Painted with lost souls. A disgusting place, really. People are told they’ll die in these walls, people die in these walls.
“No fucking shit.” He looked down at Tubbo, who was sleeping with his head in the crook of Quackity’s neck. “What time is it? What fucking happened?”
“Uh it’s-” Quackity shifted so he could put up his wrist. “6:00 in the morning. Tubbo found you passed out on the floor at, like, maybe 12 I’m guessing, I’m not sure.”
Schlatt furrowed his brows. He passed out? And not drunk?
“Wait- am I drunk? Did I drink? You don’t even have alcohol at your place.”
“No no, you didn’t drink. Uh, you passed out from malnutrition, apparently.” Quackity said it as if he didn’t know. As if he had found out because of what the doctor said. As if it wasn’t ever obvious.
“Huh.” Schlatt looked over to the tubes and monitors he was hooked up to. “Guess they take this thing pretty seriously.”
Quackity didn’t say anything, he just looked to the floor, bouncing Tubbo with his knee slightly. Schlatt could tell something was up.
“Hey, what the hell are you so glum for? You’re not the one starving.”
“Yeah, but you are.” Quackity flicked his gaze up to Schlatt’s. “That makes it worse.”
Schlatt paused for a moment. “Have you stayed up this whole time?”
Quackity fell silent once again, not offering a look at Schlatt.
“There’s a bench over there, if you want to take a rest. Hell, maybe I can scooch over and you can fit in this piece of shit bed.”
Quackity was biting the inside of his lip, Schlatt could tell. His leg bounced and he held onto Tubbo tighter as the moments passed.
Schlatt looked around apprehensively, looking for something, anything, that would succeed in lightening the dull mood that was displayed in the room at the moment. But when he heard a mumbling from the younger man, he turned his head back in his direction.
“Huh? What’d you say?”
“I said you really fucking scared me!”
The room fell silent as warm teardrops escaped Quackity’s waterline. The air was cold, untouchable, almost.
“I thought… I thought you just… died. I thought that was it. I thought our care plan would have to be put into place. That was the first thing I thought when I saw you there, lifeless, lying on my fucking floor.”
Schlatt held his breath and the heart monitor beeped a bit less.
“I don’t understand how you could be so careless. You aren’t invincible Schlatt, and I know you might not care, but some people do!” Quackity looked up at the ill man. “ I’m not invincible.” He muttered the last bit, looking down.
Schlatt was at a loss for words. So he just waited- hoped- for Quackity to speak again.
“I’m glad you’re okay but I just didn’t know what the fuck to do.” Quackity’s lips shook as he spoke. “I really thought you were gone, J. I don’t know what I would’ve done.”
Schlatt looked over to the bee that was still sitting on his lap where it had fallen from his chest. It was still looking up at him, sadly.
“You know I don’t know why the hell you do it.”
Schlatt looked to Quackity again. “Do what?”
“Lie. You lie to me all the time. I just want you to… to be alright, y’know? And you lie to me as if we haven’t known each other for years, as if I haven’t known you for years. I can tell when something’s wrong, Schlatt. I just want to help. And you won’t let me unless you’re unconscious in the back of an ambulance!”
“Alex I just-”
“No, I just want you to be okay! Please, just be okay for me! Please-” Quackity burst into tears, shaking, causing Tubbo to stir. “Please.”
Schlatt ‘s eyes burned as he looked on at his friend who was broken in front of him. He remembered all those nights that Quackity stayed up with him, holding him as he cried, telling him it was going to be okay, not even knowing if it would be true. Now this was his time to hold Quackity, to tell him that he was okay, that he was still alive. But it was a bit hard to do that when you’re practically chained to your spot by plastic tubes.
So Schlatt just silently tugged on Quackity’s sweater sleeve, an indication for him to move his chair closer to the bed so they could hug. Schlatt couldn’t say anything that could make the situation better, especially if all that was going to roll off his tongue were jokes. Not now, not yet.
So he just silently engulfed Quackity in a hug, a silent thank you for all that he’s done.
“Uh well, at least we can tell that I’m alive by this heart monitor. Now when I’m just sleeping you won’t freak the fuck out,” Schlatt spoke up after a little while of silent crying.
Quackity gave a weak laugh, slowly pulling away from his friend. “Yeah, shut the hell up.”
“Blue is really not my color.” Schlatt pulled the covers back to reveal his hospital gown. “Not this blue, at least.”
“Better than being in jeans in a bed,” Quackity pointed out, and Schlatt shrugged.
“At least I’d look good in jeans.”
Quackity smiled, placing a hand on Schlatt’s, giving it a pat.
“Yeah, whatever.”