Chapter Text
Quackity fell onto his elbows, scrambling backwards as best he could. The snow seeped into his jacket and halted his movements but he continued pushing away from the terror in front of him.
He mistepped, falling back with a yelp. His permanently damaged wings flapped frantically, desperately trying to take to the air despite the obvious injury that befelled them.
All the air was shoved from his lungs when a foot came down onto his chest, pushing against his ribcage hard enough that Quackity felt his lungs wheezing for a breath.
He didn't look up at his attacker, he threw his hands up over his eyes instead, cowering again - that's all he did, wasn't it? This was a stupid idea, what was he thinking? And now he'd die, with his stupid decision, just like the last time.
But now he would lose everything.
He closed his eyes, tears beginning to stream out of his eyes and down beside his head into the snow. The tense pressure against his chest grew tighter and tighter and heavier and heavier. His arms wanted to claw at the offending foot - he needed air, but he couldn't bring himself to move, he stayed stock still, almost gasping in his position. He waited for the telltale feeling of the sword's cold blade pressing into his abdomen - the hot flare of pain, then the nothingness and relief that came afterwards - but he felt nothing.
In fact, he felt the weight on his chest lessened, before leaving completely.
Everything rushed back to him all at once and he choked a bit, coughing as the cold air burned his throat.
There was a soft shuffling before a breath was exhaled.
"Quackity."
The man aforementioned shivered, slowly moving his hands back down to his sides; instinctively, his wings covered him as best as he could.
"Techno," he responded with a hoarse whisper, a barely audible breath of a name.
Quackity watched as his attacker slowly lowered himself down to face him, his expression unreadable.
Quackity flinched away, legs once again scrambling away once more.
"Stay away," he said, voice stammering. There was nothing he could do - he had no weapons, no armor, if he wasn't careful he'd be at the edge of death again. At the mere thought, breaths started coming out more shallowly.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Techno said, almost as if he just decided this a few moments ago. He held a hooved-hand out.
Quackity eyed it and did not take it.
Techno sighed and retracted his hand back. "You know, Quackity, I don't know why you thought it'd be a good idea to come here, but I know why you're here."
Carefully, Quackity looked right at him, his eyes looking over the blank expression in front of him - except this time, it wasn't blank, the expression on Techno's face couldn't be clearer;
it was pity.
"You're scared," Techno said quietly.
Quackity didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise - was he wrong? He wasn't. At this realization, his wings relaxed slightly, falling beside himself in a limp pile of dirty straw feathers.
He didn't even notice he was crying until a stray droplet hit his hand, the action nearly giving him a heart attack.
He sniffled and brought his beanie over his eyes, trying to stop himself from looking so pathetic, but it just made him cry harder.
He sobbed into his arms, drawing his knees up to his chest, shrinking in on himself. He cried for his friends, he cried for the people he lost, he cried for his mistakes, he cried for all the bullshit he'd been put through.
And it wasn't pretty - yet Techno stuck around.
At one point, the pig draped his cloak over Quackity's shoulders, leaving the slightest bit of a comforting shrug before his hand drew back to his side.
"It's getting dark," he remarked casually, as if they were having some coffee outing.
Quackity sniffled, feeling gross, tired, and endlessly stressed. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, not helping his current state.
"We should head in," Techno said, though he might as well have been talking to the air.
He rested his hand on Quackity's shoulder, and Quackity slowly pushed himself up, his legs numb and shaky.
Techno offered support - somewhat reluctantly most likely, considering how disheveled and covered in snot Quackity was - but the offer was declined. Tired as he was, he was still a stubborn asshole. He made it back to the cabin Techno resided in without any help, standing idly by the door. It was nice and warm - much more lively than it was outside.
Techno led him to the upstairs, having him sit on top of a chest. He walked off and grabbed a few things to warm Quackity up, as well as clean him off; they were accepted without complaint.
When Quackity was left to himself in the large and cozily cluttered room, he curled up on top of the chest. The cloak was still on him, and he didn't mind. He wrapped himself in it and lay down on his side. He wondered why Techno said the things he did, and why he was right.
It made him want to punch that stupid snout off his face, maybe take a tusk or two. But right now, he simply focused on resting, too fatigued and empty to urge himself to do anything.
He closed his eyes, and the last thing he saw was the lights turning off in the room, and the door closing.