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He snapped his eyes open to gold littering the expanse of his painfully empty, painfully cold bed. Quackity sat up slowly, his back protesting loudly with every minute shift, until he could finally hold himself up, looking around the empty room.
A single flap of wings and the harsh rustle of air sent another few feathers spiralling to the sheets.
Quackity stared back at his unfeeling reflection in the full-body mirror, watching numbly as his right wing curled forward almost instinctively, hovering just before the front of his body, waiting for gentle hands to preen it. Slowly, hesitantly, with apprehension that his skilled hands shouldn't contain, the avian reached out towards less-than-soft feathers, arranging them, combing through them.
Tugging at them.
Yanking them out.
"God, Q, you're hurting yourself."
The avian froze, whipping his head up to look around the void room, blinking away the last of his tears of pain. "K-Karl?" The boy's name felt foreign on his tongue, something too pure, too delicate, too out-of-reach. "Karl?" He called out again, his heart sinking as he was once again met with silence.
Quackity frowned, something deep and ugly twisting within him as he clenched a fist around another handful of feathers. The avian tensed, preparing himself for another inevitable wave of pain just as a burst of warmth surrounded him, centring around his fist. "Why're you feather-plucking, duckling? Why're you stressed?"
"Sap?" He hated the way his voice quivered with longing, hated the way his heart clenched painfully around the feel of his lover's name on his tongue.
No, there weren't here. They'd abandoned him; they'd left him to build their own kingdom - Kinoko, he sneered inwardly, disgusted by the mere name floating around his mind. They'd moved on without telling him, without a proper explanation, without even saying goodbye. There was no reason as to why they'd suddenly be in Las Nevadas, haven he'd built for them, in his all-too-empty house, his vast room. But here they were - teal and purple, black and white, sunny and warm and present. So, so painfully present and there that Quackity couldn't contain the tiny sob that managed to slip past his lips.
He wanted to be mad - he was upset and hurt and so, so betrayed that they'd up and leave and fucking start a whole new kingdom without him. But they were here now, weren't they? Karl with his gleaming brown eyes, bright with love and excitement, and Sapnap with his iconic white bandana and messy unkept fringe, constantly radiating warmth. They had come back for him, did they not? And Quackity couldn't find it in himself to snap at them, to tell them to get out, to scream and yell and ban them from Las Nevadas forever. Because ultimately, they were still the missing two-thirds of his heart, of his soul; the missing part of him he'd mourned the loss of and yearned for daily.
His boys, his lovers, his fiancés.
"Don't cry, little duck." The Netherborn hybrid smiled sadly. Quackity barely felt the bed dip as he slowly lowered himself onto the comforter behind him, calloused hands - trained sore from years of combat practise - easily making their way to his shoulders. He started to knead carefully, skilled hands easily working their way through knots; the action so practised, so comforting that the avian was forced to choke back another sob.
Gentle hands covered his, curling around his fingers and slowly prying them away from skewed feathers. "You're hurting yourself, lovebird. Let me do it for you." Karl's kind eyes came into view as the time-traveller scooted closer to the pair, carefully straightening out gold feathers and combing his fingers through them, positioning them properly.
After what seemed like eons, Quackity finally found his voice. "You... both of you... both of you can't be here. There's no way both of you are here... You can't be real." He hated how he sounded so insecure, so dangerously hopeful. "Are you really here?"
Karl seemed amused as he moved on to the next worse-for-wear wing, though there was a sad look in his eyes that the avian wasn't used to seeing. "Where else would we be?"
"But... but you left. You left me." He sniffled, Quackity's voice cracking painfully over the coos of his lovers as they tried to wipe away at the wetness on his cheeks.
"We know, and we're sorry, Quackity." Sapnap sighed, nosing at the side of the avian's head as he leaned over his frame, hands coming to a stop atop the winged man's shoulder. Karl made a small noise of agreement, still meticulously re-arranging gold feathers and gently prying out those that have fallen out and gotten stuck. He hummed, "Kinoko is breath-taking, Q, and we'd love for you to join us there. If... if you'd be willing to?" There was a sense of uncertainty in Sapnap's voice, one Quackity wasn't used to hearing at all.
He could leave, could join them and George in Kinoko and forget all this happened. He could leave and be happy. But what about Las Nevadas? His precious baby? His gift for Karl and Sapnap? He couldn't abandon Las Nevadas like this.
"Alternatively, if you're okay with it, Sap and I don't mind moving here too." Their time-traveller spoke up, carefully folding the avian's wings back and climbing higher onto the bed, coming to a rest by Quackity's side. He laid his head on his shoulder. "You don't have to answer us now, duckling. Anytime you're ready, we'll be here."
Quackity's heart swelled with something that felt precariously close to hope, a feeling the avian hadn't felt in a long, long time - something new but not unwelcomed. He blinked, swallowing past the lump in his throat as Sapnap gave a small murmur of agreement, tugging the man - and essentially Karl - towards the headboard and letting him lean back. The blaze hybrid let out a soft sigh of content, tossing out an arm across the two bodies and hugging them close.
He had a million questions to ask - why did they leave him in the first place? Did they simply forget to tell him? How could they just forget their fiancé? Did they really not want him there? Were they intending on surprising him with Kinoko, just like how he'd intended to surprise them with Las Nevadas? When did they hear about Las Nevadas? How long had they known? Did George tell them? How did they even enter his room without him noticing? Did they miss him as much as he missed them? Did they actually mean it when they said they wanted to be with him? Does that mean they were okay now?
"I can hear you thinking, Q." Karl mumbled, his cheek digging into Quackity's shoulder in a should-be uncomfortable manner. A snort came from behind him, no doubt coming from their personal space heater.
The avian cringed, hesitantly bringing his hand up to card them through fluffy brown hair, still unable to entirely believe that they were here. "Sorry, mi amor."
Sapnap hummed, shimmying down the headboard of the bed to nuzzle his face into the curve of Quackity's neck, his arms tightening their hold against the two other bodies beside him, his front pressed close to the avian's side. There came another flare of warmth. "Sleep, duckling. We'll answer all of your questions later, I promise."
Absentmindedly, he wondered how Sapnap knew his mind had been buzzing with questions. Distantly, he knew that "later" would never come, that the moment he closed his eyes, Karl and Sapnap would disappear along with the rest of the world. Yet, as he stared into content brown eyes and felt the burn of the blaze-hybrid's lips against his neck, he could only think of one word, home. Because for the first time since all hell broke loose, Quackity felt love seeping through every pore of his skin. He felt comfort, secure, safe.
Their duckling was home.
Quackity felt his eyes slip close and registered his mind drift away as gentle fingers that ran up and down his skin became softer, and the warmth that enveloped his body cooled down faster than he'd like.
~
It was the best sleep the avian had gotten in months.
The headboard pressed hard against the base of his skull and his back ached from all the slouching. His neck was sore and cricking with every tiny move; his wings were ugly and messy without proper care and preening. Every fibre of his being should be aching, should be making their protests clear to him, should be screaming at him to get up and walk to the casino hotel's masseuse and order another massage that would put him to sleep yet again. Somehow, Quackity hadn't felt much of the pain when he woke up; couldn't find it in him to address the consequence his body had to pay for five minute's worth of happiness.
All he could acknowledge was the deep empty feeling inside him and the all-too quiet, all-too still room.