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After he falls, he wakes up at spawn. The effects of having most of your home blown up in your face, he supposes. Fucking sucks though.
He makes the long walk back to Las Nevadas in a haze. The words of Slime echoing in his head.
He knows the words sting because they’re true. He’d known the lessons were exaggerated when he taught them. But he hadn’t meant harm. He had been trying to protect Charlie— protect Slime. The world hadn’t been kind to Quackity, and he had wanted to save Slime from the same fate. Now he understands he’d condemned him to the inevitable.
The sun is setting by the time he reaches his wrecked Las Nevadas. Foolish was long gone. He’d probably ran as soon as Dream made it out. The man was functionally immortal, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a bit of a coward now. It was Quackity’s own fault, really.
Slime is waiting for him on the path where he died. They sit on a chest, their eyes in shadow.
Quackity still isn’t used to seeing so much emotion in those dark green eyes, especially not negative ones. They hold onto leftover anger, but along his shoulders is a sad heavy weight that Quackity is intimately familiar with.
Quackity looks away, forcing himself to hold in the wave of emotions that threatens to flood out of him. It doesn’t make sense for Them to still be here.
What was this? Was he going to laugh at him? Throw salt in his wound with the truth? Wasn’t his death already the ultimate reality check?
Quackity was on his third life, and he didn’t have much more to give to this cycle of revenge and hurt.
Their message was clear, and Quackity had received it loudly. He’s already made up his mind. He’s going to start over.
“Quackity from Las Nevadas,” Slime looks up. They don’t add another thought to it, they just call for him.
Quackity stays as far as he can, picking up the few items that are lost in the sand. He finds his pickaxe, some last minute building blocks he had in his inventory. Unfortunately his armor is lost to the sand. That or…
He looks up, to where Slime sits on a closed chest. His green eyes are dark as they stare at him intently.
“Why are you still here, Slime?” Back to basics. Quackity struggled to call him that name he gave him when he was still in that awful half-state, still melted from the lava in that room that smelt like burnt mucus and something that was specifically Slime-
“Legacy, Quackity. I’ve had a lot of time to think about the one I’ll leave behind too. I’ve come to the conclusion that you and I… our legacies are one and the same, by your own doing-“
“Slime,” Quackity says forcefully, his sadness peaking into anger. “You’ve made your point. I have ends to tie and shit to fix. Why. Are. You. Still. Here?”
Slime stands quickly, and Quackity can’t help flinching back bodily, falling back onto his ass. Sand dusts up and he knows he’s going to be shaking it out for the rest of the night.
He watches as Slime steps up to him, eyes glaring down at him. Its hard to look directly at him, the sunset blaring its brightness directly behind him. If Slime were to pull out an axe and swing down at him, Quackity would only have a second to react.
But no, instead of that, Slime waits. And Quackity’s eyes blink away the shadows.
Slime’s hand waits for him.
“You have to take responsibility for all of it,” Charlie says. “Me included.”
It’s unclear if they mean they’re apart of the responsibilities or if he also has a weight to carry up the proverbial mountain. But all Quackity knows is that he sees a second chance.
One he definitely doesn’t deserve.
But Quackity’s never been a selfless man. He grants himself one more selfish act as he reaches back, and lets Charlie pull him up.
===
He leaves an olive branch letter at the house of enemy and every antagonist in his life so far. And when he’s done with that, he writes more letters, to Tommy and Tubbo, to Ponk, Bad and Eret, to all his friends that he’s let grow apart from him. He writes them an apology and asks them to not consider him a stranger, even if the man in his bathroom mirror looks scarred and worn compared to the young, foolish man they once knew just a year ago.
He writes a letter for Ranboo and lets it sit at his bedside table. A letter to be delivered later he promises over his nightly prayers.
He does not write a letter to Dream.
Fuck Dream.
Charlie disappears during the day. Quackity’s never sure where he goes. Sometimes he disappears for fulls days at a time, and sometimes Charlie just sits on the balcony and stares at the stars during the twilight hours. At night, they sit by Quackity’s bed during the night and watch over him.
It should be uncomfortable.
Instead it just feels safe.
Quackity has felt this vulnerable before and had promised himself not to let it happen again. But the honesty in Slime’s eyes is leagues above the fleeting looks of love Schlatt gave him between played-up sneers. He falls asleep easily under Charlie’s watchful gaze.
===
He’s in love with Charlie. Always has been, since the moment he decided to take the sentient mob under his wing. Charlie was unlike anyone he’d ever met before, the blind loyalty something Quackity coveted being the target of. But it went beyond adoration. He liked seeing Charlie succeed, enjoyed every moment when Charlie surprised him and made his heart flutter. When they were apart, Quackity used to worry about him being taken advantage of by people just like himself. Now he worried that Charlie wouldn’t come back one day.
He deserved to create his own legacy out there, away from Quackity. But Quackity’s heart hadn’t quite shaken off the selfish pangs of want. He saw Charlie and just wanted to smother him with tearful apologies and promises to be better. But he knew better, logically he knew he shouldn’t.
But the heart wants what it wants.
In the cover of night, he awakes from a dream of dying, the fading image of Charlie’s eyes full of hate instead of anger in his mind. He sits up and pulls his knees to his chest. He knows Charlie, the real Charlie, patient Charlie who wants him to be better, is watching him. But he can’t help the way he curls up and sobs.
His heart aches, and twists and burns. He’s done so much wrong in the world, he’s hurt the people he loves, and for what? For a country that people want to leave? He hurt Charlie, his citizens don’t care for him, even stupid Wilbur hasn’t shown up to check up on him since Dream showed up. What was the point in having a third chance if this was all he had to show for it?
“I’m not sure, Quackity,” Charlie answers him slowly. “But I’ve been told the point is to leave a legacy you’re proud of. Of all the things you thought me, that one still seems to ring true. I’ve seen seeds turned into farms that long outlast the people who planted them, and helped generations survive. Our legacy should be that important.”
Quackity wipes his snot on his pajama pants and turns his head. He sees Charlie sitting on the edge of his bed, where he had been when Quackity had fallen asleep. And his heart aches at the distance between them, too far to close without them both shifting closer. So Quackity stays still, lets Charlie’s words wash over him.
“I’m sorry, Charlie,” Quackity chokes out between more sobs. “I’ve been really fucking selfish, haven’t I?”
“Yes,” Charlie says honestly. They move towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder. The silence stretches on, until its clear he has nothing else to add. Quackity can’t help but laugh at Charlie’s earnestness.
Charlie tilts his head at Quackity, silently asking him to elaborate on the laughs. Quackity shakes his head with a smile.
“Not laughing at you,” he clarifies. “You just… you say I’ve changed you, but there’s still parts of you that never change. You’re really amazing, Charlie.”
“You have changed me,” Charlie says with a tone of warning that he shouldn’t deny it, and Quackity quickly nods.
“I’m sure. And you’ve changed me, but for the better instead of the worse like I did to you. I have a lot to learn from you still,” Quackity says. He sniffles and wipes his nose again. “If the world were full of people like you though, I don’t think war would exist.”
The hand on his shoulder shifts. Suddenly, two hands push against the front of both shoulders until he’s back on his pillows, and Charlie’s beautiful face floats above him.
“No war sounds like the start of a good legacy, Quackity from Las Nevadas,” he says appreciatively. It takes Quackity a moment to react, his heart preoccupied by their positions. When he processes the words, he chuckles. He reaches up to tuck one sticky strand of hair behind Charlie’s ear in a careful move.
“It’s a big ask, but I’ll try for you,” Quackity says slowly. His hand trail from the back of Charlie’s ear to around the back of his neck. “Anything for you.”
“For us,” Charlie clarifies, eyes darkening. “Our legacy.”
And then he leans down, and presses his mouth against Quackity’s. He has a bodily response, his arms coming around Charlie’s neck, his hands digging into his hair. Charlie’s mouth is warm, and it’s perfect. Its more than he deserves, and Charlie gives it to him freely.
—
Las Nevadas is the city that never sleeps.
But even her patrons find the time to be escorted to a room in her beautiful hotels and take a nap with emptier pockets.
But if you happen to be a night owl, and stay up until the new warm lights of sunrise peak over the horizon, then you might see the Prime Leader of Las Nevadas take to the dance floor like a personal prayer to his dance partner. They hold each other tightly, whispering promises and wishes alike right into each other’s ears.
And if you stay up long enough, you might even see them make good on those promises and leave behind a legend of love forged in pain and forgiveness.