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Quackity does his best to keep his voice down as he grumbles to himself, careful not to wake Tilín . He picks up the toys scattered throughout the living room, putting them into their different bins. The crayons and paper are shoved back into his desk, the larger toys are put next to the toy boxes, everything else is thrown into the bins tucked into the corner of the living room. Cleaning up after his tornado of a son is one of the only parts of parenthood that Quackity doesn’t like. It’s just annoying, really.
It ultimately doesn’t take that long, but it had taken longer than usual to get Tilín to get to sleep. He had been especially restless for some reason, and it has left Quackity exhausted. As soon as the last of the toys are away, Quackity flops onto the couch, grunting softly at the impact. He yanks a blanket over his shoulders, ready to take a quick nap. Since having Tilín, it’s hard for him to sleep anywhere but his bed, anyway. Ah, the joys of growing older.
Quackity is just starting to drift off when someone knocks at his door. He furrows his brows, unsure of who the guest could be and still really fucking tired, but gets up quickly anyway. The nap isn’t worth Tilín waking up again, and another knock seals the deal.
“Quackity!” Wilbur shouts as soon as Quackity opens the door. He’s beaming, even with the circles under his eyes a little bit darker and his hair messy. It looks like he didn’t even rest after wrapping up his tour, guitar strapped to his back and bag in hand. “¡Hola mi amor! ¿Cómo estas esta noche?”
Quackity shakes off his shock, shushing the man and ushering him inside. If Tilín wakes up because of fucking Wilbur , Quackity is going to murder him. Still, he allows Wilbur to sit in the kitchen, immediately starting on some tea.
“I didn’t realize you were gonna be back so soon,” Quackity says quietly as he fills the kettle. He hasn’t used it since Wilbur left for tour, he only really has it for him anyway. “How were your shows?”
“Oh, they were fantastic,” Wilbur gushes. He leans forward in his chair, eyes basically sparkling. It forces a grin out of Quackity. “You would’ve loved it, Q. The energy is- it’s- indescribable. I’ve never felt anything like performing on stage. The crowds are so loud, and when they’re singing your songs with you, it’s like nothing else. You have to come with me, next time, you’d love it so much.”
“It does sound nice,” Quackity admits. He puts the kettle on, but stays close to it so he can pull it off before it starts whistling. “Maybe next time. I have shit here to deal with, though.”
“Surely not anything you couldn’t put off for a few months. It wouldn’t be any time soon, anyway. I promise you’d have such a good fucking time. I know I couldn’t get the dumbass stupid fucking duck to let the comms go through once I was off Quesadilla Island, but maybe I could convince it to let you come with me next time.”
“Yeah, I have some pretty long-term responsibilities, though.” Quackity offers a smile to Wilbur, hopping up onto the counter and leaning his head against the cabinets. He hopes they aren’t being too loud. Tilín can usually sleep through just about anything, but with how restless he was earlier, Quackity can’t be sure that he won’t wake up easier. He’s not sure, he still doesn’t fully understand how kids work, despite how hard he’s been trying the past few months.
Wilbur hums and stands from his chair, crossing the kitchen to stand in front of Quackity. He gently cradles Quackity’s face, thumbs rubbing underneath his eyes. Quackity leans into the touch, heart clenching. God, it’s been ages since he’s been around Wilbur, and somehow it feels like nothing has changed, even though everything has definitely changed.
Quackity should probably tell Wilbur about Tilín. Well, no. He should definitely tell WIlbur about Tilín, he’s just not sure how to do that.
“You look fucking exhausted,” Wilbur mutters. He presses his forehead against Quackity’s, and Quackity lets his eyes close.
“Bold words coming from you,” Quackity responds. His lips twitch up into a smirk, even as his eyes remain closed. “Did you even go home after getting back to the island?”
“Why would I do that if I could come see you?”
“Because you smell like shit.”
Wilbur scoffs, shoving Quackity away before immediately pulling him back into his arms. Quackity chuckles, melting into the embrace. He holds onto Wilbur’s sweater as the man begins to rock them, humming softly.
The moment seems to simultaneously be as long as Wilbur’s tour and be over faster than Quackity can blink. Feet softly padding down the hallway are what break the peace. Quackity slips out of Wilburs hold and slides off the counter, making it to the kitchen entrance just as Tilín approaches the kitchen from the hallway. He ignores Wilbur’s puzzled look, instead crouching to be eye-level with his son.
“¿Qué haces fuera de la cama, hijo?” Quackity asks, voice soft. Tilín’s eyes are watery and his bottom lip quivers. Quackity coos and wraps the boy up in his arms.
“Had a nightmare,” Tilín whimpers. He buries his face into Quackity’s shoulder. Quackity’s chest constricts as the small body in his arms begins to shake with cries.
“I’m sorry, baby. Do you wanna stay downstairs with me for a bit? Once you start getting sleepy again we can both go to sleep in my bed, hm?”
Tilín nods, pushing himself closer to his father. Quackity carefully picks him up, rubbing his back as he braces himself and turns. Wilbur is staring at the pair, jaw hanging open. It almost makes Quackity want to giggle.
“Can you take the kettle off? Quackity asks. Tilín lifts his head, eyes locking on the new person in his kitchen. He still has tears on his cheeks, but a nice hug always gets him to calm down quickly. His head tilts, and it looks so much like Wilbur, who mirrors the action. “Pick your jaw up off the floor, too. Make your tea, we’ll be in the living room.”
“Who’s that?” Tilín tries to whisper as Quackity carries him to the couch. It isn’t quiet, it’s just a whisper-voice. Quackity smiles.
“That’s Wilbur,” Quackity says. Tilín gasps, immediately squirming in Quackity’s hold, trying to get another look at the stranger.
It only takes a few seconds for Wilbur to walk into the room, looking more out-of-place than Quackity had ever seen. His gaze keeps darting between Quackity, who has his boy next to him, and Tilín, who is bouncing up and down in his seat.
“Uh,” Wilbur says, perching on the edge of an armchair. He sets his mug on the coffee table and clasps his hands together. “So, who’s this?
“I’m Tilín,” the boy declares proudly. He clambers to the end of the couch, leaning over the arm to get a better look at Wilbur. “Dad says you’re Wilbur. Are you really?”
“I am,” Wilbur says. “Is that Dad over there next to you?”
“Ob-iously.” Tilín rolls his eyes. He then pushes himself off the couch, dropping to the ground. Wilbur jerks, as if to catch him. Quackity is used to the antics, but does shuffle across the couch so he can be close enough to grab Tilín’s shirt, preventing him from going any further. Wilbur doesn’t need a kid he doesn’t know using him like a jungle gym.
“This is Tilín,” Quackity says. He tugs his son’s shirt, making him fall backward. Tilín cranes his neck to glare at Quackity, who ignores the look. He’s used to it, this is his son after all. “I’ll explain it all in the morning. I’m too tired right now, so you get to hear the story tomorrow.”
Wilbur nods, and doesn’t seem all that comforted by the promise, but his shoulders untense a little bit. Both men are quickly distracted when Tilín gasps dramatically again.
“Dad, look!” Tilín points at Wilbur’s guitar case. “It’s a i-stru-ment thing!”
“It is,” Wilbur says. He pulls his case into his lap, unlatching it and flipping open the lid. “It’s my guitar. Do you want me to play for you?”
“Yes, yes!” Tilín exclaims. He settles, still on the floor. He moves back until his back is pressed up against Quackity’s legs. Quackity nudges him a bit, looking at him pointedly, and Tilín opens his mouth again. “Please?” Quackity smiles and ruffles his hair.
“Of course,” Wilbur replies. He strums the strings, turning the pegs as he roughly tunes them. It isn’t too out of tune, so he is able to swiftly transition into properly playing.
It only takes two songs for Quackity to feel his eyes drooping, and it takes one more for him to feel Tilín begin to slump against his legs. By song number five, Tilín is snoring lightly, and Quackity is struggling to stay awake. His eyes are closed, but the music stops after song number five, a quiet chuckle taking its place.
The weight against Quackity’s legs disappears, and he feels arms worm their way underneath him soon after. He curls into the warmth as he is lifted into the air, then carried until he is placed gently into his bed. A blanket is pulled up over his shoulders, and Tilín is immediately pushing into his side. Quackity sighs contentedly, and finally gets to fall asleep.
When Quackity wakes up the next morning, he is shivering and uncomfortable. Tilín has all the blankets wrapped around him, and one of his little feet is shoved against Quackity’s ribs. It’s nothing new, but is one of the more unpleasant ways to wake up, Quackity must admit.
He stands and stretches, groaning as he rotates his shoulders. Quackity yawns, then shuffles out of his room. Wilbur is already awake, to his surprise. He’s sitting out on the couch, scribbling in a notebook.
“Morning,” Quackity says. Wilbur startles, then smiles up at Quackity.
“Good morning,” Wilbur says. He scooches to the side, letting Quackity plop down next to him and lean into his side. “How’d you sleep?”
“As well as I could,” Quackity responds. He yawns again. “Kids really like to fucking kick when they sleep.”
“Ah, speaking of…” Wilbur trails off.
“Right,” Quackity says. He sighs, then begins his explanation. “Basically, a few months ago that stupid fucking duck left us all with children and assigned partners. The kids are all a mix of both of their parents. Tilín is mine, obviously. I didn’t get a partner when it was all happening, meaning they were, uh, not here.”
“What?” Wilbur chokes. He looks paler than usual, which definitely isn’t good.
“I promise I would've told you,” Quackity says quickly. “I just couldn’t, since the fucking duck doesn’t let us talk to people who aren’t on the island. And I’m not sure how it did the whole thing, either. It was weird as fuck, honestly, but I love Tilín. He’s still my son, y’know? And I get it if you don’t wanna stay, you don’t have to worry about it. We’ve been dealing fine on our own, and-”
“Holy shit,” Wilbur whispers, cutting off Quackity’s nervous rambles. “He’s mine? I- we have a son?”
“Uh, yeah.” Quackity stares at his lap, then risks a glance up at Wilbur’s face.
“Oh my God.” Wilbur makes eye contact with Quackity. He huffs out a disbelieving laugh, then beams. “Oh my God, we have a son!”
Wilbur stands, pulling Quackity to his feet with him. He sweeps the man into an embrace, picking him up and swinging him in circles. Quackity giggles, holding onto Wilbur’s shoulders.
“Yeah, we do,” Quackity says. Wilbur puts him down, still smiling, before realization dawns on his face.
“Holy shit, you’ve been raising a kid alone. Q, I’m so fucking sorry. I swear I would’ve been back so much sooner if I had known. I swear on my life.”
“I know. It’s not your fault, Will, don’t worry about it. You’re here now, and Tilín is excited to get to know you.”
“He is?” Wilbur’s eyes light up again.
“Oh yeah,” Quackity confirms. “He asks about you, like, all the time.”
“What have you told him about me?” WIlbur asks. He looks like an excited puppy, and it makes Quackity fall in love with him for the millionth time.
“The truth. That you’re a prick singer who would probably create a country just to blow it up.”
“Hey!” Wilbur shoves Quackity’s shoulder, making the man squawk. Quackity immediately tackles Wilbur, and they don’t stop until Tilín comes into the room.
The morning is the nicest Quackity thinks he’s ever had. He eats breakfast with Wilbur and Tilín, both of them chattering excitedly to each other. Quackity does the dishes as they get out toys in the living room, and colors with them when they inevitably break out the crayons. Wilbur promises to buy Tilín some more the next time he’s out, and the grin that spreads across Tilín’s face is enough to make Quackity content until the day he dies.
Finally, after months of being apart, of being unsure and stressed, Quackity has his family together. He watches Wilbur interact with their son like it’s all he’s ever wanted, and Quackity almost wants to cry. He finally has his fucking family.
Wilbur and Tilín look up at him from their spot on the floor with matching smiles, and Quackity offers his own smile back. He settles in, ready for whatever happens next.
Fuck the duck, he knows they’ve got this.