Chapter Text
"Get back here you fucking rascal!" The man behind him yelled, pushing through the folk mass. Some people turned their heads at him, but most ignored it completely. That was one of the only advantages of living in a big city like Essempi, no one gave a shit.
Was stealing the man's wallet worth the trouble? Based on the thickness of it, definitely not. There were at most ten dollars in there, which was not enough for a new beanie, it was barely enough for a good meal.
Did Quackity regret stealing the wallet? Absolutely not. He got a sick sense of satisfaction from being chased by people, just to shift the moment the coast was clear, and see the confusion and panic in his victim's eyes as they realized that he was gone.
There was not much enjoyment to get out of living on the streets, so he took what he could get, even if it was the small thrill of petty thievery.
Quackity pushed through the crowd, his small form not doing him much good in the form of strength, but instead in flexibility. He was like a fish, always slipping out of people's fingers despite being seemingly harmless. It didn't hurt that he could also transform into a fish, but that was beside the point.
The shapeshifter could see his alley coming up, the perfect alley he always used when he was being chased. It wasn't obvious to the people walking along the street, tucked into the wall like it was, which made it the perfect getaway place. The alley only had a few dumpsters that belonged to the nearby china place and a brick wall that made it a dead end. The brick wall was easy to scale however, if you could transform into a cat. A human, not so much.
Quackity easily managed to zig-zag through the crowd and slip in between the Chinese restaurant and the laundromat to make his escape. He could tell that the man hadn't lost sight of him yet and had seen where he'd gone, but it didn't matter. This is where the fun begins.
The moment Quackity was out of public sight, he shifted his form into one of his favorites, a small slender tabby kitten he liked to call Tiger. Whenever he wasn't thieving or trying to find food, Quackity was practicing his shifting ability to perfect different animals. He'd learned that animals were much easier than humans, mostly because they had much fewer details. There was so much on a human that he could get wrong, which would give him away.
The process of shifting usually took only a few seconds, and it was a painless experience. A little tickly, and it did make his stomach turn a bit, but it was a feeling he had gotten used to. Luckily he didn't throw up doing it anymore, as he couldn't afford to lose any of the food he ingested.
He could still see everything around him when he shifted. The world would change based on the animal's quality of sight and size, but his vision was as clear as it could be. This meant that he could see the man leaning against the wall, catching him mid-shift. Quackity was so surprised that he interrupted his shifting, his form a mess as he tried to regain his composure, and hopefully brush the whole situation off.
But when Quackity finally found his form and his view wasn't a jumbled mess, he could clearly see that the man hadn't missed what transpired in front of him.
"I-" Quackity stammered, trying to think of some excuse for what had just happened. People having powers was very uncommon and still a new concept, and they weren't greatly appreciated by society unless you were some superhero.
Quackity didn't get a chance to even try to explain himself however, as he was yanked back and half lifted into the air by the scruff of his jacket.
Right, he was still chased.
"Got ya!" The man half held him up in the air by his jacket, his breath reeking of cheap alcohol, "Dead-end huh?" The man looked around the alley, barely taking notice of the man who'd now put out his cigarette and was watching them with an intense look, "Too bad kid. I'm taking ya to the cops, making sure ya get the punishment you deserve."
Panic flared in Quackity's chest, and his previous futile attempts at escaping the man's grasp became wild thrashing, as he tried to break free. If he was taken to the cops, then they'd find out about his lack of home life and surely put him in the foster care system, something he'd heard horror stories about from other street kids. Even worse, they might find out about his shifting ability and put him in some facility somewhere, so he'd never be free again.
When the man started backing out of the alley, Quackity's fate firm in his hands, he felt like crying. He tried punching or kicking the man so he'd let him free, but Quackity wasn't a large person. He was a kid at fourteen who'd grown up on the streets, he was practically only skin and bones at this point. The autumn breeze in the air probably hurt the man more than Quackity's kicks.
Right as the man was about to leave the alley, thus sealing Quackity's fate, a rough hand was placed on his shoulder, nearly making him jump out of his skin. He looked up and saw the towering figure of the man who'd seen him shift earlier.
"Excuse me," The man said, his voice surprisingly calm and still for his hulking appearance.
"Who the fuck are you?" The man asked, clearly also taken back by the man's sudden interference. Judging by the look on his face, he didn't even seem to have realized that there even was another person in the alley.
"That doesn't matter," The stranger's voice was uncomfortably calm as he spoke, "But I'd advise you to let the boy go, or else there'll be trouble."
The man holding Quackity scoffed, clearly sizing up the stranger considering how he was looking at him. Quackity himself was panicking like crazy, frozen in place as he stared up at the stranger, wishing that he'd just look down at him so he could read his eyes.
The stranger's eyes narrowed when the man didn't reply, and it seemed as if his patience had run thin. Quackity expected him to throw a punch, or grab onto Quackity and pull, or to just give up and leave him.
But instead, he raised his hand and formed a snapping motion with his hands. But instead of his fingers snapping like Quackity thought, a small spark formed above his thumb and middle finger. It looked like those Sparkler things that Quackity saw kids running around with every fourth of July, except there was no stick it was attached to. It simply hovered above the stranger's fingers, seemingly not bothering him.
Quackity was so mesmerized by the small spark, that he almost forgot the situation he was in. That was until the stranger flicked his fingers, and the spark flew across the alley and hit a stray trash bag, promptly completely pulverizing it along with everything within a few feet radius. The sound of the explosion startled the shifter, and he had to physically restrain himself not to shift back into Tiger and bolt.
The stranger held up his hand again, opened this time, and a spark almost three times the size of the previous one formed hovering above his palm. "Now I will only ask you one more time," The stranger's collected voice was even more unsettling when he had a literal bomb in his hand, "Let the boy go, or else there'll be trouble."
The man took a few seconds to fully register the words, but when he did he immediately let go of Quackity's jacket, causing him to tumble forward.
"Powered freak," The man muttered, the familiar phrase freezing Quackity in place as the man backs out of the alley, turning his back and running off without even retrieving his wallet. Quackity knew the words weren't directed at him, he hid his abilities so well that it never was, but it always seemed to make him feel awful.
Unless you were a powerful and famous superhero, abilities were never a good thing. Humans are naturally jealous creatures, and what they can't have or understand they usually look down upon. Despite the fact that people with abilities take up only about 20% of the population, humans loved to make themselves out to be the victimized minority. Even big Superheroes like Angel of Death or Demon are just one mistake away from being scrutinized by the media.
"Hey," A deep voice brought Quackity back to the moment, and he looked up to meet the stranger's gaze, "Are you alright?" The shifter hadn't had a good chance to really take in the guy's appearance due to the panic, but now that the man was gone he let his eyes rake over the stranger's body. He was freakishly tall, standing at at least 6'5 feet, possibly more, with dark green hair and almost the same striking colored eyes. His nose was lightly dusted with freckles, and there was a small scar right beside his eye that stood out against his tanned skin. To say he was intimidating was just an understatement, the guy looked straight-up scary. If he didn't have such a kind look in his eyes, Quackity would have believed the guy was about to kill him right then and there.
Quackity nods wordlessly as a confirmation of his question, too afraid that if he opened his mouth his voice would immediately break.
"That's good," The stranger said, smiling brightly down at him ('God are those fangs?', Quackity wondered, squinting to get a better look at the man's canine teeth,), "I'm Sam," The stranger, Sam, holds out his large calloused hand, probably expecting Quackity to shake it. Like hell he'd ever do that, he would probably crush the shifter's hand without even meaning to do so.
"Quackity," He stutters out, silently cursing himself for the waver in his voice. Fuck, he was tougher than this, surely.
The stranger didn't react to it, his eyes instead scanning over Quackity's face. The shifter had seen parents in playgrounds do similar things to their kids after they had fallen or stumbled, but it was the first time someone had done anything like that to him.
"That was a close one," The man finally said standing up to his full height, almost twice the size of the shifter, "Say, where are your parents? They should know better than to let their kids run like this, especially if they're powered."
And boy that's a question. Quackity hadn't seen his parents...ever. Not a single memory in his fourteen-year-old head contained anything to do with who brought him into this world, and despite his curiosity about who his parents were, searching them out wasn't worth the risk. Curiosity killed the cat and all that, and he could literally transform into a cat.
Quackity's silence seemed to be enough to the man, and his face fell as the answer was made clear to him, "Oh, oh I'm-" Sam stuttered, "Fuck, do you have any place to stay at? Some orphanage or foster home? Anything with a roof?"
More silence.
"God dammit, I just wanted a smoke," He muttered, dragging his huge hand over his face, "Alright kid," the man knelt down so they were at an even eye level, and picked up the wallet that had fallen into a puddle during the tussle with the man, "You keep this money, and I'll also buy you some lunch. Sound good?"
Quackity gaped at the lime-haired man. This is a trap. It has got to be. The shifter has heard enough stories about kids being taken from the streets by people in white vans, and has even had an experience or two himself with it (Being able to turn into a bear has never been so useful), but the man in front of him didn't seem like the type.
There was genuine kindness and worry in his eyes, a gentle type of care Quackity hadn't seen much of before. Maybe it was bad judgment, but Quackity felt almost inclined to trust the man.
Though if it turned out to not be the case, well Quackity had just perfected his hummingbird form and was pretty good at flying, so it wouldn't be that difficult to escape him.
Quackity nodded, "Okay."
The place Sam took him to was a diner Quackity had seen before. He'd never been there himself, his preferred place when he had money was a small sandwich shop that was insanely cheap, but it wasn't too far away from his bridge.
Sam hadn't said much on the short walk there, and well inside he didn't say much either. A worker, a young man with pale white hair and a frog beanie waved at Sam happily when he entered though, so Quackity presumed the man went there often.
"Hi Sam!" The pale-haired man greeted when the two had sat down at their booth, "Didn't expect to see you here today!"
"Hi Boomer," Sam replied, his smile more tired, "Yeah, it was a bit impulsive, so to speak," The tall man gestured his hand towards Quackity, and first then did Boomer seem to notice the shifter's presence.
"Oh hello!" Boomer's smile was wide, "Sorry I didn't see you there! I'm Boomer, and welcome to The Froggy Swamp Diner!"
Quackity gave him an awkward smile as a greeting. It was an odd name for a diner, but he didn't mind it. Frogs were an easy thing to shift into so they'd always been one of his favorites. Based on the frog hat, and the multiple frog posters and photos hung throughout the place, Quackity guessed that Boomer felt the same.
"So, what can I get for you? The usual?" Boomer turned back towards Sam, grabbing a notebook from one of his apron pockets. Sam nodded, and the pale-haired man turned to Quackity, "And what about you kid?"
Quackity glanced down at the menu he'd been handed, but the letters meant absolutely nothing to him. There weren't any pictures on the menu to indicate what each item meant, so he had no clue what anything meant. Feeling the two men's gazes on him, Quackity panicked and pointed to something at random, hoping that it was edible.
"Alright, so that's one stack of pancakes and a vanilla milkshake, and one bacon cheeseburger. Would you like fries with that? Anything to drink?" Boomer was scribbling down the order at an incredible pace, the pen flying over the notebook paper.
Quackity just nodded, "Yes, a Vanilla one too, please."
"Alright, coming right up!" He tucked the pen behind his ear and walked away, presumably towards the kitchen.
"You can't read-" Sam said, interrupting the silence that had been forming between them, "-can you?"
Quackity scowled, crossing his arms and looking down back at the menu that made no sense to him, "How could you tell?"
"I used to be a teacher," Sam leaned back in his seat, "I know the look of a kid who doesn't understand."
Quackity hummed, "Well it's hard to get an education, living on the streets and all."
Sam sighed, but didn't press on the subject. Their food arrived not too long after, and it was possibly the biggest, fattest, most juicy burger Quackity had ever seen. It couldn't even properly fit in his grasp, but that didn't stop the shifter from trying.
It tasted even better than it looked.
The fact that Quackity hadn't eaten in four days, much less a full meal, probably helped its case quite a bit, but even if that hadn't been the case it was still the best-tasting thing Quackity had ever tasted. The shifter could die right there, and he would die happily.
Quackity probably resembled an animal, devouring the food the way he did. The burger went down faster than he would have liked, and after he was done he moved on to the fries and milkshake, which tasted divine as well. He knew that it would be a long time before he had a meal like that again, so he made sure to not miss a single thing.
"So what can you do, exactly?" Sam cut through the silence once more, swirling the straw in his milkshake absentmindedly.
"What do you mean?" Quackity asked, sipping up the last of his own milkshake. The food was gone, every crumb on the tray had been devoured. Sam smiled endearingly at him, pushing his half-eaten plate of pancakes toward him. Quackity didn't hesitate, grabbing his fork to get working on the pancakes.
"I saw you in that alley Quackity. There was something going on with your body. So what are you, some form of energy manipulator? Can you control smoke? What's going on with you?"
Quackity's eyes widened, shifting his eyes around the diner. It was relatively empty, sure, but there were a few patrons scattered around the place, either waiting for their meal or already eating it. Any one of them could overhear what they were saying and report them to the police, or worse, the MCYT. A good meal was not worth the capture.
Sam must have noticed the stress in his gaze, and chuckled lightly, "Don't worry. This place is safe," He pointed to a man a few booths behind them with a long red coat, who was typing away at his laptop while drinking a milkshake, "Jordan over there can create sparkles from his fingertips" The man in question looked up from his laptop, and gave Sam a small wave before going back to his writing.
"Scott can freeze water," Sam gestured towards a teal-haired man who was talking with a man with dirty blonde hair, "His partner, Jimmy, can talk to cod,"
"And Etho-" The final person, a man with white hair and a scar over his left eye, sat in the corner of the diner, his attention fully captured by his phone, "-Etho doesn't have any powers, but his boyfriend Bdubs can turn into moss, and his girlfriend Cleo is can dismember and reattach her limbs with no struggle."
Quackity stared in awe at each person that Sam pointed out. Looking closer, he could see some small non-human details in all of them, like how sparks would sometimes fly over Jordan's keyboard when he pressed the keys a little too hard, or how Scott's eyes seemed to be an unnatural color of blue, or how Jimmy's freckles more resembled scales.
Before now, Quackity had never met a person like him. The only previous exposure he had even gotten to people with powers were either the superheroes, supervillains, or people he read of in abandoned newspapers whose powers had gone rogue. Those stories always scared him, people whose powers turned against them, causing them serious mental of physical harm. Some had even gotten killed.
But now he was sitting across a man who could create bombs out of nothing, surrounded by powered individuals or powered allies.
"Boomer opened this place up about ten years ago," Sam continued, looking around the diner, "He wanted it to be a safe haven for non-supers with powers, a place where they could go and meet people like them. It's not very well known by the public, and the MCYT hasn't caught wind of it yet. It's like an oasis in the desert."
"Is Boomer-?" Quackity asked, not quite sure of how to finish the sentence.
Sam nodded, "He has enhanced leap, and a long, prehensile tongue. The powers of a frog," Well, that would explain the frog and swamp theme. "I have the explosions I showed you earlier, plus enhanced stamina and resistance against fire. Not really superhero material."
"I can shapeshift," Quackity blurted out, biting his lip as soon as it escaped them. It was his first time actually saying it out loud, and it felt a bit weird. Good, but weird, "Into both animals and humans. I've also been experimenting with shifting just parts of my body, but that's still a work in progress."
"Shifting huh?" Sam looked deep in thought at his confession, slowly processing what the shifter had said, "That- that's a hero-worthy power," He finally said, his brows furrowed, "In fact, wasn't there a hero with shifting abilities, fifteen years ago or so?
Quackity shrugs, "I dunno. I barely even know any of the currently active heroes, much less inactive ones.”
Sam hums, "Then tell me, Quackity, what are you doing out on the streets? I mean my powers are dangerous, and these guys-" Sam motioned towards the other patrons in the diner, "-have mostly useless powers, but you could probably have a shot with the MCYT. Become a sidekick or something."
"I don't really like the heroes," Quackity replies, picking at the dirt under his nails, "I mean, some fucker robs a bank and they're there in a flash, but kids living on the streets? People suffering in poverty? Facilities containing innocent people who just happen to be born with powers? Nah, fuck those people, am I right?"
Sam let out a chuckle, "Couldn't have said it better myself kid," He took another sip from his half drunk milkshake, before pushing it towards Quackity with a smile. Quackity hesitantly grabbed it and took a slow sip, "But, I'm heavily advising you to stay off the streets. MCYT workers have started doubling down harder on testing the homeless and strays for power genes, and it could be very dangerous out there for you."
Quackity's eyes widened. He had been noticing more of his street kid "friends" disappearing lately, but that's just a part of living there. Sometimes people go missing, and there's just nothing you can do about it. But the MCYT snatching up people? That's a newer development.
"Why would they do that?" Quackity asks, more himself than Sam, but the man shrugs anyways.
"I'm not sure. Boomer thinks they could be looking for people with useful powers for the hero program," Sam glances around the diner, before leaning in closer, "But if you ask me, they're looking for people with dangerous powers, to wipe out the threat of a villain before it can properly take root."
Sam sighs, "I know something like an orphanage isn't an option for you, but please tell me you know someone powered that you can stay with? I assume you've heard about what happens when you try and escape hero recruitment."
"I don't know anyone powered," Quackity cuts in, "In fact, I had never met anyone else before today."
Sam was fully silent for a minute, the only thing moving was his eyes flickering across the diner. Quackity was unsure if he should say something, but before he had any chance to Sam let out a disgruntled noise.
"Fuck I just wanted a goddamn smoke," Sam muttered, "Listen kid, know that you are able to say no to this, and if you do I will still try and help you in any way that I can, but if you want to, you can come live with me."
Quackity gaped at him, “Are you serious?”
“Listen, I may not be a hero but I’m not a bad guy alright? If you’re left on the street there’s a very slim chance for your survival, even with your shapeshifter powers. And, well, I’ve got an extra room at my place, if I just clear out some things.”
“What would you be getting out of it?” Quackity squints in suspicion.
“A clear conscious? The ability to sleep at night?” Sam gives him a weak smirk, “No, but in all seriousness, I just want to help you kid. I won’t ask for anything else in return, ever.”
Quackity looks down at the table, his grip tight around the now-empty milkshake glass. Everything he’s learned through all of his life has made the answer to that question clear. Don’t trust anyone, especially not adults, especially not strange adults with powers who took a fourteen-year-old to grab food at a frog-themed diner.
But Sam just didn’t seem like the type to want to wish him harm. He was a teacher. He was a good friend of a man who owned a place for people with powers who wanted to find people they could relate to. He could have tried to take Quackity the second the man had scurried off in the alley, yet he bought him lunch.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”