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Quackity struggled to breath as he walked out of the building. His body was moving by itself, possessed by the long forgotten urge to escape, going faster each second, not even daring to look back while his surroundings—usually a thing to admire—mixed in a blurry of bright colors and flashing lights.
Fuck, he had been so fucking close.
He had everything planned out, from the TNT to the throne. This was supposed to be the end. His own self-fabricated end, like everything else in his life he was going because he had wanted it, by his own hand and not by the hand of some psycho or his mistakes biting him in the butt. Everything he had built-
It was his to end.
He had even sent Foolish on a break. Earlier in that month. And he tried to be subtle, hinting at the other how he probably wished for a break, to see more places than just this country. And foolish just—stared. The expression on his face had been almost mournful. Quackity should’ve expected it, he had always been way too good understanding how Quackity’s mind worked after all. Despite that, he showed no resistance, he nodded in silent comprehension, Quackity tried to smile at him. He was gone the next morning. And so, Quackity took it as a signal to let his country—the city that never sleeps—finally rest.
He remembered reading in some place, a long time ago, about supernovas, how the death of a star could outshine the very sun. He wondered if Las Nevadas would be the same, brighter than ever, like an ethereal glimpse.
And then—
He ran away.
He needed to get out of here.
…
Slime looked at him with a sigh, something very close to pity covering his words, “You look…”
In another time, Quackity would have been offended. How dared someone look down at him? To pity him? How dared Slime to ever think of himself as superior to his creator?
He didn’t find it inside him to care anymore.
“So tired.” He finished.
“I, uh.”
He couldn't help but stare, Slime was so like the innocent and happy creature who insisted to be human that he had taken under his wing in what felt like so much time ago and at the same time, it felt like staring at a stranger, when his voice went low, when his eye—his only visible eye—drifted and looked down or the way his clothes were messy with goop.
He looked like him, like Quackity, so tired, so fucking alone.
In the same fucked up way he had been so similar to himself before, to the best version of himself. One that had been hurt and betrayed, yet refused to give up. He’d always seen himself a little bit in slime, maybe that’d been his biggest mistake—everything he thought would “protect” him, just fucked him up the same way Quackity is.
“Yeah,” he admitted, “I am.”
…
He tried to ignore how his stomach wrenched when he heard Slims was leaving to explore the world.
He smiled, gave him a few coherent words, some more than others. He was happy for Slime. Really.
He was so happy that he would finally leave and find his own purpose—Slime looked so goal driven, like on a mission, so sure of himself even in little aspects as his posture or how he looked at the horizon with longing, it made Quackity feel like a little piece of shit for some reason—instead of staying with Quackity in this god forsaken land, and that this would be the last time Quackity would see him, and Slime would eventually forget him, because what the fuck was Quackity to a whole world?
He was so happy for slime, really.
“And remember, don’t trust too many people.” Quackity says, grimacing when his own voice betrays him, making him sound so unsure of his own words, so defenseless.
Slime looks up at him with a solemn expression on his face, it almost hurts how changed he looks, “Quackity-”
He looks at him with a faint smile and his deep void eyes. The desert sun shines above him and brings light to his face.
“Thank you for teaching me what it’s like to be human.”
That doesn't make Quackity feel fucking better. In fact, it probably makes him feel worse, because he’d never said it, but Slime is as human as anyone can get, he is more human than Quackity. But he should feel proud shouldn't he? Slime was leaving on his own and fuck.
Quackity had made him, he’s supposed to fucking own slime, he had teach him, he made him different. He never brought a drop of alcohol near Slime, let alone drink it, everytime he needed a shot he made sure to drink it in his room or his office whenever the other wasn't at sight. He made alcohol-free drinks on the bar, and he never got too deep into politics with Slime, he wouldn't let him get dragged to the bottom by a hopeless nation or meaningless wars, he-
He had tried his fucking best, and still, Slime—as everyone else—was fucking leaving him.
“Goodbye, Quackity From Las Nevadas.”
Great, just what he needed to get back to that fucking room and blow everything up.
At least Quackity knew Slime would be safe, if any of his teachings worked at all, if they were any good. Slime would probably live a happy life. It was okay, and he won't have to worry about Quackity again too.
This was just the start for Slime.
Quackity’s heart ached for some reason.
Before he's even conscious of it, his mouth opens, “Slime. I'm-” eyes looking at him, expectingly. What the fuck was he doing? Haven't he screwed up enough already?
Breathe, breathe. Fuck. What does he even have to say? Why must he open his big mouth just when everything is already over? Is he going to lie again? Pretend everything is okay? What the fuck is he going to do.
Slime keeps still, with his mouth on a thin line and he looks so fucking familiar, and Quackity yearns.
“I'm sorry.” He ends up blurting out the first thing that comes to his mind.
Slime’s eye opens up like a plate and he opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out.
And since Quackity is a selfish man, he continues.
“I'm…sorry okay?” He says with a hint of desperation hanging from his voice—maybe more than a hint, “I was a total failure, that's what I am; a failure, and I tried to trick you and I trick everyone to think otherwise but I can't. Because I failed you,” he admits, “I still do and I-I wasn’t who you needed I wasn’t…a good person. Ever.” He takes a breath, and ignores the beat of silence before continuing, “And I'm sorry because I never thought of trying before I met you and it's too late now, but I can't let you go before you know that at least I'm sorry.”
He stopped when Slime grabbed his shoulder.
“Quackity.” From Las Nevadas, his mind filled the gap and he smacked himself mentally for it.
“I forgive you.” He says, but Quackity never teach him forgiveness, he only thought slime about hatred and enemies and-
“You weren't a good person. But don't get mistaken Quackity From Las Nevadas. You were everything I needed.”
And that does something, because Quackity has the sudden urge to hold back tears as Slime starts turning his back at him.
His head wanders back to the room with TNT, to the throne of mistakes at the center.
Fuck it.
“Slime,” he calls and the other sends him a questioning look, “you said that maybe there was someone willing to learn from you and I Uh.”
Common’ he can do this.
“I think I could learn a lot If I go with you. Wherever you go. The whole world” He says and his head hurts like living hell but at least Slime is looking at him now and then-
Then he smiles.
“Quackity from Las Nevadas,” Quackity feels like floating, “I would love to explore the world with you.”
And then, there are two sloppy and goopy arms surrounding him, clinging to him like Quackity was something that must be treated with gentleness, something precious. Slime’s body presses against him, he was taller than he was back then, but quackity didn't care. He would go with him to explore the last corner of the earth, even if Quackity couldn't find the attractive—he had his whole world right here.
He pressed back and clenched his hands on Slime’s shirt, he would never let go, not again.