Chapter Text
Quackity curses himself for staying out past dark. He left his armor at his apartment, assuming he’d get home before mobs became a serious issue. The rain pours down around him in harsh torrents. Soaking his thin clothes, making the ground muddy, and limiting his visibility. His wings weigh him down, heavy and waterlogged. He stumbles up a hill, his feet slipping every other step. An arrow pieces his shoulder and he stumbles, his knees splashing into the muddy ground.
He groans in pain, fighting the urge to curl into a ball. A rotting hand grabs at his ankle and he pulls himself out of his pained haze. He forces himself back to his feet, letting out a sharp hiss of pain. The arrow went through his shoulder, there’s nothing he can do about it until he gets home. He slams his axe into the zombie trailing after him and it goes down with a disgusting squelch.
He pulls a golden apple from his inventory and takes a quick bite, letting the regeneration kick in. He stumbles forward towards the light he sees in the distance. His vision grows hazy at the edges.
He curses, letting out a slew of expletives. He moves his feet, one after the other, until he gets around the hill. He lets out a sigh of relief at the house in the distance, the warm reds of the brick are a sight for sore eyes.
He debates calling out for Schlatt, but he doubts the ram could hear him with the storm. He lets out a deep sigh before throwing himself into the river separating him from the outside and a warm home. The water is frigid, he feels his whole body shiver. He paddles weakly, his exhaustion and pain slowing him down. He barely pulls himself onto the bank, coughing up water and mucus.
“Fuck.” He mummers, without real fire. “Just ten more feet man.”
He inches himself forward, until his feet aren’t in the icy water. He tries to push up from the ground but his arms fail him. He slams back into the ground. He groans, his shoulder throbbing.
A sudden light assaults his eyes. Schlatt stands in the doorway, warm light framing his horns and tense posture. He steps out onto the porch, a cigarette to his lips.
“Alex?” He questions stepping closer to the man.
Quackity just groans in response. Schlatt covers his head with his suit jacket, moving towards his fallen form. Schlatt grabs him by the arm, pulling him upright and Quackity stumbles to his feet. Gasping as the other man pulls too harshly on his injured arm.
“Be fucking careful.” He hisses.
Schlatt lets out an amused huff. Putting an arm around Quackity, pulling the smaller man into his side. Step by step they make it to the ram’s front door. Water gets all over the entryway, Quackity shivers at the sudden warmth. Schlatt leads him further into his house.
“Stay here, I’ll go get my medkit and some towels.”
Quackity hums non-comitally.
“And don’t fucking ruin my furniture with your patheticness.”
Schlatt’s heavy boots slam on the steps, as he goes upstairs.
Quackity elects to ignore that vague warning. He stumbles towards the couch, throwing himself down once he’s close enough. He haphazardly kicks off his shoes, his socks following after. The fireplace burns bright, the warmth soothes him. He spreads out the best he can on the couch, leaning his back against the armrest to avoid pushing the arrow further in. He closes his eyes, his head pounds at the pain and the bright lights.
Schlatt storms down the stairs, moving loud enough that Quackity can track where he is without sight. The ram blocks the light of the fireplace, Quackity tries to open his eyes. They fall shut again with his attempt.
“What did I say about the furniture?” Schlatt demands, though it’s clear his heart isn’t in it.
“Sorry man, I needed a nap.” Quackity giggles a little. “Funny seeing you here.”
“In my own fucking home?”
Quackity laughs harder, Schlatt sighs, pushing Quackity’s legs off the couch and sitting next to him.
“Let me see the damage.”
Quackity finally manages to keep his eyes open. Schlatt holds a medkit in his lap, looking at Quackity expectantly.
“You just want to see me without my shirt on.” He accuses, pointing at Schlatt, gasping when his shoulder moves with the gesture.
Schlatt winces in sympathy, pulling out a pair of scissors. Quackity unclasps his overalls, letting the straps fall onto his lap. He glares at Schlatt.
“I wish you would be less difficult, I’m helping you out of the goodness of my heart.”
“I doubt that.”
“Oh simmer down, only one of us needs medical care, and it ain’t me.”
Schlatt moves closer, observing the arrow going through Quackity’s shoulder. He cuts his shirt, the wet fabric stained with blood. Schlatt throws the remains of the shirt onto the ground with a wet thump. Small streams of blood run down Quackity’s chest, no longer being absorbed by the fabric. Schlatt pokes around the wound, ignoring the hisses of pain.
“No exit wound,” he comments, “this is going to hurt like a bitch.”
In one smooth motion he pulls the arrow out. Quackity grits his teeth and screams. Schlatt puts a rag to the wound, it burns worse. The rag quickly gets stained with blood. Quackity’s chest rises and falls rapidly, the pain finally breaking through the haze of adrenaline. Schlatt uncorks a potion, the faint smell of glistening melon wafts in the air. He lifts a rag and pours it straight onto the wound. It starts closing almost immediately, the flesh knitting itself back together until only a faint scar remains.
Quackity throws his head back, letting his eyes fall shut again. Schlatt starts to wipe him off with a towel, cleaning blood and water from his skin. He briefly dries his hair, enough to wick up the droplets.
“Alright, take off your pants.”
“What the fuck!” Quackity sits up, staring at the ram-hybrid with shock. “You’re a fucking pervert.”
Schlatt only stares back at him, his expression taut.
“Or maybe, it’s because you are soaked to the bone and I don’t want you sitting around in wet clothes.”
“Oh.” Quackity mummers, a faint blush forming. “Sorry, can you look the other way?”
“No.” Schaltt smirks at him. “I think it’s fine.”
“You’re such an asshole.” Quackity scoffs, grabbing the edge of his overalls.
Schlatt pushes himself off the couch with a groan, taking a moment to stretch.
“What? The show’s not good enough?”
“You’re so touchy, I’m going to get you a change of clothes.”
Quackity ignores Schlatt, realizing he might feel better out of wet clothes. He throws the rest of his outfit to the ground, wrapping the towel around himself. He moves to the ground, trying to get closer to the fireplace. He fights the urge to close his eyes once again, he just needs a change of clothes and then he can sleep.
Schlatt throws a bundle of clothes at him, it jerks him out of his half awake state.
“You know where the bathroom is.”
Quackity uses the couch to stand, holding the towel tightly around himself. He goes to move past Schlatt but the man puts a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.
“Be careful out there,” Schlatt mummers, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I can’t always be here to save you.”
Quackity flushes pink, surprised by the sudden affection. He deflects, grinning at the ram.
“You know me, always up to something.”
Schlatt huffs in amusement, letting go of Quackity.
“Go change.”
Quackity stumbled his way into the bathroom, wincing as he turned on the lights. His reflection stared back at him, he looked like shit. The bags under his eyes were dark and he looked barely conscious. His wings droop sadly, matted and in disarray. He put the clothes on the counter, finally looking at them. An oversized T-shirt, well worn sweats, and undergarments. Quackity sighed, vaguely humiliated by having to wear the other man's old clothing. He gets dressed quickly, fighting with his sore shoulder to get the shirt over his head.
He feels much warmer, which is a relief, he wraps his arms around himself. The shirt is thankfully large enough that his wings can sit undisturbed. He'd die of shame if he had to cut the back of Schlatt's shirt for wing holes. He makes his way back to the living room. He finds Schlatt in the kitchen staring out the window, a cigarette in his mouth. Schlatt turns to look at him, exhaling, the smoke curling from his lips. He stubs it in an ash tray.
“I can sleep on the couch if you’d like?” Quackity offers.
“And let you bitch at me in the morning about your poor sleep? No way.” Schlatt grins at him. It’s not a soft smile but there’s something fond in his eyes.
“Alright then.”
Schlatt leads him upstairs and Quackity stumbles up the stairs, almost as if he were drunk. Schlatt puts a warm hand against his back to steady him. Quackity throws himself onto the bed as soon as it’s within sight. Schlatt turns off the light, settling down next to him. Quackity rolls onto his side, facing the other man. Schlatt watches him for a moment, simply sharing the air. Without words, Quackity is pulled into his chest. Schlatt smells like smoke and whiskey. Quackity sighs, relaxing into the hold. Letting himself fall asleep to the sound of Schlatt’s heartbeat.