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Schlatt’s not sure what the fuck he’s supposed to do, exactly.
There’s a goddamn kid sitting in his kitchen staring at him with the widest eyes he’s ever seen, straining his neck to get a better look at the sharp ends of his horns, curiosity clear in every owlish blink he takes.
This kid can’t be older than, what? 6? Schlatt knows jackshit about kids, much less what they look like at what age, or what he's supposed to do when they're sitting there in his house. Looking like they're either about to burst into tears or bolt out the door, whichever was easier.
He squints a bit, staring at the kid's round face and the thick black hair peeking out from under his hat. There's something achingly familiar about the way his hair curls around the bottom of his neck, and the dark brown eyes that keep staring suspiciously right through Schlatt, and the way his nose scrunches in what must have been frustration.
Schlatt decides after another minute of this that, okay, yeah, he'll bite.
"So, what are you here for, exactly?" He runs a hand down his face slowly, waiting for the kid's reaction.
He receives a shrug and the shake of his head in response. There's a quiet huff, not from him, before a small sign is pulled from the kid's inventory and the sound of messy scribbling fills the usually silent room.
"'Not sure. Shouldn't... you know?' Well, how the hell am I supposed to know? You- you think I just asked for some kid to fall out of the sky, like that? Huh?"
Despite the harsh tone of his voice, this kid doesn't do anything more but shrug his shoulders again, almost mockingly, before rolling his eyes the exact same way Schlatt had done minutes prior. Schlatt scoffs, wondering who he needs to call to get this thing off his hands A S A fuckin' P.
"Don't roll your eyes at me, kid, I saw that. I don't do it like that. Also, how'd you even get here? There's no way you know to use waystones."
He breaks the sign. Another takes its place a few seconds later, this time reading, 'i don't know. how did you get heer?'
"Listen, smartass, I'm tryin' to help you. Help me help you, since we've gotta find your parents. Or find someone to find you your parents, I don't fuckin- sorry, sorry, shouldn't swear in fronta kids."
The kid seems to shrink at the words, hunching in on himself and drawing his shoulders higher, which makes Schlatt feel a lot worse than he thinks he ever expected to feel about anything any child could do. But, seconds later, the boy simply sighs and flops backwards onto the floor, laying there in a splayed out position. It makes Schlatt chuckle.
Who could he contact that knew anything about kids? He crosses his arms in thought, and watches as the younger observes and copies him, crossing his arms too, except he's gotten his arms mixed up and his elbows jut out at an awkward looking angle. It'd be sorta cute, if the thing wasn't his problem to deal with.
Schlatt can't do kids. He hardly remembered what it was like himself, though he does remember jumping from server to server a lot as a teenager, so that must've been what it looked like for him. But little kids were sticky, whiny, wailing blobs of fat that threw wrenches in all of his plans, and he's so out of his element here, he might as well have been a camel in fuckin' Alaska.
"Do you know where your parents are, buddy?"
Another sign is placed down. The word 'NO' is etched onto this one in all caps, and the kid taps impatiently at the sign this time when all Schlatt can do is stare blankly.
"Okay, shit, I don't know what I expected."
'you swore' is written quickly, with the r backwards, right next to the 'NO', and Schlatt resists the urge to find the nearest bottle of alcohol, preferably somethin’ strong, and start chugging it.
"Yeah, yeah, sorry buddy."
The ram looks over the kid again, this time a bit closer than he had before. There’s scales running along his neck and forearms, a shimmery shade of silver, meaning he was clearly not completely human. The tips of his fingers are a deep shade of gray, sharp like needles, and tap nervously against the counter, clearly unable to stay still with the sudden attention put on him again. Tiny horns, a similar ivory to his, protrude from the top of his head.
Suddenly, there's loud knocking at his door. Schlatt swings his head around, alarmed, and spots the familiar flash of golden feathers through the window, groaning at the shitty timing of his friend.
Quackity. He’d been coming over almost everyday by that point, just to fuck around and take up space in Schlatt’s house. Any other day, he’d have been fine with it, even happy to have him clinging to his arms and hanging off his back. But today.
He's about to tell the kid sitting in his kitchen to stay put, but pauses when he spots the unadulterated fear plastered all over his face.
The kid's eyes widen when he sees the stranger through the window too, hands quickly grabbing at his shirt. He rocks on his heels, once, twice, before he ends up darting into the living room and behind Schlatt's beloved armchair.
“Whoa! Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, dude, it’s just my friend Quackity. He won’t rat you out, I swear.”
The black-haired boy’s eyes only narrow in distrust, back pressed against the chair like he’ll disappear into it if he tried hard enough.
”Kid… I literally just realized this, I- I probably should’ve asked you this before, but do you have a name?”
He nods. Schlatt raises an eyebrow expectantly and snorts when he receives another eyeroll and a sign shoved into his hand.
”Bronx, huh?”
The knocking comes again, more insistent, this time followed by shouting that makes Bronx flinch.
”Alright, Bronx. Stay put, I'll be back. Just over there."
Before he can step any further, Schlatt feels a hand grab at his wrist, pulling him back behind the sofa and down onto the ground. He grunts when he lands on the floor, barely catching himself with his hands. Bronx shakes his head insistently, pointing out at the window, where Quackity's knuckles resting on the glass can be seen.
"Yeah, no, I know. I'm gonna go let him in. And life lesson, don't pull people like that!"
This time, when Schlatt stands, Bronx stays crouching with his head in his knees. The ram doesn't stop himself from reaching out to smooth the curls of hair peeking out from under his hat.
"You're so dramatic, dude. It's just Quackity. He's totally harmless, unless you count how goddamn loud he is."
Bronx doesn't look any less troubled, but he does giggle at his words.
When Schlatt opens the door, he's not expecting to be tackled by Quackity, whose smile is surprisingly wide. He yelps as arms squeeze tight around his broad shoulders, and he ignores the way his heart begins to pound at how close their faces are getting as the duck begins talking.
"There you are! Where the hell have you been, man? I haven’t seen you since Katie’s disaster of a wedding-“
”Oh right, right. That was yesterday. I’ve been occupied, lately, with something."
"Something? Didn't know you were workin' on something new?" Quackity perks up, tilting his head in genuine confusion, "I thought you would've told me."
"Well, yeah, see- it's not really a project, but it's something new. For sure."
"What is it?"
Schlatt sucks in a breath, eyes spotting tiny ivory horns poking out from the side of his armchair. But he knows Quackity won't put this kid in any harm, not any more than he himself would anyways. There wasn't anybody else he could trust with something as fragile as this.
"Alright, you have to promise me to stay calm, okay? Don't ask questions until... you know what, you'll see."
"Okay... see what?"
"And promise me," Schlatt raises his voice, comically loud at this point, so he knows the tiny bundle of nerves hiding in his living room can hear, "you won't tell anyone else, got it?"
"Schlatt, what the fuck are you doing? Nobody else is here."
"Quackity, just say yes. Please."
"What the fuck? Okay, yeah, yeah, sure man. What is it?"
As if on cue, Bronx comes stumbling out from his place behind the armchair, eyeing Quackity suspiciously the entire time. He bounds over to the doorway, hiding behind Schlatt's leg as he goes to close the door. Quackity gasps. The boy grip at ram's pants even tighter.
"Oh my god. Schlatt, you have a kid?! Who’s the other parent??”
Schlatt doesn’t miss the way Quackity’s voice tightens, suddenly unable to look away from Bronx’s little horns.
"He's not mine! He's not- Jesus, no, he's not biologically my kid. He's got like, scales 'nd shit. Sorry." Bronx tugs at the fabric when he hears the swear, and Schlatt only pats his hat in response. "This is Bronx. Showed up at my door last night, didn't say anything. Just kinda walked in. And I'm not gonna kick him out, you know, I’m not a horrible person like that, but I can't exactly let him stay."
"Yeah, but… dude, he looks just like you.”
Schlatt stares at the duck. There was no fucking way.
”What the fuck are you talking about?”
”What do you mean? He’s wearing a Yankees hat, oh my god! He- he’s got little horns, man, and when he glares, it’s just like you when you’re mad! Holy shit!”
”You’ve gotta be fuckin’ with me, so I’m ignoring literally every word you’re saying. I don’t care. Bronx, come say hi to this asshole.” Schlatt winces again, “Dammit! Sorry, kid. Again.”
“Hi, buddy. How’re you? How’d you end up on the island?”
Bronx shrugs his shoulders, releasing his hold on Schlatt’s pants and moving to rock back and forth on his heels slowly. Quackity waits patiently as the kid pulls a sign out, eyes flickering from the duck, to the words being etched into the sign, and then the duck again.
“You don’t know? Hey, that’s alright. That’s okay! We’ll help you, okay? Yeah, man!”
Quackity’s voice is gentle, reassuring, a huge contrast from his usual frantic shouting that always came as a result of his disastrous antics.
“How did you get here, man?”
Bronx shrugs again, halfheartedly. His attention clearly isn’t on the question, instead focused on Quackity’s wings, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Quackity himself. He motions for him to come closer.
”Oh, my wings? You like ‘em?”
The duck then kneels down to Bronx’s level, laughing as the kid nods and begins to touch the feathers gingerly.
”Hey, buddy, be careful with those…” Schlatt moves to pull him away, but Quackity only shakes his head.
”He’s fine, old man. Bronx knows not to pull, right little guy?” Quackity laughs louder when one of the feathers tenses and wiggles, causing the kid to squeal and retract his hand quickly with wide, nervous eyes. “No! No, you’re fine.”
Schlatt wants to die.
Fuck me, he’s good with kids.
”We’ve gotta ask someone for help, Quackity. We can’t just deal with him on our own.”
”Why not?” He hums, bringing a hand up to Bronx’s hair, fixing the crooked hat on his head with a laugh. “Nice hat.”
Bronx smiles, for the first time since he’s arrived, and brings out another sign. His handwriting, eager and messy, writes out a ‘thank you’ with the ‘u’ backwards.
“What do you mean ‘why not?’, we’re not… we’re not doin’ this!”
”Hey, don’t yell in front of the kid, calm the fuck down! Sorry.”
Schlatt takes in the scene in front of him, Bronx standing between the two with his hands on his hips, copying Quackity who’s glaring back at Schlatt with his hands also on his hips.
”Jesus Christ, you know what I realized?”
”What? What the hell did you realize?”
”That kid looks just like you.”
”What?! Sorry, buddy, didn’t mean to yell.”
”Yeah! Yeah, Q, he’s got your hair! And that thing, you do, with your nose. Oh yeah, that’s gotta be yours.”
”He’s not my kid, dumbass! Not that, that it’d be horrible. To have him as my kid, and all that.”
Quackity glances at the child, who had found himself occupied with the pictures on Schlatt’s walls. Not paying any attention to their conversation.
”Okay. I’m sorry I yelled, pumpkin. But we can’t do this on our own. We need someone, maybe multiple someones to-“
”Who then? What’re you thinking?”
”I… don’t know. Isn’t there like, a fire department or something around? Is that what the Federation is?”
”Are you suggesting we turn him in?? To Cucurucho??”
Quackity’s entire demeanor drops at the thought, from confused to something angry and horrified and in disbelief that Schlatt would ever suggest such a thing.
“Well, I don’t know-“
”No. I’m not turning in an innocent goddamn kid, Schlatt, look at him! We don’t have any dragons here. Not…not anymore. But the Federation? They’ll take him apart! They don’t give a shit what happens to him, they’ll tear him to pieces, and then what’ll happen to him?”
Quackity’s staring at him like he’s never met him before in his life. He sounds like something’s smacked him right in the chest and forced the air from his lungs.
Schlatt doesn’t know much about Quackity’s past with the organization that’s been monitoring them since they set foot on this island, but he knows it’s led to many, many late nights of him not getting a blink of sleep and being wrapped up in Schlatt’s bed, shaking and sobbing and refusing to leave. He knows it can’t be good.
Bronx watches, worried, before he rushes back over to tap the duck on the back and stop him in his tracks. Quackity smooths a hand over the boy’s face, patting it gently, reassuring. He’d never have believed the two had just met.
”No. Chill out, I didn’t mean that, Quackity.” Schlatt reaches an arm out, only to steady his friend, but finds himself with his body pressed close against his instead. The duck’s taken it upon himself to wrap his arms around his torso, no sign of letting go soon. He feels warm inside. “It was a bad joke, I swear.”
”Yeah?”
”Yeah. No, I meant askin’ like, Philza maybe, if he knows a guy who might know a guy. Not turnin’ the kid into the Feds, what?”
”I know. I know. I fuckin’ freaked out, I know you wouldn’t- just, you know.” Schlatt only presses his lips to the duck’s forehead, instinctively. He does know.
“Yeah. I do.”
”We can ask for help, yeah. That’s smart.”
”You’re on board with this now?” Schlatt raises an eyebrow. Quackity smiles against his shoulder. “That was easier than I thought.”
”That kid’s fuckin’ cute man. Of course. Probably why you said it looks like me, huh?”
Schlatt laughs, feeling calm spread through his body and a tiny hand slipping into his.
———
Bronx is a surprisingly clingy kid. Or maybe, he’s just suddenly gotten real comfortable with the two.
As the next two days went by, Quackity had opted to take the kid outside a bit, just to play around as the grownups did some talking. They’d decides to test the waters first, see if anyone had seen a kid around the island, if anyone would be willing to step in subtly.
When their messages to literally anyone else they’d considered (which was already a shockingly short list) had either dismissed them or hadn’t answered, they gave up and just played hide-and-seek with Bronx in the yard until he’d tired himself out enough to fall asleep on Schlatt’s shitty couch.
”You know, the kid does kinda look like me.” Quackity hums, looking surprisingly relaxed for someone who had a whole kid curled up in their lap. “His hair is a bit curlier than mine, though.”
”He’s as cute as you are when you’re not fuckin’ yelling at me.”
”Shut the fuck up.” Quackity flicks at the hand resting his side. “Hah, you think I’m cute.”
The whole thing is so domestic, Schlatt feels like he could puke. He’d be lying if he said he’d never thought of a life like this before, though, to be fair.
“So, where do you think he’s from?”
”Not sure. He’s got like, dragon scales and sharp teeth, so probably a dragon.”
”Huh.”
Bronx shifts a little in his sleep, nearly falling off the couch in the process, but Quackity reaches a hand out to tug him closer. Schlatt ignores the way it makes him feel so fond, dangerously soft.
“Dammit, this kid doesn’t stop moving, even in his sleep. He almost broke my ankle out there!”
”You’re just not athletic, man. I caught him easy.”
”Yeah, cause he ran right into you. Wouldn’t have caught him if he was crawling between your chests. Why do you even have that many?” He grumbles.
”We can’t all be homeless bums who live off of other people’s supplies, you know.”
“I’m not homeless!”
”Then why do you spend all your time at my house??” Schlatt snorts when Quackity shakes his head, cheeky, “Go home, man.”
”Nah. I like your bed better.”
”We all have the same fuckin’ beds!”
“I like your bed better cuz you’re in it, though.”
Schlatt turns away to watch the rain that had forced them inside, ignoring the way his face heats up. Jesus, he was a grown ass man, acting like this.
”That- that was awful, my god.”
”Mhmm, that’s why you haven’t kicked me out yet.” Quackity bats his eyelashes teasingly, bursting out in laughter when Schlatt shoves him on his side.”“Hey! Watch the kid!”
He shakes his head. “Right. The kid. What’s the plan, then?”
“I mean, you can’t let him stay? What else do you do, anyways?”
”Oh, easy for you to say. You don’t live here!”
”But I could!” Quackity sits up, “I would! If you let me, or if you don’t, I don’t care I’d still move in.”
”Of course. To… to help?”
”Yeah! Schlatt, he deserves a home of some kind. I mean, until we can find out more, you know? Mine is… not ideal. Okay, stop looking at me like that. I know!”
”Shit. I guess. I- yeah. Okay, yeah, fine.” He agrees surprisingly quickly, shocking to even himself. Schlatt can’t help but stare at Quackity as he smiles in relief, so bright and beautiful it makes him sick.
Quackity’s heart was the biggest of anyone he’d ever met, honestly, so it shouldn’t have struck him this hard that he’d be so willing to help a child in need. Maybe that’s why he felt so compelled to stick around. But, as the way the duck brings Bronx closer against his side, Schlatt’s not sure what he’s feeling. At all.
“You’re safe, little guy.” Bronx doesn’t respond to Q’s muttering, and only snores in his sleep, “We’ll help you. We’ll find help. Swear it. They’re not gonna find you.”
And then, Quackity’s kissing him, hard and so genuinely, he almost slides off the fuckin’ couch. Lips pressed to his, Schlatt finds himself wrapping an arm around his shoulders to stabilize them both. He kisses back.
”I’m sorry. I’m not.” Quackity blinks, pulling away briefly, “You’re everything. Sorry.”
Schlatt’s not sorry, he thinks, not at all.