Chapter Text
Quackity liked to think he was a strong willed man. He didn’t crack easily under pressure, he could adapt to any situation with ease, and he never backed down from a fight. He could roll with the best of them, he had stood up in the face of adversity and come out the other side stronger, albeit beaten and bloody, but he’d done it. He held his head high when he walked, he wore his scars with pride, and he stood up for what he believed in. It took quite a big blow to knock him down, really.
So, why did this hurt so fucking badly?
He knew it shouldn’t have shaken him as much as it had. He’d been arguing with Wilbur, as per usual, when it started getting more heated than it should. Maybe Quackity had taken it too far, insulting Phil and the man’s ability to raise a son, but Wilbur had been quick to bite back – had dished back just as low a blow.
“Silly of you of all people to question one’s family life, Quackity. How are your fiances? Haven’t seen them in a while.”
He’d said it so coyly, and it had been enough to make Quackity’s breath catch in his throat. His stomach twisted, chest stinging uncomfortably, and Wilbur had simply flashed him that sickening, charismatic grin that the duck despised.
That was how Quackity had found himself holed back up in his office, gritting his teeth, a vice like grip on his pen as he tried (failed) to complete the paperwork he so desperately needed to. He couldn’t seem to focus, his mind running a million miles a minute as he replayed the argument over and over in the back of his head. The mention of Sapnap and Karl were always a sore subject, one that he tried to avoid like the plague – and yet there they were.
Something tugged greedily in the back of his mind, a familiar fuzz telling him to slip, to let go of his worries for a couple of hours. He couldn’t, not without them. Not without Sapnap holding him in his arms, murmuring quiet words of praise as he peppered his cheeks with kisses. Not without Karl filling his favourite sippy cup with juice, singing soft lullabies to help him sleep.
He couldn’t regress, not without them.
The words seemed jumbled on the page in front of him, and before he knew it they were being blurred – why couldn’t he see?
A teardrop fell onto the paper, soaking in and smudging at the ink. Oh, he was crying.
He let the pen fall from his hand onto the desk, burying his face in his hands as the tears began to fall. It had been months since they’d left, since they abandoned him, why was he still so shaken up about this? He didn’t know why he’d ever expected it to work out in the long run. It had always been Karl and Sapnap against the world, Quackity had always been aware that he had always been the least valued member of their trio. If anyone was going to get left behind, it was him.
The duck hybrid vaguely heard the sound of his intercom going off and someone speaking, though he didn’t tune in enough to recognize the voice. He couldn’t bring himself to respond, or even really acknowledge it – he curled in on himself in his chair that suddenly felt far too big for a little boy like him, doing his best to suppress the sobs that so desperately wanted to make themselves heard.
He knew he was regressing against his own will. No matter how much he didn’t want to, no matter how much he told himself that he was a big boy who could take care of himself and that he shouldn’t have to regress, there was nothing he could do to stop it. Daddy and Dada weren’t around anymore, and all little Q wanted in that moment was a hug.
Quackity was too deep in his own cycle of self loathing to realize that the person who’d buzzed over the intercom was now making their way up to his office.
“Quackity from Las Nevadas!” Charlie, who still hadn’t fully grasped the concept of knocking, opened the door with that wide, signature smile of his. That smile faded upon seeing the sorry state the man was in, a look of sympathy crossing his goopy features. “You’re leaking! Why are you leaking?”
He approached the desk, coming around to stand beside Quackity’s chair instead of settling down in his usual place in the empty visitors seats. Slime had always been very touchy. He didn’t really understand personal space yet, which in that moment came as both a curse and a blessing. A hand settled on Quackity’s back, and the boy broke.
A harsh sob tore itself from his throat, turning to look up at the other with wide, tear-filled eyes.
“D-Dada and Daddy don’ wa-wan’ me nu mowe.” He hiccuped, reaching up with balled fists to rub at the moisture on his cheeks. He’d fully slipped without realizing it or meaning to, though when he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t even pinpoint how old he felt, everything was just too much to process.
“Ohh, well that’s not very nice of them! Who wouldn’t want you?” Charlie’s hand had begun to rub gentle shapes in between his shoulder blades, his voice raising a few octaves as if he were talking to a puppy. It only helped to make Quackity slip further, instinctively shifting himself closer to the slime.
“I-I ba-bad!” Quackity was practically wailing now, gasping for breath in between chokes cries. Charlie tutted at him, the hand that wasn’t rubbing his back reaching up to cup his cheek.
“Now Quackity from Las Nevadas, that’s not true. You’re just a little boy, how can you be bad?”
Quackity stared up at him for a moment, leaning into his touch like it was the only thing keeping him alive. His breath still stuttered, shoulders shuddering with each sob, but his thoughts were becoming slightly clearer – Charlie knew he was little. The only ones who knew had either abandoned him or were dead, so how could he know?
Then again, that didn’t really matter now. Charlie knew somehow.
“How about we get you into something cozier, Ducky,” the sweet sounding nickname slipped from Slime’s mouth so smoothly, and he found himself nodding almost immediately as the other continued, “are you hungry? I’m not allowed to use the kitchen, but Awesamdude from What-Does-It-Matter left some pasta downstairs!”
Quackity had never been more grateful that Charlie lived in the same tower as him. All the other citizens lived separately, but Charlie, being a little more naive than the others, opted to stay in the tower. They slept in separate rooms on separate floors, but Charlie was always close.
Quackity gave a shaky nod at the suggestion, reaching his arms up towards the blond. A grin split across Charlie’s face, bending down to lift the little into his arms. Quackity buried his face in the crook of his neck, legs around his waist. One of Charlie’s hands rested on his back, the other under his bottom to steady him, and all Quackity could process was just how safe it made him feel. His wings fluttered happily against his back, yelling feathers ruffling.
“I’ll carry you whenever you want, Quackity from Las Nevadas.”
Charlie carried the boy out of the office, continuing to hold him and coo quiet words of praise on their way down to Quackity’s floor.
“I used to have a little guy like you, y’know!” Charlie announced as the elevator doors opened, stepping out into Quackity’s living room. “We lived in a mountain together! It was called the Palcove. I hope Ted from the Palcove is okay, I haven’t seen him in a while. He liked to fish! Maybe he’s fishing.”
One of the curses of being thousands of years old was a fading memory. Charlie vaguely knew he had a life before migrating to the SMP – he remembered a cave and a man with a bright smile, he remembered a factory, he remembered a man with large, pointed horns that sold hamburgers.
He remembered the day everything fell apart, the entirety of the server sucked into the hole he kept trying to tell himself wasn’t there.
He’d been watching Quackity from Las Nevadas long before they’d actually met. He saw the way that the man with the flames and the man with the wrist clocks treated him when he behaved the same way as his own little Teddy.
Charlie carried Quackity into the bedroom, surveying the room for wherever the duck might hide his little supplies. There had to be something, right? What did he used to do with Ted?
“Do you have any stuff, bubby?” Charlie bounced the little one on his hip, watching with a fading smile as he shrugged. “Okay, let’s start with jammies. Do you have jammies?”
Quackity nodded, finally, pointing towards his closet. When Charlie opened it he found the man’s usual suits, button ups, ties, but pushed in the very back was a simple long sleeved blue oneise. He took it off the hook, showing it to the regressor with a smile.
“You wanna wear this, Ducky?”
“Mhm!” Quackity gave a hurried nod, reaching out to touch the soft fabric.
“Can you do it or do you need help?”
“I do!” He announced proudly. “’m a big boy, I do.”
Charlie set him down on the edge of the bed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He disappeared from the room as Quackity got himself changed, planning on hunting down some sort of a sippy cup to put water into. All that crying must have drained him of eye-juice, right? That was how humans worked?
Quackity, meanwhile, had gotten distracted with the task of getting himself changed. Once he had his onesie on he lifted his head to proudly tell Charlie, only to find himself alone in his bedroom. The same fears and reminders from earlier came rushing back – had Charlie left him, too? Had Quackity been bad? The tears from before resurfaced with a vengeance, spilling down his cheeks and into his lap.
He crawled over towards his pillows, grabbing the well loved, plush panda that had been buried under the covers. It had been given to him by Sapnap years prior, and though seeing it now made his heart hurt, he wanted the comfort the stuffie brought. He held it tightly in his arms, burying his face in it’s fur.
It was in that moment that Charlie rushed back into the bedroom, now filled sippy cup in hand.
“Quackity from Las Nevadas, I got you-” his brow furrowed upon seeing Quackity crying for the second time that day, setting the cup on the nightstand as he rushed over. “No, no, don’t leak again! What happened, Ducky?”
“Weft me! Don’ wan’ chu to weave! Swime!” Quackity sniffled as Charlie scooped him back into his hold, curling up on the slime’s lap. The blond shook his head, swiping trails of salt away with his thumbs as he pulled him close.
“I’m so sorry, bubba. Slime isn’t going anywhere. I can’t die! We’re together forever.” He rubbed their noses together, grinning at the giggle the little emitted.
“Foweva?”
“Mhm! Forever and ever.” Charlie leaned back against the headboard, reaching over to grab the abandoned sippy cup. Quackity snuggled into his chest, panda still in his arms. “Drink this for me, little guy. It’ll make your inside neck feel better!”
It really was amazing how easygoing Quackity was when he was little. The boy did what was told with an eager-to-please nod, grasping the sippy cup and drinking from it. The cold liquid really did do wonders for his throat, he hadn’t realized how sore and scratchy it actually felt.
The last few strands of tension vanished from the little’s body when Charlie began to pet the soft feathers that adorned his wings. He would have purred if he could, instead opting to make a soft chirping noise around the spout of his sippy.
It didn’t take long for Quackity’s eyes to droop shut once he’d finished his drink. It was funny how much crying could tucker you out. He let Charlie take the now empty cup from him and place it back on the nightstand, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. He trusted the slime in that moment, knowing deep down that when he eventually woke up, probably big again, he’d still be there. Charlie grabbed a blanket from nearby and bundled Quackity up in his arms, letting his own eyes slide shut. Yeah, a nap sounded good.
“Sweet dreams, Quackity from Las Nevadas.”