Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Quackity's chest heaved as he crossed the trail one foot at a time, placing one heavy in front of the other. His head throbbed with a growing headache, as did the soles of his feet, protesting when he stepped on yet another rock.

"Hijo de su-" He kicked the rock, yelping out in pain once more as it irritated his already swollen toes.

Quackity was not built for hiking, especially not solo. Had Foolish been around he would have forced the man to carry him the rest of the way, put those stupid, flashy muscles to use.

But no! Quackity, being the impulsive dumbass he was decided to go hiking instead of visiting his family for the weekend like a sane human being, or perhaps staying in and binging another mediocre rom-com with Charlie. Enjoy some fresh air, they said. The views will be worth it, they said.

Sure, he entertained those ideas for the first fifteen minutes of the hike, snapping pictures of pleasing sights and picking flowers to give to his roommates.

He put his phone down rather quickly though, the flowers having long since wilted.

Quackity just needed a break from everything, he needed a break from the constant urge to rip his skull open and stuff it with his books because the gods knew he could not stand having to read and memorize one more paragraph.

But he dug his own grave, as he always did. He did it when he applied to law school to begin with, and did it again when he stuck around this far. All he ever wanted was to please his parents, give them the opportunity to boast about their son to their peers, look at him and see more than just a failure, so he took the fucking shovel.

He supposed he did it again when he woke up this morning, once more doing what others deemed the best way to let off some steam.
It was too late to dwell, he was well aware, so he scanned the area with each step he took, legs crying for a break.

With an exasperated sigh, deep from the soul, he flopped on the first clean patch of grass he came across. He let out a pained cry, both from the way his muscles throbbed and the fact he was quite literally on the verge of an existential crisis.

Maybe he should find himself a wealthy woman or man to settle down with. He was still twenty-two and had a pretty enough face, he was at his prime. Everyone knew those old fucks preferred anyone without a developed frontal lobe, meaning he had three years to his expiration date.
Quackity looked up at the sky, already a beautiful mix of blue and red, silently mourning the sight he would miss. Foolish said the sunset was especially beautiful on top of the mountain, but he missed it.
His eyes stung. Fuck. What kind of full-grown adult cries over a goddamn sunset?

Quackity was tired, incredibly so. He was tired of things never going his way, never going the way they were supposed to. He forced himself up, ignoring the way his legs trembled. The sooner he returned home, the sooner this would be over, and soon he would be able to lay back in his bed and pretend like none of this had happened.

But then he saw it— a shooting star.

The sky was not nearly dark enough for it to be so blindingly bright, but it made his lips quirk up the slightest bit, so he shut his eyes.

"Fuck, okay. I uhh- I hope I'm doing the right thing here." Quackity prayed to the world, knowing it was in vain. "I hope I don't end up regretting my choices."

Quackity finally looked up to where the shooting star was, taking a double-take when it seemed to... grow?

He blinked once more, doubting his vision. Except it kept getting closer and closer, headed in his direction. He could feel a wave of hot air wash over him, warming up his body, evaporating the sweat on his skin, and oh-

Quackity stumbled to get away, adrenaline pushing his aches away as he fought not to be roasted by whatever that thing was. The flaming object beeped loudly, however, swerving and changing its trajectory to not hit him head-on.

He toppled to the ground when it shook violently beneath his feet, rocks and dirt scratching at his skin as he stared, bewildered, at the cloud of smoke emerging from just beyond his line of vision.

Yup. That was it, Quackity has officially gone insane. He had finally reached the brink, the endless sleepless nights finally taking a toll on his mental health. Because surely he was not just nearly hit by a meteorite. And surely, said meteorite was not intelligent enough to swerve away from him and save his life.

He let out a pathetic whine, forcing himself on his feet once more and walking into the forest, using his phone to illuminate his path between the trees.

Hiking at night alone was stupid, but going into the forest, where wild animals could jump him at any given moment? That was a level of idiocy Quackity never knew he could reach. Foolishly, he prayed that the impact scared them off the way it would have scared off a sane human.

Alas, no law student was sane. He wanted some drama in his life, so he trod forward.

After all, what's the worst that could happen? It was not every day that he got to see meteorite, maybe this useless hike was worth it, in a way.
It did not take him long to reach his destination, trees turned to crisp around the giant impact crater that stood before him. The smoke had mostly dissipated, still, he placed his sleeve over his nose protectively, carefully making his way down the dip in the earth.

Except he slipped, tumbling forward and rolling a couple of times. Quackity was sure he had broken a few gymnastics world records at that moment, but he did not have long to dwell on it before his fall was cut short as he hit leveled ground, back pressed against warm metal.

He took a few moments to recover, letting the tears fall this time alongside a pitiful sob. When Quackity opened his eyes this time, he was met with an iron sphere, almost small enough he could wrap his arms around it.

Perfectly round with a metallic shine. Whatever this thing was, it sure as hell was not a meteorite.

Quackity's hand hovered over the sphere, apprehensive of adding another one to the long list of injuries he sustained that day alone.

After a few moments, he relented to his impatience and pressed the tips of his fingers against the object, surprised to find it cool to the touch.
The metallic sphere hissed and shook, opening up like a pill bug.

Quackity had seen his fair share of strange things and encountered his fair share of difficult situations. He thought he had seen it all, that life had no other wild cards up its stupidly puffy sleeves.

Foolish as he was— pun intended, Quackity thought he had conquered all the quests in his book.

He was running out of stupid metaphors, but you get the point.

Quackity was sure things couldn't possibly get worse. That was until his eyes met purple, wide and innocent.

A wail sounded in the forest. 

Chapter Text

There were a good few things that Law School had taught Quackity, ranging from the ability to read ridiculously long legal cases in the car, while eating, while showering, to out-arguing his classmates in mock trials (something he was always good at, except this time he was not called a bitch for it).

What law school did not teach him, however, was how to console a crying baby.

Granted, Quackity had not known what an overly intelligent metal orb would do if he touched it. But certainly, it was not any of this.

Purple eyes met his own, wide and frightened before the creature let out a terrified screech. It shifted and morphed, losing its shape and turning into something more blobby and formless.

"Shit- hey. Hey. You'll attract wild animals." He quietly scolded, collecting the trembling little thing into his arms best he could. He rocked it quietly, ignoring the excessively mushy feel of the creature and anxiously looking around to check for any predators, animal or not.

The metal orb, now empty, hissed once more, collapsing onto itself and folding into a small cube.

Huh. Aliens really liked shapes, didn't they?

He took the cube, examining it for a few moments and pocketing it when he felt movement in his arms. The alien was now simply staring at him, as if sizing him up, before shifting once more and transforming into something more solid.

A human baby. Human enough. They still had glowing purple eyes, patches of purple on their skin, and two erected curious antennae, but otherwise they looked human. It was almost cute.

After a moment of tense silence, Quackity felt compelled to break it, feeling a ridiculous amount of judgment radiating off the tiny thing.

"I'm Quackity." He introduced himself to the baby as if they understood what he was saying. "What's your name?"

The baby only blinked at him, scanning his face for a couple of moments. They reached up with tiny hands, grabbing his beanie and pulling it down.

Quackity chuckled, trying to grab the stolen beanie, which led to a game of tug of war with a surprisingly strong baby.

"Got it!" He grinned triumphantly after an embarrassingly long time trying to retrieve it.

The alien baby, however, was not as thrilled about the reclamation of his possession. They glanced between Quackity and his beanie with trembling lips, letting out small whimpers that would inevitably turn into sobs.

With a resigned sigh, Quackity forsook his trusty beanie to a very smug baby.

Logically speaking, Quackity was not supposed to collect his things and tread down the hiking trail as if he had not just stolen an alien baby. But, logically speaking as well, none of this is real so what does it matter?

Still, he wrapped his jacket around the barely clothed baby to keep them warm, glancing down at them occasionally to make sure his beanie was okay.

Just before he reached his car, his phone rang, startling the baby. He checked the caller ID, seeing it was from Sam.

His heart sank at the sight, dread filling him at the prospect of talking to the older man. Quackity was sure conversing with his parents was not supposed to make him want to curl up in a hole and die, but he still picked up the call.

"Hey, Sam-"

"Alex, where are you?!" Sam yelled over the phone, making Quackity move it away from his ear and curse quietly. "Are you still on that mountain? Did you see anything? Are you hurt?"

Quackity just stood there, letting himself get bombarded by questions. "I'm fine, Sam. I heard a crash in the forest but I was already at the base of the mountain." He lied through his teeth, leaning against the car and praying the baby would keep quiet.

"Okay. That's good to know." Sam sighed with relief, the sound of his car's sirens ringing in the background. "I'm going to the scene. Tell me if you see anything weird and update me once you get home."

Quackity glanced down at the baby in his arms guiltily, nodding even though Sam couldn't see it. "Will do. Stay safe."

He stayed composed until Sam ended the call, and then he let himself stumble around trying to make it into the car because fuck his dad was on his way here.

Quackity closed the zipper around the baby who looked around, confused over the fabric they were now swimming in. He tied the sleeves around their small body, tightening the seat belt around them to hopefully not get them killed trying to drive away.

He heard police sirens in the distance, the hairs standing on his body.
"Oh fuck me." He groaned out, throwing himself into the driver's seat and turning on the engine,

His mind refused to cooperate for a second, nearly driving into a tree trying to unpack, but he found himself speeding in the opposite direction soon enough, thankfully making out in time.

For five minutes or so, Quackity drove away, his heart hammering in his chest as he tried to get as far away from there. He slowed down when he reached the edge of the city, residential buildings coming into view.

Leaning back against the driver's seat, he let himself catch his breath, a wide grin on his face. He hadn't felt so alive in years, not since he was in high school and sneaking out to see his (now very much ex) boyfriend.

Quackity glanced back at the baby, surprised to see them fast asleep.

He supposed they did sleep through traveling through interstellar space, a car ride was not all that surprising.

Reality began to dawn on him as he drove through the city, returning to the apartment he had lived in for almost five years practically muscle memory at this point.

Parking his car, Quackity carefully undid the baby's confinement, covering their tiny antennae with the hood of his shirt.

He was certain he did not look suspicious at all, hiding a baby in his jacket.

He tried to walk through the reception area as casually as possible, almost making it to the elevator before he heard the receptionist clear her throat.

"What do you have in there?" She asked from behind the desk, making Quackity pause in his tracks.

Puffy. How unlucky can one motherfucker be that the owner of the building shows up out of nowhere the only day she is not supposed to.

"Oh, it's just some food. It was raining so I wrapped it in my jacket." Quackity shrugged. "Spilled all over the thing. Shame, I liked this jacket."
Pretending to be distressed came naturally to a miserable man, but what's a law student to a professional therapist?

"Your food's moving." She deadpanned, pointing out the way the baby shifted in his arms, letting out a quiet whimper. Shit.

"It's a... it's a live lobster." He tried once more. "Charlie's birthday is next week. Thought we'd make him something special for dinner. I... I didn't know if it fit under the 'no pet' policy, given it won't be alive for long."

Puffy sighed, rolling her eyes. "You over-explain, it comes off as dubious." She stated, shooing him. "Pets still aren't allowed, but I'll let this one go as long as it doesn't cause trouble. Only because I know you boys are responsible enough."

Quackity visibly relaxed, nodding eagerly. "Yes, thank you." He said genuinely, rushing to the elevator at the growing whimpers in his arms. "Have a nice evening."

He climbed into the elevator, pressed number six, and waited. He couldn't uncover the baby, not now, not with the apartment building being littered with cameras.

"It's okay, we're almost there." Quackity cooed at the baby, watching the numbers increase. "Just a few moments more."

He prayed to the gods that his flatmates were sleeping. 

Chapter Text

Quackity was not actually stupid enough to think his flatmates were sleeping. If he were, he would have long dropped out of law school.

He was, however, endlessly hopeful that luck would finally smile in his face. And he did, also, have a tendency to misplace his hopes.

Quackity was not foolish enough to actually believe that a group of college students, during a weekend no less, would be asleep at seven o'clock.

So, when he heard the commotion in the living room, most probably his idiot friends playing some game, his best bet was to somehow sneak into his bedroom without catching anybody's attention.

And then he would worry about what he was supposed to do with the adorable little thing in his arms. A smug, beanie stealing, adorable little thing.

All he had to do was make it to his room. As in—cross the living room. Where the others were.

Surely it's doable, right? The couch faces away from the hallway.

Charlie always did it, footsteps stupidly light and soundless, and caught Quackity before he could call one of his exes or drink a cup of salt.

Charlie was an omniscient, definitely not a human, guy though.

And Quackity? He was a random guy who found an alien baby in the woods and took them home.

As is typical for Quackity's shit luck, and as is typical with a baby that had maybe three functioning braincells that only understood that crying equals food, he barely made it halfway across the room before a loud screech sounded across the flat.

Three heads turned around, catching Quackity red-handed.

"... hi?"

"Quackity." Foolish stood, with all the energy of a huge golden retriever that has yet to comprehend the full scale of its size. "Oh my god. Oh my fucking god."

Charlie, across the room, sunk to the ground. "NO! No Quackity from Las Nevadas, you're too young, you're too beautiful." He grieved, sobbing dramatically. "They're gonna sue you and throw you in an intergalactic jail where you'll rot and die!"

Foolish and Fundy were momentarily distracted by the scene, leaving Quackity scrambling to console the baby. Fundy blinked. "What in the fuck are you talking about?"

"The aliens are going to take over, the Earth is gone—"

"Shut up Charlie, no one knows what you're talking about!" Foolish screamed but was quick to go quieter when it only served to startle the baby more. "This is great news, this is an infant. Quackity has girlfriend for once, we're going to have era of peace, an era of no crying over men!"

"Could be trans guy, actually." Fundy corrected.

Foolish sunk to the floor, joining Charlie and the baby in the weeping.

"It's not his baby, Foolish. It's so much worse." Charlie straightened up, rushing towards his phone. "I need to call my contacts, I need—"

"It's not your baby?!" Foolish cried further.

Quackity took a step back, grip on the baby tightening. Dear gods, he shouldn't have went on that hike, he shouldn't have investigated the crash, he shouldn't have lied to Sam.

"Quackity."

"I—"

"Quackity."

"Look— there was crash in the forest and I went to check what it was. I didn't think..."

He didn't know how to explain, but he didn't have to. The baby, who had been thrashing the entire time, finally figured out how to free themselves from the confines of the jacket, sobs turning into whimpers as they rested their head against Quackity's chest.

The room instantly went quiet. Foolish looked up from where he was perched on the floor.

"AWWW— wait what the hell is that thing?"

Fundy sunk back onto the couch, taking a sip from his coffee. "We are gonna be thrown into an intergalactic prison. We are screwed. Screwed, I'm telling you."

And that is how four twenty something year olds ended up sat in the living room, same way they did every Saturday, only this time there was a baby with wide purple eyes and antennae studying all of them, half curious, half judgmental.

Charlie was the first to speak. "I don't like the way he's looking at me."

"He?" Quackity questioned, Charlie nodded.

"Good, good." Quackity had never been happier about having an ominous roommate that knew everything. "I didn't... I was worried about having to find out."

"Oh, so we're keeping him? We don't even know what he eats." Fundy argued. "You can't half-ass taking care of a baby, we'll end up with a murder charge on top of kidnapping."

Quackity sighed, looking down at the baby. He was busy chewing away at his own thumb. "I don't even know what to call him. He's—"

The thumb did not suffice, the baby faceplanted against Quackity's shirt, rooting against his chest. "Oh, dear God." Quackity quickly pulled the baby away, scolding. "There's nothing for you there, I'm not your mom."

The baby took a moment to, apparently, process, expression falling from confusion, to disappointment, to sheer offense. He wailed in Quackity's face, eyes already leaking.

"Okay— fuck. Fine. I am your mom, just don't cry, please." Quackity pleaded helplessly, rocking the baby in hopes of shutting him up. The baby took Quackity's finger into his mouth.

"Wow, you're a natural." Fundy snorted, rolling his eyes.

"He is, actually!" Foolish stated genuinely, earning a dumbfounded look from Fundy. "Come on, purple dude. Wilbur'll file another noise complaint if you don't keep it down."

Quackity rolled his eyes at the mere mention of the name, turning around towards Charlie. "What would he— where the fuck is Charlie?"

The question was met with a simple shrug from Foolish and a lack of acknowledgment from Fundy, who was knee deep into researching how not to kill a baby on Google.

Quackity sighed, resigning to his fate as an unwilling teether. "It really doesn't taste that good." He muttered, watching the baby chew on his index finger. "How do I keep finding myself in these situations?"

"You think purple dude eats human meat? I mean maybe you're nutritious for him."

"Foolish, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Fundy questioned, looking up from his laptop in mock offense.

"I brought some lactose free formula!" Charlie chimed in, suddenly between the two of them, causing Fundy to jump like a cat.

"Oh, hi Charlie!" Foolish greeted the man, scooting over to make space for him to sit down. "I'm thinking about calling him purple d, like for purple dude."

"No." Quackity immediately shut down the idea. "That sounds like purple dick. Absolutely not. We are not calling our baby that."

"Oh, so it's our baby now, not the baby you literally stole." Fundy huffed, but his face softened slightly when he glanced at the infant. "Purpled. How about Purpled? Just erase the space so it doesn't sound weird."

Foolish grinned. "Purpled it is."

Charlie was already off preparing a bottle. Quackity was certain his life couldn't possibly get weirder.

Chapter Text

Quackity was sitting on the kitchen table, watching Charlie prepare a bottle of baby formula. Purpled was getting antsy in his arms, putting just about anything in his mouth, and fussing when it didn't replenish his hunger. "And it's lactose-free because?"

"Because we're not trying to kill him. Kidnapping him was bad enough!" Charlie huffed, glaring at him.

Quackity blinked at the man, who was now dipping the bottle in a cold water bath to cool it down quicker. "And how do you know it would kill him?"

Charlie didn't answer, testing the heat on his wrist. He nodded approvingly, stepping closer to where Quackity was sitting.

He tried to approach Purpled, but the baby whined the moment he got close, hiding in Quackity's shirt.

With a sigh, Charlie set the bottle down, finally meeting Quackity's eyes. "You gotta hold him right, upright. Support his head." He guided the younger man into the proper position, then handed him the bottle. "Keep it horizontal."

"How did you know I had an alien baby with me?"

Charlie didn't answer, focusing on putting away everything he had used.

"How do you know how to feed a baby?" Quackity tried again.

Charlie turned his head around, his grin uncomfortably wide. "YouTube!"

Quackity huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "You're a fucking idiot." Still, he followed Charlie's instructions, bringing the bottle to Purpled's mouth.

The baby hesitated for a moment, but it didn't take long for him to latch onto the bottle's teat, suckling hungrily.

Charlie took a seat at one of the barstools, watching. Quackity had never seen him so normal before, so calm.

"Poor thing must be starving." Quackity muttered, the sight a reality check striking him right in the face.

Was he seriously doing this? Stealing an alien baby? What was he supposed to do with him?

He didn't know.

Charlie sighed, nodding along. "Yeah. It's a long journey to Earth. Purpled from Ixion is severely malnourished."

Quackity bit his lip. Charlie had always been a bit of an oddity, but he'd never felt this much discomfort — and relief all at once — in the man's company. "I don't know what you are. I don't need to know. But I can... I can trust you with this, right? I can trust you to keep him alive."

Charlie's eyes met his own, and for a moment they shone that bright lime green, the way Quackity often pretended they didn't. "Yes. I want him to live."

"Okay." Quackity nodded, glancing back at the bottle. Almost finished. "Do we feed him more?"

"No. He hasn't eaten in a long time; it would probably irritate his stomach." Charlie explained, trying to touch the Purpled again. The baby didn't fight it this time, too drunk on formula to really comprehend what was happening around him. "He's dozing off anyway."

"Anddd we're back!" Foolish burst through the door, bursting the pair's bubble with it.

"Shhh." Quackity glared at the man, but it didn't last long when he noticed Purpled squirming in his arms, eyes wide, startled, and very much wet.

It was a matter of seconds before sobs filled the room, and Quackity was left fumbling, rocking the baby back and forth in hopes of getting him back to sleep.

Foolish stood at the door sheepishly, holding a bag of diapers, onesies, and some toys. Fundy walked closely behind, hands empty, then flopped on the couch. "Good job, Foolish, you scared the baby."

"Fuck. I'm sorry." He closed the door carefully before crossing the room and placing the bags on the counter. "We got him some stuff. Maybe we should change him before he sleeps again."

Quackity, despite his slight annoyance, nodded, taking Purpled to the couch and placing him beside Fundy.

"Do we pull out the YouTube tutorials?" He asked, glancing between his friends to check if any had a clue what to do.

Fundy let out an exaggerated groan, but got up nonetheless. "Scoot over."

"You know how to do it?" Foolish asked, settling on the floor beside him.

Fundy shrugged, taking out a diaper and a purple onesie. "Little cousins." He simply stated, but Quackity wasn't too happy about the look in his eyes. He didn't press, though.
Purpled, now fed and no longer crying, was glancing around the room curiously, as though everything was new to him.

Everything truly was new to him, Quackity realized. He watched as Fundy dressed Purpled, taking note of the little things, keeping in mind anything he found potentially useful.

Because Quackity had an alien baby on his couch, and his roommates were all sat around him, each a degree of invested like this was some side quest, and not an actual life. One that could potentially get him in trouble with the cops. Because Quackity was not an idiot— he knew the laws here well, knew that everything that fell from the sky belonged to the government unless they let you keep it.

Quackity wasn't sure he was exactly best suited to take care of a baby, much less one from outer space.

"Do you think they would experiment on him?" It was Foolish who asked the question, and it was none of them who answered it. "I mean— look at him. He's just a little dude. He'd pass for human without the antennae. And the freaky eyes. I don't know if they would care, though. I can't think of a scenario where we hand him over and he doesn't get hurt in the name of science."

The silence was heavy in the room. No one knew who the hypothetical 'they' even was, but it was Charlie who broke it. "Then we don't let them get to him." He said cheerfully, holding Purpled's too-small hand in his own. "Whoever sent him to Earth wanted him safe. We'll keep him guarded until they're ready to have him back."

Purpled cooed at Charlie, taking his finger into his mouth and endlessly chewing on it.

Fundy fastened the buttons of the onesie. "Guess we're fostering an alien baby, then."

Charlie smiled wider. "I'll tell my contacts we'll be fine!" And with that, he got up, earning a whine from Purpled at the loss of his chewing toy.

Something in the air changed that night, and despite the oddity of it all, Quackity took one look at the baby on his couch and decided no one could take him away.

Chapter Text

Quackity, tired from a terrible hike and the abolute mindfuckery the rest of the evening was, dediced to sleep the sore limbs and racing thoughts away.

That was until Fundy stopped him in his place. "Where are you going?" He had asked, pointing at the baby sleeping peacefully in his arms.

"To sleep." Quackity stated simply, glancing down were Fundy was gestured. "Figured I'd get some sleep before he wakes up."

"And where are you planning to put him?"

Quackity raised an eyebrow, voice a little too defensive. "Why are you interrogating me?"

Maybe it was the exhaustion pulling at his limbs, maybe he was at his wits' end for the day.

"I'm not interrogating you?" Fundy snapped back, tone matching Quackity's. "But you can't keep him in your bed. One wrong turn and he's squished to death."

Quackity blinked, suddenly feeling very stupid. "Ohhhh. Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

And that's Quackity and Foolish ended up building a nest of the softest blankests and pillows under Charlie's bed.

"You're sure you don't wanna take the bed? I really don't mind." Quackity tried to convince Charlie once more, though both of them knew Quackity did mind. He was just being polite.

"Of course not Quackity from Las Nevadas. I like to sleep on the floor, it reminds me of when I was in the ground!" Charlie said gayly, flopping face first into the pile on the floor. "I can also catch Purpled from Ixion if he falls off the bed!"

"You think we're violating any intergalactic law not having a proper place for him to sleep?" Foolish had asked, moments after they laid down the baby at the bed, on the edge nearest to the wall.

Quackity was in the middle of making sure nothing around Purpled posed a suffocation hazard, one earbud in listening to a Youtube video on how to avoid sudden infant death. "I think we're violating many laws keeping him here to begin with."

Foolish chuckled, sitting next to Charlie on the floor. "This baby is gonna be so expensive."

"Yup."

"We are fully broke."

"Uh huh."

"What are we going to do?"

Quackity paused the video, running a hand through his hair. Purpled was asleep now, he can probably retrieve his trusty beanie. "We sleep. We'll worry about the financial and legal implications later."

Foolish hummed in acknowledgment, stretching his arms. "I have a lecture at eight. I should probably head to bed."

"We all should." Quackity replied, watching the man head to his and Fundy's room.

That left Quackity and Charlie alone, with a baby in Charlie's bed.

"What are we going to do?" It was Quackity that asked the question this time, now that he was alone with Charlie and could afford to freak out.

"We sleep, like you said." Charlie shrugged, getting comfortable under the pillows. Sleeping on the floor, under the mess of a nest instead of under it.

"You're really dedicating yourself to the whole being a pillow bit, huh?" Quackity said with a snort, climbing into his bed.

"I can be anything you want me to be, Quackity from Las Nevadas."

"I think I like you the way you are, Charlie."

The silence that followed was comfortable, and before long Charlie was out cold, the way he always was the moment his head hit the pillow— the floor, in this case.

"Good night." Quackity mumbled to himself, exhaustion from the day finally catching up.

Sleep didn't last long.

Quackity didn't understand what it meant to be in possession of an alien baby until he woken up only three hours later to Purpled screaming across the room.

Charlie was already up, standing over Quackity's bed. "Pssst. Quackity from Las Nevadas." He whispered, as though they needed to respect the quietness of night when there was a baby wailing next to them. "I will prepare his bottle. Make him shut up."

Quackity groaned for a moment, glancing at the time. Two in the morning was an ungodly hour to be woken up.

He forced himself out of bed anyway. "Okay." He nodded along, yawning, and made his way across the room where Purpled was still crying.

He climbed into the bed, carefully picking Purpled up.

What was he supposed to do?

Quackity rocked him awkwardly, glancing helplessly at the doorway like Charlie would immediately return.

Stupid idiot, it takes longer than that to prepare the bottle. Quackity sighed, holding the baby up.

"Can you please keep it down, we don't want to wake up the others." He pleaded helplessly.

Purpled did not seem to like it, as he grabbed Quackity's hair with all the might of an infant.

"Jesus— okay, okay. I'm sorry." He carefully pried his hair away from the baby's dead grip. "You're lucky you're cute, I would have thrown you out otherwise."

Purpled, still fussy, squirmed uncomfortably in Quackity's arms.

Okay. Yeah. Diapers.

Was this really what being twenty two was like? Changing diapers in the middle of the night when you had class the next day?

Quackity relented to his circumstances, trying to focus on the technical side of things, like recalling how Fundy did it, how the man in the video did it.

Soon, Purpled finally settled down, not quite happy but not wailing either.

"God, you're such a baby." Quackity snorted, wiping away a stray tear. "Are you hungry? Charlie will be here soon."

Quackity never planned to be twenty two with a baby— there was a reason he never dated women.

Multiple reasons, actually. Mostly his anxiety around them. And the way toxic men keep approaching him. Pregnancy was never a major reason, but still.

Charlie was back only moments later, bottle ready in hand. "Want me to feed him?"

Quackity considered it, shook his head. "Next time, maybe. You'll be alone with him for most of the morning anyway."

Charlie nodded, sinking back on the floor. "I think I'll go back to sleep now."

"Yeah. Good night, Charlie." Quackity muttered, holding Purpled close.

The baby was more than eager to take the teat into his mouth.

Quackity smiled. "Greedy fucker."

Purpled kicked his arm.

Chapter Text

Quackity did not want to leave Purpled alone with Charlie.

Don't get him wrong— he trusted Charlie, he truly did. But oftentimes, he worried about leaving the man alone with himself. How was he supposed to trust him with a literal infant?

Maybe Quackity was just drained from being woken up twice during the night, struggling to go back to sleep afterwards. Maybe it was the way Purpled cried as Charlie rocked him, insisting that Quackity should leave or he would be late for his morning lecture.

Quackity could not focus on anything throughout the day. He had attempted to do some reading on the bus, like he did every morning, but all he could think about was the alien baby that had clung onto him like he could shield him from the world.

The alien baby that was currently in Charlie's care, hidden in their tiny apartment, away from anybody searching, away from anyone that would look at Purpled like nothing more than a curiosity, away from Sam, who Quackity had shamelessly lied to for the sake of a helpless baby.

Quackity could not focus, but could one blame him?

It had not hit him the previous day, while he was running on pure, unadulterated adrenaline and age-old exhaustion.

He pushed through, making it through his first class. He had failed to answer a question his professor had asked him, and every word the woman uttered sounded like gibberish, but he pushed through.

During the half-hour break between his two classes, Quackity managed to get something into his system. It significantly reduced the brain fog, but the anxiety clung to him like an old friend.

He kept checking the time, only slightly focused on the material being discussed. He paid his classmates no mind, not even flirting back to Tyler this time. He had more important stuff to deal with than a half-hot college frat boy.

Did parents do this full-time?

Quackity couldn't comprehend it. How can someone possibly survive through not being able to constantly make sure their baby is okay? How could someone cope with the uncertainty of not constantly knowing how they were doing?

Was Purpled hungry? Was he still crying, confused why Quackity was leaving him behind? Did he think Quackity had abandoned him?

Did Quackity seriously get so attached to a baby that fell from the sky within the course of twenty-four hours?

He found himself texting Charlie throughout the day — and later on Foolish too when he returned home — to check that everything was going smoothly. Each time Quackity's gut churned with concern, Foolish would send a sheepish message about Purpled being fussy, or hungry, or simply inconsolable.

When his second lecture of the day ended, Quackity was the first to leave class, rushing across the campus and barely managing to catch the bus.

He did not care what it looked like to other people, did not pause when Tyler chased after him, asking if something was wrong.

Quackity has a clear goal and a nausea that would not settle. His mind would not possibly relax until Purpled was in his arms, safe and sound.

Somewhere between getting off the bus and reaching his apartment building, Sam began calling him, but Quackity let his phone ring.

Until he opened the door, until the dread and unease dragged him across the apartment to his bedroom and Charlie's bedroom, where the odd man and Foolish were trying to soothe Purpled.

Purpled reached out for him the same way he did, tiny hands grabbing onto him full force while his body writhed in Quackity's arm.

"Hey. Hey, baby." Quackity practically collapsed on the bed, holding the baby close and rocking him gently. Purpled seemed content to stay where he was, if a little offended the man dared to leave at all.

"I've got you. I've got you." Quackity reassured, suddenly feeling odd at the way his friends eyed him.

What the fuck was that?

Quackity did not understand. The moment Purpled's wails died down, a weight fell off his shoulders, the world suddenly far clearer— as though a blanket had been lifted off his head and he could suddenly breathe.

Charlie felt it too, Quackity could tell; the man scanned him, expression unreadable as always. "Purpled from Ixion is hungry. He wouldn't let either of us feed him." That was what he settled for, handing the Foolish a now cold bottle of formula, still full. "Can you please heat it up?"

Foolish blinked once, hesitating for only a moment before nodding and doing as he was told. Silence settled over the room, Quackity unsure whether he should focus on the odd feeling in his chest or the way Purpled was already mouthing at his hoodie, clearly starving.

"You felt that, right?" Quackity apprehensively questioned, eyes landing at the oddly — yet very much so typically — calm maybe-man.

Charlie smiled, that strange way he always did, too wide and too eager. "No, Quackity from Las Nevadas. Only you can feel it."

"Huh?" Quackity asked dumbly, holding tightly on Purpled's small body. "What do you mean?"

"He imprinted on you!" Charlie stated as though it was common sense, tone still far too cheery. "We won't feel it until he trusts us, but for now, you'll have to be his caretaker. He won't accept food from anyone else!"

The words were not meant to be mocking or deceiving, and perhaps that contributed to the way Quackity was left completely and utterly dumbfounded for the nth time in what felt like longer than just a day.

Because somehow, this impossible being in his arms had bonded to him, and now Quackity was no longer sure he had full reign over his feelings or full access to his logic.

Still, when Foolish returned to the bedroom, Quackity took the bottle. He tested it on his wrist, just to be safe, and then offered it to the still fussy, still hungry baby.

Purpled showed no sign of struggle, hands gripping onto where Quackity's fingers wrapped around the bottle.

And when those wide purple eyes met his, Quackity did not have it in him to raise any objections against it.

Chapter Text

Quackity finished his readings with a baby in his arms.

He finished them with a baby in his arms.

The idea alone was baffling to him, but with Purpled pressed against his chest, toying quietly with a small rattle, he did not even know what to think.

Normally, the noise would have annoyed him.

Normally, having a baby in his arms would have.

Normally, the readings would have taken twice as long.

Something about having Purpled in his arms helped. Or maybe the Gods simply chose to show mercy on the poor law student they handed an alien baby to.

Either way, Quackity found himself free by lunchtime, with a baby gurgling quietly and only Fundy in the apartment.

He waddled to the older man's room, poking his head in and praying Purpled would keep quiet in case the Fundy happened to be sleeping.

He wasn't.

"Fundy," Quackity crossed the room, holding Purpled up in front of Fundy's face. "This baby is fucking magic."

"Mind your tongue," he grumbled, pulling his headphones down. "I think this baby is a lot of things we don't understand, Q."

Quackity shook his head. "No, no. I'm serious. He helped me study."

"I don't think so, actually." Fundy blinked at him, snorting. In a quick demonstration of wits, Purpled seemed to discover his left foot, bringing it to his mouth. "That is some impressive core strength, though, I'll give him that."

Quackity invited himself into Fundy's bed, sitting across from him with Purpled in his lap.

"I don't like your attitude." He admitted, watching Fundy work on some code he could only dream of understanding. "I feel like you aren't taking this very seriously. We have a baby now—"

"No, you have a baby. And maybe Charlie does too. Foolish can be the weird uncle." Fundy corrected. "I never signed up for this. And I'll have you know me not reporting you to the cops and teaching you how to change a diaper is the most you'll get out of me."

Quackity huffed, rolling his eyes. "I'm just kidding, man. No need to take it so seriously."

"You're just bored." Fundy deadpanned, not bothering to look up from his laptop.

Quackity felt an odd sense of defensiveness growing in his chest, but he pushed it down. "Well, no shit. This little guy helped finish my homework fast. Now I have nothing to do."

Fundy eyed him warily, nose crinkling. "Maybe start with changing his diaper."

Quackity was quick to leave the room.

"Stupid fucking Fundy. He doesn't know what he's talking about." He grumbled to the baby, taking him back into the bedroom. "Let's get you changed, yeah?"

Purpled tilted his head, antennae twitching slightly. "Ba!"

"Yeah, exactly!" Quackity grinned widely. "I don't know what drugs you've got me on, but I haven't felt this excited to do anything before, much less changing a diaper."

Purpled was changed in a matter of minutes. By then, Quackity had lain down beside him on the bed, quietly watching him slam the rattle on his own hand repeatedly.

"You've got an odd idea of fun, Patito."

The rattle slipped out of Purpled's hand, smacking against Quackity's head.

He hadn't the heart to feel angry at him.

By the time Foolish and Charlie returned from the gym, Purpled was fed once more and asleep.

Quackity just lay there, watching videos about baby milestones and trying to figure out how old he seemed to be.

He turned to Charlie the moment he left the bathroom. "How old is he?"

"He is five months and three days old!" Charlie said cheerily, walking closer. He patted Purpled's head apologetically. "In almost two weeks, Purpled from Ixion will have a very bad day."

"What the fuck does that even mean?" Quackity questioned, unable to conceal the confusion in his voice.

Charlie did not bother to explain.

He simply sat across from them, smiling eerily and staring at the wall.

"Okayy. Fine." Quackity shrugged it off, turning his face back to his phone. "Yeah, whatever."

He search up five month old milestones.

"He's not in danger, is he?" Quackity asked after moments of scrolling through TikTok.

"He always is!" Charlie did not even glance Quackity's way. "But if Quackity from Las Nevadas is asking about what I said, then no. Purpled from Ixion's worst day is purely mental torment for the rest of his life."

"Charlie, that is not exactly exactly relieving—"

"He will not be harmed." Charlie asserted, voice suddenly a whole lot more serious. "I won't allow it."

Quackity nodded, feeling Purpled stir beside him.

He turned to the baby, already too invested to pay Charlie any mind.

Purpled cooed at him, tiny hand gripping at his hair but not pulling. Quackity did not fight it.

He did not look away from the baby, but he heard the footsteps echoing against the walls, felt the dip of someone's weight on the bed.

Charlie smiled down at Purpled, running a gentle hand over his antennae. Quackity had never seen him so at peace, so at home.

Purpled smiled up at the man, fingers wrapping around Charlie's index finger when he offered it.

"He likes you now," Quackity muttered, very relieved and a tad bit shocked.

Charlie nodded. "He's family now!" He uttered the words like a promise, gathering Purpled into his arms. The baby surprisingly did not fight it. "Babies on Ixion are not supposed to have only one or two parents like on Earth. He needs community to thrive."

Quackity hummed at the words, leaning his head against Charlie's shoulder. "You seem to know a whole lot about Ixion, Charlie from Everywhere."

The words earned him a stare, Charlie only shrugging.

"I know a lot about everything." He bragged casually.

"You know everything about everything," Quackity mumbled, watching as Purpled stared up at both of them, no thoughts in his head.

"There's always more to learn." Charlie corrected, tickling Purpled's sides. The baby giggled in return. "There is a lot more I would love to learn about Quackity from Las Nevadas. And Purpled from Ixion. And everybody else."

Quackity could not help the smile that graced his face.

Chapter Text

There were a few unspoken rules in Quackity's family that felt practically illegal to break. Like which chair each member of the family took at the dinner table and the fact that they were all supposed to be present during holidays, even if the world was ending, because for a family that was barely holding it together, family time was holy.

Quackity had typically managed to keep a clean record, either by never breaking any rules or concealing it the odd time he did, but there was one fatal, fatal mistake he kept making.

Quackity, very much distracted by the fact that he now had a baby in his care, forgot to call.

And for his friends? That was normal. Sometimes, Fundy would forget to call his parents for months, only visiting for holidays. Quackity was not even certain that Charlie had any family at all.

Quackity was a grown man— he had moved out over four years ago, started his long journey of becoming a lawyer, of becoming an adult, of becoming an independent human being.

But for one single school week, between changing diapers and timed feedings, Quackity forgot to call either of his parents.

"Oh, fuck my life." He glanced nervously at his phone, vibrating on the mattress beside him.

Purpled was in his arms, playing drowsily with the purple rattle he seemed to favor.

It was Friday evening. Quackity was alone. All his roommates either had lectures or other errands to run. And he had an unpredictable baby in his arms, at the threat of a full-on breakdown at any given moment, for any reason that did or didn't make sense.

He was fucked. He needed to pick up the phone before it stopped ringing— that alone would be a whole other crime.

"Hello, Mom," Quackity answered sheepishly, rocking Purpled gently and praying the gods would choose to have mercy on him for once in his life.

"Q!" Ponk's voice rang with false enthusiasm, the sharp weight of disappointment unspoken but present. "Where have you been? We haven't heard from you in ages. We could die and you wouldn't even know."

It had not even been a full week.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah. Sorry. I've just been busy, you know." He tried to keep his voice leveled, unassuming. "Just... law school stuff, you know how it is. Lots of readings."

"Yeah, I know. But you need to find balance, Quackity." There it was— unsolicited advice. A whole lecture he didn't ask for. "You can't let your studies consume you and prevent you from talking to your own family."

"I know, I'm sorry."

"I worry about you. How will you survive being a lawyer if you can't even find time for a five-minute call?"

"Mom, that's—" he bit his tongue, bit down the defensiveness. Purpled squirmed in his arms. "Yeah. Yeah. You're right."

He did not believe it, but he knew arguing would get him nowhere.

"I missed you." He muttered, trying not to panic when Purpled flung the rattle around like it was the most interesting thing in the world. "How's Dad?"

"He's fine. Been worried about you. And about a lot of things." Ponk, on the other end of the phone, seemed to be busy, shuffling around and seemingly grabbing plates. Quackity hoped they couldn't hear the rattle over the noise. "Especially the whole commotion that happened last Sunday. There's a huge crater in the forest that nobody's figured out what caused it. I think it's bothering him, but he never talks about his work much."

Quackity nodded along, hand over Purpled's, trying to still it.

"I'm sure it's nothing." He said after a moment, his heart hammering at the idea of Sam still looking, still searching.

What would he do if he found out about Purpled? Would he take him away? Hand him over to people who wouldn't care about him?

Purpled squirmed in his arms. Quackity bounced him on his leg, trying to calm him down.

He couldn't stand the idea of it. Purpled was always fussy when left alone with Fundy or Foolish. He wouldn't be able to handle being alone, being away from him.

Quackity couldn't handle the idea of being away from him.

Ponk was talking, but the words didn't register.

Purpled let out one whimper and Quackity was snapped out of it, his heart suddenly dropping when that quickly turned into shrieks and little whines. Purpled was trying to move the rattle again, frustrated at it being held in place. Because to the mind of an infant, secrecy was not a concept.

"What's that noise?" Ponk was a little too observant, a little too demanding.

Quackity felt panic pool in his guts, rocking Purpled with trembling limbs.

"It's nothing." He lied through his teeth, as though the sound of a literal baby crying wouldn't alert the pediatrician.

"Quackity?" Ponk's voice was clearer this time, the distrust in their voice more than paranoia this time. "Whose baby is that?"

Purpled let out another thrill shriek, still fussy despite being given what he wanted.

Because babies don't understand suffocating parents and badly kept secrets, because the sound Quackity wanted gone was Purpled's only way of conveying that something feels wrong, that he feels hurt, that he wants care, and Quackity simply couldn't reprimand him for using the only method of communication he knows.

"It's— just babysitting. I'm babysitting, that's all." The lie sounded dull to his own ears, and he knew his parents simply knew him too well to let it pass.

"Quackity."

The name was uttered in the same tone he got when he used to sneak out at night, the same tone he got when he began reeking of weed too often during junior year of high school, the same tone that he got when his parents found him with poorly concealed bruises at the ripe age of nineteen.

Disappointment. Always disappointment.

Always the same question at the tip of their tongues— not 'how are you', not 'are you okay', but 'how did you fuck up this time?' Only 'Which mess are we going to pick up after you this time?'

Quackity's family had many unspoken rules, and that night, with Purpled still crying in his arms and tears in his own eyes, Quackity broke yet another one of them.

He closed the line.

Chapter Text

The bathtub had never felt more comfortable.

Quackity knew it would be only a matter of time before one of his parents came knocking at the apartment door, maybe even trying to break it down.

That, perhaps, explained him being here now, back pressed against the fiberglass.

Sam was in his living room at the moment, chatting away with Fundy who has agreed to keep him distracted and have him convinced no one was home.

Quackity was not sure he would survive the day, but everything was fine. Purpled had sensed his anxiety earlier, antennae twitching as they always did before a wave of peace would wash over Quackity, muscles relaxing and head if just slightly quieter.

Everything was gong to be fine. It felt an easy lie with Purpled curled against his chest, fed and changed and already starting to get sleepy.

The sight alone made him smile, a shy little thing, rocking Purpled in his arms and fighting the urge to hum the tune of a lullaby he'd never heard before but somehow still knew by heart.

Fundy would tell Sam that Quackity was out studying with friends. The baby present was simply Charlie's nephew, and the freak out that happened over the phone earlier was simply due to the unimaginable amount of stress that came with Law School.

He could make out with Fundy right now. He really did owe him a lot for this, but he knew he couldn't dwell on it.

Quackity being conveniently out and not having to face his parents would definitely cause even more tensions— he could almost hear Ponk talking in his ear, scolding for avoiding his family, for making his friends do the dirty work, for scripting a scenario where he didn't have to face his issues.

His head was already starting to ache. The story wouldn't hold up for long, he knew that. Just how long could he hide an alien baby from the government?

Footsteps sounded through the hallway, getting terrifyingly close to his bedroom door. He held him breath, holding Purpled close, as though that would keep him still, quiet.

Purpled was already napping at this point, but Quackity did not let himself relax for even a moment, hand pressed again his lips.

Heavy footsteps rang closer, now possibly in the bedroom. Quackity could hear the two men talking, but he couldn't quite make out the words.

This was stressful. This was far too fucking stressful.

He pressed his face into the tuff off hair on Purpled's head and breathed in deeply, his antennae tickling his face. The baby cuddled closer.

Charlie had said something about Purpled's hair being too long, about it needing trimming, but Quackity fought against it.

Partially because it's patchy in places and it being long concealed that, and partially because it was the cutest thing ever. But mainly, it was the fact that every time Quackity imagined scissors being anywhere near hi— the baby, it ended in gore. Truly, the chance of someone accidentally chopping off Purpled's little antennae or accidentally cutting his scalp was small, but it was never zero.

So long hair it was.

He focused on Purpled for a moment, continuing to hold him close. It was almost grounding, in a way, to let the hugeness of having a little baby in his arms make all other problems fade away.

Hold him, soothe him, care for him, and most importantly protect him. Those were Quackity's priority. He was not more scared of his parents thinking he'd knocked someone up — which was most probably the scenario they were convinced to be true — than he was that someone would take away Purpled or hurt him.

So he kept his mouth shut, rubbing at the baby's back until he heard the footsteps again, this time moving further away.

Quackity did not leave the bathtub when the door of his and Charlie's room was closed, nor did he leave it when the door of the apartment was shut and locked.

He stayed where he was until only one pair of footsteps found him— slower, lighter, safer.

Fundy opened the curtain, looking down at where Quackity and Purpled were with something akin to amusement. "You gonna keep sitting here or what?"

Quackity did not answer, he only took the older man's hand, letting him help him up and out of the bathtub.

The moment Quackity's feet met the floor of the bathroom, he took careful, fast-paced steps back into the bedroom, and placed the baby on the bed.

Only then did he turn to Fundy — who was standing there, looking as conflicted as he always did when he looked at Purpled — and pulled him into a tight hug.

"I owe you, man." Quackity sighed, feeling the way Fundy stiffened before melting into the hug.

Touch-starved and rarely showing affection; the duality of man, of Fundy.

"Yeah," Fundy sighed, peeling himself off Quackity. "Your parents are fucking nuts."

"I know," Quackity sighed, getting seated right beside Purpled on the bed. "He give you a hard time?"

"He give me a hard time?" Fundy snorted, flopping on Charlie's bed. "He went into cop-mode, searching the house and just— asking a whole lot of questions. I think he was trying to make me fumble and catch me in a lie."

"Yeahh," Quackity cleared his throat sheepishly. "He tends to do that."

"You don't owe them shit, you know." Fundy's eyes wandered outside, glancing at the very amazing view from Quackity's room that was right out into a parking lot. "They keep treating you like a child. They're not entitled to every detail of your life."

"But..." Quackity grew prickly. Stupid. Stupid. Why is he getting worked up in their defense? "It is fair, sometimes. They're just worried. Have been, since him."

"There is no Schlatt anymore though," The name alone made Quackity stiffen, nails digging into his arm to keep himself from snapping. "And you're not eighteen anymore. You've reached a point in your life where you can just— go to them for guidance on your own accord, or go to us for guidance. You don't need your apartment raided."

"I don't need another lecture, Fundy," Quackity hated this, hated how worked up he'd already gotten. "I don't need another person to tell me what to fucking do."

Fundy blinked at him, and where Quackity was already grasping for straws trying to find something to be offended by, all he found in the man's eyes was sadness.

Quackity could throw up. "Please leave," it was pathetically choked, pleading. His arm stung. "Don't make me say something that I'll regret, please."

Fundy only nodded, quietly complying with Quackity's request and heading for the door. Quackity fought the urge to reach out.

Fundy paused at the door, glancing back only once. "I know you're upset right now, but... I'm not trying to tell you what to do. You're grown, I trust you to make the right choice here."

Quackity wasn't sure he deserved that trust.

Chapter Text

There were many points in Quackity's life where he contemplated running away and starting anew.

Today was one of those days, the restlessness and dread in his chest an old friend he had grown used to ghosting.

Don't get him wrong— he loved his family and friends, he really did, but sometimes the expectations that came with people knowing him were too high and suffocating for him to ignore.

A clean slate would relieve all the pressure. Quackity would be able to lose his cool or own up to his shortcomings without others demanding more or expecting better.

But Quackity had a baby now. And sure, it has only been ten days since he returned with an alien infant hidden in his jacket, but it had been long enough that waking up for late-night feedings and routinely changing diapers became the new normal.

And Purpled, oh Purpled. Under whose care can he be placed when Quackity has classes or work? Because he knew the only reason he could afford to keep him safe and taken care of was his full-ride, having three other people to pick up after him, and the exceptionally low rent in this building.

All of these circumstances had miraculously come together to create the perfect environment for Quackity to take Purpled in, to guard him in a way he wasn't sure he could trust someone else to. Quackity wouldn't have been able to afford rent and groceries without stretching his stipend and the occasional loan he worked to pay off during the summer. Truly, it was a miracle that he had been handed so much in his life, and maybe it was for this specific purpose.

For years, he struggled to understand what made him worthy of all of this, why the world kept giving him handouts, and maybe now he knows. Maybe it was a little odd to make a baby that wasn't even his own carry this weight, but maybe, just maybe, the world had been preparing for this very moment. Maybe everything in his had led up to this, to now.

Was he truly selfish enough to take that away from Purpled because he didn't want to face his parents?

The answer was he wasn't. Not with everyone out of the apartment and him being stuck home alone with Purpled like he usually was when he didn't have classes. Quackity was not sure how much of his attachment to Purpled at this point was magicked and how much was simply him projecting his need for a purpose onto the poor baby.

Either way, he had finished his readings early — as usual, now — and was now left forcing Purpled to stand up.

There was more work he could have been doing, but he didn't actually want to do any of it. So baby time it was.

All Purpled could muster currently was bearing down some weight on his legs, with Quackity doing most of the work. He usually either fully gave up, having Quackity just hold him there, or toppled forward, hands grasping and ending up cuddled close to the man's chest.

Quackity found it entertaining. He found it to be fulfilling, in an odd way.

Sometimes, he would get frustrated, overwhelmed. He would place Purpled down with some toys, maybe cry about not knowing what to do, then go back to being a half-assed guardian to the oddest baby on earth.

It was fine. Everything was fine. Purpled needed a crib that they couldn't afford at the moment, Charlie and Fundy had fucked off to wherever, and he needed to make dinner for both himself and Purpled, but he couldn't physically move.

He was so, so tired. Purpled looked up at him with those wide eyes, and he felt his throat go tight. It was fine. His finger was now an unwilling chew toy despite Purpled owning a teether, but it was fine.

"Quackity from Las Nevadas!" His lord and savior, Charlie, had finally returned. "We got a crib!"

Quackity's head felt heavy as he glanced up at the doorway, where Charlie was dragging in a bag with, presumably, crib pieces.

"Gods, do I love you." Quackity breathed out, a huge weight off his chest. "Where'd you get that?"

"Old crib from a family member," Fundy explained, entering with a tiny mattress in his hands. "I messaged them a few days ago asking if they still had it— luckily for us, they did."

Quackity was only half listening, mind pacing. He didn't need to worry about Purpled falling off the big bed, or Charlie developing some sort of back condition, or secretly resenting him for having to sleep on the floor.

Assembling the crib was easy. Fundy and Charlie handled it while Quackity did the hard part of holding Purpled in arms, chatting to him about how amazing it was going to be now that he had his own bed.

"At this rate first word's gonna be 'shut up', quiet it down, why don't you?" Fundy grumbled from where he was sitting on the floor, trying to figure out where each of the pieces went.

"That's two words, dumbass." Quackity huffed in return, getting up and heading for the door. "I'm gonna go feed the little guy. Good luck with the crib."

"You could help out, you know!" Fundy shouted from the bedroom, voice a little muffled now that Quackity was in the hallway.

"Be a man, Fundy. That's a man thing to do!"

"You're a man, too!"

"Nuh uh!"

Now, that was a lie. Maybe. Quackity was a man, sure, but he was not Purpled's dad. He was the mom and everyone agreed to it, for some reason.

He was not sure what gender roles they were pandering to here, but he wore the title like a badge of honor. And maybe he would lose sleep tonight questioning his gender, but that was between him and the stars.

Oh, well. Preparing bottles was now muscle memory. Quackity went through the motions with Purpled placed on his hip.

It was easy, repetitive, and hopefully the rest of this whole new arc of his life would be, too.

The crib was the first step, the next would be figuring out how to break the news to his parents, and maybe forge some papers to legalize Purpled's existence.

But that all did not matter at the moment— the water was boiling.

Chapter Text

It was Friday evening again, and they were out of groceries. It was Friday again, and it was just Charlie, Quackity, and the baby repeatedly hitting his rattle on the floor.

Quackity was growing increasingly certain he was trying to break it.

Now, logically, he could have asked Charlie to stay home with Purpled so he could finally leave the house and maybe touch grass on his way to the grocery store — he has been on house arrest for every moment he wasn't in class, after all — but Quackity suddenly got the irresistible urge to show Purpled the world.

It only made sense, you know? Purpled crash-landed on a planet two weeks ago and is now what? Stuck in some guys' gross apartment all day? He doesn't want the baby to grow up thinking that the Earth had shit hospitality, that's all.

So, Quackity, with all four hours of sleep he had the previous day, dressed Purpled up for a day in the wild and dragged Charlie with him outside of their apartment building— just in case things went south, of course.

And no, this was not an excuse to dress Purpled in outside clothes before he outgrows them, nor is it an excuse for them to finally wear those matching beanies he ordered online last week, when he was depressed and needed the dopamine fix from impulsive shopping.

None of that matters now, though, because he was going down the elevator with a baby in his hands. Publicly, shamelessly, and praying no one feels entitled to play with his baby because heavens know if he tried to say Purpled's eyes were contacts, someone will call the police and report him for child abuse, even though all his roommates agree that he made a good mother— only when Charlie wasn't home, and only when there were baby care duties they didn't feel like doing, that is. Quackity began to call them sexist in response, to which they doubled down and began doing the same to Charlie. Fair play.

Thankfully, the receptionist didn't seem to care, too busy placing Subway Surfers (everyone recognized the fuckass music) on their phone to care about them passing by. Quackity foolishly mistook that as a sign that things were going to be okay.

They weren't.

People seemed to really, really like babies, regardless of whether or not said babies were sleeping. And really, Quackity was familiar with unwanted attention; this was new, though, because at least a snarl or a glare usually worked to fend off creeps, but people today were relentless.

If it wasn't someone assuming it was okay to touch someone else's baby or greet them without even asking, it was older people and couples looking at them with distaste.

Quackity felt sick. Don't get him wrong— most of his exes were men, and his queerness had always been something he never cared to hide. Something about today was different. People saw what they assumed to be a gay couple with a baby, and all they did in response was stare and whisper.

He's no stranger to bigots, no stranger to people looking at him like he didn't quite belong here, but to see that notion extend to Purpled? To see people look at an innocent baby as though their inherent existence is dirty because they're in his arms? As though his little family is alien and not worthy of existing in the same realm as all of them? Quackity couldn't stand it. He just couldn't.

At some point, Charlie had silently wrapped an arm around his waist, glaring at anyone in the busy supermarket who so much as tried to look his way.

And really, it was just a couple of people who held judgment in their eyes. Quackity had long known himself to fixate on the negative aspects of things, especially when he was low on sleep, so he tried to turn a blind eye to everyone and maybe get the one canned peaches brand that Fundy likes, which happened to be placed really high on the damn shelves.

Any other day, he probably could have reached up further, maybe climbed on the bottom shelf, but to his shit luck today, he had a baby tucked in his jacket and Charlie was off doing whatever the plot called for.

"Big Q, fancy seeing you here." That agitating, grating voice of the last motherfucker he wanted to see. "I was just passing by, and I couldn't help but notice you struggling to reach the top shelf—"

Quackity was well aware; he didn't need some asshole to point out the obvious.

"I'm willing to put our rivalry aside and help you, sweetheart. All you have to do is say the word."

"Wilbur." He didn't turn around, simply holding Purpled closer and praying to the Gods he wouldn't have to explain the situation to the older man. "I don't need your help."

"Oh, come on. I'm being nice, y'know, and you won't even turn to look at me—"

Wilbur grabs his shoulder, and Quackity finally turns around, glaring up at the man with Purpled pressed against his chest. He watched as Wilbur's face fell, eyes quietly studying the sight and trying to make sense of it.

"Whose fucking baby is that?" The look on Wilbur's face is almost comical, hand hovering in the air dumbly. "You— why in the world is everyone having babies this year? What the fuck is in the air?"

Quackity couldn't help the snort, quite enjoying the effect he had on the man. "Who in the world is having babies?"

"EVERYONE!" Wilbur shouted, lowering his voice only when Purpled squirmed and Quackity glared at him. "I mean— seriously! Kristin is giving birth very soon and—"

"Kristin is what?!" Quackity grinned widely, the idea of Wilbur having a baby sibling now ridiculously funny.

"It's crazy, right? I mean, even fucking Jshclatt has a baby now!"

"Who?" Quackity immediately flinched back at the mere mention of his name. "There's no way that narcissistic fucking asshole can care for a baby."

"He's doing much better now, seriously," Wilbur said as though it was an achievement, as though Quackity was supposed to believe the words after everything Jshclatt had done to him. "He's been sober for two years now. I hated him, too, but he truly is a reformed man—"

"Since when have you two been all buddy-buddy?"

"I've always been for redemption, Quackity. I'm not telling you to forgive him, I'm just passing on a message. He's sorry. I'm not going to force you to talk to him; he wanted to move in with me, and I refused because I knew you wouldn't want to see him—"

"You want a fucking medal?! You know what he did to me, Wilbur; you were there. You're seriously friends with him?" Quackity's hands were shaking now, Purpled beginning to stir awake from the commotion.

He didn't notice Charlie approaching them, didn't hear the footsteps over the beating of his heart.

"There you are, Quackity from Las Nevadas." Charlie's voice was as cheery as ever, but both men caught the edge to it. He completely ignored the commotion and the genuine distress in Quackity's body language, simply taking Purpled and pressing a kiss on his cheek. "Oh, little guy's waking up, huh? Thanks for holding him for me."

Quackity nodded numbly, glancing between Wilbur and Purpled, his hands still trembling. "Yeah, I—" He took a deep breath, turning to Charlie and starting to walk away, paying no mind to the other man. "Yeah. We should probably leave."

They don't end up getting the canned peaches or half the things they were supposed to. Foolish would probably have to go on another trip tomorrow, but that didn't matter.

Quackity leaned his head on Charlie's side on their way home, thankful that the man had taken Purpled out of his arms. He found himself scared— Quackity, who prided himself on being a good mother, was unsure he could be, in that moment.

He found that Charlie, odd as the man was, odd a father as he was, would always be there to help with picking up the pieces.

Chapter Text

Quackity woke up to a screaming baby.

It wasn't particularly a new occurrence — truly, he should have gotten used to it by now — but something had his chest especially heavy today, the weight of the past two weeks weighing down on him.

He felt ill. Charlie was first to stir awake, muttering something intangible before standing up and heading straight to the kitchen to prepare a bottle.

Quackity felt ill; he was left alone with a screaming baby.

He should have gotten up straight away, as he always did, should have held Purpled close to his chest and reassured him that he wasn't alone, that his needs were being met. Quackity felt as though he were neglecting the baby for those fifteen seconds his body refused to cooperate with his mind, but he wasn't sure he could trust himself at the moment.

He stood, all the same. Purpled still fussed, squirming uncomfortably and wailing loud enough to wake the neighbors, little arms flailing around in search for comfort.

Comfort that Quackity was oh so selfishly withholding, too caught up in his mind to move a finger.

Who was he to judge Jschlatt on his ability to take care of a baby when he himself was failing miserably?

Quackity felt ill. He gathered Purpled into his arms, welcoming the unrelenting fussiness that met him. Purpled was inconsolable, clawing at his shirt and sobbing helplessly.

Quackity rocked him slowly, shushing and begging silently like the baby could understand his words. "Please, quite down." Purpled had tears in his eyes; Quackity did too. He eyed the clock, seeing that it was three in the morning. He was oh so tired, only managing maybe two hours of sleep after yesterday's five. "What do you want. Please tell me what you want."

Purpled only cried— a five month old hadn't the vocabulary to respond. Quackity didn't really expect anything more.

A bottle of warm milk should have fixed it, half an hour of cuddles should have made it better, but Purpled cried on. Thankfully, Quackity had Charlie by his side at the point, the peculiar man taking Purpled from his arms when he realized how distressed Quackity had grown.

"I can take care of him." Quackity insisted, hands reaching immediately to snatch Purpled from the other's hold.

Charlie shook his head, offering a finger to Purpled. The baby took it into his mouth, cries reduced to whimpers as he chewed at the flesh, fat tears still at the corners of his eyes.

Any other day, the sight would have been cute.

"You're tired." Charlie hummed, getting up and heading for the door before Quackity could argue against it. "Go back to sleep. Purpled from Ixion will be here when you awaken."

Quackity only nodded dumbly, the world quieting down and his arms feeling empty, a weight missing. It took him a good minute to finally move from where he was standing in the middle of the room, heading straight back to bed.

Sleep did not find him peaceful.

It wasn't much of an uncommon occurrence for his brain to stir up old memories, dragging him into a past where he, at the ripe age of nineteen, found himself in a relationship with an alcoholic.

The dreams weren't always bad. Quackity oftentimes wished they were. He found the rare positive dream far more distressing, sometimes— he remembered the early days, when neither had a care in the world, when things were almost okay, when Quackity did not have to lock himself in bathrooms or beg his boyfriend at the time not to drink and drive.

He missed those days. He missed the thrill. That was all those days were— a cheap thrill. Jschlatt was something addictive, a man who could in the matter of minutes switch up from the love of your life to an angry drunk. Quackity still caught himself missing it all more than he'd like to admit.

He woke up startled. Not in cold sweat, not in racing hearts, just incredibly startled. Truly, he couldn't even remember much of the dream aside from him and his ex and their fucking babies, but he chose to willfully forget it all, heading straight into the bathroom to wash his face.

Focus on here, on now. Focus on what's actually true. Jschlatt was the asshole who broke his mind, shat on his heart, and ruined his life. He dragged him through the mud and laughed— Quackity did not need to reminisce or stay hung up on a past that never was his.

Charlie is his, Purpled is his, Fundy and Foolish too. Quackity had more to focus on than that dickhead.

He breathed deeply through his nose, finally meeting his reflection. He looked a mess. His hair was sticking up in all angles, eye bags weighing down on his face, and his skin looking sickly from exhaustion both physical and bone deep.

Quackity washed his face once more and headed into the kitchen, where all of his friends were sitting around a breakfast table, Purpled looking content where he sitting on Foolish's lap, chewing away at the man's finger.

"I'm pretty sure we've bought him at least two teethers." Quackity muttered mostly to himself, grabbing an offered mug of coffee from Fundy and nodding appreciatively.

"Purpled from Ixion prefers chewing on flesh."

And really, Quackity probably wasn't supposed to find that cute, but he did. "He's going to eat us alive once his teeth grow in." He smiled at the thought, imagining a life where Purpled grows up in his care, where he gets to keep the baby without worrying about when his parents would show up next, or when the government will raid their little apartment and steal what little stability Quackity managed to build from himself.

Purpled looked up, following the sound of his voice. Quackity chose to believe that it was recognition in his eyes, because the moment the baby saw him he forgot all about Foolish's finger, reaching out with both his small hands and nearly toppling over trying to reach him.

Quackity was not always a good mother, but he tried to be. Purpled didn't care or understand last night, too small for judgment or criticism Quackity had projected onto him.

Quackity smiled at the sight, immediately reaching back for Purpled.

The past will continue to haunt him, and he was fairly certain that would remain true for years to come, but he had family now. Quackity's life was too full of love to focus on the hate of the past.

Chapter Text

Quackity hadn't seen Purpled all day and he was starting to lose his mind— eight full hours? Without seeing his baby? Yeah, no.

His classmates had gotten used to him by this point, not even Jared bothering to stop him on him by the door or ask him why in the world he was the first person out of class every single day. Quackity wasn't going to answer if they asked, anyway.

Things were fine. Things were totally fine. His parents hadn't bothered him since the "visit" on Sunday, and he'd been avoiding Wilbur like the plague. Everything was fine. All he needed to do was make his way back home, have his baby in his arms, and then everything would finally fade into background noise.

His feet were aching by the time he finally made it to the sorry excuse of an apartment building, partially from sprinting all the way back, but mostly due to his shoes, cheap as they were, being too big in places and too tight in others.

Not that he could afford new ones, not with the way groceries, formula, and diapers burned through his stipend.

The pain in the soles of his feet didn't matter, however, neither did the exhaustion from two weeks of consistent lack of sleep. The moment Quackity walked through that door, the world was reduced to him and the stupid little baby sitting on the couch, who seemed to be unsure where his foot was supposed to go, mistakenly placing it in his mouth.

Either that or it was flesh, and flesh was good for his sore gums.

Quackity walked past Fundy and Foolish, paying them no mind and immediately grabbing Purpled and pressing him to his chest.

The baby whined, squirming uncomfortably for a few seconds and oh God even his fucking baby hates him— no. No. Quackity offered Purpled a finger and that immediately cut down the fussiness.

Quackity felt the familiar peace wash over him, muscles relaxing and sleep deprivation long forgotten. Purpled's antennae twitched, wide purple eyes blinking up at Quackity as he pressed forward, head on the man's chest.

"Hey, baby." Nothing else in the world mattered, not here, not with Purpled in his arms. He could see his flatmates' eyes boring into him, but he paid them no mind, checking Purpled over for any needs unmet. "When'd you feed him?"

Fundy only stared at him for a moment longer, expression unreadable. He glanced at the clock before finally talking. "About an hour ago, now. He shouldn't be hungry yet."

Quackity nodded, turning around and heading towards his bedroom. He paused halfway there. "Thanks for taking care of him, by the way."

Fundy nodded wordlessly, slumping back against the couch and pulling out his phone.

The man was an enigma, that Quackity knew, but he knew better than to press or ponder, knew better than to try and understand pages written in a language no person on earth, or even outside of it, understood.

Life fell into routine quicker than he thought it would, the alien baby in his arms becoming something of family, something of his. When had 'the baby' turn into 'his'? When had he accepted himself a parent to something so strange?

The toys scattered about everywhere in the apartment, the way he could do the trip from his bed to the crib blindfolded, the way his notifications were all parenting videos and some from Fundy regarding SIDS. All things he never was worrying about only a month prior, all things he'd assumed would be for the distant future to think of.

"Today was a long day, huh?" Purpled only pressed against his chest, seeking comfort in a way that had his heart aching. When had his priorities changed? When did he go from worrying about tomorrow's lectures to being responsible for the wellbeing of a whole person?

Purpled was babbling nonsense, antennae twitching as he spoke with a tone that sounded humorously frustrated.

"I know. I know. I didn't mean to leave you alone all day." Quackity couldn't help the smile, pressing a kiss to the baby's cheek and tickling his sides. "Come on, then. It's leg day."

If Purpled could talk, Quackity was sure he would have cursed him out.

Purpled was too young to actually stand up— he only just managed to start rolling over, and tummy time was going wonderfully. Quackity was sure he was going to go to hell for this, but he found it entertaining, and google said his baby should be able (possibly) to bear down weight on his legs.

Once more, then, Quackity held Purpled upright, forcing him to do so. Or try. He knew Purpled was capable of it — he'd done it multiple times before — but the baby did not seem to enjoy it, doing it for maybe two seconds before pulling back, trying to fall into a sitting position.

Quackity didn't allow it, but that didn't stop Purpled, who immediately melted in his hands, arms passing through Quackity's hands, and flopping on the bed, immediately falling on his back. He looked content to be there.

Quackity shivered at the sensation. "I didn't read about this anywhere on Google." He muttered to himself, but Purpled responded with smug mumbles.

With a huffed smile, Quackity laid down next to Purpled, pulling him into his arms. The act was not protested this time, Purpled's hands toying with Quackity's hair instead. His phone vibrated in his pocket but he chose to ignore it for the time being, cuddling the baby closer until his eyes went heavy, until Quackity's did, too.

It could have been Charlie who moved Purpled into his crib, when he returned home, entering their shared room and smiling it that sight. Or maybe it was Fundy, who's always been adamant about safe sleeping, about how a small mistake can turn into a lifetime of regret.

When Quackity woke up a few hours later, Purpled was due for a feed, and his parents had messaged him telling him to visit this week.

He didn't respond, not yet, opting to focus on the baby in his arms for the time being. He couldn't last eight hours without that familiar feeling of impending doom consuming his very being, he wasn't sure he could survive a whole weekend.

Chapter Text

Quackity didn't hate his parents. He's quite aware how much his constant avoidance of them and the sheer amount of anxiety he felt every time he spoke to them sometimes came off as resentment, but he wasn't so ungrateful as to deny how much he owed them.

They took him in after all, didn't they? Out of all the children that needed a home, needed security, it was Quackity who they took in. He wasn't entitled to his place in this family by birth, not the way most of his friends were— he needed to prove that he was a good choice, a worthy investment.

He spent his entire life doing anything but that. Smoking weed in high school, getting out of one shit relationship only to get into another. So yes, a law degree. Quackity was going to become someone his parents could start to feel proud of in order to make up for his disastrous past.

Getting a baby before getting a degree was certainly not a way to do that, especially not when said baby had fallen out of the sky, especially not when Quackity had technically kidnapped and hid them away from the police department, when his own father was the police department.

He digressed. As long as Sam and Ponk stayed out of the FF bedroom, everything would be okay, right? They had no business going in there, anyway.

Purpled was fed, changed, and comforted to sleep. If everything goes according to plan, he should sleep through the whole thing. Assuming that Quackity's parents would be charitable enough not to stay the entire afternoon, that is.

Quackity put more effort into his appearance than he would for a date, trying to look like anything but a law student who was forced into parenthood by the universe out of nowhere. Then spend the next hour or so preparing snacks and cooking a hefty meal for the unlikely case that his parents show up hungry.

The doorbell came too soon, despite his parents showing up exactly on time. Quackity wasn't at all prepared mentally or emotionally, but he supposed he never would have been. Still, he forced himself to open the door, only after ensuring that Fundy and Purpled were okay alone in the bedroom, and greeted his parents with a suspiciously wide smile. "Heyyy guys." He stood at the doorway for a few seconds too long, only noticing when Foolish cleared his throat. He stepped back sheepishly, making way for them to walk in. "Come in, come in. Make yourself at home."

Sam only responded with a nod, seemingly having forgotten to turn off cop-mode, while Ponk smacked his back with a little too much force than they'd anticipated, and pulled him along inside the apartment. "Hey, boys." They smiled at Foolish and Charlie, both doing a concerningly bad job at concealing their nerves. "Sorry for the short notice. We just thought we'd come visit instead of having Q take the ride home."

"Yes. Yeah." Foolish nodded, waiting for Sam and Ponk to choose where to sit before taking the armchair, effectively leaving no place but the one empty spot on the couch for Quackity to take. Charlie grabbed himself a chair. "Appreciate it. Q's been real busy."

Quackity glared at the man but knew to get over it quick, trying to smooth the situation over. "Oh, yeah. Law school's beating my ass, you know it is."

"We'll take that over boyfriends doing it."

The silence that fell afterwards was suffocating, nothing but Quackity's nervous chuckle to break it. "Um... So, how's— how's work?"

Ponk had been glaring at their husband, but they turned back to him at the question. "Hospital's tiresome, but all things considered, everything's been great." He glanced between Quackity and Sam, sighing. "It was good to see you, kiddo, but I think it's best the two of us get going."

"Ponk—"

"Sam."

Quackity could feel Charlie's hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in what could be an offer or a request for comfort. He held his breath until Sam huffed, grumbling quietly but relenting anyway, and rising to his feet. "Very well, then." He grabbed his phone from the table in front of him, already moving towards the door. "Don't forget to call."

Nodding in relief, Quackity accompanied his parents to the doorway. Ponk paused on the way there. "Sam, can you go first and drive the car closer? The parking lot's far and my feet are cramping." Their voice had been phony, dripping with honey. Quackity wasn't sure if his father had truly fallen for it, but he didn't fight against it.

They watched him until he got into the elevator, until he was far enough that Ponk could drop the act. "Spill it, what are you hiding?"

"What?" Quackity was considering feigning innocence, but one look from Ponk had him shutting up. He glanced back helplessly at his friends, but all they did was shrug.

"I won't tell Sam— you know I wouldn't." Ponk looked him straight in the eyes, nothing but sincerity in their eyes. "You gotta tell me if you're in trouble. You gotta tell me if you need help."

Quackity wasn't so certain if telling them was a smart decision, but it was tempting.

"You wouldn't tell anyone?"

It wasn't just because he needed the weight off his chest, no. Ponk was the only pediatrician he could possibly rely on when it came Purpled, and that starts with transparency.

"I won't tell the cops. As long as it's not illegal, of course."

Ponk's concern only grew when Quackity grimaced in response, but when he lead the way, they followed. Fundy stood the moment they entered the room, turning to talk to them but pausing in his tracks when he caught a glimpse of their company.

It took only one glimpse at the baby wrapped in a blanket for Ponk to gasp, hand over the mouth. "I knew it." If only they knew. "Whose baby is this?"

"It's complicated..." Quackity muttered, approaching Purpled and gathering him into his arms. This was the point of no return. "We don't really know."

"So, you found a baby and just stole it?" Ponk was understandably worried, reaching out for the baby and squinting confusedly when Quackity pulled him closer.

"Him. And it's not that simple, Pa." Quackity bit his lip. Charlie nodded at him and that gave him the courage to loosen his grip. "I'm only showing you because you're the only doctor I can trust, but he's not a normal baby."

When Quackity offered Purpled this time, Ponk didn't hesitate to take him into their arms. They had a smile on their face, despite everything, but they froze the moment they uncovered Purpled's face. "What the actual fuck?" Purple eyes blinked up at them, antennae clicking with drowsiness. "What is he?"

"Remember the crash sight from a couple of weeks ago..?"

"Oh, dear God."

Chapter Text

Ponk knew. That in itself was nerve-racking to the point Quackity couldn't stop twisting and turning in his bed until he heard quiet whimpering from the crib, signaling that Purpled was due for a feed.

It would have been fine, theoretically, if Quackity's parents were normal. Did he seriously believe Ponk's promise not to tittle-tattle? Quackity should have known better than to trust Ponk with such sensitive information after everything. After Ponk found out he smoked weed in high school and had him confined in his room for the rest of senior year (very counterproductive— he didn't smoke weed after that, sure, but Quackity only spiraled downwards in the isolation). Or when they found bruises on his body and had Sam take his boyfriend into custody despite the way Quackity, with rose-tinted sunglasses and so deep in love, sobbed and hyperventilated on the bathroom floor.

Alas, Quackity had his reasons to believe that Ponk wasn't much of a well of secrets, and yet he still was foolish enough to not only tell them, but also show them.

"I'm going to die," he ever so dramatically grumbled, only minutes after returning from his class and lying on the living room carpet while Purpled played around with his toys.

"No, you're not." Charlie hummed, rolling from the couch onto the floor next to him. Quackity leaned closer. "I won't let Quackity from Las Nevadas die prematurely."

Quackity couldn't help the fond smile, glancing back at Purpled, who met his eyes and babbled some nonsense. "Yeah, you're right." He tickled the baby's tummy, heart growing heavy at the giggles he got in response. "I can't die yet. I've got you to take care of now. Everything will be okay anyway, surely Ponk won't tell on us, yeah?"

The future was an unpredictable thing. Quackity always thought it to be disorienting— the way so much can change so quickly, how no action can possibly truly be taken back. He felt the same way he felt yesterday, nothing had changed, not really, but at the same time, he knew that somehow everything had. Charlie was still by his side, Purpled now toying with his hand like it was the most interesting thing in the world, but whatever peace Quackity somehow managed to make for himself was now forever tainted, his world just at the very brink of falling apart.

The waiting was the part that always killed him. Dread was a suffocating thing, sinking its teeth into any moment of joy and poisoning it. Quackity could almost pretend that everything was okay, with all of his friends surrounding him at the dinner table, but wishful thinking could only pretend to be the truth.

He wasn't sure when it had hit him— maybe it was when he heard the police sirens in the distance. Maybe it was when it only got closer, and then closer some more.

Senior year had been a strange one. Quackity had a knack for sticking to those just as fucked up as he. It was almost poetic, was it not? Misery attracts itself, breaking all known laws of physics. Ponk liked to boast about Quackity's 'transformation' like it was some sort of success story. Their recollection of the story was always sugarcoated, made more palatable.

'He just got caught up with the wrong crowd.' They liked to say, but Quackity could only disagree. He was the bad crowd. He made his fair share of mistakes, but he owned up to them (for the most part). It hadn't mattered, though. Quackity didn't stop smoking or drinking for himself, no. He was dragged out of hell by the wrist.

Sam had interesting parenting techniques. Ponk had told him about Quackity's weed stash over the phone, and the man made sure to make quite the appearance. He made a point to keep his siren on when he returned home that day, still in uniform, and broke down Quackity's door like he had been some sort of dangerous criminal.

Quackity spent that night and some more behind bars.

It taught him... not very much. Maybe to be terrified of his father, because that he was right now— terrified to his very core. He got off the dinner table without a sound, rushing to the one window from which he knew the parking lot was visible. It was a police car like any other, could have been anything or anyone, but it had parked nearby and from it his father emerged.

"Fuck." Quackity could cry. His eyes were already burning. He rushed to grab the sleeping baby from his crib, making no effort to put his shoes on before rushing to the door of the apartment. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

"Q, what in the world is going on?" Foolish approached him, the others following close behind. "Hey, please breathe. Tell me what's going on."

"Sam is here." Quackity hiccuped, turning the knob. "I need to get him out of here. We need to leave."

The silence that followed was tense, suffocating, but Quackity chose not to drown in it. He stepped on his pride and dignity and rushed to Wilbur's door, knocking on it like a madman and paying no mind to the others. He glanced back at the elevator, the numbers increasing.

"Fuck. You fucking bitch, open up!" He shouted with zero regard for the steadiness of his voice or the stirring of the baby in his arms. "Please, open the door, Wilbur. Open the door."

The door opened after a second or two, and Quackity immediately pushed past the older man, collapsing the moment he shut the door behind himself.

"Hey, what the— what's going on?" Wilbur peeked through the peephole, cursing to himself quietly. "Holy shit. Why are the cops after— wait, is that your dad?"

Quackity didn't answer, couldn't. He couldn't breathe, couldn't comfort the baby that was growing increasingly fussy in his arms.

'Where is he? Where's the baby?'

He could only just make out Sam's voice over the pounding of his heart, the shallowness of his breath. Wilbur glanced down at him, at the alien baby in his arms, and gasped. "What the fuck is wrong with your baby?"

Quackity could feel Purpled's antennae vibrate, attempting to flood him with happy hormones, but it barely helped. Trying to keep him calm so Quackity could take care of him, so he could keep his shit together.

'He's not here. Sam, he's not inside! Stay out—'

'Don't tell me what to fucking do.'

Quackity wanted to keep pretending that things were still okay. He oh so desperately wanted none of this to be true, but it was.

'Don't— I'm recording you. I'm fucking recording you. You don't have a search warrant!'

The shouting was fading into background noise. Wilbur stared at him in silence for another moment. "What kind of mess have you gotten yourself into this time, Big Q."

"I don't know." Quackity pulled Purpled closer, his whole body shaking violently. "I don't fucking know."

Chapter Text

Despite being renowned for his assholery, Wilbur miraculously managed not to make things worse. He sat on the floor next to Quackity as the shouting continued just on the other side of the wall, Sam's voice inaudible as he pushed past Quackity's flatmates and right into their apartment.

His father seemed to have lost his mind. Quackity felt fear fill him like nothing else, a feeling he could recall experiencing very few times in his life— when he was taken away from his biological parents, when Sam dragged him into the police car, when Sam broke into his and Jschlatt's apartment.

He was grown now, though. He wasn't that lost or confused kid anymore. Quackity didn't need intervention; he didn't need his father swooping in to save the day, and he certainly didn't need him to shake the entire building with his screaming. All the noise had startled Purpled, the baby squirming uneasily in Quackity's hold, hands grasping onto whatever they could in search of comfort.

"Let's get you away from the door before that thing starts screaming."

Quackity was very tempted to claw Wilbur's eyes out, but he still took the extended hand for the sake of Purpled, walking further into the apartment. As far as possible from the walls leading into the hallway— not that the apartment was particularly large.

Regardless, Quackity wasn't very happy about the prospect of hiding away in an ex's (?) place, but he supposed beggars can't be choosers. And he had more important things to worry about. He rocked his baby gently, whispering sweet nothings in attempts to calm down the fussing before it spiraled into a breakdown, before it broke into something he couldn't hide away from a man insane and still on the same floor as himself.

Wilbur had gotten up to the corner of the room where a worn-out guitar lay, picking it up and thoughtlessly beginning to play it. It wasn't a melody Quackity was familiar with, but it flooded him with nostalgia, all the same. It was a dance they'd played before, two years ago, when Quackity was fresh out of a relationship that drained all life out of him and Wilbur was going through... Wilbur things, whatever those were. They never spoke feelings, not really, just picked the guitar when one was on the verge of collapse or already crying his eyes out, and played a tune that vaguely harmonized with the other's sobs or shallow breathing.

The music seemed to calm Purpled down, lulling him back into very light sleep. It eased Quackity's nerves, too. The world was reduced to the little bubble that was eerily reminiscent of a past tempting, but Quackity was different now. He didn't need toxic men to latch onto, didn't need to fill the void in his heart because it was non-existent, filled to the brim with love.

Someone always had to come and try to steal his peace.

"I'm sorry," Wilbur spoke as his fingers strummed the strings of the guitar, of Quackity's heart that never quite figured out how to stop bleeding, "I'm not friends with him at all— I don't know why I was playing the devil's advocate."

"You still talk to him, though." Quackity didn't need to make any accusations. The betrayal still stirred up a million unresolved emotions, but he was surprised to find that it didn't break him like it would have a year ago.

"My mother just had a baby, Big Q." Wilbur's words were near nonsensical— Quackity didn't see the relevance of the claim. "You have one too, you should get it. Even though your baby is weird as fuck— someone needs to keep an eye on Schlatt. Babies are stupidly fragile, can't have him fuck up another person."

"There's no fixing him."

"I used to think there was no fixing you either." Neither knew if the words were meant to burn, but they did. "Look at you now, though. You've cleaned up pretty well."

"Low one," Quackity muttered, glancing down at the baby sleeping quietly in his arms. The shouting outside had died down, the echoes of music doing so, too. "I'm not a lost cause like you."

"You flatter me, Quackity." Wilbur chuckled, putting down the guitar. There was a glint in his eyes that Quackity didn't trust— the reflection of a fire they were meant to have long put out. "You've always had a way with words."

"I'm not flirting with you."

"I never said you were." Wilbur didn't win, but it seemed as though a part of him thought he did. "If anything, you saying that only implies it's true—"

"I really am not flirting with you." Quackity replied with a voice steady, assured, because he didn't need Wilbur to knock at the doors of his heart the moment he notices blood seeping out the gaps beneath, not again, and especially not now. "I've got a good thing going for me. I don't need you anymore."

"Right, sure." Wilbur's expression was indecipherable, but Quackity chose not to read too much into it anyway. "That weird guy that was with you—"

"Charlie."

"Yeah, Charlie. I'm guessing the baby isn't his, then?"

"Not sure if he was anyone's." Quackity hummed, pulling Purpled closer to himself. "He's mine now, though. No one's taking him away from me."

"Not even your psycho father?"

Despite everything, the air was easygoing, but not in that addictive, cloying way that had been familiar to them two. It was more peaceful, far less suffocating.

"Not even my psycho dad, no." Quackity rose from the armchair, walking past pizza boxes and discarded socks. He made his way to the door and looked through the peephole. The hallway was empty now, the door to his apartment across the hallway closed. "I think I'll be leaving, now."

"Goodbye, then, Big Q."

Giving one last nod of acknowledgment, Quackity made his way back to the flat he called his. He found it in disarray when he walked through, his friends sitting in awkward silence around the living room table.

The moment they heard the door open, all three stood and rushed his way, carrying varying degrees of panic and concern. After looking over both him and Purpled and determining that they were okay, Quackity was coaxed into heading to the bedroom despite the clutter around the apartment.

"We'll handle it." Foolish promised, dragging Quackity by the arm into the bedroom. "Just keep an eye on the little guy, okay?"

"Okay." There was a lot they were meant to talk about, but time was the only thing they had. "I'll— okay."

Chapter Text

Quackity and Purpled couldn't possibly stay in the apartment building. Sam couldn't possibly be reasoned with. 

Those were the two main issues Quackity found himself facing— just what in the world was he meant to do with either?

There was no saying what Sam had already shared and with whom. Quackity's was honest to God fucked, and he realized that the stupid decision to trust his parents — who had time and time again failed him one way or another — had changed the trajectory of the rest of his life, and the entirety of Purpled's. 

All dreams of a normal life for the two of them, gone. All thoughts of Purpled as a toddler, walking with him when he graduates, somehow even more unrealistic than they had already been. Quackity was lost in the thoughts of normalcy he forgot where they both came from, forgot that they were both aliens with no home and no one to lean on.

No, Quackity totally wasn't projecting his life purpose, or the lack thereof, of the poor baby he found when he went hiking twenty days ago. Fates had aligned in odd and mysterious ways, though, and for the sake of making sense of the nonsensical, he had drawn his own conclusions and wishful thinking that maybe everything happened for a reason.

Quackity's future looked a lot like years behind bars and a life of isolation. 

For the sake of Purpled, and for the sake of the pounding in his heart, the trembling of his hands, the whirlwind in his mind, Quackity oh so needed to find a way out of this that didn't include losing the baby he'd grown used to waking him up every night, chewing on his fingers, and magically helping him with his school work. 

Despite the clear instructions to stay back and focus on Purpled for the time being, Quackity found himself packing two bags the moment his baby was changed and comforted back to sleep. One for Purpled, with everything he'd bought for him, and one with some of Quackity's stuff, as well as any baby things that hadn't fit in the other bag. 

"Where do you think you're going, Quackity from Las Nevadas?" Charlie was already standing on the other side of the door when he opened, with arms crossed and a pout that Quackity found hard to take seriously.

"We need to get out of here. There's no way in hell Sam isn't coming back, and who fucking knows who he'll drag back with him." Quackity brushed past the peculiar man, struggling to hold up two bags and an infant. "I can— there's a hotel nearby. I can stay there until we figure out a permanent solution, but staying here is not an option. 

It was albeit a little shocking that the others humored him long enough to finish speaking, but they didn't continue to do so even a moment longer. "Q, you're not thinking logically here, you can't just leave." Despite knowing the man better than to assume the words to be condescending, Fundy's tone only managed to piss him off, his nervous system wrecked from the day's event. 

"You don't get to tell me what to—"

"What he meant to say is," Foolish chimed in, getting between the two of them and forcing Quackity to take a step back. He grabbed one of the bags. "We're not gonna let you go alone. At least take Charlie with you."

"And what, exactly? What are you going to do with him?" Fundy scoffed, pointing at Purpled, sleeping unaware of the mess going on around him. "How long will you run? How long can you outrun the fucking authorities?"

The idea of someone taking Purpled away sickened Quackity. He couldn't imagine him turning into a wondrous thing that fell from the skies, dissected and studied like an object of fascination and not a baby, not Quackity's baby. 

"What am I meant to do, then? Just let them take him away?"

"Maybe it's for the better!"

"What do you fucking know about him? He's not yours!" Quackity's shouting startled Purpled awake, immediately eliciting whimpers that threatened to develop into shrill cries. "You rejected him from the start, you— you don't get it, Fundy. You would never understand what it's like to live in fear that your baby will be stolen away from you."

Fundy flinched back like the words burned, trembling hands clenched into fists. "You've had him for less than a month, Quackity." He sounded unsure, insecure, even, like the notion didn't make sense to him, like Quackity wasn't meant to care so much, and it didn't make sense. Nothing made sense. "How can you— last month you didn't even care about being a parent. Why did it just— come so naturally to you? How do you make it look so easy?"

"Why does it bother you?"

Quackity chose not to linger on the way Fundy retreated to his own bedroom, the door slamming and leaving the room in complete silence aside from Purpled's fussy hiccups. He focused on the baby, his, instead, and rushed to prepare a bottle while rocking Purpled gently. 

Charlie wordlessly took over, preparing it with efficiency and placing it in hot water. "You're not going alone." The words were spoken cheerfully as always, but there was a sense of seriousness that Quackity found disorienting. "We'll be okay. I won't let anyone hurt you, Quackity from Las Nevadas."

He chose to believe the words, pressing his head on Charlie's shoulder, choosing not to pay mind to the crying from Fundy's room, to Foolish rushing there to check up on the man. Purpled still squirmed uncomfortably,  clawing at his shirt. The way Quackity's body was automatic by this point. 

"No one will hurt him. We'll protect Purpled from Ixion." 

Charlie then retreated into a shared bedroom that almost felt like a home for their little family, returning with a bag of his own and a smile too bright for the mess they found themselves in. 

When they finally left their apartment, Wilbur was standing in front of his apartment, phone in his hand. He raised it, a smug grin making way to his face. "Need somewhere to stay?"

Chapter Text

Quackity and Wilbur never were a thing long enough to meet each other's parents— not that Quackity was stupid enough to do such a thing, especially as he wasn't all too thrilled about the prospect of bagging yet another unstable, not always sober guy right after Jschlatt. Quackity also never truly wanted to meet Wilbur's parents, partly because he didn't care to, and partly because he knew that even though they were seemingly lovely, something wicked must have been going on in that household for Wilbur to be the product of it.

Truly, when Wilbur offered them a place to stay, claiming that he'd already checked in with his parents and they agreed with open arms, Quackity hadn't even comprehended the full extent of what he was doing.

Wilbur's car was a sorry little thing, with dust in its corners and the whiff of cigarettes filling his lungs. He opened the window the moment he stepped in it, making sure that Purpled was as close to fresh air as possible for the entirety of the ride.

Under normal circumstances, he never would have found himself here, with a baby in his arms and his heart in his throat. Under normal circumstances, he never would have stepped foot near this house, and that made it perfect. Completely uncalled for, completely unpredictable. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but odd of a decision as coming here was, it might have just been the safest course of action available to him until whatever mess his own parents were cooking would catch up to him.

He digressed. He made sure that Purpled's little beanie (matching the one he was wearing, and yes, he felt giddy and stupidly happy about it) covered his little antennae, and praying that overstimulation wouldn't have the baby pulling it off before they had the privacy and space away from questioning eyes. It was a race against time until Purpled would inevitably wake up in search of food, and time was the one thing Quackity never was able to outrun.

"Your lips are downturned, Quackity from Las Nevadas," Charlie spoke in whispers, but he didn't quite seem to understand the purpose of whispering at all, the volume of his voice loud enough for Wilbur to hear. "What is the matter?"

"Don't you worry about it, Charlie." The bell was ever so looming, but Wilbur somehow managed to turn a deaf ear to the conversation, simply smoking a cigarette a few feet away and allowing Quackity to do everything at his own pace. "You probably shouldn't be smoking— there's gonna be two babies in the house."

"Which is why I'm smoking here, instead of inside."

Wilbur's agitating voice was enough to push Quackity to finally ring the doorbell, regretting the action the moment he heard footsteps walking through the halls of the house and heading straight for the door. He pulled Purpled closer to his chest instinctively when the door opened, a blond man standing in the hallway with his own pair of eye bags.

"Hello, mate." The man's voice was welcoming and strangely warm for Wilbur's father, but Quackity chose not to complain about good things happening in his life. "Come right in."

The house was spacious, clean despite the clutter. It looked like a house that was home to memories of love and peace — everything unlike Quackity's own childhood home.

He felt sick.

"I'm Phil, by the way. Probably should have started with that." Phil introduced himself, guiding Quackity and Charlie down the hallway and into, presumably, the living room.

There were family portraits all around, of Phil and Kristin with their older kids, much younger at the time. Normally, Quackity would have found himself something to use as ammunition against Wilbur later, searched for anything that was blackmail material, but he found himself caught off guard by another even more agitating person, with stupidly soft, pink hair that fell over his shoulders and a stoic face that never learned how to smile.

No fucking way.

Quackity didn't bask in the shock for long, though, not when Kristin came into view, looking as exhausted as a person could possibly be where she was sitting on the sofa. The culprit that had drained the life out of her sleeping in a nearby bassinet, barely visible from where Quackity stood awkwardly in the hallway.

Thankfully, Quackity didn't come face to face with a bitchy ex-classmate from one of his undergraduate classes, but he found himself frozen in place. The baby in the bassinet was far smaller than his, so fresh out of the womb, his face was still swollen and reddened.

"Um, hey." Quackity didn't know how he was meant to explain the predicament that he found himself in when this family was struggling with so much. Wilbur found his way to the armchair, Philza excused himself to grab something from the kitchen, and Charlie stood behind Quackity, speaking no words but very aware of another baby's presence in the room. Quackity didn't think this family could handle two grown-ups and a baby on top of the mess they were already in, but they still welcomed them in open arms. Quackity wondered absentmindedly if he was going to have to tell Charlie to go back to their own apartment and not increase the load on Wilbur's parents.

"Take a seat," Kristin's words were not a command, but Quackity complied with them as though they were orders. "Wil didn't tell us much about what happened, but we'll house you for as long as the danger persists."

The danger was never going to go away. Charlie's hand was on Quackity's shoulder — calming, supportive, grounding — and he realized there was no lying their way out of this one. Quackity glanced at Wilbur, pleading with his eyes for him to help with the situation, but as per usual, men proved themselves to be useless.

"Can I show you something?" Quackity sounded numb, felt that way too, as he walked even closer, presenting his baby to Kristin. Wilbur had reassured him that neither of his parents was affiliated with the government earlier, and while Quackity didn't quite trust the guy, something told him he'd been telling the truth.

He pulled Purpled's beanie off.