pin feathers
·˚ * summary: avian!quackity is going through a molt, a worried charlie slimecicle seeks you out for help
·˚ * pairing: c!quackity x gn!reader
·˚ * warnings: mentions of blood, yelling, abandonment
·˚ * word count: 1.5 k
·˚ * genre: angst, hurt/no comfort
·˚ * note: yes I know quackity doesn't call slimecicle "charlie" until after his death but I felt weird writing "slime" as his name
Living on the SMP was never going to be easy. You didn't expect it to be easy.
Then again, you didn't expect 2 of your fiancés to abandon you. You didn't expect your last fiancé to fall off the deep end and become the mastermind of a gambling scheme. You didn't expect, after all the love you've given, you would end up alone.
Your days were filled with quiet ministrations, distractions to keep yourself from mourning the life you had. Sharp taps sounding from your front door startled you from your task. Making your way to the door, you picked up your pace as the raps got louder and faster.
Throwing open the front door your found yourself face to face with a rather green boy who wore a worried expression on his face. "Y/n! Y/n!" How did he know your name? "You have to help him!" was the only thing he repeated as he grabbed your wrists and started tugging you in on direction.
"Wait!" you tugged yourself free from his hands "Back up! Who are you?" Finally the green man turned to you, now sporting a child-like grin.
"I'm a human person! With meat and bones!" He stated excitedly, seeming to miss your frustration.
"You got a name?" A wild nod was his response as he once again took your wrist and continued walking.
"I didn't always have a name! But Quackity from Las Nevadas calls me 'Charlie'." For the second time you pause, slipping from his grasp. Charlie turned with a confused expression to see you walking back towards your house.
"I don't want to see Quackity." was all you told Charlie when he got in front of you to stop your marching.
"But you're the only one who can help! His wings are hurting and he said 'Y/n from L'Manberg is the only who knows how to help' and you're Y/n!" Desperately he tried to explain the situation, succeeding when you stopped walking.
"What do you mean his wings hurt?" The boy's face twisted into concern as he described Quackity's mood swings, the way he was always itching and picking at his wings, and most worryingly, the fact that he wouldn't leave his room this morning.
"All right." You decided Charlie wouldn't give up and Quackity was clearly going through a tough molt. "Take me to him." The boy smiled before once again wrapping your hand in his slightly slimy grip.
The journey wasn't long but it still left you with enough time to think about your circumstances. This would be the first time you had seen Quackity since he abandoned you for Las Nevadas. The impressive buildings surrounding you did nothing to quell your nerves. You barely realized you were at his door until Charlie whispered that you should go in alone.
The door gave a dramatic creak, revealing Quackity slouching in bed, the duvet covered in feathers and stained with small amounts of blood. His eyes met yours and widened in frenzy.
"Why are you here?" He began to rise, before wincing and halting his movements. "Get out. I don't want you here."
You tried your best to remain stoic. He was in pain, he was frustrated and you were in his safe space. Still, it hurt you to hear those words coming from the same man who once promised himself to you. Maybe you expected too much from him, a smile, a sparkle in his eye. But here he sat, wishing you were gone.
You heard yourself take a shaky breath before you felt it. "I'm just here to help Q." You lifted your hands to placate his anger. You'd been witness to his molts time and time again, but they were never like this. "Charlie asked me to help." You tacked on when he still held the same questioning expression.
"I don't need help. Least of all yours." He spat out again.
Sighing once again, you searched the room for supplies, Quackity too tired to stop you. You set out a towels and a bucket of warm water beside the large mirror at the head of the room. "Come on Q. Sit."
With a final huff, he sets himself down slowly onto the largest towel in front of the mirror. Settling down on your knees behind him, you wet a towel and begin cleaning the dried blood from his wings and back. Should you speak? Do you really have any place to lecture him on his lack of care anymore? It's clear he doesn't want you here, but then why did he mention you to Charlie?
Placing the towel down you straightened yourself and find your voice. "I'm just gonna remove the loose ones, ok? Tell me if it hurts." You can't bring yourself to look up and his lack of response prompts you to begin your work. Scanning through his wings you find a gap where a feather's begun to come loose.
Gently touching the base of the feather you ask him if it feels alright to remove. He only gives a gruff "Its fine.", leaving you to finally look up to the mirror. You search his face for any sign of discomfort. There was a time in your relationship where you wouldn't have needed the mirror. When he would've told you if it hurt without fear of feeling weak. When he would've come to you for comfort, without question.
"Stop. I know you're looking. I said it was fine." Quackity's voice spurs you to look away from him. You don't apologize, simply removing the feather and placing it on the towel under him. You continue to pull feathers that had lost their hold.
An accidental brush of your hand against an incoming pin feather, the kind that itch and sting, causes Quackity to hiss through his teeth. Your hands move on their own to the base of his wings, to rub the tension from his back, like you used to do. Only this time, he stiffens, rolls his shoulders away and widens the gap between the two of you.
You can't bring yourself to look at him through the mirror, only muttering a small "Sorry." before rising to dispose of the towels and errant feathers. Quackity remains seated at the mirror while you clean around him, speaking once you reach the door.
"Why'd you come? Really. Why now?" He asks. You wish he didn't. You wish he let you leave in peace. You wish you had the strength to leave anyway. Instead you turn away from the door, leaning against the adjacent wall and crossing your arms.
"Your molt was bad. You needed me and I came. That's it." The words come easier than you imagined. That's all it was, right? The actions of a concerned citizen.
"Then why didn't you come the first time." You knew he would ask this. "I needed you then. Why didn't you come." He finishes his thought, still staring into the mirror.
Your not really sure why. You had loved him. He had needed you, but you didn't come. "I needed peace Q, not whatever this is. This isn't..."
"What? This isn't me, right?" He cuts you off before you can continue. "You're just like everyone else. You think I've changed. That I'm such a bad guy now. I'm beyond saving, I'm just some lunatic." His hands fly around frantically as he stands to speak.
His rant stops. His arms hang by his sides as he waits for your rebuff. Waits for you to argue and scream just like him. "You've always been like this Q." He waits again. "You've always been passionate and ambitious. It’s just, you used to be those things for me. And now..."
The sentence hangs unfinished in the air. Neither of you rush to complete it, fearing what it'll mean.
"So that's it." You can hear the defeat in his voice without having to look. "I'm unforgivable, huh?"
The way he says it sounds like a statement and a question all at once. Lifting your weary eyes to meet his, you truly look at him for the first time.
"You're not unforgivable Q. I'm just tired of forgiving people."
You hold his gaze for as long as you can bear it, turning back towards the room's exit. The door gives a soft click behind you and Charlie's slumped form pops up from the floor. He really hung around that whole time.
Once again his eyes shine brightly, as he asks if Quackity is better. You explain to Charlie how to watch over Quackity's wings, to stop him from itching and keep his sheets clean. The boy gives you a serious face as he nods along with your instructions.
You begin to walk away from Charlie, but stop and turn to watch him settle back down beside the door, seemingly getting ready to stay the night there. "Charlie." You call out to him. He raises his head from his knees and gives you a smile. "Does he treat you well?"
Charlie's smile grows as he answers. "Yep! He says we're best friends!" Good. At least Quackity has someone to take care of him. You continue down the hall, readying yourself for your journey home.
Read part 2 “fresh plumage”
