Chapter Text
“I don’t exactly know. He, uh. He was just sort of this weird guy in a suit, with horns. And some kind of impressive mutton chops.”
Charlie watched with a mix of fascination and horror as the shaky facade of calm melted away from Quackity’s form in real time. There was rage in those eyes, potent enough to have Charlie stepping back on instinct.
“Schlatt? Schlatt did this to you!?” Quackity demanded, through gritted teeth.
“Uh, I mean, he didn’t really say his…”
Charlie trailed off, as the shards of disjointed memories and images he’d witnessed (both in the moment the sheep man had handed him the apple, and through those mirrors in the shop in the void) flashed through his head.
Schlatt, yeah. That sounded correct, in an uncomfortably familiar sort of way. The name fit like a vice clamped around his brain.
Hesitant, and all too aware of his new friend’s brewing anger, Charlie nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“That bastard! I- You know what?” Quackity chuckled. “I don’t even care that he’s already dead! I’m gonna find a way to kill him again. Or, at least, make him wish that I could!”
The slime felt his mouth contort into a frown, and he fought to keep it constrained to the proportions of a human face. “You really shouldn’t-”
“Are you seriously defending him right now?” Quackity’s tone was low, dangerous.
Charlie’s eyes darted between the suit, the scar, the wings. Those large, clearly defined differences between the man before him and one he’d encountered in his past life. Because right now Quackity was looking far too similar to Wilford for comfort, and he needed- something. Reassurance, he guessed. That he wasn’t back there. That beneath the seething hatred being displayed, this was still someone he could call an ally.
A friend.
Charlie took a deep (and probably unnecessary, he wasn’t sure how real his lungs were. If he even had any) breath to center himself before speaking.
“I don’t want you to get yourself hurt or, fuck, killed. He’s dangerous.”
Something shifted in the duck hybrid’s expression. “No, no he isn’t. I know why you think that, how easy it is to let him make you think that, but he’s really not. He’s just pathetic. Especially now.” Quackity smiled. “Now c’mon. We’re gonna go pay that son of a bitch a friendly little visit, alright?”
Facing Schlatt was just about the last thing in the world that Charlie wanted to do. But Quackity was determined, and who was he if he didn’t walk directly into the line of fire with a grin on his face to play the role of human shield for a friend he had just barely met?
Man, he needed therapy or something.
Nah. This was probably a healthy way to approach interpersonal relationships. As long as he didn’t think about it for more than a minute, he could convince himself that was true (which was a lot faster and cheaper!)
After a long trudge through completely unfamiliar terrain (which Charlie keenly scanned for potential threats, forcing himself not to dwell on the strangeness of it all because he couldn't afford to be distracted) they arrived at their apparent destination. A small, dank stone basement with water-damaged workout equipment and stained posters. Crouched in the corner like some sort of gremlin and eating handfuls of protein powder straight out of the jar was Schlatt.
Something was… off about him, though. Not just the behavior. Honestly, with what Charlie had seen? This absolute nonsense tracked.
His appearance, however…
He knew that Schlatt could manipulate how he looked, to some extent. Condi said he’d appeared to him in a pristine white suit, likely molding himself to seem ever so slightly more credible to the scientist. Like a reputable source, or whatever.
But this just wasn’t right. There was something missing, and Charlie didn’t just mean the color in his skin. (Because, yeah, the dude was completely fucking gray, for some godforsaken reason. Almost like a zombie, but he wouldn’t think about that too hard because he wasn’t in the mood to start melting again.)
No, there was something Schlatt had always had when Charlie encountered him previously. In traces at first, and showing itself far stronger towards their last two meetings. A sort of presence, heavy and suffocating. Like he was something too large for his skin. Like the body that Charlie saw was just a puppet for some gargantuan, invisible thing that lie beyond his comprehension.
The gray dude in front of him was recognizable, sure. The face, the hair, the horns. But he didn’t have that terrible, crushing aura. The terrible air of otherworldliness that set Charlie’s teeth on edge.
This wasn’t really him, couldn’t be. He’d never been so certain of anything in his life. (At least, the parts he could remember.)
“What’s goin’ on? You here to work out with me? Make some gains? Sick gains, bro?” The ram hybrid asked, staring at them with cloudy, hollow eyes.
“No, no we aren’t here to work out.” Quackity chuckled, a distinct undertone of threat dripping from his words.
“You sure? Not even some squats? You could really use them, y’know.” Schlatt replied, with the most punchable grin Charlie had ever seen.
That seemed to strike a nerve, and quick as a lunging coked-up zombie, Quackity whipped out a sword and held the point to the ram’s throat.
“Shut your fucking mouth.” His words were spoken in a low voice, each one drawn out for emphasis. “Now you’re gonna tell me exactly what you did to my friend here, or we’re gonna find out together exactly how much pain you can feel as a ghost.”
Wow, was Charlie glad this dude was on his side!
“Woooah, okay, okay! God, take a fuckin’ chill pill! Jesus!” The ram lifted his protein powder covered hands defensively, eyes darting around the dilapidated room nervously.
He finally turned to look at Charlie for the first time, and his brow furrowed with confusion.
“Wait… Charlie? The hell are you doin’ here, man?”
In what many people would call a pro-gamer move, Charlie answered his question with another question. “You’re not even him, how do you know me?”
“What? Charlie, c’mon dude, very funny. It’s me! You know me!”
He was saved from having to worry about the implications of that by Quackity cutting in.
“Wait wait wait, hold on. What do you mean, ‘You’re not even him.’ You said it was Schlatt! He’s the one who fucked you up like this! He’s the reason you’re all…”
“Well, first of all, thanks for calling me ‘fucked up,’ that’s always a really great and fun thing to hear from a friend.” Charlie forced a laugh.
Quackity winced, seeming to have just now realized the implication of his words. “No, wait, I didn’t mean-”
“Secondly,” Charlie interrupted, “Look at him!” He gestured towards Schlatt, who was now sniffing at the tub of protein powder, seemingly having lost interest in the conversation. “That’s a fuckin’ husk, dude! Whoever spent all that time messing with me, whoever brought me here? This definitely isn’t him.”
“I don’t know, Sli- Charlie, he’s a damn good liar when he wants to be. In fact…”
Quackity whipped around to face the distracted ram hybrid, digging the point of his sword into the man’s chest and provoking a quiet grunt of pain.
“I’m not sure I buy this whole ‘stupid meathead ghost’ act.”
Ghost? Ghosts are fucking real, now? Cool! Great! Awesome! He’s already dealt with zombies, and a goddamn wizard who apparently wasn’t just an obnoxious LARPer, so why not ghosts!
In the time it took Charlie to have yet another fun little mini-breakdown, Quackity apparently decided that Schlatt’s lack of sudden confession was reason enough to up the ante.
The duck hybrid pressed his weapon forward in a smooth, almost casual motion. Like it was something he’d done a hundred times before. Charlie watched in morbid fascination as Schlatt’s flesh seemed to stretch inward an improbable amount before popping like a balloon, allowing the sword to impale his torso fully.
“Fuck! That hurts! What’d I ever do to you, huh?”
“Are you seriously asking me that right now?” Quackity gave a disbelieving laugh. “No. No, this isn’t about that. This isn’t about me right now, because if we had that conversation we’d be here all day. This is about Slime, and whatever the hell you did to make him so goddamn scared.”
As much as he should probably be concerned by this, (just like he probably should’ve been more concerned when he heard Tommy saying things like “only violence on humans!” and “you gain their trust, and then you eat them. That’s the meta strategy.”) Charlie found the protectiveness almost endearing. Call him pathetic and lonely and starved for meaningful human connection, but it was nice to feel cared for. Even if it was in an unethical and bloodthirsty way.
The nice, warm, fuzzy feeling was almost enough to make him totally overlook the way Quackity had called him “Slime.” Just like he did when he first met the guy in the basement of the needle. The vaguely dehumanizing nature of that nickname, the way it reminded him of how confused Quackity had seemed upon hearing his name.
It awakened the part of him that was bitter and jaded from Tommy’s betrayal, reluctant to give over his trust (even if he knew he’d do it anyways. Again and again. Because even if his new friend inevitably betrayed, hurt, killed him? At least he wouldn’t be alone until then. It’s not like he even had a milestone to reach anymore. He didn’t have to be all too careful with his life.)
“Wait- Listen Flatty, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t do anything! I haven’t even seen that guy in forever!” Schlatt’s voice was pained, his words quick and desperate.
“Stop. Lying.” Quackity yanked the sword upwards roughly, leaving a gash of torn, smoky spectral flesh in its wake. “Tell me what you did right now, or I swear to god I’ll carve your fucking heart out and eat it all over again.”
Hold up, what?
“You did what?” Charlie asked, the world starting to blur as his worry rose.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, I swear!” Schlatt insisted.
The answer only seemed to agitate Quackity more, and Charlie wondered if he was about to witness a murder.
Does it really count as murder if it's a ghost? They’re already dead, after all. He didn’t consider the massive amount of zombie slaughtering he’d done murder, but it was that was self defense. Which you can’t be prosecuted for in a court of law.
What Quackity was doing was very definitively not self defense.
The ram’s entire form was starting to glitch and fizzle like tv static, as he futility clawed at the sword buried in his chest. Some part of Charlie distantly thought he should try to put a stop to this, but… He couldn’t deny it was a bit cathartic. That bastard had treated all of his pain, misery, and suffering like a joke. Had tried to doom him, tried to break him with that apple. Maybe he deserved to suffer a little bit for that.
Except, no, he hadn’t. Because it wasn’t the same guy. Just like Quackity wasn’t Wilford. It was a twisted, warped reflection. Sure, the pathetic ghost pleading for its unlife in between weak, half-hearted insults on the floor before him bore a lot more similarities to his alternate self than the duck hybrid did to bachelor of blood, but they were still different people.
At least, Charlie thought they were.
Quick as a lightning strike, the fear on Schlatt’s face vanished, replaced by mild irritation. Charlie looked into his eyes, and he finally saw it. That massive, unfathomable, something that had previously been lacking. He could feel a sudden shift in the air, which became heavier and more oppressive. The distinct and unforgettable scent of sulfur, ozone, and volcanic ash permeated the small room.
Schlatt, the tormentor, gently flicked the shimmering black sword impaling him. It was clearly a highly enchanted quality weapon, yet it instantly crumbled to dust under his touch. The ram smirked. Even though he was still half-crouched on the ground, it felt as though he towered over them.
“That’s enough of that now. I hope you’ve had your fun.”
The duck hybrid’s wings flared, shoulders rising. “How the hell-!?”
Schlatt stood, pretending to dust off his suit even though it had become suddenly immaculate the moment the shift occurred. There was no trace of the injury Quackity had inflicted. "Listen kid, I appreciate the moxy, but I can't have you destroying my little vessel in this world. Do you even know how fuckin' annoying it would be trying to find you guys again without one of these? I'd probably have to ask Prime to make me a new one, and the bitch doesn't like me for some reason. So I’d suggest you knock it off, before I level that quaint little city of yours."
Images flashed through Charlie’s mind rapid fire. Terrible, roiling storms. Destruction, despair, utter devastation. Disaster. The threat wasn’t an empty one. In the short time he’d known Quackity, he could tell that Las Nevadas meant a lot to him. The sentiment wasn’t unfamiliar. (He still remembered, a month and a half into the apocalypse, finally feeling safe in his base for the first time. How proud he had been of it. How painful it was to lose a home.)
He could see Quackity bristling, preparing to stand his ground. Charlie knew better. Knew that fighting back wasn’t an option, not with him. This wasn’t a threat they were prepared to handle. They never should’ve confronted him in the first place.
Charlie stepped forward, resting a hand on Quackity’s shoulder. Fighting a flinch as Quackity whirled to face him, unbridled fury on his face.
“Don’t- just don’t. Please.” The way his voice broke on that last word was embarrassing, but also seemingly effective.
“Fine.” Quackity answered softly, before returning his attention to the monster before them. “This isn’t over. I’m gonna get my answers, one way or another.”
Schlatt laughed. “Yeah, you have fun with that. I’ll see you later.”
The ram’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious. That otherworldly presence was gone. Charlie finally felt that he could breathe again. (Not that he really needed to, but it was nice to feel more like a person in whatever ways he could.)
He waited several long moments for Quackity to look at him again, and forced the brightest smile possible onto his face. “Welp, this was fun! Let’s never, ever do it again, okay?”