Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was over. He’d done it. Despite every challenge, every storm and new evolution, he had survived. He had saved them. Tommy was gone, and the apocalypse would be over. Everyone would be able to live, instead of just surviving.

Everyone except himself, of course. Facing the horde that swarmed him from all directions, Charlie didn’t bother to put up a futile resistance. It was done. He could stop fighting now. After everything, he could finally rest.

Casting his weapons and tools into the burning lava, he resigned himself to his fate. Tommy had told him to give up, and now he would listen. The others would be okay. If nothing else, he would die a hero. Wasn’t that worth something?

A hero’s fate certainly wasn’t a happy one, but that’s just how the story goes.

He hardly had time to register the pain of being torn open before it all went dark. Charlie was never a religious man, but he prayed the afterlife would be kind to him. Hadn’t he earned as much?

…Apparently not.

He didn’t know what to expect, in death. Like most people, he had always feared it. The greatest dangers lie in what is unknown. There was no way to predict what the ending would have in store for him. Would it be the classic description of heaven, with fluffy clouds and choirs of angels? An eternal torment? Or maybe, maybe it would just be nothing at all. Maybe he would completely cease to be.

It turned out what lay at the end of the figurative tunnel was none of those things. No, in what reality would he ever be so lucky? Where he found himself did not line up with any of the options he had anticipated. Except, well. Maybe this could be considered torment of sorts. He wasn't quite sure what sin had earned him this kind of a punishment, but it must have been something truly heinous.

For where Charlie found himself, once again, was that weird little shop. Greeted by the familiar wooden planks and cedar green carpet. Standing behind the counter yet again was that strange sheep man in his eternally pristine suit. Rather than apples or potions, the item frames decorating the business held mirrors. Every mirror he shifted his focus onto showed a twisted version of himself, living a life he could hardly comprehend. It gave him a headache to stare into them, though they all held a strange pull. Like they wanted to be seen.

He was shaken from this trance-like state by the drug salesman’s voice. “You did good, Charlie. Better than I expected.”

“I- I succeeded.” The statement came put far more uncertain than intended, his tone almost pleading.

“You sure did.” The sheep man nodded. “To be honest, I thought you’d fuck it up.”

“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence!”

“Hey, it’s not an insult. You just seem kinda stupid and pathetic and weak is all.”

“How would that not be an insult?”

The drug dealer shrugged in place of an answer. Charlie took the reprieve from the concert as another chance to look around, and was startled to find that there was nothing but void beyond the little shop. The open front let in the biting cold from the starry abyss that surrounded them.

Charlie finally voiced the question that has been bothering him this whole time. “So why am I here?”

“Well, you won the game!”

“…Game?”

The sheep man grinned. “Yeah! Good for you, man. You fuckin’ did it!”

He laughed uncomfortably. “This- that wasn’t a game. That was a real fucking apocalypse!”

“Well yeah, to you.” The salesman rolled his eyes.

Charlie tried and failed to grasp the meaning behind those words. It was like trying to make out scenery through a foggy glass window. He knew there was something there, but for the life of him couldn’t quite see what it was. It was real… to him. Wait- surely he didn’t mean-

“What, like how Wimpfred thought it was all a reality TV show?”

“Nah, it was real for him too. He was just delusional.”

Charlie was struck by a pang of guilt. He wondered if it would’ve been better to let Wimpfred live in that delusion. If Charlie had just kept pretending, maybe he wouldn’t have…

Charlie could still feel the ash mixed with blood and charred flesh sticking to his skin. It didn’t matter how many times he washed himself, it didn’t go away. Neither did the image of Wimpfred’s brutal death, burned into his mind and replaying each time he shut his eyes.

“So then what-“ he started, being quickly cut off.

“Oh my god, stop whining like a little bitch. I’m getting to it!”

“…Okay. Jeez. You don’t have to be a dick about it.” Charlie muttered under his breath.

“It was real to you. And some of the other guys, I guess. But to the audience? It was all just a silly little game.”

Charlie felt like the floor had dropped out from under him. He in fact had to look down to make sure that it hadn’t. He felt sick to his stomach, imagining some mysterious audience of people watching. Laughing as he struggled and suffered. Getting some twisted sense of entertainment from his pain.

“But enough about that! It honestly doesn’t matter right now. You know why, Charlie?”

The guy still hadn’t explained how he knew Charlie’s name. He’s given up on questioning anything about the man. “Why.”

“Because you won! And I think you deserve a prize.” The malicious intent was audible in his voice, and something dark gleamed in his eyes.

“Is the prize a peaceful death?” Charlie tried, an unconvincing grin hastily plastered onto his face.

The sheep man’s voice took on an echo, and his smile showed far too many teeth. “Nope!”

For the second time that day, everything went dark.

Charlie slowly returned to awareness, and the first thing he noticed was how… wrong everything felt. His body felt far too wet, far too numb. He tried to raise an arm, feeling it bend at an unnatural angle as it made a horrible squelching noise. Whatever the sheep guy had done to him, it definitely didn’t seem like much of a prize.

His instincts from the months surviving an apocalyptic wasteland kicked in, and he quickly surveyed the surroundings. He sighed in relief at the total lack of guttural groans that signified the presence of the undead. Though, he knew better than to relax fully. The walls surrounding him were white, like the ones in Condi’s lab. There were countless double chests lined along the walls of what seemed to be a long storage room. Looking down, he seemed to be sitting on a bed.

Blinking a couple times, he realized that the bright green gooey substance he was staring at was his own body. What the absolute fuck. Was he on drugs again? He really hoped he was just on drugs again! Because if not, that would mean he was actually inhabiting a body made entirely of green slime. How lovely! Just what he had wanted when he decided to try and survive at least a hundred days in the nightmarish wastes that he’s awoken to.

The sound of footsteps put him back on high alert, as he instinctively searched for a weapon. It seemed he had at least some luck, seeing as there was a diamond sword in his inventory. It was plain and unenchanted, but far better than nothing. Charlie clutched it in his hands, his hold made awkward by the not-quite-solid nature of this new body.

“Hey Slime! I was thinking today we could-“

The sword clattered to the ground loudly, the shock causing him to lose his already weak grip. He didn’t know what to expect from whatever world that sheep man had tossed him into, but to see Wilford alive? Talking- normally? Like a real, non-British person? It was certainly strange.

“Wilford?” He choked out, the slimy imitation of vocal chords unfamiliar to him.

But, the more Charlie looked, the more he doubted himself. Sure, he had a shockingly familiar face, but that was where the similarities ended. His hair was longer, and his outfit much nicer. A nasty, jagged scar ran down his face, and his left eye was a foggy gray. There were also the buttercup yellow wings sprouting from his back, that was certainly new.

Charlie’s suspicion that this may be a different guy was confirmed as the winged man asked a question. “Who the fuck is Wilford!?”

Charlie put his face in his hands, cringing at the way the slime seemed to want to fuse together. “Where the fuck am I.”

Chapter Text

”Where the fuck am I.”

Quackity pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to force the feathers on his wings to lie flat. Normally he wouldn’t bother trying to mask his emotions in front of Slime, but he was acting… strange. It was off putting, to say the least. The amount that Slime had dropped his human facade for a more goopy appearance indicated distress, and he was currently slimier than Quackity had ever seen him. It didn’t suit the normally happy-go-lucky slime man. The most afraid Slime had ever been previously was when Tommy had pulled that little pants prank, and this was hardly even comparable. His entire goopy body was shaking like a leaf, and Quackity couldn’t help but feel concerned.

“You’re- you’re in Las Nevadas. Under the needle. Where you’ve been staying since I found you.”

Slime’s frown deepened. The expression seemed wrong on his face, like it didn’t belong there. “And… when did you find me?”

The duck hybrid paused for a moment, needing to compose himself to prevent any trace of his current anxiety from appearing when he spoke. The effort was in vain, as his voice still held the faintest tremble. “You… don’t remember?”

Slime shook his head, small lime splatters detaching from his head and painting the walls. Quackity couldn’t control the way his shoulders raised slightly. As much as he tried to pretend he only saw the guy as a subordinate, an asset, Slime was his friend. He really cared about the guy, despite his best efforts. But he’d called Quackity “Wilford.” He didn’t remember their first meeting. If Slime didn’t remember him at all…

“Great.” Quackity muttered under his breath. “Yet another fucker on this server with memory problems. Of course, when can anything go right for me?”

“...Sorry. I, uh… Don’t really remember anything before the lab.” Slime curled in on himself a bit, and Quackity felt a sharp pang of guilt for scaring him. As much as he longed to be seen as powerful, to be feared and respected, he never wanted his friend to look at him like that.

Shoving aside all emotion to be dealt with later, Quackity pushed the conversation forward. Something was up with Slime, and he needed answers. “Lab?”

“Yup! I woke up in this big lab with pretty much no memories, and then I was just immediately in mortal peril! Good times.” Slime declared brightly. Unlike his usual cheer, it felt more artificial than cough syrup desperately attempting to imitate the flavor of a grape.

“...That so?” The avian raised an eyebrow, indicating he wanted Slime to elaborate.

Slime nodded. “Then I won, so he put me here!”

Quackity paced back and forth, dress shoes clicking against the polished stone tiles. Running a hand through his hair, he forced out a laugh in hopes of relieving some of the tension in his chest. Fantastic. Perfect. This is exactly what he needed right now. First Tubbo and Ranboo start building those weird fucking walls, then Wilbur starts doing whatever suspicious bullshit is going on over there, and now this? His- his best friend doesn’t remember him, and is acting wrong, saying something about a… lab? And… winning? He was… “put here?” As far as Quackity was aware, there weren’t any labs on the server. Though, he wouldn’t put it past some of these fuckers to be working on some unethical science shit behind the scenes.

The more he thought about it, the more the pieces started to slot together to form a disturbing picture. Quackity was a man with a lot of enemies. As much as he tried to tout himself as unfeeling, having toughened up, someone who looked close enough could probably still see how much he cared. If they wanted to hurt him, Slime was the obvious target. For all that the guy possessed terrifying knowledge and ancient wisdom, he was still gullible. He saw the darkness in the world, but remained unaffected. Giving his trust freely to anyone, even those he really shouldn’t. ’Like me. Quackity shook his head to rid himself of the thought.

Still, Quackity had come to a conclusion. Clearly, somebody had done… something to Slime. He could get to the bottom of it later. (And he would. Whoever had dared to mess with Slime? Oh, they had fucked up. They were going to pay.) For right now, though? Slime was the priority. He was clearly scared. Quackity had all but lost the softness that had once been nurtured with Karl and Sapnap, -don’t think about them- so comforting his friend was going to be a difficult task. He’d still try, though. Because he cared.

Taking a deep breath to compose himself, he turned back towards his incredibly goopy best friend. “Okay. You must be, uh, pretty confused right now. Yeah?” Oh gods, he was so bad at this. “Alright. Fuck. Um, I’m Quackity. Your friend? You’ve been staying in Las Nevadas working as- Uh, you work for me. I found you hiding in the walls, and… well… one thing led to another!”

Slime blinked. “Yeah, that tracks. Sounds like something I would do, honestly. Especially if I was on drugs again! One time me and Florida Man smoked a wheat blunt, and… well I remember something about a volcano!”

Quackity felt slightly lighter as he watched Slime start to calm down, his skin returning to a better approximation of a human color and texture. Call him soft, but watching his friend panic felt like shit. There was something so painful about seeing Slime, of all people, in such a state. Slime, who in his mind sort of represented the joy and innocence that was brutally stomped to death the longer one remained on this server. The feeling of being whole and unbroken, something that was nothing more than a distant and unfamiliar memory to pretty much anyone else in this fucking place.

“Well, based on how you talk you probably already know this, but I’m Charlie! Nice to meet you, Quackity.”

The duck hybrid froze, face carefully kept blank of any emotion. There was a lot to unpack in just those two sentences. First of all… Charlie? Had Slime had a name this entire time? Or, was this something he’d somehow picked up during whatever had happened to make him lose some memories? The second thing that caught his attention was honestly stupid. He shouldn’t care so much about it. But despite how hard he’d tried to get Sl-Charlie to refer to him as such, he couldn’t help but feel the smallest twinge of pain at being called just “Quackity” instead of “Quackity from Las Nevadas.” It was such a dumb thing to be upset about. Yet, for some reason, it felt like he had lost something irreplaceable. That stupid fucking nickname, if you could even call it that, had been special in its own way. He never realized how much he would miss it.

Deep breath. In, and then out. The thing making him emotional was fucking stupid, so Quackity would be moving on. He needed a plan. Somebody did something to Slime -who is apparently named Charlie now- and he needed to find out who. He also needed to refamiliarize Charlie with Las Nevadas, and figure out what he still knew. He seemed to be missing a lot, if he didn’t even know who Quackity was. That was something Charlie had known since before they had even met. In fact, Charlie from before seemed to know pretty much everything. To a frankly disturbing degree. Now, though? He looked clueless. Lost. Just how badly did they fuck him up?

It didn’t matter. Even if Charlie didn’t remember anything, even if he could never be useful as a spy again… Quackity still cared about him. As much as he tried not to, he really fucking cared. He could maybe admit to himself that he had almost cried the first time Charlie had called him “best friend.” Not that he would be caught dead letting anybody else know that.

So, yeah. He was going to get revenge for whatever moron had thought it was a good idea to mess with the one person he really had left on this nightmare of a server, he was going to find out what exactly Charlie remembered, and he was going to help him adjust. Just three things. Couldn’t be too difficult, right?

Chapter Text

Charlie felt… unsafe. This was not unfamiliar to him, quite the opposite really. He could likely count on a single hand the amount of times he had felt safe. This was different though. Usually, he would know exactly what the problem was. A horde of infected, a killer storm, a guy with a weapon, a blood moon. Threats easily identified that allowed him to create a direct plan of action. Knowing what to expect made it okay. He could create a plan. Sure, it was still terrifying and stressful, but he wasn’t helpless. Not like he was now.

There was the sword in his hand, at very least he had that going for him. The familiar weight of a deadly weapon served to calm some of the tremors in his hands. It was the only thing that he truly could, and he gripped it tighter to anchor himself. The hold was by no means practical, but if it came down to it he could slip into proper form with little effort. Though he had no formal training, (that he could remember, at least) the months of constant combat had certainly forced him to pick up a couple tricks. He could hold his own.

The first thing to do in a potentially dangerous situation is to survey the surroundings, try to gather as much information as possible. He knew this. But every sentence spoken, every bit of information offered by the strikingly familiar man in front of him left more questions than answers. The man claimed to be his friend, but by the startled expression on his face when Charlie introduced himself, hadn’t even known his name. It was suspicious. As desperate as Charlie had become for any form of social interaction after those countless weeks of solitude, he was well aware that blind trust was a nice way to end up dead. He was supposed to be dead right now, in fact.

Charlie wouldn’t deny he was terrified. Absolutely everything was wrong, even his own body. His flesh wasn’t entirely solid, and while it had mostly shifted to an opaque skin-like color over the course of conversation he knew it had been neon green earlier. He flexed a finger experimentally, feeling his discomfort rise as it bent completely backwards and melted into his hand, the flesh rippling briefly before another finger reformed. This one was slightly misshapen and had a sickening greenish tint. Charlie might not be a doctor, but he was pretty sure human flesh isn’t supposed to just do that. Just another example of things here being incredibly fucking wrong.

The guy, Quackity, looked so much like Wilford that Charlie struggled to believe it was a coincidence. They had different voices though, (Thankfully this guy wasn’t british) and Quackity had a pair of buttery yellow feathered wings on his back. Those were… odd. They were definitely real, judging by the way they moved and shifted so naturally. Quackity clearly wasn’t human, but then again Charlie wasn’t sure if he himself was even human anymore. The only person with an animal trait like that he’d seen before was the drug dealer, but who knew what this place was like. What had Quackity called it again- Las Nevadas?

Just judging from whatever room they were currently in, it looked a lot nicer than any establishment Charlie had ever seen (at least that he could remember.) The stone was clean and polished, without cracks or chips. No cobwebs clung to the walls, and there wasn’t even a trace of that scent of blood and rot that he had grown so acclimated to. The horrible, stubborn smell that had clung to his jacket like a remora regardless of his pitiful attempts at washing in the river, before he’d given up on the notion of hygiene entirely. After all, what was the point? It wasn’t like the undead could smell him over their own decaying flesh. It was just a futile task that consumed time and energy, both precious resources he couldn’t afford to spare.

Quackity was fidgeting with his hands, wings fluffing a bit in an action Charlie recognized as a sign of distress he’d seen in turkeys. Damn, this guy was stressed out? He should try having the flesh ripped from his bones by the dull teeth and nails of a horde of mindless undead, only to be sent to some unknown location, placed inside a strange body that was incredibly squishy, and confronted by some random dude claiming to be his friend! That would certainly get the blood pressure up! Thankfully, Charlie might not have to worry about that particular health concern as he wasn’t even sure he currently had blood. Wow, this was certainly a day for him.

As much as the survival instincts burned into his brain from his months in the apocalypse begged him to err on the side of caution, Charlie wanted to trust this guy. It didn’t matter that Quackity was clearly inhuman, (Charlie was too, now) or that he shared a face with someone Charlie had only known to be violent and spiteful. Despite the strange, slimy composition of his new body, Charlie was painfully human. The isolation that defined most of his experience surviving the apocalypse had left him a desperate craving for companionship.

They had hardly conversed, but Quackity already seemed far more sensible and grounded than anyone Charlie could remember speaking to. He wasn’t making preposterous declarations, or aiming a weapon, or displaying any hint of carefree recklessness. Charlie wasn’t the best at reading people, but based on that gnarly scar alone this guy had managed to survive at least one rough encounter and kept on living. That was more than he could say for Wimpfred…

So, Charlie decided, he would go along with whatever bullshit this new person would inevitably pull him into. Even if it did turn out to be a series of stupid quests, like with Wizly, or some incredibly hazardous science, like with Condi. His desire to not be alone was a powerful thing, even more so than his self-preservation.

Mind made up, he took on the difficult task of initiating conversation. “So… uh, you good man?”

Yes, he was doing such a great job at compassion right now. This would definitely be helpful to the very stressed bird-man in front of him. For sure.

“Not-” Quackity laughed with no real humor. “Not particularly! But it’s fine. It’s fine.”

Charlie smiled and gave a thumbs up, only maintaining it for about a second before the way his fingers stuck to each other became too disturbing and he had to separate them. Not for the first time, Charlie wondered if he was actually just in hell. Maybe doing all those drugs had condemned him to eternal torment. The drug dealer goat guy had sent him here, and based on personality alone Charlie would not be shocked if that dude was straight up just the devil.

The thumbs up did seem to cheer up bird-man a bit though, so that was a win! Charlie watched as Quackity put together a facade of a perfectly composed person right before his eyes, and gave a very business-man smile. Kind of like the one that drug dealer had fixed him with when they first met.

“Alright Sl- uh- Charlie! Since you don’t seem to remember much, why don’t I give you a tour of Las Nevadas?”

Charlie nodded, making sure he had his sword at the ready just in case. All signs pointed to wherever he was being free from the virus, but he wasn’t going to take chances. He would just have to pray to whatever entity controlled his fate that this “Las Nevadas” wasn’t overrun by infected. He was pretty fucking tired of making perilious journeys through hoards of undead every time he met a new person.

“Great! Let’s just- Let’s go!” Quackity turned around, starting up a staircase on the far end of the long, thin room. Charlie followed him, wincing out how loudly bird-guy’s dress shoes clicked against the stone floor. His own footsteps were perfectly silent, making it easier to keep an ear out for threats and lowering any chance at being detected. The two walked past the obscene number of chests that lined the walls, and towards the sunlight streaming in from an open gap where the stairs ended. (why the fuck was there no door?)

Here he went. Into unknown and potentially incredibly dangerous territory, following the lead of a perfect stranger. Or, in other words, just another Tuesday!

Chapter Text

Quackity couldn’t resist the urge to glance behind himself every couple seconds, just to confirm that Charlie was still following. It was disturbing, how quiet he was. The loud, upsetting squishing sounds he usually made when he walked were hardly present, and fully inaudible compared to Quackity’s own footsteps. He didn’t- it wasn’t a huge deal. He should be glad that his resident spy was now stealthier. There was no reason for him to feel ill like this.

As they finally emerged from the storage room under the needle, Quackity gestured vaguely at the towering structure above them. “This is the needle. It’s supposed to be a restaurant, eventually. That thing’s got the best view in all of Las Nevadas.

Charlie looked around with wide eyes, mouth slightly agape in shock. While the entire situation was unnerving to say the least, he still felt a glimmer of happiness as he watched the awe overtake Charlie’s features. Las Nevadas was his pride and joy. It was practically everything to him. It was nice to see his hard work appreciated.

“Holy shit.” Charlie exclaimed. “ I- I can’t remember ever seeing anything this beautiful. And… intact.”

Quackity glanced towards the patio atop the needle, the slime’s gaze following his own. “We could go to the top, if you want?”

Charlie hesitated. “...It’s safe?”

And fuck if that wasn’t such a jarring thing to hear from his friend. The very person who always managed to make his heartrate reach new and terrifying speeds with his antics. Frequently jumping over the railing, unable to understand the dangers it held. Possessing not a single ounce of caution as he stood on the ledge, mere inches from a fatal drop.

What the hell happened to make Slime- Charlie change so much?

Quackity cleared his throat, doing his best to keep the grief and anxiety swelling within his chest from spilling into his voice. “Yeah- Yeah it’s fine. There’s a railing. You won’t fall.”

The slime frowned. “That’s… not really what I meant…” -a pause- “Like, if we were attacked, is there a- an escape route we could use…?”

New drinking game dropped! Every time Quackity’s best friend does something wildly out of character, something that conflicts with practically everything he knows about the guy, he’ll take a shot! With the rate things seemed to be going, it seemed like a fantastic way to speedrun alcohol poisoning.

“I-” Quackity started, desperately scrambling for words. “Yeah. Yes. The way down is separate from the way up.”

Seemingly satisfied, Charlie followed him towards the needle’s entry point. The avian tried to center himself as he walked those couple paces, fighting valiantly against the whirlwind of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. They reached the elevator. Quackity moved to step forwards, but was stopped by his friend’s voice.

“What the fuck is that!?”

“A- It’s a fucking bubble elevator. You don’t know what a bubble elevator is?” He asked incredulously.

“If I drown in this I am going to be very disappointed. I’ve already died once, and I’ll have you know I was not a fan. Like, maybe a three out of ten experience at best.”

Quackity froze, face paling in horror. Softly, he asked “You… died?”

Charlie laughed, a forced and joyless thing. “Yup! Imagine my surprise when I realize I’m finally done and I don’t have to keep going anymore, and suddenly I’m talking to the drug dealer again and he’s telling me all my suffering is a game to him and others! Honestly? Not my favorite guy I’ve ever met.”

Quackity was going to kill. He was going to commit so much murder. If what he’d been doing to Dream was bad, the stuff he’d do the moment he got his hands on whoever had hurt Charlie like this would be downright monstrous.

He really felt like he was going to be sick. The casual tone in which Charlie described his own death. How he’d described it, saying he didn’t “have to keep going anymore.” Though he was loathe to admit any sort of weakness, that fucking terrified Quackity. To hear the resignation, that familiar bone-deep exhuastion that reminded him of Tommy.

Not to mention the experience of seeing his previously upbeat and cheerful friend so hurt, so thoroughly changed. Charlie now was just as fucked up and broken as Quackity himself. It was like looking at living proof that this fucking SMP ruins every good person it touches. It almost disgusted him, how easily his shock and horror gave way to familiar and painful resignation.

Some nights, Quackity looked at himself in the mirror and wondered if he was beyond redemption. If all the morally questionable things he’d done in pursuit of respect and power and security had left a permanent mark on him, if it made him a terrible person. Some nights he questioned the veracity of all those justifications he used, for himself as much as others, to absolve the guilt of his own sins.

Some nights, he wondered if he deserved everything that had happened to him. If he deserved the shitty hand life had dealt him. If he deserved to be abandoned by the two people who had promised to always be by his side.

After all, Quackity was far from a perfect man. Especially now.

But Charlie?

Sure, the slime was ignorant when it came to human customs and behaviors. He could sometimes mess things up or upset people without meaning to. But even his very worst mistakes couldn’t hold a candle to the actions of literally anyone else on the gods-forsaken server.

It was clear as day something terrible had happened to him. Something horrible and traumatic. The sort of pain he never should’ve been forced to endure. The kind of pain that changes a person entirely, rewiring their brain and altering them irreparably. As much as Quackity would love to delude himself, he knew that there was no going back. His best friend could never return to the person he’d been before.

The thought absolutely sickened him. That something like this had happened to Charlie, of all people. The slime never really had any kind of a moral compass. That wasn’t his fault, though. He was so far separated from humanity, it’d be ridiculous to expect him to understand the complex and subjective ideals of what was “right” and “wrong.”

And even without morals to speak of, he’d been so undeniably good. Even with no conscious effort on the slime’s part, he managed to make the bleak and unforgiving world around himself brighter. He made those he interacted with better people, just by virtue of being near him. It was incredible.

There wasn’t a doubt in Quackity’s mind. Charlie did not deserve this.

(And maybe, just maybe, that line of thinking made him think a bit more critically about himself. Had he really deserved the things that happened to him? After all, while he now struggled to deny that he’d become somewhat morally corrupt in recent days, he hadn’t always been like this. He hadn’t been power hungry when he chose to team with Schlatt. He was practically just a kid, back then. All he’d wanted was to have some fun, and spite Wilbur a bit. Did that truly make him deserving of everything he’d gone through?)

Charlie swung his arms back and forth awkwardly, observing Not-Wilford who looked to be lost in thought. While he wasn’t the best at social queues (wasn’t like he’d gotten many opportunities to learn, considering everything) Quackity seemed pretty upset or disturbed by almost everything he said. That was kinda confusing.

Maybe Charlie had overshared a bit. That part of him that was so incredibly excited for any chance at human interaction just sort of took over, letting thoughts spill freely from his lips despite how internally scolded himself for not being more guarded. It was just so nice, having somebody to talk to again. Especially someone who seemed so reasonable!

While their introduction had been a bit odd, and Quackity definitely had some quirks, everything he’d said so far led Charlie to believe that for once the person he was talking to might actually be rational. That he might not be forced to take that protective and borderline parental role, guiding yet another companion away from dangers as much as he could while still blindly trailing behind them like a lost puppy as the new friend put him into mortal peril.

Hell, maybe the reactions to Charlie’s words that he was viewing as weird and extreme were perfectly normal. How would he know? Everyone single person he had ever met before had been some level of unhinged and reckless. He wondered if that was just a product of the apocalypse.

Based on the structures in the cities, and the valuable insight gained from Condi, the world hadn’t always been like that. Maybe the people hadn’t either. Maybe the apocalypse just… broke them. Charlie was pretty sure he’d heard something somewhere, about how people tend to change drastically when put under intense pressure, especially for extended periods of time.

He certainly changed, over the course of those one hundred days. The proof was in the way he carried himself. Vigilant, always ready to draw a weapon and defend himself at a moment’s notice. Quiet, because noise attracts the infected. Not to mention the strength and endurance he’d developed. Who knew constantly running for your life and having to slice through hoards of flesh-eating abominations that had once been people was such an effective workout routine?

Quackity was still distracted, so Charlie scanned his surroundings more closely. While he’d spared a hasty glance now and again just to make sure there were no imminent dangers, as well as the obvious scan to map a couple likely escape routes, he hadn’t really paused to take in the details.

He’d meant what he said earlier. Las Nevadas was the most beautiful place he’d ever seen. Nothing (at least in his admittedly limited memory) could even begin to compare. The lights, the fountains, the extravagance of it all.

Not to mention the awe and hope he felt in equal measure with every unbroken glass window he spotted. Every structure that was completely free of cracks, cobwebs, or vines. It seemed like every part of the city was lovingly cared for. The implications of that, of what it meant if people were able to put their time and resources towards maintaining buildings that weren’t just fortified shelters.

The lack of any sort of defenses unsettled the instinctual part of him, the part that reminded him how important it was to have somewhere to go when a storm hit or a hoard was clawing at your walls with all the unrestrained strength of a creature that can’t feel pain.

But it also helped that spark of hope to burn brighter. To consider that there was a chance the lack of defenses meant there was nothing to defend against. That despite the ominous tone and general malice of the sheep man, this world was actually one untouched by the horrors Charlie had faced from the day he woke up in that lab.

Apparently done having a crisis, Quackity loudly clapped his hands together to get Charlie’s attention. “So! Um, sorry about that. I was just busy thinking about… uh, possible renovations! For your living area!” -The winged man cleared his throat a couple times- “Are you ready to continue your tour? You seem like you could maybe use a bit of rest, so we can cut out most of it and I’ll just point things out from the top of the needle.”

Charlie eyed the tube of quickly rushing water with no small amount of suspicion. He had no idea how the fuck this thing worked, and all his instincts reminded him that getting into water for any reason was a stupid risk. He frowned at the contraption, which according to Quackity was called a “water elevator.”

It seemed like something Condi would invent, and that wasn’t really a comforting thought.

Still, he’d gotten this far by going along with insane plans and ideas proposed by people he’d just met. Why the hell not? And hey, at very least there was the possibility that he might actually get some peace if he somehow died again!

Charlie took a deep breath, stepping into the tube. He was immediately hit with an unexpectedly powerful stream of bubbles. It stung slightly, and he was propelled upwards at a pretty quick rate. The incredible blurriness of his vision made Charlie curse himself for not removing his glasses before getting into the water.

Really, what a stupid mistake.

Eager to get out of this hellish ride as soon as physically possible, he used his arms to propel him upwards. He was happy to note a significant boost to the speed of his ascent, and before he knew it he was clambering out into a circular white room. A sudden blast of warm air hit him as soon as he stepped forwards, drying Charlie’s clothes and (thankfully) returning functionality to his glasses.

Quackity emerged from the elevator soon after, though with far more grace. He was probably used to it. To be honest, Charlie would be totally good if he never had to get into that cursed-ass tube ever again. That sounded ideal, really.

They stepped out onto the balcony, Quackity’s well-polished shoes still making a loud announcement of his presence with every step he took. Charlie couldn’t imagine himself ever being able to walk around so carelessly, even during the day.

Charlie advanced forwards, placing both hands onto the thick glass railing. He didn’t rest any weight on them, though. He’d seen panes of glass practically disintegrating in a storm like flakes of ash between his fingers one too many times to trust the railing to keep him secure.

Quackity opened his mouth as though to say something when Charlie started moving closer to the edge, but closed it again quickly. There was something in the winged man’s eyes that he couldn’t quite decipher. He seemed… sad, maybe? He didn’t get much chance to decipher the look before Quackity noticed his gaze, and that expression was wiped from his face so quickly Charlie almost questioned if it was ever there at all.

Charlie felt the faint warmth of the sun on his face, glancing down at the sands below and for some reason felt like it should be warmer. He wrote it off as nothing but the weird new slimy body playing tricks on his mind.

Ignoring the perceived inconsistency, he turned his attention to the city below. It was nothing short of breathtaking, especially from this vantage point. A small smile tugged at his lips, seeing something so pretty and untouched by disaster. Quackity wasn’t lying. Charlie thought. This really is an amazing view.

Loud clicking warned Charlie of his new friend’s approach, Quackity moving forward to occupy the space directly to his left. The winged man let out a small sigh, gently clapping him on the shoulder (which Charlie was happy to note actually responded to the contact like a normal human body, rather than jiggling like a large plate of jello.)

“Amazing, isn’t it?”

Charlie couldn’t help but nod in agreement. “It’s really nice. I can’t imagine being able to make something like this.”

“It was a pain in the fucking ass, that’s for sure” Quackity laughed, and it felt a lot lighter than anything Charlie had heard from him so far. “But I think it was more than worth the effort.”

He pointed out several buildings, the city boasting among other things a grand hotel, a currently unoccupied restaurant, and an area to get weddings done “very fast” according to Quackity.

Weddings. Charlie thought he might’ve heard that before, but any attempt to remember came up blank. That was just great. Yet another of those little things he felt like he should know, but was lost along with any memory of who he’d been before the lab.

Well, there was another person right here. Seeing as he’d been the one to bring it up, it was only fair he provided an explanation. With a small frown, Charlie asked “What the fuck is a wedding?”

Quackity chuckled, but there seemed to be something like happiness and relief in his eyes. Strange. “Uh- A wedding- A wedding is when two people- or, it could be more”

His small golden wings drooped slightly, one hand reaching for the thin chain around his neck in a way that looked absentminded. There was a flash of something unidentifiable in his eyes, and for what seemed like the hundredth time this day Charlie really wished he were better at reading people.

There were a few seconds of silence before he cleared his throat, continuing- “Uh, it’s usually just two though. Anyways, it’s basically when people make a promise to each other, saying like- saying that they’re going to love each other forever. Not that they keep that promise.” The last part was spoken softly enough Charlie wasn’t sure he’d been meant to hear it, and had sounded bitter with a poorly-concealed undertone of sadness.

Eager to change the subject, Charlie pointed to the first unfamiliar structure that caught his eye. It was much darker than the surrounding buildings, the contrast making it stand out quite boldly. “What’s that building for?”

His expert diversion seemed to have worked, as the tension lifted from Quackity’s shoulders and he started to laugh again. Another pro gamer move from Charlie. He was getting a good grade in human interaction, something that was both normal to want and possible to achieve.

“That’s-” -Quackity struggled to speak through his laughter- “That’s the strip club, Charlie. Do you know what a strip club is?”

“...No, should I?”

The winged man didn’t answer, instead leaning further forwards onto the railing and cackling loudly. Rude.

Oh well, at least he didn’t seem sad anymore. Mission accomplished. Charlie was more than willing to play the clown if it meant making his new friend happy. Every minute they spent together without any wildly unhinged statements from Quackity or any insane, dangerous missions, the more Charlie felt himself struggling to keep his guard up. They may have just met, but he was so painfully lonely and it was just refreshing talking to someone who he thought might actually be fully capable of protecting themself.

Returning his gaze to the city below, he caught a flash of movement in his peripheral vision. Eyes immediately snapping to assess the threat, what Charlie saw left him rapidly blinking his eyes in sheer bafflement.

“Hey, yeah, what the FUCK is that?”

Quackity’s head turned to follow his gaze, occasionally letting out sharp breaths as he struggled to recover from the laughing fit. “Oh, that’s just Foolish. He works for me.”

“I- Wuh- H- Okay. Alright. Sure! Um, quick followup question: Wwwwhaaaat?”

“He’s uh… A fuckin- god, or demigod, or something? I think?”

Charlie turned to the guy, placing a hand on each of his shoulders. “Quackity, I need you to understand that everything you say only confuses me more.”

Quackity, the bastard he was, started laughing again. Completely uncalled for. Why did Charlie have to befriend this guy. Now Charlie felt the too-familiar urge to protect and follow Quackity until he inevitably either left him, or died. Hopefully just the former. Charlie really didn’t want Quackity to die, even if he was being kind of a jerk right now.

Once his amusement had subsided, Quackity looked up at Charlie again. This time, wearing an excited grin.

“There’s one last thing I want to show you! The centerpiece of las nevadas. I-” He glanced towards the largest building in sight. When he continued, his voice was a bit softer. “I really think you’ll like it.”

Charlie followed Quackity down another tube, this one just a long fall cushioned by some water. Nothing he wasn’t familiar with. As they drew closer and closer to the grand building, Charlie felt a tinge of unease starting to creep up his spine (if he even had a spine any more.) A vague feeling that something wasn’t right.

Rather than using the giant decorative doors, Quackity headed towards a small unassuming part of the wall. He retrieved a pickaxe from his inventory, removing two of the quartz blocks and gesturing towards the opening with a smile. Charlie moved forwards, unable to shake the anxiety that only grew with every step he took.

He had nearly jumped down, one foot still hanging in open air, when a noise caught his attention. A dreadfully familiar sound. One he had someone stupidly believed he’d never have to hear again. Panic flooded every inch of his body, which was quickly dissolving back into fluorescent green goop. Charlie was frozen in place, ears assaulted by a sound he knew all too well.

A sound that echoed in his every nightmare, and surrounded him while he was awake.

A sound that reminded him that no matter how hard he tried, how strong he got, how many walls he built, he could never truly be safe.

A sound that shouldn’t be here.

But Charlie heard it all the same, so clearly that it was undeniable.

The hollow, mindless groans of the infected.

Chapter Text

So they were here. The infected were here.

That’s… Well, it’s not great.

There were about a million things he should be doing right now. Running, or fighting, or quickly assessing his gear. He should be making sure Condi- No, wrong one. Who was he with again? A quick glance to the side. Several agonizingly long moments of confusion, time he couldn’t afford to waste.

Golden wings flickered behind the companion’s back.

Quackity, right.

He should make sure Quackity’s safe. Does he even have a weapon?

Of course he has a weapon, right? Who doesn’t? It’s the apocalypse, walking around unarmed is practically a death wish!

…But Wimpfred had been unarmed when he found him.

The point about a death wish stands.

No, no, no. He had to focus. Stop wasting time. They were in danger, and he was the one who took charge. It was his job to keep them safe.

Why was it always him keeping people safe?

Stop thinking.

The noises were so loud, and even if he could vaguely approximate their direction it felt like they were approaching from everywhere all at once. Like they had when he’d been surrounded, doomed, out of luck. A chorus of voices with no minds behind them, yearning to rend flesh from bone until they left nothing but a vague impression of what had once been a person.

So loud, flowing into through his ears never-ending with the intensity of a rushing river. His head was so full, it felt near bursting. Something in him wanted to claw feverishly at his own skull, anything to rid himself of the feeling.

He didn’t, though.

Of course he didn’t. That would be stupid. The scent of blood would only attract more, and judging by the all-consuming noise he was already facing quite a hoard. In fact, it was all he could hear. Shouldn’t he be able to hear his own heartbeat, at least?

How long had Charlie been standing here?

He needed to move. It was already a wonder he’d survived this long while loitering around like an idiot, every second wasted would only bring him closer to his own demise.

Would that really be so bad?

He still wasn’t moving. Why wasn’t he moving? He tried to lift his arm, but found it an impossible task. Now that he paused to consider it, his skin felt… strange.

He tried to look down.

Charlie’s neck, similar to his arm, ignored the command of his brain entirely. That’s lovely. His eyes, however, were kind enough to follow instructions. So at least he had that going for him!

Oh, what the fuck was happening to his body right now?

His vision was definitely blurry, warped in a way that didn’t seem correct. It was an entirely different sort of distortion than what he experienced when he wasn’t wearing glasses. Something new, unfamiliar.

But no amount of eye problems could full explain away whatever the fuck was happening to him right now.

His limbs were a toxic green color, and they bubbled and dripped like candle wax. In fact, was the ground getting closer?

It was a disturbing sight, but he found he couldn’t look away. Fascination and horror in equal measure keeping his gaze firmly locked onto the strange spectacle, against his own wishes. This seemed bad. Charlie may not be Condi, he was no scientist, but he was pretty sure the human body isn’t supposed to just do that.

Distantly, he thought that it should probably hurt.

Maybe it did. Maybe he was just in shock or something, and hadn’t noticed.

Wouldn’t be the first time pain vanished in the heat of the moment. Usually due to adrenaline, because his body seems to understand that distracting him while he was surrounded by the infected on all sides was actually not the greatest idea.

Charlie’s thoughts felt fuzzy and distant. His vision was… wrong. He couldn’t hear anything. Whatever he was looking at was upsetting, but he couldn’t remember why. He clung to the faint anxiety and concern he felt, trying to use it to anchor himself back into awareness.

Aware. He had to be aware. Being aware of his surroundings was absolutely vital to surviving in the hellscape he’d woken up to.

Where was he again?

His eyes darted around, trying to gather as much information as was possible when absolutely everything was blurry and indistinct. Had he lost his glasses? That didn’t seem right, though. Had one of the infected landed a swipe at his eyes?

Not important right now. He just needed to know where he was.

Sand. There was lots of sand- or was it grass? It came more into focus, and he was sure that there was grass all around him.

Long, gray grass.

And lava. He was surrounded by lava, in every direction. Quite a bit of distance between the island he was standing on and what looked to be the mainland.

Sound returned to the world, and he was assaulted by a cacophony of the infecteds’ screeches and groans from every direction. He was completely surrounded.

They were coming for him. Too many to count, too many for him to be stupid enough to think he had a chance.

It was going to hurt. He’d been bitten and clawed by those things enough to know how terrible the pain was, dulled and rotting teeth greedily tearing out chunks of his flesh. Sometimes fragments of their teeth would break off inside the wounds, which was always an absolute nightmare to clean.

Not that he’d have to worry much about cleaning it.

After all, it was over, wasn’t it?

Charlie was finished.

It would hurt, but at least it’d be the last time he had to feel pain. Last time he had to feel anything, actually.

No more fear, or stress, or grief. Nothing.

He was done with all of that.

He was free.

…Why weren’t they attacking him? He could hear them. He could see them. He knew they could see him. Why weren’t they doing anything? Why didn’t it hurt?

Finally, he felt something. Not something painful, but something… confusing.

There was a hand in his hand.

Not on.

In.

That’s- That’s just not right. Last time Charlie checked, you can’t just put your limbs inside of someone without consequences. Especially in their head. That would usually cause a lot of blood and death and screaming.

Unless you put your hand in their mouth, he supposed. But that would just be kind of weird and awkward and pointless.

Also, this hand was not in his mouth. It was just kind of… Sticking in through his right temple, and down into his head.

Sure, why not?

He blinked several times, and the mirage of gray grass and approaching zombies fell away. He must’ve just been imagining it, or something. Not the most fun thing to imagine, but point to his brain for creative interpretations of reality?

The hand inside of his head retracted, and Charlie turned to look at it. Mauve he was hoping to see something that would explain how it had just been put inside of his fucking head and through his skull painlessly and seemingly without any fatal damage.

The owner of the hand was none other than his new friend Quackity, now sporting a thin film of gelatinous lime-green liquid up to his wrist. Gross!

No blood though, which is pretty neat.

Quackity seemed distressed. Mood. His wings were flickering about in a manner that reminded Charlie of how turkeys would act right before he killed them. He wasn’t going to kill Quackity though, so that was probably for a different reason.

He should check, though. “You okay?”

“I-” An incredulous laugh “am I okay? Charlie, you were just trembling and melting!”

“Well that’s not normal!” Charlie replied cheerfully.

A loud rattling groan echoed from somewhere nearby, and he was unpleasantly reminded why he’d had a little bit of a panic moment. He should definitely ask about that too.

“Hey, quick question.” Charlie pointed in the vague direction the noise seemed to be coming from. “What in the fresh hell is that sound?”

Quackity looked in the direction he was pointing and then turned to give Charlie a reassuring smile. “Oh, that? Don’t worry, it’s just zombies.”

Just zombies, he says.

Okay.

Okay.

Charlie buried his face in his (still weirdly green, but considerably more solid and human-looking) hands. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Chapter Text

Charlie buried his face in his (still weirdly green, but considerably more solid and human-looking) hands. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Quackity’s hands fluttered around nervously, unable to decide what to do with them. Caught in indecision between reaching out, or pulling away.

“What? What’s wrong, man?”

“You were supposed to be rational!” Charlie replied mournfully, which wasn’t an answer.

Oh good, Charlie was starting to melt again. Fuck, what did he say wrong? Did Charlie have some kind of zombie-related trauma now, that he had accidentally been super insensitive about? Quackity ran a hand through his hair, which was probably a disaster by now considering how much he’d been messing with it today in all his worry.

“How…” Charlie inhaled shakily, which made a sound similar to thick jello being sucked through a straw. “How evolved are they? The zombies.”

“I have no idea what that hell you’re even talking about.”

“Are they big? Can they pick people up? Can they speedbridge? C’mon man, give me something so I can start making a strategy to get us through this!” His voice became more and more desperate with each word, and he clutched the diamond sword in his hands like a lifeline.

“Look I don’t… I have no goddamn clue what you went through, but I can promise these zombies aren’t going to hurt you. They’re just in the walls. Even if they got out, it’s zombies! One of the easiest mobs to kill.”

Charlie didn’t seem to be taking any of these words to heart, beginning to pace and mutter under his breath. Quackity thought he caught the words “storm,” “mutation” and “apocalypse.” Splashes of green plastered themselves to the ground beneath where the slime walked, seemingly unaware of the tiny pieces of himself detaching in his franticness.

Despite himself, Quackity could feel frustration starting to bubble within his chest. It was just one thing after another, wasn’t it? Every time he thought he might have a handle on the situation, every time he thought for just a fleeting moment that he was finally in control, life had to throw him another fucking curveball.

He just wanted to show Charlie to the slot machine, because he knew Charlie loved gambling. Bring back some sense of comforting normalcy to this fuck-tastic stress filled nightmare of a day. Give his friend a little joy. It was such a simple thing, and even that couldn’t just go right. Go the way it was supposed to.

Quackity wanted to snap. To lash out. He was absolutely itching for a problem he could attack directly, a convenient outlet for the ugly, festering rage inside of him.

He couldn’t take that anger out on someone he cared about. He wouldn’t. No matter the sharp and poisonous feelings that made their home in his head, Quackity refused to let himself be that kind of a person.

His wrath was reserved for the people who deserved it.

Dream, Technoblade… Whoever the hell had hurt Slime -Charlie, dammit, get that right- in this way… they would be the ones to bear the weight of his unbridled fury.

But not now, no.

For now he’d shove those feelings into a box in the corner of his brain. Shelved for later use. Fueling him, coal to the furnace of his machinations.

Even if his skills in genuine, unguarded connection were rusty from disuse, Quackity still had quite the way with words. He knew how to twist a conversation to his favor. How to lead someone to a certain conclusion. How to play to their emotions.

He’d use those skills to try and coax Charlie down from whatever panic spiral the slime was actively working himself into.

”You’re going soft again,” something in the back of his mind hissed. A survival instinct, maybe. Baring its teeth, telling him he was allowing himself to be too attached. That he needed to be more guarded. Less vulnerable.

That instinct could go fuck itself.

Placing a hand on Charlie’s shoulder (gently, so as not to let it sink into his gelatinous flesh) Quackity said, “You’re okay. We are okay. Whatever you’re worried about, whatever you think is gonna happen… I’m not gonna let it. That’s a promise. Alright?”

Charlie finally looked up at him, toxic green eyes boring into Quackity with a laser-focused intensity the likes of which he’d never before seen from the slime. Wholly unlike the usual thousand yard stare he possessed. Surveying the world as though everyone and everything around him had already long since turned to dust, and he was the only one who saw it.

Yet another staggering difference to add to the ever-growing collection.

“If you die on me…” Charlie spoke slowly, deliberately. “I am going to be so pissed.”

He chuckled. “The feeling’s mutual, bud.”

Charlie nodded a couple times. “Okay, cool. That’s great and everything, but can we just rewind for a sec? Because I could really use a bit of exposition right about now.”

“...What?”

“Why do you keep insisting that the infected aren’t a big deal? And do not tell me you think they’re just a government conspiracy. The sun may not be real, but zombies very much are!”

“The sun isn’t-!?”

“Not the point!” Charlie hurriedly interrupted. “Please answer my question before I start melting again from the immense psychic damage this day has dealt me.”

“Like I said, they’re one of the weakest mobs. Those things are more of a minor inconvenience than anything. Especially if you have half-decent weapons, and you’ve been squeezing the hilt of that diamond sword like it owes you money for the last five minutes.”

The slime momentarily glanced down at his weapon, apparently unaware of how tensely he’d been clutching it. His grip did not relax.

“So they’re just, what, normal? Like, you go outside, see a fucking zombie, and go ‘Alright! Time to continue with my regular day!’”

“Yeah, man. I thought- I thought you kind of knew everything? Well, not everything, but… You always seemed to know a hell of a lot more about the world and the people in it than you do right now.”

Quackity would be lying if he said that wasn’t his way of trying to covertly get Charlie to give him some answers. Open up a bit more about whatever was going on. Give insight into the sudden change. A clue, a lead, something.

“I just got fucking mystically yeeted into this reality, give me a break.”

The duck hybrid gave a humorless laugh. “Any chance you’ll explain what you mean by that?”

“Trust me, I wish I understood what happened that landed me here.” Charlie paused, brow furrowing. “Or maybe I don’t. It’d probably be some kind of super messed up mind-breaking bullshit, knowing the guy who sent me here.”

There they were again, the warning bells inside Quackity’s brain. Telling him to be alert. To be more suspicious. Take everything with a grain of a salt, analyze every word for information he can use.

“And who would that be?” He forced his tone to stay light, jovial. As though it were nothing more than a friendly question. “Who ‘sent’ you?”

“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.”

And the blood in Quackity’s veins turned to ice.

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?”