Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It seemed that Quackity had a new end-of-summer tradition, though really, this was only the second time it had happened. The first back to school year he’d done without Tilín, it was a nightmare about the actual day. With Tilín screaming for him, tears streaming down her face, and a class full of parents watching as he failed to pull her back up. This year it was a little more abstract. A little more imaginative as his nightmares loved to be. Even now, sat upright in the dark with his nails digging into his skin, Quackity felt himself tearing apart. He felt the safety scissors in his gut and he saw seven pairs of little eyes filled with tears as he failed, yet again, to protect those he had promised to serve. It was a horrifying wake up call, but at least it was perfectly on time with the ringing of his alarm clock. Little victories, right?

He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, shaken up. For once, Quackity didn’t feel embarrassed about asking Charlie to sleep with him because at least there was someone else there to turn the alarm off. He stayed where he was. Cold sweat clung to his hair and he knew he’d have no choice but to shower this morning, but for now all Quackity wanted to do was breathe. So he did. He sucked in one breath after another, listening to the rustle of the blanket as Charlie grabbed his phone and settled back down. It helped that he ignored Quackity. It helped that he was there, and eventually Quackity felt stable enough to drop his hands and sigh into the early morning air. 

“Fuck.”

Beside him, Charlie snorted, the glare of his phone disappearing as he shut it off and twisted to face what he could see of Quackity. “Agreed. Sleep okay?”

“Hell no,” Quackity said, a light laugh following. “You?”

“What do you think?”

Quackity just nodded, half asleep yet wide awake as the adrenaline from his nightmare faded. He was far too used to waking up like this now. Far too used to the way his shirt and boxers stuck to his sweaty skin, and the nonsensical urge to stick a knife in his chest and prove he’s still breathing. He doesn’t, of course. Quackity has a little more sense than that these days, so all he does is sigh again and flip the heavy duvet off his legs. The incoming cold does wonders at forcing him to move. He rolls over the edge and plants his feet on cold hardwood, and thus begins the first real Monday of the second school year without his child. Hooray. 

The bathroom light is blinding when he flips it on but that’s fine. It’s not like Quackity wants to see his own reflection more than necessary. He avoids the mirror like the plague as he goes about his morning, taking his tooth brush into the shower in hopes that merging the tasks will actually get them both done. He manages it. The sun is just starting to rise when he shoulders open the closet door, towel wrapped around his waist, and tries to put together something appropriate yet fun for the first day of kindergarten. 

Neither of them flinches when he drops the towel and gets dressed right there. They’d spent well over a year with each other at the worst point either had ever hit. Once you’d learned how to tourniquet for your friend with a penchant for scissor art on his arms, nakedness didn’t feel all that vulnerable anymore. Nothing did. Charlie felt more like an extension of Quackity’s self than another person in his home these days and it probably wasn’t healthy, but fuck it. At least they were both still alive right?

That’s what Quackity was going to keep telling himself anyway because every day felt like another step through quicksand and this one was no different. Sometimes, he needed the extra hand that Charlie was just to get out of bed. Other days, like today, it was Charlie who needed him. Quackity pulled the duvet off Charlie’s head, barking a sharp, “Up. C’mon. You know you’re not getting anymore sleep.”

Charlie groaned in response, curling further into himself as Quackity folded the blanket up and tossed it. It’s not dark enough anymore to ignore the dark circles under Charlie’s eyes, but Quackity does anyway. For Charlie’s sake. He’s not an idiot. He knows that Charlie didn’t sleep much before the accident and much less now. Quackity knows that a lot of Charlie’s nights are spent silently suffering while Quackity sleeps and though he wishes he could help, he can’t. All they can do is keep going, so they do. Quackity does, at least. 

“Are you going to be an aide this year?” He presses, carrying on with the morning as Charlie slowly uncurls in his bed. “You should do something that isn’t worrying the people in the park.”

“The people in the park don’t worry about me, they fear me,” Charlie mumbles into his pillow. 

It’s probably true, knowing Charlie. Still, he can’t spend this school year the way he did the last one or Quackity’s going to end up living alone again.

“Come on, asshole. Get up. You’re coming with me today.”

“I don’t think that’s how jobs work,” Charlie complains, but he does finally pull his face out of the pillow to blink blindly in Quackity’s direction. “I was only an aide for like three weeks before break. They didn’t hire me, hire me.”

“You’re certified for a whole year and we always need aides. Get up.”

Quackity doesn’t wait to see if he does. They’re bound to be late no matter what, but that doesn’t mean he won’t try and beat the clock. Eating isn’t something either of them consider a lot, so he skips the kitchen and beelines for the living room where his backpack should be. It’s been a minute since they cleaned. Quackity notes with disdain that they’ll have to do something about the living room soon, shoving aside old pizza boxes to find his phone and then pulling his bag free from a pile of blankets near the TV. That’s a later problem though. 

He clears a spot to sit and pull on his shoes. His supervisor was bound to complain about the docs, but fuck that lady. His shoes were technically within their dress code and Quackity didn’t have the energy to find his old boat shoes at this point. He’d laced them up tight by the time Charlie stumbles downstairs, dressed as professionally as he can manage, with the worst case of bed head Quackity had ever seen. He swallows back a laugh and shakes his head, slinging his bag across one arm he wraps the other over the back of Charlie’s neck and guides him to the kitchen sink.

Much like a wet cat, Charlie grumbles the entire time Quackity fusses with his hair, but he’s presentable in the end. It’s the most Quackity can ask of him. “You don’t have to stay the whole day,” he says, voice uncharacteristically soft when Charlie’s bloodshot eyes meet his. “Just come til lunch. So I don’t have to do the first day all on my own.”

Getting Charlie to take care of himself is pretty easy when Quackity makes it about himself. They work well that way. Quackity’s selfishness caters perfectly to Charlie’s selflessness and the push and pull of it keeps them both standing. As expected, this does the trick. Charlie’s face scrunches into something annoyed, but he isn’t really bothered when he says, “Fine. I guess I can come to work with you today.”

Quackity grins at the win, spinning to grab his keys and throwing out, “Good, I already filled out the paperwork last week and told them you’d be there. Would’ve made us both look stupid.”

There are insults from behind him, but Quackity’s already pulling open the front door and heading for his car. She’s an old bastard, his car. The 2003 tanker that he’d bought on his own at sixteen and fondly named Bestia. It always took a few curses and a couple hits to the dash to get her purring, but Quackity’s got it going by the time Charlie comes careening down the driveway into his passenger seat. He’s all limbs, Charlie, throwing himself around haphazardly and sinking down into the seat til his knees meet his eyes. With that, they’re off towards the Quest Science and Math Prepatory school, or the QSMP for short. 

Quackity started teaching there at nineteen, right after Tilín was born. They’d needed stability. Something that would keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. The QSMP always needed Aides, so that's where he started. They’d even let him bring Tilín in to the daycare for a small dock in his pay and it had been perfect for them. By the time Tilín hit five, they’d even helped Quackity go back to school and get his teaching license. He’d managed a whole college degree, something he’d never expected, and he started teaching kindergarten the same year Tilín started. That’s how he met JuanaFlippa, Charlie and Mariana. Some days, Quackity still wasn’t sure if he regretted that. 

“How many kids you got this year?” Charlie asks, fidgeting with the radio. He settles on a throwback station playing Owl City and hums to himself while Quackity tries to remember the roster he got last week. 

“Eight, I think. There are six Kinder teachers this year, so I guess they want a more intensive classroom experience.”

Charlie hums, saying, “Doesn’t sound like you need an aide.”

“Yeah, well, the ducks at the park don’t need to be chased around either, so you’ll deal with it.”

Whatever defense Charlie mumbles under his breath is promptly ignored as Quackity pulls into the parking lot of a very tiny elementary school. It’s early enough that the car rider line hasn’t started yet, so he can take his time backing in by the front office. Once upon a time, this was when Quackity would be hustling Tilín out of her car seat. They’d walk hand in hand to the front office so that he could check her in and then walk her to her classroom. That hadn’t happened in well over a year now though. All Quackity had to do now was grab his bag and remember his keys before ducking out of the car.

He and Charlie split ways at the door. Quackity to clock in on the computer and Charlie to get his visitor’s badge from Osito Bimbo at the front desk where they reconvene. The walk to Quackity’s classroom is a silent one minus the echo of their shoes on freshly waxed linoleum floors. Come Friday they’ll be as dirty as the sidewalks outside, but for now the tiles are shiny and clean. There’s something nostalgic about the first day of school, even now, with all the pain it brought. His classroom is freshly decorated. The desks are still empty and free of pencil marks. It all feels so new and full of anticipation despite how far from that Quackity himself felt.  For now though, he could trick himself into thinking he did. 

“Will you do me a favor and put one red and one blue composition book on each of their desks?” Quackity asks, flipping up the lights and heading for the rolling chair behind his desk.

Charlie obliges without complaint. They work in a companionable silence as the halls slowly fill with the sound of teachers arriving and classrooms being filled. It’s nearing drop off time now. Quackity can tell because the buses of older kids have already started coming and the halls have begun to fill with the chatter of children mourning a summer they’d see again soon. Kindergarten, thankfully, isn’t bussed. Not the first day at least. The QSMP is a bit of an alternative school masking as a private one. As such, they get away with a lot of unconventional rules like making in person drop off mandatory on day one for every student under six. 

That’s part of the reason Quackity had already decided Charlie was coming with him. The first day of school for the littles was parents day. As in, the kids and their parents would be pouring into his classroom any minute, settling in to listen to Quackity go over the rules, expectations, and curriculum. They’d be free to go after an hour or two, but there were always those parents that stayed the full day. Always someone who made Quackity want to lash out and scream. He was hoping having Charlie here this time would make it just a little bit easier to contain.

“Hey, is there-“

They both freeze as a knock interrupts whatever Charlie had been about to ask. Somehow it feels threatening, though Quackity knows that’s just his own fear sinking in and tainting the day. Charlie’s bright green eyes look on in question, a silent do I get it or can you? and it’s the push Quackity needs to walk forward and plaster on his teacher smile. The day had begun. For real this time, and even with Charlie at his back, some part of Quackity is still screaming about the injustice of it all. It’s still clawing at his throat, begging to be released, and Quackity worries one of these days he won’t be able to stop it.

Not today though. Today, Quackity opens his mouth and what comes out is a polite, “Good morning!" directed at a familiar parent that almost makes him curse out loud. How he manages to keep the smile on is beyond him, but Quackity does. He crouches down to Roier's knee where a stout little boy in overalls glares up at him. "Welcome to kindergarten, Bobby," he tries, unsurprised when the kid just rears back to kick him in the shin. Quacktiy steps back, smile strained and turns his attention back to Roier, his least favorite parent possibly ever. "Still has a hitting problem, I see."

"No, no," Roier says, patting Bobby on the head. "He's just playful, you know how he is."

And, God, Quackity does. The kid is a total nightmare. He'd been sent to Quackity's room to 'cool down' no less than thirty times last year and every time Quackity had ended up with a new bruise. What a nightmare. He'd seen a Bobby on his roster, but Roier wasn't the contact listed so he'd hoped it was someone else. Unfortunately for Quackity, he was stuck with spoiled little nightmare child Bobby and, consequently, Roier. 

"It's nice to see you, man," Roier says, pushing past Quackity into the room. He's got Bobby's little dinosaur backpack slung over his shoulder which the little shit doesn't even care about. Bobby beelines for the toys on the carpet in the front of the room while Quackity leads Roier to the cubbies to hang it up. It is far too early in the day for this to happen already, but of course, Roier had never been one to mind his own. He eyes Charlie, dropping his voice to ask, "How have you been? I heard last year was a rough one."

Quackity can't even force a smile at that. He gives Roier a short glare and a clipped, "I'm fine. Doing as good as I can be, you know?"

"I know, I know. I mean, I can't imagine."

"Yeah," Quackity cuts him off dryly. "You can just have a seat at the desks. Will Bobby's mother be joining us today?"

He takes the hint thankfully. Roier seats himself in the front row, engrossing himself in whatever game Bobby was playing as the rest slowly arrive. Jaiden comes in with a man Quackity also recognizes as the parent he cussed out in a Walmart parking lot last year. Bad, apparently, and his kid Dapper in the most bully-magnet outfit Bad could possibly have put him in. Good friends, Bobby and Dapper, which was a great sign for the classroom, but terrible for Quackity when the parents were all people he hated. Long story short, Bad had caught him on a bad day buying copious amounts of alcohol and just had to say something about Quackity doing it in his QSMP teacher hoodie. It had ended poorly and clearly Bad remembered him too, if the way he looked over suspiciously every few seconds was any indication. It was shaping up to be a wonderful day, but at least Charlie was there to play entertainer while he self-regulated.

He held onto the hope that not every student he had this year came with not-so-fun history, but that was too much to ask for as the next kid to come flying into his classroom was fucking Chayanne. Plastic sword in hand and fake knights helmet on his head, Chayanne cemented Quackity's decision that this school year was going to be the worst one he'd ever had. Sighing, Quacktiy had only a second to consider suicide before Phil's there, giving him a similarly polite smile and a short, "Good morning, Quackity."

"Good morning, Phil." He simply nods to Missa, the more tolerable of Chayanne's parents before gesturing towards the group of parents at the front. "Feel free to take a seat. We'll get started when everyone's here."

It's a massive relief that the next child at the door is one that Quackity doesn't recognize at all. Ramón according to the strangely buff man dropping him off. Fit, the body building father of Ramõn is just curt enough that Quackity almost likes him, but then Bad stands up and Ramón runs straight to Dapper, and he knows that whatever decent opinion Fit may have of him is soon to be gone. Something similar happens when two incredibly unfortunately named children show up. The one in the little hat is Trump- yes, like the fuckwad of a president they should never have had- and the other is Richarlyson which, in comparison, is bearable. They're clearly familiar with each other, but only loosely and that makes sense when Quackity catches sight of Maximus, Cellbit, and Forever. Now these three were well-known in the school for their unconventional personalities. Cellbit and Forever, both part of a weird, nomadic hippy group that renamed themselves and dedicated their lives to some of the strangest 'truths' Quackity had ever heard. It made sense for them to be with Maximus who was convinced the QSMP was an experiment run by Osito and their prinicpal, Rubius, to kill their children. 

Quackity didn't know all of the family history, but he knew that Maximus couldn't pull Trump out because of some custody thing with his ex, so he stuck to spreading conspiracy theory bullshit at PTA meetings and threatening teachers to tell him the truth. In short, Quackity is wary of Maximus and the presence of Forever and Cellbit certainly doesn't make him feel better. Still, he invites them in with the same politeness he did the others. He tries not to make a face when Maximus greets Bad with a hug and Cellbit follows suit. Tries not to think about the strong network of parents who hate him assigned to him for an entire school year. Quackity feels a bit nauseas just thinking about it. He wasn't at all confident in his ability to communicate with parents and these parents? It was a recipe for disaster. Osito and Rubius must be somewhere laughing at him, happy their little practical joke worked and they had successfully ruined what little hope Quackity had for the year. Fuckers.

"Good morning."

He doesn't startle, he doesn't, but if he had, no one could blame Quackity. The voice is low and almost raspy, and he's absolutely delighted to find it attached to the hottest man Quackity had seen in a while. He's fucking tall. Taller than Mariana even and Quackity had always pointed out how ridiculous Mariana's height was. He's all autumn tones and soft edges, one hand wrapped around the handles of, fuck, a guitar case, and the other locked in to- right, shit, this is a parent. Quackity straightens up immediately, plastering on his fake smile and forcing himself to look at the little girl instead of the piece of eye candy in front of him. "Good morning," he says, popping into that same crouch he did for every child. "Welcome to kindergarten!"

Wide, honey-colored eyes peer up at him from behind a wild mane of brown curls. She's new to the school. Quackity is sure of it because he'd never seen this child before in his life. Her backpack is a big, purple thing that seems twice her size and she looks up to her dad rather than saying anything in response. That forces him to do the same and, yes, the man is still way too hot for Quackity to not feel tongue tied. He's lucky that he's looking back at his daughter rather than Quackity because he couldn't be sure he wasn't drooling. God, he needed to get out, didn't he? Quackity hadn't done much of anything at all this last year. Hadn't had sex, or been on a date, or so much as googled hot guys and now he'd forgotten how to interact with people he's attracted to. Wasn't that just wonderful?

"Tallulah's a bit nervous," that voice tells him. "She doesn't speak much, but she is very excited to start here."

Quackity swallows down words that make him sound like a moron before he says, "That's alright. We accept everyone as they are here at the QSMP. And if it helps, Tallulah," he crouches down again to sign the words I understand sign. Do you?

She smiles ever so slightly, fist closing into an S before shaking gently. Quackity can't help but smile and sign back Good. When Tallulah smiles fully, Quackity remembers why he started this job in the first place. He remembers what had him choosing kindergarten right before he remembers similar big, brown eyes grinning up at him and a far too loud 'Love you, Papi' before Tilín sprinted into the classroom across the hall. For a sickening minute, Quackity is lost. He's in the hallway and there are parents all around who feel the same way he does as his five year old bounds away for the first time without him. Whatever joy Tallulah had brought him was immediately tainted and Quackity has to stand before she could see his face fall. She seemed lovely, Tallulah. He didn't need to go projecting on to a five year old now. 

"Well, come on in," Quackity forces cheer into his voice, stepping aside and avoiding eye contact with Adonis. "We're just waiting on one more and then we can get started."

"Thanks," the man says, ushering Tallulah forward. She sees something that must interest her because she's off like light the second they're in the door. Her dad laughs, surprising Quackity by sticking out a calloused hand and saying, "I'm Wilbur, by the way. Tallulah's really excited about having a class with her Tio, so hopefully she'll come out of her shell a bit this year." And he says it so casually that Quacktiy nearly misses it, but then the words register and his head whips towards the carpet. Sure enough, Tallulah has latched onto the shoulders of the taller Chayanne, knelt behind where he sits and chattering like talking is her favorite thing in the world. It's cute, but it's also terrible because Phil sees her and then he's looking at them and greeting Wilbur and shit, Quackity definitely has no shot with this hot guy anymore. Not that he ever did. Attraction wasn't often on his mind these days.

Still, the emotional whiplash of the last few minutes is enough to put Quackity out for the day and so he brushes Wilbur off with some polite adage and turns his attention back to the door. It's then that Quackity realizes he'd never checked the student they added to his roster last minute and he really should have. Not because Leonarda herself is any big issue. Really, she's one of the better behaved students he could have gotten. The problem with Leonarda is that Foolish follows behind her. Foolish, Charlie's husband's ex-boyfriend- and alleged affair partner though they both deny it. Foolish, who lights up when he sees Quackity and pulls him into a hug like Quackity didn't help Charlie egg their house a couple halloweens ago over the cheating accusations. It is, quite possibly, the worst combination of events that could have possibly happened this Monday morning and Quackity can't help but wonder if he really was cursed. If this really was some cosmic punishment for every bad thing he'd done in his life. This was already a school year from hell on day one, how was he supposed to hand two hundred more? At least, like always it seemed, he and Charlie were about to be suffering together.

"Good morning. Welcome to kindergarten, Leonarda!"

Chapter Text

It has been six hundred and forty seven days without JuanaFlippa. Charlie could still tell you the time down to the minute, but a generalization would do for today. Six hundred and forty seven days and Charlie was having an anxiety attack in the bathroom of her pre-school. The stupid, expensive one Mariana insisted on because they had the money and Vegetta recommended it. Really, it was a good school. Flippa got to use her Spanish and connect with other kids who understood her. The teachers were wonderful, always sending her home with art and notes about what a joy she was to have in class. The QSMP brought him Quackity too, so Charlie should be grateful, but it was hard to feel gratitude between the tiny stall doors of an elementary school bathroom. It was hard to feel much of anything at all because, as previously stated, Charlie was having an anxiety attack.

Not a full blown panic attack- although the jury was still out on whether that would last- but enough adrenaline to kill a small bird was coursing through Charlie's body and he wasn't convinced that an army of ants didn't live under his skin. This was fine though. Charlie felt like he was dying more often than he didn't. He usually had a bit more dignity in the comfort of his own home, but oh well. It wasn't like he could fall much further, right? Charlie and rock bottom were practically family with the way he clung to it. Even before losing Flippa he'd been no stranger to the bottom of the well which was probably the reason his husband was always leaving him to fuck his ex. His husband's ex, who was in Quackity's classroom right now and had the audacity to look at Charlie with such pure worry and sorrow that he could've puked right then and there. 

He didn't. Charlie had better control over himself than that. He's taken his little meltdown to a kindergarten bathroom and waited until his ass hit the floor to start crying. Maybe because of Mariana. Maybe because of how much he saw Flippa in the halls of the QSMP. Maybe because seeing Foolish was an unwanted reminder of how Charlie wasn't good enough to keep a daughter or a husband and everyone would leave him in the end. Whatever the reason, he was riding the outer waves of anxiety and all Charlie really wanted right now was to go home. To Quackity's house, that is, not his own because the last time he'd been there he'd nearly killed himself. His house wasn't comforting. It wasn't a safe space. It was a haunting reminder of how close Charlie had come to happiness and how stupid he was for thinking he'd had it. 

Really, Charlie wasn't even sure they still had the house. Mariana had left two weeks before the funeral. He'd fucked off to stay with Foolish while Charlie spent fourteen days curled up in their dead daughter's bed. Alone. Not that Mariana could really be blamed for that. Charlie was fucking crazy. He'd gone ballistic on anyone who got close enough and Mariana was no exception to his grief fueled rage. Charlie didn't blame his husband for leaving, but he can't pretend it didn't sting to hear he'd retreated to Foolish. To the guy Mariana constantly assured him he didn't still have feelings for. To the guy Charlie had already written off as his husband's affair partner despite the way everyone else told him he was crazy. 

"Amore, I am not sleeping with Foolish," Mariana had told him, hands cupped softly around Charlie's face. "I'm sorry that I've left you so insecure in me that you think I would do that, but I swear to you, there is absolutely nothing romantic left between me and Foolish. If you can't believe that I wouldn't do it to you, at least believe I wouldn't do it to Vegetta and Leonarda. Please. I love you, Slime. I do. Only you."

Then he'd been gone the next morning and Charlie had invited Quackity over to day drink and stew on revenge plots. He called for Quackity a lot in the months after. He'd called just so he didn't have to sleep alone while Flippa was over at a friend's house. He'd called when Mariana and him fought so bad Charlie just knew he'd be divorced by the morning. He wasn't, of course, as that would require Mariana to give at least a little bit of a shit about him, but it felt true at the time. He'd also called three days after the funeral with a gun to his head begging for Quackity's forgiveness. He should have just done it, he knew that. Charlie was just so desperate for Quackity to know that he was sorry. That it was all an accident. Charlie loved Tilín like his own and he'd needed Quackity to know that before he left. He'd needed to offer some kind of closure to the friend whose life he'd ruined. 

He didn't expect Quackity to show up and wrestle the gun from his hands though. He expected the following screaming match; the way they were both so violently hurting that hurting someone else just made sense. Charlie didn't stop Quackity when he threw a punch because he expected that. Deserved it too. What he didn't expect was the tight hug afterwards. Quackity's forgiveness silencing the apologies that poured from his lips in tandem with the blood of a broken nose. Quackity had saved Charlie's life that night despite all that he'd done. Took him back to a different home that felt just as hauntingly empty as his own except this time he was facing it with someone who understood how he felt. He hadn't been back home since. Hadn't looked at the bills or concerned himself with his things. As far as Charlie was concerned, that chapter of his life was permanently closed. So why did Foolish have to be here?

They were doing okay. He and Quackity weren't good by any means but they were okay. If Foolish was here then everything was about to get harder because it had been six hundred and forty seven days since he'd lost his daughter, but it had been six hundred and twenty five since he'd seen his husband. Foolish had already spotted him. He'd even gotten as far as calling Charlie's name before anxiety steered him out of the room, so the damage was done. Foolish would tell Mariana where Charlie was. There was no doubt about that. Foolish would tell Mariana who he was with and Mariana would be able to find him again. To talk to him, and Charlie just wasn't ready for that. He knew it had been a year. He knew a year of ghosting his husband was wrong and had to be enough time, but it wasn't. It really, really wasn't because Charlie couldn't handle Mariana. 

He couldn't handle the man he still loved so fiercely it hurt. He couldn't handle anymore lying about how special Charlie is and how Mariana is gonna do better. Or worse, Charlie didn't know what he'd do if Mariana wanted to make their split official. They're practically divorced already. Charlie had threatened it so many times, even gone as far as to draw up the papers once, but he could never go through with it. Though they fought more than they ever talked. Though Mariana left for days at a time and spent a lot of it flirting with strangers. Though Charlie rarely felt loved, he had never once stopped loving Mariana. There had never been a point in their broken, messy relationship where Charlie truly stopped caring for his husband and that was still true. 

Even if that love was now tainted with bitterness. With blame and fear and suffocating self hatred, it was still love. So, yeah. Charlie couldn't see Mariana. He couldn't make it all real like that. He couldn't lose anymore and even if they hadn't seen each other in six hundred and twenty five days- completely Charlie's doing, he'll admit- Mariana was still his husband. As long as they didn't see each other, didn't actually talk about it, then Mariana was still his husband and maybe their family was still that. It was still a family. If they just didn't say anything then maybe Charlie could pretend that he hadn't lost everything he'd ever loved in one fell swoop. Maybe he could stay okay for just a little while longer.

"Alright boys, be quick," a man called, the front door to the bathroom slamming open and little footsteps disrupting his silence. "Don't forget to wash your hands."

It's an awkward way to be reminded that you're having a breakdown in a kindergarten bathroom, especially when one of the babbling fools tugs at Charlie's stall door and whines. He doesn't move because there's an open stall right next to him and the kid figures that out quick enough. He does, however, suck in the first not shaky breath in what felt like forever. It's slow going, the come down. Always slow. By the time the toddlers are toddling away though, Charlie has found enough stamina to stand up and exit his tiny cubicle of shame. He hasn't cried enough to be noticable after a few splashes of water, thankfully, so Charlie resolves himself to pretend this never happened. Which is how he faces most things in life now. Healthy, he's aware.

He's good at faking happiness, Charlie. He'd learned young that he had a talent for acting. He knew how to be what people wanted from him, to adapt to his surroundings and survive, and he'd only gotten better at it with time. No one questioned the smile on his face when he slipped back into the classroom. No one noticed his search for Foolish or the spike of anxiety when he didn't see him. No one noticed except Quackity because no one was looking except Quackity. Ironic isn't it? It's been that way for a while now. The only person in the whole world that still gave a shit about Charlie was the man who's life he'd ruined. He didn't deserve the soft, "you okay?" he got when he sidled over to Quackity's desk. He didn't deserve the shoulder squeeze of support when he just shrugged back. He didn't deserve it, but he was desperate for it, so Charlie wasn't going to protest.

"Where'd he go?" Charlie all but whispers, eyeing the full classroom. He knew Quackity would know who he meant. "Did you already get through the presentation?"

Quackity grimaces which is answer enough. Still he says, "No. We started, then Richarlyson started crying. We started again after a few and Roier asked the longest fucking question I've ever heard. Finally, I think we're going to get somewhere and no, Foolish's phone goes off and Vegetta demands we wait for him to get back. So to answer your question, Foolish is outside, and we are never getting through this presentation."

Quackity's frustration is never quiet. He wears his heart on his sleeve and it's both a blessing and a curse. Fortunately for him, Charlie has dedicated what remains of his life to making Quackity's better, so he perches on the edge of the desk and asks, "What can I do to help?"

His friend sighs. Charlie can see the tension in even the tips of his fingers. He knows that this particular mix of people is probably a nightmare for Quackity. Charlie didn't have that issue with all his pretending. While Charlie was absolutely terrified of Foolish's presence, the only other parent here he couldn't smooth talk was Roier. See, in their town, everyone somehow knew Roier. Even if you didn't think you knew Roier, you knew Roier, and Charlie just had the misfortune of killing his favorite niece a little over a year ago. Tilín, not Flippa, to be clear. Charlie didn't like leaving anyone with Flippa if he didn't absolutely have to. Quackity on the other hand needed all the help he could get, so Tilín spent a lot of time with her uncle Roier. Charlie highly doubted that Roier would ever forgive him for taking that away. Not that he'd asked the guy or anything. The only person Charlie had spoken to since the funeral was Quackity, but he'd change that if it would make Quackity's life a little easier.

"Wanna cut out the little gingerbread men?" Quackity finally asks, voice full of forced enthusiasm. 

Charlie just takes the scissors in response. He sits in Quackity's rolly chair and nudges the teacher away in a silent I got this. Unconfident but probably true. Charlie feels pretty unstable this morning, but he's long since learned the best way to combat that. Helping someone else. Being useful.

"We'll get through it," Charlie sighs and it means a lot more than he can really say in a kindergarten classroom. "We always do."

"We always do," Quackity echos. 

Then he heads back to the front of the room to get the parent's attention and Charlie pours all of his focus into little paper people with safety scissors. He is determined not to look up when the door opens. He's determined not to think about what Foolish is going to say to his husband about today. No doubt he'll say something. Will he tell Mariana that Charlie's doing well? That he has a job? Will he say that Charlie looks like a walking skeleton who hasn't slept in months? That he died the day Flippa did and doesn't know the way back? Charlie needs to stop thinking about it, Jesus Christ. He's avoided Mariana for six hundred and twenty five days. He's avoided everything for six hundred and forty seven, but there was only so long a man could run from reality, wasn't there? It was inevitable, so Charlie just needed to stop thinking about it. Stop thinking in general. Quackity needed his support today and by God he was going to get it. Fuck knows, Charlie owed him that much. 

Chapter Text

"I'm sorry."

Charlie is, once again, sunken down in the passenger seat like a small child. He's been despondent most of the day, present only when Quackity directly requests assistance and he knows why. See, Quackity had been the one fending off Mariana for the last year. At first he'd let Charlie know every time Mariana called, or visited, or tried to reach them through a mutual friend, but as time went on he'd stopped. Quackity couldn't pretend he understood Charlie and Mariana's relationship so he didn't try. He let Charlie retreat. He fielded Mariana's attempts at contact until they dwindled and eventually stopped. Whatever was happening up there in Charlie's head was none of Quackity's business. All he needed to know was that Mariana wasn't wanted here. It's a genuine apology that Charlie just brushes off the way he loves to. 

"Not your fault," he mumbles back. "Sorry you got such a shit class this year."

Quackity grimaced, unable to argue with the truth. "This is gonna be a shit year," he agrees. "I cannot imagine doing family Fridays with these parents, like, how do they expect me to survive?"

"Maybe they want you to quit."

Charlie snickers when pinned with a glare. 

"They have the power to fire me, they don't need me to quit," Quackity says dryly, but Charlie isn't getting away with this. "Seriously though, you don't have to change the subject, man. Do you wanna talk about it?"

He's looking at the road, but he knows Charlie well enough to imagine the displeased look he's receiving. "No, man. I really don't."

That's the prime reason neither of them have gotten anywhere with the whole grieving thing probably. Quackity swallowed down the urge to push anyway. While there were still a lot of parts of Charlie that Quackity didn't understand, he knew enough to acknowledge that they worked differently. He knew that Charlie wasn't like him. He didn't share his thoughts and feelings very freely and when he did it was in the form of a joke. A mockery of himself. Quackity's instinct was always to prod the feelings out of him because that's what made him feel better. Quackity loved talking. He wanted everyone around him to know exactly how he felt all the time. He was all impulse and it was hard for him to comprehend how not talking was at all helpful. He didn't need to comprehend it though. He just needed to respect it and he did. He tried to, at least.

It's a quiet drive. Less comfortable than this morning, but not awkward by any means. Despite the rather jarring day they'd had, Quackity and Charlie fall into routine with the ease of a duck into water. Quackity parks the car and opens the garage where he can dump his school supplies and pretend he sorted through them tomorrow. Charlie disappears into the kitchen and Quackity heads upstairs to change out of his stiff shirt and slacks. There are perks to housing a former house husband, he'd learned. Coming downstairs to dinner is just one of them, but it's the one Quackity indulges in the most, unwilling to go through the effort of cooking anymore. Charlie's a better cook anyway as much as it pains Quackity to admit. Even when it comes to Mexican meals that he must have learned for Mariana, this white man did it well. Tonight, Charlie makes them a simple chicken and rice and together they settle down in front of the TV to watch reruns of Jeopardy. 

Charlie's really good at it. Either because he'd memorized all the episodes up to this point or because his mind was a palace of useless facts. He's a Jeopardy king. Quackity, on the other hand, was bored by the thirty minute mark. He eventually whipped out a pen and paper and of course, no task was ever a one man task in this house. Charlie quickly found himself cross legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, leaning over Quackity's shoulder as he drew little squares around a fictional room. At the top he writes Quarter One Seating Chart in big letters and smiles when Charlie grumbles at it. Though a frustrating task, Quackity wasn't keen on letting the kinders pick their own seats. Tomorrow would be their first real classroom day and they'd need structure. More importantly, Quackity would need the most order he could hope to get in a classroom of five year olds, so seating chart. A necessary evil.

"So," he starts, underlining the words and glaring down at the paper. "Who needs to sit in the front?"

"Bobby."

Quackity groans, mostly because he'd seen that answer coming. 

"I don't want that little shit in front of me all day," he complains. "His stupid little face fills me with rage."

Charlie snorts, offering a strangely sensible, "Yeah, but he can start less shit if he's sitting right in front of your desk. You gotta do it, man. He's a shit starter if I've ever seen one."

"He is a shit starter," Quackity sighs and begrudgingly pencils Bobby's name into the first square on the left. "Still hate it though. Tallulah will need to be in the front as well. Wilbur says she's hard of hearing." 

Bilateral hearing loss, he'd told Quackity. She had hearing aids, but she was also easily overwhelmed and had a tendency to turn them down or off when overstimulated. Quackity was already figuring out how to sign his lessons for her. In the meantime, she'd need to be close to him and he was happy to oblige. Of course, it was never simple with children. Charlie reminds him of that.

"If you put Tallulah in the front you'll have to put Chayanne in the front. At least until she comes out of her shell a little more."

"You're right." Quackity mulls it over a moment before penning them both into the front row anyway. Chayanne wasn't a bad choice to keep an eye on. While he wasn't as much of a shit starter as Bobby, he definitely wasn't an angel and Quackity strongly, strongly disliked the kid. It just meant his last front row seat would have to go to Dapper over Ramón because of Dapper's IEP.

"Definitely don't put Ramón behind Bobby or Chayanne. Shit, or Dapper," Charlie says. He's right too and Quackity hates it.

"Tallulah it is," Quackity mumbles, marking off another box. "I think Leonarda and Chayanne can be trusted together, but if they prove me wrong we can move them next week."

"But that leaves Richarlyson and Trump sitting together. Do we want that?"

No, they probably don't. The night crawls on as it always does with them. Eventually they work out a decent seating chart and Charlie returns to the couch to stew in his own misery. Quackity doesn't love the way he stares, dissociative, at the ceiling, but he's not going to push. He's really trying not to push Charlie because the last thing they needed right now was another downward spiral for either of them. They've been, dare he say it, stable for something like four months now. No major injuries. No suicide attempts. Not even a nervous breakdown in the middle of the night, so really, they were getting somewhere for once. Quackity need to leave it alone. He chooses to focus on lesson planning instead. For next week, not this one considering he'd need it approved, but maybe it would be nice to be ahead for once. Quackity couldn't remember the last time he'd been on top of something. Would that make him feel better?

It's a time consuming task either way which was just what he'd needed. One that usually Charlie would've snapped him out of earlier in an effort to get them a full night's sleep. Unfortunately, Quackity was the one prodding Charlie up tonight and hour later than he'd planned to go to bed originally. Things still aren't good, but they're better. Decent as far as the first day of the school year could have gone. Charlie's present again when Quackity shuts off the TV and heads for the stairs, lingering just a little too long at the first step like he always does when he faces an empty bed. He's lucky he doesn't have to ask anymore. Just looks back and Charlie shakes his head.

"Don't want to sleep alone?" He guesses, and had Quackity any shame left, maybe he would've flushed. 

As it was he simply nodded. "Just a lot today, you know? Roier always asks these insensitive questions and I cannot stand the way they coddle Bobby."

Roier always, always, had something to say about Tilín. Even if it wasn't outright about her, it was because Roier had always thought Quackity was a shitty parent. He'd never said it, per say, but that was because he didn't have to. Quackity would drop her off last minute, pulled in every direction, and Roier would stand there at the door, voice dripping with unsung accusations. He didn't get it. He didn't get that Quackity didn't have the luxury of just being a parent back then. He'd had a lot of shit to deal with. Heavy, fucked up shit but he was still doing the best he could for him and Tilín. Roier never saw it that way. Quackity could still hear the judgement in his voice every time they spoke and he hated it. Hence why he blamed Roier for the third night in a row of getting Charlie to sleep with him.

It's comforting though, hearing Charlie fall into step beside him as he climbs to his bedroom. Really, it's so odd for Quackity to need it so much. Someone who was so used to being independent, to being alone, yet craving company like his life depended on it. These days it sort of did. Quackity wasn't sure he saw a world without Charlie anymore. He didn't think he could ever go back to living in an empty house and taking care of himself. Well, no, he could do it. He knew he could, he just wouldn't want to and that matters a whole lot more than people thought it did. That was a problem for later though, not now.

"It wasn't all bad," Charlie carries on, shedding his cardigan by the door and dropping onto Quackity's bed like it was his own. At this point, it may as well have been. "You got the hot guy. Phil's son."

"Shit, that was Phil's kid?" Quackity chokes out. He thinks back to Wilbur in all his tall, sexy glory which he'd been avoiding since they'd left. It's hard to connect that man to Philza Minecraft, but Quackity could see it if he squinted. It's tragic really. He replies with a short, "Damn. I really have no shot in hell huh?" 

He doesn't really think about the statement, but Charlie does. 

He gets that scrutinizing look on his face. The one that makes Quackity frown and ask, "What?" even knowing he'll regret it.

"Were you actually interested?"

Oh hell no. He hadn't spent the night ignoring Charlie's husband drama to be forced to think about his own feelings. 

"He's a hot guy with a kid. Of course not," Quackity retorts because what else is there to say?

Quackity isn't going to think too hard on some fleeting attraction he'd met that morning. Hot guys were everywhere. No need to get excited over one. 

He worked his way into sweatpants and a T-shirt, pointedly ignoring the way Charlie hums, unconvinced, from behind him. "It's fine if you are, like, interested," Charlie prods much to Quackity's annoyance. "It's not a bad thing to think about dating again. You've been single for, what? Twenty two years?"

"Oh, ha ha asshat." Charlie dodges the pillow tossed his way as Quackity flops into bed. "Even if I had been single for twenty two years, dating is the last thing on my mind. Maybe sex, but that's about it."

He clicks the light off, but he can still hear Charlie's dramatic gasp at the remark. He barely has the time to think 'here we go' before Charlie's lamenting, "Oh God. Sex before marriage? Where did my sweet little boy go?"

Quackity's foot makes contact with Charlie's knee but it only makes him laugh. 

"Alright, I'm sorry," Charlie lies, settling down on his side of the bed. "I was just making conversation, sheesh." 

No one's there to see Quackity roll his eyes even if it is out of fondness. Though he knows the jokes are more a cover up than anything else, Quackity is glad to see Charlie in a joking mood still. Charlie's not a sulker, see? He's a 'brush past that like it never happened at all' kind of guy and Quackity was happy to know he wasn't too shaken up by Foolish today. It seemed dramatic to think of it so heavily, but that was only to someone who hasn't lived their situation. Quackity knew that Mariana was going to show up again and so did Charlie. Soon, if Foolish's questions before pick up were any indication and they were both afraid for different reasons. Really, the biggest problem was that Quackity didn't know where he stood on the issue. On the one hand, they were fucking terrible for each other, Mariana and Slime. Mariana worked so much all over town and Charlie didn't have the self-esteem to self sustain. They fought like dogs, then fucked like rabbits, and were all around the most toxic couple Quackity had ever seen in his life.

But there was another side to them too. One that Quackity had always been so deeply jealous of. No one could say a bad word about Mariana in Charlie's presence. He'd defend the man like his life was at stake, and Mariana? The way he talked about Slime when he wasn't around. So many pet names and terms of endearment that Quackity got physically queasy. They really did love each other. They were a pair of psychopath , but no one could say they didn't love each other. Quackity knew because Charlie couldn't even hear his husband's name without losing it. He knew because Mariana had shown up to his house every day for a month in tears, pleading to just see Charlie. To just know that he was alright, safe somewhere. They were a fucking shit show those two, but some part of Quackity was always going to root for them. Some part of him wondered what he would do the next time Mariana showed up to beg for access to his husband and if Charlie would forgive him for letting them pass.

"Slime?" Quackity whispers before he can regret it.

There's a creak as Charlie flops over in bed. Then an equally quiet, "Yeah?"

"You really should talk about it." 

The words are sincere and they hang ominously over the bed like morning dew on the grass. Quackity knows not to expect an answer. Not today. Not at night, but he hopes that maybe Charlie will consider it. As much as he was grateful for the company, Quackity was also so heavily aware of how one sided their relationship was at times. He wasn't as selfish as people liked to make him out to be and sometimes, Quackity was overwhelmed by just how needy he must come across to Charlie. Always wanting to talk things out. Crying at all parts of the day. Asking not to sleep alone. Quackity doesn't cook or clean because Charlie said he's used to doing it anyway. Quackity knows, deep down, that he's taking far more than he's giving in this relationship, but he doesn't know how to fix that. He doesn't know how to balance them out so he does what he does best. He puts the responsibility of it onto Charlie and curls down into his duvet. 

They're fine, he and Charlie. They pay the bills and they keep each other afloat, so they're fine. And if there's another part of Quackity that is just as scared of Mariana coming back as Charlie is, that's for him to know and no one else. If he stares into the dark and wonders what happens when Mariana takes Charlie away from him, that is no one's business but his own. Charlie deserves his husband. Hell, he deserves better than his husband and Quackity has no right to keep him from that. He has no claim here, but he wants one. He wants to not be left alone in a big empty house meant for two. He wants to know that there is someone else breathing nearby. That he is not as alone as he was when he started this journey. What Quackity really wants, more than anything, is his Tilín, but he was never going to get that back. Instead he had Charlie, so who could blame him if he wasn't ready to give that up yet? Who could blame him for falling asleep to a prayer for just a little while longer?

Chapter Text

Flippa used to wait patiently in her bed every morning for Charlie to bring her breakfast. He had always been happy to do it too. As a chronic insomniac, Charlie was up long before the sunrise anyway, and it was always worth the effort to see Flippa wiggle happily in her bed, expecting him with bated breath. They ate together every morning and every evening because, while Charlie didn't have any clue how to parent or what good parenting looked like, he knew that Flippa needed all the love and attention he could give her. With Mariana constantly at work, Charlie worried she'd feel abandoned. He never wanted Flippa to think that they didn't love her so, no matter what was going on or what he needed to do to make it happen, Charlie ate breakfast and dinner with his daughter. Now, he ate breakfast and dinner with Quackity for very different reasons. 

Charlie  has learned to cook young, but he hadn't learned to like it until way later. Until he was eighteen or so and he'd met Mariana who'd play up a big scene every time Charlie made him something Mexican as if there wasn't a nice little restaurant just down the street doing it better. From there, Charlie actually kind of liked doing it. The comfortability of the kitchen wasn't something he resented anymore. It reminded him of cooking in their dorm, Mariana pressing a kiss to his shoulder and whispering praises. It reminded him of mornings with JuanaFlippa. The smell of light waffles and strawberry syrup, not that he made that anymore. He and Quackity had much less friendly palates seeing as they were both depressed adults living on one teacher's salary. Still, some days Charlie put the effort in. Some days, like the first family Friday of the year, he did a bit extra to boost Quackity's mood and, in turn, his own. 

"Charlie, what the actual fuck," Quackity squeezes out between laughs. "Is that a duck?"

It's a masterpiece is what it is. They'd both been tired and cranky all week as could be expected from the first week back to work, so Charlie's response was to make pancakes and a fruit duck. Yes, a fruit duck. As in he'd made a duck out of melon to sit on top of the pancakes and make Quackity laugh. Goal accomplished. 

"I don't know what you're referring to," Charlie says, smile tugging at his lips. "I made pancakes and fruit. Bon appetit."

Quackity is still laughing when Charlie seats himself and starts tearing the nearest duck apart. Its another one of those mornings where Charlie is grateful he'd learned to cook. Food makes people happy and really, that's all Charlie's ever wanted to do. He's strangely content when Quackity sits and they relish in the morning together. Quackity pours his syrup over the head of the duck, actually stopping to eat for once instead of rushing out the door and he seems ever so slightly less tense than the night before. Charlie can only hope a good laugh was enough to get him through the day. 

"You're ridiculous," Quackity says fondly. He's scarfed down the pancakes like a starving man which Charlie takes as a compliment. Unfortunately, it's followed by, "I already told you I'm not mad that you're staying home."

Which, yes, there was also that. The duck was double timing as an apology for abandoning Quackity on the first family Friday of the year. Charlie's denying that though, so he just says, "I know. I just thought you could use a pick me up."

Quackity flashes him a grateful smile and the guilt subsides. "Well thanks." He takes his last bite of pancakes and groans dramatically. "Shit, I should've gotten a housewife years ago. Where have you been all my life?"

"Hey, I was not a house wife," Charlie protested. "I was a house husband, thank you very much. Mariana was my cheating bitch of a wife and I resented him for being the bread winner."

And just like that the mood drops which Charlie should have seen coming. They both know the reason he's not going to work today. Quackity may have changed his number and Mariana may not have shown up at his doorstep yet, but Charlie couldn't shake the fear that he'd be there. At the school, with Foolish, ready to say whatever was left to be said between them. Ready to tear down the tiny amount of contentment Charlie had found. 

"Anyway," he rushed out, determined not to ruin the morning. "I think I'm going to clean today. Anything in particular you want washed?"

"Just what all I wore to work this week."

"Great. Gonna turn it pink."

"I hate you."

Which he should, but doesn't. Charlie has not earned the forgiveness hes given but he's trying. He's really trying.

"You'll be good today?"

As always, Charlie leans into the distraction of playing caretaker. He carts their plates off to the sink and floods them with water, listening as Quackity gathers himself together around the living room.

"I'll be fine," he calls back. "Seriously. Not all of the parents even show up for family Fridays. It'll be whatever."

He knows that's true. The three weeks he'd come to school last year were pretty bare- granted it was the end of the year- so he shouldn't feel that bad. That's not exactly Charlie's question though is the issue. He got maybe an hour of sleep last night and spent the rest of it working himself into a panic attack over fucking Mariana. Always Mariana. Charlie wishes he knew how to exist without dedicating himself to someone else, but he doesn't. He doesn't know how and for such a long time it was Mariana. His world was Mariana. Charlie was happy to be the man's arm candy throughout college and he'd never once protested being the house husband Mariana wanted him to be. Charlie was happy to dedicate himself to Mariana because it wasn't a problem until he was basically a single parent. It wasn't a problem until Mariana stopped coming home until dawn and Charlie didn't have the self worth to leave him. God, he should have left. Maybe things would be different if he had. 

"See you!"

And Charlie's alone with himself. He'd never really had to be alone with himself before Quackity. He grew up in a series of group homes with siblings and constant noise. He'd gone from that to college dorms where his roommate was none other than eighteen year old Mariana which meant Charlie had never had to be alone. Even Quackity didn't leave him alone at the start either, for obvious reasons. When you put a gun to your head people tend to lose trust in you as was fair. It's not like Charlie had tried very hard to prove he was trustworthy either. Before the accident, Charlie had only attempted once in his life. One time and that was even before Mariana. Since the accident, the counters are up to six. Six times that Charlie had tried and failed to kill himself, wasn't that tragic? It seemed statistically impossible, but here he was, washing dishes all by himself in the house. 

He's sort of pitiful in that way. If he's being honest, Charlie still thinks about trying sometimes. A lot more than he should, not that Charlie had any gauge for the correct amount of suicidal ideation in life. Most days though, Charlie was pretty confident he wasn't going to act on it. He had a house to clean so that Quackity didn't have to. He had laundry to do and then fold, and then afterwards he'd have lunch to prep for next week so that Quackity didn't have to worry about anything. There were a million things Charlie could do to distract himself and so he did. He cleaned up the old take out and the scattered laundry. He wiped down every washable surface, then took out the trash. He remade the bed. Switched the laundry. Started meal prep. Swept. Folded the laundry. He went until it hurt, then collapsed into the couch in misery because it was still only noon. 

How was one meant to be alone? He'd done it so many times this year, yet he still didn't know how. It was so quiet when no one was home. Charlie had never been good at dealing with himself. So many of his core memories were learning to adapt and survive. There'd never been any time to learn about being a person. Honestly, he wasn't sure he was one some days. Everyone else seemed to have shit figured out. They had happy relationships and little girls that didn't stare into space for hours at a time. They understood how to have emotions without them being overwhelming. People could feel things rather than think about them. Normal human beings weren't like Charlie. They didn't lay awake at night with headphones in and the TV on just to drown out the silence. They didn't lose it once a day over the smallest of things, reminding them of happier days. They could keep friends. Keep relationships. Keep a family. 

People weren't constantly forgotten about like Charlie was. They weren't a stepping stone to others' happiness like he was so obviously made to be so maybe Charlie wasn't a person. Maybe he was something else. Was that an option? It's only one either way and school doesn't get out until three. Charlie has two and a half hours before Quackity is home and no real goals which, fuck, he'd love someone to just tell him what to do all the time. Did Charlie have any hobbies? He wasn't sure about that one either. As a kid, he'd done whatever the other kids wanted so long as it meant he could play. It was more or less the same in college too with overwhelming parties and stupid drinking games that Charlie regretted in the morning. Then he was a husband and that was an easy hobby; sex and cooking. Then after that, a father which meant walks, and playgrounds, and watching Bluey for far too long every day, but outside of that? Had Charlie ever done anything just because he wanted to?

The answer was yes, but the answer was also self harm, so maybe not that. That wasn't a good hobby in the summer weather and he didn't have much space left on the thighs. Neither was baking, actually, because Quackity's kitchen aerated horribly and neither of them were much for sweets in the end anyway. With that, Charlie resigns himself to the inevitable nature of the day and pulls himself off the couch. The park he and Flippa used to go to was within walking distance of Quackity's house, something Charlie had learned early last year. He took full advantage of the proximity, less now than he had at the start, but there were still plenty of days Charlie spent at the park. Sometimes he'd sit and stare sadly into the lake. Sometimes he'd pick fights with the wildlife. Every once in a while, usually at night when the playground was empty, he'd sit at the end of the slide and cry. You know, like a normal adult. 

Today feels more like a fight the wildlife kind of day. Charlie doesn't feel bad enough to cry, but he doesn't feel good enough to dissociate, therefore terrorizing the ducks it is. He's not going to bother getting dressed because why would he? The regulars at the park were well aware of Charlie by now. There was no need to pretend he was anything but fucking nuts, so fuck getting dressed. Today, at least, he brings bread with him. Not out of kindness but out of malice because ducks aren't supposed to eat bread and Charlie resents the way they just let their kids die in the street when there are perfectly good parks to nest in. It's a misguided anger, he's aware, but that isn't going to stop him. He slings a bag over his shoulder with his keys and the bread. Then it's into a giant sweater that he wasn't sure belonged to either of them and he's off, or he tries to be. There's shuffling on the other side of the door that should have tipped him off. There's a ring doorbell cam notification on his phone that should have alerted him, alas, God hates Charlie Slimecicle. He's gotten so good at distracting himself that he doesn't notice until the door is open and then it's far too late to retreat. 

Looking up at his husband, Charlie remembers why he'd been so drawn to him in the first place. Mariana was a handsome man. He looks somehow even better now, like the time had done him well despite all of the trials and tribulations. Light touches of eyeliner accentuated his dark brown eyes, clean shaven face pulled into a startled frown. Mariana is handsome as ever and for the first time in six hundred and twenty five days, he's standing right in front of Charlie just as surprised as he is to see his partner. Clearly he was about to knock. One hand is raised, half fallen now that Charlie is right there in front of him, and he looks so utterly shocked. Like he didn't really believe Charlie would be there. Like he hadn't expected to make it this far and really, that was fair. That was very fair because Charlie had spent so long running from this moment. Running from the love of his life and all that they'd lost. He'd spent so long running and now Mariana was right there, close enough to touch, and Charlie was absolutely fucking terrified. 

Mariana catches his bearings first, a shaky exhale leaving his lips as he straightens up and goes to speak. He makes it through a watery, "Slime-" before autopilot kicks back in and Charlie does this only thing he can think to do in the face of something so petrifying.

He shuts the door in Mariana's face and runs.

Chapter Text

Mariana had made a lot of mistakes in life. He'd moved to America, for one, that was an interesting choice. He'd given himself alcohol poisoning three times while at University and the only reason he didn't go a fourth was because Charlie started looking out for him. And Charlie was another mistake he'd made. Not like that, of course, Mariana did not regret Charlie at all. Charlie was perfect and wonderful and deserved a lot better than the bitch of a husband Mariana had been to him. The mistake wasn't Charlie, the mistake was how he'd treated Charlie. The mistake was spending too much time with his ex and flirting with the neighbor- jokingly! Mariana had severely underestimated just how much of an effect those things had on his husband because in Mariana's mind, Charlie had no weaknesses. Charlie was perfect. Smart, strong, capable, and he could cook. It never even crossed his mind that all their fighting came from a place of insecurity. Why would Charlie ever feel insecure? 

Well, there were a lot of reasons apparently. A lot of which he still didn't know which was sad for how long they'd been together. He knew that they'd started fighting more after graduation. Mariana got into a steady job in construction that just so happened to reconnect him with his high school sweetheart Foolish. He was one hundred percent, entirely, completely platonically interested in reconnecting. He'd sworn it up and down but Charlie hadn't wanted to listen and once one of them got worked up, the other did too. It was just a recipe for disaster. He'd worked long hours and Charlie hated that. Then he was working long hours with Foolish and oh that drove Charlie crazy, but that wasn't Mariana's decision. He wasn't going to leave a well paying, steady job because his ex worked there. He thought Charlie should just trust him. Charlie should have a little faith in the guy he'd married and stop making home such a warzone for them both. 

Which led to them doing the thing you aren't ever supposed to do in a crumbling relationship. They adopted a child. A little girl who Charlie adored from the moment they met. A tiny bundle of nerves and allergies that cost them a fortune but was perfect for them anyway. She was so perfect. Flippa had helped for a little bit. Having something to care for, together, it helped, but then they got a big project at work and Mariana was working long hours again. He'd come home in the early morning just in time to kiss Flippa on the head before her alarm would go off for school and they'd be leaving. Sometimes they managed breakfast. Charlie would be running late or Mariana would shower fast and he'd be able to sit with his little girl for a few minutes before they went their separate ways. It wasn't forever though. That's what he'd try to explain to Charlie as they whisper screamed at each other in their bedroom each night. It was a big project, but eventually it would end and he'd be home earlier and everything would be fine. 

It wasn't fine. Mariana was selfish. He grew up the only child of a stable, middle class family. He'd never had any major mental or physical struggles save for sports injuries and the like that had long since healed. Before the death of his daughter, Mariana hadn't understood the depth to which a human being could hurt. He understood it now though. The week after the accident was just about the worst of his entire life. God, he'd never seen Charlie so unhinged before. Sure his lover had always been a bit odd, but this was something otherworldly. He'd snapped at Mariana for moving, speaking, breathing. It gave a whole new meaning to being at each other's throats and it hurt in ways it never had before. It hurt because Mariana blamed himself too. He didn't need to hear it from Charlie. Snarling at him that it's his fault. That he was the one who looked away. He didn't need his husband hissing blame through blood and tears and maybe actually trying to kill him that last time they spoke. He hadn't felt good. Hadn't felt safe, so Mariana decided the best choice was to retreat for a little bit.

That wasn't supposed to be forever either. He just wanted to give Charlie space to cool down. To stop tearing into him when he was already in pieces and reach a point of reason. Mariana had gone to Foolish and Vegetta. Not because he was in love with Foolish or having an affair like Charlie believed, but because they were the only people he could think of that would spare him the judgment. It was meant to be temporary, but by the time the funeral rolled around, Charlie wouldn't even fucking look at him. Loss, Mariana learned, is the most unimaginably painful thing in the universe. It took him a long time to come to terms with the fact that he'd lost Charlie too. He'd looked away for just a minute, a minute, and now Mariana had no daughter or husband to grieve her with. How bad things can happen so quickly was hard to wrap the mind around. Hence why Foolish pointed him to Roier, therapy, and where Mariana lived now. Coincidentally all the same place.

It had been by far the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life, but Mariana was grateful because therapy had taught him the one truth he'd really needed to fix things. That truth was that Mariana had made many mistakes in his life. He wasn't ready for a relationship when he and Charlie got together. They spent too much time fucking and not enough talking and neither of them knew who they were without one another when graduation came around. Neither of them were emotionally mature enough to handle the other back then, but that wasn't to say that Mariana had given up on the relationship. He'd just taken a step back. He'd stopped calling their mutual friends begging for information about Charlie's whereabouts. He'd stopped showing up on people's doorsteps and sending Charlie emails because they weren't good for each other. Those versions of themselves weren't good for each other. 

That version of Mariana was gone though. He'd done a lot of work in the last year to find his footing. From grief counseling to individual therapy, Mariana finally felt like he understood something about himself. He finally felt like he knew who he was and he was doing his best to start over. He was doing his best to actively practice empathy and not ignore the signs of discontent like he did with Charlie. He was taking care of himself and standing on his own. No, Mariana wasn't there yet, wherever there was, but he was closing in on acceptance and there was only one thing standing in his way. The love of his life. The man he'd promised forever to then treated like shit. The only person in the world who'd lost JuanaFlippa with him and truly understood their loss. Mariana had started looking again about a month ago. Not as crazy or stalkerish as he had the first time, but enough to have people keeping an eye out for him. Enough that when he was spotted, Mariana got the text immediately. Ironically, from Foolish on some random Friday in August. 

It wasn't exactly good news. Foolish said Charlie looked sick, like he'd lost more weight than he could stand to lose and had no intention of getting it back. His husband was working in a Kindergarten, apparently, with Quackity of all people which definitely shocked Mariana a bit. He had assumed Quackity would hate them both in Tilín's honor. He'd certainly seemed like he hated Mariana when he would come by, but maybe that was just because he took Charlie's side in everything. Not that Mariana could blame him. His therapist had told him plenty of times that neither of them were blameless and he did acknowledge that. Charlie could have communicated in ways other than screaming matches. Charlie didn't have to make their home a hostile environment for Mariana or talk shit in front of their kid.

But Mariana also didn't have to feed into his insecurities by staying out all night with his ex-boyfriend. Mariana could have made more of an effort to make his husband feel loved and avoided all the drama in the first place. He'd realized a few therapy sessions in that they hadn't been on a date since the week after graduating college. Pretty much all of their interactions since then had revolved around fighting or sex which he hadn't even noticed. Where Charlie instigated fights, Mariana just missed his husband all day, so he instigated sex and it wasn't a stretch to think that maybe Charlie felt used more than he did loved. They weren't exactly sweet in bed together, but that's how they'd always been and Mariana had never questioned it. Therapy made him question it, thankfully. Made him understand that while Charlie made him feel like a villain, Mariana made him feel like an object and neither was healthy or right.

Where they stood now was a complete mystery. Mariana didn't even know how he felt walking up the steps to Quackity's house. He didn't know what he wanted to happen here. Did he want a fight? Now that he knew the true extent of his faults in this, did he want Charlie to take out his frustrations on him? Ideally, no. He also didn't want this to end in his signature on those god awful papers Charlie had drawn up way back when. They were separated. Logically, Mariana knew that what he and Charlie had right now was not a relationship. They were husbands only in legal terms, so divorce papers really wouldn't make much of a difference. Except they would, because, if Mariana were really, truly honest here, what he wanted out of today was what they'd had Freshman year. He wanted his goofy, sexy boyfriend who clung to him like cellophane and made Mexican rice that would last them the whole week. He wanted the boy who smiled so brightly and always knew exactly what to say to make him laugh. Mariana didn't want an ending with Charlie even if he was afraid to admit it. What he wanted was a new beginning. 

So really, this could've gone a lot worse than a door slammed in his face. Like, a lot worse considering their history. He didn't even move for a minute, still too startled by seeing Charlie with his own two eyes because Foolish had been right. Charlie wasn't well. Though most people were shorter than Mariana, he'd never seen Charlie as particularly small before. He'd been a decently dedicated gym goer in their university years. Mariana loved to watch him roll out pizza dough because of the delicious way those biceps moved under strain. All of Charlie moved beautifully under strain actually, hence why they owned so many ropes, but that was besides the point. The point was that, despite looking drowned out it Mariana's clothes and gorgeous between his hands, Charlie had never come across as quite this small. He had presence, Charlie. Not just the lithe muscle of an athlete, but personality. Light, entertainment. It was unnerving to see Charlie without that spark, looking like Mariana could throw him over one shoulder and just take him away. Looking like he wouldn't even put up a fight.

One of them had been healing since the accident and it was clearly not Charlie. That was a whole new punch to the gut as the realization sank in and Mariana's eyes watered. He wasn't a crier, Mariana. Even through this last eternity of suffering, he'd only cried a handful of times and he didn't plan to do it on Quackity's porch. He'd made mistakes. Leaving Charlie alone this long was just another one of them and he was determined to fix it. That was all he could do. Mariana stepped forward to actually knock this time. Its useless, he knows, but it can't hurt to try. Then he tries again. And then again, and then he resigns himself to the fact that Charlie is definitely not coming back to the door which he already knew. It hurts, but there's also something in his chest that has dislodged now. He knows where Charlie is. That he's alive and has someone to lean on. More importantly, he got to see Charlie. Really see him for the first time in too god damn long. How could he be disappointed with that? 

It's nothing. Not even a victory because it was an accident, but Mariana rides the high back down the driveway and into his car. This was something he'd really needed. Charlie was something he really needed even if it was just long enough to sign the divorce papers. He'd take what he could get. Of course, this wasn't going to be easy by any means. Quackity had fielded Mariana away like a rabid guard dog before, no doubt he'd do it again. Not to mentioned Charlie had looked terrified to see him. He had literally run away. All sighs pointed to 'you're about to get emotionally scarred' but maybe it was worth it. Mariana would always think Charlie was worth it.

Still, he can't bring himself to drive away just yet. He does start the car to make a call though. Two rings, that's it, then, "Did you find him? Did you fix it? Are you finally moving out?"

"Hi to you too, asshole," Mariana scoffs. "Why can't you ever greet me like a normal person?"

He can feel Roier's dismissal through the phone as he says, "Whatever, man. How did it go? Seriously. Did you find him?"

There's movement in an upstairs window that anyone else would have missed. Not obsessive Mariana though. He catches the slight slip of the blinds and a stupid smile breaks out across his face. He just knows that Roier's going to bully him for the way his voice cracks when he says, "Yeah, man. I found him."

"Oh sweet Jesus, hallelujah. I love you, but I need you out of my guest room. Seriously. That's where I bring my flings."

"Gross," Mariana gags. "I didn't need to know that, but also, you're getting ahead of things. There's no quick fix to this. Hell, he looked like he'd rather die than talk to me."

Roier's voice is suddenly clearer, a telltale sign that he'd taken the phone off speaker and was actually taking Mariana seriously. It's what Jaiden called his therapist mode and, surprisingly, Mariana didn't mind it at the moment. 

"So you like, saw him, saw him, then. Did you talk?"

"Not really," Mariana sighs. "I managed his name before he shut the door in my face, but hey. At least he didn't attack me. That's good, right?"

"Man, you have the lowest fucking standards."

"Oh shut up," he all but whines back. "He was experiencing some ethereal level of trauma back then, it wasn't like he attacked me for fun."

"I would have."

"I'm hanging up on you."

"No, no, no," Roier rushes out. "Don't. I'm sorry. I just really don't have anything to say that will help. You and Slime, your shit is so complicated I wouldn't know where to start. Just- Look, man, what do you need from me, here? Is this a support call or a vent call or what?"

That is the question. Mariana was getting better at identifying his feelings these days and so he took a second to ruminate in them. Seeing Charlie was fantastic, but also heartbreaking at the same time. He knew where Charlie was now and could start chasing closure, but he still had no clue what closure was going to look like for them. In the end, Mariana didn't know what emotions that left, so he just settled on putting the car in drive. This was a mountain that couldn't be climbed in a day. It was a miracle to even get this far and he'd be back now that he had. Hopefully with a better idea of what he both needed and wanted from his once lover, but for now, what he needed was just support and Roier obliged by going on the single gayest monologue Mariana had ever had the displeasure of listening to- and he was a bisexual man who'd given a drunken speech on his husband in a playboy bunny costume. It was ridiculous to say the least, but it did help. And if Mariana slept in their bed that night instead of Roier's guest room, then that was between him and God. And maybe Snapchat. He couldn't help himself when he was excited.

Chapter Text

"I've got to go wake little Lulah, can you put this all in her lunch box for me?" 

Wilbur slides the freshly packaged sandwich and snacks down the counter where Phil, a veteran to parenting, doesn't miss a beat. He's got Chayanne's lunchbox open and halfway filled already, so he just lines Tallulah's up and gets moving. Wilbur doesn't know how he does it honestly. He's only got one and sometimes he feels like the worst parent in the world yet here's Phil, crushing it year after year. Mega Dad over there. Really makes a guy feel inadequate at times, but that wasn't Phil's fault. That was Wilbur's shitty self esteem that he was working on now that the tour was over and he had Tallulah. 

Speaking of, "Tallulah!"

Wilbur's sing song always gets a squeal of excitement and he smiles fondly at his daughter. Tallulah's always up before him. Up with the sun, Phil jokes, but he's not that far off. When Wilbur rounds the corner it's to wide awake giggles and sunshine.

Tallulah really is his shining star he thinks, right before he tackles his toddler into the bed with a shout. Under her squeal he breaks out the 'monster' voice. A raspy, "Good morning Tallulah, I'm here to eat you up. Nom nom nom."

"No!" A little shout comes from behind and then Wilbur feels the foam tip of a sword at his back and freezes. "You can't eat her," Chayanne insists. "I'll fight you!"

Which is how the morning devolves into Wilbur chasing his daughter and little brother around as a mythical beast that eats children. It's easy to forget that he's the grown up now. Wilbur had never been the responsible one in their family. Despite being the oldest, he'd never been the one to lay down the rules or take on duties like children or school. Wilbur was a free spirit, or at least, he had been before Tallulah. Now he was more of a shitty parent than anything else, but hey, they were working on it. 

"Alright, alright," Phil interrupts them after a few.

Wilbur's on the floor with Chayanne's sword at his chest and he looks up with a guilty grin.

They're better now, him and Phil. They didn't used to be, but now when Phil sees him fooling around, he smiles fondly back and says, "We're going to be late if you three don't hurry up and get dressed."

"But Phil, I am dressed," Wilbur whines while the actual children pad off to do as they're told. 

He stays on the floor, grinning, until Phil steps over and offers him a hand up. He's a lot taller than his dad is, so they have to steady each other, but Wilbur knows Phil would never let him fall. He hopes Phil knows he'd do the same.

"You're going to a family Friday Will, not a concert," his dad tells him with a laugh. "Put on looser pants at the least."

Frowning, Wilbur looks down at his favorite jeans that were, admittedly, being outgrown as they spoke. Still he asks, "What's wrong with my jeans?"

"Oh mate. You don't want me to answer that question."

They make it out the door about fifteen minutes after they should have in the end. Lulah has on one of her new sundresses and her favorite beanie, so of course, Wilbur put on one that matches. The beanie, not the sundress. They aren't really his style. He did, however, take Phil's advice and get into a nicer pair of cargo pants and a T-shirt that didn't have a band name on it. His dad had a point. Wilbur did dress like he was still an angsty sixteen year old trying to be punk rock, but in his defense, he was literally the lead singer of a rock band. He was allowed to look the part sometimes, no?

"Papa! I dropped my waffle!"

Phil's cursing gets louder as Wilbur contorts himself across the center console to help Tallulah find her waffle. Not that it's edible once he does. Grimacing, Wilbur flashes it to his dad and says, "we should probably get the car cleaned."

Phil just pulls a face and takes a turn hard enough to slam Wilbur's head into the headrest. 

"You okay?"

Will gives him a look through one eye and Phil laughs. 

"Yeah, you're alright."

Surprisingly, they make it to school in one piece. For all his superpowers, Phil was a shit driver and if Wilbur had his license, he'd never let his dad drive again. That's an issue for another day though. Together they gather the kids and herd them towards the front office so that they can check in for family Friday. It's a lot of chattering and squirming and Phil schmoozing the odd lady at the desk, but they make it through just in time for the bell. Wilbur thought this was the weirdest thing about the private school yet. Family Fridays. Apparently, every Friday, the QSMP pre-K and kindergarten classes had family come in to discuss progress and do what they call co-teaching. It's to encourage parents to be involved in their children's education, but also to foster a relationship with the teacher so that they're all teaching the kids the same values. It's some really weird shit if you ask Wilbur, but whatever. This was where Phil wanted Chayanne so it's where Tallulah would be.

"Chayanne get off the floor," Phil calls as the kids run ahead. 

Wilbur doesn't do the same. He was just happy Tallulah was warming up to acting like a kid now that she had someone she trusted. Chayanne, for as much as Wilbur didn't like the little shit, was a great influence on Tallulah and he wasn't going to scold her for opening up.

"I need to get him into sports," Phil sighs as Chayanne barrels into the classroom and shouts follow. "He's got too much energy."

"Can't relate. Mine's an angel."

"Oh shut up."

They catch up and enter the classroom where, sure enough, Tallulah is following in Chayanne's wake of terror to help people up. Wilbur just shoots Phil a smug look before depositing Lilah's backpack on the rack. It seems that Chayanne had already tackled Ramón and Dapper before they'd arrived. The little shit was now mid-wrestling match with Bobby on the carpet and Roier, the idiot, cheering them on. Wilbur couldn't help but laugh as Roier enthusiastically beckoned them over to join.

"Bobby's going to win," he says as soon as Wilbur's near enough and it's the best greeting they're going to get.

Wilbur laughs again, taking a seat in one of the little kindergarten chairs to watch. He gives an older brother obligation of, "I don't know, Chayanne's pretty scrappy," before silently cheering Bobby on in his head.

Roier waves it off with a noise. 

"Yeah, but Chayanne's sense of justice is too strong. Bobby fights dirty. Get him, Bobby!"

"Hey, cut that out!"

Roier immediately tries to pretend he wasn't egging on the child fight as Quackity appears. He strides over and gets in between them in such a practiced way that Wilbur knows this has happened before. He looks very cute today, Quackity. Wilbur had thought that when they first met, Quackity's scrutinizing eyes barely meeting his chin. He'd seemed shocked by Wilbur, likely having known all the other parents from their pre-K years and Wilbur had tried to be friendly, but it hadn't seemed to be well received. Not his fault apparently, if what everyone said was true.

"Bobby, Chayanne, you can not fight in the classroom," Quackity chastises, crouching down to their level despite the mean looks they both give him. "We've talked about this. I'm taking a check from both of you."

The instant whines do nothing to sway Quackity who walks over to the wall where a new poster sits. It's big, labeled with every students name and what looks to be an egg they'd colored like themselves. Next to each name is a different number of green check marks and Quackity doesn't hesitate to take one from both Bobby and Chayanne. They have one each now, but Wilbur doesn't really listen to them complain. Instead he steps closer, trying to figure out which one was his little Lulah. It wasn't hard to find. Tallulah's name was at the very bottom with an egg that was neatly decorated in brown yarn and a big red blob he assumed to be her beanie. It's adorable and Wilbur immediately whips out his phone to take a picture. He nearly jumps when Quackity speaks again from right beside him. 

"Alright, is everyone here?" 

Wilbur really feels like he's in school again as one disapproving look sends him to the seat beside his dad. Phil just pulls a face before giving his attention to Quackity like the diligent parent he is. Now, in the first week- not even, more like four days- Wilbur had learned a lot about Mr. Quackity from the other parents. Phil of course, had plenty to say on the topic. Warnings about Quackity's short fuse and lack of impulse control that worried him. Then he started talking with Roier and with Fit, Ramón's dad, and they went on and on in more detail than Wilbur thought fair about a strangers life. Quackity's fine they said, but he's also unstable. Quackity's good with kids, but he's an asshole and we hate him. Quackity's this, but he's not, and several more oxymorons that Wilbur didn't bother to remember because it was clearly not a symbiotic relationship happening within the parent-teacher network. In the end, he'd decided that the only way he'd really know anything about Mr. Quackity would be by watching, waiting, and forming his own opinions, of which Wilbur already had plenty. 

Number one, Mr. Quackity was a very sad man. Tallulah had told him so on Tuesday after school and she was very observant, his little one. She said his smile isn't real. That he only wears it when they're looking and it's gone when they're not. It's an incredibly grown up observation from a five year old, but Wilbur trusts Tallulah's judgement. She was wise beyond her years, that kid, and often he worried that she knew more about the world than he did. Besides, he'd noticed it too. Just that first day, he'd picked up on the way the mask fell the second Quackity thought they weren't looking and it wasn't hard to guess why. Fit had told him all about the accident that took Quackity's daughter away from him. Wilbur couldn't even imagine. He'd been Tallulah's papa for all of seven months and he'd probably kill himself if anything happened to her. Well no, that wouldn't be fair to Phil or his band or his friends. He'd definitely think about it though. 

Which led to the second opinion, weirdly enough. Quackity was always thinking about Tilín. He must be, sitting here surrounded by children all day. That's why Wilbur brushes it off when he is harsh with them. He ignores the irritation in Quackity's eyes and the stiff set of his jaw because he knows, even if he doesn't know, that Quackity isn't really thinking of him at all. Roier said that he'd gone back to work a month and a half after Tilín died. He'd said it with the strangest mix of judgement and pity that really soured Wilbur's mood, but that was neither here nor there. Other people's opinions meant very little to Wilbur Soot at the end of the day. In his opinion, Quackity was an individual deeply hurting and Wilbur saw no reason to hate him for that. Not unless he was gruff with the kids and he hadn't been yet, so Quackity was just fine in his book.

"Tallulah dear, that's lovely, but can you please share the crayons with the whole table?" Quackity says, hand placed softly on Tallulah's head. He smiles so brightly at her when she complies and Wilbur remembers the secret third opinion he had about Quackity. 

Quackity was quite cute. The two times Wilbur had seen him he'd been wearing that same navy blue beanie, but Wilbur still clocked the black curls creeping out from beneath. His eyes are so much darker than anyone Wilbur had ever known in the lovliest way. Quackity reminds him a bit of winter. His color palate reflects such all cold tree bark and muted blues. It's fitting too for someone so sad. Quackity is the winter and Wilbur can't help but think the cold is a welcomed change. He burned too hot himself, always had. It's why he and Phil spent Wilbur's teenage years in petty arguments and teary nights. It's why his music was frequented most by depressed teens and broken hearted lovers. Wilbur does everything he does with the passion of the summer sun and it took a while to learn how to control it all. He did though. He learned how to be the best version of himself and now his life was less cigarettes and heartbreak. Now, he saw a man like Quackity and thought, maybe we can bring the winter a little sunshine too.

Not that Quackity seemed keen to let him. Wilbur isn't sure exactly what he'd done to piss the guy off, but he did not seem to like him at all. It really contrasted with the way he clearly adored Tallulah. For all the love he gave Wilbur's daughter, Wilbur himself was shunned like a leper and he really wasn't sure why. It's the main reason he'd skipped practice to make the first family Friday of the year. Tallulah had insisted it was okay if he missed it. He knew Phil would see to it that she was included and taken care of, but he felt this ridiculous need to prove himself to the kindergarten teacher he'd met exactly once. He had a bizarre desire to show Quackity that he was a good parent. He was perhaps the most likable person in this room too, so really, Quackity and him should get on wonderfully. In Wilbur's humble opinion. 

Clearly the teacher disagrees. Quackity's opinion seems to be that Wilbur has the bubonic plague and should be treated like a disgarded syringe. It's starting to peeve Phil, Wilbur can tell. The day wanes on and it becomes more and more obvious that Quackity plans to do the bare minimum of connecting with Wilbur, no, not even just Wilbur, everyone. Every parent in the classroom seems to have earned some kind of scorn from Quackity, especially Jaiden and Roier which Wilbur thought odd. He and Jaiden had hit it off immediately, making coffee plans for the weekend and discussing future play dates. She was a kick ass mom, but maybe that's why Quackity hated her. It must be projection. That's the only explanation Wilbur can come up with for the way winter ices them out but melts at Tallulah's smile. He can't imagine how Quackity's world changed when his daughter died. How he must view his job, his life, himself. It can't be good and so Wilbur excuses every mean slip of the tongue thrown his way. He ignores every quiet jab and icy look because no ship's captain feared a drowning man. Wilbur was not so easily shaken. 

Concerned though, that he was. He was watching Quackity too closely. He must've been because nobody else noticed the way he paled as he checked his phone. No one noticed winter sweep the room, gaze threatening to burn each one of them before furious fingers flew across the phone screen. Something bad has happened and no one notices except for Wilbur. Well maybe they do and they simply don't care. He's been gone for far too long to understand the intricate relationships of the people in this town. Hell, of the people on the entire island. All he knows is that hurt people leave wreckage in their paths and no one else seemed to be worried about the damage. No one was trying to cut it off at the head, but maybe Wilbur would. Maybe Wilbur was intrigued and maybe he was in a good enough place of his own that he could extend a hand down and pull Quackity up. It was worth a try, wasn't it? He had never been better than who he was now.

The dismissal bell rings sooner than Wilbur had even expected it. He's taken notes on the day in hopes that he'll actually remember something, but it's futile. He was most definitely a shitty parent because he was far more fixated on Tallulah's teacher than her all day like a loser. He'd have to make it up to her later. Right now though, Wilbur unfolded his ridiculously long legs with every intention of approaching Quackity for a conversation. Or at least something that might pass for one. Unfortunately for Wilbur, the blizzard blows right past him leaving nothing but ice in its wake. Out the door and down the hall before he can really process that he's gone and then the opportunity is wasted. Wilbur has not proven anything today. Not anything that he'd intended to, but maybe he needed different goals anyway. Maybe he already had one in mind. Hopefully Tallulah wouldn't mind seeing a little more of her kindergarten teacher in the future because Wilbur had found a new fixation.

Chapter Text

He's not surprised to find Charlie in the closet in the basement when he gets home. Technically that is Charlie's room. Though Quackity's demand for comfort keeps him away, Charlie still had his own space down in the basement, complete with a separate bathroom, a mini fridge, and a little half finished closet where he was now. Quackity was a little too afraid to ask about this particular quirk. He knows, to some extent, that Charlie was a bit, er, traumatized for lack of a better word. Quackity also knows from experience that trauma was generally not fun to share so he didn't ask questions. Neither of them did. Charlie let Quackity sit fully clothed in cold showers without comment, so Quackity returned the favor by stepping quietly into the closet and taking a seat in the dark without complaint. He bends the door shut behind him so that Charlie is little more than a silhouette, but that still tells him all he needs to know. 

In the grand scheme of things, maybe they were too sensitive. Every other day one of them was falling apart over something small. Not to minimize Charlie's very real fear of reuniting with his husband, never that. It's just a passing realization Quackity has every once in a while when things go south. Though he supposed it didn't matter whether they were dramatic or not. It didn't change what was already being felt which, Quackity imagined, was a fun mix of fear, anger, and their new life partner, grief. In a way, Quackity was grateful it had been only him and Tilín. The police had him speak to some shrink the same day they interviewed them all. She'd told him, for whatever reason, that the loss of a child either tore relationships apart or made them stronger than ever and he'd brushed it off at the time because what the fuck did that have to do with him? 

A lot, as it would turn out. It had a whole fucking lot to do with Quackity. 

"He seems happy."

Quackity doesn't like when Charlie sounds small. He's not used to it and as such, unnerved by the change in dynamic. Truth was, Quackity never really did the comforting. He did something close to it when Charlie got real unstable, but in a weird, borderline insulting way that someone with no understanding of human emotions would do. Actually comforting Charlie wasn't something Quackity had figured out even a year later. They didn't talk. Not about important things. He distracted Charlie when he started nosediving. He snapped him out of bad spells and cursed him out when he made attempts. None of those things seemed the way to go here. Not with Charlie starting the conversation like that. 

Shit. What did he say to that? Quackity will admit, 'he looks happy' is not the first thing he expected to hear about Mariana's reappearance. Maybe 'that fucking prick' or 'I'm going to kill myself' but 'he looks happy'? That was bordering an actual, genuine conversation which was just way out of Quackity's league. He settles for a somewhat neutral response. 

"Fuck him, man."

Charlie laughs. Thank God. Then he says, "Yeah. Yeah fuck him. Why does he get to be happy? He was supposed to be watching her."

A heavy, heavy approach. Just like that, they crash land into very dangerous territory because they had only ever talked about the accident once. Just once, the day Charlie put a gun to his head and called to apologize. The day Quackity decided if anyone was killing Charlie it would be him. Beyond that, they never brought it up because they both knew what had happened. Neither needed to relive it. Tilín and Flippa were playing together and Mariana and Charlie were having a good day. Quackity only went down the street. He only walked one block over because none of them had brought water and it was a hot day in mid June. He didn't see it, but Charlie had told him a play by play of how it went down later on the phone which was more than enough. 

Tilín had to use the bathroom. Charlie took her, Mariana stayed with Flippa. They were going to leave right after and meet up with Quackity at the store so Flippa had her little backpack leash on and everything. Charlie had let Tilín go in alone because she did it all the time. Then Flippa appeared, unaccompanied, and distracts him because she was supposed to be with Mariana so now Charlie is ticked off. That's when the first shot goes off. He wasn't even anybody important. Just some fucking guy. Just some crazy fucking guy shooting up a park. He was no one, but he was the most important person in both their lives now because Flippa runs in to the bathroom. She was little and scared and she didn't recognize that the shot had come from there. Where Tilín had died silently, JuanaFlippa had time to scream and then that asshole had busted out, shots firing and Charlie had taken cover. 

It was a freak fucking accident. Their kids weren't the only ones who'd died that day. It was all over the news for the next few days. Several funerals in the following week and no real closure for anyone involved. The shooter had gone on to shoot himself in the head right by the edge of the lake where Charlie still went and cried to this day. He'd gotten to escape any and all punishment, and all of his victims lived to tell the tale. Shit, they even called it an accident but there was nothing accidental about it. They were all just in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was the fact of the matter. If you'd asked a year ago, Quackity would happily point fingers at Charlie. These days though, Quackity knew that anything Charlie had done differently could've ended the same way, and as much as he didn't want to help Mariana, holding onto that blame was only hurting Charlie. 

"It's no one's fault, Charlie."

Because it isn't. No one's but the gunman and he's dead and gone. It is not Quackity's fault for walking to get the water. It is not Mariana's fault for Flippa slipping away. It is not Charlie's fault, for doing exactly what Quackity would have wanted him to do. 

"It's no one's fault, but the asshole with the gun," Quackity says, and he sees the way Charlie flinches at the blunt mention of the truth. "Blaming Mariana won't make you feel any better the same way blaming you didn't make me feel better."

The sillouhette of Charlie grows smaller as he drops his head into his knees. From the pit comes a muffled, "I know. It's my fault."

"It's not," Quackity tells him. 

He lays back against the closet walls and sighs. They don't talk about it for a reason and the reason was the weight settling in on his chest. Quackity suddenly feels so hallow. So tired. He doesn't blame Charlie anymore. He hadn't for a long time, but with no one to be angry at, all Quackity could feel was empty. He could remember the day with a sunken, determined tiredness that put him out for weeks. That's all there was left of him it seemed. 

"I don't know what to say to him," Charlie says and once he starts, all the words he tries to keep locked up pour out in an unstoppable torrent. "I want to hate him, but I can't because he's the first person I ever really loved. The only person, maybe and I'm falling apart without him. I want to hate him for showing up here looking like his life didn't break apart. Like he didn't lose the most precious thing in the world because I did! I miss her every single day. I see her in everything that I do and I don't know how to stop missing her, Quackity. That was my baby. I was going to do better for her than anyone had done for me. I wanted her to grow up and be happy, and I wanted Mariana to just be there!"

Charlie doesn't cry much. Quackity knows that when he does, he retreats somewhere else so as not to be seen. The closet is dark enough that Charlie is crying and Quackity hurts with him.

"I just wanted him to be there," Charlie sighs, watery and frustrated. "It's not his fault Flippa slipped away. I know that. She was such a sneaky little shit and she got away from me even if I was giving her all of my attention, so I know- I know! It isn't his fault, but fuck man, it needs to be somebody's. I need it to not be mine."

Quackity doesn't have the right words to soothe the pain Charlie feels even having experienced it himself. All he can do is be there. Provide something to hang onto as Charlie falls apart in the corner. They don't talk for a while. As long as it takes for Charlie to stop quietly crying into his knees and for Quackity's ass to go numb. It's kind of nice in the closet though. Strangely, Quackity feels safer there. Like they weren't being watched by the world anymore. Like the dark of the closet was shielding them from whatever asshole God was out there. It was calming and Quackity tried his best to channel that to Charlie while they sat because it wasn't okay. He wasn't going to lie and tell Charlie that it was because it wasn't. Nothing was okay, but it would be normal. Charlie would be normal again soon, that much Quackity knew. 

It was almost surreal, sitting there, comforting the man he'd once hated with the passion of a thousand suns. Quackity remembers that day. Three days after the funeral. He hadn't moved from his bed at all, still in the crumpled up dress shirt, slacks shrugged off on the floor. He'd seen Charlie's name pop up on his phone screen and Quackity had been livid. He burned hotter than he ever thought he could and he'd answered with a string of Spanish death threats that were quite the waste of effort in hindsight. He'd still been angry when he rushed out to his car in just that stupid shirt and his boxers. He'd still been angry when he marched up to Charlie's door and shouldered it open. He'd still been angry when he saw Charlie with the gun and wrestled him to the floor. Charlie hadn't fought him at all. He just kept crying and muttering as Quackity pinned him there and seethed. 

"Why would you let her go in alone?" He'd demanded, practically screaming. "Why weren't you with her? Why didn't you check first?"

And Charlie had just babbled back, "I don't know. I don't know- I don't- I don't know!" 

It wasn't enough. It wasn't an answer and it didn't bring Tilín back and Quackity had reeled back and punched Charlie so hard he'd broken his nose. And the funny thing was, Quackity had still been angry when he half carried Charlie back to his car. He'd still been angry when Charlie used his shower and wore his clothes and fell asleep on his couch. He'd been angry for such a long time that eventually, he couldn't hold onto it anymore. Justified anger could last forever. Quackity, even in his grief, knew that this one wasn't justified. No one could have predicted some crazy man in the ladies room at the park in broad daylight. No one could have prevented the tragedy that followed. Not Mariana if Flippa hadn't run. Not Charlie if he'd gone in with Tilín. Not even Quackity if he'd been there. The truth of the matter was that some things just fucking happened. 

There was no big reason behind everything the universe did. There was no grand meaning or alternate route. Sometimes, things just fucking happened and that was it. Your life will never be the same and there's nothing you can do about it. This is where Quackity had settled in the last year. In the gray space of depression. It had happened. They couldn't change it. It was no one's fault. Now Quackity was going to spend the rest of his life wishing he was dead and living because his daughter couldn't. That's just how it was. Charlie wasn't there yet though. He was still a few steps behind, still clinging to fear and misplaced anger. He'd get to depression soon enough, but until then, Quackity was doing his best to ease the pain. 

"I stole a pack of mentos from Roier today."

Charlie perks up and Quackity rolls his head in the shadow's direction. It takes a minute, but eventually Charlie whispers, "Why?"

"Just cause," Quackity shrugs. "Hate him. Saw the opportunity. Took 'em."

"That's so stupid."

Charlie's voice is raw from the crying. It reminds Quackity far too much of that day a year ago. Of the phone call and the screaming and the gun. He doesn't want to think about it anymore, so he doesn't. He can't. The balance they have right now is too precarious. Too easily toppled and Mariana had already come in and dumped a bag of rocks on top of them. Quackity needed to be the stable one now and he would be. He would be not because he was a particularly kind person. Not because he had a strong sense of justice or affection to offer, but because it was something to do and these days, life was just a series of one something to do after the other. Maybe one day it would end, but until then, this would have to do. At least he wasn't doing it alone.

"You wanna help me grade their homework? Failing Bobby always makes me feel better."

Chapter Text

"What do I do?"

Mariana's pulled so many loose threads from his pants in the last half hour. It's a lot easier to sit there picking at his ripped jeans than it is to see every small change in Melissa's face. She's a nice lady, don't get him wrong. A great therapist too. Mariana had been seeing her for quite a while now so she probably knew him better than anyone in the world. That didn't mean he felt good about therapy. That didn't mean he wanted to see her face when he admitted to going to Charlie's house to see him when she'd specifically advised him not to. Hence why the whole on his knee is a good bit bigger than it was when he'd walked in here. Oops. 

"What do you think you should do?" Melissa rebounds with that terribly neutral tone Mariana just hates. 

He especially hates it in this sense because, "that was such a therapist thing to say, Melissa. You're becoming a cliche."

She doesn't laugh. It's a little insulting. 

"Mariana," she starts, and he stiffens up ready for the worst. "I can't tell you what you should do. Hell, I don't even know what you should do. I don't think that exists. I think there are lots of things you can do, some better than others, but it has to come from you, not me. I don't know your husband like you do. I don't know your relationship or your experiences like you do, so tell me, what is something you can do from here?"

It's not the right answer, but he says it anyway.

"Go back to the house until he talks to me?"

She's unimpressed. He doesn't need to look up to know that. 

"Okay. What are some potential outcomes of that action?"

"Uhhh, he talks to me?"

"Kindly? Openly?" She pushes and Mariana frowns. 

"No," he admits. "No, he'll probably threaten to kill me again. Maybe even file for a restraining order. Shit, that's stalkery. You're right, Melissa. You're always right. I can't keep showing up at his house."

She seems pleased that he's come to this conclusion by himself. At least some of her lessons have gotten through to him, though Mariana can't say he feels like any less of a dumbass. 

"I think you're probably right about that. It seems like this house, your friend's house right?" Mariana nods and pretends he can't see her jot down a note. "Okay, yeah, so it seems like your friend's house is Charlie's safe space right now, don't you think? Would you like it if someone kept forcing themselves into your safe space?"

"If it was Charlie I wouldn't mind," Mariana mutters. 

"Yes you would. You would and I know that because you had several places you would retreat to when you weren't separated and you didn't want Charlie there. Remember?"

Mariana cringed at the reminder of who he'd been just a year ago. Of his dismissal of Charlie's feelings and all the blame he refused to shoulder for their constant fighting. He always ended up leaving. Running away because that was easier than listening to Charlie treat him like some evil person. He'd never even considered Charlie's side. Never taken the time to think, huh, maybe this is me being shitty and our home life could be better if I stopped doing that. Not that that was the point of this current conversation. The point was that Melissa is always right. 

"Okay yeah, I need to leave his safe space alone. What does that leave me with though? He's blocked my number and so has Quackity. I mean, I know where he works but that's also stalkerish right?"

Melissa nods and Mariana sighs in frustration. 

"What does that leave me with then? I can't wait for him to come to me, Melissa, he'll never come."

Maybe she takes pity on him and his sorry state. Melissa sighs, flipping her little notepad closed and leaning forward. 

"This is not advice," she begins, shaking her head when Mariana perks up and scoots forward. "I'm not advising that you do anything, but, you guys had a lot of mutual friends did you not? Have you tried to talk with them? See if they're willing to communicate to Charlie for you so that you aren't violating his space?"

"Quackity blocked me too."

She gives him an unimpressed look that he'll surely see in his nightmares. 

"Mariana, you've been married for fours years. You've been together for six. You have other mutual friends."

They used to. Since the accident and their unofficial split, it felt more like their friends had picked their sides. Quackity had picked Charlie and everyone else had picked Mariana. Well, actually, it was more like Charlie picked Quackity and kicked everyone else to the curb. He didn't ghost them the way he had Mariana, but the distance was very obviously there now. He never really answered Roier's texts according to Roier. He was civil if they saw each other in public but that was pretty rare considering Charlie was basically a hermit. Charlie had liked Vegetta too, but there was no way in hell they kept contact after Mariana officially moved in with them. Was there anyone else Mariana could ask to mediate for him and his pretty-much-ex husband? 

"Jaiden!"

"Jaiden?" Melissa echoes. 

"Si!" Mariana nods enthusiastically. "Jaiden is fantastic. That's Bobby's mother. She doesn't live with Roier anymore but we still see her all the time cause they're great friends. Phenomenal co-parents too, it's kind of impressive. But Jaiden! She was always more Charlie's friend than mine. We don't talk a lot, but I'll bet she can still talk to him!"

"That's great Mariana," Melissa says, but there's an edge to it that immediately calms him down. "It's not a bad idea to talk with Jaiden and see what she's willing to do with you, but remember, you have to respect her boundaries too. Jaiden isn't a tool and she isn't obligated to do anything you might ask her to do."

"I know that."

"And I know you know, but we all need reminders sometimes. It's a tough situation, Mariana, but I hope you know I'm really proud of how far you've come. I think you're doing your best and your best is looking better every day. Is there anything else you wanted to talk about this session?"

From which it takes an entire week to actually get to talking with Jaiden. An entire week with Bobby telling him 'Mr. Slime wasn't in class today Tio' or 'Mr. Quackity called you Gumby, Tio, what's that?'. It is the longest seven days of Mariana's life since the accident, but eventually, Friday afternoon rolls around and the moment is nigh. Roier and Jaiden would be home with Bobby any minute. Jaiden usually spent Friday nights over here and Mariana would make himself scarce or politely present, but not this time. He was going to brave the conversation because Roier was right. They'd let it sit for far too long. Mariana and Charlie both needed closure, not just for Flippa, but for their own fucked up relationship. It needs to happen and Mariana just can't wait until Charlie's ready. He'll never be ready. 

Mariana jumps up from the couch like a lapdog when the front door finally cracks open. Even he realizes how strange that is so he feigns busy in the kitchen, moving bowls across the counter until Roier pops his head in with a grin. "Hola, Mariana. Cómo fue hoy?" 

"Si, si, no hubo llanto. Estoy bien." 

"Good," Roier says, and that's when Bobby comes barreling around the corner like a rocket straight into his dad's knees. Roier crumbles with a groan and a strangled, "Hijo de puta, Bobby, don't run in the house! Fuck."

That's when Jaiden comes into view with a clipped, "Bobby, relax. Dial it back."

She's pretty, Jaiden. Mariana can see how they ended up with an accidental child even with Roier's obvious preference for men. The few times they had talked on their own, it had been perfectly lovely. Jaiden fit right in with all of their friends and it was almost odd that Mariana and her weren't close. That's just the way things were sometimes though. More important than all that is the tall ass man that trails in behind her with an amused smirk on his face. This is someone new. Like, new, new as in Mariana had never met this guy before. Everyone on the island had seen everyone else on the island at least once. It really wasn't that big. Mariana and Charlie had settled here right after they got married and this guy was definitely not someone they'd met yet. Nor was the little creature hiding behind his legs. Possibly a tiny pet dog, but more likely a small child what with the backpack and sweater. For a second, Mariana's blood runs cold because there's a flash of red over dark brown curls and he thinks, impossibly, that Tilín is standing there. Its a shock to the system, and Mariana is ever grateful for Roier walking up and slinging an arm across his shoulders. 

"Wilbur, meet Mariana," Roier bellows and the tall man looks at him. "Mariana, this is Wilbur and Tallulah, Bobby's new friend from school."

Tallulah is not Tilín. It's obvious when he looks for more than a second. She is so much smaller. So much more timid as she tucks herself away from view. She is not Tilín but Mariana can't help but wonder how Quackity can stand to teach her. Is he treating her well? Is he handling it alright? The questions are on the tip of his tongue, blissfully cut off by Wilbur saying, "Hey. Nice to meet you, man. I've heard a lot about you."

Now Mariana's brain tries to catch up because, "huh? You've heard about me?" He turns to Roier with a suspicious glare and a rapid, "que cojones le dices a la gente, pendejo?"

"Relax," Roier croons. "I didn't say anything. Charlie did."

He's grinning like that's good news. Is it good news? Who is this man and why is Charlie telling him about Mariana? Oh fuck, is Charlie seeing other people? He didn't seem like he was, but Mariana had only seen him for a few seconds. God, what if his husband had moved on? What if this- this stick bug of a man was his husband's new lover here to tell him to fuck off for good? What if-

"Yeah, I-uh- I grew up here and Charlie and I used to be good friends."

"Oh."

Because Charlie had grown up here. Mariana forgot that a lot because to him, the island was an exotic getaway. To Charlie though, it was fairly familiar. Shit, they really didn't know each other, did they? Who had Charlie grown up with? What secret island places did he frequent in his youth? Did any of his foster parents still live here? Did they keep in touch? These were basic things. Things he should know having been with the man for six years. Any hope or excitement Mariana had previously felt today was immediately overshadowed by intense guilt and misery. His face automatically pulled into a frown.

Wilbur, misinterpreting the cause of Mariana's sadness, offers a placating, "Not anything too terrible! I mean, it's not usually good nowadays to tell you the truth, but we texted on and off before. I'm surprised you don't recognize the name."

And didn't that just sting. 

"Yeah, well," Mariana sighed, collapsing into the nearest couch. "I'm a pretty shit husband. You're the only one surprised." 

Mariana has become quite talented at making situations awkward and this one is no exception.

Roier face palms and Jaiden cringes in sympathy. Wilbur, however, takes this better than expected. He offers a shrug, then a hesitant, "I mean, yeah, I gathered that."

It actually makes Mariana laugh. Very rarely did someone respond to his misfortune like that. Wilbur was clearly cut from the same cloth as him, taking a seat and reclining like he owned the place. Its startling enough that Mariana forgets to feel bad. He just watches as the room settles. As Roier and Jaiden join them in the living room, Bobby and Tallulah running off with instructions not to do anything insane. It's like every other Friday except Mariana had had a goal and, honestly, had already lost any faith in implementing it. If he was so shit of a husband that some guy he didn't know about knew it, why would Jaiden help him? Why did he even consider that in the first place? Roier's cool ass co-parent wasn't going to help him. She'd already liked Charlie better than him.

"So," Roier startles him, grimacing, but upbeat. "The vibe is off now."

"Shut up, Roier." 

Mariana takes an elbow to the side for that one and retaliates with a pillow. They dissolve into one of many fights that come from having lived together so long and it's nice. It fixes it. Sort of. There's a nice twenty minutes that follows in which Mariana feels like a very normal, grown up person. He learns that Wilbur is a musician and that he'd been touring for a while. Hence why Mariana had never met him despite being one of Charlie's best friends. Really, the longer they talked, the more Mariana remembered mentions of Charlie's friend and his adventures over the years. He'd been ignored too over the last year like the rest of their friends. Wilbur said that that's part of why now felt like the time to come home. He hadn't heard from Charlie in a good three months. Not to mention, he'd adopted Tallulah. It was time to settle down for a bit. Check in on the people he loves and all that jazz. Mariana hated to say it, but he kinda liked this guy. Like, a lot. He really hoped Wilbur wasn't Charlie's new partner.

Not that that matters. He's cool either way, and way better at leading a conversation than Mariana could dream of being. Wilbur likes to talk. He and Roier keep a pace that leaves Mariana and Jaiden on the sidelines, but it's not bad. It feels natural. Comfortable, and they float from idea to idea with occasional input and the odd argument. They eventually get into talking about the kids without Mariana having to push it himself. The subject just comes up naturally, and though some may be insulted by it, Mariana appreciates the way Wilbur doesn't shy away from it. He doesn't talk around the topic when Roier says the island parents are a bit cautious around that particular class.

Wilbur simply says, "Yeah. I mean, I get it, but losing your kid is hard to come back from. I don't know Quackity, so I can't say anything about his behavior, I know that. I just don't see whatever threat everybody else sees I guess."

Which is a refreshing point of view. Everyone had some negative opinion of Quackity, even before the accident left him bitter and cold. Mariana, as a floater, had heard all of it from the casual rumors yo the crazy ones. People tended to forget that he'd been Quackity's friend too. While others had been wary of the newcomer with the questionable connections, Mariana and Charlie loved the guy from the moment they met. They had him over all the time. Babysat Tilín anytime Roier wasn't available. The girls had been attached at the hip, which helped, but Mariana had genuinely loved Quackity like family. He was a great friend in a bad circumstance. Mariana had never paid the rumors any mind and he stood by that even now. Even with all the venom Quackity had spit his way in his hunt for Charlie. Even with the lies and the blame and the radio silence, Mariana still knew that Quackity was not this villain people wanted him to be. It was nice to hear that somebody else felt the same way for once.

"He's a good guy," Mariana agrees, ignoring the way Roier rolls his eyes and Jaiden purses her lips. They don't know Quackity like he does. Maybe they used to, but they certainly don't now and that's what matters. "People on the island love to gossip, but it's just talk. It's because Quackity isn't nice like the island people want to be and they're right. He isn't nice. But he is good. He's a good guy and he's got your kid's best interest at heart even if it doesn't seem like it."

"I don't know about that," Jaiden hums. "Bobby's somehow failing kindergarten."

Mariana winces, but he doesn't back down. 

"Well yeah, he hates Bobby. And Chayanne, actually, but Tallulah will be fine. Quackity's a great teacher."

Wilbur seems amused by this, thankfully. He drops another piece of casual lore with, "He better burry his beef with Chayanne if he wants to stay good with Lulah. She loves her tio."

At the confused look on Mariana's face, Wilbur and Roier both laugh. 

"Phil's my dad," Wilbur explains. "Chayanne is, hopefully, the last kid he'll be adopting into our shit show."

"Oh. Isn't that weird? Having a five year old brother at, fuck- how old are you, man?"

"Twenty six."

"Oh shit. You look younger."

Wilbur grins and gestures downward as he says, "thanks, it's the skinny jeans."

And you know, maybe a year ago Mariana would've taken the opportunity to flirt, but there were several reasons he no longer did. He knew how much it had hurt Charlie, for one. He was done brushing that off just because he 'didn't mean it'. He also just felt different than he had been a year ago. Mariana felt like a grown up now. Like he'd matured so much in such a little time and he wasn't that person anymore. He'd ditched so many of the ugly, immature qualities that had ruined his life before. He was proud of it too. Unfortunately, he'd gained a few issues too, like the quiet paranoia stemming from a feeling of lost inadequacy that led to very odd trains of thought. Flirting leads him down the silly path of 'does Wilbur flirt with Charlie?' and then 'Is he dating Charlie?' and eventually, Mariana decides that he is not that mature yet. 

"You're not dating my husband are you?" He blurts out before he can help it. 

"What?"

Fair enough. Mariana cringes just as hard as Roier does but there's no taking it back now. 

"Just, like, he stopped talking to everyone but Quackity and apparently you, so I guess I just wanted to know why? It's fine if you are! I guess. I mean I'll hate it, but I get it. I haven't been around and when I was I sucked as a partner so I wouldn't blame him. I just want to know, you know? If you're dating my husband."

Mariana feels bright red and ten inches tall as he cringes back into the couch. Wilbur, to his credit, does not laugh though Mariana can tell he wants to. He must be a good guy because he treats the rambled request like its fully reasonable and important when he leans forward to say, "No, Mariana, I am not dating your husband nor do I want to. I love Charlie, but he's not really my type. A little too pasty for me."

He's sincere. At least, he seems it and really, what a guy. He should say something back now, but all Mariana can think is, wow, this guy must be a fucking great parent and well, that was probably going to come out too flirty to be good. He swallows it down and nods. Says, "right. Great. I just had to ask."

"I get it."

But it doesn't feel like enough. "Just, you know, I'm trying really hard to reconnect with him and if he was seeing other people that would be good to know," Mariana continues. "Not that I don't believe you! Just- Mierda- I'm sorry man, ignore me. I'm a mess."

He is burning with embarrassment and he doesn't even blame Jaiden for excusing herself from the room just to escape his awkwardness. 

"It's alright, really," Wilbur says in a soft tone that makes Mariana feel worse. "I know you must miss him and if it helps, he misses you too."

"He does?"

Mariana pointedly ignores the excited look on Roier's face in favor of scanning Wilbur's for any sign of a joke. There's none there. Just kind honesty. 

"He does. He's just very stubborn which I'm sure you know. Is he still not answering you? Have you been texting or calling because he's more likely to answer a text."

It hurts to say aloud but, "he's had me blocked since the funeral. Quackity too. I can only talk to him by literally stalking him and I'm trying not to do that."

He's trying as of a week ago, but still, it counts. Mariana is not going to do things wrong this time around. Stalking is wrong. 

"I mean-" 

Wilbur bites the sentence in half, face scrunched into consideration as he mulls over whatever it is he was going to say. Mariana tries not to get his hopes up. He tries not to look so desperate and eager but he's pretty sure he fails when Wilbur sighs and softens. 

"I could talk to him for you," Wilbur says. "I make no promises, but I'll see what I can do."

It takes every amount of strength in Mariana's body to not cheer. He hadn't even had to ask! He didn't have to grovel or bribe or anything. He'd just been delivered the opportunity of a lifetime on a golden platter and maybe things were finally looking up. Maybe he was finally going to pick up the pieces of his life and put them back together. There were half a million things he wanted to say. Half a million more that we're just incoherent screams of joy. Of course, Mariana is more mature than that. He gathers all of his excitement and keeps it close to his heart, as he does most things involving Charlie, then forms the best expression of gratitude he could think of in the moment. 

"Wilbur, you gorgeous motherfucker, I would literally die for you."

Chapter Text

Driving Flippa to and from school was one of Charlie's favorite things to do. Their days had been coated in Sepia and sunshine, filled with music and laughter in whatever language Flippa preferred that morning. Charlie himself didn't know a lot of Spanish. One may assume that he'd pick up on it after a couple years with Mariana and their multilingual friends, but no. Charlie still spoke in stuttered, broken words that made Flippa giggle and Mariana smile like he still loved him. He'd never minded that though. He never let it stop him from singing along as they careened towards school each morning or home each afternoon. It was one of many beloved rituals between Charlie and his daughter. One that had been replaced by cigarettes, monochrome, and vaguely depressing rock music that shook Quackity's old ass car speakers. 

This new ritual wasn't the worst one Charlie'd ever had. There'd been a group home that made them walk three miles to and from school simply because they didn't want to do the paperwork for the bus. Charlie had been in middle school back then. He had a lot of problems in middle school and a lot of those problems took the form of eighth graders chasing him down the pavement with rocks and insults he didn't even know the meaning of. That ritual ended in blood and tears usually, so by all means, this one was better than that. He had Quackity, and shelter from the rain, and he was old enough to chain smoke without all the dirty looks from adults that knew he was poorly raised, so #winning, right? It wasn't the worst, but it also wasn't the best. It would never be the best because the best was dead.

Charlie takes another drag and sighs. He thinks too much. Cigarettes sort of help with that. Not as much as weed does, but he can't go to school smelling like weed, so cigarettes make up a lot of his mornings these days. It's a fairly new habit though, smoking. Not new new because Charlie had smoked in middle and high school, but new in the way that he didn't pick it up again until after college when his marriage started falling apart. Even then it was still casual in nature. This though? The heavy need for smoke in his lungs just to breathe? That was new. He'd never considered himself dependent on substances like the people around him. Never thought he'd be the one sucking down nicotine to get through the day, but hey. Suppose it just goes to show how unpredictable life can be. How the turns table or something like that.

"Alright," Quackity sighs, whipping the car into his spot with practiced ease. "Cologne it up, black lung. Jaiden smelled you last week and she is absolutely the kind of parent to complain."

It's a bad day, so Charlie just mutters back, "let her complain."

"No. I'm not dealing with these assholes alone, so wake up and smell like roses!"

"I don't think that's the saying," Charlie muses, but Quackity is already out of the car shutting the door behind him. Begrudgingly, Charlie digs out his cologne and does the obligatory dousing before he follows the boss. He's even upbeat enough to continue, "Tallulah can be your teacher's Aide. She's helpful."

"Shut up idiot."

They scan into the front office, waving to the woman at the desk who's name Charlie still did not know. He knew that Quackity called her Osito Bimbo after some company's mascot, but beyond that? He had no clue. Not that he was going to stop to learn it today. Charlie had more pressing concerns than the school bookkeeper's name. For one, he was constantly wound up at school. They'd made it almost one month. Today was the two week mark since Mariana had shown up. Two weeks in which Charlie tried not to think about how easy it would be for him to show up here. How easy it would be to show up anywhere and how much better he'd feel hiding in Quackity's basement instead of doing this dumb job that Quackity didn't actually need him for. 

"I feel like shit," Quackity complains.

He shoulders open his door with a grunt and it's almost funny. The contrast between them and the cheerful atmosphere of a kindergarten classroom.

"You didn't eat dumbass," is all Charlie has to say back. "Fortunately for you, I plan for your poor eating habits."

And he does. Charlie's always had that caretaker instinct. He'd doted on younger children in friendlier homes. He'd mentored and tutored in college. He'd given everything to Flippa, and now? Now Charlie funneled that energy into keeping a tiny man-baby alive despite neither of them being very enthused about living. From his backpack comes a Tupperware of fruit salad and scrambled eggs. They're still a bit hot too, not that that matters. Kindergarten classrooms get the whole shebang including a microwave and they take full advantage of that shit, they do. Still it makes Charlie feel a bit proud. Like he'd done something right this morning considering microwaving the eggs would mean microwaving the fruit salad and just, ew. No.

"When do you have the time to cut up so much fruit?" Quackity mumbles, but he doesn't refuse it. It only further lifts Charlie's spirits to see Quackity eat and it easily drowns out the guilt of the question.

Because, in truth, Charlie did a lot of what he did in the dead of night. When Quackity thought he was sleeping. Truthfully, he didn't even try anymore. If he couldn't knock out by midnight, or worse, if he woke up to nightmares, Charlie simply put on his metaphorical rubber gloves and got to work wherever he could. That was why, despite working the same hours as Quackity, their house was always relatively clean and their food was always prepped and ready for cooking. Hell, Charlie had redone the garden the other night and that took hours. 

Quackity used to have a bunch of fresh vegetables and shit out there because Charlie had made him plant them. It was a family activity. Well, family minus Mariana because Mariana was at work, but that didn't matter so much then. The garden was full of two little girls and Charlie's blood, sweat, and tears and Quackity had actually loved it for a bit. Hence why he'd let it die. Also why Charlie only approached it in the dead of night when no one was there to witness him cry over tomatoes or flip off God. Not that Charlie had much dignity left to preserve. He'd been the messiest man on the island for a solid year now and it didn't look to be changing any time soon. Go him!

"Anything need to be prepped this morning?" Charlie asks. He'd eaten what he could stomach already this morning and it was task time. Task time meant less think time.

Quackity makes a gesture towards his desk and tells him, "Just copies. Three of those worksheets in the orange folders are for today."

"Got it."

From there it's a beautifully mind numbing morning. Charlie takes Quackity's ID to the copier and lets it do its thing. Each warm paper that comes out get shuffled aside and stapled as he daydreams about cigarettes and coffee. Eventually it does what he'd wanted it to do. It winds Charlie down to a level that's manageable and he needs that. He needs to be better today because Quackity is worse today and that's how they work. Quackity had been in a foul mood all evening yesterday for reasons beyond Charlie's comprehension. He'd slept in Quackity's bed last night, again, and he'd already been awake when Quackity shot up screaming from those oh so wonderful night terrors he liked to have. It nearly startled Charlie right off the bed and they'd both sat shaking with adrenaline at an ungodly hour of the morning until Quackity remembered how to breathe. Charlie hates nights like last night. Hates how Quackity looks miserable the entire morning. How the only comfort he can provide is silent and from afar. 

It's hard to be close to someone like Quackity. Not in the sense that it's actively draining, or he's melodramatic, or whatever other excuses their friends had made to distance themselves over the last year. No, Charlie thinks that the hardest part about being close with Quackity is never being close enough. He's not a local. He didn't grow up here with Charlie and Wilbur and the neighborhood kids. Quackity's from somewhere else. He'd seen things he would never share with anyone and that made it so hard to help on days like today. Charlie knows the difference between Quackity's night terrors and nightmares. He knows the man well enough to spot the signs even before he's screaming and trying to punch Charlie in the face, but how to help still eludes him. Not that Charlie doesn't try.

He'd made tea. Brought it up to Quackity in bed and turned on the lamps so that Quackity could better see where he was. Charlie had let him come back down at his own pace and then he'd nudged him towards the shower to rinse off the sweat. That's when Charlie went about laying out Quackity's clothes and getting his things together for him. Little things like that were Quackity's favorite and Charlie knew that because while being close to him was hard, Charlie had done harder things. He loved Quackity enough to play the guessing game as many times as he was needed. All in all, they'd been a mess leaving the house this morning and it was not going to improve. Quackity was a pissy victim of PTSD and Charlie was becoming an anxious, paranoid conspiracy theorist. Weren't they just the perfect pair to teach kindergarteners?

By the time Charlie heads back to the room, their first family has already arrived. It's fully unsurprising. Tallulah sits complacently on the carpet funneling her concentration into a block tower now that no one was here to knock it over. Wilbur has folded himself down beside her, but he's not participating. He's got that dumb, dopey smile on his face that he always gets watching his daughter, providing helpful architectural commentary when she asks. It's adorable, especially because Charlie had grown up with Wilbur. If you'd have told Charlie at sixteen that Wilbur Soot was a parent- and a good one at that- he would have laughed in your face because Will was so not that. They'd been in a home together once. Only once because no social worker would make that mistake again, but once was enough to bond them for life. No one had really bothered with Charlie before Wilbur. Not long term. Not seriously. He'd been eleven, Wilbur twelve, suddenly spending nights listening to his friend go on and on about his shitty dad and making half hearted comments about how they could run away together.

They didn't. Phil only lost custody for a year. He straightened up real quick and took Wilbur home and things weren't fixed, but they weren't run away together bad. Instead, it went like this. They texted near constantly, mostly on discord because Charlie didn't always have a phone, and they met up in secret on nights when Will wanted out of the house. Charlie got his cigarettes off Will in middle school when his dad quit and tossed them. In turn, Will got his booze off of Charlie because the home did a shit job of locking up their liquor. They graduated from the same high school in the same year and from there, they talked less. Never stopped, but there was enough distance that even Charlie's husband didn't know the guy. It was sort of crazy to think about their relationship. Charlie was at Wilbur's first concert. He'd been at his brother's funeral, and he'd been the first to get the text that Wilbur was a parent even if he'd been AWOL at the time yet they hadn't seen each other in person since high school. 

Charlie sort of liked that nothing had changed. He'd expected it to be hard. Wilbur had tried to get into contact with him months before now. He'd gotten all the texts and calls. He'd seen all the worry and he'd checked the ring doorbell camera the few times Wilbur had tried his house. Charlie had known he was there, but he hadn't been able to do it. At first because he hadn't been doing much of anything besides rotting in Quackity's basement, but then it was just out of guilt. He felt guilty for what he'd put Will through. Guilty for hiding things and guilty for ignoring him. Charlie didn't do well with strong emotions like that, so he did what he does best. He ignored it and pretended Wilbur wasn't even there. Smart, right? In a way, Charlie was lucky he was too busy panicking over Foolish to panic over Wilbur on the first day of school. He probably wouldn't have been able to talk to the guy had he been agonizing over that all morning. 

Fortunately for Charlie, Wilbur is quite the opposite of his other best friend Quackity. Where being close to Quackity is a fight you can never win, being close to Wilbur was impossible to lose. It was like second nature, falling into step and talking like the last year had never happened. Wilbur was so understanding with him. So calm and collected and well adjusted that Charlie just forgot to worry about it. Having Will home was like breathing fresh air. Perhaps it had even contributed a bit to Charlie coming to work for three weeks rather than giving up and hiding at home, but who knows? All Charlie knows is that Wilbur would always be Wilbur and Wilbur would always be someone he saw right through. He wore his heart on his sleeve, after all, and Charlie knew him well. 

"Morning, Wilbur. Morning, Tallulah," Charlie greeted, noting the way Quackity had busied himself on the opposite side of the room. It had become a very typical morning routine and maybe Charlie kind of liked it. He sat down beside them, giving Wilbur a knowing look that was acknowledged with a wink. "He's not going to give you the time of day, Will. Even you aren't stubborn enough for this one."

Because Wilbur had a big fat crush on Quackity. He refused to admit it, but Charlie knew. He'd always had a thing for the miserable, drowned cat types Wilbur, and Quackity was right up his alley. Broody, misunderstood, and really quite pretty when he let himself be. Quackity was enticing and Wilbur was stupid, so it did not surprise Charlie in the slightest that he'd initiated this game. Still, watching them exist together every morning was sort of sad.

"You never know," Wilbur retorts like he does everytime Charlie brings it up. "He likes Tallulah so he'll have to warm up to me eventually."

Charlie thinks back to the last two weeks of early morning drop offs. He thinks of the way Quackity glares at Wilbur's back every time he shows up just to sit and say nothing next to his daughter. Charlie thinks of the way Quackity huffs off any mention of the parent like he's too annoyed to even think about him and he says, "Yeah. You keep telling yourself that, Will."

The feral cat approach doesn't appear to be working, but Charlie isn't going to interfere much. Quackity had always respected his tumultuous relationships, so Charlie wasn't going to get involved in theirs. 

"You never answered me about practice," Charlie says then, smoothly changing the subject. "Can I come watch or what?"

Yes, Charlie was willingly going to leave his house for something other than work and being a public menace. That's the effect Wilbur Soot had on people. Wasn't that something?

"Yeah, sorry, I've been hanging with Jaiden and them a lot so that Tallulah can see her friends. It's hard to keep up sometimes. You're welcome by on Sunday if you'd like. We usually start around six, but it's not set in stone."

Tallulah steals his focus for a moment for structural engineering purposes and it gives Charlie a moment to frown. He knows that Wilbur is getting involved with their old friends. This isn't the first time Charlie's hearing about it because Wilbur would never disrespect him like that. He knows that Wilbur has spoken with Mariana because Mariana lives in Roier's house and sometimes Jaiden does too. He knows that if he asked, Wilbur would happily tell him everything they'd talked about. Charlie knows these things, but it's a subject he refuses to approach for several reasons. Number one, he likes Wilbur. Wilbur's always been one of his best friends and Charlie doesn't want to find a reason to dislike Wilbur. Two, Charlie doesn't want to start talking and accidentally shit talk Roier and Foolish and everybody because Wilbur deserves to form his own opinions. 

The big one though, number three, is that Charlie knows he is walking a tightrope when their conversations veer this way. He is perfectly balanced, step after step, and Charlie knows that it will not take much to tip him over the side. He can't ask Wilbur what their conversations are like. He can't ask if Mariana talks about him. If he really is happier. Charlie can't even ask what Wilbur thinks of his husband because all it would take is one question. He asks one question and he'll lose his balance. He'll go flying over the edge and Charlie knows that all routes lead back to Mariana. Back into his husband's arms where he'll continue to pretend that nothing was ever wrong. Where Mariana will coax him back to bed and Charlie will let him and then when they fight the next morning, neither will be willing to take the blame for it. Charlie cannot ask, and he cannot listen, so he doesn't. He steers Wilbur away like he always does and, like a good friend would, Wilbur lets him. 

"Sunday's good," he hums. "Still practicing in Phil's garage?"

"You know it," Wilbur laughs. 

"Great. It'll be cool to be back at your house again. Like old times."

Wilbur's smile screams nostalgic even as he says, "Yeah, like old times except I'm sober, Phil's old, and the entire house is baby proofed for Chayanne."

That's another thing that Charlie likes about having Wilbur back. They're not dragging each other down anymore. Charlie had never been as big into the drugs and booze as Wilbur had been, but he'd never let him go it alone. They'd been sort of bad for each other. Charlie could acknowledge that now. Wilbur was so full of anger and resentment back then and Charlie had been so willing to do what he needed to feel better. Now, Wilbur is sober. Charlie can't even imagine it with the way he clings to intoxication these days. Wilbur Soot is sober. He's on medication and says things that Charlie knows are regurgitated from the nice big city therapist he'd acquired a few years back. Being around Wilbur was always easy, but it hadn't always been good. Charlie likes that it's both now. They could all use a little more good and easy in their lives. 

"Hey," Will calls, and it takes only seconds for Charlie to register the tone. He can't even groan before Wilbur is grinning and asking, "Invite Quackity too?"

"He's not gonna come, man."

"But what if he does?"

And isn't that just ironic? Sober Wilbur is an optimist. 

"I'll ask," Charlie sighs, shaking his head when Wilbur fist pumps like he'd won. "Seriously though, don't get your hopes up. He's not fond of anybody and he definitely doesn't like strangers."

"He's fond of you."

Charlie just rolls his eyes, biting back the insecurity threatening to spill forward. He doesn't need to get into that today. Not in this classroom and not with Wilbur. Instead, Charlie moved to stand and spares Quackity a hesitant glance.

"I'll try," he says softly. "God knows Quackity could use some better friends."

And the day goes on like it always does. Kids file in. Wilbur leaves. Charlie greets the parents so that Quackity doesn't have to. They navigate the day with the same careful precision one would a minefield and they survive it. Charlie drives home today because Quackity's sunk even further into his mood and it's miserable. They mark up worksheets together on the couch and have an easy dinner that Charlie prepped on Wednesday. When the sky is dark and bed time rolls around, Charlie doesn't bother asking if Quackity wants him. He just follows up the stairs and makes himself comfortable on his side of Quackity's bed. It is like every night has been for the last year plus. Quackity sleeps and Charlie stares into the dark remembering a time when the person at his back was a little girl in her daddy's spot. When nights were never quiet and he still didn't sleep well, but he could sit in Flippa's room and that was alright. That was alright. Despite having a decent day, Charlie can't stop himself from letting the night sink it's claws in deep. He can't help but wonder if things would ever be alright again.