Chapter Text
Quackity and Wilbur never were a thing long enough to meet each other's parents— not that Quackity was stupid enough to do such a thing, especially as he wasn't all too thrilled about the prospect of bagging yet another unstable, not always sober guy right after Jschlatt. Quackity also never truly wanted to meet Wilbur's parents, partly because he didn't care to, and partly because he knew that even though they were seemingly lovely, something wicked must have been going on in that household for Wilbur to be the product of it.
Truly, when Wilbur offered them a place to stay, claiming that he'd already checked in with his parents and they agreed with open arms, Quackity hadn't even comprehended the full extent of what he was doing.
Wilbur's car was a sorry little thing, with dust in its corners and the whiff of cigarettes filling his lungs. He opened the window the moment he stepped in it, making sure that Purpled was as close to fresh air as possible for the entirety of the ride.
Under normal circumstances, he never would have found himself here, with a baby in his arms and his heart in his throat. Under normal circumstances, he never would have stepped foot near this house, and that made it perfect. Completely uncalled for, completely unpredictable. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but odd of a decision as coming here was, it might have just been the safest course of action available to him until whatever mess his own parents were cooking would catch up to him.
He digressed. He made sure that Purpled's little beanie (matching the one he was wearing, and yes, he felt giddy and stupidly happy about it) covered his little antennae, and praying that overstimulation wouldn't have the baby pulling it off before they had the privacy and space away from questioning eyes. It was a race against time until Purpled would inevitably wake up in search of food, and time was the one thing Quackity never was able to outrun.
"Your lips are downturned, Quackity from Las Nevadas," Charlie spoke in whispers, but he didn't quite seem to understand the purpose of whispering at all, the volume of his voice loud enough for Wilbur to hear. "What is the matter?"
"Don't you worry about it, Charlie." The bell was ever so looming, but Wilbur somehow managed to turn a deaf ear to the conversation, simply smoking a cigarette a few feet away and allowing Quackity to do everything at his own pace. "You probably shouldn't be smoking— there's gonna be two babies in the house."
"Which is why I'm smoking here, instead of inside."
Wilbur's agitating voice was enough to push Quackity to finally ring the doorbell, regretting the action the moment he heard footsteps walking through the halls of the house and heading straight for the door. He pulled Purpled closer to his chest instinctively when the door opened, a blond man standing in the hallway with his own pair of eye bags.
"Hello, mate." The man's voice was welcoming and strangely warm for Wilbur's father, but Quackity chose not to complain about good things happening in his life. "Come right in."
The house was spacious, clean despite the clutter. It looked like a house that was home to memories of love and peace — everything unlike Quackity's own childhood home.
He felt sick.
"I'm Phil, by the way. Probably should have started with that." Phil introduced himself, guiding Quackity and Charlie down the hallway and into, presumably, the living room.
There were family portraits all around, of Phil and Kristin with their older kids, much younger at the time. Normally, Quackity would have found himself something to use as ammunition against Wilbur later, searched for anything that was blackmail material, but he found himself caught off guard by another even more agitating person, with stupidly soft, pink hair that fell over his shoulders and a stoic face that never learned how to smile.
No fucking way.
Quackity didn't bask in the shock for long, though, not when Kristin came into view, looking as exhausted as a person could possibly be where she was sitting on the sofa. The culprit that had drained the life out of her sleeping in a nearby bassinet, barely visible from where Quackity stood awkwardly in the hallway.
Thankfully, Quackity didn't come face to face with a bitchy ex-classmate from one of his undergraduate classes, but he found himself frozen in place. The baby in the bassinet was far smaller than his, so fresh out of the womb, his face was still swollen and reddened.
"Um, hey." Quackity didn't know how he was meant to explain the predicament that he found himself in when this family was struggling with so much. Wilbur found his way to the armchair, Philza excused himself to grab something from the kitchen, and Charlie stood behind Quackity, speaking no words but very aware of another baby's presence in the room. Quackity didn't think this family could handle two grown-ups and a baby on top of the mess they were already in, but they still welcomed them in open arms. Quackity wondered absentmindedly if he was going to have to tell Charlie to go back to their own apartment and not increase the load on Wilbur's parents.
"Take a seat," Kristin's words were not a command, but Quackity complied with them as though they were orders. "Wil didn't tell us much about what happened, but we'll house you for as long as the danger persists."
The danger was never going to go away. Charlie's hand was on Quackity's shoulder — calming, supportive, grounding — and he realized there was no lying their way out of this one. Quackity glanced at Wilbur, pleading with his eyes for him to help with the situation, but as per usual, men proved themselves to be useless.
"Can I show you something?" Quackity sounded numb, felt that way too, as he walked even closer, presenting his baby to Kristin. Wilbur had reassured him that neither of his parents was affiliated with the government earlier, and while Quackity didn't quite trust the guy, something told him he'd been telling the truth.
He pulled Purpled's beanie off.