Chapter Text
Four days. Four days is how long Quackity's been walking. Four days since Oscurucho enacted his master plan, his twisted way of ending the war and the Federation's reign. It's what Quackity gets, for having allowed himself to become a part of them, let them warp his mind until he did their bidding, no matter how awful, and thought nothing of it. He had sworn to destroy Federation, and in the process, Quackity knows he became them.
Well, they're gone now— all of them. Cucurucho, his workers, Pepino. Quackity shudders, shoving away the thought of his friend's face, a shaky smile, maybe, just before radiation ripped through him. He should have known Oscurucho wouldn't keep his word. That list meant fucking nothing. Every person on that list is probably dead. For all he knows, he's the only living being left in this miserable landscape, and it would make sense because as far as Quackity knows, he's the only person the radiation won't kill. Sure, it's made him sick, but whatever the Federation gave him as a kid makes it mild. Quackity hates it. He'd rather die than live on alone.
He wishes his suicide mission had worked, wishes he'd gotten close enough to Cucurucho instead of getting captured for- what, a fucking month? More? Who knows at this point. At the very least he wishes he could have escaped sooner. Then maybe Oscurucho wouldn't have gone to his Plan B.
Quackity looks up. He's almost to the top of the mountain, where he can overlook a decent lot of the island. Hopefully, from there, he can remember the direction to the reactor. He hates how fucked up his memories have been since- whatever the hell was done to him in that place. He still has most of them from what he can tell, no major gaps, but they're all jumbled up, and he keeps forgetting people's names, places, paths he once knew like the back of his hand.
Once, a little before it all happened, he forgot his own name. The same way a word slips from your grasp, lies just at the tip of your tongue, out of reach, impossible. You know that you know it, but you don't. It took three hours for it to come back, and when it did, Quackity borrowed a knife from the Dark Worker who'd been assigned to trail him—suicide preventation, Oscurucho had said, which Quackity took great offense to; but anyway, he took the knife and carved his own name into his arm, as deep as he could without it causing him to bleed out, because the pain was a hundred times better than forgetting the last thing that belonged to him.
At least his number, 013, is branded on the back of his neck, and as he wears his hair long, no one will see it. (Multi has seen it. Quackity hadn't even know it was there prior to that. He hates to think about it.)
He stops, out of breath, at the height of the trail, and looks down the mountain. Most of the land is still somewhat obscured by smoke and debris. There is no telling when it will clear. Probably not any time soon, maybe never, Quackity doesn't exactly have much experience with nuclear bombs. That's Multi's thing, but thinking about Multi hurts so much right now. He sits down on a rock at the edge of the trail and wraps his wings around himself, a makeshift buffer against the chilly wind. It's growing dusk. There are so few lights in comparison to what he remembers. The island is beautiful dark, but the reason behind it makes it ugly. Is there even anything alive down there?
Quackity stands up. He can't afford to waste time; he has to get to the reactor. He remembers the way better now, despite the smoky landscape. Multi being there is a long shot, but Quackity has nowhere else to go. If his best friend is dead, then there will be nothing left for him here, and he will have to kill himself, maybe, if he's even allowed to do that.
"Fuck you. Fuck you and everything you stand for- you're as bad as them. You're as bad as any of them, and I'm sorry to have ever called myself your mercenary. I don't ever want to see your fucking face again."
"That is okay, Quackity. You can leave. But keep an eye on your communicator, because we may require your aid again in the future."
He still doesn't understand what Oscurucho could possibly need him for. The Federation is gone. Dead. Wiped out. So is most, if not all, of the Islanders. There's nothing left for Dark Federation to even do.
As if he'd work for them again anyway.
It's so fucking cold. Quackity doesn't even have a decent jacket or anything. Maybe he shouldn't have chucked the Dark uniform into the lava; it was stupid but at least it was warm.
Well, it doesn't matter. He's experienced much worse than a little cold, he thinks, with a rueful glance at his severed pinky. It's mostly healed over by now, but it still hurts when he moves it wrong or bumps it against something. It's fine. Quackity can live without it. Quackity has learned to live without a lot of things- his finger, his freedom, his own bodily autonomy. Oscurucho used his body to pull the lever. Quackity hadn't gotten more than a week to breathe and adjust to being out of prison, hadn't had time to find out what the dark version of his nemesis was planning before his own hands enacted it. Such a thing was necessary, Oscurucho told him. Oscurucho couldn't be near the explosion, he's not immune to radiation, after all. Now, he could have used one of his workers, but what's the point in such a foolish waste, when he has Quackity, who won't be affected by the wave of deadly energy tearing through the land?
Quackity had snapped out of it just as the first explosion went off. Nuclear bombs, all around the island. Every important location, even the unimportant ones. One by one by one, like dominoes, like stars blinking into existence as day fades into dusk. Explosions like stars all across the landscape. Explosions like the reflection of a meteor shower in Multi's eyes, that one, good night.
Afterward, he asked why. Why this. Why everything. Dark Federation had promised freedom for the islanders. Oscurucho simply folded his hands behind his back, tilted his head as the eyes of his mask glowed faintly red, and he smiled. Infuriating, smug fucking smile.
"They are free, aren't they? You yourself said death would be freedom."
Quackity had meant that for himself.
Well, that's what he gets, isn't it? He's always been so fucking selfish. Maybe to be alone is all that he deserves. He still hopes Multi survived somehow. If anyone survived, it has to be Multi. Multi, who knows everything about nuclear science, who built his own nuke, his own Plan B. They were supposed to run away together, after it all. They were supposed to leave once the Federation was gone, once those who'd hurt them were dead, they could have left- fuck, they could have gone anywhere, traveled the world maybe, found their own island. They'd have been fine with only each other. That's what Quackity gets for thinking he could care about people. That they would stay. Everyone dies or leaves, like he's some kind of curse, but he knows he's not, it's his own fault, the way he's always wanting to be loved, always pushing people away.
The night before he was meant to destroy Cucurucho, Quackity went to visit Multi one last time. He didn't intend to tell his friend what would happen tomorrow. Multi would find out of his own accord, when the death message showed up on everyone's communicators. Cucurucho's death, and Quackity's, by the same means, in the same breath, the end of the fucked up game they'd played for so long. And Quackity would smile when it happened, but for now he had to say his goodbyes.
He didn't have time to speak to anyone else, much as he'd like to. Not Roier, not Ewroon, not anyone. It was okay. He'd sent Ewroon a farewell message before Dark Federation fucked with his DNA, so there was that closure, at the very least.
Quackity would get to say bye to Multi. That is all he would get to do, his last selfish act before he made the ultimate sacrifice.
"Hello?" he called, descending the deepslate staircase. "Multi, you here? Did you get my message?"
"Quackity? Quackity!" Multi popped out from behind a tangle of pipes, wrench in hand. He pushed his goggles up his forehead with an exhausted smile. "I was wondering when we'd get to talk. I saw the video, what did you—"
He didn't get the chance to finish the sentence, Quackity stumbling forward to wrap his arms around the taller man. Multi startled a little, as he often did at physical touch, but unlike last time, he wrapped his arms around Quackity in return.
"Fuck," Quackity mumbled, burying his face in Multi's shoulder.
"Hey- hey, are you okay?" Multi pulled back a little, cupped Quackity's face with one gloved hand. Quackity found, to his annoyance, that he was crying. "What's wrong?" A harsh blink. "Are- since when did you have fucking bunny ears?"
"It's a long story. I don't have time to talk about it right now I just- I just wanted to see you." He wasn't doing a good job of keeping his emotions under wraps. Fuck, he couldn't keep crying, Multi would want to know what was the matter, and Quackity couldn't just, tell him. Yeah that would go over well, he thought with a mental scoff, Oh yeah, sorry, I'm killing myself tomorrow to end Cucurucho. What are your weekend plans?
Multi furrowed his brow, clearly already worried. "Quackity- you are concerning me right now. In your message, you said that I'm protected from Dark Federation. What did you mean?"
"I made them a list." It was so hard to think. Quackity just wanted to lean against Multi and rest, or maybe cry, who knew. The world didn't feel real any more. At least it would be over soon. "It was- my condition, when I started working with them. That I could give them a list and they would ensure the people on it didn't get hurt. I don't want you to get hurt."
"You put me on that list? You shouldn't have," Multi said softly, wiping the tears off his cheeks. "I can protect myself, you know."
"I know, I know you can, but I just—" Quackity contemplated it for a moment, telling him about the nightmares. Finding Multi's burned body, scored with the dark scars of the people Quackity had sold his soul to. "I just needed to make sure."
"I- I appreciate it." Multi's tone was unreadable. He stroked a hand through Quackity's hair, brushing against the floppy ears. "Why don't you have time to explain… this? Where are you going?"
"I have a meeting," Quackity lied. In reality, he wasn't even supposed to be in the overworld. Oscurucho had instructed him to remain in his Nether home until the sacrifice, but Quackity hadn't been able to make himself obey. He needed to say bye to the one person he had always been able to trust. Even when circumstance placed them on opposite sides of the coming war, he still trusted Multi. Multi was not a good person by any means, but he would never hurt Quackity, and that was all that really mattered.
"Can't you stay a little?" There was a layer of desperation in Multi's tone, enough for Quackity to wonder if he'd guessed something was really wrong. "We could get something to eat, or- I don't know, I don't know. Watch something."
"It's nice of you, M, but I can't- I don't wanna be late." Quackity's chest ached. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more but to stay. He wished he had hung out with Multi more over the past months. How quickly time moved. How quickly it ran out.
He pulled away.
"Quackity, I-" Multi grabbed his hand, a rare initiation of physical contact. Their eyes met, and there was a stretch of silence. Whatever the scientist had been about to say died in the silence between them.
"Yes?" Quackity said after a moment.
Multi dropped his hand, and looked away. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing. Be safe, okay?"
"You too."
Quackity turned away and didn't turn back. Afraid if he did, he would lose all resolve, give up on his life goal of destroying the people who hurt him, beg Multi to run away with him like they'd planned so long ago. And he couldn't do that; he had to kill Cucurucho, had to put an end to it all after everything— and so, he could not look back.
He gets to the reactor, eventually. His chest hurts. He isn't used to walking this far, but it's not as if there's another option, the bomb broke all the waystones. At least he's here. The outside is blown open like most structures, Multi's carefully hidden entrance now a gaping maw in the cliffside. That doesn't matter. What matters is whether the inside is damaged. Quackity takes a moment to mentally prepare himself, because god knows what he'll find in there. Multi could be dead. Multi could be dying. Multi could be pulverized completely, dust in the wind, slipping through his fingers like sand in the desert.
Quackity shakes the image away and inhales deeply, slowly. Even if Multi isn't here, that doesn't mean he's dead. He might have escaped. Hell, maybe he left the island while Quackity was in prison. Maybe he stopped waiting, listened when Quackity said not to include him in any plans for the future, took Nacho and ran from this place, as far as he could get. Maybe he's safe.
Maybe he's happy.
God, Quackity hopes he is.
He shakes himself. Enough mental preparation, he needs to bite the bullet and go in there. He doesn't have high hopes, but he can't just… do nothing. He has to know.
The air feels dead as Quackity descends into the reactor. Everything is still, not even the flutter or squeak of a bat. Of course not. If there were bats, they are dead, like everything. The power is down, so he doesn't have any issues with the doors. It doesn't increase his hopes though, because if Multi were here, he would almost definitely have already started backup generators, or installed traps or… something. Multi is too paranoid to leave everything open like this. A raw pit opens in Quackity's stomach.
"Multi?" he calls as he pushes open the door to the CNE office. "Multi? You in here?"
There's no answer, so he takes the warp plate down to the nuke. It's still there- obviously. It probably can't launch without power. Quackity stands on the balcony and looks out into the space, shaky hands resting on the rail. The depth of the silence rings in his ears. For a moment he wishes it could launch, wishes he could use it to strike down Dark Federation, maybe tie himself to it and watch the sky turn from electric blue to violet as he waits for his inevitable death.
Quackity buries his head in his hands and leans his full weight against the balcony, a choked sob tearing from his throat. Multi isn't here, that much is obvious. Whether he's dead or not, one can only guess, but it's the most likely scenario and gods, if that doesn't destroy him.
His own fucking hands. His hands- his hands. Pepino is dead, Multi is probably dead, they're all fucking dead because of him. If he hadn't drank that soup, if he hadn't let Oscurucho into his mind, this would never have happened. Him, and the trauma that makes him selfish. Him, and his relentless desire for revenge.
Well, he got his revenge- he got what he fucking wanted, didn't he? So what if it came at the cost of everything he held close to his heart. Quackity has always tried to play both sides, a game notoriously dangerous no matter its context, and it has always backfired. He was a fool to think he could work with Dark Federation while still being friends with people who belonged to the very thing that Dark Federation had made its mission to destroy. He looks down at his hands, still scarred and bloodied, new claws too from becoming a rabbit hybrid, and he hates them.
God, fuck, what's the point anymore? Quackity should throw himself over the rail, let himself plummet past the platform that holds the nuke and land deep in the darkness, maybe finally fucking die, and it sounds so nice.
He looks down into the dark. Down, down, down. It feels like the pit gets deeper the farther he looks. He takes a step back, presses himself against the wall. Fuck, why does the thought of dying scare him suddenly? Maybe it's the method; he's never liked heights, too many times being held in the air by the Federation's technologies. Well, there's plenty of other ways to kill yourself. Quackity turns around to go back through the door and finds himself with a gun pointed at his face.
"What the fuck."
"Why are you here." Nacho says, taking a shaky step towards him. Quackity raises his hands. "Why are you here- why are you not dead like all of them."
How did he get here? One minute he's contemplating suicide, and the next he's being held at gunpoint by a child. "Chill, holy shit. I don't mean you any harm."
"Lies," Nacho says fiercely, raising the gun till it presses against Quackity's chin. Well, this would be one way to go out. "You are a liar. First Dada disappears, and then everything blows up, and everyone dies except you. You know what happened. What happened? What happened?"
"I can explain, I can- wait what?" Quackity's mind catches up to what Nacho just said. "Multi disappeared? And- disappeared before the bombs?"
Nacho looks at him for a long moment. At least, presumably looks at him, it's hard to tell behind the minuture Cucurucho mask he wears. "See? You know something. Tell me what it is. Tell me why Dada isn't here."
"No, no, I don't know where Multi is," Quackity says quickly, desperately. He can't let that gun go off, not now, he needs to know what happened. Maybe he left like Quackity had hoped- but no, he would not have gone without Nacho. "I- listen to me. Listen to me. The Dark Federation set off the bombs. They- made me help them, I didn't want to, alright? Now just- lower the gun, and let's talk. I want to find Multi as much as you do."
Nacho is still for a minute, before reluctently doing as Quackity asked, stepping back with crossed arms. "Okay."
Thank fuck. Quackity doesn't know what he'd do if he died now, with the knowledge that Multi might be alive. "Thank you. Now- tell me what you know. You said he disappeared? When?"
"Two weeks before all the booms." Two weeks? Quackity was still in prison at that point. What the fuck happened? "He told me to stay inside, and not let anybody in. I asked when he was coming back and he wouldn't tell me, but he said he was going to find you, and he would try to come back when he could. And then the island blew up and all the lights are out now. But nobody's come here at all till now. I know they're all gone."
It takes him a moment to take it in. "Oh," Quackity mumbles. Fuck, Multi had gone looking for him? Of course- of course he had, the bastard cares about Quackity a stupid amount. He could have got himself killed or kidnapped- and if he was kidnapped by the Federation, then fuck, there's nothing Quackity can do at this point, any facility he could have been held at was bombed. But- there's always the chance Multi wasn't captured, that he could be somewhere out there, it hasn't even been three weeks after all. Maybe he's alive. Maybe Quackity can find him.
(If only he had been smarter, faster, more successful in his mission to destroy Cucurucho. He prays to god Multi isn't dead, because then it really will be his fault.)
"What're you thinking 'bout?" Nacho asks. His small hands are shaking around the gun. "Do you know where Dada is? He went lookin' for you. You gotta know, right?"
"No," Quackity says. He shakes his head a few times, maybe as emphasis, maybe to try and clear the panicked fog making his thoughts dull. "No, no, I don't have a clue where he's at. The Federation took me to prison; I escaped on my own. I never saw Multi."
Nacho's shoulders droop in defeat, and the gun drops suddenly from his hand. He sits down and wraps his arms around himself, mumbling soft under his breath, tears slipping suddenl from under his mask. Quackity takes a step back. He is not equipped to deal with an eight year old having a breakdown, but there's not exactly anyone else around to help Nacho.
Quackity is not a good person, but he's not heartless. He sits down next to the kid and says, awkward but as soft as he can manage, "Are- are you okay?"
"No!" Nacho shakes his head violently, repeatedly. "I'm not. Dada is gone, Father is gone, probably Mama too. Everyone is gone. I'm never gonna see them again."
"Hey- hey." Quackity shifts. He does not know how to do this, not in any capacity. Comforting people has never been his strong suit, as he tends to gravitate towards jokes or distractions as a way to cheer them up. Jokes probably won't help Nacho here, and besides, he can't think of any right now. "Look, I- we don't know if they're dead, okay? I mean… Cucurucho is, yeah, and I'm sorry. But there's no guarentee Multi or Katie died. They could be perfectly fine, just really far away, y'know? The radiation destroyed all the waystones. There's no such thing as fast travel anymore."
"I haven't seen anyone," Nacho mutters, resting his head against his knees. "Not any people, not any animals. Nothing alive."
"I know. I know, but listen, you can't see everywhere from the lab, okay? They might just be somewhere you can't see." Fuck, this is awkward. Quackity's never gotten along with Nacho too well, and more recently, he'd been ordered to kill him on sight by Oscurucho. Not that it matters now. Quackity won't obey any of his past instructions from the Dark Federation, but it's still odd, trying to help him like this. "We can look for Multi. I'm sure with enough time, we could find him."
Nacho sniffles. "You think so?"
"Yeah- yeah, I do," Quackity lies. He doesn't much care for their odds of finding anyone really. But either way, he'll protect Nacho, even if it's the last thing he does. He owes Multi that much. "I think we can."
"Okay…." Nacho lifts his head. "How do we do it, though?"
"I don't know." Quackity looks at the nuke again, thinking. "Start at the prison, maybe. That's where I was kept, so Multi might have ended up there."
"Do you think he did? Do you think he'll be waiting there for us?" Nacho asks as Quackity helps him up.
God, he doesn't want to lie to the kid. He can't get Nacho's hopes up, or his own. "I… I hope so."
If anyone found out where the Federation took him, it's Multi. If anyone survived the nuclear apocalypse, it's Multi. He could be out there somewhere- he has to be. How can Quackity keep Nacho safe without him?
(How can Quackity live without him at all?)
See, that's the thing isn't it, because Quackity could have lived with it if Multi had shut him out, had told him to stay away, that he never wanted to see him again. Quackity could have come to be fine with that. He could have lived with losing him in that way. What Quackity cannot comes to terms with is losing Multi to death. What Quackity cannot come to terms with, is that death being his fault.