IM WRITING, YOURE COMMENTING, AND WERE ALL PRETTY FUCKIN GAY HERE
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Quackity woke up some time around 10:30 the next morning. His head was pounding still and his eyes seemed to be fuzzy, but he was consious nonetheless.
He forced himself to 'sit up.' Instead of on his side, he went to his stomach to put himself in a plank type of position; holding his chest and up off the ground with his elbows.
So not exactly a 'sit up' or a 'plank,' but it moved him from being curled up in a ball on his side.
His body ached and he felt like he was still gasping for air. He looked down at his hands and noticed they had dry blood splattered all over them. It looked like DaVinci just took a paint brush and went to town with this dryed crimson color.
(Blood dries more of a crimson at first, then after a day or two its gets to that brown/black color. The more you know.)
Quackity sighed, thinking back to last night. Any adrenaline that he had previously was way out the window, now. He felt every single cut he had on his body, and every single breeze that came into contact with them. And the wound count was pretty high for something to go on in about an hour.
28. 28 cuts on his body and surely over half will leave scars. 28 wounds, and thats not even counting bruises.
That's quite a lot to happen within an hour and for a 14 year old.
The raven-haired boy felt tears swell up in his eyes. He didnt know why he was about to cry, but he just felt overwhelming dread.
Too much dread it spilled out of his eyes like water boiling over the pot. Quackity coughed a few times, blood falling underneath him as he discared it from his throat.
He wanted to get up. And go home. And fuckin die. But he could barely move on his own. Hell, he wanted to relapse again. He wanted- no, he needed Khat in his system. He needed it more than he needed to breath.
He needed to feel okay.
And Khat did that for him.
He cried mostly silently, the only audible noises being gasps and a few verbal cries. Quackity needed to get up. But he really couldnt do it.
"Anyone..! Please! I need help, I can't move!" The boy yelled out in a raspy and pain-filled voice. He was desperate to have anyone find him- just to help him up! He wanted somebody to be there for him. To help him. To save him.
"What ever happened tp fairy tales..?" Quackity said quietly and in pain as he shut his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks.
He was however, right though.
What did ever happen to fairy tales?
Where these stangers would find you wearing ridiculous clothing, but they would save you.
"What happened to knights in shining armor...? Where's my knight...?"
He slowly broke down more and more, just wanting somebody to be there. Why couldn't fairy tales be real? Why are they made up? Why give children at the younge age of 5 that hope of fairy tales being true.
So the 14 year old lay there on the earth's floor. He cried for what felt like forever to him. He was alone.
Until he heard something running loudly against the iron grates on the bridge.
"Quackity?!"
That was Karl.
"Holy shit-!"
And that was Sapnap.
"Help.." was all that Quackity could meekly mumble. Instantly he felt two different sets of arms gently wrap around him.
The two boys pulled the wounded one up as gently as they could. Though they did feel absolutely horrible every single time Quackity made an 'ow,' or sharp inhale, or wimper.
They got Quackity to his feet and looked at his face for a second. The soon-to-be scar above his eyebrow had dried/half dried blood going down half of his face, going over his eye so much he kept it closed.
He was crying prefusely from pain. Yet he was smiling softly seeing the other two.
"My place. I got med stuff and no one to bother us. C'mon;" Sapnap spoke, panic lacing his voice and help Karl start walking Quackity to his place.
Everytime Quackity winced, Karl would whisper sweet nothings for some sort of comfort. Sapnap would say 'we're almost there' as a comfort as well.
It was a painful 20 minute walk to Sapnap's place. When they entered, the wounded boy was placed on the couch, and Sapnap rushed to get the medical supplies. He wasn't as skilled as Quackity was, but he could definitely clean and bandage.
Sapnap and Karl started getting to work. They cleaned the wounds that were scattered all over the mexican's frail body.
(Unrelated hc : Sapnap is Italian. And Karl is Greek and German :])
Quackity would hold his breath for as long as he could while the others helped him.
And after about 10 or 20 minutes, Quackity was cleaned up. Karl gave Quackity pain killers and a blanket, letting Quackity get comfortable.
"Hey, are you able to say what happened..?" Sapnap spoke softly, moving stray hair strands out of Quackity's face.
"Uhm... My dad.. and my mom... a lot happened last night so I kinda ran out.. and fell.. alot.. I hit a lot of rocks.."
"Im sorry about that.." Sapnap responded.
"Were they fighting...?" Karl spoke gently.
Quackity teared up.
"I wish... my dad was sick for a long time and..." Quackity trailed off, physically unable to finish his sentance. Though the other two boys understood instantly.
They could tell because Quackity said 'was.'
They both gently hugged the other, in to which Quackity returned it.
"Do you want a distraction?" Sapnap said, not letting go.
"S-sure.." Quackity mumbled, with a slight nod, and took a deep breath.
Sapnap let go, and lt Karl continue to hold onto Quackity. He got a movie to put on the TV and sat next to Quackity. Karl went on the other side and they both held onto to Quackity gently.
Quackity had a small smile on, as atear rolled down his cheek.
"gracias... mis caballeros..."
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1044 words
Lol I cried 7 times today :lip_bite:
Any BYEEE <33
Also, keep commenting pkease ;^; I like reading them and they make me feel like I did a good job.
YOU ARE READING
Living Is Easy, Until It's Not.
FanfictionA story about Quackity and how he came to be. In a world where your wealth determines your importance. Quackity was born into a poor family, which he had to grow accustomed to quickly. By 10, he learned how to steal, break in, avoid detection, figh...
