Non linear oneshots of Schlackity

Nightmares

Shit. Schlatt swore he got rid of this nightmare, finally got over his limbo trauma. His house's pale green wallpaper taunts him with its decor, celebratory confetti and balloons beaming in his face. Schlatt's heart thunders in his chest as he sighs in despair, a pit returning to his stomach.

It's 1pm. It always begins that way.

Schlatt paces around his house, finding it to be the exact replica of his torturous limbo, with a sad touch of Wilbur's lost four of spades on the dining table. The same vanilla cake sits in its glamour, dressed in blues and yellows. A loop, he's stuck in a loop again, he's forced to wait eternity again and it's not fucking fair.

Sure, he isn't perfect, but he's been getting better. Trying to make amends. He's trying! Why doesn't it count for anything?

The chair screeches as Schlatt pulls it back and rests on it, staring at all the party preparations, the same crushing ache in his chest as he stares at them all. Why is he back here? He's trying, he really is, he's apologised, he's been forgiven, he's more involved now, he's less snarky, shouldn't that count? Why- why isn't he allowed the chance to change?

Tears dampen the paper plate on the ready table, and unashamedly Schlatt sobs. He hates this place, absolutely loathes it, why is he back here, he can't stand it. He punches the wood, cursing at it, feeling his throat close up in that shaking terror he's becoming used to.

Tick, tick, tick, goes the clock, mechanically placing it's input on the situation as Schlatt cries over his predicament- the same as his long decade stay in the same walls. The clock strikes 4, and Schlatt screams, hurting his fist while striking the table.

Awake.

He's alive.

Schlatt breathes shallowly, ears pinned back in natural panic as he regains his bearings, a weight on his front. Blinking away that teary haze, Schlatt squints at the figure in front of him, his tear tracks being wiped away by warm thumbs. A bubbling baa comes out, instincts convincing Schlatt to feel safe, cared for, so warm. A soft chuckle follows suit, one that strikes a chord inside Schlatt's chest.

The frenzied shock wears off soon after that, and Schlatt understands where he is, who he's with, and what happened. Just a nightmare. A casual nightmare after he and Quackity spend a night together. Schlatt is casual about this.

(His heart doesn't settle, galloping circles in his rib cage as Schlatt swoons over his ex-husband once more.)

"Jon?" Q's voice comes out quiet, tentative with its tone as a soft frown pulls at the corners of his lips.

Schlatt answers with a forehead bump, shakily exhaling. He does his best to ignore the sudden tightness in Alex's shoulders. Yet despite his reaction he doesn't pull away, Schlatt doesn't know what he'd do if Quackity pulled away.

"Alex." The name fits perfectly in Schlatt's mouth, true adoration translated through his sleepy gaze and avidly shaking hands, gripping the fabric of the duvet around them.

Quackity's eyes soften for a moment, caressing Jon's cheek for a moment before he sighs and stills. Conflict crosses across his face, a battle of logic and passion fighting for their side when in reality they've both already lost. In no scenario this situation is deemed okay.

"Jon-" Q cuts himself off, biting his tongue with a sharp gaze of regret, as he maintains Schlatt's sad eye contact.

He doesn't need to say anything to cut Jon deeply, the damage is done through plain body language. And Schlatt will do his fucking best to take it honourably. "Your fiancés, I know." He sighs, "I know Q." Alex isn't satisfied with that, as he rests his cheek against Schlatt's chest, listening to his accelerated heartbeat whilst thinking. Cedar wood, ash, and something alcoholic fills Quackity's olfactory, forcing long lost fond memories back into his mind, which given the context should not be happening.

"What was your nightmare about?"