#quackity and elquackity

[writing-oof]

what am i if not a dog - El (6)

(or: the E.G.G.s have superpowers. this, surprisingly, is only the beginning of El's problems.)(or: or: El Quackity gets rehabilitated like a rabid dog, Quackity yoinks his evil little brother, and A1 is safe and sound at the end of things)

TW: dehumanization, implied/referenced torture, loyalty, passing out

El hates this part of fucking up.

He shivers, his knees curled to his chest as he huddles around himself for warmth.

It doesn't help much. The room would be uncomfortably chilly even if he wasn't drenched, his hair plastered to the sides of his face and the back of his neck, and the clothes that hadn't been torn off him suctioned to his skin.

He shakes, a fine tremble to his hands. Goosebumps grow on every inch of his exposed, too-pale skin. The muscles in his back twist and clench, spasms so deep he has to bite his knuckles to keep from crying out.

He can still feel the electricity arching into his skin.

He takes deep, careful breaths as he tries to keep his heart under control. He curls up tighter, trying to preserve warmth as much as he can.

He knows what hypothermia looks like, what it feels like, and he isn't keen to relieve it any time soon. He'd shed layers if he thought he could get away with it, but there's no chance he'd be able to put them on convincingly enough by the time his supervisors return.

Chains rattle and, after a bit of delay he elects to blame on the possible brain damage, El startles at the noise. His head jerks up, his heart resuming its favorite game of how fast can we go until El passes out. He eyes the cell attached to the room warily.

Quackity shifts again, moving closer to the bars separating the stone floor of his cell and the tiles of El's office.

El's heart is beating fast because he's cold; his body's trying to warm him up. He isn't afraid, and definitely not of his...his--whatever Quackity is.

"You look like shit."

The islander meets his gaze nonchalantly. Blood crusts along the side of his face and, when he looks, there are bloodied bandages wrapped around his middle.

In a building that probably has an entire room devoted to health pots, they've both drawn the short end of the stick.

El takes a breath. It shakes and warps as it leaves his lungs, and his next inhale is loud enough that Quackity's eyes narrow.

The man leans back a bit, every inch of him invested in his false casualness even though El can see where the position twists his bandages painfully. El doesn't know why he does this, what it gives him. He isn't going to do anything to El, and for whatever reason he wants him to know it, to see it.

"They really did a number on you, man," Quackity says like he isn't regularly left with more of his insides on the outside just for fun. Or, science, probably. That sort of thing's above El's clearance.

"'m fine," El grits out, his tongue a lead weight in his mouth. He slurs more than snaps, "Worry about yourself."

"I am," Quackity says, his mouth curling up in a lazy smirk.

El wants to punch him in his stupid face.

He takes a breath instead and reminds himself that he's getting out of this mess much sooner than Quackity is. He takes another breath for good measure and feels like he should be able to see it with how cold the room has gotten.

He can't curl up any tighter so he just shivers, his teeth clicking a bit inside his skull. At least the cramps in his back have finally died down to only a faint twitching in the muscle.

"Why do you let them do that to you?"

El scoffs. He's not surprised Quackity sounds curious. "Someone like you wouldn't understand the first thing about loyalty."

Quackity sighs, a soft sound that El can barely hear.

"Alright, man," he says, settling back for the silence they both know is coming, "Whatever you say."

---

El stumbles forward.

His limbs weigh heavy, his fingers dragging to the earth like a magnet and his feet sticking to the ground like mud sucks at his boots.

His shivering feels more like seizing, a tremor that wracks every part of his body. His muscles would probably ache from the strain, if he could feel them at all.

The air is so cold he can feel it chilling his heart as he stumbles along the blessedly mob-free path. For so early in the morning, he'd been half-expecting to be shot dead the second he left the Federation base.

He's due some luck, he supposes.

Especially after being interrogated for god knows how long over something that definitely wasn't his fault. He doesn't know how those files disappeared or how he came to be on the suspect list, especially since they're way beyond his clearance level.

It could be worse.

If they hadn't decided he wasn't the traitor, if they hadn't believed him when he babbled near-incoherently in between their high-voltage incentives...

El shudders.

It could definitely be worse.

He keeps moving forward and, when he listens, he can make out the faint noises of the island waking up just ahead of him, footsteps and someone talking nervously.

Before he can say anything to let them know he's there--he does not want to deal with another arrow to the shoulder because he was a little too sneaky--El's foot catches on a loose stone and he trips. He just barely manages to catch himself on the trunk of a tree, the bark eating at the skin of his hands.

By the time he reorients himself, he looks up to find a crossbow leveled with his face. His breath stutters in his chest, but his fear is distant and hard to touch. Cold, like him. His heart beats shaky and slow.

He can see the moment they recognize him, the islander's gaze going from furiously murderous to very, slightly less murderous. The man lowers his weapon just a bit.

"Hey, El," Fit greets tensely, Ramón frowning at him from behind the islander's leg, "I don't usually see you out this early."

And it's true. Usually, El keeps inside until the sun has really crested in the sky, night mobs burned away with the daylight or hiding under trees and in ravines.

El shivers, the barest hints of the daylight just starting to peer over the horizon.

'You look like a ghost,' Ramón signs, his nose wrinkling, 'A very wet ghost.'

El doesn't respond, isn't sure what he'd even be expected to say. He just stares at them, a little more blankly than he intends.

"Seriously, though," Fit says, his eyebrows pinching together as he gives El a more thorough once-over, "You look a little pale, man. More than usual, I mean."

Hypothermia will do that to you, El's found.

"I'm fine," he tries to say. It barely sounds like words. "I'm just cold."

"Are you drunk?" Fit asks, amusement curling his lips even as suspicion narrows his eyes.

El starts to shake his head but screws his eyes shut when his brain decides to scream in protest inside his skull. The shivering makes it hard to hold himself up, even with the tree's help.

Ramón makes a curious noise, but when El glances up it's to Fit holding out a hand in front of the E.G.G., blocking his path. It's to be expected, really, but the islander's suspicion stings, especially since El can barely stand.

He half-expects the man to turn away, or take a shot at him anyway.

"You should come inside," Fit says instead, sounding conflicted.

El blinks at him confusedly.

Then, taking more than a second to look around, he realizes just how close to the man's base he really is.

"Inside?" he asks. Or, tries to.

He opens his mouth to ask, to be sure, because he isn't going to give them an excuse so prefect like wandering into one of their bases uninvited, and he feels the world tip sideways before he can say much of anything.

It could be worse, he tries to remind himself before everything dissolves into the darkness of sleep.

It could be worse.

---

Part 6 of ? First Previous Next

[kuro-theoneandonly]

Elquackity & Quackity fanart

[polukhina-sonya]

I’ll do what it takes for my campaign

[pppuri]

been drawing favourite girlfailure while all the technical difficulties were happening

[firexima]

q!Wilbur may not have actually logged in but I’ll be damned if I don’t take these crumbs and run with them

I’m also still posting the second November 16 artwork as well as a buuunch of Team Bolas art now that I’m free from assignments but I *had* to speedrun this—

[cyani07]

let him cook

[smille-c]

Big fucking group nap 

[vegley]

the variety of replies to this single message is so perfect. they’re all so bizarre

[sukijan-leti]

condemened his soul to the purgatory

[thepenguisalive7]

Dapper ily, you were so funny, now please come back in one piece why are you missing where

[alienssstufff]

(Why are you leaving me?)

[kuro-theoneandonly]

Elquackity and Quackity fanart (i have messy hand writing sorry)

[ujungyu]

How the purgatory event & the JuanaFlippa trial went:

[pppuri]

squid game dinner scene

[supine-ly]

fellowship

[cyani07]

elquackity