Chapter Text
Trains were tall. It was a fact Quackity had forgotten, seeing as he hadn't been on a train in forever. It didn't help that technology was constantly changing and evolving.
But this train was definitely tall.
Somewhere behind him he could hear his dad explaining to his siblings what trains were and how they worked. Apparently, Kinoko hadn't had trains, or really any technology. At least, they didn't until they'd hired Sam.
Because of that, the twins were always amazed when they got to see Sam work, and were even more amazed by what he made. It was endearing, especially since Quackity had lived his whole life watching Sam making impossible inventions. It didn't phase him too much anymore.
Currently, the family was on a trip to another continent. Sam said he had a few jobs he had to do there, as well as a friend to visit.
Since it was on another continent, however, it would take a while to get there. Sam's route would have them travel by train to a city right by the coast, where they'd sail the rest of the way.
They'd just made it to the station, and Quackity was currently trying to guess which train would be theirs.
Fran came up behind him and rested her face on his shoulder. A train, bigger than all the others he'd seen so far, pulled up right in front of him, and he heard his family begin to move.
"Lets see just how much trains changed…" He mumbled to himself before turning to follow. Fran somehow managed to keep her head on his shoulder the whole time.
-
Bad remembered when he first came to the Overworld. He found a portal by chance and had hoped it was safer than the Nether.
He'd been so confused by all the differences between the Nether and the Overworld, and had no way of communicating with the locals. Eventually, he'd found an old rotting cottage, or the remains of one anyway.
It'd taken him months to finally begin putting it back together, and he had no real idea what he was doing. One day while he'd been gather resources for the house, he'd found someone passed out on the side of the road. He'd taken them to the still decrepit house and nursed them back to health, and in return they'd taught him some things about the Overworld, as well as the common language of the Overworld.
As he put together more of the house, he found more and more adventurers on the road, and offered them shelter in return for stories of their travels.
And then he'd met Skeppy. Skeppy had been on the road for a while, and nearly passed out the moment he stepped into his home. By then, he'd had enough of the house down as well as multiple skills developed that he felt confident in taking care of the diamond hybrid for a bit. Skeppy, once he became well enough, promised to repay Bad by helping finish building the house.
Throughout the process, he kept getting hurt, and ended up staying longer. And longer. And longer.
Skeppy found a brewing stand one day and taught Bad how to brew potions. They ended up turning their home into a potion shop, although they still allowed travelers to stay in the home for as long as they needed.
When Bad found Sapnap, he wasn't quite sure what he'd do, but he knew he would figure it out. It helped that Skeppy supported him throughout it, just like he supported him through everything else.
Then one day, one of the many travelers that passed through their shop stayed in the area, and began to build homes of their own there. It was around that time that he'd come home and found strange people trying to break into his home. Trying to hurt his family. That's how he'd met Purpled and Punz.
The duo refused to move in, and only stayed in the house the first night he'd met them. He wasn't sure where they'd gone to after that, but they returned a few days later. They'd trained with Sapnap, baked with himself, and set up pranks with Skeppy. It felt like they'd been a part of the family. Maybe they still were.
But they'd left when the sun began to set.
And returned again the next few days. A few days became a day, and soon they were spending the days with them and the nights elsewhere.
Throughout it all, a town began to form around the small potion shop. He supposed his home grew in more ways in one.
To be more accurate, a town formed in the same general area. Their home was still generally on the outskirts of town, which suited Bad just fine. Certainly gave them space for a farm, which Skeppy was steadily building with help from the boys and Bad. But mostly Bad. He was definitely the most responsible one in their family. It was still a fun hobby, and the extra cash it brought in was always helpful.
Now that he thought about it, Skeppy had mentioned wanting to expand it more. It'd certainly require a lot of hard work, as well as time. They would likely have to close the shop while they worked to expand the farm.
As long as it made his family happy, Bad would figure out how to make it all work out.
A ding sounded, breaking him out of his reverie. The muffin timer (which was aptly a muffin) had gone off. He turned off the sink and made his way over to the oven, momentarily leaving the dishes half finished.
Back when he'd first moved into this old house, the only skill he'd had was to make food, since finding it in the Nether was almost impossible. The Overworld, with all of it's differences, was very stressful, and at times, scary. Cooking helped him forget that stress for a moment. It helped that foraging for ingredients in the Overworld was tremendously easier.
One of the many travelers he'd helped taught him how to bake, an even gifted him an oven. He'd never quite figured out why they'd even had one, but he was grateful for it none the less.
He hadn't been any good at baking when he started. Despite seeming very similar to cooking, baking was infinitely harder. He'd tried several different recipes as many times as he could, and when nothing came out right tried tweaking the recipes and how he baked them.
It took him around 2 years, but one day, he made muffins. Not burnt beyond recognition muffins that were honestly just charcoal, actual, fluffy brown muffins.
They hadn't been perfect, obviously, but the fact that he'd managed it after so many failures is what mattered most.
So he baked some more. And more. And more.
Where before he'd tweaked the recipes to see if that would actually result in food, now he changed them to improve the taste, the quality of the muffins. He baked other things too, naturally, but muffins were always his first choice. They tasted better (with his changes, of course), and came to him with ease after a while.
Realizing he'd been standing still the entire time reminiscing, Bad rushed to pull the muffins out of the oven. They were, as expected, perfectly fine. He just tended to overreact every so often, or at least that’s what Skeppy said.
He set the muffins on the counter to let them cool off, and returned to his previous duty: the dishes. Occasionally, he’d ask one of the boys (Skeppy was banned from coming within ten feet of any sink) to do them, and quickly learned he couldn’t trust anyone in this house with a sink, aside from himself. Thus, the duty of dish washing fell to him.
It was a very peaceful ordeal, all things considered, and Bad found himself looking forward to the quiet time to himself.
Certainly gave him time to think.
-
When Karl woke up again, he was back there again.
The Inbetween.
He wasn't sure how long it'd been since Conner left. What if he came back while he was here?
What if he was in the Inbetween too? He had to find him.
He began to wander the halls of the Inbetween. It had left him a book welcoming him back, and that was it.
He winced at the sight of a wither rose growing in a pot. He turned down a different hall instead.
"Karl" It was distant, yet still so clear. He recognized the voice but couldn't name it. He began to run towards where it came from.
"Karl" A different, also familiar voice called out from the same direction. He sped up.
The voices continued calling to him, getting louder and more desperate with each step he took.
They'd led him to the edge of the island the Inbetween rested on. Below it was the empty void that always felt like it was staring back, like there was something down there, just out of sight.
"Karl" They called again, together.
He wasn't sure what to do. He couldn't recognize who was calling him, just that he knew them. The voices made him feel warm, and he wanted to follow, but they were leading him into… nothing. Just an empty void.
"Karl please" It was just one voice that time, the first one he'd heard. It sounded desperate.
Seeing as he had no other real options, and those voices did have a sort of familiarity to them that made him want to listen, Karl stepped forward. Well, more accurately he stuck his foot forward and put all his weight into it, prompting him to fall.
And fall.
And fall.
.
.
.
When he woke up again, Karl had a new sense of clarity. And a new set of surroundings. Gone was the familiar cottage, replaced instead by… he didn't actually know where he was.
He pushed himself off of the bed, ready to investigate. Putting his hands into the ("They're so big! What are you even going to put in there?" Connor asked. "They're perfect size for holding frogs, Connor. Perfect. Size." He stared at his brother, daring him to challenge him. Connor did not.) pockets of his hoodie, he began to look around. It was an open floor plan apartment, he concluded. Complete with a kitchen, bathroom, and 'living room'. It was hardly a 'living room' if you asked him, and honestly he couldn't call this place a living space either.
He certainly didn't belong here. Conveniently, there was a window right next to the bed he'd woken up in. A window that was the perfect size for someone Karl shaped to go through.
He was also, conveniently, Karl shaped.
So, naturally, he pulled the window open and flung himself out as fast as he could. The ground was surprisingly far, but that more or less worked in Karl's favor. Looking around for the most interesting direction to go in, he stuck his hand out impossibly far (and chose to ignore the way his hoodie blended into his arm, the two becoming one. Sometimes his eldritch nature hurt even his brain to figure out) and grabbed onto the first thing he could.
The momentum from pulling the rest of his body to catch up with his arm was enough to swing him up to the clouds. There were still buildings up here, and they reminded Karl to look at the new view.
It was beautiful.
The city was huge, even when compared to the thousands of other cities he'd seen. Each street seemed to help form intricate patterns. The plants the grew all around the city helped it seem less mechanical, and for a moment it seemed like the city grew out of the ground with the plants. Maybe they did.
However, the word momentum sounds like moment for a reason. Probably. Karl's not actually sure why it's called momentum, but his theory right now is that it only lasts so long, like a moment. Because his momentum has run out, and now he's gaining new momentum. Aided by gravity.
He's falling. That's all he was trying to say, except it turned into a whole debate over if the word momentum was named after the word moment or not.
Then, like something straight out of a video game, Karl jumped midair. Double jumping, he remembered it was called. It was actually something in video-games, so the earlier description was accurate.
It seemed like now was apparently a good time to test the limits of what he was capable of.
You'd think he'd already know everything, or at least have already tested it out to some capacity before, but either he can't remember or simply hasn't.
Thus why now is an ideal time. Right now he can remember, since it's about to happen.
Is he lonely? Is that why he's awkwardly talking to himself?
Another glance at the city makes him realize if their cottage had been close, they would've seen the city. It's a disheartening thought, that he's so far from home. It might not even be the same world. He never even got to say goodbye- or maybe he did and just doesn't remember. That might be worse- not remembering saying goodbye to the only family he's ever had.
He dashes forward, midair, towards the roof of a building coming up in front of him. He remembered that from videogames too.
Walking towards the edge, Karl tries to brainstorm other… things, to try out. He's not really sure what to call them, powers? Skills? Abilities? Those are all a little too cliché for his liking. He needs something unique, something that just screams Karl. Something like… cheats. It's not the perfect word he was looking for, but it'd be incredibly funny to… defy logic, and calling it hacking or something.
His mind made up, Karl steps back four steps, then flings himself off the side of the building as fast as he can (which this moment reveals, is very fast) and wonders what cheat to try out this time. A very interesting idea crosses his mind, this time from a glitch he's seen in some games (are there games in this world, because at this point he's just given himself the urge to sit down in front of a console and start playing something). The consequence of not being able to pull it off are minimal, aka it'll just hurt his pride.
The ground, throughout his whole internal monologue, has gotten incredibly close. And closer. And closer.
All of a sudden, he's past it. In the ground, although the proof he'd ever hit the ground wasn't there. Because, technically, he didn't. He phased right through it. No-clipping, as he's heard it been called. A glitch where players go through solid objects, against all logic.
His entire existence, come to think of it, is against all logic. Maybe referring to it as cheating was more fitting than he'd originally thought.
-
As it turns out, trains had changed a lot. A lot a lot.
Or maybe this one was just special. You see, this train was impossibly bigger on the inside. One car was essentially a giant hotel, two cars were dedicated to being very large food courts, you get the idea. His father’s explanation was of no help either.
Their room was on the fifth floor, but the view from their window would almost lead you to believe they were on a regular train. He felt like the elevator they had was just to show off how illogical this whole train was.
Unfortunately for these show offs, Quackity was now incredibly determined to figure out just how this train worked. They’d be riding this train for roughly 3 days, the perfect amount of time for Quackity to figure out just how this train works.
And maybe, after he’s learned all the mechanics of the red stone and magic that make up this train, he could try to recreate it for his dad. It could be the first thing he’s actually good at, and will finally make his dad proud of him.
-
“Where should this go?” Sapnap asked, looking to Bad for help. He found himself hoisting the barrel up higher, lest he drop it and spill it’s contents. He’s not actually sure how so many things could fit into one barrel, but he was certainly thankful for it. It made the whole process of carrying things easier.
Currently, his family was working to expand their farm. More specifically, they were building a barn to house both tools and animals. There was just one problem, when it came to building.
His dads just couldn’t seem to agree on anything.
If Bad said red, Skeppy said blue. If Bad said higher, Skeppy said lower. If Bad said- okay no he’s made his point. He’s not sure if they had a fight earlier or if this is just how it always is when they build, but their arguing has gotten them almost nowhere.
Keyword being almost because Punz just began to build it in his own design, and Sapnap, wanting to get this over with so they could bring the animals back, followed his lead. Purpled also started following Punz’s direction.
But Punz could only lead their project so far.
“We’re building it over there Bad! So the supplies should go there!” The raised voices alert Sapnap to the fact that once again, his parents are arguing. It’s not that he can’t handle the weight of the barrel, he’s not that weak, but he does want to put it down sooner than later.
So he looks to Punz, raising an eyebrow in a silent question.
Punz points over in a clearing that is probably perfect size for a barn, so Sapnap heads over and places his barrel.
Problem solved.
Well, mostly. His parents haven’t noticed and are still arguing. Maybe they should just sit this project out, let Sapnap and his siblings take over. Majority of their progress-
He’s very rudely interrupted by a piece of paper slamming into his face, carried with surprising force by the wind. As if he wouldn’t pick a fight with the wind.
Pulling the paper out of his face to glare at it, Sapnap finds himself reading, then rereading, then rereading once more what’s on the paper.
“What’s a fair?” He asks out loud, hoping at least one of the people out here will answer him.
“I dunno.” Purpled shrugged, before continuing work on the farm. That was technically what Sapnap wanted, but not helpful in the slightest. He’ll start to be more specific with his wishes since whatever god or gods are out there absolutely hate him. He hates them too, for their information.
“Does the paper say anything about it?” Punz asks.
Examining the paper closer, Sapnap finds that the ‘Fair’ is being held in town. He’s never actually been in town to explore, only ever visiting with his papa when they needed to restock the house.
And now that he’s thinking about it, he would like to explore the town. They’d certainly have to, to find the Fair. He’s not sure where exactly it is in town, and the paper doesn’t seem to say. It does say that’s it’s happening throughout the week. At least they had time on their side.
Looking back to his parents, he realized they’d probably just have to leave the two. It’d take forever to get their attention otherwise. Besides, maybe he could impress them on their next trip by showing off his knowledge of the city.
The more he thought about it, the more he was certain they’d head into town to find the Fair. The paper certainly made it seem exciting.
They could finish the farm another day.
-
The sun had set and risen by the time Karl had decided he'd tested enough. He pulled out an old notebook and flipped it open to a new page. It'd been Connor's idea, ever since they'd learned Karl's memory was deteriorating. The idea was that he'd write anything and everything that was important in the book. Whenever he needed to remember something but couldn't, he'd refer to his notebook.
Currently, he had plans to make a list of all of his cheats, for future reference. Also to show off to Connor whenever the opportunity arose.
He was just now realizing it would've been smarter to write down each cheat as he discovered them, since he could no longer remember all of them.
Whoops.
For now, he made bullet points of what he remembered:
• Flight (boring)
• Shapeshifting
• No-clipping (forgot what this means)
• Reality bending
• Teleportation (suck at this one :( )
• Time travel (0/10 don't recommend)
• Foresight (???)
The last one he considers crossing out, since it's not a cheat he just discovered. It's something he remembers Connor talking about, referring to… something
Something he left in their little old cottage hidden away in the woods, far from any other sort of civilization. But he never felt lonely there.
He feels lonely now.
Karl just wants his older (or was he his younger brother? Were they twins??) brother back.
He stands up again with a new resolve. He's going to find his way back to that cottage, regardless of what stands in his way. Because for once, he had a home. He felt normal. They were happy. Already, multiple plans were forming in his head. Maybe he would try multiple at once, for the sake of efficiency.
He hopped off of the side of the building, but landed so delicately you'd think he just jumped off of the last step on a stair case. He had plans to get started on, and an undetermined amount of time to accomplish them.
-
“Where do you think you’re going?” Quackity stopped in his tracks and turned around to see Hannah glaring accusingly at him. The playful glint in his eyes is what finally made him relax, tension leaving his shoulders.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He crossed his arms and stuck his tongue out at her. Not his fault he woke up and chose violence today.
“Dad put me in charge of you two-“ She moved her glare to George, who was currently laying on the couch. There used to be a book on his face, but Quackity had removed it so he could draw on George’s face. In his defense, this wasn’t the first time he’d done that and honestly George should’ve learned long before the 37th time. ”So yes, I would like to know what trouble you’re about to get into.” Hannah interrupted him from his thoughts.
“I didn’t do that.” He said after Hannah sent her accusatory glare back at him. The glare continued, so he decided to glare back.
Their staring contest lasted all of eleven minutes before George interrupted them. “Normally I’d ask you two to shut up so I could sleep, but please keep talking the silence is actually worse for once.”
“Love you too Gogy” They immediately stared at him and replied. A new staring contest with them vs. George lasted all of two minutes before they burst out laughing.
“Where is dad, anyways?” He asked after he calmed down (he was too busy laughing to keep track of how long that had taken), genuinely curious. He would’ve thought his dad would’ve stayed with them to hang out. This was their first time being on a train in a long time.
“He went to go talk to some old friends. Fran’s with him, too.” Hannah shrugged. He wasn’t sure why, but that gave him a really bad feeling. Maybe it was better if his siblings knew what he was up to.
“I was planning to explore the train- I wanna see if I can figure out how it works.” Quackity explained, looking away from the twins. He still couldn’t shake that bad feeling he’d just had.
Hannah and George shared a look, almost definitely deciding if they wanted to join.
Just as he suspected- “Can I come along?” George asked, and Hannah jumped to add “Yeah I wanna come! I didn’t know red stone could make something like this- something that can move, and take things like people with it!”
He put a hand to his chin, hemming and hawing while he thought about whether or not his siblings were worthy of exploring the train with him. Ultimately, that bad feeling came back to the forefront of his mind and he knew he didn’t want to explore the train alone.
“I suppose we could unravel the secrets of the train together.” He was tackled into a hug by Hannah just as he finished his sentence. She’d even dragged George into it. He had to seriously struggle to free his arms so he could reciprocate the hug.
-
The town, in all honesty, reminded Purpled of Hypixel. The very few parts he’d somewhat liked, more specifically.
It was definitely more pleasant with Sapnap and Punz for company. The trio regularly trained together, and that certainly made him more confident when they were around. Nothing stood a chance against them.
He still wasn’t sure what a ‘Fair’ was, but Sapnap had shown them both the paper and it certainly sounded interesting. Punz had said it’d be good to explore the town anyway, so this worked out for the better. More or less.
They’d left Bad and Skeppy behind since the two had been arguing, and in all likelihood, still were. It amazed him, their whole dynamic. It was almost enviable, in a way. Almost. He’d still prefer just not arguing like that.
The town was massive, in every sense of the word. The further in they ventured, the taller the buildings got and the more crowded it became. Purpled honestly found himself impressed with just how much the creatures of Earth had gotten done, considering their age.
That was another thing, actually. Not the age thing, but the creatures. He had yet to figure out what about them had scared Hypixel so much. He certainly wasn’t scared, not with Sapnap, Punz, Skeppy, and especially Bad constantly around. Purpled was fully convinced they could take over the rest of the planet, just the five of them.
But they had no interest in that. He didn’t really either.
Aside from how safe he felt with them by his side, there were a few other confusing things he felt around them. If that makes sense. For starters, Bad never made him do something he didn’t want to. They’d playfully fight about it, but if he genuinely didn’t want to, Bad didn’t argue. Skeppy offered to help him with anything at anytime, no questions asked. He found himself helping Skeppy every so often, as well. As for Sapnap and Punz, they always tried to do things he liked. He hadn’t even known what he liked when they first asked. By now, he obviously had somewhat of a list, ready for whenever they’d ask next.
Whenever he thought of those specific, seemingly insignificant details, a feeling he doesn’t recognize sets in.
The scarier part is, he doesn’t even care. He enjoys whatever that feeling is.
“You’ve been leading us in a circle for the past who knows how long” He interrupts his thoughts before they go farther than he’s comfortable with.
Sapnap looks at him, a confident look on his face. “I know.”
Purpled looks to Punz, half making sure they’d both heard the same thing, half checking to see if Punz knew what he meant.
“Did you mean to lead us in a circle repeatedly?” Punz asked.
"I'm memorizing the layout of the area!" Sapnap exclaimed confidently. Purpled wanted to strangle him.
"Could you maybe not do that right this second?" He asked, holding back from making any rash decisions. For now.
"Now's the perfect time!" Purpled crossed his arms and made sure to level Sapnap with a glare. Surely this would send the message that no, now was in fact, not the perfect time.
Sapnap proceeded to cross his arms defiantly, sending a glare of his own at Purpled. Touché.
"You two have fun with that then." Came Punz's distant voice, before the other turned down a corner and disappeared. That is one way to solve it. Sharing one last look with Sapnap, he ran off to catch up with Punz. Footsteps somewhere behind him told him Sapnap had opted to do the same.
-
Spray paint was, objectively, super cool. Was he using that word right? Probably. It doesn't matter, it's not like he writes.
When he'd gone to the store, he hadn't been sure what to expect. It had had just, so many things. It was unreal. It'd taken forever to find the art supplies aisle, and even then he'd had to go on a whole scavenger hunt just to find the paints. He'd intended to just get regular old paint, but then, he'd seen it. Prime it was beautiful, even if he didn't quite know what it was.
He hadn't even know paint could come in a spray-like form. Without an ounce of hesitation, he'd stuffed the entirety of the shelf's stock into his hoodie pocket, the paint instantly being transported to his pocket dimension- oh.
New cheat for the list.
Of course, after acquiring the greatest invention to ever exist in the history of ever (which he's seen a lot of, mind you), he had to test it out. He'd run out of the store and searched far and wide for the perfect canvas for his new paint.
Eventually, he settled on a wall in a secluded alley way. It just looked so bare, it would be an injustice to leave it in such an ugly, unflattering state.
Naturally, he got this far without realizing he'd need some sort of idea in his head to paint in the first place. Alas, the curse of being an artist with no inspiration strikes yet again. Maybe he should work on discovering a cheat for infinite inspiration, prime knows how helpful that would be to have.
And then he remembered something of the cottage. He'd painted on their walls to make it more homey. More importantly, he'd been… sort of instructed, with what to paint. As well as who they were. Had they been forced to leave the cottage so whoever he'd painted could see those paintings? Would he ever meet them?
Remembering each of his paintings, he realized he really wanted to. There were two paintings in particular that he'd love to meet. The people. They were based off of. How was he supposed to refer to them?
If he painted them again, would he be more likely to meet them?
(And just like that, he found his inspiration again. As it turns out, spray paint is as godly as he imagined, his art perfectly reflecting himself in a way the paintings in the cottage never really could. It also helped that his muses were very, very pretty.)
Finally stepping back from his masterpiece (or pieces, if you considered them separate. He didn't), he didn't know how to describe the pride that overtook him at looking at his art.
He could definitely describe the contempt at the people entering the alley, who were clearly planning to cause him trouble. He'd been in such a good mood too, couldn't the world just let him have this, for even a minute more?
"Well now, I'll be. What's a pretty boy like you doing painting in, no, on our territory? You new around here or something?" Asked the stereotypical gangster. Karl could feel himself cringing at the cliché dialogue. After having seen thousands of different worlds, living different lives, the patterns most people referred to as stereotypes really blended together. If that makes sense.
Honestly, Karl wanted nothing more than to punch this guy in the face hard enough that he and his cronies would leave so Karl could chase after the feeling of pride and contentment he'd felt just moments ago. Judging his unwanted company revealed they'd probably also love a fight.
And since there was no way he was wasting another second of his life listening to phrases he's heard hundreds of times, he didn't give a single one of them a time to react before suddenly teleporting to the one that first spoke and kicking him in the face.
Landing in front of him as he stumbled back, Karl searched for whichever one planned to retaliate first.
He slapped the knife out of the guys hand and head butted him in the same second he teleported over. How long would it take for the five of them to realize they were outmatched?
Another charged at him, clearly thinking the element of surprise was for nerds. To prove him wrong, Karl surprised him by using his face as a boost to get to the guy behind him, defying logic as usual by flipping the guy over as he landed. Nothing is more surprising than being ignored in a fight while the person behind you gets the full attack.
The last guy doesn't even stay to fight, immediately running off and abandoning his friends. The one's still conscious decide to follow, quickly fleeing the scene.
Turning back to his mural, Karl feels none of that pride anymore. The gangsters ruined it. Just like he supposedly 'ruined' their wall.
He's suddenly struck with an idea. Smiling mischievously, Karl turns and leaves the alleyway.
-
Turning around as quickly as possible revealed that no one was watching him as well as made him look crazy. Or crazier, since he’d done this for the seventh time now. He just couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.
His only blessing was that after sharing this with Hannah and George (it took a lot of conning from them for him to talk, though) they began to look over their shoulders and stuck closer to him. Whether they actually believed him or were just humoring him, it still made him feel better.
He still felt like he was being watched, however.
Currently, they were in the arcade car. The siblings were on their way to the library car, since if there was going to be any information about the train, it'd be there. Probably.
Quackity also might be trying to find his dad, if only to shut up his anxieties. Sam was incredibly smart and strong. He was probably even the most dangerous thing on this train. Despite that, Quackity couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen.
"This place is like a giant maze." George huffed. "Where even is the exit? We didn't pass it did we?"
"I don't think we did…?" Hannah looked around at that, as if the exit would magically appear.
"You don't sound very sure of that." Quackity said absentmindedly, anxieties still practically screaming in his mind.
He felt a hand grab his and squeeze it reassuringly, and finally his brain shut up for a minute. "We could ask someone, there's bound to be staff around here." What if the staff don't want to help them? "Or we could ask where to find the prize counter. Those are usually by the exit too." He added.
"Prize counter?" The twins questioned at the same time.
"Yeah." He shrugged. Realizing that answered literally nothing, he continued. "Arcades usually have prizes you can buy with tickets, as an incentive to play the games."
"Wait, so you get to have fun playing games and then you get rewarded for it?" Hannah asked, and he could hear excitement in her voice at the prospect of it.
"Well, you have to be good at them to win tickets." Quackity teased.
"Oh that's too bad. Don't worry guys, I'll win some prizes for you." George fake sympathized.
"Is that a challenge?" Hannah stopped, which in turn pulled Quackity to a stop. He decided to join her in staring at George.
"I think it is, dearest sister." He goaded. Sometimes you just wake up and choose violence.
George looked between the two of them, then immediately ran off to play the games. Hannah looked at where George had just been, then to Quackity, before also running off. Of course, that’s when Quackity remembered a very specific detail he'd forgotten to mention. You needed money to play the games.
He burst out laughing. They'd be back in no time.
That doesn't mean he would make it easy for them to find him. His mind made up, Quackity continued the search for the exit. It'd be cool to see what prizes they had here, anyway.
All of ten minutes later, he finally found the prize counter. There were a few cool things up there, but the only thing that really caught his eye were some white sunglasses. Or 'Clout Glasses', as the label called them. They cost a 100 tickets.
His shoulders tensed and the hairs on his arms (and feathers on his wings, concealed as they were) raised at the feeling of once again being watched.
Except this time, when he spun around he did catch someone staring. He and this other person, who looked to be a staff member of the train, were caught in a duel between their eyes. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, the staff person pulled out an odd looking communicator and began to talk into it. It was too loud in here for him to hear them, and they were just a little too far for him to read their lips, but his fight of flight instincts kicked in. More often than not, they screamed at him to freeze in place, which never helped, but for once they didn't.
For once, they actually screamed at him to run.
Finally, he blinked, the staring contest ended. Except clearly something happened between point A, the staring contest, and point B, now, because he was no longer in the arcade. He wasn't even sure where he currently was, just that he was still running away. Whether he somehow zoned out despite the stress, or disassociated because of it was unclear.
He managed to break from his thoughts and stop for a moment at the realization he had no idea where George or Hannah were.
Or where his dad was.
Or where he was.
Maybe it was the stress of being completely alone, aside from people who were supposed to be helping him who were almost certainly bad. Maybe it was the stress from having a bad feeling about the day. Maybe it was something else entirely, a silent fear that's never crossed his mind but always been there.
Regardless, he was fucking losing it right now.
He wasn't screaming as loud as he could, sobbing at a volume capable of breaking glass and trying to find somewhere safe to hide. No, he just silently fell to the floor, trying to become as small as possible. Considering he was a shape shifter, that wasn't as hard for him as it would be for others.
Distantly, he heard his breath hitch. He felt tears run down his face, and he could see his vision blacking out in spots because he wasn't okay and was certainly not getting enough oxygen.
But he felt disconnected from that.
He may have been in that hallway, awaiting whatever bad thing that was supposed to happen, but mentally?
Mentally he was back home (where he was supposed to be) somewhere deep in their forest where nothing bad is because their father keeps it clear of any and all dangers because he loves his family very dearly. Deep in that forest, Hannah had dragged all of them out there. Every other week, they'd go out to the garden that Hannah and George had made and tend to it together.
They'd water the cabbage plants and melons. They'd harvest the wheat and pumpkins. They'd plant new flowers (They each had their own specific ones to plant first, Hannah's roses, George, despite mushrooms not being flowers, would plant them anyway, Quackity's sunflowers, and Sam's dandelions) in unique patterns that complimented each other's styles in bizarre ways.
Each and every time, without fail, something would go wrong in such a silly way that by the end of it, they'd be laughing and trying to come up with different domestic scenarios where they'd be explaining what just happened.
"I had a dream last night" George would say, and suddenly their garden was falling apart. Quackity loved his brother so, so very much. He always wanted to be there for him.
But how could he help his terrified older brother when the dreams he described scared Quackity just as much?
"There's something under Kinoko-" "-I think we're missing people-" "-And all there was was a smile-" "-The explosions were so loud-" Different descriptions of different dreams blended together into an incoherent mess that got louder and louder. If he listened closely, he could distantly hear his screams among the mess of noise.
The garden wasn't safe. Not anymore.
Slowly, he slid the freshly cut chicken onto the pan. The meat began to sizzle at the increased heat. Behind him, he could hear the calming sounds of his family at work on their chores as well. Hannah was stood dutifully in front of the sink, determined to get the dishes done as fast as possible so she could go outside and practice swinging her sword. George was busy putting away the harvests from their garden. Sam was sat at the counter designing new redstone contraptions to try.
Safe again.
He let a relieved sigh out, calmed once again by the presence of his family in a normal setting, stress unheard of.
He startled slightly at the curse Hannah lets out, accompanied by the sound of a plate breaking.
"Language" Sam scolds absentmindedly.
Hannah, because she always rushes, always manages to break a plate. Just one, every time, without fail. She also always manages to cut herself on it. The look in her eyes at the sight of her own blood always reminded him of the times when she'd pick up a sword and fight something other than a tree, like a mob that they would occasionally run into because they went past the parts of the forest that were safe. A look that said that she'd been in real fights before. Back when she and George lived in Kinoko and hadn't met Quackity or Sam.
The look in her eyes was the same look Sam would get in serious fights, where there were actual, serious consequences for losing.
He tried asking George once, but the look the other gave him scared him so much he didn't want to find out the answer. It wasn't the look Hannah or same had had, no. It was a look of fear, and regret. A haunted look that told him whatever Hannah had been through was bad.
His breathing picked up again and the calming feel from before became foreign as his mind was filled with that look in Hannah's eyes. Suddenly, all he could hear was plate after plate shattering, and Hannah bleeding more and more.
The kitchen, no longer being safe, was abandoned. Replaced by nothing but an open field full of sunflowers.
It was just him and Sam again. He missed the comforting presence of his siblings, but if it meant silence from the terrifying dreams and shattering plates, he could accept it for a little while.
Beside him (and behind him, since his back was currently leaned onto Sam's back half. It was hard to refer to a centaur, okay?) Sam idly drew in a note book. Alex realized he was weaving together a flower crown made of sunflowers.
They were his favorite flower for a number of reasons. They were the same color as his eyes, they were his dad's favorite nickname for him, the list goes on. His most important reason, however, is that they led his father to him. According to his dad's stories, anyway. And his dad would never lie to him. Since the beginning, it's been the two of them against the world. They'd only ever had each other, and that meant everything.
Or so he thought.
But Alex wasn't stupid.
Just as every other safe space he'd had, this one was ruined by his actual memories as well.
The sun began to set, and the sounds of the undead grew louder and louder. It had been so sudden.
His dad immediately noticed, as always. And everything had been fine, at first. He sat on his dad's back, calmly (liar) weaving his flower crown together (he was just trying to focus on something other than the flesh eating monsters surrounding him and his father) and humming a lullaby Sam often sung to himself.
What happens next is a blur, whether from time or repression, Alex isn't sure.
He's separated from his father, flower crown trampled as the monsters come closer and closer. He hears his dad scream in pain, and past all the monsters he's pressing his back into a tree desperately to avoid, he can see his dad was bitten by one. He's not sure what scared him more, the reminder of what his father assured him was a myth (that being bit by a zombie turns you into one), or that that scream sounded nothing like his father.
It was his voice, sure, but not his father. Then again, his brain could've just dramatized the event. It was only a memory after all, a nightmare that reared it's ugly head every so often. When his anxieties were too loud to ignore.
(Like now, when he's crying on the floor and alone, family missing entirely. Even he's missing, in his own way.)
His memory blurs once again, but this time he's grateful for that detail. The visuals were blurred, but the sounds are seared into his brain. The screams of the undead, the terrible crunching of bones, and the impossibly loud splatter of blood haunt his dreams just as much as the memory itself.
The blur leaves all too early, revealing a blood soak creeper with a set of arms that shouldn't be there. It was larger than a creeper should be. He nearly puked at the sight of a zombie, or half of one anyway, laying in it's jaws.
He felt his heart stop as the creature moved it's black, soul-less eyes to him.
His brain hadn't even registered it'd been hissing until it stopped. The sound was instead replaced by silence, before the silence turned into footsteps. It was approaching him.
Despite being so tiny already, he squished himself together to be as small as possible. He was roughly the size of a duckling when the creature stopped in front of him, blood soaked hands reaching out to him. He couldn't get any smaller to avoid it.
He registered being picked up, and awaited his fate.
However much time then passed, he's unsure. His thoughts only managed to become coherent again when he both heard and felt a rumbling in the creatures chest as it made noise. His brain, ever so slowly, deciphered it to be music. A lullaby, one that the creature was humming. One that'd he hummed, some time ago.
His dad's lullaby.
Finally focusing on his surroundings again, he began to resister what was happening. His dad had his tiny little form cradled in two hands, despite the fact he fit perfectly in the palm of his father's hands. Looking up at his father, he looked normal again, despite the blood. He desperately clung his tiny hands (he was a duckling right now, but apparently his wings could still cling to things like hands. Maybe he could ask his dad about this later, after he explained to Alex what just happened to himself) to his dad's armor, as best he could.
He chose to ignore all the blood.
Just like his father chose to ignore the event entirely.
Even though it was them against the world.
They only had each other, and his dad was supposed to tell him these things- he wasn't supposed to keep secrets.
He could handle the truth-
But Hannah didn't trust him, either.
Then again, he couldn't even help George. Maybe they were right not to talk to him. Maybe they all talked to each other about their secrets, and left him out because he was weak. Maybe they didn't ask or want his help because they knew he couldn't.
He couldn't do anything.
He couldn't even remember where he was, he'd left his family behind. His brain couldn't find any other safe memories to hide in, and suddenly the tiny little duckling was sitting in a black void, bits and pieces of the garden, kitchen, and flower field still floating around, slowly disappearing.
Alone again.
He didn't deserve his family. All he's done is let them down, hasn't he?
The leftover memories are gone now too. They probably realized the same thing he has, and don't wanna be around anymore. He doesn't blame-
The void around him begins to flash. It goes from being a blinding white that hurts his eyes to look at, to completely dark again. At a really fast pace, might he add.
Blinking rapidly to protect his eyes, he realizes it's not the void that's flashing, but a concentrated spot. It's huge, the size of a star, like the sun. On, off, on, off. It's like someone's flipping a light switch, they pattern it's making having no obvious meaning behind it. Or so he thought-
But then he notices something else. It's not quiet anymore. Accompanying the light is a clicking sound, as well as a voice. Whatever it's saying, he can't understand. But he can hear it. What language is it talking in? Is it one he knows? Actually, are his ears plugged? It sounds muffled.
On one of the flashes, a face appears next to the light. The giant has white hair, very pale white skin, a white sweater, and a white hat with eyes on it. It looks a big like a frog, the hat. Is he dead? That would explain a lot of things.
It' certainly help his family, no longer being burdened by him any longer.
"HEY! NO, NO STOP! FEATHERS!" His brain finally deciphers what they're saying. Are they talking to him? His name isn't feathers. Where did they even get that? It's not like he's got a sign on him saying 'Hi I'm Feathers'. His name is Alex, but his family calls him Quackity. He'd prefer if this stranger would kindly refer to him as such as well. Whoever they are. How would they like it if he called them… frog. Hat. Frog hat.
Not his best work.
"Earth to Feathers. I can hear the gears in your head grinding to a halt. Are you back yet??" The flashlight was really getting annoying. He was about to say as much when he choked up on his own tears.
He'd actually forgotten… that. More tears suddenly threatened to spill over-
A poke from a giant finger reminded him of the giant before him. One that he couldn't communicate with.
Not verbally, a voice in his head added. It sounded suspiciously like his father's. Looking around for some other way to communicate, Quackity sees a box full of letter blocks. They're huge, about the size of him, but they'll do. He flaps over to them-
They're not giant.
He's just a tiny little duckling. Because-
Poke.
He flaps over to the bin, and shifts back into his regular form. Perching on the side precariously, he pulls out blocks. His voice still won't come out, but he can improvise. Pulling out specific blocks, he spells out `Where am I?`
"`Sfegt vw b`? Oh no wait you want me to- okay. Wrong side, my bad. `Where am I`? Yeah that makes more sense." The figure reads, sending him a look of amusement. His deadpan reminds them that he asked a question, so they continue. "You're on a train."
He glares at them. Obviously, he knew that.
They just stare back.
Deciding this is getting them nowhere, he rearranges the blocks (and adds in some new ones) to ask another question. `Who are you?`
"`Who are-` oh, uhm. Right." They look away, clearly uncomfortable. He's not really sure what to do, he has no idea where he or the rest of his family are, and the only person who could maybe answer at least one of his questions is uncomfortable with sharing their name.
Looking back over at the blocks, he gets an idea. He pulls out more blocks and spells out `Call me Quackity`.
"Oh" The other says, reading his new message. "Feathers is an improvement then" They snicker, covering their mouth with their hand to hold back more laughter. `Jerk`, he spells out. He makes sure to level them with a glare as well.
"Don't give- give me that look!" Their laughter interrupts them, and by the end of the sentence their full on cackling. Quackity, having years of experience with to annoying siblings, pulls out his trap card. The most annoyed, upset face anyone has ever seen. They last all of two seconds before they can't hold back the laughter at all.
Laughter, apparently, is an infectious disease because suddenly Quackity's laughing along with them. He's not sure when it happened, but at some point they end up on the floor, their guts (or at least Quackity's) starting to hurt from the pure, unfiltered laughter escaping the duo.
The silence that slowly creeps in after feels natural, and for a moment Quackity's mind is blissfully silent.
"Boomer." He almost misses what the other said. After a minute of trying to figure out what they mean, they continue. "You can call me Boomer."
-
"This place is massive!" Sapnap found himself announcing for the umpteenth time that day. They'd only just begun their exploration of the Fair (after the very long search for it) and it was, as stated, massive. It reminded Sapnap of the Nether, although the Overworld had no roof.
From what he could tell, the Fair consisted of small stands that sold varying things. Some stands sold toys, while others served food. Or at least he thought it was food, although not a single one was a food he’d seen before.
However, the far more interesting things he’s seen are the stands that have games at them. There were games were you shot little guns loaded with plastic balls at glass bottles, the aim (pun intended) of the game being to shatter them. There were games were you stuck your head in a shallow pool of water and grabbed apples with your mouth. Each of the games had prizes you earned based on how well you scored for the games.
None of that compares to probably the coolest thing Sapnap has ever and will ever see in his life. The ‘attractions’, as they were called. He preferred the much cooler term he’d heard from other people at the fair; Roller Coasters. There were other rides, sure, but they paled in comparison to the Roller Coasters. It was like (from what he could tell, anyway) riding in a mine-cart, but with far more speed and thrill built into it.
Needless to say, today was all about fun. Maybe that’s why he chose to ignore the familiar suit that he saw in the tiniest corner of his eye.
-
The plan was simple, really. He'd paint on more walls (he had more people to paint, after all.), fight more gangsters, and generally just live his best life. It was a solid, fool-proof plan. Which was good since Karl was a fool, every so often. At least, Connor said so.
He stops painting for a minute, being reminded of all his plans he'd abandoned in the pursuit of… what exactly?
He'd wanted to go home, but had gotten so sidetracked he'd wanted to start, what, a turf war? He hated wars. All they did were hurt people, and tear families apart. He's seen enough to know that. Nothing good ever comes from war. Period.
Turning away from the unfinished piece, Karl began pacing as he tried to remember his plans. Nothing. He couldn't remember even one of them, and he'd come up with so, so many!
Blinking, he remembered he'd been writing in his journal earlier. It had everything he'd ever need to remember written in it, which means he would've written his plans to find his home in their, as well. He hurriedly flipped to the last page with writing on it. All it was was a list. Of his cheats. He'd meant to add something here, his brain reminded. He couldn’t even remember what that was.
Would he ever manage to find his way home?
A paper slapping him in the face (rudely, might he add) interrupted that train of thought. Probably for the better. Karl promptly crumpled it up in favor of… no wait he just crumpled it up as revenge. There was no other reason.
The paper, however, calls upon it's brethren for revenge on Karl. He's certain of this, seeing as he dodges another five papers, all flying straight for him. Then past him- oh that’s the wind. Either way, he knows a sign from above when he sees one, so Karl makes a grab for one of the papers. Of course, now that he's interested in what they have to say, the wind will begin carrying them out of reach.
As if that would stop Karl.
That’s, essentially, how Karl found himself chasing five pieces of paper, each being carried comically just out of his reach by the wind. He's just lucky he hasn't slammed violently into a wall or something. Yet.
He was definitely testing fate, though.
Deep down, somewhere in the back of his mind, he could feel a new thought forming. It happened from time to time, where thoughts from his future or past got caught in his mind. He knew whenever that happened that whatever situation had caused that thought would be inevitable, so he often had to take it as a warning.
And ‘It figures this was a trap, but he needed more information about them…’ was definitely a warning.
-
The journey back to the arcade car was a mostly uneventful one, allowing Boomer and Quackity to share their life story. Apparently, Boomer was a stowaway on the train, heading to generally the same area Quackity's family was. After learning Quackity had lost his family, Boomer had insisted he'd help Quackity find them. He claimed it was just so he'd have company for the rest of his trip.
The arcade car itself was just as big as Quackity (vaguely) remembered, if not bigger. To his relief, he couldn't see any workers near them. They gave him a bad feeling.
The silence that had settled between them was starting to feel awkward, but just as Quackity looked to Boomer, ready to start some small talk, he was stopped.
Boomer was looking around at everything with the sort of wonder in his eyes that his siblings had had.
"Have you been to an arcade before?"
His question had startled the other. "…no?" For a minute, Quackity was confused by the tone in his voice. He couldn't place what it was.
Luckily, Boomer's body language gave away what it was. He was nervous.
"Neither have my siblings." Quackity shrugged, recalling his last conversation with them. "The machines you see are arcade cabinets, they have games on them. People can play games to earn tickets, which can be traded in for prizes here at the arcade."
The other nodded in understanding, although the look on their face said they understood nothing.
Maybe when they found his family, they could try out the arcade. Quackity could already imagine the chaos- George and Hannah would compete to earn the most tickets. Boomer and him would team up to steal theirs, but ultimately their dad would win without ever knowing it’d been a competition. They’d pool all of their tickets together and their dad would say to spend it on whatever they wanted, that he didn’t want anything. They’d still find something for him, because they couldn’t just not get something for their dad.
With the remaining tickets, he imagined Hannah would get whatever she could use to annoy George the most. George would get whatever looked the coolest, and Quackity would get the weirdest thing he could find, and likely buy it in bulk. He’s not sure what Boomer would get. Maybe a toy weapon, or a slinky. Whatever he found, he would inevitably find a way to annoy everyone else with it.
“Is it just me, or are we being watched?” Boomer asked, and Quackity could actually hear his heart stop as he looked around and was met by several pairs of eyes.