#i think what ponk says would be enough to get a lawyer Sam and Dream are pushing the envelope | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peninkwrites · 2 years

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Part II: A New Era - Ch 1 of 11

The dawn of a new day arrives bloody.

Ponk needs help, and Sam is no longer an option.

[CW: This chapter will heavily feature police brutality and abuse. This storyline is meant to parallel canon, where Sam as the law uses his power to arrest and hurt Ponk, but because of the context of the AU, it is much closer to our world and the weighted contexts that comes with. Please read with caution.]

crossposted to ao3

Mafia AU masterpost

Part I

Ch 2 - Bad

Ch 3 - A Collective

Ch 4 - Tubbo

Ch 5 - Wilbur

Ch 6 - Ponk

Ch 7 - Quackity & Sam

Ch 8 - Tubbo

Ch 9 - Ponk

Ch 10 - A Collective

Ch 11 - Quackity & Tubbo

~ Ponk & Sapnap ~

Ponk doesn’t look up. Their focus remains entirely on the metal table in front of them, cradling their left arm close to their chest.

“Ponk?”

Their arm doesn’t hurt as bad anymore. They don’t think that’s a good thing. If they don’t move, if they barely breathe, it’s just a sharp pain masked by a dull ache. Their entire body aches, really, every inhale is met with protest from bruised ribs and a nose clogged by blood. They can survive that. However long it takes.

“Ponk?”

Fuck, they hope it isn’t much longer.

“If you’d just talk to me, we can wrap all this up. A few questions and you can go h– you’ll be free to leave.”

Ponk almost replies, instead a weak laugh comes out. You almost said ‘you can go home.’ But you stopped yourself. Because you don’t think I deserve to go back to the apartment. Our apartment. And you think if I talk you can charge me. Then I definitely won’t be going home, right?

They don’t say anything aloud. They know better than that.

“Please, Ponk. I can’t help you if you don’t help me.”

It’d be easier if I could just hate you. But I still don’t.

“I won’t talk without a lawyer,” Ponk’s voice is weaker, hoarser after hours maintaining their silence. They’ve repeated that sentence maybe five times by now. So far Sam has not obliged.

They can only hold you 48 hours without charging you. You can survive anything for 48 hours.

Unless he has enough to press charges.

No. You were careful. All he has is you coming home at the wrong time with the wrong set of keys.

Ponk hears Sam sigh. They still don’t look up, unable to resist flinching when in their peripheral Sam stands, but he just leaves, footsteps too loud and too sharp on the concrete floors.

Then they’re alone.

They’re not sure how long they’ve been here. There are no clocks in the room. Pain might make the time feel slower, so their rough estimate of eight hours could easily just be four.

Sam must know he broke something. Ponk should be entitled to medical care, surely. They also are entitled to a lawyer. So why are they still just stuck here?

Ponk takes a deep breath. They will not fucking cry right now. Not with Sam just outside, not with all of Sam’s fucking coworkers probably watching them. Sam is probably feeling humiliated. That doesn’t make Ponk feel any better. Right now they’re just so tired. They want this night to be over. They’re not just tired. They’re scared too.

Sam broke their arm. He and all of his moral perfectionism did that and found no problem in proceeding with the arrest. If he’s supposed to be the good cop, Ponk doesn’t want to think about how bad things could get for them here.

Sam would never abuse his power like that. He wouldn’t let anyone else do it either.

Right. Just like how Sam would never treat you like you’re nothing. He’d never hurt you. He would always listen, right? Because he loves you.

Ponk closes their eyes. They take a deep breath, and then another, leaning forward to rest their forehead against the cool surface of the table, trying to bury a cry of pain as even so little movement sends jarring agony through their left arm. Their head is down. No one will see if for a moment they let tears break through.

Sapnap returns from his night shift just before 7 in the morning. Dawn has only just begun and the precinct is already buzzing with nervous activity. He enters just in time to see George packing up to go home.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Sapnap stops him.

“Oh, the Captain found the rat,” George says absently, pushing past him with little care.

“What? Who?” Sapnap follows after him.

George pauses, showing perhaps a hint of interest in his job. “You’re not gonna believe this– it was his partner! Ponk! The one that works at the museum.”

“Ponk? Are you sure?” Sapnap freezes, a hand on George’s arm to stop him from leaving.

George stares at his hand on him with a flicker of annoyance. “Dunno. Sam arrested them. From how smitten he normally is about them, I’m guessing he’s pretty sure.”

“Right,” Sapnap let’s go, mind foggy and yet still racing.

“Go home, Sapnap,” George says with his disgruntled version of affection. “You look like shit.”

“Still handsomer than you.”

“You wish.”

George leaves. Sapnap doesn’t. He wouldn’t exactly call himself sensitive or say he has any semblance of emotional maturity at all, but he feels like he should see how Sam is doing. He asks the first officer he sees and gets directed back toward interrogation.

Sam sits at a table outside the one way mirror, head in his hands. Through the mirror, Ponk sits at the table, hunched over, the two of them almost in perfect parallel.

“Hey Sam– sorry, Hey Captain, I heard you…” Sapnap stops beside the table, hesitating. “You doing okay, man?”

Sam slowly lowers his hands from his face, looking up at Sapnap with weary irritation. “You had a night shift, didn’t you, Officer Halo?”

“Uh. Yeah,” Sapnap squirms at the use of his last name, but of all people to understand what that name means and not judge him for it it would be Sam. Sam left the Badlands first.

“So, you’ve done your twelve hours. That’s more than enough. Go home,” Sam stands, but it’s clear he doesn’t know where to go from here.

“Look, Captain– Actually, look Sam, let me ask like… as an old friend, not a… y’know, employee. You okay?” Sapnap follows.

“Does he look okay? His boyfriend was a fucking rat who got good officers killed,” another familiar voice speaks up from the back of the room.

“Dream,” Sapnap looks at him, surprised and a bit uneasy that Dream had exist so imperceptibly in a dark room. “You’re here early.”

“Yeah, I heard some stuff went down and came in,” Dream shrugs.

“Heard where?”

“Does it matter?” Dream says dryly. “The Captain has been trying for hours. They won’t budge. We’re letting them stew for a bit. I’m sticking around ‘cause I kinda wanna see how this all plays out. And help if I can.”

“Oh,” Sapnap looks back through the glass. Ponk hasn’t moved. “Is that blood? Why do they have blood on their face? Are they okay?”

“They resisted arrest. And they haven’t requested medical care,” Sam is utterly clinical.

“Did you charge them with something?”

“I don’t have enough to actually charge them,” Sam mutters. He looks like he’s staring through the glass, but his eyes seem distant.

“So, why’d you bring them in, then?” Sapnap asks. Sam is clearly exhausted, but he seems so procedural. From the way he’d always talked about Ponk, Sapnap had assumed Sam would be more… fragile? Emotional? He isn’t sure. Right now the Captain seems bitter and irritated, if feeling anything at all. “Captain?”

Sam’s hands curl into fists at his sides. “Reasonable suspicion,” is all he says.

“Okay,” Sapnap raises an eyebrow, glancing to Dream for more answers but Dream just nods. “Have they like, asked for a lawyer? How long are we holding them? Is someone gonna come pick them up?”

Sam hesitates more at this. Dream cuts in. “I mean, no. They haven’t formally invoked their right to a lawyer. So far they’ve just refused to talk. We haven’t had them long, and even without a charge we can hold them for, what, another 40 hours?”

Sam almost grimaces, moves to speak, and then stops himself.

“What is it?” Sapnap pushes. “Hey, d’you want me to try to talk to them? I mean, you haven’t been the one interrogating them, have you?”

Silence. Sapnap takes that as an affirmative.

“Conflict of interest, Sam. Even if there aren’t any clear rules against it, come on. That’s bad for both of you,” Sapnap points out.

Sam finally faces him, looking utterly reluctant to even look him in the eye. “Thank you for being honest with me, Officer. Please use my proper title while on duty.” Sam almost doesn’t sound like himself, even though lately he’s been sinking deeper into a strict Captain’s persona, there had always been some inkling of their buddy Sam there too. It’s harder to find that now.

Sapnap eyes him cautiously. Both of them, Sam and Dream, feel off to him. “Sorry, Captain. I want to try and talk to them. If you’ll let me.”

Sam sighs. “Fine. They’ve only been here seven hours, so. We won’t have to let them sleep for a while longer.”

Dream bristles, “you wouldn’t let me try–“

“And you’d be well advised not to argue, officer,” Sam turns cold.

Dream watches him, calculating something, whether it’s worth pushing. Dream raises his hands passively, stepping back. “Sorry, Captain. You know best, right?” His sarcasm is ill contained but Sam can’t bring himself to scold Dream any further.

“Okay, cool. I can do this,” Sapnap nods, partially talking to himself. “Have they had like, water or anything yet? Coffee?”

“No.”

“Huh,” Sapnap knows Dream and Sam are more inclined to be colder toward suspects, both of them fiercely devoted to the job and without mercy for those who break the law, but he’d imagined maybe a little more courtesy would be extended to Ponk of all people. And he hadn’t imagined Sam would be petty, so maybe being clinical is the easiest way for Sam to deal with it. “Did they do something? I don’t really know what I should be trying to get from them.”

“They snuck out late last night with my keys. Keys to the station, all of it. Acted all nervous when they got back.”

Sapnap laughs uncertainly. “That’s it?”

If Sam could kill him with a look. “How about you trust my judgment as your Captain and either get in there or go home?”

Sapnap is almost offended. He doesn’t argue. “I’m on it, Captain.” First Sapnap goes to the break room, getting two shitty cups of black coffee before returning. “Can you get the door for me?”

“I don’t see why you’re trying good cop nonsense this early on. You should go right to applying some pressure,” Dream scoffs, unlocking the interrogation room and getting out of the way.

Sapnap doesn’t bother giving him a reply. He enters. Ponk doesn’t move.

“So, uh. Hey. I got you coffee, if you want it,” Sapnap awkwardly slides the styrofoam cup across to them.

Now Ponk looks up, startled, and for a moment Sapnap thinks they wince, arms held close to their chest. “You’re not Sam.”

“Uh, no,” Sapnap laughs. “He’s nowhere near as cool as me.”

Ponk doesn’t play along. They don’t laugh or attempt any semblance of relief, they just watch him, careful, wary. So much for trying to lift the tension. Sapnap sits down, he momentarily forgets what he is going to say at the sight of Ponk’s eyes a bit too red and puffy. Their chin is bruised. There’s dried blood around their nose. Sapnap tries to pretend that doesn’t make him uneasy.

Sapnap doesn’t know how Sam has been coping. Sapnap knows Ponk somewhat because of Sam, and that alone makes this feel so much harder. “So. Coffee doesn’t have anything in it, but I could get cream and sugar and stuff. Or like, if you’d rather have water. Up to you.”

Ponk’s confusion has been traded for caution. They don’t say a word, staring at Sapnap like he’s going to strike like a viper the moment they let their guard down. They look so defensive, hunched over, trying to appear smaller.

“You’re completely within your rights to not say anything. I mean, I’m sure you know that, considering you’re dating the Police Captain,” Sapnap says it with moronically lighthearted intentions and immediately regrets it. If Ponk doesn’t completely shut down, Sam will probably hold it against him too. “Uh. Sorry. Have you made a phone call?”

Ponk assesses him for a moment, still reproachful, but they shake their head. “No. I haven’t.”

“Do you want to?”

“Who would I–“ Ponk quickly stops, thinking over their words carefully. “It’s like I told S– like I told your boss. I’m not saying shit without a lawyer.”

“I thought–“ Sapnap frowns. “Gimme just a sec.” He stands, leaving quickly, Dream unlocking the door for him and quick to lock it behind him. “Hey, S– Captain, have they asked for a lawyer or no?”

“Not formally,” yet again Dream answers for him.

“Dude,” Sapnap gives his housemate a look. “I was asking the Captain.”

“Dream is right. They’ve said they won’t talk without a lawyer but technically that is not requesting a lawyer,” Sam replies coldly.

“Technically? Since when do we do technically? Come on, that is so shady. It sounds like asking for a lawyer to me. They haven’t made a phone call yet either, so,” Sapnap can understand Sam being out of sorts about this whole situation, but Dream almost seems like he’s enjoying this a bit.

“If they don’t say ‘I am invoking my right to an attorney’ it doesn’t count. They didn’t even ask for one, just said they wouldn’t talk without one,” and still, Dream is the one to keep arguing.

“What’s gotten into you today, Dream?”

Dream stares at him, like he’s trying to puzzle something out. “Rough night.”

“Of course it was,” Sapnap sighs. “You know what, I’ll just deal with this, you guys can sit around with your technicalities.”

He returns to Ponk’s room. “So, if you’re trying to invoke your right to an attorney, you gotta say it like that. Like, literally, ‘I am invoking my right to an attorney.’ That’s why no one’s listened to you so far, I guess,” Sapnap doesn’t know why he feels embarrassed on behalf of Sam and Dream. Normally they’re the ones expecting more of him, not the other way around.

Ponk stares at him, exhausted and almost irritated. “I thought you all were just ignoring my rights. Thanks for telling me there’s a fucking loophole that means it was totally legit, right?”

“So?” Sapnap waits.

“I am invoking my right to an attorney. I’m not saying anything else. I’m invoking my right to remain silent– do I have to say that as well?”

“Well, before you do that do you want to contact someone? It’ll take a state-assigned attorney probably a couple hours to get here at least.”

Ponk hesitates. “Yeah. I dunno if I can reach my lawyer but–“ they pause. Ponk should’ve asked to make a phone call sooner, even if Sam would’ve found a way to ignore it, but Ponk has no clue who to call. They need to call someone. “Yeah. I want my phone call.”

“Ok, got it. I’ll be right back. Uh, coffee is shit, by the way, but it’s there if you want it. I’d wait a sec, though, it’s like, crazy hot. I burned my tongue earlier,” Sapnap leaves them again, feeling oddly like both Sam and Dream are judging him when he returns.

“This is not how we treat suspects. Especially not rats,” Dream says coldly.

“What’re you talking about?” Sapnap gives him a wary look. “How do we treat them, then?”

“They asked to make a phone call?” Sam interjects, watching Ponk carefully through the glass. Ponk still hugs their arm close to their chest.

“Yeah. They did,” Sapnap gives Dream one last reproachful look before turning to Sam. “I can handle that part too.”

Sam gives a small nod, still watching Ponk like he can somehow find what he’s looking for by staring daggers at their face.

“Guess you two can stay here and lurk like a couple of weirdos,” Sapnap is too tired for professionalism. He’s ready to go home, but for some reason he can’t bring himself to trust these two making sure Ponk gets their phonecall. That feels wrong to him. Dream takes an almost vicious amount of pride in doing his job well and Sam is such a stickler for the rules it gets annoying, but the two of them are acting like this type of behavior is part of the job. “After this, I’m going home. I’m fucking tired, so. Hope you two pull yourselves together by then.”

Sapnap returns with a phone, clunking it down on the table in front of them, the chord long enough to trail out the door.

“You can make it in private, I’ll step out,” he offers.

Ponk glances doubtfully at their own reflection, certain Sam stares back.

“I’ll ask them to leave,” Sapnap says quickly.

“I’m supposed to just believe you?” Ponk asks almost accusingly.

“Uh,” Sapnap almost winces, glancing at the mirror. “Yeah, I guess. Sorry.” And then he’s gone.

Ponk stares at the phone in front of them, refusing to look over at the mirror. This is why they haven’t asked for a phone call. The only person they can think to call is probably watching them right now. They don’t know if there’s a time limit, if Sapnap will return to take the phone away, but they feel utterly stuck. They think over the numbers they know and it keeps on coming back to home. Or this very office. Just to Sam.

Okay. They need a lawyer. They don’t have Quackity’s home number, but they could call Schlatt’s townhouse. There’s almost no chance of Schlatt answering, which is good. Quackity could be there, but Ponk knows Quackity has been avoiding spending the night there so it’s a long shot. He was supposed to go to the Secret City, Ponk thinks. It is, or maybe was, Tubbo’s birthday. But they have no idea what time it is or if he would still be there. Although, if anyone would be able to find someone, it’s Niki. The Secret City is the common ground between most of the people Ponk knows outside of Sam. Ponk hesitates once more, taking the phone off the hook with their right hand and laying it on the table while they spin the dial before picking it up again. Even moving this much hurts.

“Hello?” A confused and drowsy voice picks up.

“H-Hey, uh. Hi, Niki. It’s Ponk, by the way. I was wondering if–“ Ponk stops with a shaky breath. Their voice already sounds off from their bloodied nose, so maybe she won’t notice how much it’s shaking as well. “I need some help. I think Quackity was gonna be at The– at your place tonight. Is he?”

“He… he was, last night, but we’ve been closed for hours, Ponk. Ranboo and I are going to open the bakery soon. Did something happen?” Niki is alert in an instant.

Okay. They’ve been in here for at least six hours. Ponk feels a lump form in their throat. Fuck. They don’t want to scare Niki more than they already have. “It’s fine, I can try someone else–“

“No, Ponk, wait. Tell me what you need. Do you want me to… to call your boyfriend? Sam? If it’s, you know, stuff you haven’t told him I can think of something–“

“No. Not Sam,” Ponk holds onto the phone more tightly with their right hand. Their left arm is still in agony. “I need Quackity. And… fuck,” Ponk’s voice breaks. “Sam arrested me,” Ponk forces the words out even as it deepens the ache in their chest.

Ponk hears the rustle of movement on the other end of the line. “Oh god– Ponk, are you hurt? I’ll get Quackity. I’ll send someone to come get you, okay?” Her immediate urgency, her instinct being that they must be hurt, all of her assumptions are right, but it definitely serves a harsh reminder of the wrongness of all of this.

“Not… it’s not bad,” Ponk stares at their broken arm. The break has swollen enough to make their jacket sleeve taut, the part beyond the break they cannot feel anymore. The pain isn’t going to make them pass out, but it is enough that the world feels almost fuzzy around the edges. Ponk doesn’t want to scare her, but it’s clear she already has some idea.

“Okay. Okay, I will get ahold of Quackity, whatever it takes and we’ll take care of this, okay, Ponk? Just hang in there.”

“Thanks, Niki. I’m sorry, I know it’s super early and–“

“Don’t be sorry, Ponk. I’m glad you called. I have to go, I’ve got to try and get ahold of Quackity so,” Niki sounds reluctant to leave them.

“If he can’t, could you–” Ponk stops. They don’t know who else to ask for. Quackity coming out to help them feels like a long shot, especially if Schlatt has him working on something already.

Niki can read their distress in the silence. “Ponk, if I cannot find him I will send Ranboo after him. And if even then I can’t get ahold of anyone, I will go to the station myself until we figure this out, okay?”

“Okay,” it almost gets harder not to break down when someone cares. “Thank you, Niki. Bye.”

The line goes dead. Ponk hangs up with a trembling hand. They stare at the mirror. They know what happens now. The department can hold them for 48 hours, but if a lawyer shows up their interrogation efforts will be all but worthless. According to the cops, this is their last chance to really press for answers. Ponk has no clue how long it will take for Quackity to arrive, if he even does. Ponk just hadn’t known who else to ask. They would’ve tried to reach Purpled, he would’ve been there for them surely, not able to do much but be there as a friend, but he would also rather die than walk into a police station, and any help Purpled could offer would definitely not be legal means. The other option might have been calling the Badlands, but since their duties to them have been fulfilled, they’re not sure if the Badlands would feel any obligation to help them. Niki feels like a safe bet. Even if she can’t get ahold of Quackity, maybe she… she said she would come to try and pick them up. She’s good like that. Ponk just doesn’t know. They haven’t been charged yet. Unless Sam just lied about that earlier. And now all they can do is wait. The police are running out of time, so why is Ponk still alone?

Ponk jumps when the door finally opens. It’s not Sapnap this time. Sam returns.

“Where’s Sapnap?”

Sam takes the phone, sliding it to the edge of the table so it won’t be in the way, standing across from them. “I don’t see why that matters to you.”

The sound of Sam’s voice, the wrong voice, the Captain’s voice, reminds Ponk of how the rules have changed around them. “I’m invoking my right to remain silent,” they lean back in their chair, right arm almost cradling the left protectively. Their wrists still sting, their broken arm had been in the most pain on the way to the station, cuffs forcing their wrists behind their back had held the broken bone at a sharp angle, the metal digging into their wrists.

Sam exhales something almost like a laugh. “You’ll tell… whoever you told, everything about me. About this station. You endangered the lives of everyone in this building by not keeping silent, and now you decide you wanna go another way?” Sam’s voice is unsteady for maybe a moment, before it returns to some feeble cold veneer of professionalism. There’s so much anger just below the surface, all masking his hurt.

Ponk tries to bury any concern they might feel for him. Looking at that exhausted, weary expression they just want to reach out and brush against his face, say you look tired, Sammy, and ask if they can just go home.

Fuck, why does this have to hurt so bad?

“So who did you tell?”

Ponk scoffs, looking away. They say nothing. Even if they explained that what they had shared would never be used against an officer off duty, that they trust the Badlands enough for that, they doubt Sam would believe them. Despite the emotional damage of Sam being here at all, Ponk feels a bit relieved that it’s him instead of another officer. At least they know it won’t be too bad. Sam is mr by-the-book so he won’t–

Ponk’s vision blurs as white hot pain sparks up their arm and through their whole body. Sam has grabbed their hand. Their left hand.

“Please, Sam, it hurts,” Ponk says hoarsely. They don’t want to look at his face, instead their eyes struggle to focus on their broken arm pulled away from their chest and pinned to the table. They couldn’t feel it, but Sam cuffed their wrist, threading it around the loop of metal on the table before doing the same to their right, keeping them there.

“Are you ready to talk to me?”

Ponk glances up at his face, what should be the face of the man they love, but those eyes have never looked more unfamiliar, still cold, still unfeeling. They take a few deep breaths until the pain feels manageable again. “I’m not too sure.”

“I can hold you for 40 more hours. I can make that span of time feel like an eternity if I have to,” Sam leans forward. He wants to be seen as a threat. Ponk will do their best not to give him the satisfaction.

“G-Getting to spend time with you ain’t that bad, huh?” Ponk laughs weakly. “Huh?”

Sam pauses, that is the only indication of Ponk’s words reaching him whether in surprise or Ponk might desperately hope for caring. Then he continues unchanged. “You don’t seem to understand where this is going to go, do you?” That mixture of anger and cool confidence feels dangerous.

Ponk’s sense of trepidation only grows louder with every word he says. “What do you–”

They see Sam's hand coming toward them, in that split second they don't even flinch, because they cannot fathom what is happening as Sam backhands them across the face. Ponk is hurt more by getting thrown back so their broken arm is tugged on than the actual blow, but even that pain is nothing compared to the whirlwind of fear and confusion that leaves them reeling, unable to grapple with their current reality. Sam wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. This isn’t real. It can’t be real this is a fucking nightmare because Sam would never, Sam would never he wouldn’t he can’t–

They know they’re shaking, but that can’t be helped. Sam arresting them, being aggressive enough during the arrest that they’re left battered and bruised from hitting the ground, not stopping even after their arm broke, Ponk could rationalize that in some unsettling way as Sam thinking he’s doing his job. Sam has never– would never hit them. Or so they thought. It goes against everything Ponk expected of Sam. Who are they kidding– They never expected Sam to do any of this, let alone take it this far.

Niki is getting you help. Even if they don’t let you go, if she gets Quackity here you won’t be alone. He won’t be able to hurt you when Quackity gets here.

“Feel better?” Ponk glares at him. Ponk feels maybe a hint of pride that they don’t react beyond that.

“Not even a little,” Sam’s anger is so careful, but Ponk knows this is personal to him. “Maybe I would if you’d just talk to me.”

“Okay, since you’re clearly not too pressed to do the right thing, why don’t you just lie?” Ponk’s commitment to silence is weakened, for once Sam making them weak is a vulnerability they cannot afford. “If you’re so sure, you could just say I confessed.”

Sam frowns, offended, “I can’t do that. I don’t need to. You’ve done something wrong and when I have the evidence I need you’ll be prosecuted fairly. It’s more than that, though. Your confession, your trial, it doesn’t matter. Not really. I need to know who you spoke to so no one else gets hurt. Who are you working for?”

"Do you not see what you’re doing, Sam? This goes against everything I know you believe in. Don’t say this is fair, you know this isn’t how it’s supposed to go,” Ponk says sharply.

“Right, because I’m sure whoever you report back to is a beacon of justice,” Sam says dryly. “I’m only doing what I have to.”

Everything about this feels wrong– they've been thinking it over and over again, it's all wrong– that scares Ponk in a way that has very little to do with where they are right now. They’d always known cops were by their very institution cruel and authoritarian, but maybe they’d just been lying to themselves, believing somehow Sam was an exception. Maybe Sam has always been like this, honoring a damaged system as it is, and it just so happens that now Ponk has to see the truth in all its brutal glory.

“Okay. You’re only doing what you have to,” Ponk tries to remain unfeeling, rational. “But at what cost to your humanity, Sam?”

Sam’s jaw is so tense. Ponk can’t help but flinch, expecting another blow.

“Just give me the name of the person you report back to, and all of this will get easier, Ponk.”

Ponk doesn't want to look at him, even as this awful thought dawns, cruel as it is familiar; Ponk misses Sam. It’s been a matter of hours and so much has changed. Ponk can’t help but think of the night before, before all of this, where when Sam had thought Ponk was dealing with violent patients he had immediately been worried and ready to defend them. Now, they are confronted with a stranger, or rather, they wish he could truly be a stranger. It hurts worse to know the hands meant to hold them are now touched by their blood. “I’m invoking my right to remain silent.”

Sam sighs, drumming his hand on the table, the sound setting Ponk’s teeth on edge. “I don’t want to hurt you, Ponk,” he says it softly and there’s a gentleness to his tone that makes Ponk’s skin crawl. It sounds too close to their Sammy. Ponk says nothing.

Sam waits for maybe a minute, it dragging on slowly and painfully, then, he shrugs. Sam grabs the cup of coffee Sapnap had left them and pauses, circling the side of the table and staring at Ponk’s broken arm in a manner far too analytical.

“Do you want to roll up your sleeve?” Sam asks.

Ponk wishes more than anything their arm weren’t fucking chained to the table right now. “What? Why?” They don’t know what to watch, for a change in Sam’s expression or his hands for potential violence.

Sam doesn’t look at their face, only their arm. He hesitates and hours later once their wounds have been tended to Ponk still can’t decide if in that moment Sam had been unsure of his next act of violence, or if he had just been deciding where to pour.

“Stop– fuck– Sam, stop– my arm–“ Ponk is cut off by their own cry of pain; they desperately try to get away but it only makes the pain worse, their broken arm protesting as they try to yank away from the cuff as scalding hot liquid burns through their jacket and sears into their arm. “Sam, please!” Ponk’s voice breaks and maybe now their pleading will be loud enough that someone will come to help them.

Sam stops, setting aside the cup, disgustingly, monstrously calm.

Ponk’s hands shake as they panic, looking at their burnt and broken arm instead of up at him, shifting restlessly, but they can barely move, and it’s not like there’s anything to be done. They’re already burned. Ponk bites the inside of their cheek to stifle a whimper as they try to pull the fabric of their shirt away from the burn but all it does is irritate it further.

“Ponk?”

“D-Don’t–“ Ponk can only flinch away, beg him with hoarse, trembling words to try and keep Sam at bay, but he hasn’t moved any further.

“Tell me who you’ve been reporting to,” Sam sits down, reaching out as if to take their hand before stopping himself, he actually smiles, shutting his eyes briefly before pulling his hand back, as if embarrassed by some simple show of affection in the workplace. Even as Ponk tries to pull away again, even as the metal digs into their wrists painfully. Sam sighs, calm traded not for anger but some cruel, distorted worry. “Please, Ponk. I don’t want this to get any worse. People have gotten hurt because of what you’ve done, don’t let yourself get hurt too.”

“I’m not letting myself–” Ponk’s fear is joined by outrage. “People get hurt in this city because it is the way it is,” Ponk snaps. Sam is the one hurting them, they don’t know why his apparent sympathies make them almost feel ashamed. “Don’t give me credit.”

Sam persists with the audacity to look like he pities them. “Why did you do this, Ponk? Was it worth it? You didn’t just endanger me, you endangered everyone here. You betrayed me, and yeah, that hurts. But you could’ve gotten me killed as well. You did get some of us killed. Is that not enough for you? People dying–”

“People dying isn’t you dying, Sam!” Ponk is almost shouting now. They grab Sam’s hand, just able to reach it, imploring him to just look at them like he can still see them. “I did what I had to to keep you safe! And even now I don’t regret it. And I won’t fucking tell you anything, because then you’ll lose the protection I fought to give to you. So go ahead, Sam. Burn me, break my arm, do whatever you want. I will not be the reason you get killed.”

Sam stares back, maybe something like realization behind his eyes, but if for a moment Sam looks caught off guard, he looks human, it doesn’t really matter. Ponk’s proclamation is a confession enough.

“Thank you for that, Ponk,” Sam pulls free of their hold easily. “It’s not very specific, but the conspiring alone…” Sam sighs. “I’ll have to check, but I’ll try and post a low bail for you. Like I said, charging you doesn’t really matter. I just need you here long enough to figure out who you’ve been talking to, okay?”

“What?” Ponk falters. They had made it so far, but of course it was Sam accusing them of not caring for him that broke them. They stop their shouting, watching as Sam leaves, exhausted and helpless, they stare down at their wounded arm and do their best not to cry. He can keep you longer now. How are you meant to pay bail, Ponk? Say you could afford it, most of your money is in a shared fucking bank account. But Sam wouldn’t stop you from using your money–

Stop pretending you know what Sam would do. You don’t.

“F-Fuck…” Ponk has tried so hard to keep it together, but as they feel a sob rise in the back of their throat, it is left worse by Ponk only wishing Sam were there to hold them.

#dsmp au #dsmp fanfic #mafia au #violence cw #ask to tag #my writing #the grind never stops #the rules of confession and the legal system is my playground idk if this actually makes sense I'm doing what I want #and not to spoil things but i promise Sam will get what he deserves #although I will say cops manipulating what people say is very real.#i think what ponk says would be enough to get a lawyer Sam and Dream are pushing the envelope #but it’s like talking to the fucking fae u gotta be careful #cops r just looking for an excuse #villain awesamdude #it’s how he acts in canon :/#c!sapnap #c!sam #c!ponk #ponk

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poisoned-peppermint · 3 years

Text

Part 4 of incorrect quotes because i feel obligated to make more due to the sheer number of people who liked it

Dream: My dearest beloved fuckos, is a fun, gender-neutral way to begin a speech

George: See also, esteemed bastards

Bad: Gentlefolk, Ferals, and Domesticated cryptids.

Sapnap: My fellow yees and haws

~~~~~~~

Techno:Hey I know skyrim is revered as a classic but are we just going to ignore the fact that the entire game only had like 3 voice actors

Wilbur:Stop right there criminal cum

Techno:My ancestors are smiling at me, bastard, can you say the same

~~~~~~~

Foolish:When's your bedtime :)

Purpled: Whenever I next collapse in purely up to the gods

~~~~~~

Ranboo:Human skin is a fursuit for skeletons

Tubbo: i’m going to debone you like a fucking trout

~~~~~~

Bad:You’re enough

Bad: love yourself!!!!!!! or suffer my wrath!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dream:And by wrath I mean love!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Bad:no I mean wrath!!!!! You reading this, if you don't love yourself I’ll beat you with a stick!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

~~~~~~~

Bad:I hope everyone is today well! And tomorrow!!!! After that you’re on your own.

~~~~~~

Bad:what am I supposed to do all day while you’re at work

Skeppy:I don’t know, what do you normally do while I’m gone

Bad: wait for you to get back

~~~~~~

Velvet:For my next stunt, I’ll wake up at 5am on the day I can sleep in

Ant:Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.

Velvet:Early to bed and early to rise makes me a massive bitch

~~~~~~

Tubbo: 3:23 AM make a wish

Ranboo: I wish that you would go to sleep

Tuddo: Yeah well I wish I grew an inch taller every day as you get an inch shorter until you’re as flat as as a piece of paper and I’m 11 feet tall

Ranboo: You’re going to die of a mixture of skeletal instability and heart disease.

Tubbo: Yeah but I’ll look good while doing it.

~~~~~~

Bad:Disrespect me again and I’ll determine your bodies resonant frequency and play a jaunty horn solo that boils your miserable organs inside out

~~~~~~

Quackity: If I were dating you? Well, heh. Let’s just say horses wouldn't be called horses anymore

Karl: hey what the honk does this mean…..I’m shaking what does this mean!

~~~~~~

Skeppy: Are you ok?

Bad wrapped in a burrito blanket drinking his 6th cup of coffee: Yes, this is exactly what mental stability looks like

~~~~~~

Sam: My hands are cold

Ponk: *holds their hands*

Ponk: better?

Sam: My lips are cold too

~~~~~~

George at dream’s funeral: can I have a moment alone with them?

Sapnap: of course *leaves*

George leaning over dream’s casket: Now listen, I know you’re not dead.

Dream: yeah no shit

~~~~~~

Skeppy, jokingly: I should have Bad kill you for that.

Bad, peering around the corner: Who do I need to kill?

Skeppy: Wh- no, I was just kidding around.

Bad, pulling out a switchblade: No, who’s bothering you

~~~~~~

Bad *watching the news*: Some idiot tried to fight a squid at the aquarium.

Skeppy *covered in ink*: Maybe the squirt was being a dick.

~~~~~~

Peacock: *spreads feathers at Bad*

Skeppy: It’s trying to attract a mate

Bad, extremely confused: *shyly lifts top*

Skeppy: No!

~~~~~~

Sapnap: Karl, do you eat olives? My dad wants to know

Karl: No, I hate olives. Olives are the spawn of satan. I hate olives so much my mom forced me to live in Mount olive for the rest of my childhood as a curse from the olive gods. Do you understand how much olives have ruined my life? I'm so offended that you asked me that have some consideration for people who have been abused by olives please!

Sapnap: K A R L ……….they’re just olives!!?

Karl: JUST OLIVES EXCUSE!

~~~~~~

Tommy: If you’re bored you can simply close your eyes and rotate a cow in your mind. It’s free and the cops can’t stop you

~~~~~~

Wilbur: is there anyone even named sheldon irl?

Tubbo: my class turtle from 6th grade :)

Wilbur: that’s a turtle

Tubbo: When god sings with his creations, will a turtle not be part of the choir?

~~~~~~

Ranboo: No bcuz why do ppl like salad?? What’s so good about it

Tubbo: chew leaf like god intended

Ranboo: No

Tubbo: Abandon god and see what he does next time you lift your hands in prayer

~~~~~~~

Tommy: Guys, there’s a monster under my bed and it’s really ugly.

Wilbur, on the bottom bunk: Honestly, fuck you.

~~~~~~

Quackity: So according to the cease and desist order I got, apparently you can’t ‘legally’ be a lawyer if your license is ‘cut out of a cereal box’.

~~~~~~

Puffy: If you had too, what would you give up food or sex?

Bad: Sex.

Skeppy: Seriously, answer faster.

Bad: I’m sorry honey, when they said sex I wasn’t thinking about sex with you.

Skeppy: It’s like a giant hug.

Puffy: Ant, what about you? What would you give up sex or food?

Ant: Food.

Puffy: Okay, how about sex or dinosaurs?

Ant: ……...Oh my God it’s like the movie Sophie’s Choice.

Gumi: What about you Velvet? What would you give up sex or food?

Velvet: Oh… um… I don’t know, it’s too hard.

Gumi: No, you gotta pick one.

Velvet: Um, food… no, sex… no, food…sex… food. Ugh! I don’t know! I want both! I- I want Antfrost on bread!

~~~~~~~

Tommy, holding a gun: If the conspiracies about life being a simulation are true WHOEVERS CONTROLLING MY SIM I JUST WANNA TALK.

~~~~~~~

Bad: Why are you guys acting like this?

Boomer: Oh, we’re not acting. We really are like this.

~~~~~~

Techno: Dream has only knocked me out three times this week. Our friendship is really developing.

~~~~~~

Tommy: You’re pathetic!

Wilbur: You’re pathetic-er!

Techno: You’re both losers.

~~~~~~

Bad: I wish I could help you, but I shorn’t.

Skeppy: Bad, please!

Bad: What part of shorn’t don’t you understand?

~~~~~~

Tubbo: Why did you leave Wrestlemania on for Michal?

Ranboo: They need to learn how to protect us.

~~~~~~

Antfrost: I regret getting dragged into your heterosexual tomfoolery.

~~~~~~

Bad: Strawberry milk doesn’t taste like strawberry OR milk.

Skeppy: Go the fuck to sleep Bad!

Bad: LANGUAGE!!

~~~~~~

Ranboo: Tubbo, please calm down.

Tubbo: I asked for two large fries!

Tubbo: *dumps fries onto table*

Tubbo: But all they did was give me a MILLION FUCKING LITTLE ONES!

~~~~~~

Bad: That was the worst throw ever. Of all time.

Skeppy: Not my fault. Somebody put a wall in the way.

~~~~~~

Wilbur: When you’ve been on the internet for as long as I have, you develop thick skin.

Tommy: Navy blue isn’t your color.

Wilbur: Navy blue brings out my eyes you prick! *Chases after Tommy*

~~~~~~

Bad: *Pulls a glass a water from out of nowhere*

Puffy: Where did you get that?.

Bad: My pocket.

Puffy: How do you keep a glass of water in your pocket?

Bad: Skills.

~~~~~~

Tubbo: I will come to your house after work and knock on your window at 11 AM. You will not open the curtains, knowing full well what awaits you, but the knocking only grows louder, more demanding. Finally it stops, your ears ringing. You nervously let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. You're safe now. Minutes pass by and you start to relax. And then you hear a knock at the front door. Like before, you stay still and clutch the blankets around you. You try to tell your self that it's just your imagination. Maybe the milk man? But why would he come so late? Everyone else was asleep, save for Naomi who was playing video games down stairs. To your relief, the knocking stops after a few. Minutes and you breath easy once more. Until you hear a knock on your bedroom door. You don't move. It's just your imagination. She isn't here. She can't be here. You tell yourself, shutting your eyes and willing yourself to sleep. The knock comes again, but with horror you realize that it came from the closet inside your room. You know that you have no choice. You get up, climbing out of bed with shaking limbs. You walk to the closest, trembling, and holding back the tears threatening to spill over your porcelain cheeks. You hesitate with your hand over the closet handle. Maybe it's just your imagination? She's not really there. You can go to sleep and laugh it off in the morning. Your naive thoughts are cut off by another, more demanding knock on the closet door, inches from your face. You know what you have to do. You open the closet door, and there she stands. Chuck e cheese, the mouse looms over you in the dim light. It's soulless eyes boor into you. It raises its arms, and you flinch as it begins to floss at lightning speed. Tears spill over your cheeks. This is the last thing you'll ever see.

Ranboo: Wait, Chuck e cheese’s pronouns are she/her? Trans Chuck e cheese? Good for her.

~~~~~~~~

Bad: Would you like something to drink? *They opened the fridge* We have water, milk, juice, spiders, Dr. Pepper-

Quackity: Spiders?

Bad: Spiders it is then.

Quackity: No, that wasn’t-

*But they were already pouring him a brimming glass of spiders…

~~~~~~

Puffy : Make her pussy wet not her eyes.

Velvet : Make his dick hard not his life.

Punz : Break her bed not her heart.

Skeppy : Play with his boobs not his feelings.

Ant : Get on his dick not his nerves.

Bad : Always salt your pasta while boiling it.

~~~~~~~

Wilbur: Bet you can’t eat 15 crayons!

Tommy: Bet you I can!

Phil: *sips coffee, checks to make sure 911 is still on speed dial, and goes back to reading the paper*

~~~~~~~

Ant: We need a way to lure in new customers?

Ponk: Maybe we could have some fun, interactive events!

Skeppy: Badboyhalo bath water.

Bad: ABSOLUTELY NOT!

~~~~~~~~

Fundy: GET BACK HERE YOU DUMB FUCK!

Wilbur: LET ME RUN FROM THE CONSEQUENCES OF MY ACTIONS!

~~~~~~~~

Bad: Mint is just cold spicy.

Pummel party Squad: …

Gumi: What the actual fuck is wrong with you.

~~~~~~~~

Quackity: Isn’t it amazing how I can feel so bad and still look so good?

~~~~~~~

Tommy: Why does my arm shake and turn bright red when I’m eating dirt?

Phil:

Phil: Why are you eating dirt?

Tommy: Did I ask you if I should eat dirt? No, so answer my question.

~~~~~~~

Tubbo: I wish I could control wasps and bees to sting my enemies.

Quackity: You’re too young to have enemies.

Tubbo: You don’t even know.

~~~~~~~~

Skeppy: Is there a cactus where your heart should be?

Puffy: What’s up your ass this morning!

Bad: *walks in* …Hi!!

Puffy: Hmm… nevermind.

Skeppy: WAIT NO!

~~~~~~~~

Skeppy: Ha! Don’t you know the trappers trap can trap the trapper?

Skeppy: I must be losing it, I’m quoting Bad.

~~~~~~~

Skeppy: Bad, I sense hostility.

Bad: Good, because I hate you

~~~~~~~

Bad: Are you a painting?

Skeppy: What-?

Bad: Because I want to pin you to a wall.

Skeppy: OH GOD I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO SAY YOU WANTED TO HANG ME OR SOMETHING-

~~~~~~

Tommy: You’re giving me a sticker?

Phil: Not just a sticker. That is a sticker of a kitty saying “me-wow!”

Tommy: I’m not a preschooler.

Phil: Fine, I’ll take it back-

Tommy: I earned this, back off!

~~~~~~

Dream, sweating: George, there’s something I need to ask you-

George: Finally! You’re proposing!

Dream: How’d you know?

George: Dream, you’ve dropped the ring five times during dinner.

George: I even picked it up once

~~~~~~~~

*Bad and Skeppy looking at a locked gate into a park*

Bad: Aw. :(

Skeppy: You know what they say.

Bad: Please don’t-

Skeppy: BE GAY DO CRIME! *hops gate*

Bad: Frick-

~~~~~~~~

let me know if ya’ll want more <3

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peninkwrites · 2 years

Text

A New Era - Ch 7 of 11

Quackity is a good lawyer. Sam is a bad cop. Sort of.

[CW: abuse, threats of violence against animals, threats of violence in general, guns.]

crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 6

Ch 8

Mafia AU masterpost

~ Quackity & Sam ~

Quackity hasn’t slept in nearly 24 hours. In those past 24 hours, he has dealt with Schlatt’s usual nasty behavior, Tubbo acting weird, telling some cop to fuck off for making Karl nervous, helped cover up a murder, and now gone into the police station right in time for the sun to come up.

Fuck, he’s so tired. But he has no intention of letting this stupid pig know that.

“Okay, let's go back to the charges you mentioned,” Quackity has taken Ponk’s seat in the interrogation room, even as Sam has ever so courteously clarified that he is free to leave after Quackity asked him. “I really don’t think you want this to go to court, Captain. This department doesn’t need any more bad press, considering some of your recent troubles with keeping your own city under control, am I right?” Quackity laughs, his friendly tone a thin veneer.

Sam sits across from him, perfectly calm. His little sidekick Dream has joined him, leaning against the wall behind him. “Would you mind telling me how you know your client?”

“That has zero bearing on this conversation. Do you intend to take this to court?” Quackity pushes on resolutely.

“Yes. I would be happy to negotiate a plea deal. In exchange for some information,” Sam has his own agenda for this discussion, clearly.

“That depends largely on the information. Whatever you request is based on assumption, not fact. So I won’t agree to anything without knowing exactly what you’re asking,” Quackity is sharp and dismissive. “As I was saying– what charges do you intend to press?”

Sam pauses, watching him, calculating. “They have been charged with obstruction of justice, conspiracy, and unauthorized disclosure of classified information.”

“Ha!” Quackity grins. “You’ve got what it takes to make any of that stick?”

“We’ve got enough to make their life miserable for the next few months, if you don’t cooperate,” Dream speaks up from his corner.

Quackity doesn’t even spare him an annoyed glance. He leans forward, speaking in quieter, deadly tones. “I don’t think you realize who you’re fucking with, Sam.”

Sam has the audacity to laugh. “Ponk?”

“Yes. Ponk,” every word Quackity says is vicious. “They’re good at making friends because they’re fucking decent. The same doesn’t extend to you. And I can guarantee you’re still alive right now because of them, I don’t need the details to know that. And even without the shit they’ve done for you– You’ve fucked up, Sam. You’ve just lost the only good thing in your miserable fucking life.”

Sam looks, for just a moment, startled. The weighted silence extends.

“You’ve heard the charges. What do you have to offer?” Dream breaks the sharpness of the tension, sensing Sam won’t move forward.

“I’m not giving you boys shit,” Quackity snaps. “How about this– You don’t drop the charges, I’m gonna get you for police brutality. You really want to ruin your career too?”

Dream laughs. “Right, like those ever stick, especially against a Police Captain.”

Quackity bottles his fury, knowing the bastard is right. “Fine. How about this, Captain– I could just as easily stick you with domestic violence, huh?”

Sam seemed to break out of some haze, looking at Quackity with genuine, baffled confusion.

Yet again, before he can reply, Dream: “Sure, like domestic violence charges against a cop ever pan out. Are you even trying?”

Quackity is glad he had to leave his gun in the car to get into the station. Otherwise he definitely would’ve done something he’d regret. It’s hard to bottle rage alongside that vile miserable hopelessness that comes with knowing no one fucking cares about those without power.

Quackity sighs, debating something in his head. Pigs always fight dirty, and this time he doesn’t have his usual tricks that came with digging Schlatt out of the muck, this time there are no bribes to make either. There are plenty of perfectly legal channels for him to pursue, hours of paperwork, gathering evidence, talking to his professional contacts, all that for no dice, because as Dream had so gladly pointed out, legal channels don’t do shit for the people they’re supposed to protect. So maybe he’ll try a more quick and dirty solution. This will be a risk for himself, but at this point he’s too pissed off to care. Maybe he took this a little too personally. He never got to tear into his shitty ex, so Ponk’s will have to do. “Fine– You know what, Sam? I’ll tell you something. First, get your boy out of here.”

“What are you going to tell me?” Sam asks warily.

“I’m not going to say it in front of your little pet,” Quackity sneers.

Dream bristles, but before he can protest, Sam raises a hand to silence him, only watching Quackity. “Wait outside, Officer. I’ll call you back in if you’re needed.”

Dream’s hatred for a moment extends beyond Quackity and right at Sam, but he leaves.

Silence presses in as the echo of the door slamming fades.

“You know he can still hear us. At least somewhat,” Sam points out.

“That’s why I’m going to whisper,” Quackity smiles, leaning forward. He continues with mocking coyness, “let’s chat, just us girls, huh?”

Sam looks like the thought of leaning forward is comparable to sticking his hand in a hornet’s nest, but he does, burying a shiver as Quackity is inches from his face, turned toward his right ear, away from the mirror watching them.

“If you don’t drop the charges against Ponk, I’m gonna kill your fucking dog, okay?” Quackity’s words are hushed and far too enthused. He leans back, smiling with too many teeth as he does.

Sam stares at him, gauging for sincerity, and calculating a hundred and one possibilities. Quackity doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t think he’ll need that extra push.

“You’re a horrible person,” Sam says quietly. It’s childish and pathetic.

Quackity laughs, “takes one to know one, right, Captain?”

Sam knows not to take Quackity’s threat lightly, his first impulse is to hold him there indefinitely. His word would be enough to verify the threat. You hold him here, someone else kills Fran. He’s not the only problem.

Sam is relatively confident Ponk wouldn’t kill Fran, but Quackity has more than a few connections who would. Really? You’re gonna let this go for your dog? Sam had sent Dream away but it’s like he can still hear his voice.

“I’m willing to negotiate,” Sam eventually says stiffly.

“Yeah, well, I’m not. Drop all charges,” Quackity continues, leaning back in his chair, kicking his feet up. “And I want it in writing, obviously.”

The question is no longer whether or not Quackity would, it’s if Sam can keep her safe. Quackity is here, but she could already be gone. He has no way of knowing if this is a future threat he could avoid by keeping her with him at all times, or if it’s a hostage situation. Even if you keep her with you at all times, how is that a guarantee? There’s one way to keep her safe. You’ve already lost so much. We can’t lose Fran too.

“Okay,” every word is like pulling teeth. “I’ll drop the charges.”

Quackity takes his feet off the table, leaning forward, hands folded on the table. “Now we’re getting somewhere. I want it in writing.”

“Fine. In writing.”

Quackity has him sign it in front of witnesses, the poor guy working the front desk, obviously not Dream. Dream watches in silence, looking like he’s about to blow a gasket.

“Thank you for this, Sam. Truly,” Quackity simpers, holding the paper close to his chest like a love letter. “Before I go, is there anything you want me to pass along to Ponk? You don’t deserve it, but I’m giving you a chance to apologize and beg for your miserable fucking soul.”

Sam leans forward, fury rising. He should just snap. He should arrest him. There was a time where Sam would’ve at the very least broken the bastard’s fingers, but no– he’s one of the good guys now. “Don’t push your luck,” he says through gritted teeth.

Quackity smirks. “What can I say, I’ve got luck to spare.” And with that, Quackity HQ strolls out of the station, holding the irrefutable key to Ponk getting away scot free.

Sam watches him leave, feeling almost like he should be in mourning. He’d just lost so much, and Quackity had ensured that he gained nothing.

Well, not nothing. You’ve gotten rid of the rat.

It still feels like nothing.

“What the fuck did he offer you, then?” Dream snaps. “What, you dropped the charges and get to make nice with your boyfriend? Is that it? What’s wrong with you?”

Sam is ashamed. He wouldn’t take back anything that’s happened in the past hours, but all the same it had been humiliating. He couldn’t tell a man like Dream, however much he respected him, although clearly Dream’s respect for him was rapidly waning, that he had not only been responsible for the information slipping out of this station, but had all but given up for the sake of his dog. Again, he cannot regret it, but at the same time he cannot tell Dream.

Sam turns to Dream, expression muted in response to petty rage. “You need to get ahold of yourself, Taken. You’re talking to your superior officer and if you question me again I will have you suspended before you can even try to throw another tantrum. Do you need medical attention, Officer?”

Dream’s irritation is for a moment replaced by surprise, but then it’s like a mask comes down over his face, bitter but calm. “Why would I need to do that, Captain?”

“You’ve been limping all morning. Maybe you would prefer if I put you on desk duty until you’ve recovered,” Sam’s concern is so easily traded for a threat.

Dream nods curtly. “I’m fine, Captain. There’s no need. I’ll… be more careful next time. Thank you for your concern.” It seems Dream has gotten over his discontent at least for now. “Look, Sam. I’m your right hand. Even when we… disagree, I’m still trying to do right by this precinct, do our job well.”

Sam sighs. “I know you are. I know I’m responsible for this mess, at least in part. Your anger is justified.”

Dream shrugs. “Could’ve happened to any of us.” Dream is very good at hiding his pride, his cruel amusement. This never would’ve happened to Dream because he knows better than to let outsiders stick around. They’re in a warzone, it’s Sam’s fault he risked letting an enemy into his home. “How are you coping, then?” Dream decides to follow Sapnap’s lead. The sympathetic subordinate act had gotten his friend into that interrogation room, it had to have its uses.

Sam is weaker after so many hours trying. “It’s still strange. I just… I dunno.”

“What?” Dream pushes.

Sam hesitates. The thought won’t leave him alone, so he lets something slip. “They said… they said something like ‘other people dying isn’t you dying.’ What’d you suppose they mean by that?”

“Who knows. Does it matter?” Dream scoffs. “Probably just them putting the lives of their little mob buddies over yours.”

Sam can’t help but think of Quackity’s furious certainty, you’ve just lost the only good thing in your miserable fucking life. Sam replies quietly, knowing he’s already gone too far and the rest of his emotions, his weaknesses, they have to stay buried with him, “no. No, it wasn’t that.”

Quackity leaves the station triumphant and remains as such for the brief walk around the corner to where he had parked. He gets into the driver’s side, tosses aside Ponk’s promise of safety, and rests his head against the steering wheel, trying to calm the rough anger inside of him. It’s not only for Sam.

“He’s dead– He’s dead, okay?!” Quackity doesn’t know why there’s a sob clawing its way up the back of his throat, because it’s definitely anger, but it fucking hurts too. “He can’t do shit anymore, come on man, pull yourself together!” Quackity hits the dash hard enough his palm stings. It still doesn’t feel like enough. None of it does. “He can’t hurt you, so– so– F-Fuck-“ Quackity shuts his eyes tightly. He’s alone in his car, if there’s any time to break down it’s now. No. No one can see you like this. If someone comes by, someone you know– So get your shit together– “what’d you think was gonna happen, huh? If you’d been the one to do it you’d be fine, right?! Fuck!” Quackity screams to nothing and no one and hits the steering wheel. He laughs, high and hysterical. This was supposed to be good. Fucking hell, he’s been waiting for this for so long, he’s wanted that fucking bastard dead maybe longer than he’d ever loved him at this point, but he doesn’t feel better. He thought he’d left this behind, the conflicting, confusing turmoil over how he actually felt about Schlatt– that was supposed to be over.

The first time Schlatt put a gun to Quackity’s chest, Quackity was still naive enough to think Schlatt loved him.

It would be nice to think that after that moment Quackity decided that his relationship with Schlatt was now part of the job. And one more thing he would escape as soon as possible. But it didn’t. Even then, even with the feeling of cold metal pressed onto his skin, Quackity still thought there was love there. That maybe Schlatt was just scared, that he didn’t want to lose and he didn’t know any other way to win. Maybe it somehow showed that Quackity mattered to him, enough to not pull the trigger. Those thoughts of course grew in the aftermath. In the moment Quackity had only been aware of Schlatt’s tight grip on his wrist, digging in painfully tight, so he couldn’t pull away from the gun digging into his chest, and Schlatt’s soft, crooning tone, “you’re never gonna leave me, are you, baby? You don’t want to, right? Why would you? Why aren’t you smiling? Something wrong, sweetheart? You’re supposed to look pretty for me, aren’t you? Hey, don’t look at me like that, can you blame me? You should feel lucky I wanna keep you so bad, considering your many fucking flaws, I mean, look at you. No, no actually don’t look at you– Look at me. Don’t look down, don’t look at my hands, look me in the fucking eye– jesus, what’s it gonna take to get any respect from you? Fuck! Ohhh am I yelling? Is that why you’re fucking twitching like a freak? Come on, babe, you’re not actually gonna cry about this, are you? You’re supposed to be a fucking adult! So how about you man up, and maybe I’ll put the gun down, how about that? Because I don’t need it, right? You’re never gonna leave me. You know better. Let’s just kiss and make up, eh? No need to throw a fit.”

Quackity hadn’t been a fucking doormat. The moment the gun was off him he’d chewed Schlatt out. Sure, the night still ended in Schlatt’s favor, and Quackity maybe more inclined to cling to that delusion of Schlatt’s caring, but still, at least he’d scolded the man who’d threatened to kill him if he ever left him.

He loved Schlatt, however demented it was. But that was a long time ago. Not anymore. And now the bastard was dead and Quackity only wishes he’d killed him first.

Quackity didn’t know how much he had in common with Tubbo on that front. Maybe if he knew better, that Schlatt’s favorite display of affection involved the threat of a bullet, although that was a joke in itself, that man was incapable of affection. Instead it had been a charming reminder that they lived only out of Schlatt’s good graces. Their lives had remained in Schlatt’s hands until Tubbo had made it so they weren’t anymore.

So why does he still feel like he’s lost something? Why does all of this still feel wrong?

Because the last time Schlatt really, properly scared you wasn’t with a fucking gun to your head. It was when he called you pumpkin and asked you to move in with him.

That had been a threat. Especially when he kept asking. Even now, or not anymore but what was once the circumstances of now, Schlatt asked why he didn’t just stay. Why he kept leaving back to his empty apartment. There was a finite amount of times he could say no to a man like that and the clock had been ticking. At least before that threat loomed over them, even when Schlatt made him stay the night, eventually he got to go home to Karl. Quackity was fucking terrified that Schlatt would keep pushing and wouldn’t give him a choice and then Quackity would never see the man he loved and felt right for loving. And the thought of living with Schlatt without anywhere to escape to– every day, belittling insult followed by pet names followed by a backhanded compliment followed by kisses and Schlatt’s arm around his waist followed by another mocking comment about Quackity’s appearance followed by rare praise Quackity takes to like a dying plant to water followed by Schlatt telling him to stay, to come back, that he’ll listen this time and only once he has Quackity back in his arms, his muscled, unyielding arms he cannot break away from, does he remind him of his place–

“He’s dead…” Quackity mutters it into his hands, now pressed to his face. “He’s fucking dead…”

Quackity didn’t want to spend every fucking night dealing with Schlatt’s bullshit. It was hard enough to survive it as is, and it wasn’t like he could explain he had to go home to Karl, or god forbid what if Schlatt got impatient about him not being around much and came to his apartment. Fuck. The epitome of worst case scenarios. If Quackity had to leave Karl behind and end up stuck in that fucking house as Schlatt’s stupid pet, that would have been better than the potential fallout of Schlatt finding out about Karl’s mere existence.

“Karl is safe.” Those words and finally an ounce of the tension leaves his shoulders. “Karl is safe.”

Quackity does not want to think about why those three words feel so much easier than any resolution about his own sense of self in all of this.

Quackity refuses to show weakness anymore. Once more, he grounds himself, a last moment of vulnerability whispered like a prayer, “Karl is safe.”

Then he tucks his heart away where it can no longer be touched and starts driving.

#my writing #mafia au #:(#i'm quite proud of this one. quackity my beloved needs so much help. king.#as always feedback is cherished ^ ^#c!quackity #quackity #c!sam

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