Prompt: going into shock + repeatedly passing out

The mermaid was getting worse.

Quackity didn't take the blame for this. If anybody was at fault it was Purpled for squishing it under his foot, or Phil for taking such bad care of the damn thing in the first place. How should Quackity have known it was this fucking fragile? He hadn't expected that falling from a table could kill it.

But shit, this was bad.

If it died before he was able to sell it, he'd have ruined a perfectly fine working relationship for nothing (not to mention the bridges he'd burned in the process).

It remained still on the bottom of the tub where it had laid down after Quackity fixed it up as best as he could. He wasn't a veterinarian. He'd made an effort. But its chest heaved unsteadily, blood trickling from its mouth at odd intervals. Quackity had an uncomfortable suspicion its lung was fucked for the time being and its gills were the only thing currently keeping it alive.

He'd given it a regeneration potion, but those were meant for humans. Not fish. Who's to say it even helped? He'd just figured it couldn't hurt either.

"Hey." Quackity knelt down next to the tub again. He really should move it up onto a table, he was going to get a crick in his back if this continued. "Hey, are you listening?"

It didn't answer. While Quackity watched a full-body tremor made it shudder.

Grabbing the edges of the metal tub, Quackity shook it as best he could without lifting the heavy load. Water sloshed out and onto his shoes, but he ignored it.

"Wake up!"

It finally cracked an eye open, half-heartedly glaring at him.

"You can talk, right?" Quackity asked. It blinked at him, taking a long few seconds to process what he had asked.

Eventually, it nodded.

"Good. Then tell me how to fix you. Unless you want to die."

His suggestion made it raise an eyebrow, not impressed at the request. It coughed out another amount of blood, waving it away to disperse it in the water. It gestured at its throat before shaking its head.

"You can't talk because you can't breathe on the surface right now?" Quackity surmised. "Yeah, I'm not a moron. But you're going to have to cope if you want me to help you."

And against all odds, it smirked at that. Then it rolled over to continue sleeping.

Little shit.

A knock on the door made Quackity jump. Swiveling around, his heartbeat was hammering away at the inside of his ribcage. Could they have found him already? Did Wilbur-

There came a voice from outside. "Quackity?"

Oh for fucks sake.

"Fundy, how many times do I have to tell you not to knock," Quackity said as he opened the door. "Just get in here."

The redhead ducked his head, slipping inside. "Yeah, last time I forgot to knock I ended up with a knife at my throat."

Disgruntled, Quackity ushered him into the living room. "That happened once. And I was already on edge that day."

"You're always on edge," Fundy shot back.

"Please tell me Purpled talked to you."

"I wouldn't be here otherwise. So, can I see the wares?" Fundy rubbed his grubby hands together, eyes alight with sincere curiosity. Quackity knew this guy would never pass up on a good profit. Fundy's fatal flaw was his lack of subtlety, which was also the reason Quackity didn't always work with him. Some things were better off being taken care of in the shadows.

If Quackity wanted to make a scene however, Fundy was the exact person to employ.

"I'm keeping it over here." Quackity led him to the tub.

The smile fell from Fundy's face. "You made all this ruckus over a fish?"

"Are you blind?" Reaching into the water, Quackity poked it. It was probably easy to mistake the mermaid for something else when it was all curled up like that, hiding its more human features. At his prodding it jolted, unfurling itself and trying to move away. Fundy gasped beside him. "See?"

"Yeah, that's- Wow… No, we can probably make something from this."

"Make something?" Quackity echoed lamely. "We'll be rich if we sell to the right crowd."

"Who are you thinking of?" Fundy asked. He was catching on quickly, already seeing where this scheme was going.

"They live in the capital and are literally made out of money," Quackity said. It was hard to keep the smirk off his face at this point. It would be exciting to stick it to those in charge.

After years of struggling, their luck was finally looking up.

Fundy hummed. "You're going to need Foolish's help if you want to pitch to the royals."

"Purpled is working on it," Quackity said. "I want to know if you can get the rumor mill turning."

"Like a spinning top," Fundy assured him, earning a slight roll of the eyes. "Have you seen my previous work? It's beautiful."

"I'll take your word for it. Make it snappy though, I don't want to stay around much more. I pissed some people off... acquiring the wares."

"We can leave tonight," Fundy told him. "Meet me at the southern gate, around dusk. I'll figure out a ride and we can be in the capital by sunrise." While Quackity had mostly been hoping to use Fundy as a means to an end, he had to admit this was some smart thinking. There was no reason for him to risk staying in place any longer.

Especially not if the mermaid was going to die. Better sell it before it could kick the bucket.

"Sounds like a plan."

Fundy left and Quackity sighed, rubbing one hand over his face. This entire affair was almost turning out to be more stressful than it was worth. If he didn't seriously think this could be his golden ticket, he'd be regretting all his life's choices by now.

Those next few hours were close to unbearable.

The mermaid refused to eat and Quackity's stomach was too close to being caught in knots for him to consider it. He couldn't sleep the hours away, all he could do was sit around and wait. With nothing else to do he kept watching the mermaid and what he saw wasn't exactly encouraging. It woke up, moved or swam around a bit, then seemed to fall asleep again. When Quackity talked to it in an effort to keep it awake, it only raised its head to watch him sometime. And obviously, it never answered.

Its blinking kept getting slower and slower.

When finally the sun had dipped low enough for Quackity to justify it, he stood up and grabbed a jar. It didn't struggle or put up any sort of fight when he scooped it up this time.

Something almost close to guilt tugged at Quackity's heart. Not entirely but, well…

Death and suffering were two entirely different things. And neither of them brought Quackity any pleasure. But one of them was an intrinsic part of how the world they lived in worked and the other was wholly cruel and unnecessary.

Quackity had long accepted that his existence would always come at the cost of others. That was one of those universal harsh truths idiots like Phil or Wilbur refused to accept.

That didn't mean he had to take any joy in the matter or prolong it any more than he should.

When he raised the jar to be eye level with him, the mermaid had both hands pressed against the glass, chin resting on its chest as it seemed close to slipping unconscious again, but its tense expression meant pain was keeping it from sleep.

"Do you want me to give you something?" Quackity asked awkwardly. He probably had a spare sleeping pot somewhere. Being a petty criminal didn't make for a clean conscious. Quackity had his own insomnia to contend with.

The mermaid's eyes were closed. Quackity shook the jar slightly and it shot upright again, lips pulled back in a snarl.

"For the pain," he repeated. "Do you want me to give you something? Because this trip is going to suck for you otherwise, we'll be moving a lot."

Its eyes were unfocused while it pressed its shaking hands closer to the glass. Quackity waited for it to nod to put it back down.

He didn't know how much would be enough, or if swallowing would make a difference compared to breathing it in. He just dumped a decent amount of sleeping pot into the jar and called it a day.

Fundy better kept his word or Quackity was going to be seriously pissed.

The gate out of town was nearby yet Quackity still felt as if eyes were burning into his back as he walked. He knew people wouldn't be able to see the jar tucked into the crook of his elbow, covered by his other hand pulling his jacket over it, but he kept his head low all the same - as if his wrongdoing was written all over his face.

The sooner he could get this thing out of his hands and money into his pocket, the better. Wanting to make the trek shorter, he ducked into an alley and hurried his step. Not much further now.

He was stopped dead by a voice ringing out in front of him.

"Do tell me where you think you're going, Quackity."

There was a person standing where he'd least expect them to.

And any relief Quackity might have felt at the revelation that he had clearly not killed Phil was kind of moot in the face of seeing said man currently standing at the other end of the alley.