#ducktales fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mighty-ant · 3 months ago

Text

A Good Landing, chapter thirteen

first | previous

ao3

The Drake of three years ago never could��ve imagined that he’d be someone’s husband one day.

To be fair, a wedding would be tough to plan when one didn’t technically exist. He had Drake Mallard erased from record nearly a decade ago, reduced him to less than a ghost, less than a footnote. It wasn’t particularly difficult to do, with as little impact as Drake Mallard had made on the world. A rejected son, a failed actor, a selfish, bitter, friendless loser.

He fell into SHUSH by chance, by sheer, brilliant happenstance.

As a former stuntman, he knew how to throw a punch. And a lot more than that. He wasn’t proud of it, but after the 8th pointless audition for a toothpaste commercial with no callback, he took to slipping out of his crummy basement apartment in a ski mask and whaling on petty criminals in his neighborhood, St. Canard’s East End. He tried not to punch above his weight, going after would-be muggers or your typical creeps, and every dawn, as sickly, gray sunlight spilled out over the city, he would trudge back home with sore muscles and a gaping chasm in his chest that no amount of violent retribution would be enough to fill.

But he was getting pretty good at beating up crooks, to the point where regular people took notice. He started showing up in the news as ‘the dark masked duck’ more than Drake Mallard ever did, and even as the emptiness yawned within him, he liked it. The attention, indirect as it was. And he wanted more.

Beating drug dealers bloody didn’t pay the bills unless he wanted to turn into some sort of hitman, so he kept up his stunt work during the day. His after hours activities kept him sharp, and there was no end to the mindless action flicks in need of nameless stuntmen.

There was one flick, some old school vampire thing, that had him flying around on wires for Vampire Thrall #1-4 and the Vampire King. The costume department put him in a cape, a long, flowing thing that flared with his movement, made him look bigger than he really was. He startled more than a few techs with a perfectly timed swing of his cape, the snap of fabric especially jarring when all else was silent.

And just like that, Drake knew what he had to do.

As a former student of a theater department with a dwindling, near-nonexistent budget, he’d performed in every role, from lead actor to stagehand. And borrowing one of the vampire capes from set to use as reference, he made Darkwing Duck’s first costume.

The gas guns and the catchphrases developed over time, through trial and error. He flubbed his lines more than once and set off his apartment’s fire alarm an embarrassing number of times. Until one night, when Darkwing Duck became fully realized.

He started noticing a pattern with a certain number of thieves, most of them teens or kids barely out of high school. He followed them for about a week, not interfering since they never actually hurt anyone, before they led him to the warehouse where they were dropping everything off.

Drake burst in, expecting to beatdown a few scary gang types who thought it a swell idea to recruit kids to do their dirty work, only to stumble headfirst into a smuggling ring that (he’d later learn) spanned the entirety of Calisota. With his cover blown and the exit blocked, Drake did the only thing he was good at. He fought.

As he launched one of their own tear gas canisters back at the last of the goons, SHUSH agents came storming in. Apparently he’d interrupted what had been a multi-part sting five months in the making, but in doing so caught the gang so off guard that nearly all of the bosses were there to meet his fists, and the rest were caught when their business partners squealed on them.

“We’ve been watching you,” the lead agent said. He held his hand out to Drake. “How would you like to continue your work somewhere other than a basement?”

He accepted, barely waiting for the agent to even finish speaking, and Drake Mallard disappeared into Darkwing Duck’s shadow, gleefully casting aside everything that made for a normal life in favor of casefiles and chemistry sets. Who needed friends or neighbors when Quackerjack was robbing the federal gold depository? Or Megavolt was stealing the city’s power, or Bushroot was turning everyone into vampire potatoes (you get the idea)?

Darkwing Duck had the tech, and the secret base, and the costume, and the fear. By design, the average citizen was meant to consider him a myth; the criminal underworld, they knew who he was all too well.

The years went by, years of living out his secret, selfish fantasies, and…he felt nothing. That hollow, carved out space inside him didn’t go away, or heal at all. If anything it became a constant companion, a pain that festered into numbness.

After the adrenaline high burned itself out, he felt the ache of his bruised, bleeding body, drowned in the yawning emptiness of the Tower. There was so much crime in St. Canard, not just supervillains but cruel, petty evils that made it feel as though he were battling the tide with a bat and a cardboard shield.

But he couldn’t go back now. Back to small, sniveling Drake Mallard who nobody gave a damn about. Who would have him? Who would want him?

And then.

A Darkwing-shaped hole in the roof of a plane hangar. A jet, presented as a gift. Smiles over coffee and warm hands holding his aching body close.

Launchpad, who had far more reason to turn jaded and cruel than Drake ever did, but stayed good despite the way the world chewed him up and spat him back out. Launchpad, who offered his bruised heart with trembling smiles, trusting Drake even as he risked further pain.

Launchpad, who made Drake want to try.

Try to be good, too. Try to be whole. A worthy partner.

And then.

An orphan with boundless spirit. Lullabies, hugs that left him breathless, a blazing red portal and a tiny, fragile hand clasped in his own, trusting him when everyone else had failed her.

He never saw Gosalyn coming. How could he? Fatherhood was a foreign concept, a cruel joke, his frame of reference poisonous and pointless. But then Gosalyn fit into their life like a missing puzzle piece, as if he’d been waiting for her all along and he’d only just glanced down and taken notice. Her happiness began to matter more than any number of stakeouts or foiled plots. To keep her safe, he would kill and die for her.

Before his eyes, the empty numbness inside him transformed into a well of rage, of love, so powerful it made him wonder if he’d ever truly been alive before now.

For them, his heroes, he had to do more than just try.

Then of course Launchpad just had to show him up by proposing first, but that was just par for the course. And Drake could admit that a moonlit flight in the Thunderquack was probably more romantic than anything he could’ve come up with.

All that mattered was the end result was the same. A family, his family, unlike anything he would’ve been capable of imagining for himself. Just the thought of how he used to be shamed him, and on especially bad nights, he worried about regressing into that shell of a man, a cold, caustic version of himself and the bitter loneliness he enforced.

But that fear seemed insignificant when they were flying to Des Moines for their wedding, and for Gosalyn to meet her new grandparents. When they went house hunting and found a two-story marvel with a lovely kitchen backsplash and a tree out front for Gosalyn to give him a heart attack by climbing.

They still had their rough days, obviously.

Something might remind Gosalyn of her grandpa, and the life that was stolen from her, and she would lash out over any little thing in dramatic teenager fashion.

Launchpad’s nightmares about his old life could keep him from sleep for days at a time and in his exhaustion he would turn withdrawn in their own home, hesitating before every kiss, every hug or high five, staring at Drake and Gosalyn as if they might vanish if he were to dare reach out and touch them.

Drake would get overwhelmed by the muchness of it all—fighting crime had nothing on back-to-school shopping, meal prepping, hockey meets, and the dreaded potlucks. PTA meetings made him want to give up on this whole ‘reenter society' schtick and lock himself back in the Tower for good.

The crime fighting part was no walk in the park either. For all that Gosalyn was growing into the role of Quiverwing, making it her own, with the help of the two best teachers she could’ve asked for, there was a lot she just still wasn’t ready to face. Things that Drake hadn’t been ready to face, and haunted him still. Demons, alternate dimensions, a monster carrying out evil while wearing his face, Bulba lumbering back from the dead, more machine than man.

Safe to say they saw their fair share of danger, and weirdness, in St. Canard. But sitting in the Thunderquack with Launchpad’s boss, his former SHUSH handler, and a fellow worried father was…something else.

For almost two years, Launchpad’s job in Duckburg had been just that: a job. One that came at the request of SHUSH, and more specifically the buff Mary Puffins currently sitting in the copilot seat. The life of the richest duck in the world was apparently in danger, at risk by FOWL and their shadowy machinations, and everyone knew McDuck wasn’t the same man he was a decade ago.

Drake didn’t care about McDuck, much less whatever was going on in their perfect sister city of Duckburg. As great as a second income would be for Gos’ college fund, he wasn’t about to pressure Launchpad into accepting a SHUSH assignment now, after everything he’d told Drake, and all the worst bits that he’d probably left out. If Drake’s own SHUSH stipend as an independent contractor wasn’t enough to suit their needs, then Launchpad could open another garage in the city, or an online shop for his knitting, or even a damn lemonade stand.

But no. As a favor to Beakley (who didn’t deserve Launchpad’s time of day, but that was just Drake’s opinion), he accepted the position as McDuck’s chauffeur. And it was…fine.

Launchpad drove the old coot to and from his meetings, collected dry cleaning, the usual. He would pick up Gos from her hockey practice on the way home, nap with Drake for a while, and then they’d either suit up as a family or someone would stay behind to help Gos with her language arts homework. It was their routine, and amid various potentially life-altering catastrophes, it was nearly perfect.

And then McDuck got it in his head to start adventuring again at the ripe old age of 800 years old, dragging an entire spontaneous gaggle of children and Launchpad along with him. Suddenly, Drake could go entire days without seeing his husband, or Gos her father, as he gallivanted off to parts unknown at the beck and call of an old man who’d never appreciated him in the first place.

Now, Launchpad was the kindest soul Drake had ever met, open with his affection, and ready to make friends with everyone from derelict superheroes to business-minded witches. But Drake’s darling, beautiful husband was not the most forthright individual, and this was coming from the reigning champ of emotional stuntedness.

Launchpad liked to feel useful. Scratch that. Launchpad needed to feel useful. It was a compulsion born from his years at SHUSH, where his skills were all that mattered to people. Even allies, friends (and some more-than-friends), would drop him as soon as the mission was complete, the day was saved. Launchpad would be left in the lurch, told to pack his things, move onto the next mission, and wonder why he hadn’t done enough for them to let him stay.

So Drake, grudgingly, understood why Launchpad hadn’t just told McDuck to buzz off and find himself another pilot. He cared about the miserable old miser, and he cared about the kids, who sounded nearly as spirited as Gos from the way he described them.

More than once, Launchpad actually floated the idea of holding some kind of get-together for all of them, but Drake had been…resistant. He didn’t like meeting new people at the best of times, and he was still so traumatized by the Muddlefoots that he would’ve forced them to move years ago if it wouldn’t mean earning ‘Worst Father of the Year Award’ for separating Gos from Honker.

Of course, Launchpad’s disappearing act forced the dreaded introduction anyway, because Drake’s life was nothing if not a series of jokes played at his expense. At the very least, once he entered the coordinates into the Thunderquack’s navigation system and the cockpit sealed, none of the three other ducks on board had much interest in smalltalk.

From the copilot’s seat, Beakley turned toward him sharply, expression tight and any indication of stress tucked away. Back to business then.

“Who is this enemy of yours that you suspect to be responsible?”

Beneath them, Duckburg blurred past in shades of ochre as the distant sun inched toward the bay. Drake stared straight ahead, gripping the yoke just to have something to do with his hands, as the autopilot took care of the actual flying.

Technically he could only suspect who might be responsible. If based on a simple process of elimination it was almost a foregone conclusion, taking into account who wasn’t currently in jail but also had the cunning and/or intimidation factor to gain access to SHUSH systems. Not to mention a single-minded hatred of Drake that would motivate them to ignore every bit of actual highly sensitive and ultra-classified intelligence up for grabs.

For once, Drake desperately hoped he was wrong. He prayed they’d get to this SHUSH blacksite and find Lilliput lying in wait instead. But he could never be that lucky.

“Negaduck,” he muttered, the name escaping him on a breath. In his peripheral vision, he saw McDuck and Donald stiffen at his tone, more apprehensive that he would’ve liked.

“He’s me,” Drake explained haltingly. “Sort of. At least, he’s a version of me from an alternate dimension.”

Behind him, Donald dropped his head into one hand. “Of course he is…” he despaired quietly. “Cuz being from this dimension would be too simple.”

“McDuck.” Drake turned his head slightly without facing the quadrillionaire directly. “Do you remember a scientist who worked for you three years ago? Thadeus Waddlemeyer. He was trying to create a machine to access other dimensions.”

“A-aye,” McDuck said slowly. “But he…passed, and his device was deemed too unstable after it was stolen and nearly destroyed St. Canard.”

Drake scowled at the windshield. ‘Passed’ was a kinder way of saying murdered, and as much as the reminder burned him, he distantly appreciated McDuck’s tact if nothing else. “Yeah,” he grunted. “Our dimension’s Waddlemeyer wasn’t able to crack the code, but the Waddlemeyer of the Negaverse did.”

“Negaverse?” Donald repeated.

Drake thought for a moment of how Bellum and his kid had first explained it to him, reeling after his first and last disastrous visit.

“Think of it like a mirror of our dimension, but the funhouse kind. Almost everyone, everything, is twisted so that they’re the opposite of who we are here, now. There, Waddlemeyer was a mad scientist, willing to sell the Ramrod to the highest bidder. There, SHUSH is trying to take over the world, while FOWL is a peacekeeping organization working to stop them, yadda yadda, you get the picture.

“There, the Negaverse version of me terrorized St. Canard. He stole the Ramrod, plus Waddlemeyer’s granddaughter, and used it to cross over into our dimension to try and take over here too. I found where he was hiding his Ramrod about six months ago, and destroyed it, trapping him here. Which he, uh…extra hates me for.”

“What can we expect from him?” Beakley demanded. Drake had noticed her expectant silence up until now, and his aggravation had been building steadily For all that she was ‘retired’ from SHUSH, clearly she still had access to mission briefings—his and Launchpad’s in particular, seeing how she just couldn’t leave his husband alone. She could probably guess Negaduck’s MO, if she didn’t already have his full psych profile memorized.

“Well he’s insane, for starters,” Drake said for the benefit of the ducks in the rear of the plane. “But don’t underestimate him—he’s dangerously smart, too, and just plain dangerous. He hides all kinds of weapons on his person: knives, guns, chainsaws, whatever you can think of that causes maximum pain.”

Donald’s breath wheezed out of him, and that got Drake to finally turn around. The duck was clutching a hand to his chest, looking ashen beneath his feathers. McDuck was reaching out to him but hesitantly, his hands hovering over his nephew’s shoulders without touching.

“What about the kids?” Donald asked shakily, and Drake accepted a rare pang of guilt.

He didn’t know Donald, had never cared to know him, but Launchpad always sang his praises as a father. How despite whatever nonsense McDuck dragged them into, Donald’s first priority was always his kids, whether that meant driving to every Junior Woodchuck troop meeting or fighting actual Greek gods to keep them safe. And now two of those kids were gone. Taken, purely through bad luck and worse timing.

Drake didn’t know how Donald could possibly be holding himself together as well as he was. Knowing Launchpad’s life was at stake because of him had Drake’s leaden stomach turning on itself, his hands trembling around the yoke and terror swimming poisonously through his veins. He could see Launchpad’s bedhead and sleepy smile in his mind’s eye and wanted to scream. Knowing Gos was safe in that damn mansion was the only thing keeping him sane. He couldn’t well imagine how he’d feel if she’d been taken too. Just the thought was enough to pour red-hot rage into his bones, enough for him to tap into the darkness that Negaduck wholly embodied and rip and claw and tear until he got her back.

But here, now, at least he had an idea of what to expect. Donald was going in blind, and the uncertainty must’ve been eating him alive.

“He won’t do anything to them, or to Launchpad, until we get there,” Drake tried to reassure, not sure if he was all that successful. This was usually more Launchpad’s wheelhouse. “Fortunately, he’s your typical megalomaniacal supervillain in at least one way: he likes an audience.”

He didn’t mention that Negaduck’s hatred of him was borderline obsessive. Creating this whole convoluted scheme just to lure him out by way of kidnapping Launchpad probably spoke for itself. But Negaduck had gone after Gos before with bombs and a shark on her first night out as Quiverwing, and that was before he learned she was part of his team. And now after that hack, he had to know who she really was.

Drake’s only guarantee was that Negaduck wouldn’t kill Launchpad or the two missing children (Dewey and Webby, he reminded himself), but he had no idea what state they would be in when he found them. At best, he hadn’t laid a finger on them, but Drake knew Launchpad, knew that beneath the surface of the gentle giant was Double-O-Duck, the spy, the bruiser, with all of his focus and skill. He wouldn’t have taken the kids’ capture lying down, so if anyone was already injured and especially at Negaduck’s mercy, it would have to be Drake’s husband.

Negaduck had no more love for Launchpad than he did for Drake, but this time he hoped to use it to his advantage. Once he knew Darkwing was in the building, he wouldn’t care about anyone else, beelining for his dimensional counterpart with fire and brimstone in his eyes and a chainsaw aimed for Drake’s neck. A brawl would be the perfect distraction while Beakley and the others searched for their kidnapees.

Then, once Launchpad was safe in his arms, he would be taking a leave of absence from the McDuck family, effective immediately. Drake was taking him and Gos to their cabin out by Launchpad’s parents’ house and barring the door, because Drake had been missing his husband and Gos needed her Papá. For too long, he’d been letting Launchpad burn the candle at both ends, journeying back and forth between home and Duckburg, jungle adventures and night patrol, because he knew how much Launchpad loved both of his families. But Launchpad always had more love to give than there were hours in the day (or night), and Drake had to put his foot down before Launchpad gave all of himself away.

And not to be petty, but Drake and Gos had first dibs.

He watched the gray arches of the Audubon Bay Bridge rise into view through the windshield, painted in shades of gold that only deepened the shadows cast by the towers. Relief flooded Drake at the familiar sight.

“Almost there,” he muttered aloud. The Thunderquack banked to the left, in the direction of the harbor. Launchpad’s last coordinates was leading them toward the spookier part of the docks that tended to have ‘MURDER’ written all over them, where the warehouses were crumbling and seemingly long-abandoned, but nearly all served as a front for some kind of smuggling ring or demon-worshiping cult or devout Quackerware salesmen. Just the place SHUSH would think to settle down in, for reputation’s sake if nothing else. But in the process of building their prison, they would’ve cleared out the surrounding riffraff too. Instead, neither had happened.

Drake glanced at Beakley. “Do you know anything about why this place was shut down?”

“I believe it was something to do with the foundations of the pre-existing structure,” she explained unhappily. “The prison was decommissioned and left unfinished as further construction put the entire building at risk of collapse.”

Drake grimaced. “Perfect. I think I’m gonna park on the warehouse next door.”

Just hold on, Launchpad. We’re coming.

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!”

A voice that sounded like it belonged to someone who gargled razor blades dragged Launchpad back to aching consciousness. Even before he opened his eyes, he was struck by the overwhelming pressure in his head, as if someone had put his temples in a vice. His chest felt tight, like his lungs didn’t have room to expand, and his breaths were short and labored.

When he managed to crack his eyes open, he found himself looking out into darkness. He thought he could see shapes moving amidst the black, formless and indistinct. But a spotlight switched on directly above him with a heavy clang, temporarily blinding him. He winced, jerking his hands up to shield his face, but all he managed was to make his body sway in place. Thick rope bound him from his arms up to his ankles and a latch of some sort on his back held him suspended several feet off the ground, upside down, like a worm on a hook.

“Look who finally decided to join the land of the living,” Negaduck crooned, his voice preceding him into the circle of light spilling out on the ground around Launchpad’s head. The shadows clung to Negaduck like oil, reluctant to leave his already dingy feathers and unpleasant smile.

Launchpad glared at him. At this height, they were nearly eye to eye. “Where are the kids?”

This dark reflection of his husband tsked, shaking his head. “Straight to business with you hero types, ain’t it?”

Negaduck didn’t stop moving, instead pacing around him, slow and quiet, just on the edge of the circle of light. Launchpad tried to hide how he tensed when Negaduck stepped behind him, out of his peripheral vision. It gave Negaduck the perfect opportunity to attack him any way he wanted: a knife to the ribs, a blow to the head, take your pick. Launchpad was bound like a mummy, unable to defend himself unless Negaduck got close enough for a headbutt.

But Negaduck leaned back into his line of sight without laying a finger on him, his smirk a mean, methodical thing. He knew exactly how rattled Launchpad had been. It was the intent. “No time to sit back and enjoy the moment?” he crooned.

“I’m not playing, Negaduck,” Launchpad bit out, struggling to keep his cool. “I’m gonna ask one more time. Where. Are. The kids?”

Negaduck snorted, less than intimidated. “Eugh, touchy, touchy,” he said mockingly, and gave Launchpad a hard shove that sent him careening back on the rope he was hanging from. Fortunately, he’d been bound in the center of the room, and didn’t smack his head on any of the walls. This time.

Launchpad swung forward with just as much momentum, and Negaduck smoothly stepped out of the way. “Fine then, if you’re gonna keep being a killjoy! The brats are fine. Still sittin’ pretty in their comfy cell waiting for rescue from old man McMoneybags.”

So Negaduck wasn’t so far gone as to hurt a member of the McDuck family. The relief that settled over him was short lived, but better than nothing.

The last thing he remembered was checking Dewey for a concussion, and then nothing. Negaduck must’ve come back for him at some point during that missing time; maybe Launchpad should be tested for a concussion. All the crashing he did had given him a strong stomach and a skull like concrete, but with the blood rushing to his head and pounding behind his eyes, all this spinning wasn’t doing him any favors.

He closed his eyes as his swaying slowed to a less extreme speed, trying to focus his scattered thoughts. Webby and Dewey were counting on him. They didn’t understand what was happening, what they were up against, because Launchpad never told them who he was, never warned them about the monsters that might follow him. Dewey didn’t even trust him anymore, and Webby couldn’t be far behind…

“What do you want?” Launchpad muttered, opening his eyes in a squint.

Just in time too, as any trace of levity vanished from Negaduck’s weathered face. He lunged forward with a snarl, grabbing a handful of the ropes binding Launchpad and dragging him close, until Negaduck’s bloodshot eyes bored into his own from inches away.

“What do I want? What do I want? What I’ve always wanted since I set foot in this craphole,” he hissed, razor teeth flashing yellow in the harsh light of the spotlight above them. “I want to see your world burn. Consider it payback for locking me outta mine.”

Time worked funny sometimes when you crossed dimensions. A few hours in their reality amounted to a week in the Negaverse, but it might as well have been a year for all that he and Drake saw, what they were forced to do. Enemies wearing the faces of friends, a desolate world overcome by evil and defended by a dwindling few. The brilliant little light they had no choice but to leave behind.

Launchpad sneered right back, thrashing uselessly against his restraints. “‘Your world’ is better off without you! Gosalyn is better off without—”

The glint of light reflecting off metal, and Launchpad became aware of the cut on his cheek at the same time he recognized Negaduck’s machete pressed against the tip of his beak. He had to admit, Negaduck had been quick about it. Launchpad hadn’t even seen him draw the blade.

“Keep her name outta your mouth unless you wanna lose your tongue!” he growled, expression gone cold and still with rage except for his eyes, which contorted and flickered. His own madness, made worse by the dimensional shift? They still weren’t sure. “She’s my daughter. Mine.”

“She was terrified of you,” Launchpad snapped, never one to back down even while staring death in the face. Not when it came to Gosalyn. Any Gosalyn. “And with good reason! You killed Bulba right in front of her—”

“That pathetic, wannabe hero was trying to take her from me!” Negaduck threw his hands in the air, machete and all, thankfully without slicing Launchpad up further. The cut on his cheek had started to weep, a trail of blood moving worryingly close to his eye. “He got what was coming to him,” Negaduck grumbled as he turned around, storming into the darkness that continued to loom around the narrow triangle of light surrounding Launchpad. He lingered there, all but consumed in the shadows, the lurid yellow of his suit a scant outline and only his machete occasionally catching the light.

Negaduck kept muttering to himself, but in the dark, Launchpad couldn’t be sure where he was, or what he was saying. Only that Negaduck was moving, circling Launchpad again, but more focused on talking to himself than actually intimidating him.

“All those heroes…ruining my city…”

And for a brief, tiny, inconsequential half-second, Launchpad almost pitied him.

He blamed the blood rushing to his head.

This poor facsimile of his husband, a black hole masquerading as a person, who only knew how to take: money, lives, peace. A monster who hurt others for his own pleasure because violence was all he knew. It was as terrifying to experience as it was exhausting.

Launchpad glared at a random spot in the dark, his head pounding and chest growing tight. If he stayed up here much longer, he was going to pass out. It was only a matter of when.

“What are you expecting to get out of this?” he asked plainly. “You know I can’t just give you the Solego Circuit, right?”

Negaduck came back to himself with a scoff, reentering the circle of light. He’d hidden the machete again at some point.

“Piece of junk wouldn’t even do me any good. SHUSH and FOWL are sayin’ the same thing—can’t use the damn portal without destroying this trash heap and my world in the process,” he declared, waving his hands theatrically. “So, until I can find a scientist willing to put their back into it, I’m still stuck here. Watching you and that cheap copy play house.”

Launchpad glare met Negaduck’s baleful glower unflinchingly, but internally, a rush of guilt left him breathless as a knee to the gut. He knew he shouldn’t have followed that distress signal. But what else could he have done? Communications were down, and Launchpad had begged Drake time and time again to just call him when he needed him, Darkwing didn’t have to be alone anymore. And Launchpad, terrified of being abandoned again, just couldn’t risk it.

He just wished that he hadn’t dragged Webby and Dewey into danger too.

“You made a mistake taking the kids,” Launchpad said, fighting against a wave of dizziness. He tried to keep his tone steady, like Double-O-Duck used to, his gaze piercing and locked on the wet shine of Negaduck’s eyes, cast in the shadow of his hat brim. “Instead of just Darkwing coming after you, you’re getting Scrooge McDuck. This is a guy who fights gods on a regular basis. How do you think you’ll do against someone like that?”

And Negaduck…laughed.

And not one of his long, rambling cackles that he followed up his evil monologues with. Negaduck snorted with laughter, expression one of mild amusement rather than incandescent rage or insult.

��Ah, doesn’t really matter,” Negaduck breathed, a chuckle still trailing on his words. He pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. “This was all more of an experiment.” He stepped forward, until they were eye to eye, and grabbed a handful of the ropes over Launchpad’s heart. He was too dazed to even try headbutting him now, and by the razor smirk that split his beak, Negaduck must’ve known it too.

“The big, bad Double-O, scourge of SHUSH, turned into a pitiful little sidekick, and now completely at my mercy,” Negaduck murmured, shaking his head in exaggerated disappointment. “I could kill you so easily right now. But where’s the fun in that? It’s one and done, until I can jump into a dimension where I haven’t killed you yet and do it all over again. There’s slow and painful, quick but bloody…we could do a round where I only use my knives, the really little ones. You ever heard of death by a thousand cuts? Cuz we can make that happen!”

Launchpad’s skull pounded like a second heartbeat had taken residence in his brain, and the bright bulb above him scattered fractured stars across his vision, bright to the point of pain. Overwhelmed and dazed, he sputtered, “So what was the point of all this? Hacking SHUSH, kidnapping us—”

Negaduck pushed Launchpad, with just the one hand on his chest, walking forward at the same time. They moved out of the circle of light and into the surrounding darkness, Launchpad’s stomach lurched as Negaduck kept moving, until his back nearly touched the far off wall. Negaduck only stopped when the rope keeping Launchpad suspended pulled infinitesimally taut.

He tilted his head to look at Launchpad then from under the brim of his hat, backlit by the lone, scorching lightbulb behind him. Negaduck didn’t smile as he spoke, all his twisted enthusiasm from earlier snuffed out between one blink and the next. His growl was quiet, a seething hatred beneath every word.

“I might not kill you right now, but make no mistake, I will kill you. And until that glorious day, I want you to go about every day of your insipid little lives knowing that you’ll never be safe from me.”

Launchpad clung to consciousness with a racing heart and a flagging will, his horror tempered by delirium.

“You’re insane,” he gasped.

Negaduck shrugged. “We’ve all got our part to play in this crazy game called life.”

Launchpad’s vision was beginning to tunnel when the deafening blare of alarms startled him back to partial awareness. Outside the door to his cell, the hallway was ablaze with strobing crimson lights. The distant pounding of running feet heralded the organized departure of the Eggheads, converging on the threat.

“There’s our hero,” Negaduck crowed. “Fashionably late, as usual.”

Before Launchpad could properly brace himself, Negaduck let go of him. Without the support pinning him against the wall, he swung forward in a graceless rush, letting out a yelp as bright spots burst across his sight.

Even in the midst of his disorientation, Launchpad caught a different flash of light, reflecting off the silver edge of a serrated dagger in Negaduck’s grip.

With a flick, he threw it upwards at the apex of Launchpad’s swing, severing the rope holding him suspended from the ceiling. He had the barest second to brace himself, tuck his head and curve his back so he landed on his shoulders instead of his head.

It still sent a painful jolt through Launchpad’s body, jarring every bruise and sprain at once, and the immediate drop of pressure on his skull left him lightheaded and woozy as his body set him to rights.

He rolled onto his side with a groan, forcing his eyes open in a narrow squint, looking up at Negaduck from upside down.

Making a show of straightening his suit, Negaduck reached inside and pulled out a shotgun. He grinned down at Launchpad with a mouthful of sharpened teeth as he loaded a round.

“Make yourself comfortable now, sidekick. I’ve gotta go and welcome my new guests.”

#posts this and runs #i did NOT mean to let 5 years go by #oops??#ant writes #ducktales #ducktales fic #ducktales 2017 #launchpad mcquack #darkwing duck #drake mallard #negaduck #donald duck #scrooge mcduck #bentina beakley

45 notes · View notes

huoyd · 7 months ago

Text

Emotional Support Animal

Summary: After a couple of bad months following a stressful event, Wakko finds that Huey isn't recovering from his nervous state. He decides that a emotional support animal might help, and brings Huey to pick one out. Ao3 Link: [ link ] Pairings: Wakko Warner/Huey Duck Words: 2,842 A/N: A cute little fic set in my au where Huey and Wakko start dating when they're 13/14, eventually moving in together when they're older. This takes place when they're about 20/21? Please comment and reblog if you like it ! Also features art at the end that I commissioned from @starlingdrawz and coloured myself!

“Hey, duckie, ya’ ever think about gettin’ a therapy animal?”

Huey looks up from where he’s perched on the counter, his phone in his hand casually scrolling through social media as his boyfriend does the dishes. It’s not unusual for Huey to be a bit glued to Wakko’s side when the other is home. Ever since their home invasion episode had brought back some unresolved anxieties from his childhood, his anxiety had become a bit high.

He’s alright, he knows he is, but the nightmares keep him a little shaky. A little off balance.

Wakko’s comment processes, and he looks back down to his phone.

“Funny, I thought that’s what you were for.”

Wakko laughs, a quick bark of a sound as he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, right, very funny.” He sets the last dish to the side before lifting his hand to flick water at Huey. “Quite the comedian.”

Huey lets out a squeak as water hits his face, pulling his legs up and lifting his arms up to try and block the assault. “Stop it!” He laughs, and Wakko can’t help but to smile at the sound.

As long as Huey is laughing, things can’t be that bad.

“But seriously, what do ya’ think?”

Huey settles when Wakko speaks again. Wakko used the word seriously, he knows he has to give a legitimate answer. Or at least some thought into the question.

He shrugs his shoulders, his eyes moving down into his lap, though he turns his phone screen off.

“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it. I’m not that great with… living creatures…”

It’s not entirely true. He’s good with plants. But people and animals, they’ve never been something that he excels at.

Or at least, it’s not in his opinion. Wakko seemed to have a different one entirely.

“I think ya’d be great with an animal.” Wakko smiles at him, trying to be reassuring. "Yer great with keepin' track of things. Ya' could make yer own schedule with 'em. Feedin', groomin', that sort of stuff. An'… it might be good… fer when 'm not here."

Huey stiffens a bit at that.

It’s silly. He knows that Wakko will eventually have to start leaving him home alone again. He’s not a child, he’s an adult. Who has to go back to university in the fall, and get back to his life despite his.. troubles.

And that’s fine. He’s fine. He’ll be fine.

“Yeah, maybe.” He’s still unsure about the animal though. He knows he’d be able to take care of one, he just doesn’t think an animal would like him.

“Well, how ‘bout this, then.” Wakko sets the towel back down and instead scoops Huey up off the counter. He spins him around as he moves towards their couch and flops down onto it, Huey still in his arms. “Me an’ you go t’a pet shop t’morrow. Jus’ t’have a look ‘round. If ya’ find a lil’ guy ya’ like, we get’em, if ya’ don’t, we don’t. Simple enough, yeah?”

Simple enough, yeah.

Or at least the way Wakko says it makes it sound simple enough. Huey doubts it will actually be that simple. Not with such a sudden plan as this. But Wakko does have a way of getting Huey comfortably out of his comfort zone.

So he nods. “Yeah, okay.”

It’s not like he has to buy anything. They can just look.

The next morning comes faster than Huey expects it to, and noon even quicker. He feels like he’s in a bit of a fog waiting for noon to come; the time they decided to leave their apartment and head to the pet store.

Huey had found one the night before that’s teamed up with a local shelter. All animal adoption proceeds went directly to the shelter, which is nice.

He had also done a little research on emotional support animals, though he still doesn’t know how keen he is on the idea. It has anxiety bubbling up within him, the idea of finding a pet, adopting it, and then having it not like him.

When Wakko asks if he’s ready, though, he pulls on his sweater and grabs his phone anyway.

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Well then, let’s be off.” Wakko smiles as they get to the door, opening it up and letting Huey exit before him. “After you, darlin’.”

Huey smiles at the pet name before he exits, reaching out for Wakko’s hand like a security blanket as soon as the other joins him in the hallway. He leans into them as they make their way out of their building, both for comfort and security.

The walk to the store isn’t overly long, just a few blocks from their apartment, and when they get there it’s not overly crowded. Huey is thankful for it, even as he falls further into Wakko’s side, closing himself off to the public.

It makes Wakko feel a bit sorrowful, thinking back to the happy, adventurous duck he had met as a kid. How much Huey had loved the world, and being out in it. How Wakko had to watch the constant danger he was in from his family’s adventures slowly knock him down, and now this, his traumas being thrown back at them by a man who had thought he could get a quick buck out of Scrooge?

He takes a deep breath.

The pet will be good, he thinks. Or at least a good start.

“Alright, I’m makin’ the executive decision that we’re not gettin’ a dog, but how do ya’ feel ‘bout a cat?”

Huey lets Wakko lead him towards the cats, a few kittens tussling inside the cages. It’s not unlike how Wakko and Dot used to play. The memories make him smile, but it falls away from his face quickly after.

They’re cute, but he also knows that cats can be picky about the people they like and don’t like, and he can’t help but to imagine bringing a cat home just for it to like his brother the cat whisperer better.

So he shakes his head.

“No, I don’t think so..”

Wakko walks up to the cages where the cats were playing and takes on a mock-serious tone.

"I'm sorry fellas. Thank ya' all so much fer comin' out ta' th' auditions, but we've decided ta' go in a different direction. Please, please, no tears or hard feelin's."

Huey offers another small smile before Wakko takes his hand again and leads him further into the store.

They slowly make their way through, Huey passing up on a hamster, gerbil, parakeet and a fish. He’s near to calling it quits, when suddenly Wakko is leading him with a little more purpose.

He pretends to hold a clipboard, just as he had for the last several animals.

“Fer our next, and last, audition for the role of Huey’s new fluffy critter, we have: Bunnies. They will be playing the part of ‘Bunnies.’ Annnnnd begin!”

Huey’s smile returns no matter how many times Wakko makes the same joke, like the animals are auditioning for some kind of role. Though, it still doesn’t make him any more confident in picking out an animal.

He has to admit though, the bunnies are cute.

“You don’t think Babs will get jealous, do you?” He asks as he walks closer to the pen, referring to his boyfriend’s best friend.

Wakko only smirks, “Oh, she’ll get super jealous. That’s why I pointed ‘em out.”

The bunnies take notice of them as Huey gets closer, some hopping away to go play somewhere else in the pen, while a few more come up to the edge. They lean up on the side, their little paws sticking through the bars followed by their little noses.

“Aww, ain’t they cute?” Wakko comments, and Huey can’t help but to agree.

He watches as the little noses twitch as they hop along, playing with one another. He leans over the pen, only just barely able to reach out and touch one of them. The fence is too tall for him, but he’s able to graze his finger along the back of a light brown one.

“They’re soft.” Very soft. Softer than most things he’s felt. Like a little cloud under his finger tips.

“I bet they are.” Wakko leans down over the pen, trying to reach out and pet one, but they all scurry away at the sight of his large hand. But that’s fine. This is for Huey, as much as he so desperately wants to pet one.

“I think I scare ‘em.”

Huey looks back up at Wakko’s words and retracts his hand away from the cage, even as another one of the rabbits tries to nudge up into it for their own pets.

“Oh, then maybe a bunny isn’t a good idea.” He takes a step back, getting ready to move on even as his eyes linger on the small animals for just a moment more.

“No, no, we can spend more time with them. It’s jus’ ‘cause ‘m a dog, I think, but this’s fer you, not fer me, duckie.” He doesn’t want to ruin this for Hueyr. If he likes the bunnies, he should look at them a little longer, not have his decision swayed by their reaction to Wakko.

But Huey is already a bit more unsure, even as Wakko points him back over to the rabbit pen. He does want to look at them some more, though, and maybe if he were to get one it would eventually warm up to Wakko.

He steps back towards the pen, leaning over the side to try and pet one again.

“This one seems nice.” He comments in a quiet voice as the same one that had come up to him last time comes back up. It stands on its hind legs so that Huey is able to pet the top of its head a bit easier.

Wakko smiles as he watches. The one Huey was petting was one of the few that hadn’t run as soon as Wakko got near, though it still tensed as he got closer.

“Awe, lookit, Huey, they’re like yer twin.” He looks down at the little rabbit, their fur the colour of new snow, and their eyes like two bright little strawberries, just like Huey’s.

It was also small, much smaller than any of the others that had been around.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He pets it one more time, running his fingers over its soft ears before he retracts his hand. “I don’t know, Wakko…”

Though, Wakko seemingly has already made up his mind. He had already stepped away, flagging down one of the shop workers.

“S’cuse me, miss? Could my boyfriend hold one of th’ bunnies? The lil’ white one?”

The clerk, a brightly coloured tropical bird of some sort, looks up, taking stock of the situation in front of her, and smiles.

"Oh, yeah, sure, you just gotta be careful." She smiled before walking over to the pin. She leaned over, having a better reach than Huey did and easily scoops up the little bunny. “Especially with this one. She’s been known to bite. I'm surprised she's even over on this side. She doesn't usually like people. Might be fate." The clerk’s voice is cheery as she carefully transfers the bunny into Huey's arms.

At first the bunny squirms in Huey's slightly nervous hold, moving around in his arms, trying to get comfortable. It takes her a moment, but she manages to scramble her way up so that Huey is holding her to his chest, her chin resting on his shoulder.

Huey's eyes widen a bit, but he holds her securely.

Wakko watches on, smiling, falling a little more in love with his boyfriend as he does. “I think she likes ya’, honey duck.”

Huey can feel his hands shaking as the bunny nuzzles closer into his neck. He can feel something stinging the back of his eyes as this little rabbit seems to attach herself to him in an instant.

Very slowly, he adjusts her so that he can hold her with one arm, while his other hand raises to pet down her back. He takes a quivering breath as the first tear falls down his cheek, and then he tightens his hold on her, wrapping his other arm around her back as his head tilts to press it against her.

"I think I like her, too."

Huey knows that Wakko is watching. Watching him start to cry as he holds this small animal to himself. He can’t help it. Holding her like this, the warm, tiny but secure body, it just feels right. Like there’s been something missing and he just found it.

And Wakko knows it too as he watches on the sweet scene. He knows this is Huey’s pet. He can’t imagine them walking out of the store without her.

Not in a million years.

He moves towards them slowly, not wanting to startle the bunny, and wraps his arm around Huey so that it settles on his other shoulder.

“Let’s go pick’er out a pen then, huh?”

Huey sniffles, the sound small, nearly silent, but easy to pick up for Wakko’s ears.

“I’d like that.”

Later they get home, having spent more money then they had intended on the small mammal.

Wakko lugs in the pen, the food, the hay, then toys, anything and everything you would need to make sure that a rabbit lives a long, healthy life. A grocery order was on the way with some fresh veggies on the way, and Huey had been speaking about potentially setting up some garden boxes on their balcony during the car ride back.

Wakko rolls his eyes playfully as he watches Huey carry only the rabbit in.

“She’s gonna be one spoiled little bun, tha’s fer sure.”

Huey only smiles down at the carrier she’s tucked away in. “She deserves to be spoiled, just look at her.”

“I’m lookin’, I’m lookin’.” The words come out in half a laugh as he hauls the many bags up into their living room.

He starts unpacking them immediately, making sure that they can set up a nice little area for her to settle into.

Huey brings the carrier to the living room, opening it up and slowly putting his hand back into it. He doesn't want to spook her, just in case if in the short amount of time out of his arms she'd become unused to his scent again. But immediately she snuggles up to his hand and he thinks he might start crying all over again.

"Hi there." He says in a soft voice, running his fingers down her back and revelling in just how soft she is.

After a moment of her getting used to him again, he reaches in and pulls her out with gentle hands. He’s careful, possibly overly careful, but there are still a good amount of nerves running through him. He doesn’t want to hurt her. She’s so small.

Though, with a little humour, that’s probably how some people think of him.

“Welcome to your new home, little girl.” He lets her squirm for a moment before she goes back up to being tucked into his neck, and he slowly turns as if showing off the house to her.

Wakko looks up from where he’s beginning to set up the pen. He stands up, figuring that he would have time to build it in a few minutes. He wants to watch Huey get their newest family member acquainted with their home while he can.

He walks over, smiling at the two of them.

“As adorable of a name little girl is, ya’ got any ideas as t’what yer gonna name’er?” He asks, and Huey looks up at him, smiling.

“I’ve been thinking about it… her eyes remind me of strawberry lollipops… so I was thinking maybe Lolli..?” He looks up at Wakko, nervous, unsure, like he needs his opinion on the name. Like he needs to make sure it’s a good name.

“I think that’s an absolutely perfect name, love. Little Lolli, the second sweetest thing in this house. Right behind m’honey duck.” He moves his finger up towards the rabbit’s nose as he teases Huey, only for the rabbit’s teeth to bite down on the tip. “Ow! Alright, alright, the sweetest thing. M’goodness.”

He pulls his finger away, smiling as he does, and Huey can’t help but to let out a small laugh at the interaction.

“The clerk did say she likes to bite.” He comments, though he’s happy that she hasn’t bitten him yet. She’s had more than a fair chance and the closest she’s gotten was nibbling on his sweater while they walked around the pet store.

“Feisty, just like her owner.” Wakko teases again, before he leans down to kiss Huey on the bill. “I’m glad ya’ found’er, love.” He says, his voice turning soft.

Huey smiles back up at him, holding Lolli a little tighter.

“Yeah, I am too.”