#lay me down by the fire mr scrooge

[andy-clutterbuck]

Ebenezer Scrooge | requested by Anonymous

[multi-fandom-imagine]

hiii, i have more ideas!!!

what about if Y/N who is a close worker for scrooge but she's hiding that she's sick and she overworks herself that she collapse outside his office and scrooge is worried and has flashbacks to his sister jen.

so angst to fluff pleaseee

A/n: Yoooo why do you gotta do this to me!

Both of them harbor feelings for one another. Scrooge is just to stubborn / scared and the reader just thinks he hates her.

You did your best to suppress the chill that ran down your spine. You felt hot, everything was hot and your body ached whenever you moved. You had to suppress the urge to not vomit, to took every will power for you not to just sleep.

“Y/n.”

Jolting awake you felt your heart race as you looked around the room. You didn’t even realize you dozed off. Looking up you flinched from the hard gaze your boss gave you.

“I don’t pay you to sleep Y/n.”

Opening your mouth you held back a cough, your chest burning as you gave him a weak smile. “I’m sorry sir. I did not get enough sleep last night…I’ll do better I promise.” You whispered lowering you head, gazing at your lap.

Stepping close, Scrooge held his hand out to touch you. He didn’t mean to sound so harsh, he honestly did not know why he even said something so harsh. Quickly pulling his hand back he nodded his head then turned away from you. “I’ll be back.”

He waited for your usual goodbye, that bright smile of yours that always seem to make him feel better but he received nothing. Lowering his gaze he quickly stepped out of the door.

+•+

Once he was out the door you let yourself go into another coughing fit, seeing that the fire was about to die out you stood up, legs shaking. Everything seemed foggy. Why was it getting so dizzy, taking step forward you let your hands grasped your desk only for you to slump forward, your legs giving out and that’s when everything went back.

Glancing at the bottle of medicine in his hands Scrooge hoped this would help your cough, he wasn’t stupid he knew you were doing your best to hide your cough, he just couldn’t figure out why you were hiding it from him. He would have let you go home, we’re you scared of him, I mean he was trying to work on himself.

“Y/n?” You should have called back to him or at least greeted him by the door, you always greeted him by the door. Rounding the corner his eyes went wide when he spotted your form right outside his office,his heart dropping into his stomach as the bottle of medicine slipped from his fingers as he rushed to your side.

“Y/n!” Kneeling beside you he pulled his hand back, your skin was ice cold but your head was burning up, he tried to squash the fear building inside of him and suddenly he wasn’t seeing you, he was seeing his seeing his sister. He couldn’t let that happen to you, he couldn’t lose you like he lost her. “I’m not.”Biting his tongue he lifted your body as he wished out of his office. He had to get you some place warm, he had to make sure you would survive this. “I will not lose you too.”

+•+

“I do not give a damn!”

Everything felt hazy, like you were trapped in a fog but it was the shouting of a familiar voice that had awoken you.

“I have done all can for her, the rest is up to Y/n. Good Day Mr Scrooge.”

Hearing a closing of a door you flinched then closed your eyes pretending to be sleep as your boss slipped into the room you were sleeping, a room you’ve never seen before”

“Pompous ass.” Muttering under his breath his he knelt beside you. His hand grasping yours gently, seeing you lay in bed like this brought up feelings that he had buried, one’s that didn’t like to think about. He knew he shouldn’t feel this way towards you, his employee but it was so easy to fall for you and now he couldn’t help but think about Belle. His mistake, one of the things he regretted but he was not going to let this chance pass and while you maybe sleeping and while he he would tell you when you were lucid he wanted to get this off his chest.

“Y/n….I am sorry….I am sorry for not noticing your sickness sooner…I’m sorry for being such….for being such a coward…for not admitting my feelings for you…and while you way not be awake to hear this. I love you Y/n.”

You could feel your heart hammering in your chest. You weren’t sure how long you waited for him to fall asleep, how long it was until you listened to his confession but it made you happy. Wincing you shifted your body then glanced over noticing that he had fallen sleep beside the bed you were, the man still clutching your hand and as your eyes adjuster to the darkness you finally spotted Prudence laying by the foot of your bed.

“He took me too his home.” Biting back some laughter you smiled watching him. “I love you too, you silly man.”

[thevaudevilledemon]

I thought about Donald and Gladstone being wild west outlaws so...

There are very few laws in the west, well there plenty but not for the outlaw, the rugged, bloodthirsty individual with a bounty on his head and reputation that keeps him safe from all but the boldest, bravest and stupidest. Some outlaws follow their own rules, some don't kill the unarmmed, some don't kill women or children, some only kill when they need to, but there is one law all outlaws follow; Do not mess with The Unlucky Shot, leave Donald Duck alone.

This is a law that is unwritten, but a law all must follow. He is no sherrif, no marshall, not even a decent shot. Duck couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. However, he is one of the most connected men in the whole country. His mother was Horty McDuck, the sister of the powerful lawman Scrooge McDuck, and his father was Quackmore Duck, the son of the Ol' farmer Elvira 'Grandma' Duck, herself a relative of the Coot family. Scrooge and Elvira are two people you never want to cross, and these connections go deeper. Donald is cousins with Gladstone Gander, Mr. Lucky himself, and though they vie for the affection of the lovely Lady Daisy, when push comes to shove, Donald and Gladstone can put aside their disagreements and shove. Don't forget his other cousin, Fethry 'Red Hat' Duck, and his brother Abner 'Whitewater' Duck. Abner could snap your gun in two with his bare hands, and Fethry, well he is a wildcard, we are unsure if he is on the side of the law, or the lawless, it seems he is both whenever something happens to strike his fancy. Beyond the familial connections, he is a member of the Final Five, a group of misfits who became one of the most feared gangs in all the state, and The Three Caballeros, the most eccentric bounty hunters. With the McDuck clan at his side, his grandma and cousins around him, and his friends, it is common knowledge that even talking about messing with Donald Duck is a death sentence, however, one day someone did decide to mess with the Duck.

I remember that day quite well, it was as hot and dry as any other day, and equally as loud and bustling. Carts and Wagons and Carriages were being pulled across the town by the dozens every half-minute. Workers were dragging crates and barrels into store rooms and dragging them out to the porches, dropping each one with a loud thundering slam on the heavy, dry wood. Store bells rang with such a consitancy that it was surely impossible for the shop clerks to keep up. I myself was just sitting outside of the hotel, whittling away at some dropwood I picked up the other day, a large man walked out of the hotel, he stopped. I turned to look at him, and I quickly turned away, I knew who he was, from one glance I feared for my life more than when I faced any other crooked scoundrel, for that before me was no regular wanted man, it was Dead End Pete, a man whose wanted poster warned everyone, "Bringing him in alive will get both of you shot on site, Dead only. $1000 for his body full of holes, double that for his head alone."

I prayed he didn't see me, but see me he did. I heard the sound of his pistol being cocked, I felt it placed under my chin, I felt his hot breath. He told me to put my knife down, I dropped it faster than I dropped anything else, it bounced off my knee, I heard it clunk against the wooden boards. I heard Pete's pistol fire, I was so scared, I didn't feel he had pulled his gun away from me, not until I heard him walk away, his heavy boots making some of the wood creak under his weight. I opened my eyes, he hit a random bystander, she lay dead on the ground. Everybody backed away from her, I caught a good glimpse of her, and I myself nearly fainted, it was Della Duck, Donald's twin sister. There she lay, dead, and killed for no real reason, or so it seemed. I remember, I remember looking at the crowd, and wondering how many more would be killed just by being near the two when they fought. Dead End Pete started a war, that the whole town would suffer from.

[sugarrushproductions]

Darkwing Duck Reboot

Duckberg/Alliance

"Move it!"

"I want the middle seat!"

"Give me back my hat!"

"Give me back my seat!" 

"I was here first!"

“Let me go!”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Della shouted at the triplets, pulling Dewy off of Huey. Louie was sitting a few feet away, having been pushed off the couch and deeming the fight not worth anything. “Huey, you sit next to Donald over there. Dewy, next to Scrooge. Me, Webby, and Mrs. Beakley-”

“Hang on!” Webby chimed in. “I wanted to sit next to Dad.” Webby, while mistakenly calling him Scrooge for a while after the F.O.W.L. battle, got the hang of calling him that soon after. Both Scrooge and Beakley told her that she didn’t have to if she wasn’t comfortable with it, but she was stubborn as ever. Scrooge was happy, never once thinking he’d have any kids of his own.

“Della, is ther anyway I could switch with someone so I could sit next to my daughter?”

“Oh, right, you guys are inseparable now,” Dewy groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Dewy, hush,” Della scorned. She then turned to Scrooge and said she’d switch with him. With everyone settled in, they tuned the TV in to the St. Canard news channel. Dewy and LP had made them all promise to watch the Darkwing Duck parade, since Drake would be in it.

It was a few hours before anything other than Donald holding Della's beak shut as Katie hated on Darkwing. She had ended up getting sucked into the series again as Launchpad kept talking about it. But she finally threw him off and yelled at the TV again.

"That's right, go to a new section you pompous-"

"Della!" Scrooge, Donald, and Beakley yelled before she could finish. 

"What? She is!"

"That doesn't mean-" Donald started, but screams and booming came from the TV.

"What in blazes-?" Scrooge exclaimed, seeing the confused looks of the news team.

"This just in, three buildings have been blown up in St. Canard!" the helicopter duck radioed in. Quickly, with worried looks from the two regular anchors, the video switched to a live feed of the end of the parade. "Many floats for the Darkwing Duck parade have crashed, some are on fire- the buildings are crashing down! 

"There's many civilians who are being caught in it! Someone is even falling from the buildings!" The camera zoomed in on a little redheaded duck falling down as the debris chased her.

"Who is that?" Louie asked.

"That's Gosalyn!" Dewy yelled, stepping on Donald to get a better look. 

"And that's Drake!" Webby yelled.

"Oh no, what's he doing?!" 

Drake was running into the falling debris, likely trying to catch Gosalyn. They knew he wouldn't get there in time and that he'd get crushed by everything. 

Everyone was still in shock as Gosalyn screamed as she fell and Drake ducked and dodged all the falling building pieces.

Then, just as Gosalyn was feet from the ground and brick was feet from hitting Drake, a bright blue glow encompassed her and the buildings. 

"Hold on, there seems to be some sort of blue glow covering the pieces of falling buildings, stopping them! It's from what looks like a teenager!" 

"Lena!" Webby shouted in joy as all the buildings fell apart. She caught Every piece as it fell, protecting everyone she could. She had even saved Gosalyn with a little bit of magic.

"Amazing!" Huey gasped.

"That girl sure is something," Scrooge muttered, so low only Beakley could hear.

"Indeed," she answered.

"Everyone move!" Lena yelled. The helicopter was circling her close enough to see her struggling to keep that much magic in play. Webby and the triplets and the adults worried for her. Her features looked strained and she seemed tired already. "I can't hold them for long!" 

Nobody disobeyed her order. Everyone moved, Drake quickly grabbed Gosalyn and turned down the farthest alley from the damage, right next to the stage. Dewy whooped.

"Aw yeah! Darkwing Duck will save the day again!" He cheered from Donald's back, the duck in question still laying down from the initial throw from his sister.

“Lena seems to be doing most of the saving,” Louie stated, shoving his hands in his pockets. On screen, Lena was moving everything out of the way of the people and helping the firetrucks and police cars get past, tearing open the flaming floats to let the people out of them. And Drake hadn't come out of the alley yet.

"He's just waiting for the best moment to come out. And do you know how hard it is to get into his costume?" Louie eyed him suspiciously.

"How do you know that?" 

"Uhh…." Dewy immediately looked away and ignored the question. He really didn't want to admit that he had both tried on his costume and asked Fenton to make one for him. Or at least, find someone to. It was hidden under a floorboard in the room they had been locked in the first day they came to the mansion.

"Lights! Camera! Action!" The words were punctuated with a chainsaw starting and their attention back to the screen. A duck in an old, discolored Darkwing Duck costume, the hat red, jacket a bright yellow, and cape black with a red underside, said from the podium that Mayor Owlson had been only moments before. "Time for my close up." 

"Who the blazes is that?" Scrooge asked.

"He looks…. Familiar…" Dewy trailed, unsure of where he'd seen him before. Huey was writing down things and checking The Junior Woodchuck Guidebook for the smoke and blast patterns. Both reminded him of something he'd seen before. But where?

"Don't ruin this for me, Mayor!" The man yelled, holding Owlson by her throat and slamming her into the podium. Emergency services were busy with rescue and evacuation. Lena was doing her best to help, moving the debris out of the way and providing a birds eye view of the damage. She wouldn't be able to help.

"This is my spotlight! I don't need random heroes ruining it! So stay back! And that goes for all of you!"

Dewy wasn't the best at remembering things and the Darkwing movie was hard to pay attention to, but he'd finally remembered where that voice was from and where that duck came from.

"Oh my gosh, that's Jim Starling!" When everyone looked at with confusion, he rolled his eyes. "Star of Darkwing Duck? He ruined the Darkwing Duck: First Darkness movie Scrooge tried to make."

"That movie was doomed from the start," Scrooge argued. "But it is impressive that you were able to recognize that."

"I agree," Beakley said, adjusting her glasses as she surveyed the screen again. "He hardly sounds like him."

"Launchpad made him watch a lot of Darkwing Duck," Huey answered. Before she counter with the same argument, a familiar voice came from the TV.

"I am the terror that flaps in the night!" Darkwing yelled. DW was there to save the day. After a swift kick to the face, Owlson was freed from Jim's grasp. Gosalyn got her out of there before getting into a sniper-like position and pulled out her crossbow. 

The fight went on for a few minutes before a crash interrupted them. 

"Is that my jeep?" Scrooge asked, glaring at the screen. Launchpad stumbled out of the car, lighting up Darkwing's face and angering Scrooge's. 

"No!" Jim yelled, causing them both to look at him. 

"Is that my jeep?" Scrooge asked again, fists balled in annoyance. He got scolded by Beakley and Webby for focusing on the wrong thing.

Unfortunately, his chainsaw started on the first pull. "This is Negaduck's debut!" He swung it wildly at Darkwing, who flipped out of the way in just enough time. However, the back of his foot got cut by it. 

"Drake(Darkwing)!" The kids shouted in unison. Launchpad ran and tried to stop the fight or at least help Darkwing. 

"I will not have it ruined by you and your dumbass sidekick!" Beakly covered Webby's ears (Donald and Della were too far away from the triplets to do the same) as Negaduck raised the chainsaw again, planning to cut down the already downed duck, but an arrow grazed his hand. He shouted in pain, almost dropping his chainsaw.

Launchpad had finally made it on the stage and was going to tackle Negaduck. However, he had seen it coming and bit one of his outstretched hands. Then quickly followed it up with a punch to the beak.

"Launchpad!" All yelled, none louder than Dewy. He hated the feeling he had when, even though it was very faint, he saw the blood come from his arm.

"Kids, go to your rooms!" Della yelled. She should have said it earlier, but she was too shocked. This was already worse than an adventure of theirs. At least then, if someone got hurt, they could help. "Now!" 

They didn't listen. In the next moment, she lost her conviction anyway.

Darkwing, worried about Launchpad, got trapped in Jim's- or Negaduck, as he had mentioned earlier- grasp. He was fading out of consciousness until an arrow shot through his hand. He shouted a curse before being surrounded, then threw down red smoke bombs and disappeared. 

Lena had flown in the smoke and had the others disappear before it cleared.

. . .

"I told you to save those bombs for a different day!" Bulba yelled at Negaduck, who only busied himself with picking at his teeth as a goat fixed up his hand. The stitches hurt and were very unpleasant to get from an inexperienced person, but he couldn't afford a hospital. He'd used all his bank money for the bombs and gas for his chainsaw.

"Oh, lay off me, Bulby," Negaduck groaned. He was not in the mood for a lecture. And seeing the way Bulba growled at the nickname he had given him made his day.

"Don't call me that, Negsy." Negaduck, on the contrary, liked the nickname that Bulba had given him. He'd likely use it himself. "I thought we agreed that we would take out McDuck first." 

"No, you agreed to it. I want Darkwing Duck gone! McDuck can wait."

"No, he can't!" Bulba burst. "Scrooge McDuck's family is extremely connected to Darkwing and his companions. That stupid girl and that oafish man child are a part of their stupid family, and therefore, if we want to get Darkwing, we need to get rid of Scrooge first."

"Ow! Not so tight, Dumbass!" Negaduck yelled at his nurse, who had pulled the bandages too tight.

Bulba sighed and waved his goat lacky away. Then, putting a hand on his shoulder to which he got a growl, he spoke slowly this time.

"Look, I know you hate Darkwing. I do too, but getting angry while fighting him gets us nowhere. Both our experiences have taught us that." Negaduck growled more, if only because he was right. "We have to be smart-"

"I am smart!" Negaduck yelled, pushing away from him. He refused to wince at the pain in his right hand. 

"Let me rephrase. Smarter than we've been. If today was any indication, going in and announcing ourselves like that isn't going to work. If you would just be patient with me a little longer, I promise. We will get rid of Darkwing Duck."

Negaduck groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. Then banged his fists against his head. Bulba backed up, unsure of what to do with the crazed duck. Moments like this came often with Negaduck. It unnerved him.

"Fffffiiiiinnnneeee……" he trailed like a child who was backed into a corner but still wanting to get what he wanted, so he agreed. "But it better not be long."

Bulba let loose a sinister chuckle and smiled.

Previous/Next

Index

[s-creations]

The Caring from Others

Gyro has never been good with emotions or understanding people. His younger years not helpful in those categories as he grew up. Good thing life wasn't ready to let him throw in the towel just yet.

Fandom: Ducktales ‘17         Rating: General Audience         Relationships/Pairings: Gyro Gearloose/Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera, Fenro       Warnings/Tags: Other characters are mentioned, How do emotions work? We’re learning today!, A little OOC.

The Father

Gyro doesn’t recall his childhood fondly.

Growing up in a small, back water farming town. A place where advancements, anything ‘new’, was labeled as dangerous. Deemed bad for everyone involved. His parents were less than thrilled when Gyro announced he wanted to become a scientist.

It wasn’t ‘honest work’.

A profession of false tests to make the common folk fearful of everything.

To make them more dependent on the government.

Even if Gyro suggested creating improved tools. Better way to help the farmers in making their jobs easier. Even safer. Every suggestion was just shot down. His parents claimed if their way had worked so well for so long, why change anything?

For 15 year Gyro had to work in secrecy. Knowing if any glimmer of creativity was found, it would be destroyed. Stomped out before it could reach their full potential. Salvation came when, after turning in so many applications, he was accepted into a high level university. Full scholarship and all. Everything was paid for, there was nothing to worry about.

Gyro should have felt some sting when his parents put up no fuss as he left. Happily letting their misfit son go off on his own journey. But Gyro honestly felt nothing but relief as he left that farmhouse behind for good.

While he now had the freedom to create in the open, university had its own issues to contend with. Like being mocked by his peers. Gyro was young and already set up with terrible social skills. It wasn’t better when fellow students deemed it a high priority to ostracize the chicken.  The other students weren’t thrilled that someone younger than them had accomplished so much in their early years. The chicken’s ideas being scoffed at when he presented or attempted to make some connection. Gyro was sure he would have dropped out long ago if not for the continuous support and offered safety from his professors.

It was during Gyro’s last year of university that he was introduced to Dr. Akita. Properly introduced anyway. Gyro was well aware of the other long before this meeting. Having studied the scientist’s work extensively. It was almost like a dream come true when Gyro was offered an internship. A way to work with his idol directly.

How quickly it all turned into a nightmare.

2-BO was Gyro’s biggest accomplishment and regret. The chicken labeled as a mad scientist and abandoned by Akita when the chicken’s creation went rogue. Gyro was thrusted into a world he had no idea how to traverse. He was turned away from every opportunity. All knowing his history, fearful of what damage he was still capable of.

Gyro couldn’t blame them for being so concerned. He was honestly fearful of his own inventions at this point.

It was a surprise when Scrooge McDuck of all people reached out to him. Wanting Gyro to present his ideas to the billionaire and his board members. It was a mounting pile of nerves that was continuously being added to as the day drew closer. The chicken was honestly shocked that he didn’t pass out while presenting. Or from the unnerving quiet when Gyro finished. The buzzards looked unimpressed. Which did not help Gyro’s as yellow eyes stared him down.

“Mr. McDuck, this was a complete waste of time,” the buzzard from the middle spoke, “We are not in need of new hires for the production line. Especially not one with such a...dangerous past.”

Gyro swallowed weakly.

“Nonsense. Who ever said about having Dr. Gearloose here to be part of our regular R&D team.” Scrooge commented casually. He stood from his large, cushioned chair. Making his way over to the quietly panicking scientist. “I’ve been in the market for a personal inventor for awhile now.”

“Please do not tell me this is for your wild excursions sir.”

“Bradford, you’re too worried about keeping finances. Personal and monetary gain cannot be achieved at the same time. I have enough monetary value...for the moment. Now is the time for personal gain.”

“If you are so determined to do this. Could you at least get someone less dangerous.”

Scrooge slammed his cane down. Causing all in the room to flinch.  “How can we expect growth if we cling to the past. Dr. Gearloose cannot be given redemption with no opportunity. I’ve seen his work. Both the bad and the good. I want him working with me.”

“Then I request a trial period. I would like to see a working, safe invention from the doctor here. If he does that, I won’t bring this up again.”

With a smirk, Scrooge gave a nod before facing Gyro. Who’d been honestly confused through the entire ordeal. Who just argues so freely with their boss?

“What do you say Dr. Gearloose? Think you’re up for the task?”

Steeling himself, Gyro gave a short nod. “Yes. Absolutely.”

He could do this. He knew he could. How many ideas had he sketched out when he was younger? Surely there were a number of inventions he could use to impress the board.

The good news was he was right. He was able to dig up multiple sketchbooks he had filled out from his college days that had yet to be used. Now came the trying task of deciding which invention he was going to use. One that was impressive enough to blow those buzzards away. But he could easily make it within the offered window of time. And that it was safe.

He wished Mr. McDuck would have been more forward with what he was looking for. The chicken would at least have a starting point.

Gyro really thought he had a winner when the month was up. More than a little confident when he entered the boardroom, all eyes on him. Giving his presentation with as much vibrato as he could. It was all going, in his mind, quite well. Even Mr. McDuck looked a little smug for Gyro’s success.

Then the machine was turned on.

It gave a warning whine, Gyro actually leaning in to see what the issue was. Letting out a choking sound as he was pulled back by Scrooge’s cane. All taking cover when the invention exploded. Leaving the pedestal it had been resting on and the wall behind it with dark scorch marks.

Gyro felt absolutely sick. Wide eyes staring at the spot where his achievement once sat. Only looking away when Bradford slammed his hands down.

“Unacceptable! Even a simple request created something so dangerous. I am putting my foot down on this Mr. McDuck.” The buzzard huffed as he stared Gyro down.

Scrooge, on his part, merely seemed unfazed by it all. Taking the time dust himself off. Pulling Gyro up and straightening him out as well before speaking. “Dr. Gearloose. Would you mind waiting for me in the labs. I need to have a quick discussion with the board.”

Gyro merely nodded. His voice stuck in his throat as he made his way to the elevator. Arms and stomach heavy with his failure. He knew he was fired. His one opportunity was gone. Gyro realized this was his best and only chance at getting any sort of job. A scientist who’s inventions caused more damage and cut off by Scrooge McDuck? Gyro would be lucky if he got a job at Radio Hut after all of this.

He collapses into the first chair he could find in the lab. Laying his glasses on a nearby flat surface and rubbing his temples. At this point in his life, Gyro wasn’t as emotionally blocked as he would later become. But he was learning that breakdowns were seen as weaknesses.

By his parents.

By his classmates.

By Dr. Akita.

So while he wanted nothing more than to hide away. Let this moment of emotional sorrow pass naturally and move on. Gyro had been conditioned to hold it in. Because what scientist falls apart?

He let out a slow breath as the elevator announced it’s arrival. Glasses on and standing as Scrooge made a direct line for him. While showing emotions weren’t allowed, Gyro learned that groveling was acceptable. Something Dr. Akita was quick to teach.

“I am sorry,” Gyro said quickly, “It wasn’t my intention for it to explode.”

“I had assumed so.”

“If given another chance-”

“Lad, you’re not fired.”

Gyro swallowed weakly. Stunned by the name and the announcement. “But...I almost killed everyone.”

“That’s a tad extreme. We would have been maimed. But kill? Doubtful.”

“It exploded!”

“I’ve experienced worse.”

“Mr. McDuck, with all due respect, you’re insane.”

Scrooge waved his hand. “No matter. Why don’t you take a seat.”

Doing as asked, Gyro looked up nervously, hands clenched together as he waited.

“As stated before, you’re not fired. Even after your explosive debut. I know Bradford is a stickler for keeping things ‘safe’. It’s one of the reasons I hired him onto the team. But he doesn’t understand that needed balance of risk and reward. I’m aware of your past. Which I’m sure you’re tired of hearing about at this point. We are our own worst critics. But I also know of your successes, your numerous successes.”

“I want to see you succeed. You deserve to see yourself succeed. I want to give you that opportunity. We’ll need to make sure you can give something to Bradford on occasion to keep him placated. But, other than that, you will have full creative freedom. How does that sound?”

Gyro swallowed hard, trying to keep himself stable. No longer fearful. Now extremely happy. However, he kept himself in check to remain professional. “Honestly, it’s too good to be true.”

Scrooge merely laughed. Clapping a hand on Gyro’s shoulder. “Well, get over that starstruck feeling quick lad. You have a lot of work ahead of you. I trust you can manage from here.”

As he watched Scrooge head back towards the elevator, Gyro realized something. “Um, sir?”

“Yes?”

“Your bet, with Bradford, you didn’t technically win.”

“Technically yes.”

“So...shouldn’t I be fired?”

A smirk appeared on the billionaire’s face, eyes seeming to shine. “Bradford needs to use his words better. He said if he wasn’t impressed, he wouldn’t discuss not keeping you. He never out right said I had to fire you. So, unfortunately, we’ll still need to hear his complaints. But he can’t fire you unless he gives me a good reason. Which I doubt he’ll be able to give.”

“I...thank you, Mr. McDuck.” Gyro weakly answered in disbelief.

“Don’t thank me. Just be the scientist I know you can be.”

“I will sir!”

Turning in the elevator to face Gyro, Scrooge gave a nod and smile. “I know lad. I trust you.”

_____________________________

The Brother

Gyro has always been a loner. He worked best this way. He was able to focus and didn’t have to constantly worry if his partner was doing their work properly. Plus, no one had really tried to include him in anything during his younger years. So he learned that working alone was better for him.

He was very much against the idea of having an intern working in his lab. Which Scrooge flat out refused to take Gyro’s refusal. Meaning the chicken couldn’t deny the hired help no matter how loudly he complained. With the unfortunate addition of the possible literal rendition of sunshine named Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera being hired a few weeks later. Which also meant an increased number of ‘visitors’ to this dangerous lab to see the brown duck. Doing nothing to help Gyro’s frantic state of keeping everything safe and making sure nothing became evil.

Scrooge was a common person to see there. After all, he owned the lab and it was attached to his place of work. Why wouldn’t he arrive to check on progress. To be shown what Gyro was working on. Now, however, the billionaire invited himself in to also check on Fenton. To make sure the intern was actually doing scientific research and not just cleaning the floors.

Launchpad had become friends with Fenton after that B.U.D.D.Y incident. The idiotic driver deciding that wasting time discussing some childhood show was perfectly fine. Gyro honestly tried to not become infuriated. But did he have to waste the interns' time! Even if the chicken didn’t want help from the other. It was the principle of the matter.

This also caused the blue nephew (Dew- something, whatever) to join Launchpad in the lab. Two children or beings with childlike personalities running around in the lab. A place filled with dangerous equipment. It was the perfect place to socialize in, Gyro sarcastically muttered to himself. And Scrooge actually encouraged it! Saying social engagement was good for both Fenton and Gyro. As if the chicken wanted to talk to someone who didn’t know what NaCl was.

So even he was surprised when he started to form a connection with Huey Duck. The red cladded nephew first started showing up to visit Fenton originally. The duckling particularly enamored with the scientist/superhero. Both talking for hours about new upgrades they could possibly make to the suit.

“With you permission, of course! D-Dr. Gearloose.” Fenton would assure with a sheepish smile. Which Gyro would respond with a mere rolling of his eyes.

As time went on and Fenton started to leave more and more due to hero calls, Huey started following Gyro around. The duckling deciding he wouldn't want to leave the labs quiet yet. And Huey wanted to pick the head scientist’s brain with his own ideas. At first, Gyro assumed his ‘wonderful’ personality would drive the other away. Huey, however, didn’t seem to care.

“You don’t have any siblings, do you.”

Gyro raised a brow at that. “Uh, no. At least I didn’t when I was actually living at home. At this point in my life, who knows. What’s your point.”

“My point being that your sullen attitude will have no effect on me. I’m the oldest of three. So, I have to deal with younger brothers. Sour attitudes are an old trick.”

“There really is no getting rid of you.”

“Nope.”

Gyro won’t lie, it was aggravating at first. He already had a shadow in the form of Fenton. Now the chicken was settled with another one that liked to constantly talk and didn’t fear him. Gyro only gave proper notice to the duckling when Fenton came to him with an upgrade for the Gizmosuit. One that sounded good.

“I thought you were busy with your toothbrush idea. When did you have time to think of this?”

“Actually, Huey came up with this.” Fenton answered.

“The red triplet?”

The duck smiled softly. “He’s been around here enough times. I think you can refer to him by his name.”

The chicken wasn’t overly fond of this idea. In his mind, the use of a name means Gyro cared enough to remember. And caring meant he wasn’t truly focused on his work. Something Akita was very adamant that Gyro learned.

But look where Gyro was now. Abandoned by his mentor.

Maybe Fenton was onto something. That felt strange to say.

“Very well. Perhaps I’ll have to try it your way.” Gyro was hit with a wave of confusion by the sudden sweeping sensation that went through his stomach. Fenton’s smile seeming to hit differently that day. But the head scientist filed that sensation away under ‘a later problem’.

Gyro should not have felt a sense of accomplishment seeing Huey’s eyes light up upon hearing his name. The chicken should have cut ties when the triplet sheepishly asked if Gyro could review Huey’s science project. And there should have been no sickening, worry feeling entering his veins when Huey arrived to the labs one day with a black eye.

Fenton, being the caring overbearing person he was, instantly panicked. “Huey! What happened to you? Are you alright?”

Gyro scoffed. “Of course he isn’t. He’s injured.”

“Do we have ice packs?”

“Freezer in the break room. I’ll get the first aid.” The chicken gestured for Huey to follow him. The duckling doing so without complaint. “Come on, take a seat. I need to see where else you’ve been hurt.”

Huey gave no response. Which was starting to become worrisome. The duckling was covered with small cuts and bruises. Gyro thankful it wasn’t worse… Because he didn’t want to waste the resources! Of course. What else would he be talking about.

Fenton came rushing back in. An ice pack wrapped in a hand towel was pressed against the black eyes. “Leave that there for a while. Do you need some pain medicine?”

“Already taken care of,” Gyro answered once again, “Now that all of that’s been taken care of. I think we’re owed an explanation.”

“Dr. Gearloose, just give him a moment.”

“I would like a reason for why Huey,” darn it Gyro said the name, “came to us instead to one of his uncle’s or other family members.”

“He can tell us when he’s ready. Give him a chance to relax.”

“And he can when he tells us- me what’s going on right now.”

“Dr. Gearloose-”

“I was able to skip a level in science.” The adult fell quiet hearing Huey’s whispered response.

“What?”

Huey gestured to his discarded bag. To which Fenton grabs it, handing it over. The duckling opened it and pulled out a familiar notebook that had been shoved into Gyro’s face numerous times. One that held Huey’s numerous sketches and ideas. Except it was destroyed. Practically torn to shreds, almost unrecognizable from what the head scientist had seen before.

“I showed my teachers my notebook. They were really impressed and talked to the principal about me skipping a level. It’s so I could enter the science fair that the upper level students can participate in. They said I had a lot of potential. Uncle Donald was happy, I was happy. My brothers teased me, but I know they were happy for me. I was kind of...blinded by my eagerness, I was under the assumption everyone would just be...okay with this.”

“Your classmates…” Gyro meant to have it sound like a statement. It instead sounded like a sickening realization.

But Huey merely nodded before continuing. “They’ve been writing things on my desk. Throwing things at me. I’ve been ignoring it…”

“Have they...hurt you before?” Fenton asked.

“No. I think they were tired that they hadn’t been getting a response from me like they wanted.”

“Have you told your uncle about this?”

“No… He’s already having a hard time finding a job and fixing the boathouse. I was hoping if I just ignored them, they’d leave me alone. ...I think I’m going to just drop back down to my grade level.”

“You are not going to let those punks win,” Gyro was surprised that he didn’t flinch as two sets of eyes snapped to him, “If you just go running back to your previous classes, you let them win. You’ll give them more fuel to think their actions are right. Especially if you haven’t told anyone about this. There will be no repercussions and they’ll continue to be terrible little creatures.”

“What do I do then?” Huey asked.

“You’re going to tell your uncle, your teachers, your principal, everyone you can. You’re going to come back with even better ideas. And This is a fight you can win because you have support. People who care about you...or something mushy like that.”

Huey gave a nod, rubbing his good eye and giving a blinding smile. “Okay...thank you, Dr. Gearloose.”

Gyro didn’t squirm weakly under the adoring look being sent his way. Or feel any sort of warmth blossoming in his chest knowing he’d helped in some way. Or become flustered at the smile aimed at him by Fenton, who’s eyes seemed to shine with happiness.

“I also know a side step that can break a femur. Very useful to know.”

“Dr. Gearloose!”

A few days later, Huey returned to the labs. Bright eyed and eager to show off his idea. No longer supporting injuries or secrets.

Gyro felt another save of fluster when Huey hugged his legs while Fenton laughed softly as he watched.

_____________________________

The Son

Gyro was surprised so much could change in one day. Well...one day-ish. It was more like three. Point being it felt as if all events had transpired in one day.

2-BO, now named Boyd, entered his life once more. The real boy having befriended Huey. Because of course that’s who would meet Gyro’s used-to-be biggest regret. Then he returned to Tokyolk after 10 years with Fenton, Huey, and Boyd in tow. The original intention was to destroy (Selene above he felt sick thinking about it now) Boyd. Get rid of his past.

Only for his entire perspective to be flipped. The mentor he thought was on his side had corrupted Gyro’s creation. Boyd was never given an option in his original purpose. Turned into a war machine that the chicken never wanted. And Gyro himself realized he was not the mad scientist so many had labeled him as.

He will admit, it was by sheer dumb luck and tapping into emotions he was sure had shriveled up long ago that it all ended so well. Akita was arrested. Going to be put to trial and allowing Gyro a chance to properly clear his name. Boyd overrode all corrupted coding, both Akita’s and Mark’s. Becoming the real little boy he was meant to be. All surviving and heading back home to Duckberg. As he rested in the cushioned plane seat, Boyd resting on his lap, Gyro was hit with two realizations.

The first topic (one which he honestly wanted to focus on much, much later) was an understanding of what Fenton meant to him. Between the fear of possible death and the burn of betrayal, Gyro had felt a deep distress watching the duck fight for his life. Fenton had given his all to protect the city and the citizens. And it almost cost him his life. Something Gyro never wanted to see again. The reason why was something that the chicken was not fully ready to review. Not yet. Possibly in the future, at some point. But he had another problem he needed to worry about now.

The second worry was equally confusing. Possibly because Gyro was still emotionally backed up. He wasn’t quite sure what was going to happen to Boyd. Gyro was made aware by Huey that the other real boy had been living with the Drake’s. A pompous rich family with an arrogant and rather disturbing child. A setting Gyro didn’t want Boyd growing up in. But what was the other option? Gyro himself? Someone who’s never known a stable family life and is not even close to the person Boyd once knew.

He could barely care for himself if Gyro was honest. Living off of multiple cups of coffee and cheap instant noodles. His sleep schedule was non-existent. Social skills were laughable. Gyro had honestly nothing to offer. It was terrible that there was not a better solution to all of this. Boyd deserved so much better than whatever his current care taking options could offer.

Gyro was shocked when, only a few days later, Boyd announced he wanted to live with the scientist.

“I- why?” Gyro winced at how harsh he sounded. But Boyd merely smiled back.

“I just found you. I don’t want to lose you again.”

Well, how was he supposed to say no to that? Gyro’s second bedroom, which once housed numerous boxes, was turned into a proper living space. He lived by a schedule that revolved around Boyd’s activities. Researching meals that both could enjoy and even learning how to properly cook. It was strange, but very rewarding. Gyro didn’t think it would affect him so much.

Until Fenton pointed it out.

“You’re really happy.”

It was a casual comment. But it gave Gyro pause. “What?”

Fenton stalled at that, flushing softly. “Sorry, I mean… I just noticed you seemed to be smiling more. And you’re more relaxed. You’re eating better and well rested. You just look really happy.”

Gyro leaned back in his chair. Tapping his pen as he thought the statement over. “I...suppose I am. Boyd really had changed me for the better, I think. Isn’t it strange...he was once my biggest regret. Now, I can’t see him not being in my life. I do worry that I’m not doing enough. Or that I won’t be what Boyd needs.”

Gyro flushed softly feeling a hand benign placed on his shoulder. Looking up at the beaming face Fenton. “You’re doing a wonderful job Gyro. Don’t doubt yourself.”

The scientist did all he could to not melt into the floor. He takes Fenton’s words to heart. Gyro had worked with Fenton long enough to know the duck wasn’t one to just give false praise. So, if Fenton thought the chicken was doing well, who was Gyro to question the given conclusion.

Gyro’s resolve was truly tested when he received a call from the school Boyd was attending. Apparently the real boy had been in a fight. A fight fight with another student.

Hearing this caused Gyro to panic. Worrying that possibly, maybe, the corrupted programming had returned. Wondering what could have happened for Boyd to act like this. Had Gyro said something sarcastic that the real boy had taken to heart? Was Boyd going to be taken away? Was this a sign that Gyro was not fit to be a caretaker?

The chicken was brought out of his spinning thoughts when someone grabbed his shoulders. Eyes connected to Fenton’s, who’s looking was concerning.

“Dr. Gearloose, you need to calm down. You’re drawing a conclusion with so little context. Just go to the school and hear what happened. Then you can react appropriately.”

“Right… Right, I need to get there.” The chicken mumbled weakly, eyes now frantically scanning the lab for his car keys. Fenton came to the rescue again when said items suddenly appeared in his hands.

“How about I drive.”

“...Yeah. That’s probably for the best.”

The drive was quiet. Fenton focused on the road while Gyro internally panicked. All too soon they were pulling into the school’s parking lot. The area was relatively empty as they walked up to the front entrance. Fenton made a quiet comment about the teachers having to park behind the building. It was a bit of a shock to run into Donald. The duck looked close to an angry snap.

“Hello Mr. Duck.” Fenton offered a smile.

“Fenton,” Donald’s eyes went to Gyro, “Boyd?”

Gyro nodded. “He was apparently in a fight. What about you?”

“Huey.”

What was going on?

The three walked in together, being directed by the secretary to where the principal’s office was. Dewey and Louie were waiting outside. The triplets wearing concerned looks when they looked over to the approaching adults. Donald gave them each a hug with a few words of encouragement before knocking on the imposing door. Gyro’s hand instantly shot out and grabbed onto Fenton’s as his heart raced. The duck gave no complaint. Even giving an encouraging squeeze as they walked in.

The large desk was the first thing to note. Large and imposing, telling all that the person sitting behind it to be respected. Even if the principal himself was a frail little bird. To the right sat a large bulldog boy supporting an arm with fabric wrapped around it. Gyro assumed there was a scrap of some kind underneath the fabric. A wiry female was dotting over the child while a brick wall of a man standing behind them both with his arms crossed.

To the left sat Huey and Boyd. The real boy seemed unharmed. Just appearing extremely nervous and worried. Huey, on the other hand, was supporting a black eye. A bag of ice already pressed on the injury. Gyro needed to research if there were long term effects of multiple black eyes.

Donald instantly broke away from the three, bending down to check on Huey. Gyro walked over to Boyd. Still having a hold on Fenton’s hand.

“Are you okay?” Gyro frantically asked. To which Boyd gave a sharp nod and fell still again. Deciding that was enough of an answer for now, the scientist moved himself and Fenton to behind the seats.

“Thank you all for coming,” the principal began, “I realize this was all on short notice. But we do not tolerate fighting. According to numerous student witnesses, there was a verbal dispute that turned violent during recess. One that resulted in Dennis benign pushed and Huey receiving a black eye. Before I continue, I will ask that you hold all comments and questions until the end. Is this agreeable?”

All adults nodded.

“Very well.” Reaching for something in his drawer, the principal pulled out a cell phone protected by a faded green case. “Louie Duck was able to record the incident and it lines up with the events the other students have provided. Dennis here was apparently using verbal harassment and inappropriate language against Boyd. To which Huey attempted to defuse the situation by walking away. Dennis has responded by throwing a punch. To what ends, I’m unsure, and Dennis has not provided an answer for his actions.”

The chair Huey was sitting in let out a loud noise of protest. Donald gripping the back of it tightly.

“And you well to continue, Mr. Duck?”

Donald nodded.

“Very well. Boyd here reacted to this by pushing Dennis away. The scrap on his arm caused by his fall. Mr. and Mrs. Morris, I’m unsure as to where your son has learned such language and actions. I would advise you to seriously monitor the media and outside influence your son consumes.”

“Oh absolutely,” Mrs. Morris answered readily, “Don’t you fret. We will have a stern talking to Dennis when we get home.”

“That is good to hear. Now, does anyone have any questions about this matter.”

“What exactly did young Dennis here say to Boyd. If I may ask.” Gyro’s voice was even. But, if Fenton squeezing his hand was any indication, his tone was dripping with venom.

“I won’t say specifics as I don’t wish to repeat them. Dennis was making comments about Boyd’s...past. Something about him being dangerous. As well as some...homophobic comments.”

Fenton squeezed Gyro’s hand again, the chicken shaking now. With fear or rage, he couldn’t tell. His own attention had snapped over to Mr. Morris. The father still having his arms crossed and imposing. But Gyro noticed the other’s eyes flitted down to Gyro’s and Fenton’s joined hands. The scowl seemed to become deeper once the father was caught in the action.

“I see. I’m very concerned as to where Dennis would have picked up language like that.” Gyro held eye contact with Mr. Morris until the principal cleared his throat.

“If there are no more questions… Mr. and Mrs. Morris, the actions, both verbal and physical, cannot go unpunished. We do not tolerate this kind of behavior. Dennis will be given one weeks suspension. As well as a written apology letter to both Huey and Boyd. I would also recommend setting up some meetings with the school counselor.”

“Understandable, very reasonable.” Mrs. Morris nodded while Mr. Morris was shaking with, no doubt, rage.

“Very well. Mr. Gearloose-”

“Dr. Gearloose.”

“Ah, apologizes. Dr. Gearloose, I’m aware Boyd was merely defending Huey. However-”

“You’re going to give him detention because he pushed Dennis. Defending himself in a violent way.”

“Ah...yes. Huey will receive no punishment. I hope we’re all understanding of this course of action?” Another round of sharp nods, “Very well, I won’t keep you all any longer. Mr. Duck, here is Louie’s phone. Thank him for providing me with his phone. All are excused for the rest of the day.”

It was tense walking out. The Morris’ were leading the way. But Gyro kept a tight grip on Fenton as Mr. Morris kept glancing back with a dark scowl. Something Gyro was not a fan of. It didn’t reach a head until they entered the parking lot. Away from the front doors and the cameras.

Mr. Morris turned and stalked over to the mismatched group. Gyro more than ready for the awaiting confrontation.

“I know you, Gearloose. I’ve seen your name in the paper before. You’re an absolute menace in every possible way.” Eyes darted back down to the still clasped hands.

“Yet I’ve accomplished more than you could ever hope for in your miserable life. Your need for constant approval has clearly made you bitter. Because you’d rather stomp out any spark of joy than attempt to change yourself or your family. If this incident was any indication.”

Mr. Morris let out a low growl. Gyro fully expecting to be decked as well. Only to be shocked when Fenton stepped between the two. The larger looking down with a raised brow.

“And who are you.”

“He’s my emotional support duck.” Gyro answered.

“Do you really think a confrontation on school grounds will reflect well in any way,” Fenton said, “I would suggest you step away from this now.”

Mr. Morris popped his shoulder, his scowl set. From behind, Mrs. Morris gave a clear and harsh cough. Her husband benign sent a hard stare of his own when he turned to look back. It was a silent, but brief conversation between the two of them that ended with the husband shuffling back over to his family. No one from the group relaxed until the pink mini-van drove away from the parking lot.

“So what exactly was your plan here?” Gyro frowned at Fenton, “I don’t see the Gizmoduck armor on you.”

“My body reacted before I could really...think.” The duck laughed sheepishly.

The head scientist merely rolled his eyes before turning to Boyd. Who looked back with worried eyes. “You okay?”

The real boy shifted nervously. “He called me a weapon and...I really tried not to fight. I tried to ignore him. But he...he pushed Huey and I got really mad… What if he was right?”

“He absolutely is not right.”

“Gyro.” Fenton whispers, in the same tone that told the chicken he was sounding harsh. The head scientist was thrown off for a moment hearing his name and not his normal title. Tuck that moment of broken mind away for later.

Gyro let out a slow breath before kneeling down and placing a hand on Boyd’s shoulder. “Boyd, you know who you are. I know who you are. You are not a weapon or a mindless machine. You are a real little boy. And you need to remember that, because you are going to meet a lot of people like Dennis. Closed minded and very ignorant. Saying anything they can to make you feel miserable and make them feel better.”

“However...you have people in your life who know you. Truly know you. Those are the people you need to listen to. Because they are going to make sure you believe in yourself. Understand?”

Boyd blinked as he thought the statement over. Eyes darting over to Huey, the triplets watching as Donald shouted at someone over the phone. No doubt having called up the principal or someone higher up in the schooling system to complain about the interaction in the parking lot. The red cladded triplet looked over to Boyd, giving a small smile and a wave. Which the real boy returned happily.

“I understand, Dad.”

Gyro swallowed weakly, pulling the small form closer while trying to keep his emotions in check. A weight on his shoulder drew his attention back to Fenton. Who had bent down as well with a smile on his face. The chicken smiled back in appreciation.

_____________________________

The Lover

Gyro knew this realization was a long time coming. No matter how many times he tried to deny it. Tell himself emotions were useless weights. He reached the point where he couldn’t hide the fact any longer.

Gyro had fallen in love with Fenton.

Which is not something he really wanted to focus on.

Gyro was sure he was becoming addicted to Fenton’s laugh. The head scientist had a mental category that each laugh fell into. A hard exhale through the nose was a sarcastic laugh if Fenton found something ridiculous but didn’t want to say anything. Hiding behind his clipboard with shoulders shaking meant he found something online but didn’t want to disturb the quiet. Small chortles seemed reserved for Gyro, the duck finding the head scientist’s dry humor funny. His full laugh was used with abandonment when he knew he wouldn’t be reprimanded for being so loud. Which was honestly more often than not anymore. Gyro found he loved how the sound would echo in the labs. It was almost like music.

There was also a list of body ticks that always caught Gyro’s eyes. Gently tapping the eraser of his pencil against his bill as he thought through a new problem. Tilting his head to the side with his hip occasionally cocked to the side as he looked over a blueprint. His brow would furrow when he concentrated hard on a situation. The top of his tongue would poke out when he reached ‘Gyro level’ of focus. His nose would crinkle when he silently found something amusing or disgusting. Which could only be determined by how brightly his eyes would shine.

Gyro could privately say, to himself, in his head, that Fenton honestly kept him grounded. The number of insults he would have hurled at the media dwindled when he thought of how disappointed the duck would be. The chicken had substantially cut back on the cups of coffee he would consume in one day when Fenton made a comment about being worried about his heart. He was surprised when he went to the duck to look over a new design, wanting feedback. Fenton beaming with each new time he was included in something. Gyro would counter saying Scrooge had warned the chicken he wasn’t utilizing Fenton to his fullest ability. Which was partially true. But he would be lying if Gyro wasn’t also looking for that blinding smile of adoration to be sent his way.

So, yes. After all the mental and physical lists he created. The pros and cons to having a relationship with anyone. Countless nights where he would lie awake knowing he was nowhere near worthy enough to have Fenton. Gyro knew he was in love with the duck.

The problem was moving forward with this revelation.

In all honesty, admitting it just made it all more bothersome. When Gyro still had his walls up, he could blame the rapid heartbeat as some symptoms of an onset illness. Just push the problem away to keep working. But having Boyd back in his life made him realize how bottling his emotions had become so damaging. Making Gyro more aware of what he was missing.

So now he was left to tread water. Wondering who he trusted well enough to ask for help.

There weren’t that many options with the Duck family. He and Donald had never really gotten along before the Spear of Selene incident. And Gyro was sure the duck still held some hostility towards him about the incident. While Gyro would consider Della the closest person to be a ‘childhood’ friend, she was dealing with her own issues. The kids were far too young to be considered as an option. Launchpad only had two rocks rolling around in that empty head, so any advice from him was not worth the headache. M’ma Cabrera? ...Selene above no. Even Gyro wasn’t that insane.

So that only left...Scrooge McDuck. This could not be considered a work appropriate topic. But the chicken was honestly at his wits end and needed help. The billionaire was his last and only option. It was with a heavy stone in his stomach that Gyro approached the familiar office doors. Knocking on them and only entering when he heard the familiar call out to do so.

“Ah, Gyro! What can I do for you?” Scrooge asked as the chicken sat across from him.

“I...need some advice.”

Scrooge paused in his writing, raising a brow as his full attention went to Gyro. “Advice on what?”

The chicken swallowed weakly. “Uh...romantic advice?”

“I see…” The billionaire placed his pend down. Clearing his throat, Scrooge sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Well, I will admit that I have not been very successful in my own love life. But I can offer help in any way I can. So, who’s the lucky person?”

Gyro swallowed again, feeling his face become flushed at the question. Doing all he could not to groan, he answered, “It’s Fenton.”

“The Gizmoboy? Really?”

Gyro nodded, not looking at Scrooge. His face on fire. “I just don’t know what to do. I’m aware that things have been going well and I don’t want to ruin it. But I feel like I’m going crazy! My heart is always going so fast when he’s near. I want to tell him, I really do. But...I also don’t think I’m the kind of person he deserves…”

Scrooge let out a heavy sigh as Gyro’s shoulders slumped. “I won’t act as if I’ve known you for your entire life. We both know I haven’t. But I have seen you at your lowest point and every triumph you’ve accomplished along the way. I’ve seen you slowly close in on yourself. It pained me to watch because I wasn’t sure how to help…”

“Let’s be honest sir. We both have not been in great positions emotionally for a while.” Gyro commented weakly. One that got a laugh out of Scrooge.

“This is true. But, the point is you have made a change in the past few months. I know you’ve built walls around yourself. I also know...bringing those walls down can be a terrifying idea. You’ve already started thanks to that boy of yours. Even if it was unintentional.”

“But what if he says no? I don’t know… There are too many variables that could offer a negative outcome.”

“That’s the risk of life. The good and the bad.”

“So what if he says no.”

“Then you move forward.”

“...I don’t know if I will recover.”

“Gyro, you’re putting the horse before the cart. And we’re still building the cart.”

Letting out a small groan, Gyro rubbed his forehead before looking back up. “Okay. So I’m taking a risk. We’ve determined that. But what do I say to him?”

“You just ask him.”

“Could you please not make it sound so easy.”

“It sounds easy because it is. You’re asking Fenton out on a date. Not defusing a bomb.”

“Yet the latter seems easier to accomplish.”

“Take the risk Gyro. Don’t waste your life wallowing on the ‘what-ifs’. You’ll regret it.”

Gyro left the office with not many answers and a pounding headache. But with determination to try and make this work in some way.

The bottom drawer of his desk was now filled with blueprints. Not for machines, but the best plan to ask Fenton out. The perfect places to go. All ranging from the cliche to the outlandish. What day would work best. His feathers became further ruffled as he worked. After a week of no progress, Gyro knew this wasn’t going to work. No reliable variables or knowledgeable outcomes. He just needed to do this. Because Gyro couldn’t stay in this mindset anymore.

Gyro’s first move was to wait for the lab to be empty. If he was going to crash and burn, he didn’t want an audience. Once that was achieved, he took a deep breath to settle his heart (didn’t work) and walked over to Fenton’s desk. The duck breaking from his thoughts hearing Gyro clear his throat.

“Hello Dr. Gearloose. What can I help you with?”

Gyro’s heart seemed to pick up it’s pace. Between the smile and wide eyes, the chicken felt like he was melting. In a good way. If that makes sense. None of this did.

Emotions were just so messy.

Darn it Gyro, focus!

“I...was wondering if you would be interested in conducting a...social experiment with me.”

“Oh, uh, sure! Of course. What’s the experiment?”

Another deep breath. “There is a new cafe that’s opened up recently near where I live. I am curious if you would like to join me in trying the products they offer. Sometime this weekend, possibly Saturday? Possibly trade some stories?”

Fenton’s head tilted to the side as Gyro spoke. A small smile forming as the other finished. “Dr. Gearloose-”

“Gyro. You...you can call me Gyro.”

“Okay, Gyro. Would it be safe to assume that this is an ask for a date?”

“That...would be a safe assumption.”

“Then I accept.”

Gyron was honestly shocked he was able to remain standing. Relief hitting him quickly upon hearing the answer. “Good, good.”

“How about I drop by your apartment around 8? Have breakfast at this cafe?”

“That’s acceptable.”

“Good. I look forward to this Saturday.”

“I am as well.”

One date turned to two. Which turned into three. Which became having dinner at the Crackshell-Cabrera household. Gyro was shocked when he received M’ma Cabrera’s blessing in  dating her son. But not before getting a stern warning of what would happen if Fenton was hurt in any way.

“I think that was successful.” Fenton commented as they were sharing their good-byes for the evening on the front porch.

“Yeah. Nothing says accepting like a talk that ends in the threat of my kneecaps.” Gyro smiled softly hearing the other chuckle.

“Well, she may or may not be upset still about your MoonVasion comment. You know. About throwing Gizmoduck into the masses as a sacrifice.”

“I may now also regret that comment…”

Another laugh from Fenton, the duck reaching down to gently take Gyro’s hand. Placing a kiss on the back of it before holding it close. “I’m glad you came. I think M’ma really appreciates it as well.”

“I’m happy I came as well… You know...I don’t say or do things that intentionally hurt you. I did at first but-”

“Gyro.”

“Yes?”

“I know you better now than I did before.”

And the matter was dropped.

The first kiss milestone occurred at the park around the holidays. Both bundled up against the cold and falling snow as they admired the strung holiday lights hanging from the numerous trees. Arms hooked, Fenton led the way with wide eyes. Giving small comments about the lights and how lovely the park was decorated. Gyro was admiring the duck himself. Loving how the lights fell over the brown plumage. Fenton eventually caught on that the chicken wasn’t looking at the light as he was. Flushing softly seeing eyes on him.

“W-What?” The duck laughed, a small smile forming.

“You’re beautiful.” Gyro responded softly. Fenton’s eyes widened at the comment before softening into another smile. Gyro put up no restraint as he was gently pulled down. Fenton leaning up and meeting the chicken in a gentle kiss. It was only a few seconds, but Gyro loved every moment of it.

The utterance of the three words came a few months into them dating. Fenton had arrived back to the labs after an intense battle to find a worried chicken. Arms crossed and first aid kit in his hands. There was a sharp point set to the couch and Fenton understood the silent command. Stepping out of the suit and plopping onto the cushioned furniture. Gyro made it clear he was less than pleased at the moment.

“What were you thinking.” The chicken snapped. Hand shaking as he attempted to gently clean the cuts.

“People needed help.”

“Why is that your answer for everything and why do you think it’s a reasonable one.”

“Because it’s true. I have to defend Duckberg.”

“Even against crazies coming from St. Canard? Can’t that purple caped idiot keep them in his neck of the woods.”

Fenton smiled softly. “Villains are people too. You can’t control everything.”

“Don’t tell me that. You know the first thing I’m going to do is make something that controls people to make them leave this place.”

“Gyro, that’s unethical.”

“Well, maybe if you would stop being your heroic self and making me worry.”

“I understood the risks when I took this position. As did you. As long as I have you to come back to, I’ll be okay.”

Gyro huffed as he finished up. Turning to start packing up the supplies. “I love you, but you can be such an idiot sometimes.”

He didn’t catch it until Fenton grabbed his hand suddenly. The chicken looked up to find eyes filled with shock staring at him. “What...did you say?”

Gyro frowned, thinking back to his previous words. Face becoming full blown red when he realized what he’d just uttered. “I… Is it too soon to say that? I’m sorry, I just- I’ve been thinking it a lot and every time you go to your superheroing, I think how I’m not going to get to say it. But I know we haven’t dated for a year and-”

“I love you too.”

Swallowing his words down, Gyro’s head snapped back up to look Fenton in the eyes. They sat, staring at each other in disbelief before Fenton chuckled. Gyro shares his own sheepish grin before leaning forward to claim a kiss from Fenton.

It was close to a year of them dating that Fenton moved in with Gyro and Boyd. The real boy thrilled to have the other doctor living with them. The once small, cold apartment was now teeming with life. Mornings were a rush to get ready for the day and to be out the door before they were all late. The kitchen filled with warmth and wonderful smells as Fenton makes dinner with Gyro helping where he could. Meals being shared at the small dining table before watching a few shows until bedtime. Gyro and Fenton taking turns reading to Boyd before he powered down for the night.

It was a comfortable routine. Something Gyro thought he would’ve hated. But with each day ending with him and Fenton in their shared bed. The younger laying his head on Gyro’s chest and long arms wrapped around him. The chicken realized he wouldn’t want it any other way.

“I think we should buy a house.” Gyro suddenly commented into the darkness. Hearing Fenton hum softly as he was pulled from sleep.

“Where’d this come from?” The duck mumbled weakly.

“I’m not really sure. The boring suburban life seems pleasant after the craziness of...everything. What do you think?”

“I like the idea,” Fenton yawned widely before pressing closer, “We could get a big yard for Boyd and Lil Blub to play in. Neighborhood kids to become friends with. I think Della mentioned about getting a house in a quiet suburb. We could ask her.”

“That place won’t be quiet once that family moves in.”

“Oh hush. Wouldn’t it be nice to have Huey as a neighbor? Boyd would like it.”

“I suppose so…”

Fenton gave another hum, Gyro noticing the other’s breathing was slowing down again. He leaned down to place a kiss on Fenton’s forehead. “I love you.”

The duck laughed softly. Placing his own weak kiss on Gyro’s neck. “Love you too…”

Gyro let out a slow breath, a smile forming on his face. Eyes on the ceiling as he listened to Fenton fall asleep. A hand reached up to preen a few feathers as he pulled the other closer. Heart beating happily as he settled down further into the bed. A smile still on his face as he fell asleep as well.

[ducksmode]

Launchdad

Drake admires what a good dad Launchpad is.

Part Three of the “A Father, a Daughter, and a Launchpad” series.

Drake groans as the morning sunlight hits his eyes, turning over in bed to hide his face in his fiancé’s chest, only to find the other side of the bed empty. Peeking an eye open, he lets out a quiet ‘Hm?’, confused for only a second until he catches a glimpse of the clock on Launchpad’s night stand, he was probably dropping Gosalyn off at school and picking up Scrooge. 

He wakes up with a tired sigh, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to fall back asleep unless it was in Launchpad’s arms. Taking a moment to admire his engagement ring, Drake smiles to himself as he twiddles with it, and decides to pass the time by looking for deals on decorations and suits. 

When he finally hears the front door open and shut he looks over at the clock, noticing it took him a little bit longer than usual to get back home. He can hear him fussing about in the kitchen, and he pouts when he realizes he’s not coming back to bed just yet. 

Putting the wedding planning on hold, Drake gets up and finds one of Launchpad’s shirts from off the ground, slipping it on before stepping out. He finds Launchpad putting away groceries and starting on some pancakes, and his growling stomach gives him away.

Launchpad turns once he hears him, his bright smile practically blinding Drake as he gathers him up in his arms and smothers him with kisses, the smaller duck weakly protesting with half-hearted punches to his chest.

“Unhand me, fiend! I’ll have you know I have a fiancé!” Drake grumbles, giggling when Launchpad pecks at his neck, tickling him. 

“Lucky guy,” Launchpad chuckles, setting him down on the kitchen counter.

The domestic mornings they share now fill Drake with more love than he ever believed he could experience in his lifetime. As he watches Launchpad move around the kitchen getting the ingredients while chatting about the drive with Gos, he wonders what his and Gosalyn’s life would have been like if Launchpad McQuack had not crashed into it (and onto him).

-

Every morning, like clockwork, Launchpad gets up after a quick two hours of shuteye after Darkwing patrol to shuttle a usually zombie-like Gosalyn off to school. But not before a quick kiss to the forehead and a quiet ‘I love you’ from both fiancé and daughter, then they’re off to make sure she gets to class on time.

Drake watches them go each time with a fond smile before passing out, too exhausted from a night of fighting to struggle with sleep.

“Noooooo… don’ go…” Drake whines, clinging to Launchpad’s arm as he tries to leave the bed, frowning when he pulls himself free easily but grabs his hand.

“Gotta take Gos to school and Mr. McD to work then I’ll be right back, ok?” he reassures, kissing each finger gently. Drake snatches his hand back, opening one eye to glare at his ‘too-handsome-for-seven-in-the-morning’ fiancé.

“Traitor… I’m calling off the wedding,” he sniffs, turning away from Launchpad and nestling further into the bed. Launchpad chuckles behind him, nuzzling into the back of his neck and kissing his shoulder.

“Aw come on, don’t you care about our daughter’s education?” Launchpad hums, smiling into Drake’s palm when he pushes it against his face, shoving him away. “Just go, leave me to sleep all by myself…” Drake sighs, unable to keep his beak from quirking up when Launchpad pecks his temple, whispering a soft ‘I love you’ into his feathers before he leaves.

“How are you never tired waking up this early?” Drake yawns, watching Launchpad bustle about the room from his comfy spot on the bed.

“I gotta take my baby girl to school,” Launchpad says like it's the most obvious thing in the world, smile full of love. “How could I be tired when I get to spend more time with the best daughter in the world?”

“I heard that! Flattery will get you nowhere, Pops!” Gosalyn shouts from somewhere in the house and they both laugh.

It’s a terribly hot weekend in both Duckburg and her sister city, and so Launchpad suggests a visit to the beach to cool off. After a quick call to Donald to see if the kids would like to have a beach day as well, during which he finds out they were just about to call him to ask the same thing, the station wagon is packed up for a day at the beach then they’re off.

Gosalyn bounces excitedly in the backseat, singing along loudly with Launchpad to whatever garbage the radio is playing, and Drake shakes his head at their antics but he wouldn’t trade his family for the world.

Once they get there, they walk along the beach for a minute, Drake grabbing Launchpad’s bare arm with one hand and holding Gosalyn’s hand with the other, finding Donald and the kids after a bit of searching.

“Launchpad!” Dewey yells when he sees his best friend, taking a running leap at him and making him drop everything to catch the triplet. 

Drake lets Gosalyn go so she can run and give Webby and the other boys a hug, watching them all with a smile. Donald comes up to give him a tight hug, and Drake didn’t realize how much he missed the other duck. They really needed a break like this, between wedding planning and crime fighting there hadn’t been much time for just being with family and relaxing. 

After helping Launchpad set up the umbrella and beach chairs, he makes both him and Gosalyn sit down to make sure they put on sunscreen, fussing over Gosalyn a little more just to mess with her before letting her go play, watching her go with a wave.

Drake is suddenly pulled back into Launchpad’s lap with an indignant squawk, laughing when his fiancé nudges at his ticklish neck.

“Launchpad!” Drake scolds, turning about to fix him with a stern glare that quickly falls apart into a smile.

“Think you missed a spot, babe.” Launchpad chuckles, “Right here on my beak,” he says, puckering his beak for a kiss but Drake just snorts at him, pushing his face away.

“You dork, get away from me and go make sure our daughter doesn’t somehow set fire to the beach.” Drake chides, giving in and settling for one peck when Launchpad doesn’t let him go. Looking pleased with himself, Launchpad gives him one last kiss on the cheek before throwing his crop top off and running after the kids.

Watching him go with a happy sigh, Drake settles down next to Donald, taking the wine glass offered to him with many thanks.

“Wait, should you be drinking? Didn’t you drive here?” Drake asks, raising a brow as he sips his drink.

Donald shakes his head, making a show of taking a big gulp, “Storkules dropped us off before he went to work. He’s gonna pick us up when he gets out.” 

“I was gonna ask where your man was,” Drake teases, nudging Donald with his elbow, “When did he get his driver's license that's awesome!”

They talk for a little while about this and that, catching up on each others lives and how their kids were doing until said children all run over complaining about being hungry. They chow down on the fruit and sandwiches they brought like the little monsters they are before settling down to make a sand castle all together. Launchpad lays down on the sand next to Drake, resting his head in his lap, who leans down for a quick kiss, ignoring Gosalyn’s yell to ‘Get a room!’.

Launchpad grabs Drake’s left hand to kiss the ring there, smiling up at him and Drake can’t not give him one more kiss, snorting at the dazed expression his fiancé gives him when he pulls away. Seeing how tired Launchpad was in the way his eyelids droop, Drake threads his fingers through his wet hair, “Go ahead and take a nap, babe. Donald and I have got the kids.” he whispers, kissing his forehead.

He quickly does just that, snoozing in Drake’s lap, who takes the opportunity to practice his hair braiding skills, tying different little braids throughout his locks. Sensing something evil afoot, Drake looks up to see the kids have gotten closer, Launchpad in their sights.

“If you let us bury Pops I’ll clean my room!” Gosalyn whisper-shouts, and Drake hums, pretending to think over the proposition.

“Do the dishes tomorrow, too, and you’ve got a deal.” he offers, and Gosalyn pouts before nodding and shaking his hand.

“He drives a hard bargain…” Louie notes.

Gosalyn hushes him before they all get to work quietly burying Launchpad in sand, his sleeping fiancé none the wiser. Once they’re done they make little designs in the sand covering him, giggling as they give him a mermaids tail and write messages in the sand.

Deciding they’ve had enough fun, Drake nudges Launchpad awake, relaying the situation to him quietly while the kids are distracted. When the kids least expect it, Launchpad bursts from the sand with a monster roar, chasing them about before scooping up as many as he can get in his arms, throwing himself into the water with them.

Drake admires how good Launchpad is with the kids, able to make them laugh just as easily as he can comfort them when they’re down. Donald watches him stare fondly at his fiancé with a smile, “Soooo, when’s the wedding?” he asks.

Drake turns to him with a blush, “We haven’t decided on a date yet, things have been pretty busy.” he sighs, “But we’ve been planning out decorations and looking at venues-” he pauses as Donald snorts into his drink.

“Venues? As if Scrooge would let you guys get married anywhere but the mansion.” Donald laughs, and Drake raises a brow.

“Really? I didn’t even think about asking him, he’s done so much for us already.” he shakes his head.

“He loves you guys! He may seem all grumpy and hardheaded, which he is, but he’s got a soft spot for anyone in his family and would do anything you guys asked in a heartbeat.” Donald smiles.

The conversation turns to wedding talk and Drake doesn’t miss the dreamy eyed look Donald gets.

“What about you and Mr. Adonis?” he asks, smirking when Donald turns bright red, sputtering and stammering through his words.

Before Donald can try to formulate words, Launchpad comes jogging up, and Drake is too distracted by how he looks without a shirt to notice him reaching down to pick him up, and he’s suddenly in his arms getting kisses pressed all about his face. Laughing embarrassingly loud, Drake tries to squirm out of his hold.

“It’s been a while since I told you I love you, just wanted to make sure you don’t forget.” Launchpad says after one last kiss, and Drake feels so in love he wants to get married right here and now.

It’s a Friday night, which means its one of the rare nights they let Gosalyn come out on patrol with them. They’re cruising through the streets of St. Canard, stopping a few petty thefts and purse snatchers, leaving a cookie crumb trail of criminals for the inept police to pick up. It’s a pretty calm night, Gosalyn whooping from her seat in Launchpad’s lap in the sidecar while they ride around, until the sound of a store alarm catches Darkwing’s attention.

He finds the source of the alarm, a jewelry store which is currently in the process of being robbed, and parks the Ratcatcher in a nearby alley, telling Gosalyn to stay put. He and Launchpad rush over, throwing down a smoke bomb to catch the thief by surprise.

“I am the terror that flaps in the night, I am the ugly broach on the lapel of crime, I am… Darkwing Duck!” he shouts, flaring out his cape as he emerges from the smoke, Launchpad at his side. The criminal is a dog of average build who looks more scared than villainous, and he goes to make a run for it but Drake tackles him to the floor, struggling for a bit until a sharp pain in his hand makes him flinch back with a hiss, giving the dog the opportunity to kick him off and run out the door, too quick for Launchpad to grab.

Looking at his hand to assess the damage, he finds a bloody cut there, not too deep or dangerous, just annoying and painful.

“You alright, DW?” Launchpad asks, picking him up off the floor.

“Yea, yea, let's just get after him!” he urges, taking off after the dog, finding a couple of dropped pieces of jewelry headed in the direction of the alley they left the Ratcatcher in. A sick feeling in his stomach has Drake pick up the pace, turning down the alley to find the criminal, and Gosalyn.

“S-Stop right there!” the dog cries, holding Gosalyn tighter around the beak, closer to his chest, and the glint of the knife under her chin makes Drake’s blood run cold. Launchpad soon appears next to him, about to ask why he’s stopped when he takes in the scene. Gosalyn kicks and squirms in his hold, her muffled cries making Launchpad see red.

“Just-just throw over the keys to this thing and leave us and nothing happens to her!” he demands, gesturing around wildly with his knife hand. Gosalyn has the keys but this idiot obviously doesn’t know, so Darkwing begins acting as best as he can.

“Alright, alright! My partner here has the keys, right?” he says calmly, glancing over at Launchpad, who looks more serious than he’s ever seen him. He catches a glimpse of the crowbar at Launchpad’s feet, which he has been slowly inching toward unbeknownst to the criminal.

“I’ve got the keys alright, DW…” Launchpad grits out, nudging his foot under the crowbar, getting ready. 

“Well hand em over already!” the dog cries, waving that knife hand around again when he speaks and Drake gets a good idea of what Launchpad is planning.

“Put the girl down and I’ll toss them, ok?” Launchpad tries, but he doubts he’ll follow his demand, is counting on it actually.

“As if! Just throw them-” he begins, waving his knife hand, away from Gosalyn’s neck, just like Launchpad had hoped, giving him the couple of seconds he needed to kick the crowbar up into the air, catching it with one hand and throwing it with deadly precision. The dog doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence or react as he’s thwacked with a face full of metal, crumpling to the ground with a curse.

Darkwing and his partner sprint to their daughter, Drake plucking her out of the criminals limp grasp with his good hand and holding her close, making sure she wasn’t hurt. Launchpad kicks his knife away before picking the dog up with one hand curled in his shirt, slamming him into a nearby wall and raising his other fist in case he still has any fight left in him. The criminal groans, glaring up at Launchpad, nose bloodied, and likely broken, thanks to him.

“You messed with the wrong family, bud.” Launchpad growls before punching his lights out, Drake and Gosalyn watching with wide eyes. Dropping the dog to the floor, Launchpad turns around, that angry look in his eyes gone in favor of concern, coming over to fret over Gosalyn and hug both she and Drake close.

“Pops that was awesome! That guy didn’t even know what was coming, and the way you-” Gosalyn stops as Launchpad pulls back from the hug, looking down at her with an expression so serious she wilts in her dad’s arms, going quiet.

Launchpad looks at the sky and the slowly rising sun, “Let’s go home.” is all he says, going to tie up the criminal and place him in front of the jewelry store. Gosalyn and Drake share a look at Launchpad’s unusual behavior, and Gosalyn gets the feeling they’re gonna have a “serious talk” when they get home.

The ride home is unbearably quiet, Launchpad’s arms squeezing the slightest bit tighter around her the whole way.

Once home, Drake tells Gosalyn to go get ready for bed before following Launchpad as he walks silently into the bedroom. Closing the door quietly, Drake comes up and wraps his arms about Launchpad from behind. He grabs his hands from where they wind around his chest, and Drake gasps at the sudden flare of pain.

“Your hand… why didn’t you tell me?” Launchpad asks, turning in his hold to give him a stern look. Drake rubs at his neck sheepishly with his free hand, “To be completely honest, I forgot about it.” 

Shaking his head but smiling at his fiancé, Launchpad leads him into the bathroom to get him patched up. He cleans him up with care, making sure the cut is properly disinfected before wrapping it up slowly, a far off look in his eyes.

“What if we lost her tonight?” Launchpad whispers, stilling his movements save for a slight shake in his hands.

Drake had a feeling this conversation was coming but it still makes his breath hitch in his throat just at the thought of something happening to Gosalyn. Grabbing Launchpad’s shaking hands in his own, Drake looks up at him, waiting until he meets his eyes to begin speaking.

“We didn’t, that's what matters. You’ll drive yourself crazy thinking about ‘what if’, so let's just focus on ‘what is’, here and now. You and I, and our daughter safe at home.” he says, reaching up to cup his cheek with his good hand.

Launchpad leans his face into his palm as tears spill from his eyes, and Drake frowns as he only shakes harder.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you… either of you…” Launchpad whimpers, gathering Drake up into his arms to cry into his neck. “I love you both, so much… I can’t lose you…”

Drake tries his best to not start crying as well, just holding on tight to Launchpad and rubbing his back to calm him down. Launchpad’s sobs slow until he’s just sniffling against Drake, calming down and pulling away.

“Sorry… sorry, I just-” he begins, but Drake leans in to kiss him soft and slow.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Drake soothes with a small smile when he pulls away, wiping at his cheeks with his thumbs. “We’re here now, ok? At home, safe, and Gosalyn is safe, too, thanks to you.” he reassures him, and Launchpad nods, taking a deep breath and leaning down to press his beak to Drake’s forehead.

They go through the motions of getting ready for bed, leaving the bathroom to curl up on the bed facing each other, Launchpad wrapping him up tight in his arms. A knock at the door makes Drake turn to call over his shoulder, “Come in.”

Gosalyn comes padding in slowly, climbing up onto the bed and over Drake to nestle between them, and both dad’s lean in to preen at her feathers, making her giggle.

“Am I forever banned from going on patrol?” she asks once they stop, looking up at them with her best puppy eyes.

Drake hadn’t even considered not letting her go on patrol anymore, but looks up at Launchpad to get his opinion as he was the one most shaken up by tonight. His brow furrows in concentration as he thinks, chancing a look at Gosalyn and automatically losing any internal battle he was going through. He could never deny her anything and they all knew it.

He sighs as he leans down to kiss the top of her head, “No, we just need to be more careful is all.”

Gosalyn cuddles closer to Launchpad, wrapping her small arms about his neck, “I will be. Thank you for keeping me safe, Pops.”

“A fight?! Gosalyn, sweetheart, we’ve talked about this before you can’t solve problems with your fists, you have to-”

“They called me a dyke…”

Drake’s shock causes him to pause in his cleaning of her bloody nose, meeting her eyes for only a second before she looks away, tears threatening to spill. He can sense Launchpad shaking with rage next to him and he places a hand on his arm to calm him.

“They what…?” Launchpad seethes, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Gosalyn sniffles, wiping at her eyes, “On the playground… these boys asked me why I never wear skirts or dresses… and-and why I played hockey… then… then one of them said ‘You must be a-’” but Drake stops her with a hand on her knee, leaning in to pull her into his arms, letting her cry into his shirt for a moment before pulling away.

“I’m so sorry sweetie… I’m-” he takes a calming breath, “Your father and I are gonna talk to your principal right now and make sure this never happens again, alright?” he says, holding her by the shoulders and giving her a strained smile, hoping it was comforting. She nods jerkily, wiping at her eyes again.

Leaving her in the nurse’s office, they head over to where the principal is waiting for them, Drake holding onto his fiancé’s arm the whole time to try and remain calm, taking note of the way the principal looks at their joined arms.

“Now I’m sure this must all be very upsetting, no one ever wants to see their child fighting over some simple schoolyard ribbing.” he says, which immediately gets Drake’s blood boiling.

“That was no ‘schoolyard ribbing’, that was bullying, and bullying with such an awful word attached to it that, to be quite honest, I’m glad my daughter maybe taught those boys a thing or two about what kind of words are acceptable today.” Drake rants, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Those boys are traumatized over what happened! You should have seen the black eyes your daughter gave them!” the principal huffs, and Drake feels a small rush of pride but tries to keep it from showing on his face.

“Good! Gosalyn should have done worse.” Launchpad laughs, and Drake gives him a sharp look.

“Excuse you? You’re lucky their parents aren’t pressing charges!” he says, giving them both an incredulous look.

“I’d like to them try! Sue my daughter, hah!” Launchpad shakes his head, and this conversation is not going as well as Drake would have liked.

“Your daughter? As far as I’m concerned, she’s Mr. Mallard’s child, and an adopted one at that…” he says the word like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, and Drake has to act fast to hold Launchpad back when he surges up from his seat.

The principal looks effectively cowed, pushing his seat back to get as far away from Launchpad as possible. Launchpad opens his beak as if to say more but shakes his head instead, turning to leave with a quick, ‘We’ll go wait in the car.’ tossed over his shoulder, shutting the door with a slam. Flinching at the loud door, Drake turns to the still terrified principal, “My fiancé is a very… passionate man…”

It was common knowledge that Launchpad was wrapped quite tightly around Gosalyn’s little finger, willing to do anything and everything for his little girl. It became a problem when they had bills to pay and Launchpad would spend entire paychecks on whatever Gosalyn wanted, like her archery set or top of the line hockey equipment.

All Gosalyn had to do was give Launchpad her tried and true puppy dog eyes and he would be toast, bending to her will as if she wasn’t half his size and also 11. 

She needed a lemonade stand for her up and coming business? Launchpad was already done building it before she could say ‘Please’. She was craving Hamburger Hippo and would absolutely die without it? Launchpad was there and back in fifteen minutes. 

Needless to say, Launchpad thoroughly spoiled Gosalyn, and Drake too at times, but he never expected anything in return, never asked for anything.

As his birthday approached, Drake and Gosalyn were at a loss, working feverishly to figure out what to get him.

Something Darkwing Duck related? He was going to marry Darkwing Duck, what more could they get him in that department? Something related to planes? Drake and Gosalyn couldn’t build anything to save their lives. 

They accepted defeat the day before his birthday, waiting until they were all sitting in front of the TV with the latest kids movie popped in to admit how awful they were.

“We don’t know what to get you for your birthday and we feel really bad ‘cause you always do stuff for us and we never do anything for you.” they say in unison, hanging their heads in shame.

“Buh?”

“Just tell us what you want so we can get it for you! Anything!” Gosalyn begs, climbing into his lap and shaking him by the front of his jacket. Launchpad gives them both a big smile before pulling them into his arms and kissing at their faces, his favorite thing to do.

“You guys… the only thing I could possibly want for my birthday is to spend as much time with you guys as possible.” he says once he���s done kissing them, setting them back down on the couch and getting into their usual movie night set up. As Launchpad wraps his arm around him, Drake looks over at his daughter, an idea brewing in their heads.

The next morning, Launchpad wakes up with a smile, excited to spend his birthday with his family, and he gets to start it next to his beautiful husband who is… not in bed next to him? Wondering for a second if he’s somehow slept in, he looks over to the clock to see it’s six in the morning, his usual weekend wake up time. Before he can begin planning his revenge in what is surely a kidnapping situation, the bedroom door bursts open.

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear, Launchpad (he’s pretty sure he hears Gosalyn say ‘Launchdad’) Happy birthday to you!”

In front of him are his fiancé and daughter, both looking very tired and ragged but smiling and excited nonetheless, holding a homemade chocolate cake, his favorite. 

It takes him a while to stop crying but his family hugs him the entire time, and there’s no other way he’d rather spend his birthday.

-

Pulled from his reminiscing as Launchpad gives him a sweet kiss, Drake sighs, wrapping his arms around his neck until he picks up a weird smell.

“Mr. McQuack I do believe the pancakes are burning.” he mutters against his beak as he pulls away, doubling over with laughter as Launchpad rushes to salvage their breakfast.

After a slightly singed breakfast, Drake tugs Launchpad back to bed to try and get a little more rest, practically lying on his chest to make sure he can’t go anywhere.

“Hey I thought you said you had a fiancé?” Launchpad scolds when he leans up to preen his neck feathers, and Drake snorts before sitting up, looking down at the love of his life with so much fondness it makes Launchpad blush.

“Yeah I do, he’s the whole package. Handsome, funny, good with kids… I think he just might be the one.” Drake smiles, pretending to lean in for a kiss before going back to laying on Launchpad’s broad chest. “You guys should meet, I think you’d be good friends.”

Launchpad chuckles as he wraps an arm around him and stokes his back, kissing his temple, “I love you, Drake.”

“I love you, too.” he whispers, curling up close until he’s draped all over him. Thinking back to his reminiscing earlier, Drake sits back up to give Launchpad an earnest look.

“You’re a great dad, Launchpad, you know that?”

Launchpad’s hand stills and he gives Drake a small smile, “You really mean that?”

Drake rolls his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief, “Of course I mean it! You’re the best thing that could have ever happened to Gosalyn and I! You’re so good with her and she loves you so much, and you love her ten times as much and I just… you’re a good dad.”

When he looks up from his ranting Launchpad has tears in his eyes, sniffling before cupping Drake’s cheek, “I can’t wait to marry you.” 

It’s the last thing Drake expects to hear but it makes his heart swell and tears of his own spill down his cheeks.

They get married two weeks later in a flurry of planning and excitement, completely unexpected but those close to the couple could only say ‘It’s about time.’

[ducklooney]

My first fanfiction-Quack Pack fanfiction?!

Here is finally something to do, I would just ask for some mistakes that I have right now on fanfiction to correct me and show me some things that are wrong, since they are certainly written the way I imagine those things. Thank you in advance for your help. Since unfortunately not only on Tumblr, but also on Instagram and on Deviantart and other social networks there are few things related to the cartoon series "Quack Pack", I decided to write fanfiction. Since unfortunately there is not much fanart related to Quack Pack, I wish there was a little more, I actually thought I was drawing related to it, but since I do not have the conditions for it, and I draw on my computer and it turns out a little bad, I decided to do better with fanfiction writing, but not the ones most write, but quite different, mostly from my perspective, the way I would like it to be in my fanfiction. Who will and who will read and like what I will write about now (I will post at the beginning on my blog, then I will see what happens later), he can. Freely draw based on my story, and I would love to be a little more fanart related to the Quack Pack. I know the Quack Pack has had some problems and I'm sure to include many things in my fanfiction story, first and foremost from the comic book world, and this fanfiction is actually going to be some kind of crossover. Please note that this is my first fanfiction and there will probably be mistakes I make and please correct me. Thank you for your understanding. And if I forgot, it would mostly be based on Donald Duck and his nephews Huey, Dewey and Louie Duck (but in the Quack Pack version) and Daisy Duck, but there might be characters that could appear, but unfortunately they didn't appeared in the Quack pack but will certainly pop up in my fanfiction story, but it will be a surprise. There is so much to begin with, and I will certainly start over and this story will be divided into parts. Here I am going to start with my fanfiction story and I want you to enjoy my story and apologize in advance for some things I have offended by something and made some mistakes that made you offended and I apologize for that. And yes, if there are any questions, feel free to ask me. Here's a start:

Morning. It was dawn, actually. July month. Yesterday was over thirty degrees, and it's not easy for ducks to keep that temperature under so many feathers, and so is Donald Duck, who has experienced everything in his life and so on. He slept in one solid dream, and he certainly dreamed of beating the Evronians as a Duck Avenger, or of fighting Maui Mallard with his martial arts, or how he, as a Double Duck, perform special espionage missions to save the world or simply how he likes to fish on one lake and enjoy it. Whatever it is, he certainly loves that kind of dream. However, someone interrupts him, in the sense of someone or something interrupting his dream. Yes, it was a boring alarm clock and digital. It was four o'clock in the morning and Donald slammed his fist into his alarm clock to turn it off. He turned off the alarm clock and stood up all awake, realizing what day it would be like today. Yes, he will have a lot of work to do, both as a cameraman and as a reporter, but not with Kent Powers, who fired him long ago, but with Everett Ducklair, his chief. Yes, Donald hated Everett as much as he did Kent Powers before, as he kept upsetting his life by forcing him to do some trivial things instead of his main job, such as cleaning toilets, hallways, halls, and the like. Fortunately, for all his work, he was paid a lot of money, and with that Donald could be satisfied, first of all, because he devoted all his money to his beloved nephews. When he had some free time or a break at work, he thought of Huey, Dewey, and Louie, who were no longer young children and could soon be adults. They have long since entered puberty, their personalities have formed, and they will soon start whether or not for a year in high school. Although they had different traits, they still acted as a team except in some things. Donald, of course, first went to the bathroom to do his work, so he washed and brushed his teeth. Afterwards, he put on his Hawaiian shirt and went to have his breakfast. After breakfast, he got ready for work, but before he went to work, he wanted to go to his nephews' room to see if they were sleeping any longer. As they continue to sleep, Donald merely smiled at them and slowly approached them and gave them his parental kiss on their cheeks, but they did not notice or feel it after they slept soundly. Donald then left their room and walked down the stairs to retrieve his business bag. Yes, at that point it was five o'clock in the morning, but of course Donald had to get to work early, as his boss had ordered him to do. He had to be at work at six o'clock. So he took it in his bag, in the meantime he heard a loud voice, and Donald replied:

"Silence!", And gestured Donald with his index finger to his beak as a sign of silence, and pointed to the top floor, thinking it was one of his nephews. As the loud noise stopped, Donald turned to the hall and then to the door and meanwhile, his nephew Louie Duck appeared in his pajamas with a backwards cap and said to Louie his uncle: "Can I please Uncle Donald go with you to work?" "No!" Donald replies loudly, "you can't go to work, and besides getting out of bed now, is it too early to play and go to school?" "Uncle Donald, so we're on vacation now, school's not working during the month of July, have you forgotten that? Besides, we'll be alone when you're gone," Louie said, and Donald suddenly thought and put his hand on his forehead as that he had done something wrong. And they sit in a small chair in the hall.

I almost forgot about it. Yes, I worry about you, that something bad doesn't happen to you. I can't quite leave you alone. Especially not to my worst neighbor in the history of humanity, Neighbor Jones, and his family. It just makes a mess in my yard and makes my life even worse, and again I would not move, ”Donald said, sad. "Don't think so badly Uncle D, you're for my brothers and for me my best uncle, and also the best parent we have. You always think of us and keep an eye on us whenever you can, even if my brothers and I make hell instead let’s make paradise for you. ”Louie said as she approached her uncle. Uncle Donald hugged Louie crying with happiness and said, "You never make me hell, even if you sometimes ruin my house, but I'm very happy to have you, as if you were my sons and not my nephews. Without you I'm empty man." "Don't, Uncle Donald. So you have the best cousins you have, you have your girlfriend Daisy, who is also our aunt, you have Uncle Scrooge, you have best friends Panchito and Jose, and Goofy certainly, our mom Della, who is in space right now, and now I can't remember who else. But you have more support than you think, "Louie said, hugging his uncle. "Oooohh... Thank you Louie, but I have to tell you something and please promise me you won't tell your brothers or anyone, especially Fethry Duck. Okay?" "All right, Uncle Donald. But why?" Louie asked, wondering who was hiding something, since he was of such a nature that he neither loves nor can lie. "Here, Louie, why. You and I know that Uncle Scrooge and I had a fight, don't you?" "I know, Uncle D. I'm sad it must have happened, and I haven't seen Uncle Scrooge in a long time. I know he's a lot of stingy and hard-hearted, but I know for sure, and I believe he surely deep in our heart, thinks of us, and we probably miss him . ”Louie replies sadly. "Ooohh ... I know Louie, but then again, he only thinks of himself and his business and especially his money and I don't think I'm sending you there. In my opinion, better come to you Webby and Mrs. Beakly, than you to you go to Scrooge. And I wouldn't argue about it any more. Okay?!” "All right, Uncle D." Louie sighed miserably. "Next, my only real friends are Jose Carioca, Panchito, partly Goofy, Gyro Gearloose and Fenton. They are the only ones who give me confidence," Donald replied. "What about One? Lyla Lay? Kay K? Reginella? Don't they matter to you? And what about Fethry and Gus Goose?" Louie asked mysteriously. "Be quiet! Don't hear anyone. I know, but these are my private affairs, so don't talk to anyone about this or you won't go on adventures with me like Duck Avenger! Okay?!" - Donald replies angrily. "All right, Uncle Donald," Louie replies. "Yes, I know you very much love my cousin Fethry, or your further uncle, but I'm afraid to make a mess again so I have to pay big fines later. Remember the last time Fethry guarded you?" Donald asked. "I remember. But it was fun. We had a great time with Fethry and my cousin, or Fethry's nephew Dugan Duck," Louie says excitedly. "I know, but a mess was made, and besides, I had a lot of reports from my awkward neighbors. I can't allow such things next time. You understand what I'm talking about, don't you?" "I know, Uncle Donald. I know." Louie says sadly. "Then you know why I can't trust you, my cousin Gus Goose." "I know, because he only thinks about the food he eats all the time," Louie replies. "Not only that, but because he's too stupid," Donald replies. "Okay, but he's fun too," Louie replies. "Yes I know, but I can't take the risk again. What I'm talking about is babysitting, and since I can't trust everyone, I can only entrust that job to Dickie Duck, Goldie's granddaughter. I just hope she's not too busy writing her student master's work. " "Dickie is great. I don't mind being a babysitter. She's never bored with it," Louie replies happily. "I'm glad about that. I'll talk to her and if she's free, she'll come to watch over you. Okay?" "Ok, Uncle D." "Now, back to bed." "All right, Uncle." "And don't tell anyone about this, okay?" "Ok. And good luck at work, Uncle D."                                                                "Thank you Louie. Goodbye! See you in the evening," Donald said, getting up and heading for the door, in the meantime ringing the phone. "Who's calling this at this time ?!" Donald mumbled and picked up the phone and asked, "Who is it?" “Can I keep your nephews safe?” Fethry asked cheerfully in his sweater, living two blocks away from the Donald. "Noooooo!" - Donald angrily answered and hung up. Poor Fethry. All in all, he takes his bag and wristwatch, leaves the house, runs to the bus station, manages to catch the bus and leaves for work. However, it was six o'clock in the morning. Louie Duck goes to his room and goes to his deck chair (this was also his bed) and in his pajamas, wearing his cap on his head, reads a comic book while his brothers sleep. But Louie didn't read any comics related to super heroes, he read a comic about Darkwing Duck, which really existed in his world.

End of Chapter One.

[wymcrw-archive]

NIGHTMARE

Source: Drabble Prompts        Status: Accepting!

Over the course of five dreams Lucky is visited by the ghosts of the past, the present and the future. It’s like A Christmas Carol if all of the ghosts were Kang Jin and Scrooge went through some serious life altering trauma. Fun times all around!

TW: Dissociation, Traffic accident, blood, alcohol, hospitals, needles, guns

i.                    Park Jihun fears nothing.

He fears nothing because he has experienced nothing. Twoshort years ago he cheated the reaper and against all odds lived to tell thetale. Few things are more terrifying than the end, and after conquering deaththere is little else to be afraid of.

And so when he closes his eyes at night he sees nothing.That same tranquil darkness that had engulfed him before. Silent. Cold. Empty. Tonightthough, it’s different. Tiny whispers carry through the void to torment him,the black seeming to ebb and flow with each hushed syllable. “This secondchance is wasted on you” It hisses. “Liar.” A familiar voice. “You should neverhave woken up”

It isn’t loud. In fat it’s barely audible. But in theinfinite blackness with nothing else to focus on it’s louder than breaking thunder.“You will never be a good man” It comes again, harsher now. He can feel hisskin prickle with cold, his mind racing. “It should have been you” He’s aprisoner in his own body unable to run or hide, tormented by the darkest partof his own consciousness. “Useless. All you do is hurt people”

Silence comes as quickly as it had departed, and he is leftreeling. He can feel himself taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself butthe sound doesn’t come. Instead, a few parting words ring out.

“Nobody missed you last time. They won’t miss you next timeeither.”

With a loud gasp he wakes, eyes shooting open. He doesn’treturn to sleep that night, or even the night after It isn’t the first timethat he’s had that dream, and he’s certain it won’t be the last. Some fear death.But Jihun fears what comes after. The emptiness, and an eternity stuck withnothing but his own thoughts.

ii.                  Park Jihun fears no evil.

He fears no evil because morality is nothing but aconstruct. He has to tell himself that to get through his days. Not everythingin this world is black or white; in fact most everything is a shade of grey.

These thoughts occupy his mind as lets his eyes driftclosed, opening them again to find himself on one of the fittingly grey streetsof New York. Rain lashes his skin as he takes in the scene, the hum of traffic hangingthick in the air and the faint amber glow of nearby streetlamps illuminatingthe city that he once called home. A wave of nostalgia washes over him as hedrinks it in. As much as he has learned to like Wonyang, he truly misses this place.

Hearty and full bellied laughter catches his attention, andit’s only then that he notices the figure stumbling towards him from a baracross the street. Throwing an arm around him, the stranger looks up at Jihunwith a dopey grin before dragging him off down the street. Clearly his new companionis intoxicated. He once again finds himself a passenger in his own body, unableto move or make it co-operate in any way. The pair stumble down the street,sound of splashing puddle ringing out with each uneven step. The scene seemsfamiliar though he can’t quite place it.

The faint jingling of a man fishing around in his pocket givesit away, and it is only then that he realizes exactly what is about to happen.His nostalgic yearning morphs into panic as they approach a nearby car, but no matterhow hard he tries, there is no denying his vessel. He catches sight of areflection in the glass. It’s him. But younger. Two years younger. He fightswith all his will to call out, to get them to turn around and leave, but thewords get stuck. Instead he simply laughs at whatever the other says, the resoundingclick of the door locking behind him seeming to seal his fate.

You know how this story ends. The driver swerves to avoid ahazard that isn’t there, his hazard perception thrown by the alcohol in hissystem. Jihun tries to stop him but can’t. The car ends up wrapped around a streetlamp,and by all rights they should both be dead. Jihun is unconscious, and wakes updays later in hospital to find himself an amputee and his friend wheelchairbound.

Except this time he isn’t unconscious. Instead his vision isstained red from the deep gashes on his face and a thick smell of burning lingersin the air. Shards of glass litter their bodies and bent wreckage pins themboth in place. A searing pain rips through him as he struggles against thebonds, but he still can’t make a sound. No matter how much he tries, he can’tscream. The driver seems to be in an even worse state, but he can’t bare tolook. The best he can do is cough up blood. It’s only a few seconds more beforehe passes out, but it’s enough time to see the cold stare of something unmovingthrough the shattered windshield.

A figure. A man. A reaper. A dragon.

iii.                Park Jihun fears no man.

He fears no man because men are easily manipulated. Personalexperience tells him that they are even easier broken. The best stories alwaysrequire manipulation to some degree, whether it be the facts or the angle. Overthe years he’s learned just how pliable the human will is, and he has noproblem using that to his advantage. He always ensures that he has the strongerhand, no matter the cost.

In these dreams this is not the case. There’s no stackingthe deck, or counting cards. The twisted ghosts of the past bend the rules totheir advantage, baring the darkest parts of his mind and soul. He dreads sleepnow. Works through the night on his articles just to keep himself from driftinginto unconsciousness. He has lived through them once already, is that notenough?

But whilst the human spirit is malleable, the needs of thehuman body are not. And so when he inevitably falls asleep once more, he prepareshimself for the worst.

His head throbs as he fades back into reality, eyesfluttering as they adjust to the blinding white light of the room. It takes meremoments for him to register his surroundings, a sinking feeling taking over assoon as he glances down to the iv in his arm. Where his first nightmare hadbeen nothing but blackness, this was nothing but white. White walls, while floor,white ceiling, white door, white window, white linens, white light. White.

Last time he had found himself in this room, laying on thisbed, it had felt like a prison. An overwhelming sadness overtakes him as helays there, eyes fixed on the space above his pillow. That was how he had spentmost of his days: In silences, stewing in his own self-loathing and staring atthe ceiling. This place held nothing but the most terrible memories, from therealization that he had lost his leg to the moment his marriage truly fellapart.

At the foot of his bed he hears murmuring. One voice belongsto his ex wife, the woman who had effused t leave his side throughout hisrecovery and the other… didn’t belong. Another chill sent shivers down hisspine, and he slowly manages to glance down towards them.

Jin. Truly this was a nightmare. Or at least he hoped so.The two had never met to his knowledge, and knowing what he knew about Jin he’dhoped to keep it that way. He can’t make out the words but they seem intense.His wife seems distraught and Jin has that same malicious glint in his eye asalways. Their tones are hushed and they keep shooting their eyes towards himand then back to each other. “He’s no better than me. All he does is destroy.”He thinks he hears.

The scene fades, as if he’s been hit with some sort ftranquilizer, and when he returns his wife is stepping standing, slowly walkingaway. He reaches out a hand, tries to force himself to call out but the wordsswell and get caught once more. It’s only once the door slams shut behind herthat he manages to sob out a simple “Please… don’t leave me alone again.”

“You think that I trust you enough to leave you alone?” Itcatches him off guard and he flinches slightly at the question. Jin. Sat nextto his bed, cigarette hanging lazily from his lips and glare boring into Jihun.

iv.                Park Jihun fears no beast

He fears no beast, because no matter how feral they can betrained and bought to heel. Or put down. When he’d found himself cornered likea wild animal by his own family, he’d chosen the former. Work under theirthumb, tow the family line and pretend to like it or go back to languishing inobscurity with no support and tens of thousands of dollars of medical bills.

He finds himself at some formal dinner, mixing with an assortmentof deplorables and trying to keep the peace. The contempt on his face is evidentthroughout and he makes no secret of his distaste for such gatherings, but forthe most part he remains civil. ❝ i don’tsuppose you’ve been to the united states before, have you? ❞Jin asks at one point far too casually for his liking. It’s easier to justanswer the questions than to resist them.

There’s something about this that seems more real than the precedingdreams. He knows it isn’t real, but it’s almost disconcertingly convincing.Every movement, every line of speech is identical to the party just a few weeksprior. He has more control this time around, able to move and speak, though helargely chooses not to.

The night passes without incident, and it’s almost relieving.Compared to the visions that had come before this was nothing. But then, itwasn’t over yet. It began to diverge from reality as he began to make his waytowards the exit. A voice called him back, asked him to remain on the premisesuntil the other guests had departed. Apparently Mr Kang had requested a privateaudience. He hadn’t bothered to ask which.

And in this dream, he never finds out. Instead, afterwaiting for the building to empty, he finds himself on the receiving end of a bullet.“It’s nothing personal” Says the person who fires it, the only warning that isgiven before the tremendous boom sets his ears ringing. He doesn’t see a face.Doesn’t bother looking. He’s too busy writhing in agony on floor, desperatelyapplying pressure to wound. He doesn’t know if it’s the right thing to do, but inthe moment it’s all he can think of.

The awakening isviolent, Jihun thrashing to life in his covers with a startled shout. He sitsup in his beg, clutching at the space where the impact point had been. Hisheart was racing and breaths ragged as he sat there. That had seemed real,because it could have been. For the first time in a long time, something clawedat him: fear. He was in over his head in shark infested waters, and if they wereto get the scent of blood….

v.                  Park Jihun fears Kang Jin.

He fears him because he is no man; he’s a dragon. He fearshim because no matter what cards he holds, the house always wins. He fears himbecause morality is seemingly without meaning. And he fears him because hecould return him to the cold nothingness without so much as breaking a sweat.

Jin makes one more visit in Jihuns dreams before vanishinginto the ether once more. Once again he finds himself confined to a bed in a hospitalroom, the other sat beside him with that familiar cold and steely glare. Hegoes to sit up, wincing at the pain in his chest from the bullet wound of theprevious night.

A hand pushes down on it, forcing him back into the mattresswith a pained yelp. “This is your only warning. Don’t cross me, or next timeyou don’t wake up.”

[xhumbuugx-a]

" mr. mcduck !! wake up, its's just a dream !! " ( strcngestweb - :3c ask and u shall receive )

@strcngestweb I asked but oh boy was I not ready 

Scrooge flinched as she shouted his name. But he can’t hear her. At least he doesn’t hear Webby shout his name. From outside he must’ve looked like he was having a regular nightmare, just some image manifested within his own imagination, but from within the confines of his own old and twisted mind he was there. He was there and it was real. He was in an ancient temple alongside group of explorers. His friends. Even as a young man he had been reckless. He had rushed in without looking back to see if they were following him.

As soon as he grabbed urn, he couldn’t stop himself before opening it. He didn’t stop to consider the consequences. He’s young. He’s greedy. And he doesn’t care. A dark power erupted from the urn. It seeped into the surrounding graves and brought their components back to life, and one large dark figure loomed over Scrooge.

His friends dropped like flies, one by one by one. All because of him. They were dying and it was his fault. The shadow before him seemed to feed off his panic and despair, growing taller as his companions fell.

“Stop! Stop! No!” Scrooge cowered as he was forced up against the wall of the cavern, not knowing the he was screaming outloud as he rested against his sleeping bag. “Ye can’t! Please! Please don’t!” There wasn’t a moments hesitation before the monster flew into Scrooge’s chest and suddenly the pain hit him. Scrooge crumpled to the floor, the veins in his body turning black as the shadow coursed through his being. Scrooge couldn’t breath, he couldn’t think. Everyone was dead and it was his fault. The only thing the young Scrooge McDuck could do was save himself.

He smashed the urn against the floor, relieving himself from the pain within his chest and he ran. He ran like the coward he was, through the tunnels and past the traps. He didn’t even bother to avoid those. He stepped on them and caused the tunnels to collapse. He needed to bury everything. Everything horrible. Everyone’s dead and it’s his fault.

His fault! His fault! His fault!

“Mr. McDuck!! Wake up, it’s just a dream!”

Scrooge shot up with a terrified scream. One hand grabbed his cane and pointed it right at whoever was trying to attack him. They knew! They knew what he did! They knew it was his fault! But as he blinked the tears from his eyes Scrooge saw it was only Webby.

“Wha-what…” His sweat-drenched head spun around to see the fire of their camp, still blazing bright enough to allow him to see the concerned and scared expressions on his family’s faces. What happened? Last thing he remembers was laying down and…Donald’s expression provided the last piece of the puzzle. Oh god. Did he? No, no, no. Please no. Don’t ask me what happened.

Then don’t give them the chance to. Scrooge was always better at pushing people away before letting them ask questions.

Scrooge turned back to Webby. And he wish it hadn’t been her who woke him up. Scrooge scrambled to his feet, cane still in hand as he shouted at her.

 “Donae’ touch me! Get off!” The old miser then turned to his family and yelled even louder. “What are ye all lookin’ at?! S-stop starin’ at me!” The old man turned away and dashed from the campsite just like he ran away that day. He couldn’t explain himself. They’d all hate him.

[graciedroweuk]

The 25 Days of Christms programming 2017 of Freeform

Freeform’s 25 Days Christmas

Freeform has out their scheduled to its 25 Days of Christmas. Here’s the complete list of those day-by-day programing. Enjoy your Christmas favorites with your loved ones.

25 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS day-by-day programming highlights include**:

Friday, December 1

(7:30 — 9:30 a.m. EST) ELOISE AT CHRISTMASTIME (2003) dependent on the best selling children’s books written by Kay Thompson, the title character Eloise (Sofia Vassilieva) is warned not to interfere since the Plaza Hotel prepares for a romantic Christmas Eve wedding gown. However, Eloise can’t resistwith playing matchmaker to ensure that real love will save the day. (Live Action)

(11:00 1:00 — 1:00 p.m. EST) RICHIE RICH’S CHRISTMAS WISH Richie Rich (David Gallagher) has more than he bargained for when Professor Keanbean (Eugene Levy) invents a wishing machine that transports Richie to an alternate universe where his wicked cousin Reggie Van Dough rules with an iron fist. (Live Action)

(1:00 — 2:00 p.m. EST) JACK FROST (1979) Pardon-Me-Pete that the Groundhog tells the story of the way Jack Frost briefly became person and helped with a knight win his lady love. (Animated)

(2:00 — 3:35 p.m. EST) TIM BURTON’S THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS “Tim Burton’s The Nightmare Before Christmas” follows the bemused fire of Jack Skellington, Halloweentown’s beloved Pumpkin King, who becomes obsessed with bringing Christmas beneath his control and also frees his faithful townspeople to help him act as a replacement Santa and make a “new and improved” version of the vacation. (Animated)

(3:35 — 4:35 p.m. EST) THE YEAR WITHOUT A SANTA CLAUS According to Pulitzer Prize-winner Phyllis McGinley’s children’s book, Mrs. Claus narrates this memorable classic about the time she’s almost donned her husband’s famous red suit. (Animated)

(4:35 — 7:05 p.m. EST) WILLY WONKA & THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY The holder of a Golden Ticket wins a visit to where the planet’s most amazing sweets are created, in the mysterious chocolate factory of Willy Wonka (Gene Wilder). (Live Action)

(7:05 — 9:15 p.m. EST) NATIONAL LAMPOON’S CHRISTMAS VACATION The comic misadventures of the beleaguered Griswold family continue as America’s most committed father (Chevy Chase) is determined to remain at home to make “the very fun-filled conventional family Christmas ever” — however life has a particular way of throwing wet logs on Clark Griswold’s fire. (Live Action)

(9:15 — 11:25 p.m. EST) ELF Buddy (Will Ferrell) grew up in the North Polerather than knowing that he was not even a Christmas Elf like all of his buddies.   If he finds out the truth he lays out to New York City to discover the father he never knew.   However, Buddy is not used to the major city, along with New York has never seen anyone like Buddy! (Live Action)

(11:25 p.m. — 1:30 a.m. EST) DISNEY’S A CHRISTMAS CAROL (2009) The classic tale of a miserly old man called Ebenezer Scrooge, who’s seen on Christmas Eve by three ghosts who attempt to help him change his own lifestyle and adopt the vacations. (Animated)

(1:30 — 2:00 a.m. EST) FROSTY’S WINTER WONDERLAND everybody’s favorite snowman, Frosty, intends to wed, but not if the evil Jack Frost can help it. Can the kids save Frosty from becoming suspended dead and get him to the church in time? (Animated)

Saturday, December two

(7:00 — 9:00 a.m. EST) RICHIE RICH’S CHRISTMAS WISH

(9:00 — 9:30 a.m. EST) MICKEY’S CHRISTMAS CAROL Charles Dickens’ famous story is retold with Mickey as Bob Cratchit, Uncle Scrooge as Ebenezer Scrooge, Goofy as Jacob Marley’s ghost, along with Donald because nephew Fred. (Animated)

(9:30 — 11:00 a.m. EST) MICKEY’S ONCE UPON A CHRISTMAS Kelsey Grammer narrates three charming Christmas tales using a Mickey Mouse twist, such as the Christmas classic The Gift of the Magi, starring Mickey and Minnie Mouse. (Animated)

(1:05 — 3:10 p.m. EST)  DISNEY’S A CHRISTMAS CAROL (2009)

(3:10 — 4:50 p.m. EST) TIM BURTON’S THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS

(4:50 — 7:00 p.m. EST) NATIONAL LAMPOON’S CHRISTMAS VACATION

(7:00 — 9:10 p.m. EST) ELF

(9:10 — 11:50 p.m. EST) DR. SEUSS’ HOW THE GRINCH STOLE CHRISTMAS (2000) Jim Carrey stars as the title character who attempts to ruin Christmas for most of the Whos of Whoville inside this live-action adaptation of the classic Dr. Seuss children’s story. (Live Action)

(11:50 p.m. — 2:00 a.m. EST) THE POLAR EXPRESS The Academy Award® -winning team of Tom Hanks and director Robert Zemeckis reunite for the inspiring tale of a young boy along with the magical train he boards to the North Pole. Depending on the beloved Caldecott Medal children’s book by Chris Van Allsburg. (Animated)

Sunday, December 3

(7:00 — 7:30 a.m. EST) MICKEY’S CHRISTMAS CAROL

(7:30 — 9:00 a.m. EST) MICKEY’S ONCE UPON A CHRISTMAS

(9:00 -11:05 a.m. EST) A DENNIS THE MENACE CHRISTMAS Dennis tries to spread the Christmas spirit to his grumpy neighbor Mr. Wilson (Robert Wagner) and receives some help from the Angel of Christmas Past, Christmas Present and Christmas Future. (Live Action)

(11:05 a.m. — 1:10 p.m. EST) SANTA PAWS two: THE SANTA PUPS When Mrs. Claus travels to Pineville, the lively Santa Pups store away on her sled. Taking mischief to a completely new level, they start granting joyful wishes to Pineville’s girls and boys, but something goes horribly wrong — that the Christmas spirit begins to evaporate. The Santa Pups and Mrs. Claus have to race to store Christmas round the world. (Live Action)

(1:10 — 2:15 p.m. EST) SANTA CLAUS IS COMIN�� TO TOWN Fred Astaire narrates this tale of Kris Kringle (voice of Mickey Rooney), a young guy who starts a gift factory where he builds toys and gives them to all the regional kids, making him the name Santa Claus. (Animated)

(2:15 — 3:55 p.m. EST) TIM BURTON’S THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS

(3:55 — 6:05 p.m. EST) THE POLAR EXPRESS

(6:05 — 8:45 p.m. EST) DR. SEUSS’ HOW THE GRINCH STOLE CHRISTMAS (2000)

(8:45 — 10:50 p.m. EST) THE SANTA CLAUSE Tim Allen stars as Scott Calvin, a divorced father whose strained relationship with his son Charlie (Eric Lloyd) begins to mend only following a weird twist of fate transforms him into the brand new Santa. (Live Action)

(10:50 p.m. — 12:55 a.m. EST) THE SANTA CLAUSE 3: THE ESCAPE CLAUSE Holiday magic mixes with comical chaos as Tim Allen reprises his role of Scott Calvin, aka Santa, as he juggles a complete house of family and the mischievous Jack Frost (Martin Short) — whose chilling Santa-envy has him trying to shoot over the “big man’s” vacation. (Live Action)

Monday, December 4

(7:30 a.m. — 9:30 a.m. EST) SANTA PAWS two: THE SANTA PUPS

(11:00 a.m. — 12:30 p.m. EST) MICKEY’S TWICE UPON A CHRISTMAS Mickey and friends come back to tell five more tales of holiday spirit and Christmas cheer. (Animated)

(12:30 — 2:30 p.m. EST) ARTHUR CHRISTMAS (2011) How does Santa deliver all those presents on one night?   With a team of Christmas elves, also yet another high-tech operation, and also the complete Claus household’s help! However, following a present is missing on Christmas Eve, Santa’s youngest son Arthur teams with an elf for a desperate mission to be certain a small girl receives a unique present. (Animated)

(2:30 — 4:35 p.m. EST) THE SANTA CLAUSE

(4:35 p.m. — 6:40 p.m. EST) THE SANTA CLAUSE 3: THE ESCAPE CLAUSE

(6:40 — 8:50 p.m. EST) ELF

(8:50 — 11:00 p.m. EST) NATIONAL LAMPOON’S CHRISTMAS VACATION

(12:00 — 2:00 a.m. EST) FOUR CHRISTMASES A few (Vince Vaughn and Reese Witherspoon) struggle to go to all four of the adoptive parents on Christmas.

Tuesday, December 5

(7:30 — 9:30 a.m. EST) THE MISTLE-TONES

Within this original holiday movie, Holly (Tia Mowry) is devastated when she is turned down for a place in the Christmas singing group The Snow Belles.   So she forms her own group, the Mistle-Tones, also struggles with her rival Marci (Tori Spelling) and The Snow Belles to a Christmas Eve sing-off!

(12:30 — 2:30 p.m. EST) FOUR CHRISTMASES

(2:30 — 4:35 p.m. EST) ANGRY ANGEL Set in New York City, “Angry Angel” follows a young woman turned into angel, Allison Pyke (Brenda Song), who’s stuck on Earth and can’t seem to ring the proper bells so as to pass through those pearly gates into heaven. When the love of her life, Patrick (Ricky Mabe), shows up in New York City, it disturbs Pyke’s journey in addition to frustrates her angel coach Jason Biggs. The not-so-merry situation additionally turns in an unexpected love triangle with her friend with sometimes gains.

(4:35 — 6:45 p.m. EST) ELF

(6:45 — 8:55 p.m. EST) NATIONAL LAMPOON’S CHRISTMAS VACATION

(8:55 — 11:00 p.m. EST) THE POLAR EXPRESS

(12:00 — 2:00 a.m. EST) ELOISE AT CHRISTMASTIME (2003)

Wednesday, December 6 (7:30 — 9:30 a.m. EST) SNOWGLOBE In this original film, a mystical snow world transports Angela (Christina Milian), who longs for the great Christmas from her boisterous family, into an idyllic Christmas winter wonderland. (Live Action)

(12:00 — 2:05 p.m. EST) ANGRY ANGEL

(2:05 — 4:15 p.m. EST) ELOISE AT CHRISTMASTIME (2003)

(4:15 — 6:45 p.m. EST) WILLY WONKA & THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY

(6:45 — 8:50 p.m. EST) THE POLAR EXPRESS

(8:50 — 11:00 p.m. EST) ELF

(12:00 — 2:00 a.m. EST) NATIONAL LAMPOON’S CHRISTMAS VACATION

Thursday, December 7 (7:00 — 9:30 a.m. EST) WILLY WONKA & THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY

(11:00 a.m. — 1:00 p.m. EST) SNOW DAY Once an entire town in upstate New York is closed down by an unexpected snowfall, a “snow day” begins as a bunch of college kids try to be sure the schools remain closed by means of a snow plateau.

(1:00 — 2:35 p.m. EST) TIM BURTON’S THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS

(2:35 — 4:45 p.m. EST) NATIONAL LAMPOON’S CHRISTMAS VACATION

(4:45 — 6:50 p.m. EST) DISNEY’S A CHRISTMAS CAROL (2009)

(6:50 — 9:00 p.m. EST) ELF

(9:00 — 11:00 p.m. EST) DISNEY∙PIXAR’S TOY STORY “Disney∙Pixar’s Toy Story” tells the story of a fantastic, fun-filled travel of what your toys are around when you are not about, seen chiefly by the eyes of 2 rival toys — Woody (voice of Tom Hanks), the lanky, likable cowboy, along with Buzz Lightyear (voice of Tim Allen), the fearless space ranger. (Animated)

(12:00 — 2:05 a.m. EST) A DENNIS THE MENACE CHRISTMAS

Friday, December 8 (7:00 — 7:30 a.m. EST) THE LITTLE DRUMMER BOY dependent on the Christmas song, the “Little Drummer Boy” tells the story of Aaron, a bad boy who cannot afford to buy a present for infant Jesus and instead plays with a special song for him on his drums. (Animated)

(7:30 — 9:30 a.m. EST) A DENNIS THE MENACE CHRISTMAS

(11:00 12:40 — 12:40 p.m. EST) TIM BURTON’S THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS

(12:40 — 2:45 p.m. EST) ELOISE AT CHRISTMASTIME (2003)

DISNEY∙PIXAR’S TOY STORY MARATHON (4:50 — 6:50 p.m. EST) DISNEY∙PIXAR’S TOY STORY

(6:50 — 9:00 p.m. EST) DISNEY∙PIXAR’S TOY STORY 2 Once an obsessive toy collector named Al McWhiggin (voice of Wayne Knight) kidnaps Woody (voice of Tom Hanks), the toys get into one predicament after another in their daring race to get Woody back before Andy returns. (Animated)

(9:00 — 11:30 p.m. EST) DISNEY∙PIXAR’S TOY STORY 3 In the third installment of the beloved film series, Andy is rising up and decides to put his toys away permanently, except for Woody (voice of Tom Hanks).   However, the gang accidentally ends up one of the toys at a daycare centre, run by the ruthless teddy bear Lotso (voice of Ned Beatty).   It is around Woody to save his buddies and return them home! (Animated)

(11:30 p.m. — 12:00 a.m. EST) DISNEY∙PIXAR’S TOY STORY THAT TIME FORGOT During a post-Christmas play, the “Toy Story” team find themselves in uncharted territory once the trendiest group of action figures ever turns out to become dangerously delusional. It is all around Trixie, the triceratops, if the gang expects to come back to Bonnie’s room. (Animated)

(12:00 — 2:00 a.m. EST) ARTHUR CHRISTMAS (2011)

Saturday, December 9

(7:00 — 9:05 a.m. EST) RUDOLPH AND FROSTY’S CHRISTMAS IN JULY Rudolph’s magical glowing nose is not only useful at Christmas, but also in the warmth of summer when Rudolph and his friend, Frosty the Snowman, are called in to rescue a struggling circus at a particular July 4th benefit. (Animated)

(9:05 — 11:10 a.m. EST) ELOISE AT CHRISTMASTIME (2003)

(11:10 a.m. — 1:15 p.m. EST) ARTHUR CHRISTMAS (2011)

(1:15 — 3:25 p.m. EST) DISNEY∙PIXAR’S TOY STORY 2

(3:25 — 5:55 p.m. EST) DISNEY∙PIXAR’S TOY STORY 3

(5:55 p.m. — 6:25 p.m. EST) DISNEY∙PIXAR’S TOY STORY THAT TIME FORGOT

SANTA CLAUSE DOUBLE FEATURE (6:25 — 8:35 p.m. EST) THE SANTA CLAUSE

(8:35 — 10:45 p.m. EST) THE SANTA CLAUSE 3: THE ESCAPE CLAUSE

(10:45 p.m. — 12:55 a.m. EST) NATIONAL LAMPOON’S CHRISTMAS VACATION

(12:55 — 2:00 a.m. EST) JACK FROST (1979)

Sunday, December 10

(7:00 — 8:00 a.m. EST) JACK FROST (1979)

(8:00 a.m. — 10:05 a.m. EST) SNOW DAY

(10:05 a.m. — 12:10 p.m. EST) RICHIE RICH’S CHRISTMAS WISH

(12:10 p.m. — 2:15 p.m. EST) THE SANTA CLAUSE 3: THE ESCAPE CLAUSE

(2:15 — 4:20 p.m. EST) DISNEY’S A CHRISTMAS CAROL (2009)

(4:20 — 6:30 p.m. EST) THE SANTA CLAUSE

(6:30 — 8:40 p.m. EST) NATIONAL LAMPOON’S CHRISTMAS VACATION

(8:40 — 10:50 p.m. EST) ELF

(10:50 p.m. — 1:00 a.m. EST) FOUR CHRISTMASES

(1:00 — 2:00 a.m. EST) THE YEAR WITHOUT A SANTA CLAUS

Monday, December 11

(7:00 — 7:30 a.m. EST) THE BELLS OF FRAGGLE ROCK Gobo thinks the Fraggles’ Solstice vacation is a waste of time, therefore he goes on a journey to find out if the mythical Great Bell at the center of Fraggle Rock is real.   Meanwhile, Doc and Sprocket explore mid-winter holiday customs around the globe. (7:30 — 9:30 a.m. EST) RICHIE RICH’S CHRISTMAS WISH

(11:00 — 11:30 a.m. EST) THE LITTLE DRUMMER BOY

(11:30 a.m. — 1:35 p.m. EST) DISNEY’S A CHRISTMAS CAROL (2009)

(1:35 — 2:40 p.m. EST) SANTA CLAUS IS COMIN’ TO TOWN

(2:40 — 3:40 p.m. EST) THE YEAR WITHOUT A SANTA CLAUS

(3:40 — 5:50 p.m. EST) FOUR CHRISTMASES

(5:50 — 8:00 p.m. EST) ELF

(8:00 — 9:00 p.m. EST) DISNEY’S FAIRY TALE WEDDINGS: HOLIDAY MAGIC — PREMIERE The merry special edition goes behind the scenes of some of the most spectacular weddings and engagements at Disney Destinations around the world during the vacation season.

(9:00 — 11:00 p.m. EST) THE POLAR EXPRESS

(12:00 — 2:00 a.m. EST) ELOISE AT CHRISTMASTIME (2003)

Tuesday, December 12

(7:00 — 7:30 a.m. EST) NESTOR, THE LONG-EARED CHRISTMAS DONKEY

“Nestor, the Long-Eared Christmas Donkey” tells the story of the donkey that carried Mary to Bethlehem. (Animated) “Nestor, The Long-Eared Christmas Donkey” repeats on Thursday, December 21, at 8:00 a.m. EST..

(7:30 — 9:30 a.m. EST) ELOISE AT CHRISTMASTIME (2003)

(11:00 a.m. — 12:10 p.m. EST) SANTA CLAUS IS COMIN’ TO TOWN

(12:10 — 2:20 p.m. EST) NATIONAL LAMPOON’S CHRISTMAS VACATION

(2:20 — 4:00 p.m. EST) TIM BURTON’S THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS

(4:00 — 6:40 p.m. EST) CHARLIE AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY From the children’s book by Roald Dahl comes this magical dream about the candy maker and his wacky Wonka factory! The most mysterious and reclusive confectioner extraordinaire Willy Wonka (Johnny Depp) has hidden five golden tickets somewhere in his candy bars — that are actually invitations to join him on a grand tour of the wondrous chocolate factory. The winning kids locate themselves on a scenic, nevertheless fantastic voyage, also with the opportunity to get an even grander decoration — if they could resist temptation!   (Live Action)

(6:40 — 8:50 p.m. EST) THE POLAR EXPRESS

(8:50 — 11:00 p.m. EST) THE SANTA CLAUSE

(12:00 — 2:00 a.m. EST) RUDOLPH AND FROSTY’S CHRISTMAS IN JULY

Wednesday, December 13

(7:00 — 7:30 a.m. EST) ‘TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS Actor Joel Grey narrates this animated holiday special adapted by the famous poem by Clement Moore. (Animated) “’Twas the Night Before Christmas” repeats on Sunday, December 24, at 1:30 a.m. EST..

(7:30 — 9:30 a.m. EST) NATIONAL LAMPOON’S CHRISTMAS VACATION

(11:00 a.m. — 12:10 p.m. EST) RUDOLPH’S SHINY NEW YEAR Santa sends Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer to locate Baby New Year, who has run away from Father Time. (Animated)

(12:10 — 1:50 p.m. EST) TIM BURTON’S THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS

(1:50 — 4:30 p.m. EST) CHARLIE AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY

(4:30 — 6:40 p.m. EST) ELF

(6:40 — 8:50 p.m. EST) THE SANTA CLAUSE

(8:50 — 11:00 p.m. EST) THE SANTA CLAUSE 3: THE ESCAPE CLAUSE

(12:00 — 1:00 a.m. EST) THE YEAR WITHOUT A SANTA CLAUS

(1:00 — 2:00 a.m. EST) DISNEY’S FAIRY TALE WEDDINGS: HOLIDAY MAGIC

Thursday, December 14

(7:00 — 8:30 a.m. EST) MICKEY’S TWICE UPON A CHRISTMAS (8:30 — 9:30 a.m. EST) DISNEY’S FAIRY TALE WEDDINGS: HOLIDAY MAGIC

(11:00 — 11:30 a.m. EST) MICKEY’S CHRISTMAS CAROL

(11:30 a.m. — 1:30 p.m. EST) CHRISTMAS CUPID Within this original film, Christina Milian stars as high-profile Hollywood publicist, Sloane, who finds himself haunted by the phantom of her recently departed infamous customer, Caitlin (Ashley Benson), in a modern day take on Charles Dickens’ holiday classic story of A Christmas Carol. (Live Action)

(1:30 — 3:40 p.m. EST) ELF

(3:40 — 4:40 p.m. EST) THE YEAR WITHOUT A SANTA CLAUS

(4:40 — 6:45 p.m. EST) THE SANTA CLAUSE 3: THE ESCAPE CLAUSE

(6:45 — 8:50 p.m. EST) FOUR CHRISTMASES

(8:50 — 11:00 p.m. EST) NATIONAL LAMPOON’S CHRISTMAS VACATION

(12:00 — 2:00 a.m. EST) ANGRY ANGEL

Friday, December 15

(7:00 — 9:00 a.m. EST) SANTA PAWS two: THE SANTA PUPS

(9:00 — 9:30 a.m. EST) THE LITTLE DRUMMER BOY

(11:00 a.m. — 1:00 p.m. EST) ELOISE AT CHRISTMASTIME (2003)

(1:00 — 3:00 p.m. EST) RICHIE RICH’S CHRISTMAS WISH

(3:00 — 5:00 p.m. EST) ANGRY ANGEL

(5:00 — 7:10 p.m. EST) FOUR CHRISTMASES

(7:10 — 9:20 p.m. EST) NATIONAL LAMPOON’S CHRISTMAS VACATION

(9:20 — 11:30 p.m. EST) ELF

(11:30 p.m. — 1:30 a.m. EST) THE SANTA CLAUSE 3: THE ESCAPE CLAUSE

(1:30 — 2:00 a.m. EST) MICKEY’S CHRISTMAS CAROL

Saturday, December 16

(7:00 — 7:30 a.m. EST) THE LITTLE DRUMMER BOY

(7:30 — 9:35 a.m. EST) THE SANTA CLAUSE 3: THE ESCAPE CLAUSE

(9:35 — 10:05 a.m. EST) MICKEY’S CHRISTMAS CAROL

(10:05 — 11:35 a.m. EST) MICKEY’S ONCE UPON A CHRISTMAS

(11:35 a.m. — 1:05 p.m. EST) MICKEY’S TWICE UPON A CHRISTMAS

(1:05 — 2:45 p.m. EST) TIM BURTON’S THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS

(2:45 — 4:55 p.m. EST) THE POLAR EXPRESS

(4:55 — 7:05 p.m. EST) THE SANTA CLAUSE

(7:05 — 9:15 p.m. EST) ELF

(9:15 — 11:55 p.m. EST) DR. SEUSS’ HOW THE GRINCH STOLE CHRISTMAS (2000)

(11:55 p.m. — 2:00 a.m. EST) CHRISTMAS WITH THE KRANKS — FREEFORM PREMIERE In “Christmas with the Kranks,” Tim Allen plays Luther Krank, a man who decides to skip Chri from network 4 http://www.mgbsystems.co.uk/the-25-days-of-christms-programming-2017-of-freeform/

[ekebolou]

Grief

Here’s something about the holidays and the Tenor Group.  Shit’s warp speed (in a good way) in my life right now.  New Book isn’t forgotten, it’s just going through hell-edits.  This is a bit of fun (I guess?  For them?)

PS: I love Red Reader and want her to be in everything.

Here you go:

Grief

Lamb laughed at him. Lamb laughed at him, and he was angry, because she laughed, but he chuckled and grinned back hesitantly. Hesitant because of his anger, suspicion, but smiling because Lamb smiled.

“...leased, but... y’know, I know that's ridiculous to say in this situation.”  Seth’s bag thumped onto the chair, her lips twisted into a self-conscious grimace.  “It’s like complaining about a heavy bag in front of a hobo.”

“You can’t help it,” Ian said, putting elbows on her shoulders, giving her a no-touching hug about the head to keep his cinnamon-roll sticky fingers away.  In such incapacity, he turned the gesture into a face-smothering embrace, full of annoying fondness.  “It’s heavy.”

She touched her hair. Lamb touched her hair.  It was curly and black and not the soft waves of Ellen Stratton and he wanted to touch it so badly that it scared him.  He had to amend his fantasy of reaching out to touch it into something gentler.  He’d never given touching Ellen Stratton’s hair a single thought.

Seth frowned, as unthinking as her previous gesture had been overthought.  It was a leaderish frown, and Ian reacted like a follower.  He held at bay his fondness until she changed again, the vagaries of leadership as unpredictable as the direction of the wind. Leadership to him was a beating to a dog.

Firmament hated him, almost as much as he hated Bosh. 

Bosh was gone.  Fir looked around the den as if needing to double check, but he was gone.  His parents had purchased him a ticket, and as usual, he left at a different time than everyone else, first class.  They had ordered him a car.  He’d looked at it as if for the first time realizing how out of place it was for them to order him a car, rather than, Fir supposed, asking for a ride, or calling a taxi, or taking a shuttle, or, God forbid, navigating public transit. 

He steeled himself, though, and got in, same grimness as the rest of them.  Julie had been so disgusted she was visiting home she’d stayed silent for three days.  Decon had confessed she’d almost told him to look after something for her, then rage at his incompetence to do so let her even greater rage at being asked to leave her labs for a few days cut her off before she got more than two words in. Firmament was impressed Decon had gotten two words.

Decon was sitting patiently on the couch opposite Firmament, occasionally smiling to himself and very slowly double checking his bags.  He was taking a Greyhound, but didn’t need to leave for another couple of hours.

Amos’ hands moved slowly. They were elegant, like a piano player’s hands would be; or, at least, that what Fir thought, having never met any piano players.  He moved with the same delicacy when handling chemicals as when loading bullets as when picking up a cup, to drink.  He smiled rarely.  Fir focused on the smile, as a mutant memory of Amos’ hands doing all those things at once played under it.

“...at is it really, she’s got going up there?  Like, beakers of stuff, fizzling?”

“You do actually have to go downstairs, love,” Ian said.  “Your mother’s been waiting half an hour.”  He took a bite of cinnamon roll, too obtuse to realize he shouldn’t because now is when he should kiss her, so she had to leave.  Goodbye kisses were demanding.

She was Laura, only that wasn’t really her name, but the anglicized version she decided he could use.  She was smiling and walking away while her scarf hit him in the face with enough irritating wooliness to erase her kiss from his cheek.  Who does that who is an adult? he’d wanted to shout.  Kiss me on the damn mouth, goddamnit.  He hadn’t said anything, though, because it hurt, and when it hurt, he didn’t make noise.  He didn’t even know how.  She, he would read, got strung up in Prague.  He wanted to vomit, in his memory, but knew that at the time, he’d only been angry at everything but her and upset that she was going and not allowed to say anything just as she wasn’t allowed to stay.  The scarf was red.

The Red Reader punched him in the jaw.  The Red Reader always did shit like that.  The Red Reader was a cunt, and he punched her back, and his squad commander zapped him with a low-dosed cattle prod for hitting a girl while the Red Reader laughed and called his squad commander a baby-killing cracker.  He’s heard she was still alive and both fervently hoped it was true, and couldn’t actually believe it. 

He tried to feel the couch, open his eyes extra wide.  He could smell the fire – they had a candle that smelled just like a real fireplace fire, only pathetic and sad and small, but what the hell else could they have?  It was an office building.  Decon noticed, and he looked at Decon, and Decon, while looking back, tried very hard to look as if everything was perfectly normal.

Maybe this was normal. Maybe this was.  Maybe this was him, now.  Maybe this was how he was.  Maybe this was him, forever. 

Seth poked him in the side of the head.  He turned and looked up at her but his head felt very much like it was fighting him the whole way.  What the hell else was his neck supposed to do but coordinate with what he thought it should be doing? 

“Merry Christmas, Fir,” Seth said.

“There’s no Christmas in the army, Captain,” Fir replied.

Seth squinted a little. “Well, Merry Christmas, Mr. Scrooge, in keeping with the situation.”

Firmament wracked his brain. He kept seeing his teammate Graham’s chalkboard, filling with calculations and maps and diagrams and emptying, then filling again, sometimes several things written on the same spaces. Sometimes he caught a glimpse of sweater cuff and knew it was Graham’s though he didn’t know how.  When the fuck had he ever cared about Graham’s sweaters? Not like Laura’s scarf, burned into his brain by fury, imagining what the newspapers said they’d done to her, hanging in the town square by the wooly red scarf though he had no idea what she’d been wearing.  “Uh... Yippie-kai-yay, motherfucker?”

Seth jutted her chin and nodded.  “Quality choice, nutball.  I hereby end the Christmas quote challenge.  See you in a few days everybody.”

She gave the room a wave, stopped to peck Ian on the cheek, and walked out as if storming into a courtroom to demand justice. 

Sucking frosting off his fingers, Ian looked at Fir and Decon, then just at Fir, then left.

Firmament looked at Decon. The edges of his vision were blurry and he tried, again to focus.  He was probably staring.  Decon didn’t look as if anything unusual were going on and Fir got a little mad, but the delusions swallowed even that anger up, like the harder he fought them the worse it was.  And it infuriated him, and he could tell he was infuriated, but it was all scarf-slaps and sweater cuffs in his brain like his own feelings didn’t even matter to himself. Decon looking at him, as if this were normal, wouldn’t even join the conversation of memories occupying ninety percent of his brainspace.

“You don’t know me,” he said. Oh, yes, he thought: there’s a clever trick to keep out of the looney bin.  Respond to your own thoughts aloud.  That’s good.  Let’s keep doing that.  And referring to ourself in the third person.

Decon’s eyes narrowed. “What is it?”

Firmament made his jaw clench, testing its readiness for words.  All clear. 

Lamb laughed and it fell apart.

Decon looked around.  After a moment, he took a plastic bag out of his bag, and set a stick of deodorant on the table.  He frowned at it.  Standing, he cast about again, and found the candle.  Pulling it off its table, he blew it out, spending extra time blowing on the wax to try to cool it as he sat down. 

Firmament could observe all of this.  The information hit his eyes.  He could even speculate, to a certain extent, but not far.  The rest of his mind was a shattering image of Lamb laughing, a thousand times, yanking down on his heart

Gesturing at the deodorant, Decon said, “Move it,” between puffs at the candle.

Firmament was going to crush that thing.  It would be destroyed.  But he had nothing else, and Decon had put it down, so he felt for the strings.

Nothing felt like this. It was surprisingly taut, for such a little thing.  He could caress the strands, like running a hand over thick, ridged wooden railing. Awareness of what it felt like sliced through his thoughts like a butter knife, a dull but effective rending.  She laughed, and he yanked–

Well, carefully yanked? It was abrupt, the decision, but – without bragging, because what was the point of bragging about something nobody else had even the faintest knowledge of – even his abrupt decisions resulted in remarkably controlled movements.  He knew how to do this.

It tumbled, because of course the strings were imbalanced, skidded on its flat face, rolled of the table edge and plunked against the couch cushion – but it survived.  Sort of.  The plastic was all cracked.  The lid broke, not from hitting the couch or the floor, but because of the way Firmament had grabbed it.  That was often the hard part; grabbing things right.  No two were ever exactly the same.  Not that he’d grabbed that much deodorant in his career.

His mouth worked. “Fucking Oslo,” he said. Yep.  Helping.  A round of applause for his damn mouth. 

Decon cocked his head. “Norway?”

Firmament shook his. There was sound, now, he realized. All those other memories had been set to the tune of Lamb’s laughter, his anger, and now it shifted to a song he thought maybe Laura liked?  It was hard to tell, but it was all red, like the scarf, and he felt... well, not longing, but its more direct cousin.  Laura was a good lay.  She’d looked at him like the empty plate which held a piece of cake you were determined to get the recipe for not matter who you had ask.  It had warmed his heart.  He couldn't tell if he missed that, or her, or if it mattered.  He doubted it mattered to her.

Decon set down the candle. It was weightier, more dangerous. He touched it like an axe handle. Fuck this up, someone could get hurt.

He could catch it. They’d practiced that, a long time ago, at the base.  Practical applications.  Because there’s not always a street to drop on people.  Also stop destroying infrastructure.  It was stupid and risky to try it right now, but he could focus his whole mind on it to give it a go.  It’d been a long time, anyway, since he’d tried.  Maybe he’d be better.

A voice whispered in his ear – not a memory voice, no, no he'd recognize the shit out of that.  This was a new voice, a new voice that made him worry he was crazier than he thought he was, and he thought he was pretty crazy.

Lamb's voice. Whispering.  Encouraging, but also withholding.  Full of regret for wanting him to let go.  Unable.

He wrapped his hand around the candle.  Not actually the candle, of course, the strings, but they were it, for all intents and purposes except having anything to do with the shape or weight of it, itself (not quite true, but only he knew that).  This was not a yanking gesture – it was more an inverse whip.  He could only ever pull things, but it wasn't hauling in a rope – the line was unpredictable, unstable.  In normal pulls, the strings were sort of like yanking off a table cloth but keeping all the glasses and plates where they were.  He had to do it like a juggler, but one who tossed one object and caught another off the same throw.  Changing something’s direction mid-air was difficult, but this was harder.  His grasp was not permanent on an object in motion.  Motion changed things.  Motion fucked things up. 

Motion made the damn candle slap into his palm like a fucking fastball. 

Decon actually half-stood and cheered.  He’d never seen Firmament successfully catch something.  He was sitting down, looking in wonder now. 

Usually, Firmament was aware enough to know when he should dodge.

The whispers edged away like the sea.  Nobody touched him here.  This was his space, alone. 

Now, several seconds later. Firmament set the damn candle down and said, “Ow.”

Then he sort of woke up – thank god he’d set the candle down, because he should have dropped it – and he said, “Fucking Christ, ow.”

“What?” Decon asked. 

Firmament hugged his hand to his chest, now fully occupied with the present moment, damnit, and said, “I think I broke my fucking hand.”

Decon cocked his head, then stood and walked to phone. 

“No, fuck it, give me a second.”  Fir didn't want to shake his hand.  It probably was broken.  He knew how that felt.  He just wanted a minute to be upset about it. 

“You broke your hand,” Wes said.  Like a cat, Firmament had just gotten used to finding him unexpectedly present, though this cat was wearing a big, red, hideously jolly Christmas sweater and holding a mug of hot chocolate.  Decon jumped a little.

“Does that interfere with your ability to feel?” Wes asked.  As the house emptied, he got goddamn talkative.  Friendly, almost.  Then again, he and Firmament had been asylum-buddies for at least five years before this.  Maybe he talked a lot then, too.  Firmament was in no condition to know.

“No,” Firmament said, then thought better of it. “Yes, but I don't know if it's more than would happen to anyone who broke their hand, you know?”

Wes nodded.  He went back into the kitchen and came out with a fistful of marshmallows.  Serious-faced, Decon waited to be allowed to call a medic. 

“What is this, the orphan committee?”  Ian had come back, the pull of pop-can cinnamon rolls too irresistible.  Or possibly he had heard Fir say his hand was broken and figured he couldn’t kill him as easily with a broken hand.  “Who's chairman?”

“You have a father,” Fir grumbled.

“Not officially.  No papers,” Ian returned, sitting on the couch arm, hands newly blessed in frosting, “and he’s dead.”

“I have a father,” Wes said.

“Ew,” Fir said, because he was a helpful motherfucker.

“…In theory,” Wes added.

“Voided by the courts on both counts,” Decon pointed out, “at least one like mine.  But, I don’t think I count either, I have lots of brothers.”

“In Christ,” Ian said, then looked chagrined at his own derogatory tone.  Decon smiled at him.

“I'm chairman,” Fir said, “because you're all weird.”  Six eyebrows went up.  “And I'm oldest.”

“Technically,” Ian pointed out.

“Like you're qualified.” Fir snorted. 

“Thumb war you for it,” Ian said.  He had a good brogue going, which meant he was either very happy, or very drunk, or both. If it was drunk, he’d been hiding it from Seth, which Fir hatefully admired.

“I could beat you left handed,” Fir said. 

Ian held up one sticky left hand.

“You look like you’ve been jerking off elephants in your spare time,” Fir said. 

“Reindeer,” Ian said, “for presents.”

Even Fir laughed. Decon, admittedly, only bit his lips and turned a little red, but that counted.  Wes, who never laughed, sipped his cocoa without evidence of embarrassment, shame, or disapproval, which was pretty close to laughing for him.

“So…” Decon said, “broken hand… hospital…”

 They were all looking at Fir, then, and he felt that eerie, one-picture-over-another layering of memories now, but he couldn’t tell why.  He couldn’t remember a time everyone looked at him like that in his other team – and then he thought maybe it was a horrible flashback to something that happened while he comatose, that he might be able to remember the long decades in the hospital, and he had to shut his eyes or he was going to explode or vomit.  Or both.

“Decon,” Wes said, “if you were catching the Greyhound going east you should’ve left at six this morning.”

Bless you, patron saint of awkward.  Fir didn’t open his eyes, but he could’ve kissed Wes, if doing so wouldn’t have resulted in Wes throat punching him to death and then feeling bad about it for the rest of his life.

Wes grabbed another fistful of marshmallows and dumped it into his cup.  The others were foam just rising above the rim.  He glanced at the bag, sitting on the counter, then at the couch, then settled for grabbing another handful before he went to sit down.

Ian looked at Decon, who gave a little half smile and said nothing for a moment.  When they just kept waiting, he sighed, rearranging himself so he could lie back in the chair with his hands behind his head.  “I couldn’t miss a meeting of the orphan committee.  I just didn’t want there to be a fuss.”

“You didn’t think I could keep Fir and Ian from killing each other?” Wes said.  He sounded, if he ever sounded anything, a little hurt. 

“’Sakes!” Ian said, before Decon could start up to apologize, “we’re best friends when there’s no’ne to bother us.  We can reminisce about old times, when he was comatose and I lived like a homicidal rat in a jungle.  Swap stories of childhood mischief, you know.  We jus’ sit an’ jaw an’ have simultaneous flashbacks an’ such.  It’s fun.”

“Jesus,” Fir exclaimed despite Decon’s presence, turning to stare at Ian despite the pain of his hand, “how early did you start drinking?”

“Early enough to say peace on earth, goodwill to men, even you, you nutty little caramel cuntbar,” Ian said. 

Maybe it was because Fir hadn’t known anyone with quite that accent, but there was something weirdly grounding in Ian’s voice.  Maybe it was that he hated and mistrusted him.  The voice thing was a nicer reason, but both had strong arguments supporting them.

“I can’t believe you were drunk in front of Seth,” Fir said, but it was a weak hit, and Ian only smiled at him for it, the bastard.

“So…” Decon tried again, “…broken hand?”

“I have an idea,” Ian said, “and a suggestion.  I believe things will be a lot more peaceful when we’re not both trying to avoid looking like untrustworthy wankers in front of Seth, so I suggest we proceed under that assumption.  I’ll be fucked if you haven’t ever had to deal with a bunkmate you hated, so let’s be friends the way only two people who both know how to make and set punji sticks can, until she gets back and can hate one another civilly again.”

Firmament wanted to say something about how he wasn’t trying not to look like an untrustworthy wanker, but stopped himself because his hand hurt and he knew it wasn’t quite true. What he said instead come from who knows where.  “You don’t hate me. You…”

Fir moved his fingers, causing agony to run up his elbow, and managed to grit his teeth over the words ‘you fear me.’  He knew that wouldn’t work twice though; pain didn’t work.  Some part of him didn’t feel it – or didn’t feel it like he felt it – the part that whispered things to him in a voice like Lamb’s, but unlike in all its impossibility.  Why did it sound so much like her?  Why did it whisper, unlike thoughts, which occurred like the feeling of the strings? Why did the way his madness haunted him have to hurt so fucking much?

He opened his eyes, and the images poorly matched.  All that was holding it apart was that he tried, like a half-blind kid in the eye tests, to memorize the chart before he could be asked to read it.  The vision of the staring eyes didn’t match how they sat now, Wes getting marshmallow foam on his nose, Decon re-lighting the candle, Ian leaning against the wall licking frosting off his fingers. 

Ian was afraid of him – of all of them, but especially of him.  Ian had been raised to hate them; Ian had watched people die according to the mysteries of the Island and its gifts.  Of course Ian feared him, even more than the others.  They were of the same age of death, like that of heroes, but with only the wars and no godlings to save them.  Only red scarves to hang them by.

Ian (afraid) smiled, and finished Fir’s abandoned thought: “…have an idea, too.  Fuck the hospital.  I bet we can convince Susan into letting us use the clinic in the building, get that fucker x-rayed, and I can set you up nicely enough if the nurse won’t do it.  No meds but those the lord and the good rivers of Kentucky gave us,” Ian said, imitating a toast with a glass, “but that’s probably for the best.  What do you say?”

“Is the clinic even staffed right now?” Decon asked.  “Why wouldn’t we go to the hospital?”

Ian hesitated, and Fir realized it was for him – for him to answer, in case he wanted to.  Fir couldn’t – or didn’t; hard to tell, at this point.  He thought, maybe, it was both of him, though – the waking and the mad – who didn’t want to go: the waking, because he didn’t want to be outside like this, didn’t want to risk this madness at the hospital; the mad because… the mad because it didn’t want to go back to the Institution.  He thought, maybe, the mad part of him was afraid of going back, and going back to sleep.  The mad part of him worried that this was its chance…

To what?

“Let’s say, try the clinic to be safe,” Ian said confidently, then immediately caved to Decon’s raised brows. “Plus, I think Seth has some way of knowing if we use emergency services.  Like a text alert or something.  And she told me to try to make sure nothing happened while she was away. It would just be embarrassing ten minutes after she’s left.”

“That’s true,” Wes said, dropping his remaining fistful of marshmallows into his cup. 

Fir laughed, though it was sort of difficult.  “Got you there, Spuds.”

“I’m not actually Irish,” Ian said, “and what’s more, they’d be offended by the association.  I’m pretty sure that was the gist of the letter that insisted the authorities in Geneva not confuse being raised by an Irishman to mean I had any citizenship rights.”

Fir leaned back, feeling some of the overlapping and tension easing as the hospital receded and Ian droned on.  “Gonna call you Spuds anyway.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Ian said.  “Anyway, let’s go, Chairman.  I leave it up to the committee to decide what the first order of business is in our absence.”

“Wait,” Fir said.  He reached out with his left hand.  We caught the bag of marshmallows before it slapped into the side of his head, only a couple spurting out the top.  “All right, let’s go.”

Fir grabbed a jacket, and grunted when he realized he couldn’t put it on.  He slung it over his shoulder and followed Ian – and Ian’s flask – out to the hall.  Maybe it was the flask that did it – whatever it was, Firmament couldn’t blame madness, because that was a dull ache ebbing at the back of his brainstem.

“Fuck me,” Fir said. 

“No?” Ian replied, over his shoulder.  “Not without permission from my mother.”

Fir sighed.  “I see it now.  You’re like Amos.”

“Am I now?”  Ian took another swig and offered one to him.  Fir was tempted not to take it, but saying no brought on the promise of all sorts of admonishing whispers, these mostly of real memories, he thought.  So he took it, took a swig, and handed it back. 

“I never liked him either.”

Ian grinned back at him, easily.  “At least I’ve got company.”

And, simple as that, Fir knew Amos would’ve hated Ian.  The ghosts in his head shifted and sighed with discontent and uneasy comparison, and he shut them up the firm thought:

Fuck.  I guess I’ll have to like him now.

[willsherjohnkhan]

Sherlock's Christmas Carol

Chapter 1: Preface from Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol

***

I have endeavoured in this Ghostly little book, to raise the Ghost of an Idea, which shall not put my readers out of humour with themselves, with each other, with the season, or with me. May it haunt their houses pleasantly, and no one wish to lay it.

Their faithful Friend and Servant, C.D. December 1843

***

Chapter 2: The Cabbie's Ghost

***

The Cabbie was dead. Of that there could be little doubt. Doctor John Watson, late of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers had seen to that.

He had shot the serial killer just as he had convinced his friend, Sherlock Holmes to participate in his sick little game of chance.

Sherlock could confirm absolutely that the cabbie was most definitely deceased, having observed him take his last painful breath.

For further details I would advise that you read the good doctor’s blog on the case titled ‘A Study in Pink’ for further details.

The fact remained the Cabbie was dead. Dead as a doornail.

***

Christmas Eve

Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only Consulting Detective had just turned into Baker Street. Usually he preferred to travel by taxi to get around London. But it was Christmas Eve, taxis were few and far between, while the trains and buses he knew would be packed to capacity. So that left him with only one option, walk.

He had just finished up with Detective Inspector Lestrade from New Scotland Yard on a case concerning the theft of a valuable and rare blue jewel, called The Carbuncle no less. A jewel that somehow ended up in the gullet of a goose set to become someone’s Christmas dinner.

Usually he wouldn’t go out for anything less then a seven. This case had barely been a four, and even that was stretching the definition. But it was Christmas Eve and it seemed that even the criminal classes had decided to take a well-earned break from their illegal activities.

Damn them!

But that wasn’t the only thing that had driven him to leave the comfort of 221B on such a bitterly cold day. He had had about all that he could take of everyone and their festive cheer.

Usually he could cope with it. But with the birth of the Watson’s offspring, everyone seemed determined to ratchet up their normal irritating behaviours to a whole new level.

He felt suffocated by all the cloying affections that had begun since the birth of the baby. And these cloying affections seemed to be spreading and infecting everyone with whom she came into contact.

Except him.

All he saw when he looked at their daughter was someone who spent her days eating, sleeping and excreting at both ends. Not to mention having a very healthy pair of lungs that she made sure got a regular workout.

He was certain that he was not the only one to be taken by surprise when John and Mary had asked him to be her Godfather. He was after all a high-functioning sociopath. And he had been reliably informed, on more than one occasion, that he didn’t possess a heart.

It was ridiculous, foolhardy. What they were asking of him definitely fell into the ‘not my area’ category.

But they had insisted. No one else would do.

Generally people viewed him as arrogant, rude, insensitive, and a freak.

And he was fine with that. Labels never bothered him.

He was about to enter 221B when he received a text. It was Lestrade. He read it, and rolled his eyes.

‘The Red Headed League. Really! Was he serious?’

Clearly John’s penchant for ridiculous titles was spreading.

He fired back a quick response.

Not worth my time. SH

Upon entering 221B Sherlock knew instantly that something was amiss. He made his way up the stairs to his flat. By the time he reached his door he already knew what awaited him.

“What do you want Mycroft?” he demanded even before he’d passed the threshold.

“Christmas, Sherlock,” the elder Holmes replied. “A time of good cheer.”

Sherlock snorted.

“Who sent you? Was it Mary?” Sherlock paused, looking his brother up and down very carefully.

Mycroft detested Christmas even more than Sherlock, for reasons only he knew. So it must be something very particular to bring him to Baker St at this time.

Ah!

A small smile escaped Sherlock’s lips. “Mummy.”

Mycroft immediately tensed, his eyes, almost but not quite meeting his younger brothers.

Mycroft sighed dramatically. “For reasons that I will never understand,” he said. “She feels that it is very important that you attend the Watson’s little sware tonight.”

Sherlock gave another snort. “If she really thought it important enough, she would have come and told me herself.”

“She would have. But she and Daddy are seeing a play in the West End, something ghastly about three ghosts.”

Both brothers shuddered at the thought.

“Then I’m sorry that you have had to waste so much of your valuable time,” Sherlock responded. “Because I have no intentions of attending. Please send my apologies to John and Mary, I have another pressing case that needs my immediate attention.”

“What case?”

“The rather intriguing case of the Red Headed League. It looks to be rather… informative.”

Mycroft raised a sceptical eyebrow, but opted to keep his opinion to himself, knowing full well that Sherlock would be able to deduce them anyway.

Instead he tried another strategy.

“They’ll all be disappointed,” he pointed out. “Not to mention Mummy wont be pleased.”

“I don’t see why not,” Sherlock objected. “I spent Christmas with everyone last year. Or don’t you remember?”

Mycroft winced visibly. It was not a topic he wished to be reminded of. Which was precisely why Sherlock had mentioned it.

Seeing that Sherlock was resolute in his decision, he saw little point in pursuing the matter any further.

He made his way out the door. But before he left, he couldn’t help adding. “You’ll regret it brother mine.”

“Is that a threat, blood?”

“Not a threat Sherlock. Just an observation.”

With that Mycroft headed down the stairs and out the front door.

Sherlock followed him. He stood on the footpath watching Mycroft’s chauffer driven car make its way down Baker St.

Sherlock turned, intent on retreating back to the sanctuary of his flat when he was accosted by a couple of well meaning charity workers.

Under normal circumstances he would have been more than happy to offer a generous donation.

But of late, whether real or imagined, Sherlock felt that his select number of friends and colleagues were all conspiring against him to drag him kicking and screaming into the all too irritating tradition that was Christmas.

And now apparently his own family had been recruited to imbue him with some Christmas Spirit.

Traitors!

But all their efforts were in vain. All they had done was to give him further incentive to reinforce his resolve to remain at a distance from such annoying trivialities.

When the said charity workers made to follow him as he walked through 221B’s front door, he did not feel the least inclined to be giving like Old Saint Nick.

He felt more akin to the miserly Ebenezer Scrooge. And as such, he reacted accordingly. “Bah Humbug!” he roared before slamming the door in their shocked faces.

***

The flat was blissfully silent. Mrs Hudson had gone out to do some last minute Christmas shopping.

This was a relief to Sherlock, who now wished for the tranquillity of peace and quiet, with no irritating or unnecessary distractions.

He walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge and debated between starting an experiment on the toes he’d pilfered from St Bart’s morgue earlier in the day. Molly would likely slap him for that, once she made the discovery, so something to look forward to. Or have the leftover Chinese from last night.

His stomach quickly made the decision for him.

Making his way back to his chair, he sat down and began eating his meal cold. Heating it up in the microwave would require him to get up again, and he frankly wasn’t in the mood.

He’d only managed a couple of mouthfuls when he had the oddest sensation. If anyone had asked him to describe it, he would have said it was like someone had walked over his grave.

Which was ridiculous, because the dead do not feel. And he wasn’t six feet under, yet.

But he couldn’t suppress a shiver as the temperature in the room suddenly dropped by several degrees.

Putting the food down, Sherlock looked around the room. Nothing seemed out of place.

Then he glanced over to the skull on the mantelpiece, only to be confronted with the face of the Cabbie.

“Why can’t people think?” it asked.

Sherlock blinked, and the skull was back.

Sherlock was a rational man, and so he put down what he had just seen as one of several possibilities: hallucination, exhaustion or being high. He instantly discounted the latter. He hadn’t taken drugs since the day Molly slapped him at Bart’s eighteen months before.

Sighing he got up, and went into his bedroom to change into something more comfortable.

He returned to his seat in an old pair of sweatpants and t-shirt, and his blue dressing gown. He leaned back; steepled his fingers under his chin and attempted to enter his mind palace.

Except that there was a problem. Every room he entered contained the same thing.

The Cabbie.

“Doesn’t it drive you mad?” it said.

Sherlock lowered his hands, he was clearly not going to get anywhere that way.

Without warning the TV, laptop and microwave turned themselves on.

Thirty seconds later they stopped.

All was silent.

Sherlock cocked his head to one side. What was that?

He was certain he’d heard something.

Yes, there it was again.

Heavy footsteps making their way up the stairs to his flat. The steps were uneven, as though one leg weighed more than the other.

“Something wicked this way comes,” he murmured.

Sherlock’s suspicions were confirmed when the Cabbie’s ghost materialised through the door to his flat. It was dragging a ball and chain.

Sherlock shook his head, trying to clear it. But it didn’t help. Standing right there before him was the Cabbie.

Impossible though it was. There he stood, dressed as he had been in life, though with the added addition of the blood that had flowed due to John’s well-aimed bullet.

Sherlock admitted, even if only to himself that he was a little unnerved. In his head he kept repeating to himself ‘When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains must be the truth,’

Deciding to take his own sound advice, he took a deep breath as he glared at the spectre before him. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“Ask me who I was?” came the unfazed response.

Sherlock sighed impatiently, already getting bored. Always the silly little games with this one. “Very well. Who were you?”

“You know who I was Mister Holmes. I’m the Cabbie from ‘A Study in Pink’”

Sherlock shook his head in disbelief, the whole thing was preposterous. The dead coming to life. And to top it off, the dead enjoy reading John Watson’s Blog. What next? There was only one way to find out.

“What do you want? Why are you here?”

“I’m here tonight to warn you,” the Cabbie began.

“Warn me of what?”

The Cabbie looked down at the ball and chain that bound him. “You have a chance to escape my fate.”

Sherlock snorted with disgust. “I am nothing like you.”

“We’re not as different as you’d like to believe,” the Cabbie replied. “We’ve both killed for the sake of those we love.”

Sherlock refused to dignify the statement with an answer.

The Cabbie continued. “You will be visited by three spirits.”

“Tell them not to bother, I wont be in.”

“Oh you’ll want them to come Mister Holmes. In fact you’ll need them to. Because without their visits,” the Cabbie warned. “You will be doomed to suffer a fate worse than death.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Sherlock muttered.

“Do not take this warning lightly,” the apparition said as it began to fade. “They are coming.”

Sherlock remained seated, staring at where the ghost had stood for a moment or two. He then looked around him. All seemed normal.

Except for the clock, its second hand appeared stuck, unable to move forward. Like it was stuck in time.

Sherlock couldn’t keep his eyes off it. “Interesting.”

***

Chapter 3: The First of the Three Spirits

***

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open.

He’d not been aware of falling asleep. He put it down to being mesmerised by the faulty clock.

A quick glance confirmed that it was still stuck in time.

He got up and inspected the clock. He tried winding it up, shaking it. But the second hand resolutely remained stuck. By the time he’d checked his watch and mobile, finding that they too were likewise afflicted, he knew it was time for a rethink.

Frustrated he threw himself back in his chair.

And then a light breeze ruffled Sherlock’s hair. The detective frowned. All the windows were closed. So where could the breeze have originated?

He was about to get up from his seat when he spotted a figure standing before him.

The figure was that of a young man, early to mid teens, slight but athletic. Clearly loved swimming, apparent by the water dripping off him and onto the carpet. Mrs Hudson wouldn’t be pleased.

But there was something else.

Sherlock looked deep into the boy’s eyes.

Correction. He had loved swimming, up until the day he’d been so callously murdered.

Carl Powers.

The boy that had started it all now stood before him. His wore an expression of sadness, fear and confusion.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock whispered.

The ghost turned his head slightly on an angle. A frown marred his brow.

‘What do you have to be sorry for?’ his expression clearly read. ‘You didn’t kill me.’

He then reached out a ghostly hand to Sherlock, who without conscious thought took hold of it.

He was surprised to find it solid in his grip. The flesh a little cooler to the touch than was normal, but no more.

Carl pulled him to his feet.

Being a rational man, a man of science and logic, Sherlock decided there was only one way to deal with this whole bazaar situation. He was resolved to treat what was happening to him as an experiment.

And what was needed was data. Sherlock was determined to collate as much as possible.

“Where are we going?” Sherlock asked.

The ghost indicated the windows that faced out onto Baker St.

Sherlock looked at the ghost, then the windows and then down at what he wore.

“I’m not exactly dressed for going out.”

The ghost ignored him. He pulled Sherlock with surprising strength across the room and towards the windows.

Expecting the worst, Sherlock closed his eyes and braced for impact.

***

Christmas Eve - Past

After a couple of minutes Sherlock opened his eyes to discover that, not only was he no longer in Baker St. He was no longer in London.

He was in the country, standing outside his family home.

More remarkable then that, though it was snowing and he was standing there with bare feet. He didn’t feel cold.

He turned to the ghost. “Why did you bring me here?” he asked. “My parents are in London.”

The ghost inclined its head toward the street.

Sherlock turned.

Every car he could see moving along that quiet country road, he clearly remembered from his childhood.

Inexplicable as it was, they had somehow travelled back in time.

Carl pulled him towards the front door. As they passed through it Sherlock made sure to keep his eyes open.

***

The scene they walked into showed that it was clearly Christmas Eve. Mrs Holmes is in the kitchen busily making mince pies.

Sitting at the kitchen table is the young Sherlock. He is dressed as a pirate, but he isn’t charging about like he usually would. He is waiting.

And Sherlock knows who he is waiting for, his faithful companion, Redbeard.

He also knows what events are about to follow. Try as he might, he has never been able to completely delete these particular memories.

To have to relive them again…

He turned to the ghost to demand, “Why? Why have you brought me here?”

The ghost of Carl Powers looked at him with an expression full of sympathy. But it refused to answer him.

Because Sherlock already knows why he’s been brought here, to this particular time. He had already deduced it.

He was here to learn a lesson.

From outside can be heard the panicked voice of Sherlock’s father.

“Marion! Open the door. Hurry!”

Sherlock’s mother rushes from the kitchen to the front door and lets her husband in.

He staggers through the door carrying Redbeard in his arms.

“What happened?” his wife asked.

“We were walking through the woods when Redbeard spotted a rabbit up ahead. He tore off after it, but got in the way of a hunter intent on shooting the rabbit,” Mr Holmes explained.

Redbeard whimpered softly.

“I don’t think it’s too bad,” Mr Holmes continued. “But we need to get him to the Veterinary Clinic.”

“What’s wrong with Redbeard?” the young Sherlock asked as he walked over to his parents.

Mrs Holmes took a deep breath. “I’m afraid he’s been shot,” she said.

“No!” the boy cried, rushing forward.

Sherlock reached out to try and stop his younger self, but the ghost intervened. Its expression is crystal clear. He is not to interfere.

He is here to observe, to learn and to collect data.

That is all.

Sherlock reluctantly steps back.

Young Sherlock carefully wraps his arms around his beloved dog. Tears pouring down his face.

“What is all the racket about?” came the bored, languid tones of the teenaged Mycroft.

He stood leaning against the doorframe. Though young in years, his serious demeanour and exceptional intelligence aged him considerably. This was enhanced by his choice of clothes, a waistcoat and suit rather than t-shirt and jeans.

“Look after Sherlock, Mycroft,” his mother instructed.

Mycroft simply rolled his eyes.

“I want to go with Redbeard,” the young Sherlock cried.

“No Sherlock,” his mother said as she pulled him to one side. “You have to stay here.”

“But Redbeard needs me. What if something happens to him?”

“Nothing will happen to him Sherlock. But we have to go now. The quicker we get him to the Veterinary Clinic, the quicker he’ll be home.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

Sherlock watched his younger self, standing there, trying to be brave. At that time he believed absolutely what his parents told him. And he had no reason to doubt his mother now.

But that would quickly change.

Sherlock became aware that the ghost was watching him closely. He returned the ghosts look calmly.

A moment later the ghost took Sherlock’s hand and led him back through the front door.

***

They emerged into the consulting room of the local Veterinary Surgeon.

Redbeard was laid out on the examination table.

“It was for the best,” the Vet tried to reassure them.”

“But I don’t understand,” Mr Holmes said, his voice breaking. “The bullet… wasn’t deep… how?”

“The bullet nicked an artery,” the Vet explained. “It caused internal bleeding. His heart, big as it was, just couldn’t cope.”

Mrs Holmes stroked the loyal Redbeard’s head lovingly. “What do we tell Sherlock?” she cried. “I promised him Redbeard would pull through. That we would bring him home.”

“We tell him the truth,” her husband replied as he wrapped a comforting arm around her shaking shoulders.

“He wont understand,” she said

“I know.”

And he hadn’t, Sherlock acknowledged.

He reached out towards the ghost who took his offered hand.

There was no avoiding what was to come now.

***

“No! No! No1” screamed the devastated younger Sherlock. “You promised!”

“Sherlock, dear,” his mother tried to explain as she reached for him.

But he would have none of it.

He had never felt so betrayed.

Hurt and anger welled up inside him, and without warning he flew at his mother. His arms battering at her as he repeated over and over again.

“You promised he would be okay. You promised, you promised, you promised.”

Everyone stood in stunned silence. Even the usually disinterested Mycroft is shocked, if only temporarily by Sherlock’s ferocity.

After a few minutes an exhausted Sherlock wrenches himself away and flees to the sanctuary of his bedroom.

***

Christmas morning finds the rest of the family sitting around the kitchen table eating breakfast.

There is no conversation; no chitchat, no arguments. Instead there is an awkward silence. They do not meet each other’s eyes.

Their attention is focussed on the kitchen door.

They wait.

Eventually the young Sherlock enters.

It is immediately apparent to everyone that this is a completely different Sherlock from the one who fled to his room the night before.

That little boy would never be seen again.

It had been replaced by one who no longer wants to be a pirate.

This Sherlock views the world through cold and emotionless logic. He has vowed to have nothing to do with any form of sentiment. He does not require friends. And prefers to go forth into the world alone.

This Sherlock walks over to the table to grab a piece of toast before turning and leaving the room without a word.

The only one who appears genuinely pleased by this new development is Mycroft.

He rises from the table, smirks at his stricken parents, before sauntering out of the kitchen and going in search of this new and marginally improved younger brother.

Sherlock’s eyes have not left his parents distraught faces.

“I never knew,” he murmured.

But before he can make a move towards them, the ghost of Carl Powers blocks his path.

There is a question in its expressive eyes.

He waits patiently for a response.

Sherlock nods.

The ghost smiles softly. It reaches out a hand and places it against the high-functioning sociopaths heart.

Sherlock feels a tingling sensation.

Then oblivion.

***

Chapter 4: The Second of the Three Spirits

***

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open again. This was becoming a habit, he noted.

He was back sitting in his chair in his flat at Baker St.

Checking the clock, he noted that it was still unable to move forward.

Getting up, Sherlock made his way cautiously towards the windows. Pulling back one of the curtains he looked down on Baker St.

He noted people rushing madly about. Either making a last minute dash for the shops, or trying to get to the relative peace and quiet of home.

As he observed the ordinary scene below him, he reflected briefly upon the unsettling events that he had been obliged to witness once again. Though this time it had been through the eyes of a rational man, and not that of an emotional young boy.

He sighed, frustrated. What was the point? Hindsight? Perspective?

What had happened had happened, and what was done was done. There was no going back.

Was there?

He is pulled abruptly away from his thoughts by a strong gust of wind that tears through the room. The gust is so strong that it is able to pull the door to his flat wide open, with a bang and a crash.

Realising what is about to happen, Sherlock turns to receive his new visitor.

“Did you miss me?”

James Moriarty.

Though impeccably dressed as usual, the ghost nonetheless was not looking its best. But a bullet that enters your mouth and exits the back of your head will have that affect.

In a vain attempt to disguise the messy aftermath, adorned on its head like a crown was a wreath of holly.

Sherlock stood his ground and glared at the ghost.

The ghost glared back.

Growing impatient Sherlock demanded. “What do you want?”

One moment Moriarty is in the doorway, the next he stands before the detective.

Without warning that ghost has grabbed hold of Sherlock’s right hand and has pulled him in close, a manic grin spread across its face.

“Your on the side of the angels,” it says as it glances up towards the ceiling.

Sherlock looks up as they ascend at speed towards, and then through…

***

Christmas Eve - Present

To the living room of John and Mary Watson.

Sherlock immediately disengages himself from Moriarty’s grasp and puts as much distance between them as he can in such a confined area.

He walks around the room. It doesn’t take him long to figure out the main topic of conversation.

But the self-satisfied smirk that settles on his lips is more than efficiently wiped when he spots the ghost mouthing ‘Sir Boast-A-Lot.’

He mentally kicks himself for allowing such a weakness to be on display in front of one such as this spirit represented. Sherlock refocusses his mind back to the task that has been set before him.

There is a reason he has been brought here. He needs to find out exactly what it is. For that he was going to need more data.

So he began to circulate the room.

His parents appeared to be having a very earnest, heart-felt conversation.

“He should be here,” his mother said. “Why isn’t he here?”

“You know what he’s like,” his father noted calmly, as he tried to ease his wife’s growing agitation.

But it was to no avail.

“But why?” she cried. “Why does he choose to divorce himself from all forms of sentiment?” She turned pleading eyes on her eldest son. “Why?”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “Redbeard perhaps.”

He then went to get himself another drink. Anything to ensure that he didn’t have to bare witness to the aftermath of his pointed remark.

Sherlock glared at his brother, even though he was fully aware that Mycroft couldn’t see him. The urge to trip Mycroft up is almost overwhelming, but he manages to contain himself.

John and Mary are having a lively discussion.

“Ever since Amanda was born he’s been avoiding us,” John stated.

Mary, as always, did her best to defend his behaviour. “I think avoiding is a little… harsh. He did come to her christening.”

“Only because you promised to put another bullet in him.”

Mary shrugged, grinning sheepishly.

”Okay then. What would you call it?”

“It’s like the lead up to our wedding. You remember what he was like?”

“I know,” John replied trying to remain calm. “But he’s my best friend and our daughter’s Godfather. And he should know by now that he has nothing to fear. God knows all of us here in this room have proved his ridiculous theory about being alone protecting him and us wrong.”

Mary smiled sympathetically at her husband. “A genius he may be. But you know as well as I do he’s a bit slow when it comes to feelings. Feeling them and accepting them as a strength rather than a weakness.”

It was at that moment that Moriarty, who had been loitering on the other side of the room, decided to make his way casually over to the baby’s bassinet.

He leaned over to observe Amanda, who appeared to be aware of his presence. She began to fuss and fret as he started to sing to her.

“It’s raining. It’s pouring. Sherlock is boring.”

An intense need to protect engulfs Sherlock’s whole being as he observes the ghost interacting with his Goddaughter. He storms over to Moriarty.

“Get away from her,” he snarls.

The ghost straightens. It looks the detective up and down before petulantly stalking off to take up a position by the windows.

Sherlock checks to make sure Amanda is all right. As with Moriarty, it appears she can see him. She offers him a smile as she reaches out her arms towards him.

Sherlock lightly brushes his fingertips across her cheeks and over her eyes.

Instantly she yawns and goes back to sleep.

Reassured that she is safe, he continues with his investigation.

Lestrade, Donovan and Anderson are arguing as usual. Lestrade is defending him, Donovan insulting him and Anderson trying to give any number of implausible excuses for his non-attendance at the party.

Their argument is interrupted when Lestrade’s mobile rings.

“Lestrade. Yes. Where? I’ll be right there.”

He indicates to Donovan and Anderson that they are needed.

“Everything all right Greg?” John queried.

“Sorry John,” Lestrade replied. “We have to go. There’s been another attempted break-in of the vaults at the Bank of England. This time low tech, they’ve attempted to tunnel their way through. Sounds as though an innocent bystander accidentally came across them and was shot for his trouble. Poor bastard.”

As they headed out the door Lestrade turned back. “Merry Christmas.”

The conversation briefly turned to the bank robbery that had ended with such tragic consequences.

“Pity Sherlock wasn’t there to sort it out,” Mary remarked.

“Can’t see him bothering,” John responded. “It would have to be something really special to get Sherlock to worry about a bank robbery. And we know for a fact Moriarty isn’t behind this one.”

The conversation quickly turned back to happier topics.

Sherlock spotted that Molly was deep in conversation with Mrs Hudson.

He noted that this Christmas she had opted for a simple yet elegant short, figure hugging, and short sleeved black dress. Her hair was down, with no other adornments needed.

Molly sighed. “I’ll just have to drop his present off to Baker St in the New Year.”

“That would probably be best,” Mrs Hudson agreed.

Molly’s mobile rang.

She apologised to Mrs Hudson as she pulled her phone from her bag and checked the Caller ID.

“I need to take this,” she said as she moved to a corner of the room for some privacy.

Sherlock followed her.

“But Mike,” she protested. “Surely someone else could…” She stops as Mike Stamford interrupts her, what he tells her leaves Molly visibly shaken. Her face goes deathly pale and she has difficulty swallowing. “Yes. Yes of course,” she finally replies unsteadily. Her voice holds a slight tremor. “I’ll come right away.”

Sherlock frowns.

Molly never gets upset about performing an autopsy. She was too professional for that. She knew and understood that there was a time and a place.

But as he watched her, he realised he was clearly missing something.

But that professionalism was back when she informed the Watson’s that she too has to leave.

John can see she is clearly distressed. “Molly, are you all right? What’s going on?”

“I’m fine John, really,” she replies. But she cannot look him, or anyone else in the eye. “I have to go. I’ll see you later.”

When John attempts to question her further, she responds, “I have a promise to keep.” She then gathers up her bag and bids everyone a hasty goodbye.

He looks to Mary for confirmation. She nods, Molly isn’t telling the whole truth.

The ghost saunters over to stand next to Sherlock. He begins to sing again.

“I’m laughing. I’m crying. Sherlock is dying.”

Molly rushes past them looking for her coat before heading for the door. Sherlock reaches out to her. But his hand goes right through her.

Determined to find out what has her so distressed, he goes to follow her. But Moriarty pulls him back, shaking his head sternly.

Sherlock stands in the open doorway lost in thought.

He isn’t aware that John has moved until he goes to shut the door. John inadvertently placed his hand over the consulting detectives heart.

Sherlock gasps at the uncomfortable sensation. His eyes roll to the back of his head as darkness envelops him as he falls backward.

***

Chapter 5: The Last of the Spirits

***

Sherlock’s eyes snap open.

He barely has time to register that he is once again back at Baker St, before the tornado twists its way through it.

Sherlock drops to the floor and covers his head with his arms.

Around him the flat and almost all of the contents are systematically and ruthlessly destroyed.

As quickly as it starts, it’s over.

Sherlock raised his head, and cautiously got to his feet.

Without even seeing it, he knows that the final spirit has put in an appearance.

The unpleasant smell of rotting flesh is enough to convince him of that.

Looking around the ruins of what used to be his flat, he at first doesn’t spot it. Though the foul stench in the air tells him that it is near.

Making another scan of the room, his eyes fall upon his chair. It is in its usual spot in front of the fireplace. It is undamaged, and occupied.

Sitting in his chair is a cloaked and hooded figure all in black.

Sherlock slowly approaches. The closer he gets, the harder it is to suppress his sense of revulsion at the figure sitting there.

The spirit lifts its covered head. Its dead eyes are fiercely penetrating as they look right through him. Constantly assessing him.

Here is the only man in the whole of his career to date who has had the power to turn the stomach of Sherlock Holmes.

Charles Augustus Magnussen.

An unpleasant man in life, in death Magnussen is a hideous sight to behold.

Its rotting flesh desperately grasps at the bones of its skeleton. Stagnant liquid oozes freely through its overly moist pours. A putrid smelling mucus slithers from the bullet hole in the centre of his forehead. It snakes its way down to collect in any crevice it can find. The need for the hood and cloak apparent as they soak up the constantly spewing entrails.

To describe this ghost as grotesque would be a compliment.

Ghoulish suited it better.

Everything in Sherlock’s entire being was screaming at him to get as far away as he could from the repulsive spectre before him.

Not surprisingly it already knows what is going through his mind.

Its spindly long arms strike out, wrapping themselves around the detective.

As the ghost pulls the struggling Sherlock down through the floor, he can hear Magnussen’s all-knowing slimy, smug voice in his head.

‘Knowing is owning.’

***

Christmas Eve - Future

They emerge up through the ground. Sherlock immediately untangles himself from the loathsome Magnussen.

Looking around he realises that they are in a graveyard.

Snow has just started to fall and Sherlock becomes aware that he is shivering. Given that he is still dressed in old sweatpants, t-shirt and dressing gown, with nothing on his feet. That shouldn’t be a surprise.

Except that on the two previous occasions he had been spirited away, the weather had no affect on him.

He wondered whether his ability to feel it now was good, or bad.

He turned to the ghost but it gave no indication.

Fed up, Sherlock turned to make a quick survey of his surroundings to see if it could offer up some clue.

But it told him nothing. It was just a graveyard.

In frustration he turned back to Magnussen.

“This place has no significance for me. Why did you bring me here?”

The ghost points up ahead of the consulting detective.

Sherlock turned, to see a familiar figure making her way towards him.

Molly Hooper.

Sherlock quickly deduces from the streaks of grey through her hair and the lines on her face that he has been brought to the future.

Ten years in the future was his best guess.

Just as she comes level with him, Molly stops before one of the graves and begins to speak.

“If you could see me now, you’d probably laugh at me, talking to your grave,” she started off self-consciously. “Though it wouldn’t be the first time. John…” her words fade away.

The significance hits Sherlock hard, and his legs almost give way under him.

She is standing in front of his grave. And this time he really is dead.

Sherlock watched as Molly wiped away tears that had started to fall.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to visit you. I’ve wanted to, more than you can ever know. But it was just too hard, and the longer I left it the harder it became. So I took the cowards way out and I stayed away.”

She stops to compose herself.

When she speaks again there is a bite to her words. She is clearly annoyed with him.

Sherlock can’t help grinning, certain that if she could see him, this would be one of those times she would feel compelled to slap him.

“You’re a bloody fool Sherlock, do you know that,” she began. “What were you thinking? Were you high? And yes I know the toxicology report came back negative.” Tears started to flow again, but this time they were of anger. “Why did you have to go to that bank robbery on your own. Mycroft got the impression you were only saying you were interested in the case so that you could get out of going to John and Mary’s party. Greg confirmed that you’d sent him a text telling him it wasn’t worth your time.” She paused to blow her nose.

“Of course,” Sherlock murmured. “The Red Headed League.”

And then he remembered what he had witnessed at the party. Lestrade getting a call about an innocent bystander being shot.

The bystander had been him.

Which meant…

“I kept my promise to you Sherlock,” she said. “Remember? You made me promise that if you were to die, that I would be the one to perform your autopsy.”

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly. It had been a cruel request to make of her. It wasn’t like she hadn’t done more than she should for him.”

Yet he kept on asking, knowing she would agree to any request he made of her.

“Do you know what I discovered Sherlock?” she asked. “You had a heart Sherlock. I know this for a fact because I held it in my hands. It may have stopped beating, but I can assure you, you did have one.” Sighing she continued. “If only you’d learned to trust it. To not see sentiment, feelings and love as weaknesses but as strengths, you might still be with us today.”

Sherlock found it increasingly difficult to listen to what Molly had to say.

He found it curious that this ghost in particular was apparently so disinterested, which was at complete odds to how it had been in life.

He glanced over at the hooded figure, but it remained where it stood.

It then occurred to Sherlock that this time round he was on his own. This time it was up to him. How he chose to handle this situation could well decide his fate when he was returned to his own timeline.

His attention was diverted when Molly spoke again.

“I shouldn’t get at you for making a stupid decision. I’m just as guilty.”

Sherlock frowned.

“I was so devastated by your death,” she explained to his grave. “I reconnected with Tom. And this time I married him.” She looked down sadly at the wedding band on her finger. “You should never marry someone you know you’ll never love. Especially when you know he knows.”

Molly took a deep breath. “This is my first and last visit Sherlock. But know that you are always in my heart.”

She pressed her fingers to her lips, and then placed her fingers to his headstone. She then turned to leave.

Sherlock purposefully stood in her way. He needed to share the pain she was feeling. He wanted to understand it. He owed her that.

As Molly passed right through him, the pain he felt was excruciating. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. Not even when he lost Redbeard. It was like all his internal organs had stopped one at a time.

He lost consciousness as he fell forward towards his grave.

***

Chapter 6: The End of It 

***

Christmas Eve

Sherlock’s eyes opened slowly. He raised his head to peer blearily about him. His eyes initially refuse to focus. So he rubs them with a weary hand, he then blinks once, twice. Finally he shakes his head in an effort to clear it.

He finds that he is lying on the floor in the living room of his flat. And the flat is in complete darkness.

Time has moved on.

Sherlock gets to his feet. His flat is back to how it was before the arrival of the ghosts. He checks the time, then hurriedly puts on his shoes and pulls his Belstaff over his dressing gown before rushing down the stairs and out the front door.

***

The Watson’s Christmas Eve party was in full swing when Sherlock burst through the door.

Everyone looked at the Consulting Detective in amazement.

There he stood in a full Santa suit, minus beard and padding. A sack full of presents over one shoulder.

Suddenly feeling a little self-conscious, Sherlock cleared his throat. “Sorry I’m a bit late,” he apologised.

John walked up to his friend and hugged him warmly. “Better late than never mate,” he assured him.

Sherlock gave a small but genuine smile as he returned the hug, much to his and everyone else’s surprise.

“Can I take those?” John asked, indicating the presents. “I’ll put them with the others.”

Sherlock nodded, but quickly grabbed the big pink teddy bear before making his way over to the baby’s bassinette.

He leaned over, gently placing the bear next to Amanda, who squealed with delight.

As she had done when Sherlock had come with the Ghost of Christmas Present, Amanda stretched her arms out towards him.

This time Sherlock reached down and gathered her up in his arms. He gave her a brief, if awkward hug before placing her carefully back down.

As he passed Mary, he stopped to kiss her on the cheek.

He next walked over to his mother and had a quiet word with her.

Mrs Holmes eyes filled with tears, tears of joy as she and Sherlock embraced. He then shook hands with his father and brother.

Next he approached Lestrade, accepting his bear hug with good grace. He then shakes hands with a shocked Donovan and a pleased Anderson.

Mrs Hudson received a brief kiss on the cheek, and a kind word.

Sherlock swallowed nervously as he approached Molly, who had stood silently observing him as he made his way around the room.

He put his hand in the jacket pocket of the Santa suit and pulled out the little box he had placed there.

He stopped when they were standing almost toe-to-toe.

Molly looked up at him, waiting patiently.

“Molly,” he began.

‘You’ve always been the one to see right through me. No matter how badly I’ve treated you, you’ve always been there for me. I have no words to describe what I feel for you. I’ve always tried to dismiss them. It goes without saying that I’ll be rubbish at a relationship with you. I’ll disappoint, hurt and anger you more often than not. I don’t do romance. Don’t see the point of dating…’

Molly reached up and kissed him softly on the lips.

“Yes Sherlock,” she said with a smile.

“Yes?” he asked, momentarily confused.

Molly grinned. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Sherlock let out a sigh of relief. He quickly removed the diamond ring from its box and placed it on her finger.

It was a perfect fit. Of course.

For those who witnessed this exchange, they would feel rightly confused by what they had observed.

All they heard of Sherlock’s declaration was ‘Molly’. The rest he had not spoken aloud.

It was fortunate for him then that the only person who mattered the most to him had heard his silent words loud and clear.

As it was, at that very moment the consulting detective and his pathologist were currently oblivious to everyone else in the room.

Sherlock pulled Molly into his arms. Resting his forehead against hers, he looked deep into her eyes as he whispered a heartfelt “Thank you.”

Molly wrapped her arms securely around him. “You’re welcome,” she replied.

***

So did Sherlock Holmes learn the lessons set him by the ghosts from the past, present and future?

I have it on good authority the Consulting Detective was never again visited by supernatural spirits. From what I hear the high-functioning sociopath was far too busy to fall back into his former destructive ways.

But he still behaves as is expected of him. All for appearances of course.

***

Chapter 7: Epilogue

***

Christmas Eve… Seven Years Later

“But Daddy!” Six-year old Elizabeth, looking beseechingly with her big, brown eyes while four-year old William’s aqua coloured eyes brimmed with fat tears that threatened to overflow at any moment as his little chin quivered tremulously. Both children aimed their well-honed arsenal towards their target, looking pleadingly at their father. “It’s a family Christmas tradition.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned to his wife as she entered their children’s bedroom looking for support.

“Don’t look at me,” Molly said with a grin. “You’re the one who started it.”

Sherlock pouted.

“And anyway,” she continued encouragingly as she stretched up on her toes, placing one hand around the back of his neck before placing a soft kiss upon his lips. “I’m rather fond of this particular tradition.”

Sherlock sighed dramatically putting on a show of reluctance, which was marred when he scooped up his daughter in his arms. Lizzie squealed with delight as he flopped them both on the nearest bed. He dragged Molly who was carrying Will in her arms down next to him, before pulling her in close.

It takes a bit of manoeuvring, but eventually the two adults, with two excited children on their laps are settled on the single bed.

As Molly rests her head on his shoulder, Sherlock leaned down to press a gentle kiss on her forehead before reaching out for the book he had already placed on the bedside table.

“Are we sitting comfortably?’ he asked.

Everyone nodded.

“Then I shall begin.”

He opened the book and began to read aloud. ‘Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it: and Scrooge’s name was good upon ‘Change, for anything he choose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a doornail…’

***

[andy-clutterbuck]

Ebenezer Scrooge | A Christmas Carol