Chapter Text
“My dad is a superhero! He always says the coolest things and saves the day and beats up the bad guys and gets to kiss Morgana!”
Drake grinned to his second grade class, proudly displaying his drawing of Darkwing Duck perched dutifully on the St. Canard Clocktower, his keen eyes surveying the fair city below for evildoers, purse-snatchers, and shoppers who had eleven items in the ten items or less lane at the grocery store.
How many other kids could claim their father regularly braved the rough waves of St. Canard Pier to fight a waterlogged mutt, engaged in intense physical and mental training to build his immunity to the poisons and powders of a professor turned mutant plant, broached terrifying tornadoes and thunderstorms to reach the megalomaniacal Megavolt, and locked away thieving jesters for copyright infringement?
Well, Drake didn’t know what copyright infringement was, but it was definitely a most dastardly, devious, and despicable act if it caught Darkwing Duck’s attention!
In the front row, a bulldog pup barked out a harsh laugh.
“Darkwing’s not real, you dork!” Brandon Barker snorted, his elbow thumping the table with a loud thud. “You can’t actually believe these things!”
His friends snickered behind their hands, and Drake’s wide grin slipped away. He shuffled his feet, cheek feathers growing warm with embarrassment. His hands shook and crinkled his drawing at the edges.
“O-of course he’s real!” Drake protested. All eyes were on him, and his heart pounded with the fear of losing their support. He spread his purple coat out on each side, imitating Darkwing’s billowing cape against the night wind. “He’s the terror who flaps in the night, the wrench of justice in the inner workings of villainy, t-the engine that, um, I meant he’s the elephant in the living room of slime…no, crime!”
Brandon Barker’s laughter rang in his ears, loud and mocking and shameless.
Drake clutched the drawing to his chest, trying not to ruin Darkwing Duck in the center of the paper.
Only a handful of his classmates applauded his presentation, more out of politeness than anything else. Three girls were whispering and passing notes to each other, Phillip Trotski in the back row was asleep, and everyone who wasn’t friends with Brandon stared blankly at the ticking of the clock as the end of the school day drew closer by the second.
My Dad is the most amazing duck in the world. Why can’t any of you see that?
Drake stared at the trash can by Mrs. Crane’s desk, tilting his head so his classmates couldn’t see the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He didn’t want to give them another reason to laugh at him.
There were already too many.
He flinched at the sharp, loud slap of a ruler hitting the desk. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard it, Mrs. Crane always did that when she wanted them to pay attention, but it never failed to be a frightening noise.
“Don’t laugh at your classmates’ presentations, Brandon. Quincy. Issac.” Mrs. Crane scolded, giving each boy a stern look of disapproval. Quincy and Issac sank in their seats, embarrassed to be caught. Brandon only pouted, not looking sorry at all. “Next Monday, you will each spend five minutes in the corner at recess and think about your behavior.”
“But Mrs. Crane-” Brandon protested, though Mrs. Crane quickly cut him off.
“Ten minutes.”
Brandon’s elbow thumped onto his desk. “Stupid Drakey,” he mumbled.
Drake covered his face with one hand, shielding himself from Brandon’s scornful glare.
Mrs. Crane stood up so quickly that her chair flew behind her and slammed against the whiteboard. Her long, thin shadow fell across Brandon, who shot a pleading look at Quincy and Issac, but the other boys inched their desks away from Mrs. Crane’s wrath.
“Young man,” she said icily, in the tone Darkwing himself would use on a villain if they’d committed an especially heinous crime. “I will be speaking to your parents later. And you will spend the next week indoors, copying the dictionary instead of playing basketball with your friends.”
Nobody, not even Brandon, dared to speak. The class gathered their books, backpacks, and belongings with less enthusiasm than usual when the final bell rang at three.
Drake stayed by the teacher’s desk, unwilling to pack up just yet. He knew he’d wind up tripping over a pencil or backpack strap or somebody’s outstretched leg if he tried to return to his desk in the middle row.
“Drake,” Mrs. Crane said quietly, so that his classmates wouldn’t hear as they were ushered out of the room by a teacher’s aide. “Stay behind for a moment. I won’t keep you long if you’re taking the bus home.”
Drake gulped. Did she know he’d fallen asleep during reading time?
“I-I’m not, Mrs. Crane,” Drake stammered. “Dad’s picking me up today.”
He’d never been alone in the classroom with Mrs. Crane before, and seeing that he barely came up to her waist made him nervous. He was the shortest in the class, which only gave his bullies even more reasons to pick on him.
To his relief, Mrs. Crane pulled her chair around and sat down. She still towered over him, but Drake felt like he could breathe a little easier now.
“You were supposed to talk about a hero in your life,” she said, peering down her long bill at him. Drake wilted at the disappointment in her voice. “Not one on a silly TV show.”
But Darkwing wasn’t silly. And it wasn’t for little kids either.
“...but my dad is Darkwing Duck,” Drake said meekly, picking at a loose thread on his coat. Nobody seemed to understand that. “He’s a hero.”
His dad always threw the bad guys in jail and saved St. Canard. He was cool, confident, and never gave up even when all hope was lost. What part of that wasn’t heroic?
“Your…father…plays a hero,” Mrs. Crane corrected, shaking her head like the word ‘father’ disgusted her. “Being a hero in real life is completely different.”
Drake tilted his head. Wasn’t Dad a hero all the time? There really wasn’t much of a difference.
“How?” he asked, more confused than ever.
Mrs. Crane only took their spelling quizzes from the basket on her desk and laid them out. “I’m afraid you’ll have to find that answer for yourself,” she replied. She uncapped her red pen and began to mark the paper. “Run along now.”
The conversation was over. Drake shuffled to the back of the classroom and retrieved his Darkwing Duck backpack. It was large on him, covering his back like a turtle’s shell. Sure, he had to stoop a bit while he wore it, but he didn’t mind.
He slid his Darkwing drawing, homework folder, the Mystifying Mystery of the Missing Mare library book he’d checked out earlier that day, and his pencil case into the backpack.
Packing up in peace was nice.
For once, nobody tried to steal his pencils or knock the library books off his desk.
“Drake?” Mrs. Crane called as he opened the classroom door, ready to leave now that he had everything.
Startled, Drake turned around so quickly that he almost fell beakfirst onto the floor.
“You’re getting much better at speaking in front of your classmates,” Mrs. Crane said. A rare smile tugged at the corner of her beak. “Good job.”
While Darkwing Duck would’ve made a triumphant speech, Drake could only stammer out a thank you and hurry out the door.
Mrs. Crane’s words followed him down the hallway, only confusing him more with every step he took.
Playing a hero? Being a hero? Dad is a hero! Why doesn’t anyone believe me when I tell them?
He got weird looks whenever he told people that his dad was the one and only Darkwing Duck.
Kids laughed at him. The grown-ups would just give him odd, pitying looks. Even the adults at Golden Goose Studios changed the subject when he tried to describe Dad’s awesome rapidfire karate chops that took down Megajack, a villainous fusion of Megavolt and Quackerjack.
But nobody ever believed him.
He sucked in a breath as he joined the other kids outside. It was always crowded out here after school. Several teachers kept a watchful eye on everyone as they played on the stone steps and grassy hills surrounding the building. Two long lines of cars waited in the parking lot, parents shouting for their kids from open windows so they could get out as fast as possible.
Drake perched on his tiptoes, staying at the very top of the staircase so Dad could see him. It was lonely up here, but he needed to stay separate from the crowd so he wouldn’t be lost.
Okay, don’t lose focus! Drake Starling must be ever-vi…what was that word Darkwing always used again? Vigilicious? I think that was it! Drake Starling must be ever-vigilicious when searching the streets below for his transport!
He didn’t see Dad’s car anywhere.
Drake fiddled with the straps of his backpack as one classmate after another left with their parents. Dad’s filming sessions tended to run long, so Drake tended to be one of the last kids to be picked up if it was his turn.
He understood why Dad couldn’t make it on time, even though he sometimes worried that he’d have to sleep on the school stairs overnight, like the people who camped out in tents and sleeping bags downtown.
Suddenly, there was a loud, screeching honk from a silver van, and the kids along the sidewalk leapt back in shock. The van window rolled down, revealing a large, furious boar with a pair of sharp tusks that poked out from his bottom lip.
“Watch where you’re going, you weirdo!” the boar roared, shaking his fist at a purple-clad duck with a large fedora and long, flowing cape who’d crossed in front of his van.
“Dad!” Drake exclaimed, heart leaping with excitement. He’d finished early for once! And he’d even come as Darkwing Duck!
None of his other classmates could say Darkwing Duck picked them up from school!
“The crosswalk light was green! How ‘bout you watch where you’re going, porky?” Dad snapped, storming up to the window of the angry boar. He jabbed a finger at the boar’s snout, a fist clenched at his side. “Don’t you know who I am?”
“I’m up here, Dad!” Drake shouted, waving his arms and jumping as high as possible so Dad could see him above everyone else. “Over here! Look this wa-aaaaayyyyy!”
He leaned too far over the step, screaming as his beak painfully collided with stone. He tasted gravel in his mouth, knees stinging as they smacked against each bumpy step all the way to the bottom of the staircase.
With his unexpected freefall at an end, Drake laid beneath his heavy backpack, unable to stand on his own. Grit clung to his knees and elbows, and his peers’ legs and feet crowded around him.
Dozens of eyes bored into him. Shocked whispers and gasps rippled through his onlookers.
Then came Brandon Barker’s howl of laughter, loud and mocking and cruel.
Drake wanted to pull his head and limbs inside his backpack like a turtle and never come out again.
This wasn’t the sort of attention he wanted.
He’d have to figure out how to eat and drink and watch his favorite shows under here-
“EVERYONE BACK OFF MY KID IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU!”
Drake gasped at that heroic, commanding voice that always forced a crowd to stop and listen no matter what they were doing. And it wasn’t just any other heroic, commanding voice either!
“Dad!” Drake exclaimed. He sprung up, the scrapes on his knees not bothering him in the slightest as he pounced upon his dad’s waist. “You’re early!”
“Agh-hey!” Dad made a choking noise, his body stiff as a board in Drake’s hug before he managed to pry him off. “Watch the suit, kid. It’s freshly ironed. Can’t have you or anyone else wrinkling it.”
Drake inhaled a light, fresh scent from the awe-inspiring Darkwing outfit. “Your suit smells funny! Um, I mean funny in a nice way! It’s not bad or anything! I like it!” he exclaimed, quickly backpedaling when Dad raised an eyebrow.
“Well, that makes one of us,” Dad sighed, his long beak crinkling in distaste. “My clueless costume designers refuse to understand that Darkwing Duck does not require carnation scented freshener while fighting the cantankerous criminals of St. Canard. Besides, it clogs his beak.”
He sneezed loudly, a shower of droplets hitting an unfortunate young cardinal in the face.
“Ewww, gross!” the cardinal stuck his tongue out in disgust. He wiped the droplets onto his shirt and stumbled away.
Everyone else backed up and gave them a wide berth.
Dad rolled his eyes. “Kids these days,” he grumbled. “Can’t even handle the slightest inconvenience.”
Drake grinned, unable to stop bouncing on his toes. “Or see how cool your costume is?”
“Heh. That too,” Dad let out a short, hacking laugh, ruffling the feathery tuft on Drake’s head. A strong arm wrapped around Drake’s shoulders and led him away from the school. “Let’s get outta this dump, sport. I parked the Ratcatcher by the soccer field. Less crowded over there. Don’t want any of these uncultured yokels ruining the paint job.”
If this was a dream, then he never wanted to wake up again. He was finally getting to ride in the ultimate criminal-catching contraption of all time! Auntie never allowed Dad to take him for a ride no matter how much Drake begged, even within studio grounds. She always said it was too dangerous, as if she didn’t remember who she was talking to. But Dad always listened to her, even though he complained about it all the time.
“You finally convinced Auntie to let me ride in the Ratcatcher with you?” Drake asked eagerly. “She told me I wasn’t big enough last time I asked her! I don’t think she knows I grew a whole two inches last summer!”
He puffed out his chest proudly and lifted his beak in the triumphant pose Darkwing Duck would strike at the end of an episode.
“Oh, I convinced her alright!” Dad proclaimed. “I’ve honed my persuasion techniques to a highly advanced art form. No actress or criminal alive stands a chance against good old-fashioned Darkwing charm!”
He pumped his fist into the air, and Drake copied his action with a cheer, only to leap out of his feathers when a car honked loudly.
“GET OFF THE ROAD, FREAK!” a bulldog woman roared, leaning out the open window of her minivan and fixing them with a furious glare.
With a firm shove, Drake was swept behind his father protectively. Drake stumbled, clinging to Dad’s cape to avoid her ire. He saw Dad’s deep frown, his defensive stance, his powerful fists balled, and Drake knew that if he was going to be anything like Darkwing Duck someday, he couldn’t just hide behind Dad’s cape whenever he was scared.
He had to try and be the bravest duckling ever.
Tightly gripping the cape between his fingers, Drake carefully peered out from behind his dad.
You can do this, Drake. All you have to do is get dange-
Then Drake locked eyes with Brandon Barker, who gave him a toothy smirk and pounded his fist into the palm of his hand. Drake yelped and hid himself from view, already dreading the day Brandon would follow through on his threat.
“Yeah! Get off the road, freaks!” Brandon taunted, his upper body hanging out the window, jowls flapping in the breeze.
“Sit, Brandon!” the female bulldog snapped, and a strange, panicked expression crossed the bully’s face before he obeyed. “I’m already dealing with one costumed clown. I don’t have the patience for another.”
“Clown?” Dad shouted, feathers puffing out in outrage. “Broken any mirrors lately with your horrendous makeup job, you bi-”
A passing duck covered her daughter’s ears and hurried her to the sidewalk, glaring at Dad the entire time.
“-iiiiiiiig jerk. That’s what I was gonna say!” Dad called to the other parent, who quickly bundled her child into a nearby car.
“Buncha braindead morons. Don’t have the decency to recognize a Starling when they see one,” Dad muttered. He grabbed Drake’s shoulder, roughly guiding him towards the soccer field.
The car sped off, a cloud of smoke and dust left in its wake.
Freak.
Why couldn’t anyone else see Dad as a hero? He was brave and tough and smart, a master of twenty-five kinds of martial arts, and always knew exactly what to say and do when a villain threatened St. Canard.
Drake couldn’t defend himself or Dad without being ignored, teased, or getting odd looks from teachers. Even his uncles stumbled over their words when they spoke about Dad.
An engine roared to life.
“Hey, sport,” Dad called. He was perched atop the Ratcatcher, hands already on the handlebars, looking even cooler in real life than his promotional photos.
Drake blinked, not realizing they’d made it to the Ratcatcher at all. He’d only seen the motorcycle from the sidelines or on a television screen before, and it was much bigger than he expected. He took a step back, not wanting to be engulfed in its shadow.
Dad gave him a confident grin, gesturing to the sidecar where he’d normally give tied up criminals a ride to prison.
“You’re speechless. I understand completely,” he said, patting the sleek hood of the Ratcatcher fondly. “But you’re not going anywhere if you insist on standing by with your beak open.”
His words washed over Drake, and despite his worries, Drake knew his dad was right. If he wanted to achieve his dream of riding in the Ratcatcher, then he’d have to climb in first.
With a burst of confidence, Drake jumped into the sidecar. For a moment, he struggled to clear the metal wall completely, but he took a deep breath and pushed against it. He yelped, falling onto the seat with his feet above his head.
Maybe I should’ve taken my backpack off first, Drake thought, unable to move from his awkward position.
“A little help, Dad?” he asked meekly.
Sighing, Dad let the engine idle before he grabbed the handle of Drake’s backpack and pulled him upright. Though it was rough, Drake bit back a yelp, not wanting to disappoint his hero.
But the uneasy feeling only became worse when he didn’t see anything he could use to protect his head.
“Shouldn’t I have a helmet? What if something happens?” Drake asked, hiking his backpack over his head just in case. He thought of a commercial he’d seen the day before, where a kid hadn’t worn his helmet while riding his bike and had to be taken to the hospital with a nasty cut to his forehead. The image made his stomach churn.
“You worry too much, kid. Nothing’s gonna happen,” Dad assured him.
o-o-o-o
Drake played with the Quackerjack toy he’d gotten from his Hungry Hungry Hippo Meal, trying to avoid the stern glare of the police officer, a tall, broad-chested bald eagle who could probably rip through steel with the talons on his feet alone. Dark shades covered his eyes. His navy uniform displayed the letters SCPD on his sleeve, surrounded by stars.
“James Starling,” the eagle drawled. “It’s been a while.”
“Hello, Sammy,” Dad mimicked the eagle’s accent, one leg crossed over the other as he ate his bacon cheeseburger. “Still can’t get my name right, I see. It’s just Jim. Always has been, and that’s the name I plan to use for my star on the Walk of Fame.”
The eagle took his dark shades off and flicked them shut with a sharp snap, clipping them to the front of his uniform.
“That’s Officer Skye to you,” he said coldly. The temperature inside Hamburger Hippo seemed to drop several degrees.
Drake shivered, and he fed a waffle fry to Quackerjack to avoid the annoyed looks Dad and Officer Skye gave each other.
Even villains need to eat so they have enough energy to carry out their evil plan….
“Ran out of donuts to chase, Sammy?” Dad scoffed. “Or is there another reason you wanted to interrupt our father-son bonding time? I don’t appreciate being tailed to the parking lot of this joint.”
Officer Skye reached into his pocket, pulling out a small notepad and pen. “Hope your idea of bonding time doesn’t include jail, Starling.”
“...jail?” Drake whispered, staring in horror at Officer Skye, who continued writing in his notepad. The eagle wouldn’t look him in the eye.
Why? Only villains go to jail, and Dad’s not a villain!
Then Drake spotted a pair of handcuffs peeking out from Officer Skye’s belt, and he quickly latched onto Dad’s arm so he couldn’t be arrested.
Dad made an odd, strangled gasp as he struggled to free his arm.
“What the-hey, let go of my arm, kiddo! You’re getting ketchup all over my blazer!”
But Drake only clung to his arm tighter than before. “Y-you can’t take my dad to jail, officer! It was…um, probably a frame job!”
Both grown-ups stared at him, and Drake shrank away at the attention.
“A frame job,” Officer Skye repeated in disbelief.
Dad only shrugged.
“You know, like the first episode of Darkwing Duck!” Drake explained. Why didn’t the grown-ups understand? “A bunch of thieves framed Darkwing for robbing a train and he had to break himself out of jail! Then he proved the thieves were behind the whole plot and the police commissioner apologized to Darkwing for jailing him!”
A hand closed Drake’s bill and held it shut.
“Kids,” Dad chuckled to Officer Skye, whose beak was twisted into a frown. “Always saying the most interesting things when they should probably be quiet.”
His voice dipped low, his tone a warning, like a snake waiting to strike. Drake let go of his father’s blazer, spooked by the strange sound.
“I see you’ve done nothing to correct your son’s impression of the justice system, Starling,” Officer Skye drawled. “Is he at all aware that law enforcement does not require the help of reckless, gloryhounding vigilantes to arrest criminals, unlike your ridiculous show?”
“RIDICULOUS?” Dad shrieked, feathers ruffling in outrage. He leapt upwards, standing on his chair and glaring at Officer Skye. His posture was rigid, hands clenched into fists. “DARKWING DUCK IS THE PEAK OF TELEVISION, YOU NUT!”
The entire restaurant fell silent, their attention on Dad and Officer Skye. Drake shrank away from their scrutiny, curling up in his chair and trying to appear even smaller than he already was. A mother stood up and dragged her two children away by their arms. By the soda machine, a goose hadn’t noticed his drink was overflowing.
The stillness was only broken by a surprised duckling, whose brown hair was tied back with a large pink bow.
Molly Clearwater, Drake realized, and he prayed Molly wouldn’t recognize him. She never stops talking! Everyone at school’s gonna find out….
“Dad! Dad! That’s Drake from school!” she shouted, dashing Drake’s hopes immediately. “Why’s he with that purple weirdo? Why’s the policeman so mad at them? How come-oomph!”
Molly’s dad quickly clamped his hand around her bill.
Drake wanted to sink into the ground and never come out again. Their whispers and stares cut through him, and he couldn’t ignore them no matter how much he tried.
Even Officer Skye was watching him.
Am I going to jail too?
Would he have to learn how to sleep on an uncomfortable piece of wood? Or be forced to wear nothing but black and white stripes forever?
Slowly, Drake peered up at the officer, whose expression seemed…different.
Softer. Less harsh.
Then Officer Skye turned to his notepad and wrote something down. He ripped the top sheet and slapped it onto Dad’s bill.
Dad sputtered in surprise, the chair wobbling when he nearly lost his footing. He ripped the paper off the edge of his bill, crumpling it under his fist.
“And just what is this supposed to be?” Dad spat. He waved the paper in Officer Skye’s face.
“A speeding ticket and a list of citations,” Officer Skye replied, and Dad’s bill dropped to the ground in shock. “You were twenty miles above the speed limit, in addition to you and your child not wearing a helmet, lack of a front license plate, and disturbing the peace.”
Dad’s eyes widened as he hurriedly read the paper. He mumbled under his breath in disbelief before scowling at Officer Skye.
“What, you boys in blue don’t have any muggings to stop or medal ceremonies to attend?” he scoffed. “This is extortion! I won’t be swindled out of my hard-earned cash! Expect a call from my lawyer in the near future!”
Officer Skye stepped forward, his hooked beak pushing against Dad’s long bill. “There is one reason and one reason alone why I’m not placing you in cuffs right now. So I suggest you start acting like the role model you portray yourself to be. See you in court, Starling.”
Before Dad could respond, Officer Skye walked out of the restaurant. Within a minute, his police car peeled out of the parking lot and disappeared around the corner.
Slowly, everyone returned to their meals and conversations, chatter filling in the silence once again. The grownups gave annoyed glances at Dad, while others gave Drake a strange, pitying look.
Drake wished they’d pay attention to their food instead.
Behind the counter, several workers watched the scene unfold until an older dog broke up the group. They quickly returned to taking orders and making food, though they snuck glances at Dad when they weren’t busy. The dog marched up to Dad, pointing to a nametag that had ‘manager’ printed in bold letters.
“Sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises,” he said in a tone that left no room for argument.
Dad huffed in frustration, stuffing the paper into his pocket. “Fine,” he growled, hopping down from the chair and shoving past the dog. “Come on, sport. Let’s get outta this dump.”
Drake hurried to his father, clutching his Quackerjack toy close to his heart. Dad’s strides were long and powerful, forcing Drake to move faster so he wouldn’t be left behind.
“Hey, Dad…you’re not really going to jail, are you?” Drake whispered once they were safely out in the parking lot. His skin pricked, and he was scared that if he turned around, he’d see everyone in the restaurant judging them.
The policeman hadn’t handcuffed Dad…yet. Was he just waiting for the right time? Maybe the police were right around the corner, waiting for a reason to take him.
“Oh, quit worrying already. Heroes don’t go to jail, Drake,” Dad snapped, jamming the key into the Ratcatcher’s ignition. “Good guys like me don’t belong behind bars. Now get in before some other power-tripping cop shows up.”
Drake climbed into the sidecar, managing to do it without help this time. He turned to Dad, ready to share his exciting news, but he didn’t look his way. Dad’s entire mood had been soured.
Neither of them spoke on the ride home.
o-o-o-o-o
Auntie and Uncle Tino were waiting for them in the garage of Lot 9, where the Ratcatcher was parked when it wasn’t in use. They were still dressed in their villain costumes from filming earlier that day, a floor-length scarlet gown for Auntie while Uncle Tino was in earthy green and brown tones to match the not-technically-a-villain plant-duck mutant he played.
Drake waved to them as Dad pulled into the garage, only stopping when Auntie crossed her arms and frowned. He couldn’t see her feet, but he could hear one tapping impatiently against the ground. He avoided her stern gaze.
In his excitement to ride the Ratcatcher, he’d forgotten that he wasn’t supposed to be riding in the prop at all, even if Dad allowed it.
“Morgana! What a pleasure to see you again!” Dad exclaimed rather loudly, turning off the Ratcatcher with a click of his keys. “Have I ever told you how that shade of scarlet brings out your eyes?”
Auntie scowled at him. “Save it, Jim!” she snapped, and Dad winced at her tone. “That sort of flattery may work on my character, but it gets you nowhere with me! Especially when you take your son for a joyride in a dangerous contraption when he still needs a booster seat to ride in a normal car!”
“Dangerous? Morgana, he’s the son of Darkwing Duck! He has to get dangerous sometime! Can’t live his life hiding in the comfort of his own room, you know!” Dad protested.
Hiding in my bedroom for the rest of my life doesn’t sound so bad…at least I’ll have my toys.
Drake wasn’t keen on going back to school where he’d have to see Brandon Barker, Molly Clearwater, and his classmates who’d just make fun of him.
“For the last time, my name is Katherine! Why is it so hard to remember your coworkers’ names when we aren’t filming?” Auntie shouted.
“For your information, I have an excellent memory. I’ve never forgotten a line, action, or name in my career!” Dad scowled, tossing his keys at Uncle Tino, who jumped when it hit him in the chest and fell to the ground. “Hey Bushroot, hang those up for me, will ya?”
Uncle Tino sighed and picked up the keys, his purple Bushroot wig falling off his head as he stood up. Unlike Auntie, he never argued with Dad unless the cameras were on. He hung the keys on a hook by the door, clearly not happy about being ordered around but not protesting about it either.
Drake climbed out of the sidecar, his feet dangling in the air as he hung onto the frame by his fingertips. Taking a deep breath, he let go of the sidecar, yelping when he made a less-than-graceful landing and fell onto his bottom.
“Drake!” Auntie was at his side instantly. She couldn’t bend all the way down, the material of her dress too stiff for that, but she offered him a hand. “Are you alright, sweetie?”
Drake took her hand, smiling as she pulled him to his feet. Her touch was always soft, though nobody who only saw her on their TV screens would know that.
“Bruised, but triumphant!” Drake proclaimed so he wouldn’t worry her, quickly rubbing his sore bottom when she wasn’t looking. It still ached, but she didn’t need to know.
Darkwing Duck always got back up, no matter what misfortune he encountered. So Drake would too.
“That’s the spirit, kid,” Dad grinned, ruffling the feathers on Drake’s head.
Drake held himself high at his praise, his heart soaring far beyond the clouds. Auntie gave him a disapproving look, though Drake couldn’t stop his preening.
“Don’t encourage him,” Auntie said with a click of her tongue. “He doesn’t need to learn your habit of taking unnecessary risks.”
Dad rolled his eyes. “He’s tougher than he looks. You don’t need to coddle him every time he gets a paper cut.”
“I’m showing concern, something that you apparently lack-”
“He’s seven. He can handle himself just-”
“This is exactly why some parents don’t let kids watch your show! You perform all these dangerous stunts for impressionable kids, including your own son!”
“Not my fault some people have poor taste…”
“Only thing in poor taste is your ego and unrepentant attitude!”
Drake pressed his hands against his head as Auntie and Dad raised their voices. He didn’t like it when they argued, which happened a lot. He wished they’d just get along.
A hand rested on his shoulder. Drake turned and smiled at Uncle Tino, whose feathers were still caked with green, plant-like makeup from his Bushroot scenes.
“How was school, Drake?” Uncle Tino asked. His voice was often quiet, a lot quieter than anyone else Drake had ever met, but Drake found it soothing to talk to him whenever everyone else became too loud. “Your presentation go well?”
Drake’s smile faded as he scuffed the ground with his foot. “Um…I tried to use those public speaking tips you and Uncle Bud gave me, but Brandon still laughed.”
Uncle Tino gave him a sympathetic look. He understood how mean some kids in school could be, and Drake appreciated that.
“I kept talking though!” Drake said quickly, not wanting Uncle Tino to think he’d given up. “And I didn’t cry in front of everyone this time! Mrs. Crane said I got a little off-topic, but I also did better!”
Uncle Tino smiled. “If you got a compliment from your teacher, your presentation must’ve been really something. Makes me wish I could’ve been there instead of filming this greenhouse scene. All that pollen floating around isn’t good for anyone’s beak. Achoo!”
Even his sneeze was quieter than most.
“I really need to take my allergy pills…” he muttered, picking up the wig he’d dropped earlier. “Think I’m gonna head to the break room now.”
“Break room? Is Uncle Mike there? Can I go with you?” Drake asked, pulling out his Quackerjack toy. “Dad took me to Hamburger Hippo and I got Quackerjack with my meal! I think he’ll find it funny!”
Dad didn’t notice the disapproving look that Uncle Tino gave him.
“Uncle Tino?” Drake asked, confused by his lack of response. “Uncle Mike’s gonna find it funny, right?”
“Huh?” Uncle Tino said, shaken out of his daze. “Oh, he’ll get a kick out of this for sure. And the rest of us will just have to put up with his bragging.”
That didn’t make any sense. Uncle Mike had the most toys modeled after him out of the Fearsome Four, but nobody else besides Dad minded all that much. Drake wondered if Uncle Tino was just a little jealous.
“So why are you looking at Dad all weird then?” he asked.
Uncle Tino sighed. “Because both of you eat at Hamburger Hippo too much. All that grease isn’t healthy for you.”
“We don’t eat at Hamburger Hippo too much!” Drake protested. “We only ate there today, yesterday, Monday, and last week when Uncle Dan blew up the fridge…do you think we’re still allowed back after Dad argued with the policeman? One of the workers told us to leave and everyone was staring.”
Silence fell in the garage. Dad groaned and ran a hand down his face. Too late, Drake realized that maybe he should’ve kept his long beak shut.
“You. Did. What?” Auntie demanded as she towered over Dad, glaring at him while she waited for an explanation.
Dad tugged at his collar with a nervous laugh. “Uh…well, you see, it’s a funny story actually-”
Uncle Tino grabbed Drake’s hand, ushering him out of the garage as Auntie’s furious voice shook the walls.
o-o-o-o-o
“Ha! Minijack’s got my colors and bells in all the right places! And you thought this little promotional gig with Hamburger Hippo would fail!” Uncle Mike proclaimed as he paraded around the break room, the little Quackerjack toy held proudly in his hands.
He’d been beside himself with joy ever since Drake showed him the little model of Quackerjack. Together, they’d lovingly nicknamed him Minijack.
The bells on his jester hat jangled loudly, and Drake saw a nerve pop in Uncle Dan’s forehead when a long blue and red tendril on the enormous hat smacked him in the face, causing him to drop his screwdriver.
“Nuts and bolts, Michael! Would you cut that out?” Uncle Dan snapped, huddled protectively over the coffee machine he was trying to fix. “I’m trying to create Instacoffee here!”
“Ooooh, neato! What’s Instacoffee?” Uncle Mike asked in an exaggerated falsetto voice. Though he only wore a colorful polka-dotted shirt and comically oversized jester hat instead of his full Quackerjack costume, he produced Mr. Banana Brain from somewhere within his shirt and passed Minijack back to Drake.
Uncle Dan lifted his hands in the air in a grandiose display. “Behold, the latest technological revolution in coffeemaking-”
“Does it make banana smoothies too?”
“-no longer shall our minds wait for precious caffeine like sleep-deprived zombies…”
“Eek! Zombies? They’re going to eat my brain! Ahhhhhh!” Mr. Banana Brain flailed his floppy arms, slapping Uncle Dan in the shoulder several times.
Uncle Dan growled, shoving his long nose into Mr. Banana Brain’s toothy grin.
“I’d like to make it through my spiel without interruption, if you don’t mind! Why don’t you try being a proper banana for once and split?” he snapped.
Mr. Banana Brain gasped, one hand held over his chest in dramatic fashion.
“Dem’s fightin’ words, you overloaded weasel!” Uncle Mike shouted, giving Mr. Banana Brain a G.I Jay figurine to hold in his fist, its laser weapon extended.
“Weasel? I’m a rat, clownface!”
With a bellow, Uncle Dan grabbed Mr. Banana Brain and tried to yank him away from Uncle Mike. They fell to the floor, rolling underneath the table and causing the plates to clatter as they collided with the leg.
Uncle Dan splayed his fingers like he was zapping Uncle Mike with several supercharged lightning bolts, while Uncle Mike hit him in the face with Mr. Banana Brain.
It was nice of them to improv a silly scene, but Drake didn’t feel any better. Nor did he feel like joining in with Minijack all that much. He didn’t have the energy to make up a character and voice for Minijack as he did with his other toys either.
Was Auntie still mad? He wished he hadn’t gotten Dad in trouble with her, or that they could learn to get along somehow. It worried him when they argued. Couldn’t they see he loved both of them?
The clock on the wall chimed softly, the little hand pointing to seven. The studio would be emptying out soon. Most of the actors would be heading back to their trailers, or going home.
If Dad’s going to jail, is someone gonna stay with me? They won’t leave me alone, right?
He didn’t want to be left behind.
There was a soft knock on the door, startling Drake out of his thoughts. He heard voices on the other side, speaking in hushed, worried whispers.
“-have to break the news gently, Bud…”
“Tino, I don’t see the point in sugarcoating this. All of you avoid explaining hard topics to him. It’s not healthy.”
Uncle Bud’s tone dripped with disapproval. Drake’s heart sank.
“Darkwing Duck is his hero. It’s not our place to-”
“Darkwing Duck is only a character played by the very real Jim Starling, whose son thinks the world of him, even if he is a poor excuse of a role model.”
The door opened.
Drake fidgeted in his chair as Uncle Tino and Uncle Bud walked in. Uncle Tino gave Drake a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring, but only made him more nervous. By contrast, Uncle Bud was calmer, simply sitting down in the chair next to Drake.
Uncle Dan and Uncle Mike continued to wrestle on the floor, screaming electricity and toy based puns at each other when they tripped Uncle Tino, who fell on top of them with a yelp and brought their roughhousing to an abrupt end.
“Alright, that’s enough, both of you,” Uncle Bud said, fixing both of them with a look that said calm down or else. “Let me talk to Drake without you acting like clowns.”
Uncle Mike pointed to his jester hat. “That’s kinda my whole gimmick, buddy.”
“Just trying to make the kid laugh a bit. Looked like he could use one,” Uncle Dan said, crawling out from underneath Uncle Tino’s arm.
Uncle Tino said something that nobody could make out since he was lying facedown, beak smushed to the floor.
With a resigned sigh, Uncle Bud turned to Drake. He was the oldest of the Fearsome Four, and unlike the others, he didn’t really act like his villainous persona, the Liquidator, off-camera.
But it was probably hard to talk like he was narrating a commercial all the time, so Drake couldn’t blame him there.
Uncle Bud gave him that ‘I’m going to talk about your dad and it’s probably gonna hurt your feelings' look. Drake had seen plenty of grownups give him that same pitying glance.
It always hurt worse when it was the cast of Darkwing Duck, the ones who worked with, ate with, and practically lived with him and Dad.
They were family, weren’t they? But they didn’t like Dad much.
Nobody did.
Maybe they thought he was too young to really notice. Maybe they thought he needed to be protected from the truth. But Drake knew. He could see it in their eyes, hear it in their strange ‘not in front of the kid’ voices.
“Dad’s going to jail, isn’t he?” Drake whispered.
Nobody spoke, and nobody except Uncle Bud would look him in the eye. Even Uncle Mike didn’t try to lighten the mood with a joke.
Uncle Bud leaned over, resting his hand on Drake’s shoulder. It didn’t make him feel better.
“We don’t know for sure yet,” he admitted. “From my understanding, the officer let your dad off easy. Instead of going to jail, he just has to pay some money to the city. Unfortunately, your dad has made his intention of not paying the fine, driving to the police station, and stuffing his speeding ticket down someone’s beak very clear.”
Uncle Mike crossed his arms. “I say let him try it. If he gets arrested, that’s his own fault.”
Drake stared at him, wide-eyed from his harsh words. Nobody else seemed to find his remark funny either.
Uncle Dan elbowed Uncle Mike in the ribs, who squawked in surprise.
“...so why won’t he give them money if that’ll keep him out of jail?” Drake asked quietly.
Nobody answered his question. His uncles only looked at each other in uncertainty. Uncle Bud shook his head, resigned that he didn’t have an answer for Drake.
“Afraid none of us know what thoughts go through his head,” he sighed.
“Except for smooching the vanity mirror in his mind,” Uncle Dan snickered, before Uncle Mike drove his elbow into his stomach. He immediately doubled over in pain.
“Revenge is a dish best served cold.” Uncle Mike smirked in satisfaction.
“Neither of you are helping,” Uncle Tino sighed.
Drake closed his eyes, avoiding his uncles’ pitying glances. He was tired of every grownup looking at him like that.
I wish somebody would just…understand for once. Dad is a hero, even if nobody else gets it.
The phone began to ring, and Drake opened his eyes, alarmed by the sudden noise.
“I’ll get it,” Uncle Tino said. He walked over to the counter and picked up the phone. “Hel-ahhh!”
He shrieked and dropped the phone like he’d been burned.
“-no, you stay put, and don’t you dare walk out that door, Jim!”
Auntie’s voice crackled over the speaker, static blurring her words together. Dad responded, loud and aggressive, though he sounded like he was too far from the phone for anyone to make out what he was saying.
Uncle Bud quickly stood up, grabbing the dropped phone while Uncle Tino rubbed the side of his head with a pained expression.
“What’s going on over there, Katherine?” he asked gruffly.
Drake couldn’t fully hear Auntie’s reply, but her tone was a mix of annoyance and anger. Uncle Bud listened to her rant without speaking, pinching the fur between his eyes.
“I’m getting too old to play peacemaker between you and Jim,” he said, before pausing to listen to whatever was going on at the other end of the line. “I can’t influence his behavior any better than you can…fine, fine, I’ll try to talk him down, but I can’t promise that he’ll listen to me. Alright. I’ll try to intercept him in the parking lot.”
He hung up, leaning against the counter for a moment before turning around. Drake didn’t know what to make of the expression on his face. Like he already knew that Dad wouldn’t listen to him no matter what he said.
“He’s leaving for the police station now,” he said quietly. “Katherine couldn’t stop him, so she asked me for help. I’ll do my best, but I can’t guarantee anything.”
Drake looked away. He felt Uncle Tino’s hand on his shoulder, but it didn’t provide much comfort.
Nobody was confident in their ability to stop his dad. They were all convinced he’d be thrown in jail the moment he set foot in the police station, and there was nothing they could do about it.
Drake wasn’t angry at them. They did their best.
At least they tried.
If the grown-ups aren’t able to do anything, then what can I do? I can’t even face my classmates without being scared.
He glanced at the heroic pose Darkwing Duck struck on the front of his backpack. Darkwing was always brave, always certain, always fighting for what was right even when he got beaten down time and time again.
He could be electrocuted, smashed by anvils, tied to an anchor and dropped into the sea, or poisoned with only twenty-four hours to live, but Darkwing Duck would never, ever give up even if everyone already had. Even if the world told him he can’t save the day.
Even if he was just a small duckling who was still scared of thunder.
What if…I can do something? I’m just a kid, but….
He reached into his backpack and pulled out his homework folder.
“Uncle Bud?” Drake called, holding his folder tightly to his chest as he hurried to the older dog’s side. Uncle Bud paused as he opened the door, turning to Drake with his eyebrows raised in surprise.
Deep breath, Drake, he inhaled quickly, his heart beating so fast that it made him dizzy. Now say it. I’m going with you, and you can’t stop me.
But the words that came out of his beak were a jumbled, incoherent mess. Everyone stared, and Drake tried not to cower at their attention.
“One more time, Drake. Just slow down and breathe,” Uncle Bud advised him. If he was annoyed that Drake was delaying him, he hid it well.
So Drake took a deep breath once more.
Just say it. You can tell them.
“I…I have something important to tell Dad. Please, can I go with you?” he asked. His voice wasn’t as strong or as convincing as he would’ve liked.
Uncle Bud didn’t respond right away. He didn’t seem like he was going to say no, but he probably didn’t want to say yes either. Drake’s fingers nervously dug into his folder.
“...I think you should take him with you, Bud,” Uncle Tino was the first to speak up.
Drake hadn’t expected anyone to speak in his favor, and he gave him a grateful smile. But Uncle Tino’s response was met with an angry shout from Uncle Mike.
“Are you insane?” he snapped. “Bringing the kid’s not gonna soften Jim! He’s already made up his mind. I say let him reap the consequences.”
Uncle Dan crossed his arms. “Agreed. You don’t know what he’ll say. He’ll just hurt Drake’s feelings and drive off.”
They weren’t wrong. Dad might not listen to him either.
But Darkwing Duck was not the sort of avian who played it safe. He was always ready to take risks on headfirst, even if the situation wasn’t in his favor.
I’m going to be like Darkwing. I have to take a chance.
“I still want to talk to him,” Drake declared.
“This is something he wants to do for himself,” Uncle Tino explained to Uncle Mike and Uncle Dan, who still shook their heads in disapproval. “We shouldn’t get in the way.”
Drake glanced up at Uncle Bud, who gestured to the open door.
“Then let’s go,” he said, allowing Drake to take the lead.
It’s okay, Dad. I won’t let you go to jail.
o-o-o-o
“Damn it, where did I put those stupid keys?” Dad grumbled, fumbling around in the pockets of his blazer. He tossed an old gum wrapper and several pennies to the ground, kicking them under his car in annoyance.
He’d taken off his hat, mask, and cape, leaving him only in his turtleneck and unbuttoned blazer. The feathers on top of his head were messy from being under his hat, his cheek feathers sticking out in every direction.
As Uncle Bud and Drake approached the handicapped space where Dad’s car was parked, Drake’s rush of bravery wore off.
Dad’s scowl was set deep in his beak, and it only grew deeper when he spotted them.
Drake hung back several steps behind Uncle Bud. He didn’t want to appear smaller than he already was, but Dad’s anger could be scary at times.
“Mind your language, Jim,” Uncle Bud said gruffly. “The only things Drake should be repeating from you are Darkwing’s catchphrases.”
Dad scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Oh, did Morgana tell you to bring my kid along to guilt trip me into staying? That’s low, even for the likes of you, Liquidator.”
“Drake came of his own accord,” Uncle Bud replied. He didn’t raise his voice like the others tended to do. His tone was calm and even, and Drake understood why Auntie had asked him to speak to Dad before anyone else. “He said he has something very important to tell you.”
He gently nudged Drake forward. Dad’s eyes flicked towards him, and Drake gulped, fighting the urge to run away.
Be like Darkwing.
Dad tapped his foot impatiently. Drake knew he needed to hurry and say his piece before Dad drove away.
“I-I…um, a-are you handicapped, Dad?”
Unable to make eye contact anymore, Drake’s gaze fell upon the blue handicapped sign, and the question slipped out before he could stop it.
“How could I be Darkwing Duck if I were crippled?” Dad snapped, and Drake regretted opening his mouth. He reached into his pocket, finally pulling out his keys. “Is that your ‘very important thing’, Drake? Because I have places to be.”
Drake hugged the folder to his chest, Dad’s words echoing inside his mind. There was a chance he’d be ignored, or that his beak would open and he wouldn’t say what he wanted the other person to hear.
It was okay. Darkwing didn’t always succeed in his first attempt to catch a villain.
But it stung. Not even Dad wanted to hear him out.
Dad threw open the car door, and it slammed against the car’s exterior with a resounding bang. He climbed inside, but before he could shut it, Uncle Bud grabbed the handle and held the door out of reach so that Dad would have to lean out to close it.
“I’m giving that officer a piece of my mind for publicly humiliating me,” Dad growled. “So get out of my way, Liquidator.”
Uncle Bud narrowed his eyes, not even flinching when Dad honked the horn to try and scare him off.
“I’m not stopping you,” he said. “I’m only keeping you here long enough so your son can accomplish what he came here for.”
He turned and gave Drake an encouraging nod.
With shaking fingers, Drake reached into his folder and pulled out the drawing of Darkwing Duck.
It wasn’t a perfect likeness. The beak was colored a shade lighter than it should’ve been, a golden button on the blazer was missing, and one leg was longer than the other.
But if Dad was going to jail, then Drake hoped he’d be able to brighten his cell wall with the drawing. Jail cells always looked so cold and colorless on TV.
“You can have this. I drew it in class,” Drake said timidly, thrusting his art into Dad’s hands. He stared down at the drawing with a raised eyebrow. Though Drake wasn’t sure if Dad liked or disliked it, he knew he had to keep going. “Even if you’re going to jail like everyone says…you’ll still be my hero, Dad.”
Dad looked up with a startled expression. His beak fell open in shock, and though he tried to speak, he could only manage a shocked, wordless mumble.
It was strange to see him so speechless.
Drake and Uncle Bud stepped back from the car. Though Uncle Bud no longer held onto the handle, Dad didn’t rush to close the door. He carefully brushed away a few stray crayon rubbings and tugged at the collar of his turtleneck nervously.
One foot slid out of the car.
Dad’s getting out! He’s not going to the police station after all!
Drake bounced on his toes with excitement, only stopping when Uncle Bud gripped his shoulder.
Then Dad shut the door, backing up the car so fast that he hit the curb on the opposite end of the lot.
And he was gone, leaving only tire markings burned into the road.
Tears formed in the corners of Drake’s eyes, but he wouldn’t let them fall. Darkwing Duck never cried. So Drake wouldn’t either. He clung to Uncle Bud’s leg, trying to dry his tears on the fabric of his pants.
“I’m sorry,” Uncle Bud said quietly. His face was solemn as he rested a hand on Drake’s head. “I was convinced he’d listen for once too.”
“It’s okay…” Drake whispered. He did his best not to sniffle.
“Katherine offered to take you for the night. If anything happens, she’ll be the first one they’ll call.”
Then Uncle Bud took Drake’s hand, leading him away from the parking lot.
But Drake could only stare at the empty space where Dad’s car used to be.
o-o-o-o
It was ten, an hour past his bedtime when he stayed at Auntie’s house. An instrumental of the Darkwing Duck theme played on the television, marking the episode’s end. Auntie let him watch four episodes back to back, and he felt her worried glances burn into him when he didn’t try to imitate the superhero’s moves or quote his witty puns and intro speeches.
He only sat motionless on the couch, eyes glued to the screen as the intro to a strange cartoon he’d never seen before played.
The screen went black, the sound of static briefly filling the air. Startled, Drake’s attention snapped to Auntie. He hadn’t heard her enter the room.
“You’re too young for this show, Drake,” she said, glancing at the TV with distaste. “And your extra hour is up. It’s time for bed.”
“But I’m not sleepy!” Drake protested. His beak parted in a wide yawn, and he clapped a hand over it. Auntie gave him a knowing look, and Drake sank against the couch cushions, caught in his own lie. “And Dad’s not back either…are you sure you haven’t heard anything?”
The phone only rang once tonight. Drake had been so excited to hear the ring that he’d ignored Darkwing’s climactic battle with Megavolt in the thunderstorm, but he was only met with disappointment when the caller was just trying to sell insurance, whatever that was.
Auntie lifted the skirt of her nightgown and sat on the couch, a resigned sigh escaping her. She pushed her loose hair away from her face, a far cry from the elegant beehive she wore as Morgana.
“I promise I’ll tell you if anything comes up,” she said. She placed a heart shaped cushion against her leg and patted it with a sad smile. Slowly, Drake crawled over to her and fell against the cushion. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “Unfortunately, your father could be doing any number of things right now even if he isn’t sitting in the middle of a cell.”
Her beak pursed together, like she was disgusted by what Dad could possibly be doing at ten at night.
“Like protecting St. Canard from bad guys in real life?” Drake asked.
He could understand why Dad would be out so late then. It was a full moon tonight, and criminals always crawled out of the shadows by the hundreds to commit all sorts of heinous acts in the silver moonlight.
Dad hadn’t tried to call them. It was probably for the best, if he was surrounded by villains and didn’t want to run the risk of an unsavory character learning about his secret identity and using his loved ones against him.
But Auntie only sighed, a faraway look in her eyes.
“I don’t think Jim would act that…reckless,” Auntie said. Upon hearing the pause in her words, Drake tilted his head up at her. She let out a resigned sigh. “Maybe he would be that reckless.”
Sometimes Auntie and Dad would get along. They’d eat and drink together in between takes. But most of the time, they argued with raised voices and wild, frantic gestures, and everyone would be caught in their anger.
Drake could never decide if they were friends or enemies. He wasn’t sure if anyone else knew either. And depending on the episode, Darkwing could be dodging magic bolts from Morgana or kissing her on the rooftop.
He always covered his eyes during the kissing scenes. They were kinda gross.
“Auntie, do you like Dad?” Drake asked. Auntie stiffened, her nails digging into the fabric of the cushion. Drake hastily backtracked at the offended look she gave him. “I mean, as a hero?”
“A hero,” Auntie repeated in disbelief. She must’ve thought Drake was asking something entirely different.
Or maybe she didn’t think Dad was a hero either. Nobody did.
“Darkwing Duck’s not real, you dork!”
“You were supposed to talk about a hero in your life. Not one on a silly TV show.”
“Is he at all aware that law enforcement does not require the help of reckless, gloryhounding vigilantes to arrest criminals, unlike your ridiculous show?”
“Darkwing Duck is only a character played by the very real Jim Starling, whose son thinks the world of him, even if he is a poor excuse of a role model.”
Drake pushed himself onto his knees as he waited for Auntie’s answer.
“He’s certainly passionate about his job,” she admitted. “I can’t deny that.”
Darkwing Duck was committed to his mission against evil. Nothing could sway him off the path of justice and righteousness!
Except for maybe Morgana, but she sometimes used love spells so that didn’t count.
But there was more to Darkwing than just punching bad guys. It seemed that was the only thing people saw when they thought of the Masked Mallard.
“That’s not the answer you were hoping for, was it?” Auntie asked.
“Well, you’re right about Darkwing being passionate, but….” Drake trailed off as he thought about why he admired Darkwing.
It wasn’t just his cool fashion sense, or his awesome Quack Fu moves. Nor was it about the witty one-liners or boasts about his skills.
As cool as Darkwing was, he didn’t always capture the villain on the first try. He’d often meet someone with powers he didn’t know how to combat, and he’d have to develop a fighting style to overcome them. Or someone would deliberately plant a false lead, and Darkwing would have to separate the lies from the truth.
He could be tied to a cinderblock in the ocean, crushed, or have his memories erased. The villains could gang up on him and stomp on his back until his spine broke, but Darkwing would never give in. No matter how much physical pain he had, he would fight until the battle was won.
“He always gets back up too, even if it looks hopeless,” Drake said. “Even if nobody else is on his side. Even if…I’m the only one in the whole world who sees that.”
He drew his knees up to his chest. Sometimes, it felt like he and Dad were the only ones who truly understood Darkwing Duck.
It was lonely.
“The world is a big place, Drake,” Auntie said after a few minutes of silence. “You might not know them at the moment, but I believe that somewhere out there, you’ll find someone who shares those feelings too.”
Despite his turmoil, Drake managed to smile back.
And someday, I just might find them. So I’ve got to hang on a bit longer.
Then Drake noticed the stack of tarot cards she’d laid out on the coffee table. The top one displayed the image of a jester and his juggling balls.
“Did your cards tell you that?” he asked.
“No, but my crystal ball did,” Auntie replied. “Oh, what’s this? I see something else reflected in it…”
She pulled a decorative crystal ball from her coffee table into her lap, waving her hands around the glass. Drake peered at himself on the reflective surface. He couldn’t help but laugh when his lower bill appeared much longer than the top half. The crystal ball lit up, casting a bright light into the shadows of the living room.
“What do you see?” Drake asked eagerly.
“I see…a set of pillows, blankets, a teddy bear with a purple mask, all lying on top of a twin-sized mattress, underneath a ceiling full of glow-in-the-dark stars….” Auntie narrated dramatically. “Yes, yes, it’s all very clear now…”
“What?” Drake tried to see all the things she was describing, but he couldn’t make out any images in the light.
He thought he could at least make out the teddy bear, but the light suddenly shut off before he knew for sure.
“The crystal ball predicts that you’ll be in bed in the near future!” Auntie declared with a final flourish of her arms.
Drake pouted, and although he was willing to give up a week’s worth of dessert to stay up a little longer, he decided it wasn’t worth arguing about. Auntie had promised to wake him up if something happened, so he decided to trust her word.
The light from the crystal ball vanished. Drake knew about the off switch on the bottom, but he had fun pretending it was really magic.
“G’night,” Drake murmured, his beak opening in a wide yawn.
He climbed off the couch, his feet scrabbling at the air briefly before he touched solid ground. His landing wasn’t graceful either, and he yelped when the sharp edge of the coffee table jabbed the back of his knee.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have Darkwing Duck’s perfect night vision.
“Are you okay?” Auntie asked in concern.
Drake quickly shook off the pain. “Of course! A coffee table can’t stop me!” he proclaimed. But he forgot to look where he was going, and as he stepped out into the hallway, he tripped over an umbrella stand and landed flat on his face. “Ow… your umbrella stand may have won this fight, but-”
The doorbell rang before he could finish his sentence. Startled by the sudden noise, Drake shot to his feet and crashed into the umbrella stand again, falling onto his back. His elbow hit the floor, throbbing with pain.
Auntie knelt in concern. “Drake, are you-”
A series of loud, earsplitting knocks interrupted her before she could finish.
Drake flinched and stared at the door, wide-eyed with sudden fear.
“Auntie? A-are we being robbed?” he whispered.
Because of St. Canard’s never-ending swarm of criminals, safety was drilled into every kid’s mind the moment they could walk.
Don’t talk to strangers, use the buddy system, say no to drugs, lock all doors and windows at night….
“I-I’ll knock them out for you, Auntie…” But Drake couldn’t keep the stammer out of his voice.
He wanted to sound cool, confident, brave. Darkwing Duck wouldn’t cower in fear from a common robber. He’d open the door and swiftly knock them out with a karate chop to the head before they could blink.
But Auntie shook her head firmly.
“This is real life, Drake,” Auntie said, keeping her voice low. She picked up her fallen umbrella. “Not the time to play Darkwing Duck. If you put yourself in unnecessary danger, I will ground you until you’re old enough to pay your own bills. Understand?”
Drake nodded quickly. He knew better than to argue with Auntie.
There was a brief moment of silence before the knocking began anew, like whoever was on the other side had to take a break from banging on the door.
“I’ll handle our unwanted guest,” Auntie said, brandishing her umbrella. “In the meantime, I want you to hide, and if you can, run to the neighbor’s house and call the police.”
She helped Drake to his feet, gently pushing him behind the wall to hide him from view.
What if they overpower her?
Stricken with fear, Drake leaned against the wall and waited with bated breath as Auntie slowly unlocked the door, umbrella held at the ready. He felt bad for disobeying, but what if she needed him to jump in?
What if Auntie got hurt and could no longer defend herself? He couldn’t just leave her alone!
Auntie’s hand was on the doorknob. She paused, took a deep breath, and threw the door open.
“About time you opened up, Morgana! I’ve been waiting forev-”
Auntie shrieked, her war cry echoing off the walls, and smashed her umbrella against the intruder’s head. With a startled yelp, the would-be robber collapsed onto his knees.
“Owww….” he groaned. He swayed back and forth, barely catching himself in time before his head hit the brick porch.
Auntie flicked the light switch beside the door. The lantern mounted to the outside wall flared to life, illuminating several fluttering moths.
Drake gasped, his hands flying to his beak to stifle the noise so Auntie wouldn’t turn around and find out he’d disobeyed her.
This was no robber!
Dad came back! He didn’t get thrown in jail after all!
“Is that how you greet everyone who knocks on your door?” Dad snapped, a purple bruise blossoming underneath the ivory feathers of his head.
Auntie threw down her umbrella, and it landed on the floor with a sharp clatter. “Knocking? You were trying to break my door like a madman!” she yelled. “What was I supposed to think?”
“Let me see…how about ‘oh my goodness, I’m so sorry for hitting you over the head with an umbrella, Jim! Why don’t you come inside so I can make that up to you?’” Dad did his best impression of Auntie’s voice.
“I don’t sound anything like that!” Auntie shouted, her hand braced on the doorknob. She was barely holding herself back from slamming the door in his face. “And what makes you think I’ll trust you in my house after the mess you made last time?”
There was a pause as Dad and Auntie stared each other down, the only sound coming from the crickets chirping outside.
Then Dad stood up, but his posture seemed…different. Less confident and dramatic.
More…confused than anything.
It took Auntie by surprise too.
“Wait, Morg-I mean, Katherine,” he stammered, and if Drake wasn’t watching their conversation right now, he might’ve believed Dad was a completely different duck, or replaced with an imposter. “Is Drake here? I’ve been to Liquidator’s and Bushroot’s place, and I didn’t even bother with Quackerjack, doubt that clown can keep a kid alive for more than five seconds…but Liquidator said he was with you. Anyway, I…I need to see him.”
He trailed off for a moment, then mumbled a very forced please.
Auntie just stared at him.
“Why?” she asked.
The happiness that Drake felt upon seeing Dad vanished. He didn’t have handcuffs or a ball and chain on his ankle, but Drake wondered if the police were impatiently waiting on the street as they allowed Dad to say goodbye before they locked him up for a long time.
“He’s my son, Katherine! I don’t have to explain my reasons to you!” Dad scowled, covering his long bill when Auntie put a hand on her hip in displeasure. He sighed, shoving his clenched fist into his pocket and looking away in embarrassment. “Look, I didn’t go to the police station. Changed my mind last minute. Figured zebra stripes weren’t really my style. Besides… something more important came up.”
He reached into the folds of his blazer and brought out a picture frame.
A drawing of Darkwing Duck laid within the glass.
Drake’s eyes widened.
My drawing…he framed it?
“So is he still awake?” Dad asked. “Figured I owe him an explana-”
Unable to keep himself hidden anymore, Drake rushed past Auntie and launched himself into Dad’s chest. Dad yelped as he lost his balance and fell onto his bottom a second time, taking Drake with him.
“Ow…watch the ribs, kid! Still got some bruises from my last stunt,” Dad coughed, his voice strained. Drake quickly removed his hands and sat up. The picture frame laid face down on the bricks. Dad quickly flipped it over and let out a sigh of relief when the glass remained intact.
Auntie sighed, but Drake could see a tiny, fond smile on her beak. He turned back to Dad, who was rubbing his chest to relieve the lingering pain.
“Hey, Dad?” Drake said, his voice tiny. “I knew you wouldn’t go to jail.”
Dad let out a raspy laugh, using Drake’s shoulder as leverage to haul himself back to his feet.
“Ha! The great Darkwing Duck, a common jailbird?” Dad chuckled. “They were all wrong about that. Buying a frame for your interpretation of my heroic self was a much better use of my time. Glad you never doubted me once, sport. At least I raised you with sense.”
He shot a smug look at Auntie, who smacked the umbrella against the palm of her hand like she was struggling not to bean him over the head again.
“Does this mean you’re actually planning to pay for your speeding ticket like a good, law-abiding citizen?” she asked.
Dad rolled his eyes and flicked his hand dismissively. “Eh, I’ll take it up with my lawyer. We’ll just contest it in court later.”
Auntie glared at him.
“What?” Dad protested with a frown. “That’s a perfectly legal course of action! I don’t have to be a vigilante against the system all the time.”
Drake had no idea what any of that meant, but if that wasn’t breaking the law, then it was good enough for him. He smiled and threw his arms around Dad’s waist, making sure to avoid his bruises.
“When I’m bigger, I’m gonna be a hero just like you!” he declared.
Dad blinked down at him, his beak falling open in shock. Then he ruffled the feathery tuft on Drake’s head. “Heh…that’s probably gonna take a while, but I’ll root for ya, kiddo.”
“That’ll be the day….” Auntie murmured.
Dad stuck his tongue out at her. Drake only tightened his hug, never wanting to let go.
I don’t care what everyone else says. Dad is always gonna be my hero. That’s never gonna change.
