Chapter Text
“I gotcha!”
Darkwing Duck, standing tall with his chest puffed, steps forward and slides off the windowsill, down the long, curved railing of the St. Canard bridge—
“No, I got him!”
His foot catches on a metal ring and he tumbles over the edge with a yelp.
Jim slammed his hands against Launchpad’s back, pushing him forward.
With a splash, Darkwing lands in the St. Canard bay.
The movie star hack in turn slammed his body into the both of them, sending them flying off the stage just as an explosion ripped through the room.
Sputtering, the ex-actor fumbles for his fedora. Fingers latch onto a brim and he hoists the sopping wet thing onto his head.
Jim whipped his head over his shoulder. No sign of the kid.
Darkwing starts paddling for shore, grumbling to himself. He just had this suit dry-cleaned!
Launchpad approached the burning wreckage and fell onto his knees.
He crawls onto shore on his hands and knees. The masked mallard quickly stands up and starts squeezing the water out of his cape as a limo crashes into the wall of a run-down convenience store next to him.
Out the driver’s side of the limo bursts none other than an excited Launchpad— followed by a less than enthusiastic Dewey, who’s playing with his phone.
Can’t really blame the kid, he did try to kill them all back at the studio all those months ago… and he got the movie star killed. Drake Mallard. He made it a point after to actually learn the kid’s name. And then he kind of went down a rabbit hole and… tried to find as much as he could. Which. There wasn’t a lot.
He graduated from a nondescript community college at 25, and tried to get into acting as soon as he could— snatching any role that he could in order to make a name for himself. Even background roles. And there were a lot of background roles. They were all background roles. Up until the failed Darkwing Duck movie.
That was supposed to be Drake Mallard’s first big role.
And Jim Starling ruined it.
Darkwing’s thoughts are cut off as Launchpad snatches him up and pulls him into a rib-crushing hug. “Ack! Sidekick! My! Bones!”
Launchpad immediately releases him, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. He sends the ex-actor an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that, Jim! It’s just great to see you!”
Jim. He hates that name… so much right now.
“Let’s just stick with Darkwing, for now?” Darkwing asks, standing up and patting Launchpad’s arm reassuringly before dusting himself off. “Or DW, or whatever… you know, superhero identity and all.”
“Yeah, pretty sure your civilian identity is wanted for murder now or something,” Dewey adds oh-so-unhelpfully, not looking up from his phone.
Darkwing sends him a deadly glare.
“Oh, right…” Launchpad seems to sober a bit at that, looking down at his feet and lightly kicking a rock.
Darkwing releases a tired, but fond sigh, and gently punches Launchpad’s arm. “C’mon, sidekick! I’ve still got a new secret hideout to show you!”
“Won’t people know you’re staying there?” Dewey asks drily, finally peeling his eyes off his phone screen as he looks up at the other two ducks. “It’s literally the same hideout as in the show?”
Darkwing grumbles under his breath. He turns away and waves for them both to follow.
The kid seems to brighten up more upon reaching the top of the tower’s long staircase— no doubt because of his documentary thing finally having some material. Darkwing meanwhile shows off the new Ratcatcher to Launchpad (resulting in more crushed ribs), and later when Dewey joins them, the snarky AI WANDA (provided by Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera, whose talents Darkwing is convinced are wasted on that suit of Gizmoduck’s) who unhelpfully tells them there isn’t even any crime in the city, thanks to the new mayor. A press of the right key with his foot shuts her up.
“You wanna see some criiiime-fighting?” Darkwing dramatically lifts his cape up, obscuring him from the beak down as he smirks at the camera. “Then let’s… get… DANGEROUS!”
He can hear Launchpad squealing behind him and a hint of a genuine smile twitches onto his beak. He doesn’t understand why Launchpad doesn’t hate him, even after everything that happened, everything he did, but…
“Maybe you could try this hero-stuff for real.”
Launchpad still believes in him.
“The kid was your REAL biggest fan. Do it… do it for him.”
Drake Mallard believed in him, to the very end.
He needs to make all of that mean something.
xXxXxXx
The evening so far has been a complete bust. No sign of crime whatsoever. The three of them have been sitting on this rooftop for hours, and the most they’ve gotten done is find a decent camera angle for Dewey to shoot from.
And then, dropping from Launchpad’s grasp, Dewey trots across the rooftop as he starts dialing a number. Darkwing’s stomach coils when he hears the words, “Hi, Gizmoduck? Would you be able to come down—?”
“No, no, no!” Darkwing jumps up and down, fists and teeth clenched, like an angry child. “We! Don’t! Need! That hack!”
Glass from somewhere down below smashes.
Darkwing immediately rushes to the edge of the roof, grinning like a kid at a candy store— and immediately pouts upon seeing the moving van and the movers themselves. “Oh, come oooooon…” He slides down onto the ground like puddle. He rolls over onto his back and throws up his arms at the sky. “Would someone just rob a bank already, please?! Or something!?”
Launchpad and Dewey share a look.
“Why did I ever think this was a good idea, St. Canard is regular crime free and even super crime free, there’s no way—”
Darkwing doesn’t get a chance to finish, because now Launchpad is suddenly pulling him to his feet and spinning him around. “Hey! Whaddya doing?! Put me down!” He shakes his head to try to relieve himself of the dizziness, and instead makes it worse. Once his vision clears, though, he can see what they wanted him to see. A small form using the boatswain’s chair left outside to slowly rise up to the upper levels of the building.
And then Darkwing’s eyes fly to the building’s sign. His eyes widen to the size of dinner plates and he wrestles himself free of Launchpad’s grip, rushing to the edge of the roof. He practically licks his chops, salivating.
“McDuck Enterprises?” He jumps up and down excitedly. “Yes, yes, yes! This is exactly what I need! My big break!” He whirls around to Launchpad and Dewey, the latter now sitting on the taller duck’s shoulders, filming with his phone once more. “Come, sidekick and tiny filmmaker! Let’s get dangerous!”
It’s easy, slipping into the building, and with the help of his new smoke bombs and his introduction— “I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the letter from the IRS that comes in your mail! I am—” He’s got the villain on the run.
Darkwing’s shoulders slump with some disappointment. He was kinda hoping they’d fight back, give him some action, not run away.
He leaps down from the top of the giant machine he’d poised himself on, landing in front of the tiny criminal. “Hey, rude!! I wasn’t even finished with my intro!”
A small fist jabs hard into his gut. He doubles over with a sharp yelp, clutching his middle. When the pain fades slightly a second later, he whirls around— just in time to see the villain slam into Launchpad and fall onto the ground. Dewey says something about a wavier as he continues filming. Darkwing quickly stalks over to them.
“Ha!! Got you now… what?”
Darkwing lifts up the perpetrator by the back of their jacket and, lo and behold, the tiny criminal is a child! She can’t be more than thirteen! She takes his shock as an opportunity to smash the heel of her boot against the underside of his beak. Darkwing’s hold on her loosens and she slips from his grasp as he crumples onto his back, pain still shooting through his bill.
“She’s getting away!” Launchpad shouts, rushing after her.
Too late. As he sits up, Darkwing can see she’s already speeding back up the rope she came down on with her rope ascender.
And then the double doors of the lab swoosh open, the lights click on, and the three find themselves face to face with Scrooge, Dewey’s brothers, and… Taurus Bulba. This is just great. My first REAL crime-busting and I get humiliated by a thirteen year-old kid, instead of busting my first REAL crook…
He quickly scrambles to his feet, trotting to Launchpad’s side as he dusts off his jacket.
“I can vouch for these two,” Scrooge says, pointing to Dewey and then Launchpad. He squints at Darkwing. “I don’t know who the masked one is.”
Darkwing stares at him with a glare so hot it could melt metal. “You’re kidding me, right?”
Scrooge blinks, staring blankly.
“The moon incident? Hello?!”
He decides to avoid mentioning the thing with the failed Darkwing Duck movie. Scrooge may not know who he is under the mask due to the lack of, of all things, a twirly mustache, but still better to be safe than sorry when you’re literally wanted for murder.
“I know who he is,” Taurus Bulba declares, stepping forward and looking at Darkwing with a hard gaze.
Darkwing swallows hard, but tries to glare back at him equally threatening. Launchpad steps in between the both of them. “I can vouch for Darkwing Duck! He was trying to stop a dangerous criminal who broke in here!”
A “dangerous criminal” who turned out to be a little kid, Darkwing thinks, but he doesn’t say anything because he kinda needs Launchpad to cover for him, and he’s still trying to figure out what the heck is going on anyway.
“So if you want to arrest him for just being the champion of right, you’re gonna have to go through me.” Launchpad points to himself with his thumb.
Darkwing taps his shoulder. “Sidekick, doncha think that’s a bit overkill?” Sure, he’d rather not be arrested, but the last thing he needs or wants is Launchpad getting hurt in the process. The one fan he has left.
The one fan who still believes in him.
Bulba’s features relax, and he straightens his back, adjusting his coat collar. He smiles and says, “My sincerest apologies, Mr. Darkwing. This is a top secret project, one that cannot be allowed to fall into the wrong hands. You can’t blame me for being cautious. But…” He looks at Launchpad. “If what you say is true, then that makes… Darkwing Duck a hero!”
Darkwing’s eyes widen. He points to himself, stumbling over his words incoherently. The only thing he manages to squeak out as Bulba wraps his arm around his shoulders is, “Wait, I are? We am?”
xXxXxXx
Taurus Bulba’s assistant, Clovis, holds her hand out to Darkwing as he steps off the podium, dragging the heavy Key to the City down the steps behind him. He is soooo not trying to lift that thing again after it crushed his foot.
He stops, regarding her extended hand for a second before taking and shaking it.
“That was a great thing you did, Darkwing Duck,” Clovis tells him, smiling pleasantly. It doesn’t match the… odd look in her eyes. It reminds him too much of the adoration Drake Mallard always looked on him with before…
He quickly shakes his head. No, don’t think about him now!
“Eheheh,” Darkwing laughs uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “I guess…” His thoughts turn back to the little girl. Why was she breaking into the lab? What was she trying to do? And is there more to this whole thing than meets the eye?
“What’s the matter?” Clovis asks, worry now filtering her gaze. Darkwing looks over his shoulder at Bulba, the mayor, and the crowd of reporters.
Darkwing ushers her a bit further away from the crowd. That’s when Launchpad and Dewey join them, both ecstatic— the former because his hero is now a REAL hero, and the latter because it’ll get his show more views or whatever. Once satisfied that Bulba is too occupied with the reporters to be listening in, the sounds of camera’s clicking and people chattering potentially drowning out their voices, Darkwing turns his gaze back onto Clovis.
“… This is probably weird question,” he begins, “but do you have any idea why a kid would be breaking into Bulba’s lab?”
Clovis raises a skeptical brow. “A kid?”
“Yeah, probably about thirteen, dark red hair…” Darkwing places his hand near his hip. “Probably about yay tall?”
Clovis hums, crossing her arms and tilting her head up thoughtfully. “You know, I do remember a kid like that. Gosalyn is her name. Gosalyn Waddlemeyer.”
Gosalyn Waddlemeyer. Darkwing rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Waddlemeyer…” Isn’t there some bigshot inventor by that name?
Clovis looks directly at the three of them. Darkwing can almost see the gears turning in her head. “This is definitely something we should discuss elsewhere.”
Ten minutes later, the four of them are sitting at the hippo jaw-shaped table of the local Hamburger Hippo, on their weirdly shaped stools. Launchpad takes a big bite out of the burger in his hands and sighs contentedly as he chews.
“I’m not supposed to tell you this,” Clovis explains, after taking a sip of her water. “But Taurus Bulba isn’t the one who built the Ramrod.” At everyone’s blank stares, she clarifies, her expression dry as her voice, “The giant laser in the lab.”
“Ohhh…” Dewey hums, rubbing the underside of his bill.
“It was Professor Waddlemeyer,” Clovis says. “Gosalyn’s grandfather. Taurus Bulba did work on the machine with him, but the vision, the legwork was all Professor Waddlemeyer’s.”
“So why is Bulba getting all the credit?” Darkwing asks, brows furrowed into a crease.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Clovis plays with her straw. “One day, Professor Waddlemeyer was just not on the project anymore. Bulba told me I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone that he was even a part of it to begin with. He wouldn’t tell me why.”
Darkwing rests his chin on a fist, fiddling with a greasy fry. How Launchpad can eat this junk, he’ll never know.
“Maybe this has something to do with all those accidents that Scrooge and Bradford were talkin’ about earlier?” Launchpad offers, finishing off his burger and licking his fingers. “What if something happened to this Professor Waddlemeyer guy?”
“Brilliant deduction, sidekick!” Darkwing shoots to his feet. He loses his balance and falls backwards off the stool. “OOF!” He crawls back onto it and stands up, quickly placing one foot on the table as he strikes a dramatic pose. “If something happened to Professor Waddlemeyer, then perhaps that Gosalyn kid is looking for answers!”
He deflates slightly.
“Which means I just messed up horribly and might’ve accidentally helped a coverup and ARRGGH, I’m a terrible hero!!” He falls backwards off the stool again and lies on the ground, pulling on his hat.
“Just calm down.” Dewey hops off his seat and pulls Darkwing’s arm, forcing the masked mallard to sit up. “We can’t be sure of anything yet.” He turns, sending a skeptical frown Clovis’ way. He crosses his arms. “Why should we believe anything you say, anyway?”
“I’m not asking you to believe me,” Clovis answers, raising a brow. “All I’ve done is answer your questions.” She pulls back her sleeve and checks her watch. She stands up from her seat, clasping her hands behind her back as she adds, “And I’m afraid I must be going. Bulba will be wondering where I am.”
She walks past them, and Darkwing looks over his shoulder at her as she leaves.
“I don’t like her one bit,” Dewey says when she rounds the street corner, out of sight, out of mind, and out of earshot. “Something’s off about her.”
Darkwing heaves a sigh, shoulders slumping. “Maybe we should still look into it, I mean…” He drops his gaze to his lap and rubs the back of his neck. “Just to be sure. Ya know?”
A hand comes to rest on his shoulder, and he looks up to meet Launchpad’s blinding smile. “Don’t worry, DW! We’ll figure it out! I know we will!”
Darkwing forces a strained smile in return. “Thanks…”
xXxXxXx
None of them were expecting Gosalyn Waddlemeyer to be waiting for them in the tower.
But waiting she was, sitting on the leather seat of Darkwing’s bike no less, swinging her legs and regarding them with a barely masked smile that quickly breaks through full force as she bursts into laughter at their shocked faces.
“Ha! I totally found your secret hideout!” Gosalyn continues to grin with triumph. “I mean, I kinda had a feeling it was one of these towers cuz you’re a Darkwing wannabe—”
“Hey!” Darkwing flushes red now, scowling and clenching his fists with burning indignation. “I’m not a wannabe, I am Darkwing Duck!”
“— and the hint of salt water residue from your smoke bombs proved it!” She kicks her feet up, laughing again at his expense. She leaps off the bike seat just as Darkwing swoops forward to catch her, and runs across the room towards his glass closet slash weapon storage, shouting excitedly, “Keen gear, this place is HUGE!”
She pushes a glass window aside and pulls out one of his arrow bolts. “Whoa, check out this…” Her wide-eyed look of awe turns into a somewhat judgmental frown as she looks up at Darkwing. He stops just short of trying to grab her again, standing frozen. “… this has your face on it and so does your bike.” She smirks knowingly. “You have a bit of a complex, don’t you?”
Darkwing straightens back up as the flood of indignation returns. “I do not have a—!”
“Dewey,” Launchpad begins uncertainly, “are you sure we should be filming this?”
Darkwing slowly looks over his shoulder, with a glare that, if looks could melt metal, would’ve vaporized the cell phone in Dewey’s hands. “Are. You. Serious?”
“What?! This is good television!”
“Put that thing away this instant!”
“Why?”
“Because I said so!”
Gosalyn clears her throat loudly, grabbing Darkwing’s attention once more. “Hey, hero,” she growls out, the word “hero” coming out in a sort of derogatory way, “I didn’t come here just for kicks.” She sticks the arrow back into its case and slides the glass window closed. “I want your help. Figured you owe me one after Bulba’s lab.”
“You punched me in the stomach!” Darkwing retorts, brows furrowing as he crosses his arms over his chest.
“You stopped me from exposing Bulba!” Gosalyn shoots back.
“Maybe I should stop filming,” Dewey mutters, barely audible.
Gosalyn sends a dry look the other kid’s way before meeting Darkwing’s irritated glare once more. “He’s a jerk, a liar, a thief, and maybe worse.”
That grabs Darkwing’s attention. “… Go on…”
Gosalyn’s eyes widen a fraction with surprise, but she quickly masks her expression into neutrality as she continues, telling the three of them what happened with her grandfather Professor Waddlemeyer and Taurus Bulba.
“… but if I can get that Ramrod key, I can prove it’s dangerous, stop Bulba, and find my grandpa!” Gosalyn finishes, determination flooding her features.
Darkwing regards her for a moment, many feelings flooding his chest. Clovis said Professor Waddlemeyer disappeared, more or less, and now here’s Gosalyn saying the same thing. And Bulba, while he seems like a decent guy… Darkwing might be a crap hero, but he can smell bull— pun not intended— from a mile away.
“Okay,” he says, straightening his shoulders. “What do you need us to do?”
xXxXxXx
From the windowsill of a shadowy section of the tower, a pair of blue and green eyes watch them. In the faint moonlight, an evil smile tinged with sadness gleams.
“Soon.” He looks at Jim Starling. Darkwing Duck. “Soon, I promise.”
He stands up, eyes closed, the moonlight finally hitting his face full force. His mask the color of the night sky, fedora red as blood, and his jacket a bright yellow. Black and red billow out behind him, in the form of a ripped cape.
“Maybe then, you’ll see we don’t have to be enemies.”