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areyouwell · 11 days

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Heliophobia

Noun: An extreme and irrational fear of light. Children or adults with heliophobia experience an extreme aversion to sunlight and may seek darkness in response.

Ch.8

Ch.7, Ch.6, Ch.5.5, Ch.5, Ch.4, Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1 <–

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Word Count: 15.8K

A/N: bejeezus this was a tough one to get through, crazy how i thought i might be able to fit these last two chapter in one it would have been like 30k words... insane behaviour from me. also i really like writing horror scenes :D

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside @justice4billiam @holyhumorliteraturelight @cxptainbuck @sseleniaa @sadslasher13 @yallgotkik @whyamistillontumbler @maddiedinosaur @bethexo07 @pwpwppeepeoor @y08h

“Let me OUT!” Logan cringed as what he assumed was your foot collided with the oak door, thumping against the abused wood. You’d been at this ever since you’d woken up, throwing various objects at the door only for it to remain sealed shut, only succeeding in creating some kind of shattered glass trap after pelting a vase at the panels. Logan sighed heavily, checking his watch. Three hours. You’d been furiously screaming for three hours, trying every fucking trick in the book to get him or anyone else to open the door. Scott had to hold him back when you pretended to be hurt, whimpering and gasping behind the door as if you’d broken a bone. Only to scream in pure, unbridled rage when you realised it hadn’t worked.

Devious motherfucker.

You weren’t the only one either. They had Erin held in another room, only she was taking her isolation much better. It was the safest option whilst Charles worked on restoring each subject’s memories. They’d started with Morgana, and Logan didn’t think he’d ever be able to shake the image of crimson blood leaking from every orifice of that girl’s face as she writhed on the floor from his head. But the shift in personality hadn’t been too great. She was still pretty relaxed and unserious, but now she was a lot quieter. Subdued. Like she’d had the hope beaten out of her.

It fucking terrified him. How much would you change after Charles restored your memories? Would you still smile the same? Laugh the same? Would you still want to be around him? With him?

Would you still love him?

Logan sighed. It was selfish of him, for that to be his most pressing concern, but he didn’t know what he’d do if, after all this, you never looked at him again. Not in the same way. His heart constricted in his chest, dread pooling in his gut. He needed to entertain these scenarios. He needed to prepare for every eventuality. Even if it broke him apart.

“She still at it?”

He’d been too wrapped up in his head to register the light footsteps from down the hall, curly red hair bouncing at Morgana’s shoulders as she approached with two cups of coffee. She’d cleaned herself up since her ordeal, even adding winged eyeliner on either side of her scarlet eyes. Logan bristled slightly, though he truly didn’t mean it. Instinct had his muscles tensing and his gaze narrowing, the night he lost you playing in his mind’s eye, Morgana’s blank expression as she slowed his heartbeat, her shining irises.

But he made himself relax. She’d proven herself a friend to you, her concern touching a part of him that recognised he could trust her with you. Releasing a breath, Logan nodded in answer to her question. “Yeah… Hasn’t stopped.” He tried in vain to keep the defeat from his voice, gratefully taking the coffee Morgana held out to him. “How’s the other one?”

“Erin? She’s… hollow, I guess. One of our friends we’d left behind, she was kinda seeing him but also kinda not. It was complicated between them…” Morgana slid down the wall to sit on the floor, crossing her legs at the knee. Logan joined her, exhaling as he took the weight off his feet.

The silence wasn’t exactly comfortable, and Logan was acutely aware of Morgana’s guilt. Having her memories restored, she now knew she played a critical role in your capture, and if it wasn’t for her, none of this would have happened. She opened her mouth to speak, but Logan beat her to it.

“Don’t. You don’t gotta apologise. You didn’t know what you were doin’.” An apology would mean nothing to him. Sure, she’d aided your capture, but she’d also helped your escape, and monitored your blood pressure on the flight back to the mansion. She’d taken care of you where Logan couldn’t, and he was grateful for that.

Morgana simply nodded silently, unshed tears shining in her eyes as she tried to smile. “Yeah, I know. Doesn’t make remembering any easier though…” she paused, fiddling with the handle of her mug. “Don’t do this to her.”

Logan blinked. “What’dya mean?” He didn’t mean to growl, and felt a little bad when the girl tensed slightly, before taking a deep breath.

“Don’t do this. There’s shit Kreva did that wasn’t documented, Logan. Special assignments, he called them. She took the brunt of it, every fucking time,” Morgana took a breath, angrily wiping at a disobedient tear sliding down her face. Logan’s stomach hollowed. He thought everything was detailed in the file. He thought he knew everything other than the last two months… “She wanted to protect us. Where the rest of us would fight to get away, she’d fight to go. It was her way of making sure we were safe, or I guess, as safe as we could be.” Morgana drew her knees up to her chest, her arms hugging around her shins.

He couldn’t breathe, the steel lump in his throat clogging his airways, making oxygen rare. Why did you always have to be a fucking martyr? Why did you always have to put yourself last? Did you not know how important you were? How loved you were? Did you not realise how much it fucking hurt to see you in pain? And now he knew he wasn’t the only one, Morgana’s tears solidifying the impact you made on her, too. “What happened?” he asked a little shakily, bracing himself for whatever horrors he was about to hear.

Morgana clenched her jaw, her eyes closing against the nightmarish memories of her own past. “Field experiments. No point in creating an army if you don’t know how effective they’d be, right? I… I only did a few, but they were the shit you’d read in hidden government documents, ya know? Send us to war-torn countries to tear apart their refugee camps and hospitals. Infiltrate rebellions and silence their leaders before the spark of change could fan into a flame.

“And nobody was better than Phantom. Entire towns crumbled to dust in a night. Politicians were brought to their knees with nothing but a flick of her wrist. She was an instrument of chaos, Logan. Of death. It’s why Kreva fought so fucking hard to get her back. She was a scalpel he used to surgically remove anything he deemed a threat to his advances,” Morgana’s voice trembled slightly, her eyes rising from the ground to meet his. “You get it now? Remembering all that… what she was forced to do, the acts she was forced to perform, it would destroy her.”

Logan didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what to think. None of that had been detailed in the file. How many layers of torment existed? How many secrets did he need to uncover to truly understand what you were put through? Was the cost of getting you back greater than the cost of leaving you untouched? If what Morgana said was true, would you even want to remember? You did before, but neither you nor him truly knew the depth of your torture. Fuck.

“I– I don’t–” He began before Morgana cut him off.

“Yeah, I know. I don’t know what to do either. We need her back to stop him. I sure as shit can’t beat Rowan, and neither can Erin. I don’t know everyone who lives here but I’ll bet you’d be hard-pressed to find someone who can. But her? She could. Theoretically…”

“Theoretically? Ya mean they’ve never been pitted against each other?” Logan asked, finding that hard to believe. Kreva put you through hell and back, performed every experiment under the goddamn sun on you, but never thought to match you against your brother? Maybe it was his own dark and twisted mind talking, but that would have been one of the first things he’d do.

“Nah. Even with Naji’s mutation, remnants of those experiments still stayed with us, usually affecting our mood. Pitting us against each other wouldn’t exactly build a good rapport since we were supposed to work together.” Morgana shrugged, her eyes now dry, having pushed past her initial flood of grief. “I just, can your Professor restore partial memories? I dunno, I just– she shouldn’t have to go through everything again. Shouldn’t have to remember everything she was forced to do.”

He could. Charles could. But Logan didn’t know if that would be enough. Even Kreva had said in your file you needed a certain number or specificity of memories to fully wield your mutation. He had no idea which ones they were, and whilst Charles was incredibly powerful, there was no way of him knowing either. But before he could respond, there was another cracking thump against the door and they both snapped their heads to where you’d once again tried to break through.

Logan couldn’t help his little fond huff, despite the situation. You were as persistent as always, and he could feel your furious determination from the other side of the door.

“Wow…” he shifted his attention back to Morgana who was looking at him with slight awe. “You really loved her, didn’t you?”

He swallowed, her use of the past tense grating slightly in his chest. “Still do…” he murmured, dragging his gaze back to where you continued to try and break down the door.

Morgana shifted next to him, her legs extending back in front of her, crossing at the ankle as she sipped her coffee. “So? Tell me everything. She’s my best friend and I know nothing about you, kinda unfair if you ask me.” She shrugged and Logan cast her a withering look.

“Yeah, well I didn’t ask ya,” he sighed, before dragging his hands through his hair. He didn’t even know where to start when it came to you. “What’ya wanna know?”

Morgana clapped her hands excitedly, turning completely to face him, and he felt himself die a little on the inside, already regretting his agreement to this.

“Where’dya meet? How long’ve you guys been together? Who said ‘I love you’ first, that kinda thing.”

Logan raised a brow. Were these seriously the kinds of questions people wanted to know the answer to? He couldn’t help but think Morgana would get along well with both Marie and Kitty and considering this girl was apparently your best friend, it made a lot of sense. He rubbed at the back of his neck, all of a sudden feeling inadequate.

“We uh, we met here, been together for somethin’ like eight months, last two not included and uh, I said it first.” His words came out a little jumbled, barely able to look Morgana in the eye as her grin widened.

“How long did it take the two of you to get together after you met?” She asked and Logan couldn’t help snorting a laugh.

“‘Round three days, I think.”

The red-head choked on her coffee and Logan took a long, slightly smug sip of his own. Not quite as good as the ones you make, but it would do the job.

“Three days?! I thought us lesbians moved fast.” Her eyes were larger than saucers as she chuckled heartily, glancing between him and the door, where you’d finally gone quiet. “Though I guess your bond must have been strong if it could push past Naji’s mutation, she’d still dream about you. Did things just click between you? Just like, that instant connection kinda thing?”

The corners of his lips pulled up as he remembered seeing you for the first time. He’d never fucking admit it to anyone, but he was excited to meet you. He’d heard so damn much about you, never being able to put a face to the name was killing him. He’d sort of had an idea of what you looked like from listening to various conversations, but he wasn’t prepared for you to steal the breath from his damn lungs. You smiled so easily, laughed so brightly. You had a glimmer of wicked mischief in your eye that danced with each teasing comment you quipped. You were utterly mesmerising. Ethereal. Logan knew he was in trouble from the very start.

“Somethin’ like that, yeah. She called me a son-of-a-bitch when we first met, I sorta stole her teaching position cuz she’d been away for two years and I didn’t think she even existed, to be honest with ya,” He too had noticed you’d gone silent on the other side of the door and he had a strong feeling you were listening. “Rest is history, but there’s very little I wouldn’t do to get her back…” he trailed off, swallowing around the lump reforming in his throat. He missed you. So fucking much. You were right there, on the other side of the door, but you looked at him with such unfamiliarity it broke him apart. You were right fucking there, but you’d never felt so far away. So out of his reach.

A touch to his shoulder brought him back, Morgana’s hand resting atop his skin as she nodded to the door. “Go,” she mouthed, flicking her eyes back and forth between him and the wood, and he understood what she meant. Draining the remaining coffee from his mug, Logan stood to his feet, sending Morgana a wary glance behind him. He wasn’t sure this was a good idea, to be honest. You’d been so hellbent on escaping, what if this was just another one of your methods to free yourself from the room?

As if reading his mind, Morgana nodded encouragingly. “Her heart rate has settled and her blood pressure isn’t as high. Just go.” She whispered, snatching his mug from where he’d left it on the floor to return to the kitchen. She wasn’t needed for this next part and she knew it. From that one conversation, she seemed to know that he would be able to get through to you. He may be the only one who could.

Logan took a breath, the metal of the bolt cool against his fingers before he pulled it across, twisting the doorknob and letting himself into an almost completely empty room. Before you’d woken up, Jean and Hank had set up a lighting system that didn’t cast extensive shadows. All the furniture had either been taken out or separated, each shadow on the ground completely isolated. Logan hated it. Hated that these were the lengths they had to go to in order to keep you safe. They were treating you no better than when you were a prisoner.

It ate at his mind.

The lack of your presence however didn’t alarm him. He wasn’t expecting you to be standing waiting for him, especially if you could hear the conversation beyond the door. Taking a few slow steps into the room, Logan scanned the walls and floor, as if he could sense you in any of the various shadows. His own silhouette crossed through darkness cast by one of the tables, but it wasn’t until his back started to itch unbearably did he know where you were. Smart, he’d give you that, but you didn’t remember doing this to him before. You didn’t know he knew what it felt like. Logan rumbled a chuckle, turning to the light behind him and that itching shifted to his front.

“You’re not as subtle as ya think, darlin’.” He mused, feeling you shift down his body and bleed through to his isolated shadow on the floor. His expression instantly softened as you rose from the ground, watching his every move warily, eyes flickering with every micromovement, nostrils flaring slightly as you prepared to make a break for it. Logan raised his hands like he’d done so many times before. “‘M’not gonna hurt ya. Never gonna hurt ya, firefly.”

“Stop calling me that.” You hissed, taking a step back from him. You’d finally learned his name, only thanks to eavesdropping on his conversation with Morgan. What the fuck had they done to her to make her so mellow? So willing to accept this. Rage flared in your gut at the thought of her being harmed. “What did you do to her? Morgana. What did you do?”

Logan almost winced at the way you hissed and snarled at him like a cornered animal, furious terror reeking off you in waves. “We helped her remember, like we’re gonna help you,” even if the idea still didn’t sit right with him. “You’re safe here. You both are.” He soothed, watching as you narrowed your eyes at him as if searching for deception. He let you look, knowing you’d find nothing but earnest truth.

“Okay…” you breathed, though you still didn’t fully trust him. You kept your distance as he took a seat, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his thighs. Questions burned in your mind, but you kept your mouth shut, not wanting to divulge just how clueless you were about what was going on.

Until it suddenly occurred to you. None of this was real.

You’d seen reality glitch and phase around you. You watched your flat disappear to nothing, your friends fighting amongst themselves. Maybe there was some truth in Joes’ words. Maybe nothing you’d experienced was real, and maybe this was a part of it. You nodded to yourself, laughing bitterly.

Logan’s brows furrowed in confused concern. “What?”

“You’re not real, are you? You don’t exist.” You bit, gesturing savagely to where he was sitting. Logan hummed a tired, melancholy smile, his eyes sinking to the floor and you blinked in confusion. “What?”

You really were the reflection of his own soul, your brows pinching in exactly the same way, head tilting in the opposite direction to his own. In another time, he’d be feeling the same electric hum he always did in the moments before he kissed you, but the absence of love in your eyes kept him at bay.

“S’just funny… I said almost the exact same thing when we first met.”

You shook your head furiously as if to clear your mind. “We’ve never met…” You whispered, though your voice faltered. Logan raised his gaze back to you, hope flickering in his chest.

“I don’t think you believe that.” He responded with equal hush, rising from the chair he’d just sat down upon, his hand still braced on the back of it. You shook your head again, eyes screwed shut as if to wall off whatever was going through your mind.

“I– Even if I didn’t, I don’t remember you. I don’t know who you are.” The way your voice cracked was mirrored in his soul, spiderwebs of fragility snaking across his heart. You were almost pleading with him. With yourself. And to see you so fragile, so fucking scared, it made him want to shred Kreva apart.

“Morgana said you dreamt of me.”

“That’s just a coincidence…”

Logan took a step forward. “I don’t think you believe that either.”

All the tension in your body exploded, the fraying threads of your emotions finally snapping, and your maelstrom of fear and confusion stormed through your mental walls. “I don’t fucking know what I believe! I don’t! You can’t honestly stand there and expect me to believe you. Expect me to believe that the last twenty-two years of my life have been a lie. Because that’s fucking insane and you sound insane!

“But then you look at me… You look at me and I feel missed. And it fucking hurts because I don’t know why. I don’t know why you look at me like that and I don’t know who or what to believe anymore. I don’t know what’s real and I’m really fucking scared.” You took a breath, hot tears burning your eyes as you finally confessed just how utterly petrified you were. You hated feeling vulnerable, even more so in front of people you didn’t know. Or you did know. Or you did know but didn’t remember. Or whatever the truth was.

Every other time Logan had stood to pull you into his embrace, you’d melted into him, willingly accepting his comfort and warmth. So to see you recoil from his sudden movement, flinch at the way he took a hasty step toward you, shining eyes wide with fear, he had to bite down hard on his lip to stop his own overwhelming sense of guilt from springing tears to his own eyes. He took a steadying breath, frantically searching his brain for something, anything, to convince you that this was real. He was real. He knew you were scared. Fuck, he felt your fear as his own, but losing you now simply wasn’t an option.

Then it came to him.

Slowly, tentatively, Logan extended his hand for you to take. “Eight months ago, you taught me something. I want to show you if you’ll let me.”

He saw you hesitate, eyes flickering from his hand to his face, then back to his hand. This would be it. Irrefutable proof that he was real, and the time he’d shared with you was real. Time ticked by, the clock on the wall mocking him with each rhythmic click until you nodded infinitesimally, slipping your soft palm into his.

“Okay…” you whispered, and he offered you a small smile.

“I need you to promise you won’t run.” He slowly brought you closer to him, keeping himself open to your suspicious gaze with each uncertain step. You sucked in a breath, still incredibly unsure.

“Fine. But I can’t promise I won’t try…” your mouth quirked in a half-hearted smirk, and though he could tell it was forced, Logan couldn’t help but feel like maybe, just maybe, you were coming back to him, piece by piece, little by little.

It was like nothing had changed, having you in the kitchen with him, the sun casting a firelike glow through the windows. Like clockwork, he’d chopped, diced, mixed and stirred. The sizzle of browning onions, the scent of searing meat, cooking like this was now simply muscle memory, his hands working with minds of their own. All the while you watched over his shoulder, suspicious recognition creasing your brows as he stripped a few leaves of basil from their stem, dropping them into the bubbling marinara sauce. This was your recipe. You’d know it anywhere. How the fuck did he know it? How did he know the exact timings? The perfect colour for the meat before adding the sauce? And how the fuck did he know about the basil…?

Your heart raced. What if he was telling the truth? How would you even handle that? How would you go about wrapping your head around the fact that the last god knows how many years of your life have been bullshit? He had to be wrong. He had to be lying. For the sake of your own mental wellbeing, this had to be some kind of fucked up prank. Or a set-up. Maybe by that weird fucker who had Naji.

That was something else you hadn’t allowed yourself to dwell on. The fact that your entire fucking flat simply disappeared. That you hadn’t seen any of your family since Naji tried to invade your mind.

Naji…

You clenched your jaw. You couldn’t think about that right now. You couldn’t think about any of them right now. You didn’t know where they were, how they were. If they were alright if they were safe. If they were alive…

Here you were feeling so fucking scared, but so far none of these people had done anything to try and hurt you. Were the rest of them in similar positions? Was Atlas okay?

Was Rowan…?

Logan spared a glance away from the bubbling sauce to gauge your headspace, his brows pinching when he saw your eyes slightly glazed, lost in a mental spiral. Removing the wooden spoon from the sauce, he held it up to your mouth, snapping you from your dissociated daze. “Here. Recognise it?”

You looked at him slightly warily, watching his hand shift to cup just beneath the spoon, preventing spillages. Logan noticed your hesitation, your trepidation, and understood. Even though you’d watched every step, you were still mistrusting. He couldn’t blame you. His gaze softened slightly, before bringing the spoon to his own mouth and tasting the food, proving to you there was nothing in it that could harm you.

As per usual, it was fucking delicious. He couldn’t help but feel a little proud of himself for nailing it so well. The suspicion in your eyes faded slightly, and you nodded in consent as he offered it back to you, and you let him feed you your own recipe.

It was uncanny.

“How did you…?”

Logan smiled slightly, placing the spoon back into the sauce. “I’d only known you for a day or so before we made this together. Actually, you made it and I just kinda watched.” The way he huffed fondly made your heart stutter and the realisation struck you like a punch to the gut.

“This was real, wasn’t it…?” You asked quietly, and Logan stopped altogether to take a steadying breath. You were coming around. Finally, you were coming back. Not completely, he’d need Charles for that, but you were getting there.

“Yeah. It was. I–” he paused, eyes trained solidly on the pan of spaghetti adjacent to the sauce. “It was my fault. I couldn’t keep you safe. I was fuckin’ helpless that night. I let them take you and couldn’t do anythin’ to stop it…” The memory still haunted him. Your bloodstained lips, your eyes fading before you dissolved, the way Kreva fucking laughed. It haunted every waking moment.

A jolt of electricity bolted up his arm when your hand came to rest atop it. He thought it almost laughable. You comforting him whilst you didn’t even know who you were. Who he was. Managing to tear his eyes from the stove, his gaze met yours, finding only forgiveness.

“What happened?” You asked quietly, finding warmth in the way his hand settled atop your own.

“There was a raid here one night. That piece of shit Kreva came lookin’ for ya. Didn’t take you, but left somethin’ behind. You weren’t safe here, so I took you somewhere you were. Stayed there for six months before we had to come back. They ambushed us on the road. I was immobilised, and he took you from me and fuckin’ laughed as he did it.” He hissed, and your hand tightened on his arm. Not out of fear, he realised, but to ground him. To remind him you were there. It shattered and mended his heart at the same time.

“Why you?” It was a loaded question. You knew that. But you needed confirmation. What you’d suspected from the moment he’d escorted you kicking and screaming into that room. From the moment you woke up.

Logan drew in a breath. He didn’t know if telling you would make things better or worse. Whether it would help you or break you. He searched your face, finding nothing but gentle curiosity and settled on showing you instead.

Turning back to the stove, he switched off the heat for both burners, before stepping from your touch and over to the radio. It had been a long time since you two had done this, but he couldn’t think of a better way to answer your question.

Your head tilted in confusion as you watched him flip through the stations, pausing as if he’d seen a ghost when a song you knew crackled to life. You recognised this tune, but from when or where, you couldn’t tell. Logan turned back to you, his hand extended, vain hope glimmering in his hazel eyes.

‘Pass me that lovely little gun My dear, my darling one’

With no small degree of hesitation, you slipped your hand into his, holding your breath as you stepped into his soft embrace. It felt familiar, like a smile from an old friend, or a spoken phrase lost to time. It felt nostalgic.

It felt like home.

‘The cleaners are coming in, one by one You don’t even wanna let them start’

You let your arms snake around his neck, melting as his hands met your waist. Turning your head, you settled against the centre of his chest, his heartbeat steady against your ear as you swayed with him.

“We’ve done this before, haven’t we?”

‘They’re knocking now upon your door They measure the room, they know the score They’re mopping up the butcher’s floor Of your broken little hearts’

Pieces of Logan’s soul started to slowly knit back together, his arms encircling your waist to hold you tight against him, settling his cheek atop your head.

“Yeah. Long time ago, but yeah.” He answered, his eyes stinging as you nestled closer into the dip between his collar and neck.

‘Forgive us now for what we’ve done It started out as a bit of fun Here, take these before we run away The keys to the gulag’

Your eyes closed involuntarily, basking in the unfamiliar familiarity of his smell. The dreams you had, weren’t dreams at all. They were memories. You realise that now. You were remembering a life you didn’t know you had. You were remembering him the only way you could.

‘Here comes Frank and poor old Jim They’re gathering ‘round with all my friends We’re older now the light is dim And you are only just beginning’

Logan let himself believe if only for a moment, you remembered him. He let himself sink into the alternate reality where nothing had happened. Where you were simply with him and you were safe. Where your brother wasn’t lost and you weren’t terrified anymore. Where he could hold you without being afraid it could be the last time. Where Jade wasn’t dead but just merely an ex of your past. Where you had complete control of your mutation and weren’t afraid of yourself.

He let himself breathe you in, your distinct scent wrapping around his mind and heart. Fuck he’d missed you so fucking much.

‘We have the answers to all your fears It’s short, it's simple, it’s crystal clear It’s roundabout and it’s somewhere near Lost amongst our winnings’

“I know why it was you…” You murmured gently, raising your head from the home you’d made. Logan’s hand slid from your waist to cup the side of your neck, keeping you there.

‘The cleaners have done their job on you They’re hip to it, man, they’re in the groove They’ve hosed you down, you’re good as new And they’re lining up to inspect you’

Logan didn’t dare ask. Didn’t dare prompt you to continue. Could barely whisper to you in fear of his voice cracking, the growing lump in his throat making breathing suddenly much more difficult.

‘Poor old Jim’s white as a ghost He’s found the answer that we lost We’re weeping now, weeping because There’s nothing we can do to protect you’

Your eyes flickered between his, the sting of unshed tears lining your lashes as you swallowed thickly. “I loved you. Didn’t I?”

O, children Lift up your voice, lift up your voice Children Rejoice, Rejoice

Logan closed his eyes, fighting against the urge to sink to his knees. The past tense speared his heart, but he nodded nonetheless, taking in a shaky breath. “Yeah, you did.”

Your hand skirted from his neck to the side of his face, thumb gently smoothing over his cheekbone. “And you? Did you love me?”

His eyes fluttered open again to find slight, broken hope glittering in your irises, those windows he’d come to love so fucking much.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed, bracing his forehead against your own. “I still do.”

The moment his lips graced your own, you felt the tears in your eyes spill down your cheeks, a lost piece of your heart fixing back into place. You felt whole again, here in his arms, kissing him to the beat of the music.

‘Hey little train, we’re jumping on The train that goes to the kingdom We’re happy, Ma, we’re having fun The train ain’t even left the station Hey little train, wait for me I once was blind but now I see Have you a seat for me Is that such a stretch of the imagination?’

Your breath caught in your throat as you tightened your arms around his neck, his hold around your waist responding in kind. You loved him. No. That didn’t feel right.

You love him.

Logan released the leash he had on his emotions, allowing liquid heartache to slide down his cheeks. All the fear, all the doubt, every single thought of losing you washed away as your tongue softly swiped at his lips, and he pulled you home.

Home. ‘Hey little train, wait for me Was bound in chains, but now I’m free I’m hanging in there, don’t you see? In this process of elimination Hey little train, we’re jumping on The train that goes to the kingdom We’re happy, Ma, we’re having fun Beyond my wildest expectation’

The music faded and you pulled back a little, eyes fluttering open to find him already gazing at you, longing dancing in his eyes, damp trails lining either side of his face. “What now…?” you queried softly, and Logan sighed slightly.

“You gotta make a choice. Charles can help you remember everythin’ but… it won’t be easy for ya. I don’t know what you’ve gone through the last two months, but I know everythin’ you went through before. And Morgana filled me in on some shit Kreva didn’t note down…”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Morgana? Is she alright?”

Logan nodded, the relief on your face worth all the stars in the sky. “Yeah, she’s fine ‘n safe. Charles already helped her, so she remembers. Erin’s here too but uh… she’s less cooperative.”

You snickered, and Logan thought he’d have to die before he heard that sound again. “Yeah, sounds like Erin. Is Rowan here? I should probably see him, let him know I’m alright.”

Your heart dropped with the way Logan’s face fell, dread pooling in your gut.

“We’re gonna get him back, ‘kay? All of them. We’re gonna get ‘em all back. I promise.” Not even the conviction in his voice, nor the way his hands smoothed your hair, brought you any comfort.

“Where is he…?” You asked, though utterly terrified to know the answer.

Logan sucked in a breath, bracing himself. “We’d managed to get you, Morgana, Erin and Rowan out before we had to bail. Kurt can teleport too, but his last trip was Rowan before it became too dangerous. We were already in the air, and we thought we were safe. But Joes came out of nowhere and took him back to Kreva.”

You gasped a sob, attempting to wrench yourself from his grip but he held you fast. “L– let me go! I– I have to get him. I can’t leave him.” You bit between stuttered breaths, panic rising in your throat. “I can’t– I can’t leave him there. He’s my brother. Logan let– let me go!” You fought against his hold and took every weak punch, every struggled pound against his chest.

“I know darlin’, I know.” he hushed as you went limp in his hold, your shoulders shaking with each strangled cry. “Shh, it’s okay. We’re gonna get him back, firefly. I promise,” he whispered into your hair as you fell to pieces in his embrace, sinking to the ground in his arms. He pulled you in tight, bracing you against his chest. “I promise. It’s okay, shh, shh, it’s okay.”

He held you as you cried, having the distinct feeling you weren’t just crying for Rowan. And he was right. Everything had hit you all at once. Your lost life. Your forgotten memories. The lies. So many fucking lies. And the one person who had told you the truth you didn’t fucking remember.

How long you’d been sitting in his arms, crying into his chest whilst he whispered soothing nothings into your hair, you’d never know. But when your sobs reduced to nothing but hiccups, you raised your head, taking a long, shaky breath.

Logan’s palms instantly cupped either side of your face, thumbs wiping away the stains of tears from your cheeks before he offered you a small, empathetic smile. You slowly blew out the breath you were holding, brows pinching against another wave of anguish. “You said I had a choice. What was the other option?”

“You stay like this,” he began, his thumbs still smoothing over your cheeks though the tears were long gone now. “We try help you with your mutation and you don’t remember everything you’ve endured. We tell you what you need to know and you start again.” Both options terrified him. There was no easy way forward, and he knew that. He knew you knew that too.

“So, I’m spared of whatever shit I’ve been through but I won’t remember anything else?” you clarified and he nodded. “I won’t remember you?” Logan nodded again, though his time it was slight. “And you’re okay with that?”

No. He wasn’t. It was agony to think that you wouldn’t remember the last eight months you’d spent with him. “That doesn’t matter here–” He started before you cut him off.

“It matters to me. I want to remember you, Logan.”

His jaw tensed, eyes lowering to the floor. “I don’t wanna be the reason you’re in pain. I don’t want you to remember for me just to regret it after you remember everythin’ else. Your past wasn’t kind to you, sweetheart.” He couldn’t help the way his chest inflated when your hand softly cupped the side of his bearded jaw, raising his head back to look into your eyes.

“I’d want to remember anyway. I don’t wanna be some vacant shell who doesn’t know who she is. No matter how fucked up. No matter what I went through, it made me who I was. It made me who you fell in love with. I wanna be her again.”

“You already are.” He murmured, before capturing your lips in another gentle kiss and you smiled against him. “There isn’t a version of you I won’t love. Whether you remember everythin’ or nothin’,” he whispered against your lips. “I’ll always be right here.”

You rested your brow against his as if you could communicate everything you were feeling through touch alone. “I think we need to go and see Charles.”

You don’t think you’d ever been this nervous. Your heart beat like a freight train in your chest, nails digging into the palms of your hands as you stood outside Charles Xavier’s office alone. Logan had entered before you, telling you to wait whilst he spoke to the headmaster, about what you could only assume.

Your breath came quick, unsteady. You’d already agreed to get your memories back before Logan even brought it up. You wanted to know who you were, but now you were standing outside Xavier’s office, you weren’t sure you made the right choice. What if restoring your memories made you a completely different person? You didn’t know if they’d been restored before, had they been restored when Logan met you? Is that who he fell in love with? Or were you just as clueless then as you were now? You had too many questions and too few answers to feel calm about what lay ahead of you.

Your biggest fear was remembering that you agreed with Kreva, and whatever he was trying to do. From what you knew, he was pure fucking evil, running experiments on mutants for whatever sick and twisted gains he got out of it. You didn’t know his end goal, but what if you agreed with him? Surely that was how you wound up there in the first place, no?

Or were you taken? Or sold? You couldn’t even remember your parents. Did you have parents? Were you grown in that fucking facility?

Too many questions.

Your teeth gnawed on your bottom lip as you waited, savouring the slight bite of pain as you peeled a layer of skin into your mouth, sucking the blood from the hurt. This was taking too long. He’d been in there for too long. You didn’t know exactly how long, but it was only supposed to be a quick conversation, not whatever the fuck this was. Having just about enough of waiting, you’d resolved to knock on the door and not wait for an answer before heading in. That was until the door opened slowly, a dark-haired girl poking her head from the room inside.

“You uh, you can come in. Sorry it took so long…” she mumbled, avoiding eye contact. You tilted your head to the side. When the fuck had she arrived? You’d been standing outside this office since Logan went in and you hadn’t seen anyone enter or exit? She opened the door a little wider, revealing five other people, your eyes widened as you saw the familiar auburn curly hair of your best friend.

“Morgo…” You breathed, before rushing through the door and past the makeshift bed to wrap your arms around her, holding her tight. Morgana reciprocated, her hands braced against your back as she squeezed you in her embrace.

“Hey, freakshow. How’re you holding up?” She asked, pulling back slightly to give you a once over, making sure you weren’t hurt.

It warmed Logan’s heart to see you interact with your friends like this. The raw relief etched into your features brought him a kind of relief of his own. Morgana was safe, and that had somewhat set you at ease.

“Yeah, ‘m’okay. Upright and not crying.” You shrugged, and Morgana laughed slightly. Clearly, that must have been some kind of inside joke between the two of you. Logan didn’t fight to hide his smile, earning himself a sweet look from Ororo and a look of utter shock from Scott. He rolled his eyes at the latter.

“Sounds about right,” Morgana’s eyes fell to the floor as she thought about what she wanted to say next. “Look… if you’re gonna go ahead with this–”

“I am, Morgo. Why is everyone trying to convince me not to now? Surely the whole point in getting me back was to restore my memories, now you’re all questioning it?”

Logan could understand why you were so irate. Everything was so fucking confusing right now. It was hard to know what the right thing to do was. But you’d chosen, and he needed to respect that. As did everyone else in the room.

“I get that. I just… you need to prepare yourself. Mine wasn’t exactly pretty and I didn’t go through half the shit you did,” she continued, empathy flooding her crimson eyes. “I just– you went through so fucking much. For our sake. You were… different to how you are now.”

Logan felt the blood drain from his face. “Different how?” he asked lowly, prepared to drag you away and hole up with you somewhere safe.

Not that it had helped last time.

“Nothing bad! You never worked for Kreva willingly…” she paused, glancing at each mutant in the room. “You were just… scarier if that makes sense. You scared the shit out of us. Not because you did anything! Fuck I’m explaining this so badly…” she sucked in a breath, holding it for a beat before exhaling. “You were real good at sealing away your emotions. Most of the time we wondered if you had any at all. It was always Rowan who was the emotional one. You were just kinda… stony, about the whole thing. The only time you spoke out was when you volunteered yourself for certain things, and that was to protect us. You weren’t a bad person, you were just… yeah. Different.” She finished, leaving the room in stunned silence.

It didn’t come as too much of a surprise to Logan. You didn’t want to share your emotions at the best of times, at least at the start of your relationship. And knowing you had to do that almost your whole life, not because of lack of option, but because of self-preservation? It burned him.

“Okay… but I wasn’t like, fucked up or anything. Like, I didn’t kill a bunch of people, right?”

The silence was so loud you could hear it echoing against the walls of the room. You refused to let it scare you. You weren’t about to be intimidated out of this. No matter what you’d done in your past, it would stay where it belonged.

In the fucking past.

“This is taking too fucking long. Can we just do it?” You grit, folding your arms in irritation.

“You’re certain this is what you want?” Your head whipped around to who you assumed was Charles Xavier. Honestly, he wasn’t what you were expecting. You were expecting someone a little more intimidating to be the head of the school and the mutant everyone kept banging on about. Not just some older dude in a wheelchair.

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.” You responded curtly, casting a glance at the others around the room. The girl with the brown hair stood close to Logan, her brows pinched in subdued fear. For you or of you, you couldn’t discern. Were you really that scary?

Charles exhaled a sigh. “Very well then. If you could all leave the room.”

“I’m stayin’.” Logan wasn’t about to leave you alone with this. He’d seen what had happened to Morgana. Watched as she writhed and contorted on the ground, blood streaming from her ears and nose. He wasn’t about to wait in ignorance whilst you were in agonising pain in here. He didn’t think he had it in him.

“Logan… this procedure is extremely difficult. Any distractions could cause further damage to her subconscious.”

“Then I won’t be distracting.” His tone left no room for argument, and you honestly felt a little better knowing he wasn’t going to leave you. He cast you a slight, encouraging smile and you nodded in gratitude as Charles huffed in defeat.

“Fine. If everyone else could leave the room.” He said pointedly, and Morgana enveloped you in another hug.

“I’ll see ya on the other side, girlie. You’ll be fine. You got your big strong dream man with ya.” She winked and you couldn’t help snorting a laugh, though you could tell by the look in her eye she was terrified for you. That one you could distinguish.

The woman with white hair placed a hand on your shoulder as Morgana left through the door. Though you couldn’t recall a single time you’d ever met her, she looked at you as if you were an old friend, though said nothing. Her hand squeezed slightly before she too headed out. The man you knew to be Scott strode passed you wordlessly, refusing to even look up at you through his sunglasses.

What the fuck was his problem?

“Kitty?” Charles prompted, and you turned to look to where the girl was staying completely still, her sad eyes still trained on you. You raised a brow, and she winced slightly, before running to pull you into a crushing hug.

“I don’t care who you are after this. I don’t hate you anymore. It wasn’t your fault, I truly understand that now. I’m so, so sorry for blaming you.” You held your hands up as her hold on you tightened, shooting Logan a panicked glance.

“Kitty…” he started, and she took a step back from you, angrily wiping at the tears down her cheeks.

“Yeah, right. Okay. You got this, yeah? Come find me after and we can have tea or something. We got a lot to catch up on…” She gave you one last hug before almost running from the room, closing the door behind her. You watched the closed door with complete confusion. Logan chuckled slightly behind you, placing both hands on either of your shoulders.

“She’s missed ya. We all have.” You leaned back, your head resting against the back of his chest as he pressed a kiss to your hair.

“You won’t have to for much longer, right?” You looked around Logan to where Charles had taken his place at the head-side of the bed. It looked like some kind of medical bed they’d dragged from a hospital. Did they have one here? You supposed it was useful if things were to go wrong.

The thought had your gut twisting. Just how wrong could things go…?

“Hey,” Logan caught your attention, a hand guiding your face to look at him. It’s like he had a sixth sense for whenever you started to spiral, noticing the moment your eyes looked even a little distant. “You’re gonna be okay. I’ll be right here, yeah? Not gonna leave ya.” He soothed, slowly wrapping his arms around your shoulders, a broad hand cupping the back of your head as you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, savouring the contact.

“Okay…” you breathed, steeling yourself before pushing back from him and turning to Charles. “Let’s just get this over with…”

Charles nodded finitely, patting the surface of the medical bed. “Just lie back and try to relax. I know it’s difficult considering the circumstances, but if you could keep your mind as clear as you can, it will greatly help the process.”

You sucked in a breath, hopping up onto the bed and swinging your legs over, lying back against the hard surface. They really hadn’t tried to make it particularly comfortable, but you supposed they didn’t have time before they tried this with Morgana.

Morgana.

You concentrated on how she was even after this procedure. She hadn’t all changed that much. Maybe you’d be the same. Maybe you’d still be you but with very little noticeable change. Thinking of her filled you with courage, even more so when Logan took your hand and knelt by your bedside.

“You ready?” He asked, trying his fucking best not to let his overwhelming concern leak through his voice. You nodded a little shakily as Charles’ hands came to rest on either side of your head.

“See you on the other side.” You smiled weakly, squeezing his hand slightly, before you felt a slight pressure inside your head, growing and pushing, rearranging, and your vision faded to black.

You were falling. Wind whipped your hair and face, arms flailing to catch yourself on something, anything, trying in vain to save yourself from the inevitable landing. Your stomach lurched up into your throat, guts writhing and flipping as you failed to control your descent. Mouth agape in a silent, wrenching scream, you plummeted down, down, down. Flashes of light burned against your closed eyes, colours singing your retinas as you clawed at nothing, deafening voices ringing in your ears, crashes of explosions, and bloodcurdling screams cut short. Your heart raced in your chest, your breathing ragged before everything stopped.

You plunged into an ocean of pitch black, lungs burning as you fought to breathe, only resulting in an intake of water, mocking bubbles rising from your mouth, legs kicking fruitlessly against the anchor wrapped around your feet. Cracking your eyes open, you looked down.

Not an anchor.

A hand.

A shadowy, skeletal hand gripped your ankle, seven more rising from the obsidian depths to grasp at your legs, your waist, scratching against your skin, tearing at your clothes as you struggled to free yourself, writhing and twitching to reach the surface.

You screamed again, muffled, jagged, noiseless in the muted depths of your own mind. Your vision tunnelled, oxygen scarce as your brain started to shut down. This was it. This was where you died. Trapped in the sea of black, drowned by your own fears.

Until everything stopped. Your feet touched solid ground and the ocean started to drain away around you. After being so weightless, your body felt like lead as you lay on the surface, coughing up inky liquid, your chest heaving with every strangled breath. Taking just a moment to remind yourself you weren’t dead, you roughly swiped your soaking hair from your face, lifting your head to at least try and take a look at your surroundings. But your eyes were met with nothing. Absolutely nothing. You couldn’t tell where the floor ended and the sky began. There was no divide. You were completely lost and for the first time, you found yourself wishing there was some kind of light to guide you.

As if on command, a flicker of white appeared ahead of you, illuminating the pit of nothingness and granting you the vision you sought. Shakily struggling to your feet, you looked down and froze slightly. What you were standing on wasn’t solid. Or at least, it shouldn’t be. Ripples shifted beneath your feet like water, the light reflecting in irregular patterns with one small step forward. Taking one knee, you pressed your hand against the surface, pulling back as it shifted with your contact, your own reflection looking back at you quizzically.

Releasing a determined huff, you wiped your wet hand on your soaking t-shirt, looking back to the pulsing light ahead of you, drawing you in. And you let it, your legs moving as if on their own, footsteps echoing in the emptiness. Some kind of chamber, then, if your footsteps bounced back to you.

Your eyes squinted the closer you got, your hand shielding your face from the light, before it dulled for you, as if understanding. You blinked away the spots behind your eyes, leaning closer to the orb, and tilting your head around it. Images flashed within the surface, faces you knew well, and faces you didn’t recognise. This was you, you realised. This was everything you were missing. Everything you’d been through, everything you didn’t remember was right here in front of you. Who you were. Who you are.

Reaching up, you lightly tapped the surface of the glow with your finger, watching as it started to pulse faster, light growing more intense before your vision exploded with white and you were thrust forward, the environment around you shifting and changing like ink in a glass of water.

Falling to your knees, you barely caught yourself before you struck the floor, your hands biting against a cold, steel surface. Shaking your head of a slight fuzziness, you inhaled, almost choking on the thick scent of sweat and fuel. Your heartbeat spiked.

You knew this.

Fear laced your blood as you raised your head, taking in the all too familiar interior of an aircraft, and your breath froze when your eyes landed upon a lone figure sitting against the wall, her hair bound behind her bowed head, fingers laced together, dressed in all black.

You knew her. Fuck did you know her. You knew her incredibly well.

Because it was you.

But it wasn’t you at the same time. You were sitting dangerously still, various knives and blades strapped across your back, your legs, and the sides of your combat boots. A black mask settled over the entirety of your face, two thin slits cut into the metal for you to see out of. You remembered that fucking thing. It stank of blood and fear.

“You’ve got your orders?”

Your attention shifted to a burly, broad-shouldered man who stood in the doorway between the hold and the cockpit, his arms folded across his chest, a gun strapped across his back, a similar mask concealing his features. But you knew who it was. Of course you did. It was the same motherfucker who’d held Naji by the throat not two days ago.

Your past stayed silent, simply wringing her hands together as if to resist wrapping them around his throat.

“Not feeling talkative, Subject Eight?” his voice lilted with mocking as he leaned against the doorway in a way that told you this must have been one of the first interactions between them.

Silently, the shadows in the craft started to shift, tendrils winding up his legs, around his waist and neck, and he only seemed to notice when they started to constrict.

“H-hey, what’re y–”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” your past hissed, slowly rising to her feet, her fingers flexing as darkness extended from her fingertips, sharpening into five long, razor-sharp claws. “I can show you things not even Kreva knows I can do.” With deadly quiet, she stalked across the floor, raising her hand to the man’s face, a claw pointed dangerously close to his eye. Those tendrils around his body tightened further, and you watched as he struggled to draw breath.

Kreva.

Even hearing his name sent ice through your veins.

“It was– just a joke, Phantom.” He managed through strangled breaths, struggling to free himself as he started to rise from the floor, Phantom taking a step back from him as if to admire her work.

“Drop zone in– what’s going on here?” another faceless soldier stepped through the door, sounding almost irritated at what he was seeing. Phantom’s head turned to him almost robotically, the shadows dissolving in an instant.

“Just joking around.” She responded flatly, her voice devoid of all emotion. Was this seriously how you used to be?

“K, what did Doc say about pissing her off?” he asked his companion who had crumpled to the floor, a hand braced around his neck, his breaths strained and harsh. “Fucking idiot. Drop zone in five.” was all the newcomer said, before turning on his heel and marching out, K now scrambling to his feet to follow, muttering something that sounded like ‘crazy mutant bitch’ under his breath as he went.

You watched as your past sighed, sitting back down heavily and bracing her head in her hands. You knew what she was doing. She was remembering why she was here. Who she was here for. This was one of the missions you’d volunteer for to save them. To save the rest of NLMO from the mental torture you were about to endure. Because that’s all these missions were. Mental, emotional torture. You didn’t want to hurt people. You hated how he made you hurt people. So many innocent lives would suffer because of the things you would do.

It made you wonder which particular mission this was.

Red lights flared to life, a deafening siren blaring as the doors to the hold opened and Phantom stood, checking her equipment one last time before another figure appeared through the door, and you felt yourself freeze in place.

Unnaturally skinny, tall, and had a pair of thick, round glasses perched on the end of his crooked nose. Terror stilled your breath as Doctor Kreva walked through the doors, placing two hands on either of Phantom’s shoulders.

She stiffened.

“My darling Eight. I wanted to wish you luck before your mission,” he drawled, relishing in the theatrics. “This should be easy enough for you, but in case you forget, Subject Five is primed and ready if you decide you want to stage another little rebellion.”

Phantom released a shaky breath, her eyes closing behind her mask. It was your punishment. It was always your punishment. If you acted out, if you even thought about fighting back, they’d torture your brother to tighten your leash and force you to cooperate.

She stayed silent, and Kreva’s hand clawed into her shoulders and you felt the pressure against your own before he released her and took a step back and said nothing else as Phantom opened her eyes and took off at a run towards the open bay door, leaping into the dark sky beyond.

You followed, copying her exact movements and dissolving into the dark before either of you struck the ground. You had a sneaking suspicion you couldn’t be hurt or killed within a memory, but you also didn’t particularly want to risk it.

Rising up from the shadows, you took a moment to look around, spotting your past lightly jogging towards a dirt track. Bile rose in your throat. You knew what this mission was. Even in the dead of night, you’d recognise this location anywhere. Breath flew from your lungs as you tried to call out to yourself, beg her to stop before she did what she could never undo. But no sound left your mouth. You were mute, powerless to do nothing but watch and remember as Phantom stood in the centre of the track, statue-esque, silent.

You followed at a sprint. If you couldn’t stop her verbally, then you’d take her out by force. You could stop this. You could change your past. This didn’t have to happen. Lowering your head, you lunged forward toward her, arms outstretched to tackle her to the floor.

Only, you passed straight through her, landing harshly on the other side of the dirt track. Though you felt no pain. Only the sharp jolt of coming to such a sudden stop. You looked back in terror as headlights shone from ahead, the low hum of engines cut through the silence of the night as four trucks approached your location, each with a silver caduceus painted into the back doors.

These were medical trucks. Transporting supplies to the refugee hospital a little further away. Your head whipped around. How had you not seen the small, twinkling lights in the middle distance? This was a camp for those who had evacuated the small local town after the airstrike.

Hundreds of children were taking shelter there. So many innocent lives you were about to snuff out.

The trucks trundled to a stop, engines stuttering, and you watched as Phantom raised her hands in faux fear, slowly backing out of the cones of light. Four gunmen rushed to the front of the convoy, fingers braced on the triggers of their rifles, though hesitant to shoot. These weren’t soldiers. They hadn’t been trained to kill people. You realised they were more likely fathers, sons, brothers of those who had been injured or killed in the attack. The town was the centre of the uprising, and in one fell swoop, it had been completely obliterated.

These people were just trying to survive. Trying to recover.

Voices rang out in a language you didn’t understand, and you know your past self didn’t understand either. You watched as she bowed her head in submission, backing up a little further until she was completely out of the light. You remembered this.

You knew what happened next.

With a flick of her hand, a tendril of shadow whipped out from the darkness, wrapping around the first gunman’s neck and dragging him screaming into the tree line. Gunshots were fired, but none of them met their mark. These people barely knew how to use their weapons, let alone accurately. A jagged spike erupted from the night, spearing another through his spine with a wet squelch and raising him off the ground for the other two to watch, before slamming him back into the dirt, knives of obsidian rising from his own shadow to pierce through his back.

Make them fear you. That was Kreva’s orders. Make them so terrified the thought of uprising was synonymous with pain and death. With loss and grief.

With utter, paralysing terror.

The two cowered back, a stray bullet firing into her shoulder. She took a single step back, the shadows in the gunman’s chest dissolving, leaving him choking in a pool of his own blood. Holy fuck he was still alive.

You watched with sick awe as darkness wound up her legs to cover the wound, sifting through her skin and mending it flawlessly, leaving nothing but a small spot of blood. With a tilt of her head and a flick of her fingers, two humanoid figures rose from the shadows on either side of the track, stepping fearlessly into the light to flank the two remaining men. Your stomach convulsed as one of the figures disappeared completely into one man through his own silhouette, flinching as his neck snapped back, a black hand exploding up through his mouth, blood raining onto his face as he stood in a horrific exhibition of your forgotten mutation. He slumped to the floor, the shadow figure remaining standing as he twitched before falling completely still.

The final gunman fell to his knees, muttering quickly and breathlessly and you realised he was praying. Several thorned whisps rose up from his shadow, snaking around his body, across his forehead, before Phantom’s fist started to tighten, and those thorns dug into his skin. Trails of crimson leaked down his face as they continued to constrict, his voice raising as he prayed, though for what or to whom, you didn’t know. Her fist closed completely, and with a sickening crunch of snapping bones, the shadows sectioned his body into pieces, his head split in two.

Blood soaked into the earth as Phantom stepped back into the light, her eyes trained on the remaining people inside the cars, each too terrified to make any kind of move. Tears trailed down your face as five more figures formed from nothing, almost floating to each truck to silence the screams of the terrified until one remained. He was dragged through the dust by two of her puppets and thrown at her feet face down. Phantom crouched, raising his head with the tip of her finger beneath his chin, obsidian solidifying once again to arm her other hand with five sharp claws, shadows extending beyond her shoulder blades into two broad, black wings.

She was every part the demon you used to be.

Dragging a razor down the side of his face, the man whimpered, flinching as she drew a line of scarlet over his brow and down his cheek. A mark. She was going to let him live, so there would always be somebody to remember what happened to those who fought back against the powers of the world.

“Run,” Phantom whispered, and the man scrambled to his feet, slicing his chin against your claw, before taking off at a sprint in the direction he came, his footsteps fading into the deathly silence. She watched him go, flicking her wrist to the figures before they set to work dragging the various trucks into the shadow, tyres dissolving, medical equipment disappearing as if it were never there, lost to the darkness.

Phantom took a breath before her shoulders shook and she sunk to the ground, her conjurations dissolving into nothing as she was left in total darkness, sobs wracking her chest. You felt her anguish as your own, hot tears still leaking from your eyes as you stood. You wanted to tell her this wasn’t her fault. She didn’t have a choice. He made her do this. And if she wasn’t the one here right now, it would be someone else she cared for so fucking much.

But you couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t do anything but watch as she tried to stifle her sobs, knowing her job wasn’t even close to being done yet. With hiccuping breaths, your past stood to her feet, sparing a glance at the carnage she’d left in her wake before her head turned to the camp in the distance. Her hands balled into fists, and you remembered the way you had to gaslight yourself into continuing. ‘This is the last mission.’ ‘He’ll set you all free after this.’ ‘Rowan will be safe.’ ‘Jade will be safe.’

Jade.

You felt your heart crack as you thought of her. How could you have forgotten about Jade? Why had Kreva erased everything of another one of his own subjects? Clenching your jaw, you shook your head slightly.

Not now.

Phantom had already started striding toward the camp, and you found yourself following her, despite the fear pumping through your blood. You didn’t want to remember this. You’d made a mistake. You didn’t want this. It hurt. It hurt so fucking much. The things you’d done. The people you’d killed. Was this all you were good for? A weapon for Kreva to use at his disposal? A tool to inflict the same amount of agony as those he would use on you in that fucking room?

You didn’t want this.

Your surroundings started to stutter and glitch as you started to fight against remembering. Fight against Charles hold in your mind. You couldn’t do this. You were happyer forgetting. Happier not knowing who you were and what you’d done.

The darkness swirled like paint mixed on a palette, colours blending and twisting around you, your hands clawing at either side of your temples, clutching your head tightly as if to withdraw him from your mind.

You didn’t want this.

Logan’s heart started to race as Charles grimaced, his hand clutching yours ached from the weight of your tight grip, your nails digging into his skin. His other hand came to brush your hair from your forehead between Charles’ hands on your temples, attempting to settle your switching head, swiping his thumb against your brow.

“It’s okay…” he hushed, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “‘S’okay firefly, you’re okay.” His soothing became more desperate as you started to writhe on the table, your back arching as if you were possessed. “The hell’s going on?” he asked, panic rising in his throat.

“She’s… she’s fighting it.” Charles grit, eyes screwed shut as he attempted to navigate your battling mind. His fingers against your head tensed, applying more pressure to either side of your temples. “I’m losing her.”

“Then get her back!” Logan cried, wild fear beating his heart like a warning drum. He couldn’t lose you. He just got you back for Christ’s sake. He couldn’t lose you again. And he was so damn useless when it came to this stuff. He didn’t know what the fuck to do. If you needed somebody taken out, sure, he’s the guy. But mind shit? Brain shit? He was floundering in the same darkness he imagined you were.

“What did I say about distractions?” Charles barked curtly in response, his neck flexing as he fought to keep you in his grasp. All Logan could do was continue to smooth your brow, whispering sweet nothings as you continued to twitch and bow. A whip of shadow lanced into his peripheral from the corner of the room, and he was barely able to lunge forward in time to shield Xavier from the spear before it lashed through his head.

Pain shook Logan’s system from his shoulder, blood leaking from where your mutation had pierced him and stuck there, sharp, thorny barbs preventing him from breaking free. “Y’alright?” He asked, voice a little strained as his entire body sang with pulsing agony. You must be remembering your mutation.

Charles nodded, though his eyes still closed, still focused on taming your hurricane of a mind.

Logan grit his teeth against the wild thrashing of the vine through his shoulder, his arm tensing as it pulls against his strength in an attempt to drag him back. But moving wasn’t an option right now. He knew the intention was to take out Charles, to stop whatever it was he was doing, and he had to remind himself time and time again that this was for your benefit. This was to help you, no matter how much it shattered his heart to see you in so much pain. Not only was he fighting against your own mutation, but he was fighting his instincts not to tear Xavier away from your head and shred him apart for doing this to you.

Another vine burst through his other shoulder, droplets of his blood staining your skin as you bucked to free yourself. He cried your name, terror lacing his tone as a third vine plunged into his back and through his chest, whipping slightly before pulling back and tugging.

He felt his weight start to shift, his feet grinding against the wooden floor as he struggled to win over the contest of strength. How was something seemingly made from nothing so fucking strong? Barbed thorns sank deeper into his skin, a grunt of pain flying from his lips, sweat beading his brow.

Jean burst through the doors, either having heard the commotion or after being called by Charles.

“Logan?!” She started, horrified by the display, but he waved her off quickly.

“‘M fine. Help Chuck.” He instructed harshly, though Jean hesitated a moment, her eyes wide. He knew why. Of course he knew why. After what happened three years ago, everybody was so damn afraid of you and what you could do. Fear had her glancing frantically between your possessed form and Charles’ struggle. “Jean, please. I– I can’t lose her again…” he admitted shakily, gritting his teeth against another sharp wave of pain from yet another savage tug of the tendrils in his body.

It seemed to be the push she needed, scrambling forward and around the foot of the bed to stand by Charles’ side, covering his hands with her own and closing her eyes.

Agony coursed through his system as his knees buckled, looking down to bare his teeth at another frantic thorn that had burst through the space between his joint and kneecap. He’d take it. Fuck, he’d take anything if he knew he was helping you in some way, even as the shadow wrapped around his leg, tearing at the flesh beneath his jeans. He’d endure it if it meant he’d get you back.

Everything was too loud. Like the centre of a tornado, your memories ripped and tore at your brain, slashing through your consciousness, ripping at your brain. Shards of agony, both physical and mental, had you sinking to the floor, hands clamped over your ears, head buried between your knees. Your hair whipped around your hidden brow, a cacophony of screams and torment bursting your eardrums. There was no happiness here. No comfort. Even memories of your brother were laced with poison. Every image of Jade followed up by the night of her death. Her death was brought by your own fucking hands. You’d seen how you’d torn her apart, desperation to help clouding your senses, seeing her as yet another adversary in your way. In a roaring cloud of shadow, you’d shredded her to nothing, and even as you flayed the skin from her body, she smiled. She told you she loved you.

And you’d left her skeleton in your wake.

You killed. You maimed. You hurt. You’d caused pain. You’d caused anguish. Heartbreak. Agony. It was as Kreva had said. You were a machine. An instrument devoid of any semblance of humanity. You had to be. The things you’d done… you couldn’t have had an ounce of empathy in your body.

You’d killed the woman you loved.

And you’d tried to kill the man you love. Memories of that day's training had circled your mind like a carousel of torment. Fighting tooth and nail to claw a path out and escape. Landing blow after blow on the man you’d fallen in love with, every strike flung to kill.

‘He forgave you.’

You tensed, waiting for the following punch to the gut that was taking far too long to arrive.

‘We forgave you.’

A sob wracked from your chest, your head pressing further into your knees. You just wanted everything to stop. The noise, the damn noise, you wanted everything to end.

‘You’re not alone anymore.’

Your breath shuddered from your mouth, tears and saliva staining your t-shirt. You knew that voice. Her soft cadence like a balm.

‘I forgive you.’

Slowly, and with no small degree of trepidation, you raised your head. Your lungs froze, eyes stuck on the woman before you. Her pearly smile. Her smooth, bronze skin almost glowed in the lack of light. Black hair cropped short by her ears, bright blond highlights making her look like some kind of alternative angel.

A gold locket shone brightly at the hollow of her throat, a beacon in the void. You shook slightly as she took a step toward you, taking a knee in front of your curled form.

“Jade…?” You breathed her name like a question, unsure if this was real or yet another nightmarish scenario in which you’d have to watch her die yet again. But the moment her fingertips grazed your cheek, you found your answer.

“Hey, Shadow.”

Tears flowed freely down your face as you looked into her cerulean eyes, so full of earnest forgiveness you felt yourself shatter. The nickname you hadn’t heard in so long breaking down every part of yourself you’d held together by a thread. You surged forward into her arms, finally finding something you could connect with in the warmth of her embrace.

“How… how’re you here?” You asked shakily, tears saturating her black shirt a few shades darker before you pulled back, shaking your head in disbelief. “How–”

“I’m a part of you, numbnuts. Of course I’m here.” She said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re focussing on the shit Kreva put us through. Focussing on the pain you’ve brought. So now I have to drag your sorry ass through a bunch of happy memories to remind you how much of a rockstar you actually are.” She punched your arm lightly and you laughed a little, the sound split by the lump in your throat.

“First time I see you in three years and you punch me?” You asked, wiping the tears from your face with the heel of your palm before taking her outstretched hand, your knees groaning at the release of pressure as you stood.

“Yeah well, someone had to slap some sense into you, and since your new boyfriend isn’t here, I guess I’m the next best thing.” She winked, though guilt spiked through your gut.

“Jade… I–”

“Shadow, I’m dead. If you spent the rest of your life single and sex-less because of me, I’d be so mad at you. Though I wasn’t exactly thrilled when you tried to forget about me, but I get it.” She shrugged, holding your hand in her own. You’d forgotten just how blunt she could be, though it was a breath of fresh air from everyone tiptoeing around you in regard to her death.

“Can’t argue with that, I guess…” you huffed a small smile, finding a calm sense of contentment simply being here in her presence again.

“Speaking of your new man, I think he’d be a great place to start.” She grinned at you, waving her hand as the glitching images of your past started to shift and change, settling on a scene you knew extremely well. It wasn’t so long ago you were there, reading in the little window seat of the forest cabin, watching whatever Logan was up to outside.

The colours of the cabin separated, morphing into the kitchen and lounge, and you watched the ghost of your past self materialise on the sofa, the tartan blanket covering your legs, your nose buried in a copy of Ghosted, the paranormal love story you’d been so hooked on in your first month moving there. Though from the way you were devouring the pages, you realised this must have been your re-read.

Jade raised a brow to you as if to say ‘seriously?’ and you snorted a laugh.

“What? It had a good plot. Sad ending though…”

“‘M’not judging.” Her voice told you anything but.

The occasional crackle of the hearth and swish of flipping pages broke the calm silence before the door to the cabin pushed open and Logan stepped through, toeing off his shoes at the door before closing it swiftly, preventing any further heat from escaping. Your brows furrowed as you tried to remember this specific memory. How had you instantly understood all those times where you’d killed so many and yet this was something you had to strain yourself to recall? Your eyes fell on a small, wrapped package he held in his hands.

What was this?

“Stop thinking so damn hard and just watch.” Jade elbowed you and you shot her a look of faux irritation but acquiesced nonetheless.

You watched your own ghost look to the door, her eyes lighting up instantly when she saw him, placing her book on the coffee table and rising to lean over the back of the sofa. “Hey Lo’! All done?” She asked, and Logan’s expression softened when he saw her.

Did he really look at you like that?

“Yeah. Should be good for ‘another month or so, weather depending. Come over here a sec, wanna tell you somethin’.” You could see the subdued excitement in his eyes as your past stood from the sofa, draping the blanket over her shoulders, a brow raised in suspicion.

Logan set the package on the table before his hands cupped the sides of your neck and he stooped to press a lingering kiss to your lips. Your past smiled against him, arms snaking around his neck as he pulled back from you, cheeks pursed as he tried to suppress a grin.

“What’s up with you?” She asked, eyeing him with amused scepticism. Logan turned her in his arms, resting his chin on her shoulder as she huffed a small laugh.

“Open it.” He ghosted his lips against her ear, and she leaned back into him, a hand holding his arm around her waist, the other picking up the little, strangely shaped package, brown paper crinkled in odd ways.

She cast him a glance, Logan nodding back to your hands with encouragement, before you started to slowly tear the paper from whatever was hidden inside. Your heart surged as your memory slowly returned, a fond smile pulling at your lips as you watched your past suck in a soft gasp.

“Logan… this is gorgeous.”

Paper now discarded, she held a small, delicate pinewood carving of a miniature cabin in her hands, accurate to the exterior of the one you were in right now, log pile and all. Her eyes filled with awe as she turned it gently in her fingers, tracing the artistry with the tip of her thumb. “Is this what you’ve been doing?” She asked, turning to face him, though still looking down at the carving as if she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

“Kinda. Been prepping for the weather too, but most of the time, yeah ‘ve been doin’ this. Happy birthday, firefly.”

Her head snapped up to look at him, confusion etching her features. “Wait, what? I don’t even know my birthday, how did you–”

He silenced her with his lips moving languidly against hers, his hands falling to her hips, thumb tracing smooth circles against the sliver of skin where her hoodie had risen up a little.

“I have my ways.” He murmured against her, taking the carving from her hand and placing it down on the table before lifting her against him, her legs instinctively locking around his waist.

“He found it in the file…” You breathed, the memory fading from view to shelter both you and Jade in muted darkness once again. “From the first time he read it. The first page had all my information, including my date of birth. He didn’t tell me because he didn’t want to bring it up, but I realised after we read it together. That was how he knew.” You explained quietly as Jade’s hand settled on your shoulder.

“You know… he’s out there now. Waiting for you. He loves you so much, Shadow. I know because he looks at you the same way I did.”

That all too familiar lump started to form in your throat, your hand crossing your front to hold your arm. “He does now but… how can I face him, Jade? Knowing what I’ve done, knowing how much pain I’ve caused. I– I killed you… I ripped you apart and I didn’t even remember doing it.”

Jade’s hands cupped the sides of your face, forcing you to look at her even when you begged to look away. “It was an accident. You saw what they were doing and your subconscious snapped. You felt their pain as your own and you couldn’t fight the urge to save them. I’m not about to hold that against you. Nobody should. You never wanted anyone to go through what we did, and the fact you volunteered for every goddamn mission solidifies that.

“You have saved so many. You have helped so many. And you are cared for by so many. And nobody cares for you more than Logan. You’ll face him because you love him. And you’ll forgive yourself because he forgives you.” Her thumb swiped against a tear sliding down your cheek. “Just like I forgive you.”

Her words splintered through your resolve of self-loathing, shattering every conception you had of yourself and leaving room for something new. Something unfamiliar.

Hope.

“Now c’mon. This isn’t the only thing I wanted to show you. In case you still need convincing, you have an arsenal of memories to prove me right. And there’s nothing I love more than proving myself right.” She grinned widely, and you nodded, words failing you as she waved her hand again, the colours of your mind swirling and settling to the image of the danger room, and she took your hand again as she showed you every forgotten part of yourself.

Logan steadied his breathing as your body settled back on the table, the thorns in his body retracting and slinking back into the shadows with your newfound calm. Whatever Jean had managed to do was working, his skin itching slightly as it knitted back together. Though he stayed in place out of fear of making things worse. He didn’t know if approaching you would spark up your torment again, so he stayed still, his knee against the floor, watching cautiously.

He didn’t know how long it had been since you fell unconscious, but his arms ached to hold you again, to have you pressed against his chest, your face buried in the crook of his neck. He fought every urge to move back to your side, knowing that staying was most likely for the best, and gave you the best opportunity of coming back to him. But that didn’t lessen the longing to feel you.

“So? Thoughts and prayers?” Jade asked the final memory she wanted to show you fading into the background of your mind. You sighed heavily, unable to deny it anymore. You’d done good in your life. Perhaps not quite enough to outweigh the bad, but you were getting there. She’d shown you the memory of when you first met Marie, forced you to watch as you tried so damn hard to convince her. Sure, you may have failed that time, but that didn’t take away from all the other times you’d succeeded. Besides, she’d found Logan not long after, so that had all worked out for the best anyway.

“Yeah, alright, maybe you were right… just maybe,” you admitted reluctantly, much to the girl’s triumphant laugh.

“Fucking knew it! Ha-HA! Told you I’d convince you. God, I’m so good at this.” She grinned wildly, and you huffed a fond smile. Though you knew this couldn’t last forever, you were so fucking grateful for the time you’d had with her now. The weight of unspoken words between you had lifted from your chest, though another had settled there.

You had to say goodbye.

“Jade…” you began, only to trail off instantly. Her grin shrank slightly into something of understanding companionship. Taking both your hands in her own, she squeezed slightly.

“Yeah, I know. Can’t last forever, right? Besides, I don’t think we would have lasted very long anyway. Not if tall, dark and broody had waltzed in a couple years later,” you chuckled tearily, knowing she was absolutely right.

“I was never blind to how you looked at Ororo, by the way.” You shot back lightly, and Jade shrugged in faux innocence.

“What? She’s gorgeous. Sue me.” She winked again, and a comfortable silence settled between the two of you. “Oh, right. I wanted to give you this. Since you chucked your away and everything and I don’t really need it…” her hands fiddled with the clasp of her necklace behind her, and your heart skipped a beat as the locket fell into her hands, before she placed it in yours and closed your fist around it.

“I can’t take this.” You muttered, searching her face for anything that would tell you she didn’t want you to have it. But your search came up short.

“Of course you can. What am I gonna do with it? Not sure it’ll come with you when you wake up, but let’s just give it a go, yeah?” Your breath choked as you saw her own eyes well up, and you realised this must be just as hard for her as it was for you. You wished you could have both. You wished you could take her with you.

But she was just a memory. Sure, she was real, but only in here.

“Okay…” you nodded slightly, and she tilted your head up with her finger beneath your chin.

“Don’t get stuck in the past. You have a family out there waiting for you. You’re not alone anymore,” tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, your soul cracked as she started to fade. “Oh, and when you take on Kreva, kick his balls for me, yeah? Bastard deserves what’s coming for him.” She grinned wickedly, and you nodded again, your voice caught in your throat. “Give ‘em hell, Shadow.”

Jade punched her fist in the air as her image faded completely, the rest of your surrounding mind fading into white.

With a sharp gasp, your eyes flew open, seeing nothing but light before you blinked a couple of times, your vision returning as you registered both Charles and Jean looking a little worse for wear.

“Welcome back.” Xavier smiled tiredly, and you sucked in a breath. You were back. You were home. You remembered everything, from the start of your torture eighty years ago to the moment you lay on the bed. Steadily, you pushed your arm beneath you to rise into a sit, bracing a hand on your forehead as it to stem the slight headache from remembering over a century of memories.

“You feeling okay?” Jean asked a little hesitantly, leaning against the back of Charles’ wheelchair. You didn’t remember her being in the room when you started, but you guessed what had happened in your mind had been reflected in the conscious world.

“Yeah… I’m okay.” You responded, cricking your neck to the side before a voice you didn’t know you needed to hear called your name from your left.

Tears lined your lashes as you took in his appearance. Spots of blood stained his white singlet, a large rip had torn through the knee of his jeans, a bloom of scarlet had drenched the fibres. You didn’t need to ask what happened, you already knew.

But the way he looked at you, terrified hope dancing in his hazel eyes, you couldn’t stop the way your legs swung from the bed and you all but leapt into his arms, holding him so impossibly tight as if he’d disappear into thin air.

But he wouldn’t. Because this was real. He was real. And just as Jade as promised, he was waiting for you.

“Logan…” you breathed in his scent, comfort blossoming where it wrapped around your heart. And Logan swore he’d never let go of you, not as his hand braced the back of your head, his other pressed against your spine as he held you. And held you.

“Thought I lost you for a minute there,” he tried to play off just how utterly petrified he was when Charles said he was losing you, but the way you nuzzled closer into his neck told him you saw right through him, and he didn’t hesitate to press his cheek to the top of your head. Wordlessly, Charles nodded to Jean, and the two of them silently decided to leave you in peace, closing the door behind them as they left.

Logan shifted you so you were cradled completely in his lap, your legs straddling his bended knees as he basked in your presence, in your touch. He had you. You were back.

You were home.

“What happened in there?” He asked, his tone hushed as you pulled back slightly, only far enough to look him in the eye, his hand on the back of your head skirting to rest against the side of your face.

“I was focussing on the shit I’d done…” you explained quietly, leaning into his palm. “I was so wrapped up in the pain I’d caused I couldn’t think of anything else.”

Logan rested his brow against your own, empathy pulling at the strings of his heart. He knew that feeling so damn well, and to know you had experienced that exact same thing tugged at his very soul, harder than anything your mutation had done to him earlier.

“How d'ya get out of it?”

Only then did you brain register the warmth of metal in your closed fist, the slight dig of a dainty chain in your soft palm. Removing one of your arms from around his neck, you opened your hand in the space between you, a smile of fond disbelief creasing your brow as you looked down at the gold locket nestled in your palm. You didn’t question how it happened. Didn’t question how she’d somehow made something materialise from nothing but your memory. That wasn’t even part of her mutation.

It was something that wasn’t meant to be questioned, even as Logan’s head tilted in slight confusion.

“Ran into an old ex.” you said by means of explanation as recognition dawned on his face. He knew he’d seen that locket before, and gratitude filled his chest. He’d never get to meet Jade, but he hoped she knew, somehow, just how thankful he was for her. “She approves of you, by the way.” You grinned, and Logan wondered how he’d gone even this long without kissing you.

“I’ll have to find a way to thank her, then,” he whispered, before pulling you in and sealing his lips to yours, pouring every ounce of sheer, raw love he had for you into the way his tongue danced with yours, savouring how your arm returned around his neck and held him there, your chest pressed against his own, his heart almost reaching out to yours.

He had you back.

You were home.

#wolverine x reader #logan x reader #logan howlett x reader #james logan howlett #logan howlett #x men logan #x men wolverine #x men x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #the wolverine #wolverine x you #logan howlett x you #essa's works

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themurphyzone · 4 months

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Son of Darkwing AU: Just Like You Ch 1

Summary: AU where DT17!Drake Mallard is the son of famous actor Jim Starling aka the original Darkwing Duck.

Eight-year old Drake Starling looks up to his father, who happens to be his favorite superhero, Darkwing Duck. To a smaller than average, timid duckling often bullied by his peers, Darkwing is everything he wants to be when he grows up. He's handsome, brave, and confident, but most importantly, he always stands up for what's right no matter what.

If only the rest of the world could see that side of Darkwing too.

AN: I just found the Jim Starling is Drake’s father AU concept too interesting to pass up writing a story on. Plus I just wanted to take a break from my usual fandom and write something different. There will be a short epilogue after this that will be posted in the next day or two.

AO3 Link

“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.

End AN: In this AU, Drake was conceived as a one-night stand between Starling and some random girl who let Starling keep the egg. The bio mom isn’t a factor here basically in the same way Huey, Dewey, and Louie’s bio father isn’t important in the show. Starling really only kept the egg to avoid bad publicity, but he does come to care about Drake, even though he’s a menace to everyone else.

Starling can’t remember his coworkers’ actual names and calls them by the characters they play.

Drake gets shuffled around between the cast members of Darkwing Duck, depending on who's available to take him. Jim Starling is a busy guy, and I really don’t trust him to keep a child alive to adulthood on his own. While Drake does consider them all family, sometimes he wishes he didn’t have to keep track of who's picking him from school, or whose house he left his belongings at.

My HC is that Darkwing Duck (the in-universe show) was criticized for Starling’s stunts being too imitable and dangerous for kids, and that some parents won’t allow their kids to watch the show at all because of Starling’s egocentric behavior.

I like to think Starling’s car is either an Aston Martin (Martin being a type of bird, and the model famously associated with the James Bond series) or the Duckverse equivalent of a BMW because he has the personality of a BMW driver.

Morgana (at least, the actress OC of her) originally wasn’t planned for this story, but her arguments and weird relationship with Starling made me extend her presence cause she was funny to write for. While she and Starling would portray a Batman-Catwoman-esque relationship on the show, but in reality they can’t stand each other and only grudgingly, surface-level try to be civil in front of Drake.

Anyway, I probably spent a lot more time on this fic than I needed to but I hope you all enjoyed reading it! Also, stay tuned for the epilogue after this!

#ducktales 2017 #darkwing duck #son of darkwing au #darkwing duck fanfiction #jim starling #drake mallard #fearsome five #morgana macawber

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