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Chapter Text

When he graduated from St. Canard Middle precisely twenty years ago (and doesn't that make him feel like he's not long for retirement?), Drake Mallard did not believe he would ever have to set foot in it again, much less even think about it. Today marks the twenty-second time since enrolling his daughter last year. At least it's been long enough that the 'Save Our Planet' display from last time has been replaced with a 'Healthy Eating Habits' display.

Mrs Pochard, Gosalyn's teacher, sits across from him with her hands clasped and a diplomatic smile on her beak. Unfortunately, it doesn't inspire confidence in the young father.

"I apologise for calling you here again, Mr Mallard.” Drake tenses, waiting for the inevitable. “But I'm afraid Gosalyn's grades haven't improved since our last meeting."

The news does not come as a surprise to Drake, yet his stomach still lurches. A small part of him had been hoping for the complete opposite despite the evidence to the contrary. "How... bad are they?" Drake asks carefully, trying not to grip the sides of his chair. He keeps his hands folded together in his lap.

Then he's overcome with a sudden realisation, leaving his entire body cold. Gosalyn's report card was due the other day. He had been refreshing his emails all day and night, to the point Launchpad told him he was obsessing. He supposes LP did have a point; taking the chance to check his emails after being knocked to the ground by the villain that night probably was a tad obsessive. When the report card had failed to appear in his inbox a couple of days later, Drake had chalked it up to the possibility that he had been mistaken. He hadn't even considered that Gosalyn lied when he asked her about it. She had shrugged, keeping her attention on her phone, telling him it wasn't due for another week.

Drake hadn't even given it a second thought when an email asking him to attend another parent-and-teacher meeting arrived in his inbox.

Mrs Pochard shifts uncomfortably.

"I'm afraid it's best if I just show you." She withdraws an envelope from a drawer and hands it to him. His mouth dry, Drake opens it.

His heart immediately leaps to his throat.

Every subject is marred by a red D. No, wait, there's a singular subject with an A: Physical Education. And Spanish at least has a C. The sight of them is enough for Drake to scale back Gosalyn's impending grounding from a month to two weeks.

Though, Gosalyn is so fluent in her second language that suspicion nags at Drake. Something isn’t right here.

"Mr Mallard?" Drake tears his eyes away from the report card. Mrs Pochard's stance has softened. "I don't believe these grades truly reflect Gosalyn's capabilities- well, except the 'A' in P.E, of course." She allows herself a small smile. Drake doesn't return it. "But I know Gosalyn is much more capable than she would like us to believe."

Drake knots his eyebrows. The hidden words dawn over him. "Wait, you mean-"

Mrs Pochard nods gravely. "Yes. I think Gosalyn is failing on purpose."

Drake blinks. Slowly, his mouth drops open.

"I- uh-" He blinks furiously. "What?"

How do you even begin to process a sentence like that? Why would any child, let alone his child, want to fail in school? Does that make her atrocious grades better or worse?

"Sorry, can you-" Drake considers his following words carefully, trying not to explode in complete confusion. "Can you explain just what the heck you mean?" It takes all of his strength not to use a stronger word than 'heck'.

"Absolutely." Mrs Pochard doesn't seem surprised by his reaction. "If you remember, when Gosalyn was first enrolled last year, her grades weren't a concern, though still not the best. The worst grade she received back then was a 'C'." The brown-feather duck heaves a sigh. "Unfortunately, despite my best efforts to nurture the potential she obviously has-" She casts her eyes down, and she doesn't seem to know how to say what she needs to. "Gosalyn just- she doesn't show any interest." Her grey eyes meet Drake's. Drake is taken aback by the way they glisten."I apologise, Mr Mallard. I can't help but think that I may be at fault for this.” Why does it feel like their roles have reversed?

He slips slightly into Darkwing mode as he tells her, "None of this is your fault. You've done nothing but try to help Gosalyn."

The only adult the fault lies with is himself. He hasn't been as strict with Gosalyn as he should be. While he doesn't allow Gosalyn to work on her homework away from his eyesight - her phone and room definitely provide too many distractions - he never checks it over afterwards; his faith in her book smarts has always been too great to allow it.

(and he doesn't want to seem like one of those overbearing parents)

Drake swallows a lump before he asks, "What happens now?" A frenzy of scenarios flash through his mind, the worst being expulsion, which would lead to Gosalyn becoming a criminal on the street, leading to prison, which would lead to... whatever is worse than prison. However, his fears are slightly alleviated when Mrs Pochard gives him a genuine smile.

"The good news is, we still have plenty of time to help Gosalyn and try to get to the root of the problem. She still has three more years of middle school - and I have complete confidence in Gosalyn to improve her grades significantly before she graduates and moves onto high school."

The rest of the meeting is pleasant enough, though Drake can't shake the familiar feeling of having just sat through a therapy session. There is a clear plan of action to put into place, enough of one that he doesn't feel like the world's worst parent, but Drake isn't sure how well Gosalyn will respond to it - especially the secret plan that he has decided upon but isn't something he can promise Mrs Pochard.

Until further notice, Gosalyn will have to be suspended from joining him and Launchpad on patrols every Friday and Saturday night. Drake doesn't want to take it away from her. Still, he knows grounding her won't be enough to drive home how serious the situation is - especially since he's probably too trigger-happy when using grounding as a punishment, a trait rubbed off on him by his mother.

The drive home is gruelling, with Drake adding Sunday drivers to his list of the worst criminals, but he is soon pulling into the assigned parking space of his apartment and taking the elevator up to the fourth floor.

"Hey, DW," Launchpad greets cheerfully before Drake enters.

"Hey, LP." Drake keeps his tone steady - Launchpad isn't the one he needs a serious talk with.

Talking of which, a certain person is trying to become one with the couch, pushing themselves deep into the cushions with their hood pulled tightly over the mass of red curls.

Drake narrows his eyes at her. Oh, she knows. The guilt is practically palpable.

"How did the parent-teacher meeting go?" Launchpad asks before he looks at Drake's tight, stern face, and the smile melts into horrible realisation. Drake doesn't need to tell Launchpad how it went, but he says it out loud anyway.

Besides, Launchpad will know it isn't really him Drake is addressing.

"Oh, it was fine, LP. I finally got Gosalyn's report card - you know, the one I knew was due a few days ago," Drake didn't know Gosalyn could sink even further into the couch, but she does, "and it's definitely not drowning in a deluge of D's."

Launchpad shoots a side eye to Gosalyn, the closest Launchpad can get to being stern.

Then, he clears his throat and says, "Actually, er- I have a meeting with Mr McDee about something important. So I'm gonna just- I'll let you two talk."

Drake almost begs him to stay. But he's the dad, so dealing with the unpleasant part of parenting falls on him. He shoots a small, grateful smile to Launchpad and mutters his thanks.

Launchpad gives him a thumbs up as he leaves, a massive, nervous grin across his beak.

Drake sighs as he shuts the door, throws his car keys on the kitchen counter and hangs his jacket up, taking out the report card. Then he pulls a chair from the kitchen table and sits on it in front of the couch. Gosalyn is looking everywhere but at him.

“Would you care to explain yourself, young lady?"

Sticking her hands into her hoodie pockets, Gosalyn shrugs. Drake feels his temperature rise, oh, ever so slightly. He exhales in an attempt to soothe his simmering blood.

"Your teacher thinks you're failing on purpose." Gosalyn's eyes snap to his momentarily. "Is she correct?"

"No," Gosalyn finally murmurs.

"Really?" Drake unfolds his arms, showing Gosalyn her report card. “Because I think she is. You have a C in Spanish, Gosalyn.”

Gosalyn draws her eyebrows together.

“So I’m not amazing at my second language. Big deal.”

“Fine, fine. But how about the D in Science?”

“What about the D in Science?” Gosalyn shoots back.

“You were raised by a scientist in a science lab, and—”

“So what?” Gosalyn sits up straight, her hood falling down. “Now I’m being raised by an overbearing, obsessive nerd, but it doesn’t mean I’m gonna be one!”

Drake’s immediate instinct is to yell at her, tell her that she is grounded until she learns how to show respect and send her to her room. But he doesn’t. That would only escalate a situation that isn’t even a situation yet. It’s barely a rumble.

“My point, young lady,” he says succinctly, “is that I know you’re better than that.” Drake sighs, trying to release some of his anger. “Gos, you found the hideout by tracing the saltwater in my smoke bombs.”

Gosalyn’s eyebrows soften as she stares at him.

“... Yeah, so? That was then. This is now.”

“Gosalyn. What’s going on?” Drake closes the gap between the sofa and the chair until his legs push against the sofa's beige material. “You can talk to me, honey. That’s what I’m here for.”

Gosalyn’s eyes briefly meet his. “... Nothing’s going on. Everything’s fine.”

Drake gently squeezes Gosalyn's knee.

“Gos, I just want what's best for you. And I know school is tough, okay? I-I get it. I wasn't great in school, either. But that's what I'm here for. I'm here to help you. You're not alone.”

Gosalyn clicks her tongue and snatches her knee away.

“Wow, Dad. Where'd you read that? ‘Parenting for Dummies’? That is the most cliché crap I think I’ve heard.” She flicks her hood back up. “Can we just skip to the part where you ground me?”

“Fine,” Drake says calmly, “You wanna be grounded so bad? You’re grounded for a week.” He takes in a deep breath to prepare to kick Gosalyn while she’s down. “And, until you can learn to prioritise school, you can forget about tagging along for patrols.”

Gosalyn’s head whips up so fast that her hood falls back down. She flies to her feet on the couch, fighting back tears.

Drake feels like the worst parent in existence.

“What?! But- but that’s not fair! You were the one who asked me to be your crime-fighting partner! An-and now, you’re going back on that because I got a few lousy grades?”

"Because your attitude needs to change," Drake corrects. Gosalyn sniffles and pulls her hood once more over her red hair. The sight shoves a sword into Drake's heart. He sighs and sits next to her.

"Gosalyn, I'm not banning you forever. It's just until you improve at school." Drake places a hand on her shoulder, but she pulls away from his touch. 

"Fine," she mutters. "Whatever." Her green eyes snap to his. "Can I go now?" Drake silently nods, and the girl skulks from the couch and to her room, where she slams the door shut behind her. 

Drake remains where he is, his eyes fixed on Gosalyn's door. The urge to burst into her room, sweep her into his arms and beg her forgiveness for upsetting her is almost too much to ignore. 

He understands how she feels. If the roles were reversed, and she had temporarily banned him from crime-fighting, he, too, would've been upset. But the roles aren't reversed, and he has to be the horrible dad. 

Drake wouldn't change that for the world. As long as Gosalyn grows up happy and healthy, he will happily be a "horrible" dad. He would do anything to protect her, and if it meant stopping her from doing what she loved most, then so be it.

(yes, his heart has just broken into a tiny million pieces) 

Knowing Gosalyn wants and needs time alone, Drake moves from the couch to prepare dinner. He shoots a message to Launchpad that it's safe to return home and pulls out ingredients for dinner.

During the hour it takes Drake to make dinner, he hears Gosalyn's door open once. When he turns to catch a glance, the door is promptly shut once more. 

Once dinner is ready, Drake sets out three plates at the small table in the kitchen (where on Earth was Launchpad, anyway?) and crosses the room to knock on his daughter's door. 

"Gosalyn? Dinner's ready?" No answer. A frown tugs at Drake's beak. "You can eat it in your room if you want to." Nothing.

(she's not hungry)

"Or if you're not hungry right now, I can keep it warm…?" His voice trails off weakly.  

(she's asleep)

"If you're asleep, I can just come back later‒ but I guess you wouldn't know since you're‒" Drake swallows the lump in his throat, "‒asleep." 

Then there's something wrong with the apartment because it's suddenly way too hot, and the room blurs. 

(check her room check her room check her ROOM ‒ ) 

Drake doesn't want to invade Gosalyn's privacy, but the paternal instinct that took root inside him a year and a half ago, which has since grown exponentially, is screaming wildly at him to just. 

Open. 

The. 

Door. 

--

She would have to convince Dad to move to Duckburg; that city was in peril at least twice a day! The supervillain capital that is St. Canard? As silent as a feather in the wind.

Gosalyn mutters crossly under her breath as she walks the streets. No murders, no grievous bodily harm, no littering! 

The young duck knows she will have to take matters into her own hands. She's resourceful; she broke into two separate places in twenty-four hours! She's Gosalyn Mallard! She can do anything she sets her mind to! She only needs a dummy, plastic bags, and a permanent marker.

The media's attention would be fine, too.

Ten minutes later, Gosalyn's plan is ready. A villainous-looking duck mannequin sits atop the bank's roof, and two cartoonish sacks with dollar signs drawn on them are in its evil hands. A message demanding all of St. Canard's money, lest the city be blown to smithereens, blares through Gosalyn's Bluetooth speaker (she never leaves home without it!)

"The dastardly villain is, as of yet, unknown to us, but we are sure to learn their evil identity as we bring you more on this story."

"Look, they have cartoon money sacks! They must be serious!"

Gosalyn hides behind the doorway to the roof and cheers as she watches the local news on her phone.

"I can't believe my plan is working…." Gosalyn then remembers it is the people of St. Canard, a city that has bred both her and her dad. She shouldn't be shocked. 

"Oh, really? And just which plan is that? Is it the one to get yourself grounded for a month?" 

Now she's shocked. 

Gosalyn turns to face her father, who is now in his full Darkwing costume. His face twists in anger, his arms tight in a fold across his chest.

"H-Hey, Dad…"

"Don't you h-hey, Dad me, young lady!" Darkwing shrieks. "Just what do you think you're doing ?!" Gosalyn slumps against the wall and shrugs. Then, unable to think of an answer that doesn't sound completely ridiculous, Gosalyn changes the subject.

"How did you find me so fast?" She's only been away from the apartment for twenty minutes. Gosalyn had assumed she could have at least forty-three more minutes before Dad caught up to her.

Dad begins to drum his fingers.

"I'm your father," he answers, and Gosalyn notices one of his eyelids is twitching, "I always know where you are." Despite her situation, Gosalyn releases a snort.

"Dad, come on, I'm not five ‒"

"Plus, I installed a tracking app on your phone for moments just as these." Gosalyn's stomach drops like a lead weight into her shoes.

"A WHAT ?!" Gosalyn shrieks in the same high-pitched manner her father had moments before. "How could you‒" 

"Oh, no, young lady, don't you start with me!" Dad snaps, shoving a finger at her. "You're in no position to call me out on anything!" Gosalyn doesn't retort because she knows he's right. "Now, we are going home, where we'll have a loong discussion, especially one about climbing out of windows on the fourth floor!" 

Dad reaches out to grab her, but Gosalyn is quicker, and she ducks and slides underneath him.

"Go- Gosalyn!" Dad yells out in a strangled gasp. Gosalyn doesn't stick around to hear the rest of his scolding. Instead, she runs into the stairwell and begins descending the stairs. 

She doesn't hear her dad start to run after her for the pounding heartbeat in her ears.

Gosalyn keeps running until she can no longer-

-because a familiar red beam of light is blocking her way. Gosalyn finds herself frozen to the spot and unable to do anything but stare.

"Aha!"

Dad drops before her, blocking out the angry, red light beam. He puts his hands on his hips and opens his beak to, undoubtedly, yell at her. But once he takes in the sheer terror on his daughter's face, his face falls, and he turns to look. 

He recognises it just as quickly as his daughter does.

Before Darkwing can scoop his daughter up and get out of there, the red beam of light shoots out towards them. Instinctively, the masked father turns his back and extends his cape out, hoping to shield them both.

It doesn't hit Gosalyn, at least.

Chapter Text

They aren't dead; that's the first detail Darkwing notes. The second is the faint but familiar scent of saltwater. The third, when he opens his eyes, is that Gosalyn is no longer under him. Panic takes control, and his blue eyes dart wildly. 

"Gosa‒lyn ?!" Darkwing hisses into the silence. 

"Over here…" Gosalyn answers in a distracted manner. Darkwing turns to see her at a big, square window. He joins her and immediately understands why she was quick to run off. 

Audubon Bay spreads out below them. It is the scenery that Darkwing gazes down at every night, including this one—

(wait, what?) 

Night time? When did that happen? When Darkwing had left the apartment to chase after his errant daughter, the midday sun was bright over the city.  

A feeling Darkwing can only describe as icky seeps into his stomach. He glances down at Gosalyn. She looks unimpressed, her arms folded. Is that all you can do to me? Gosalyn Mallard isn't so easily shaken! 

But Darkwing knows his daughter better than that. He is finely tuned to his daughter. Beneath the carefully constructed mask of nonchalance is a ghost of something else. It would be nonexistent to everyone else, but to himself and Launchpad (if he was here), it's as clear as their love for Gosalyn.

Fear. 

Her elbows are pressed into her side. The tiniest tremors tremble across her beak, and her eyebrows twitch.

Gosalyn's eyes trail to his. Instantly, she stretches and shoots him a playful grin. Even if Darkwing didn't know his daughter, he's too trained of an actor not to recognise when someone is putting on an act. 

"Okay, so we're still in St. Canard; that's a bonus," Gosalyn says. " Or a really, really bad thing, depending on who you ask. But we're still alive, and that's definitely a bonus." Darkwing knows what she is doing. She's trying to convince him she's okay. 

Darkwing does what Darkwing does best. He tries to make his little girl feel better.

"I may need a new cape, though." Darkwing holds up his vaguely singed cape; it has the desired effect. Gosalyn rolls her little green eyes and shakes her head. "How am I meant to strike fear into bad guys if my cape is ruined?"

"You're such a diva." 

Darkwing dramatically swoops his cape at a downward angle, raising his eyebrow in an overly cocky manner at Gosalyn. " Yes, but I am the best‒looking diva in St. Canard! Nay, the world!" 

"Well, let's not get carried away…." Gosalyn trails off, inflecting a playful tone, and grins as she jokes. Then her eyes soften, and the grin melts into a warm smile. "Thanks, Dad."

Darkwing opens his arms, and Gosalyn doesn't hesitate to run into them. She swaddles herself into his cape as Darkwing draws his arms around her. 

"I love you, Gos." 

(no matter what scares you, I'm here to chase it away.) 

"I know, Dad. I love you, too." 

(I'll always be here for you.)

"Ooh‒kay." Darkwing straightens, tugging on his jacket. It isn't rumpled, but he likes the effect of it. Every hero straightens their costume to show they're in charge. "Let's run down what we know so far." He begins to pace, lifting a finger with each fact he lists.

"One: we're still in St. Canard. Two: it was daytime five minutes ago, but now it's nighttime. Either we've been thrown forward into the evening or another day entirely. Three…” Darkwing pauses, both in speech and pacing. "Erm, what else do we know?" He glances at Gosalyn; her eyes are focused on something behind him. Darkwing follows her gaze… and his jaw drops open. 

"Three: we're in Darkwing Tower, but it definitely isn't ours," Gosalyn finishes. 

Tiles stretch along the floor, meeting a brick wall at the edges. Round brick pillars with red trim rise from the floor; one holds a computer with a monitor the size of a window in a mansion. A small library is tucked into a corner, green couches sitting in front of the tall, mahogany bookcases. But Darkwing doesn't pay attention to any of this. 

A high‒pitched noise emits close by; simultaneously, his vision begins to bounce. Sitting proudly in the hideout's centre is his childhood image—a red, duck-faced plane. 

"It's the THUNDERQUACK !" Darkwing screams. "I‒ I can't believe this!" 

"I can't believe how deaf I'm gonna be after this…." Gosalyn grumbles, wincing with one eye shut and hands to her ears. "I'm happy for you, Dad; really I am, but please try to remember how we got here." 

Darkwing's memories of five minutes ago come flooding back, with a flushed face and pinched eyebrows. 

"Was I‒ being too much of a geek?" 

Gosalyn shakes her head. "Not too much of a geek, just too loud. Plus, you were squealing and dancing on your feet." 

Huh. That explained the high‒pitched noise and the bounce. 

"So…" Gosalyn shoves her hands into her pockets and turns as she gazes around. "I guess we're in the TV show, then. A reverse of last time." 

"Maybe so, maybe not. However, my darling daughter, you shouldn't be taken in so easily by what appears on the surface." Darkwing produces a magnifying glass from his cape. Gosalyn rolls her eyes skywards. 

"We must be careful," Darkwing continues when Gosalyn doesn't verbally protest, "We must be vigilant." He crawls around as he points his eye through the magnifying glass. "We must uncover each clue, discover the unknown. We must—"

A metallic scraping noise slices through the air. 

" Hide!"

Darkwing grabs his daughter by her midriff, a grunt coming from her lips, and throws her into the cockpit of the Thunderquack—lucky for them that it was open in the first place. Darkwing joins her and huddles on his knees, pulling Gosalyn close to him. 

Logic tells him there's only one person it can be. He braces, unsure if he can brave hearing his voice again. 

"C'mon, Dad, I'll be a great backup!" 

Okay. That isn't the voice he is expecting to hear. This voice is young, raspy, and, more importantly, a girl.

"I'm not discussing this with you." 

(there it is)

Darkwing is thrown back to his childhood. Waking up on a Saturday morning, grabbing a bowl of cereal and sitting in front of the TV, cape tied securely around his neck and hat sitting on his head. His cereal being quickly forgotten as the action on the screen commands his attention. A figure shrouded in purple beating the bad guys. A hero who keeps getting back up no matter how often he falls. 

The very man he has modelled his entire life around. The only reason he now clutches his baby girl close to him as his arm trembles. The voice that taunts him when he has nightmares of that fateful day. 

The voice of Jim Starling. 

… 

(wait‒ 'Dad'?)

Chapter Text

Darkwing's world is spinning. He tells himself he misheard. The young girl didn't say 'dad'; she couldn't have. No, she probably said 'rad', or 'bad, or 'cad' or…

(note to self: look up words that rhyme with 'dad') 

"But why not?" the young, raspy voice continues. "I've already beaten him once before. I can do it again!" 

"If you're referring to the night he threw you from the bridge, and I had to save you, then no, you did not." 

"Hey, I had that situation completely under control, just like in the museum and on the rooftop!" 

"You didn't have anything under control. I would've taken him down without you there." 

Darkwing grimaces. The egotistical manner in which Jim spoke was there, thick and overpowering. But it is also the same egotism that Darkwing Duck, the character, is known for. Stepping into a role and not letting their personality rub off on your own is hard; Darkwing knows this. Jim Starling played Darkwing Duck for a total of ninety-one episodes. Re-takes, multiple shots, reshoots, table reads, learning the script—when they are all considered, Darkwing knows he would've struggled not to fool himself into thinking he was Darkwing Duck. Darkwing Duck wasn't just Jim's most famous role—it was the last role he'd ever have after the show was cancelled.

No wonder the late actor believed with such conviction that he was the 'terror that flaps in the night'. Nobody else had given him a chance to be otherwise. 

A small hand touches his beak, pulling him from the recesses of his mind. His blue eyes travel down to see his daughter staring at him, her eyebrows drawn together. 

"Are you okay?" she asks silently. 

Darkwing puts a hand over hers. "Perfectly fine." He adds a smile and waits for Gosalyn to reciprocate it before paying attention to the conversation between Ji‒ Darkwing Duck and the angry young girl.

"... better since then!"

The next word from Darkwing Duck sends ice running through Darkwing's body. From the way Gosalyn shifts, he assumes she has the same reaction.  

"Gosalyn, I said no! You're staying here, where it's safe!" 

"Where I'll be bored, Dad!" 

Nope. He hadn't misheard. Darkwing Duck called the girl 'Gosalyn', and she called him 'Dad'. 

Darkwing suddenly feels the urgent need to lie in a dark room. None of this—whatever the hell this was!—made any sense! He had been willing to accept the theory that, just as the Fearsome Four had been transported to their universe, they had been transported to the universe of the Darkwing Duck TV show. 

Except, Darkwing now knows it's impossible. 

In many ways, the details of his career as Darkwing and the TV show match: the Ratcatcher (another note to self: get a Thunderquack!), Darkwing Tower in Audubon Bay Bridge, St. Canard itself and, most importantly, a devastatingly dashing costume in which to do it. But Darkwing's has grown beyond that. 

He has had to fight invaders from the Moon and helped in the operation to take down F.OW.L (although a suspiciously similar organisation had featured in the TV show). He has a sidekick and partner (definitely not partner partner) in Launchpad. He has Gosalyn —his daughter. 

Darkwing Duck doesn't have any of that in the TV show. Instead, he was known for not surrounding himself with family but still having the strength and courage to fight each day. 

So yes, Darkwing is quite sure that he and Gosalyn do not now find themselves in the realm of the TV show but in another that probably shares many characteristics. In this realm, however, Darkwing Duck has a daughter. 

He has a Gosalyn. 

It would be easy to dismiss it as someone else who happens to share his daughter's name. However, a feeling deep inside Darkwing's stomach tells him there's no possibility. What are the chances that another Darkwing Duck has a daughter named Gosalyn, and it's a coincidence? 

It's as likely as the chance that Launchpad will never crash again. 

"How can you be bored?" Darkwing Duck demands of the young girl— Gosalyn —in a shrill voice. "You have your homework to do, for one thing." 

"I've got the whole rest of summer vacation to get it done." 

"That's what you said the last time, and remember how that turned out?" 

"Uh, well, I, uh‒ that won't happen again!" 

"Right." Darkwing Duck says in a much brighter voice. "Because you're going to do your homework. Now ." 

Darkwing quickly checks on Gosalyn. Her face twists with discomfort, and she rolls her shoulder in an overly restrained manner, careful not to brush the Thunderquack. His daughter is lucky; her body is small enough to move around in the cockpit without touching anything. Darkwing isn't so fortunate. His body is folded in the wrong places, and he knows his back will make an official complaint in the morning. 

They both needed to get out of the Thunderquack, sharpish.

"Daaaad, puhleeeasse!" There's the sound of knees hitting the floor as Darkwing Duck yelps. "Please, please, please, please, pleasee !" 

"You think that is going to work on me?" 

"Only if I annoy you enough…." 

"I commend you for your honesty, dear," Darkwing snarks. "But I would commend you even more if you could do just one teeny‒tiny thing for me."

"... My homework?"

"Your homework."

Not His Gosalyn sighs dramatically. "Fine, but you've only got yourself to blame when I'm kidnapped."

"Don't be dramatic, Gosalyn. Who's going to kidnap you here?"

"Probably the people hiding in the Thunderquack," Not Gosalyn says flatly.

Darkwing's heart stops. His blood runs cold. Gosalyn freezes in the middle of an arm stretch. Her green eyes were the widest Darkwing had ever seen, even more so than when he had caught her stowing on the Sunchaser when she was supposed to be in Duckburg. 

"Gosalyn, there's nobody in the Thunderquack."

"Yes, there is, Dad! I saw them when you lifted me!"

That, at least, answers how the young girl possibly saw them. Darkwing wondered if a part of his cape had been sticking out. 

"Dear, you watch too many cartoons." Darkwing knows he hadn't died when his heart stopped because now it is racing so incredibly quickly that it could make it to the moon and back in the space in a second—why?

Footsteps are coming towards the Thunderquack. 

"There is nobody in the Thunder‒ ACK !" Darkwing Duck peers into the cockpit, and when his eyes land upon the two strangers residing in his vehicle, his eyes bulge from his skull, and he exclaims in surprise, jumping back. 

He recovers just as quickly. "Alright, evildoers! Come out with your hands up!" Darkwing and Gosalyn exchange a look. They can do little in this situation except comply with Darkwing Duck's command. After all, it is his hideout. If the roles were reversed, Darkwing would react in the same manner. 

Darkwing and Gosalyn rise slowly from the cockpit, hands raised. Darkwing has to restrain himself from letting out a whine of pain as his muscles complain at all once at their sudden movement. 

Darkwing Duck is in a heroic pose as they rise, pointing his gas gun at them with eyebrows drawn together sharply. However, the duck deflates at the sight of them, and he replaces the gas gun into the folds of his cape.

"Oh, great," he complains. "Just members of my fan club."

Darkwing studies him. His costume resembles Jim Starling's, except there's no utility belt, and this Darkwing Duck's hat is grey, not purple like Jim's.

Darkwing realises with a start that the duck standing before them is the double of Jim Starling, from the lines on his forehead to how annoyance flashes in his eyes.

Darkwing turns his eyes to Not His Gosalyn. He isn't surprised to see she doesn't resemble his Gosalyn. Her hair is in two pigtails, and her feathers are a downy yellow instead of brown. The only shared traits are their green eyes and red hair, but even that stops there. His Gosalyn's hair curls in beautiful waves, while Not His Gosalyn's is pin straight. 

And she is dressed in her own costume. A green, feather-tipped hat sits on her head, a green mask is wrapped around her eyes, and a cape is tied around her shoulders. 

"Nice fancy dress," Darkwing Duck suddenly says, hand to his chin. "Slightly off, though. Well, that's probably for the best. Wouldn't want people thinking the terror that flaps is a geek."

Indignation flares up in Darkwing until he remembers that a geek is precisely what he is. That was one of the reasons his life had changed entirely. The other reason his life changed speaks up. 

"Can we put our hands down now? My arms are getting tired." Gosalyn is already putting her arms down before Darkwing Duck answers.

"Hm? Oh sure, sure." The duck waves a dismissive hand at them, obviously deep in thought. 

"How did you two even get in here?" Not His Gosalyn demands. Her hands are squarely on her hips, and her eyes narrow in a deathly glare. "Besides, I've never seen you at any of the meetings."

Darkwing opens his beak, but Gosalyn is faster. 

"We're from another reality," she says casually. Darkwing's mouth gapes. That was ultimately the opposite of what he was ready to answer. Still, he feels a swell of pride in his chest that his girl is truthful. "We got hit by some weird beam, and now, here we are. In this…" Her eyes swirl around the tower. "Dingy hideout."

"Hey!" Darkwing Duck cries, instantly paying attention. "My hideout is not dingy! It's atmospheric!" A look of realisation flickers over his face. "I mean, uh‒ hideout? This isn't my hideout. This is, uh‒ my uh‒ well…." His eyes travel around, much like Gosalyn's had. His shoulders slump. "Fine. It's my hideout." 

Then, in a swift movement, he draws out his gas gun again. "But now I must erase your memory using my special Memory Erasing gas!" Darkwing instinctively places himself in front of Gosalyn.

"Hey, watch it! That's my daughter you're pointing that thing at!" Usually, Darkwing wouldn't allude to Gosalyn being related. But this time, he has a feeling that revelation doesn't matter. 

Darkwing Duck clicks his tongue. "Tch. Shoulda known a kid who dresses like that wasn't actually a fan of mine." 

"Hey!" Gosalyn exclaims. "What's that supposed to‒-"

"Wait, wait, I've got it!" Darkwing Duck's tone turns gleeful. "This is perfect! You two can watch Gosa‒ this young girl who has nothing to do with me but won't leave me alone."

"Dad," Not His Gosalyn says dryly. "They definitely heard me call you 'dad' at least four times."

"Don't call me that, Little Girl Who Isn't Related to Me, But If She Were She'd Be in Danger of Being Grounded…." Darkwing Duck warns, his register higher with each word. 

"Hey, you're the one who says you're not my dad. So you can't ground me if you're not my dad." 

Darkwing feels a fond smile curve his beak. Green eyes and red hair aren't the only traits that are shared.

"Ooooh," Darkwing Duck groans, gnashing his teeth. "I‒ you‒ fine!" He throws his hands up in defeat. "Whatever, just stay. Here ."

"What? I thought we had agreed I was coming!"

" I agreed to no such thing." Darkwing Duck's blue eyes turn to meet his own. Darkwing flinches. The last time he looked into those eyes, they were dark with nothing but murderous intent. "Look, pal; I know I've just found you obviously trying not to get caught in my tower, but." He sighs. "I don't know. My gut tells me I can trust you, and my gut isn't usually wrong."

"Unless you have something spicy…." Not His  Gosalyn comments. Her father shoots her a glare. 

"I will still need to erase your memory," Darkwing Duck continues. "But I don't have anyone else to watch this girl. My sidekick and my neighbours are on vacation - not together, mind you." The duck shudders at this thought. Darkwing is instantly curious but decides to leave it. "And finding a babysitter at this time on a Saturday night who isn't going to cost me my entire life savings is just downright impossible. So I'm basically up the creek without a paddle."

Darkwing doesn't hesitate. "We'll watch her."

Knowing that the young duck is Gosalyn is all the justification he needs to know his answer. She isn't his Gosalyn, but she's enough.

"Thank you. That means a lot to me." Darkwing Duck's eyes soften. "Hey, maybe I'll give you a full tour of the place and a demonstration of all my tools before I erase your memory."

Darkwing doesn't know what to say. The Darkwing Duck standing before him is utterly foreign. He looks like Darkwing Duck, but the Darkwing Duck he grew up with would never speak with such genuine gratitude. 

"Erm, thank you?" Darkwing's words come out as confusion, but only because his brain can't comprehend anything. 

Darkwing Duck nods before kneeling to the other Gosalyn. "Be good, please. It's okay if you don't finish your homework. At least try to do some of it for me?" The other Gosalyn sighs and crosses her arms.

"Alright…" she reluctantly answers. "For you." Darkwing Duck kisses her forehead and ruffles her hair as he stands. 

"That's my girl! I'll be as quick as I can be!" The duck climbs onto the Ratcatcher and replaces his fedora with a helmet. "Bye, sweetie!" With those last words, he starts the bike and zooms from the tower, leaving three ducks behind. 

"Alright, guys, let's get going. We'll probably have to walk quite far, so we should leave now to make up for the time quickly," Not His Gosalyn immediately says.

Gosalyn grins. "I really like how this girl thinks."

Darkwing slips easily into Darkwing Dad mode. "We're not going anywhere!" he sternly denies. "Your father said‒"

"He said to watch me. He didn't say to watch me here ." 

Darkwing holds up a finger as he opens his beak to present a counterargument but pauses. Finally, he squawks after a brief silence. "It was heavily implied! We are staying here, and that's final."

"Yep, you're definitely my dad from another reality," Not His Gosalyn states. "You sound just like him."

"Yeah, he's a real pain in the butt," Gosalyn adds.

"I am not a pain‒ wait, what?" Darkwing shoots Not His Gosalyn a sceptical look. "You actually believed that?" 

Not His Gosalyn shrugs. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I? It's so unbelievable that it must be true."

Darkwing gapes at her.

"So, who are we going after?" Gosalyn asks. "Which bad guy's butt are we kicking today?"

"Negaduck," Not His Gosalyn answers as though they already know who that is. Okay, they do, but not in the way Not His Gosalyn probably imagines they do. 

"Negaduck," Gosalyn repeats. "Darkwing Duck's evil twin, right?" 

"Ah, so you do have one, too." A sympathetic look comes over her. "I guess some things are always going to be the same. Anyway." The sympathy is swiftly replaced by one of determination. "My dad is too stubborn to accept my help. We need to leave now."

"Don't you join him, anyway? You're dressed like it," Gosalyn points out. "More than I do. I usually throw a mask on." 

Not His Gosalyn grunts. "He doesn't like to accept that Quiverwing Quack is more than ready for the action."

Gosalyn nods in approval. "Very cool name." 

A grin splits Not His Gosalyn's beak. "Thanks! I thought of it all by myself." 

"I might have to think of something like that for myself. It doesn't sound as cool to shout, 'Watch out, evildoers! Gosalyn Mallard is here to put a stop to your crimes!' 

An expression Darkwing can only describe as 'starstruck' sweeps over Not His Gosalyn.

"Keen gear! You're me? We even have the same last name!" She runs over to Darkwing and looks at him brightly. "So you're definitely Drake Mallard, too, same as my dad!"

(... yep. definitely gonna need to return to therapy after this.) 

"Yep, he's Drake Mallard," Gosalyn confirms. "Overbearing, neurotic, anxious mess Drake Mallard." 

"I am not ‒" Darkwing clears his throat and takes a deep breath. He's aware that the situation is sliding out from underneath him. "Look, you both need to listen to me. There's a homicidal maniac on the loose. No one is moving from this tower until he is stopped."

(and you can help stop him much more quickly) 

Darkwing shakes that thought away. He has been asked to watch Darkwing Duck's daughter. He had already let down the man once. 

That isn't going to happen again. 

"Okay, Dad. We'll stay here," Gosalyn agrees readily.

"Good, I'm glad you‒ wait." Darkwing crosses his arms. "What are you up to?" He can hardly get Gosalyn to brush her teeth without some excuse. Why was she suddenly so cooperative? 

Gosalyn gasps and puts a hand on her chest. Darkwing levels her with a dry look. "My own father! So quick to stab my heart with such cruel words!" Putting her arms around his waist, Gosalyn looks up at him through her eyelashes and adopts a pout onto her beak. "Don't you believe me, Daddy?" 

Crap. She used that word on him. The only word in the galaxy to defeat the death-defying Darkwing Duck without a scratch on his feathers. 

A single utterance of 'Daddy', and he is Gosalyn's to command without a second thought. 

"No, I‒I…." Darkwing runs a hand down his beak. "Of course, I believe you, sweetie." He sinks to his knees and brings Gosalyn into a hug. 

"Thanks, Dad." Gosalyn pulls back, cackling loudly. "Thanks for the gas gun and smoke bombs!" Darkwing stares dumbfounded as his daughter runs to the window, pulling her counterpart along. 

"I‒ wait just a minute, young ladies !" Darkwing rushes to snatch them, but then purple smoke bursts into the air, and the sound of the grapple hook reaches his ears. 

When the smoke clears, Darkwing is alone. His heart drops into his stomach.

Because, for the second time in his life, Darkwing Duck will be out for his blood.

Chapter Text

The two ducklings find themselves in an alleyway at the end of the grappling hook. The other Gosalyn wraps her tiny arms around her neck until their flippers touch the ground. Gosalyn lets out a breath the moment they do. 

"Okay," the other Gosalyn starts, sounding impressed, "That was cool. Do you do that all the time?"

"I've always wanted to," Gosalyn answers. She retracts the grappling hook and places the gas gun in her bag. "The thought of Dad grounding me until I'm thirty always stopped me."

"I'm honoured you choose now to do it. But why now? I mean, so that I can take notes?"

"I'm already grounded, so what harm can a few more weeks do, right?" Gosalyn shrugs and smirks. "Plus, as you said, it was cool." 

(and I need to take down Negaduck without Dad's help) 

(even if I have no idea who 'Negaduck' is) 

Gosalyn's guess of Negaduck being Darkwing's arch-nemesis hadn't been a fluke. Whenever Dad and Launchpad had conversations about Darkwing Duck (which was every day), Gosalyn would tune out as she scrolled her phone in a state of paralysis. She had picked up some facts here and there, however: one, Negaduck was the double of Darkwing; two, he was Dad's favourite villain despite only appearing in one episode; and three, where he revealed his identity was the last episode before it was cancelled. 

In short, Gosalyn doesn't know what to expect should they come across Negaduck. But if he's anything like the one from the T.V. show ‒ though Gosalyn has an irritating feeling he won't be ‒ there probably isn't too much to fear. 

She ignores the seed of anxiety in her gut. 

"So, what's your Negaduck like?" she casually asks the other Gosalyn as though she'd just asked the duck what her favourite pizza chain is. "I mean, ours is totally badass. Always blowing things up and stuff."

The other Gosalyn gapes at her, and Gosalyn reddens because she realises she just used a curse word in front of a probably younger kid, and now she's gonna be even more grounded-

"Ours is the same," the other Gosalyn replies. "Blowing things up, always trying to kill Dad." She shrugs. "The usual." 

Gosalyn's stomach turns at the other Gosalyn's calm manner. How long had Negaduck been a problem that his trying to kill your father was spoken like another boring Sunday? Criminals made attempts on her dad's life regularly, but because he was trying to stop them, not because they had a personal vendetta against him. 

"Oh yeah, our Negaduck is definitely, always trying to‒", Gosalyn clears the lump in her throat, "kill Dad." Her eyebrows knit together as nerves tug her lips upwards. "Thank god it's just Negaduck. I'm sure it's the same for you…?" She silently urges the other Gosalyn to agree. 

"Nah," the girl says. "We've got other guys, too. Megavolt, Quackerjack, Liquidator—basically the Fearsome Five." She blinks as she pauses. "I guess Bushroot doesn't really try to kill Dad, though…." 

Nausea burns in Gosalyn's throat. "Oh. Wow." What else do you say about that? She steps back. Was the alleyway getting smaller, or was it just her? 

The other Gosalyn looks at her, concern written over her face. "Are you alright?" 

Gosalyn's stomach lurches once more. A niggle starts to chew at her. Her eyes begin to sting. 

(i'm overreacting i'm overreacting) 

The other Gosalyn probably wasn't being serious. Her father's life wasn't threatened daily; she only tried to impress her. 

Right? 

"Oh y-yeah, I'm‒" Gosalyn's back hits a brick wall. "Good."

"You sure?" 

Gosalyn sinks to the ground as the total weight of her actions comes bearing down on her. 

She's in a completely alien world, no— universe. And what had she done? She had willingly separated herself from her dad. For what? To prove something to him? 

To prove something to herself? 

But all she was proving now was that she doesn't think about her actions. Instead, she acts first and thinks later. 

"Gosalyn?" A gentle but hesitant voice reaches her ears. Gosalyn focuses on the other girl. She kneels before her, a hand frozen in mid-air like she wants to comfort Gosalyn but is unsure how the girl would react. 

It is helpful to have an actor for a dad. Whenever Gosalyn asks for acting lessons, her dad ignores her ulterior motives to favour his egotism that his daughter is also interested in being an actor. It is these acting lessons that Gosalyn falls back on now to push a genuine smile onto her beak. 

Gosalyn usually has doubts about her acting ability, but it works. The other Gosalyn returns the smile and stands to her full height again. 

"Good," she says. "Do you still wanna go after Negaduck? We can go back to the tower if this is too much for you." There's no judgement in her tone. 

(just like Dad) 

Gosalyn bites at her lower beak. She had run off because her brain was wired differently from everyone else's, and now she had time to sit and think about it. She wished she hadn't. She doesn't want to take down Negaduck; especially now she knows he would probably kill her without a second thought. 

She really wants her dad right now. 

"Yeah." Gosalyn uses the wall to push herself up. "Let's go back." She says it in an apologetic tone though she knows the other Gosalyn understands. 

A deep, guttural voice speaks from the opposite end of the alleyway.

"Aw, already? But I was having so much fun watching you squirm like a pathetic little worm."  

Gosalyn doesn't have time to react before everything turns dark. 

--

For the millionth time in his life, Darkwing is thanking his lucky stars that his mothers forced him to take swimming lessons from childhood until he was a teenager. 

He grumbles as he steps from the waters of the bay onto dry land, wringing his hat dry and then his cape. Being unfamiliar with the Darkwing Tower of this universe, Darkwing had decided the fastest way to get from the tower to the ground was to throw himself from the window into the waters of the bay below. 

He is definitely going to regret it later, but only after he finds Gosalyn.

(she is definitely going to be grounded until she is thirty)  

What was she thinking? Nothing, that's probably what. Or was she trying to prove something to him? What was there to prove? 

Darkwing realises it as a wave of nausea crashes over him. It was for the same reason she had snuck out earlier. She was trying to prove she could fight crime. 

But he already knew that she could. That wasn't the problem he'd had with her. Darkwing knew his little girl was more than capable of holding her own against a thug. 

Why hadn't anyone else on the countless parenting forums he's perused covered what to do when your daughter wants to show she can fight crime? 

Darkwing tries to convince himself it isn't the reason, just because Gosalyn tends to be impulsive. 

(he actually strongly suspects there's a reason, but it can wait until they're back in their universe) 

Darkwing drags his damp self through the streets, checking for any hiding place for the two ducklings. But, save for the random odd person, the streets are weirdly quiet. 

Isn't Negaduck supposed to be on the rampage? Darkwing assumes that the Negaduck of this universe may be completely different to the one he's familiar with from the T.V. show. 

He stops to remind himself that this universe has already proven incredibly different. Darkwing Duck has his own daughter. Darkwing Duck is also called Drake Mallard. 

Darkwing Duck is Drake Mallard. 

. 

. 

. 

(he decides that topic is far too overwhelming right now) 

Darkwing settles on what he knows of Negaduck, a homicidal maniac with a penchant for bombs, who is the double of Darkwing Duck. If he assumes the worst of Negaduck, it won't be so bad when he finds out what Negaduck is really like. 

Probably. 

His body complains loudly with each step taken. He knew being cramped up for that long in the Thunderquack would come back to haunt him. 

"That girl is in so much trouble when I find her," he grumbles. 

He wishes he had a machine to turn Gosalyn into a young child, somewhere around seven years old. Then he swiftly feels a pang of guilt and tells himself he's a horrible parent. 

"I am Darkwing Duck, and I have no idea how to parent my eleven-year-old daughter…." The mallard stops and groans in frustration. 

Then he slaps himself. 

"It's not the time for self-pity!" Darkwing scolds himself. "There's plenty of time for it after you find Gosalyn!" 

Darkwing gazes around where he's stopped. He doesn't recognise it. Either he's never stepped foot on this street, or it's another difference. He pulls his phone out, tells himself to thank Fenton for making his phone waterproof, and brings up Waddle Maps. 

He is suddenly overcome with the feeling he's an idiot. 

"The tracking app!" he yells seconds later and slaps his face. He quickly exits Waddle Maps and brings up the tracking app. 

It doesn't work. A pin on a map fails to load, and the map itself doesn't. Darkwing scowls at the stupid phone. 

(darkwing duck never needed a waddle phone, and he's darkwing duck, so neither does he) 

(he ignores that waddle phones didn't exist in the '90s)

He recalls telling Gosalyn he always knows where she is because he's her father. So now was as good a time as any to find out if that was true. 

Nausea begins anew. A worm in Darkwing's mind tells him something has happened to Gosalyn. She was somewhere nearby, but now she isn't. Darkwing spots an alleyway from the corner of his eye. He isn't sure why, but Darkwing knows that's where Gosalyn had been. If he looks there, he will find a clue to where she is. 

Darkwing creeps to the edge of the alleyway and pauses when his eyes pick up a shadowy figure further down. They're wearing a big hat and what looks like a cape. 

Negaduck. The silhouette may not match what he knows of Negaduck, minus the cape, but Darkwing has never been more certain; Negaduck is standing before him, and he's done something to the girls. 

Despite the situation, Darkwing feels a smile tug at his beak. It is time to show criminal scumbags never to mess with Darkwing Duck, no matter the universe. He creeps closer, then withdraws a smoke bomb from his cape. He throws it, and purple smoke erupts around Negaduck as he starts into a coughing fit. 

(showtime.)

"I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the rat that chews through your cables! I am Darkwing ‒ Duck?!"

Darkwing feels like he's been hit by a lightning bolt because when the smoke clears, it isn't Negaduck. It's Darkwing Duck.

And he looks pissed. 

"What. Do. You. Think. You're. Doing ?!" Darkwing Duck asks through gritted teeth. His voice intensifies in volume with each word. 

Darkwing's brain has yet to catch up to the events, and he stands there, staring blankly. Darkwing Duck pounces at him and wraps a fist around Darkwing's jacket; the material is pulled tautly. 

"I repeat: what do you think you're doing ?!" 

Darkwing blinks at the sheer emotion tumbling from Darkwing Duck. Fury blazes in his blue eyes, but desperation lingers in the air, too, heavy like the smoke that had cleared seconds before. 

At once, Darkwing recognises that Darkwing Duck is no longer with him. He's been kicked to the curb in favour of Drake Mallard, and right now, Drake Mallard is an angry father looking for his daughter. 

Darkwing knows this because he's looking into a mirror. He is Drake Mallard, an angry father looking for his daughter. 

"How did you find out?" Darkwing asks in a quiet voice. Remorse burns in his gut. Confusion washes over Darkwing Duck for a split second, and then his expression crumbles as he lets go. 

"Because I found this." Darkwing Duck's tone stabs a knife into his gut and twists it. It is accusatory. It is sharp. It is angry. He hands a note to Darkwing. 

As Darkwing reads it, his blood freezes. 

'Dear Drake Mallard Dipwing Dork, 

I have her.

You know who I mean.  

P.S. I also have the pathetic worm she was with cus why not? I could use a target practice.'

Darkwing opens his mouth to speak, but his mouth is too dry. His eyes sting, and bile rises in his chest. 

His entire world has been ripped away from him in one clean blow. 

And it is all his fault.

"It was Negaduck," Darkwing Duck calmly states. The anguish shines through clearly. "He's the only villain who knows me, who could know me." His eyebrows furrow. "There's Megavolt, too, but he'd forgotten less than thirty minutes later. Besides, the handwriting doesn't match his." He says this in a mutter to himself, like he's forgotten anyone else is there.

Darkwing finds his voice. It comes out in a strained whisper. "He has my daughter, too." 

"I know."

Darkwing thinks he hears a strain of sympathy in the hero's voice—another emotion he isn't used to from that mouth. 

Does Drake Mallard really affect Darkwing Duck that much? 

Darkwing shoves those thoughts to the side. They're not necessary. All that matters is Gosalyn. 

He's Drake Mallard, and he is going to find his daughter. 

"Where do we find Negaduck?"

Chapter Text

Nausea burns in her gut. Her eyes are heavy, and pain throbs behind them. A dull ache shoots from her wrists through her arms. A soft groan escapes Gosalyn's lips as she slowly comes to, opening her eyes. 

A thick, scratchy rope is bound tightly over her wrists, forcing her arms straight. The sight instantly floods Gosalyn with panic and feeling very uncomfortable. 

(your wrists are tied together, of course, you're uncomfortable, you idiot!)

But no matter how much Gosalyn could tell herself that, she knew the uncomfortable feeling wasn't from the rope. It's the feeling of being held down and forced into a position she doesn't want to be in. She tells herself that it's not just her; anyone else waking up to this would feel the same. 

It's natural. 

It wouldn't be like in the movies, where a hero would be calm in the face of danger, levelling the villain with a quiet stare. 

Tears sting Gosalyn's eyes, and she begins to fidget her hands. The coarse material tears into her wrists, but Gosalyn knows she would rather have bloodied wrists from the rope than have her wrists tied together a second longer. 

"You're going to damage my ropes if you keep doing that."

Gosalyn pauses at the brusque voice. She hadn't realised she wasn't alone. Her green eyes travel upwards to see a duck towering over her.

A black mask is set over blue, icy eyes. A red fedora spreads out from his head and a black cape with a red lining trails from his shoulders. A red turtleneck sits underneath a yellow jacket. It is an outfit Gosalyn has seen hundreds of times, plastered all over posters in her home and in Darkwing Tower—except that outfit was purple, blue, and grey.

"Negaduck?" Gosalyn says. Her voice croaks out from her beak. Negaduck's eyes narrow slightly, but he holds his gaze. 

"What were you doing with Gosalyn Mallard?" 

It hits Gosalyn that she's heard his voice before. 

It's Darkwing Duck's voice. It wasn't her Darkwing's voice—her dad—but the Darkwing of this universe and the Darkwing of the TV show. It has a deeper register, and it's lined with rough edges, but there's no doubt it's the same voice. 

And it had a hint of protectiveness to it. 

A gleam of metal is suddenly shoved into Gosalyn's face—a knife. She can't stop the tremble of her beak as she stares at it. 

"I won't ask again, kid," Negaduck grunts. Gosalyn can hear the threat behind it as clear as a bell. "What were you doing with Gosalyn?" Negaduck gently presses the knife into Gosalyn's neck when she doesn't answer quickly enough for him. It doesn't break the skin but is close enough for the girl. 

Gosalyn feels her stomach turn violently. Tears burst down her cheeks. 

"I‒ we‒ uh…." It is, unsurprisingly, extremely difficult to talk while a big knife is inches away from your jugular veins. A sob rises in Gosalyn's throat, and she tries not to choke on it. 

"Spit it out, kid; I don't have all night," Negaduck barks at her. Gosalyn expects the knife to cut her, but it remains in the same position. 

"We‒ Darkwing‒ my dad…." Once she mentions her father, Gosalyn's emotions overwhelm her, and she allows the sob through her throat. "My d‒dad, I just want my dad," she squeezes through her sobs. 

She wishes she had never left the tower. She wishes she had never snuck out of the apartment. She wishes she did better in school. 

She wishes that this is a nightmare, and when she wakes up, it will be to the scent of her dad's chocolate chip pancakes that he makes every Sunday morning. 

The knife against her throat quickly reminds her it isn't a nightmare. 

And then, like a dream, a voice shouts across her sobs. 

"Hey! What do you think you're doing to her?!" 

"Tch. The kid finally woke up. Great. I'm never buying that brand of knock-out gas again…." Negaduck rolls his eyes as he steps away from her to face a very irate Gosalyn. "I didn't hurt her if you're upset over that." 

"Then why is she crying?!" 

The other Gosalyn rushes over to her, brushing past Negaduck like he doesn't exist. Gosalyn's sobs grow stronger as she looks upon her counterpart. She wants to be relieved but can't find it in herself. The other Gosalyn is a familiar face, but that's all. 

She needs her dad. She needs her safe space. 

"It's okay," the other Gosalyn soothes. "It's okay. You're gonna be okay, Gosalyn." 

"... What." 

Gosalyn tries to swallow her sobs but doesn't do a great job. Her voice is thick as she cries, "My dad, I want my dad!" 

"I know, Gosa—" The other Gosalyn doesn't have the chance to finish as she's yanked into the air by her shirt and held beak to beak with Negaduck. Gosalyn's eyes widen as she watches the sympathetic expression on the other Gosalyn crumble into annoyance. 

It is an expression she made at Darkwing Duck. 

"What do you mean, 'Gosalyn', Gosalyn?" Negaduck barks at the little girl in his grasp. "And don't feed me some bullshit—we both know that isn't a common name." The other Gosalyn rolls her eyes. 

Gosalyn can't believe what she's seeing. 

"What I mean," the other Gosalyn retorts sarcastically, "is that she's me, but from another universe. She told me that herself!" The other Gosalyn quickly amends her answer when Negaduck grunts sternly at her. 

Gosalyn flinches as Negaduck's searing eyes land on her. 

"How do you know she's telling you the truth?" 

Now the other Gosalyn shifts uncomfortably in Negaduck's grip.

"Well‒ I just do. You're gonna have to put up with that."

Negaduck stares down the red-headed duckling, his eyes searching hers for any hints that her words aren't the truth. He is seemingly satisfied because, in the next moment, he places the other Gosalyn on the ground. 

Then, Negaduck steps towards her, brandishing the knife. 

"No, no, no!" Gosalyn shrieks and tries to shuffle away, but Negaduck grabs her by the arm and forces her to stay in place. Gosalyn clamps her eyes shut, so she doesn't see the knife coming at her as the last moments of her life. 

She only blinks them open when the pressure in her wrist eases. She looks down to see the rope by her feet. Dried blood peeks through the feathers on her wrist. Gosalyn picks her head up, her eyes desperately seeking answers. 

"Things change, kid," Negaduck grunts at her before he turns away. Gosalyn is left to sit numbly, her brain frantically trying to justify her situation. 

"W-Why? Why?" she whimpers. She isn't sure what she even wants an explanation for. 

The other Gosalyn makes an assumption, regardless.

"He just wanted to see me," she says in a tone of exasperation. She scowls at Negaduck, hands on her hips in a scolding manner. "You coulda just came to me! You know you don't have to do—" She flaps her arms, "all this! You robbed a bank just to get my attention!" 

"Don't take that tone of voice with me, little missy!" Negaduck growls. "I'll do what I want!"

"Oh great, there he goes again with that pathetic excuse. 'I'm Negaduck, I'm mean, and I can do whatever I want!'" The other Gosalyn mocks in a squeaky voice. 

"What was that?" 

"You heard me!" 

"I'm gonna count down from three—" 

"Here comes the counting." 

"And if you don't change that attitude, you're gonna regret it!" 

Gosalyn looks helplessly between them as the two bicker. Nausea rumbles in her gut as the loud voices reverberate off the warehouse's walls. 

"Three…" 

"What, the mighty Negaduck doesn't know how to handle a little girl?" 

(this isn't real this isn't real this isn't happening) 

A wave of emotions floods Gosalyn; fear, anxiety, relief, confusion. Dizziness hits her between her eyes, and she has to hold her head. 

"Two !" 

"Do you even know what you're gonna do when you get to one? Oh no, I forgot—your brain doesn't think that far ahead!" 

"Please‒ stop…" Gosalyn pleads quietly. It is lost amongst the two bickering voices. She doesn't care that they're fighting; that isn't her business. But it's all too overwhelming. She can't think straight. Nausea leaps to her throat. 

" ONE —" 

Negaduck doesn't have the chance to finish as Gosalyn suddenly and violently empties the contents of her stomach onto the floor. 

"Gosalyn!" The other Gosalyn is by her side in an instant, her hand flying to Gosalyn's back to rub it in a comforting manner. 

"Oh, brother …" Gosalyn hears Negaduck mutter. She is too preoccupied with spitting out remnants of vomit to care. She sniffles and then cringes at the smell of vomit shooting up her nostrils. 

"Look at what you did!" The other Gosalyn hisses angrily at Negaduck, whirling her head around to glower at him. 

"Funny, I don't recall shoving my fingers down her throat!" 

"You know what I mean!" 

"Gosa —"

An explosion of blue smoke burst at the warehouse entrance. Gosalyn, sitting on her knees—and trembling—watches Negaduck's eyes roll to the ceiling, and a long-suffering sigh escapes his beak. 

"I am the terror that flaps in the night!" 

Gosalyn's stomach turns again, and for a second, she thinks she might throw up again. It isn't the voice she wants to hear. 

"He can't just walk into a place like someone normal," the other Gosalyn moans in embarrassment. 

"I am the school bus full of noisy children! I AM DARKWIIING DUCK!” Darkwing Duck appears through the cloud of blue smoke, holding his cape in a dramatic flourish.

"Great, Dad, but Negaduck just left," his Gosalyn intones dryly. Darkwing Duck immediately deflates. 

"What?" he squeaks. "But‒ I‒" He sighs and shakes his head. "Never mind. Not important." He hastily crosses the gap between himself and the two girls, and within moments his Gosalyn is in his arms. He presses kisses all over her face while the girl protests.

"My baby girl!" Darkwing Duck cries. "I was so worried about you! Are you okay? Did that monster harm you? If he's harmed a feather on your—"

"Chill, Dad, I'm fine. He just used knock-out gas on me, that's all." 

A pang of jealousy stabs Gosalyn's gut. Fortunately, it does not last long. 

"Gosalyn!" 

Gosalyn's vision blurs. She pivots her head to the sound that pumps relief through her body. Running towards her from the back of the warehouse is her safe space. The one person she wants more than anything. 

Her dad. 

Her dad falls to his knees as he reaches her and bundles her into his arms. 

"Gosalyn," he sobs and presses her head into his chest. Gosalyn revels in the warmth his arms flood her body with, even if her dad does smell like saltwater. 

"D-Dad ." It's all Gosalyn can say. But it's all she needs. 

"Are you okay?" Her dad pulls back and places his hands on either side of her head. Gosalyn has never seen such fear in his eyes. She can see the ease in his eyes, too, but the fear is more present. Dad squints at her. "Did you throw…" He stops as his eyes catch sight of what Gosalyn presumes is her vomit. "... Up." Dad signs emphatically and draws her close again. "Oh, baby girl." 

Dad shifts her to sit on his lap and softly uses his cape to wipe her mouth of any remaining vomit. Then he kisses her forehead and stands, holding Gosalyn against his hip. 

"Dad, my wrists…." Gosalyn says lamely, holding her wrists to him. Dad takes her wrists, careful not to touch the raw skin and kisses the area around it.

"I know, baby girl, it's okay."

She wants to tell him about the knife—no, she needs to. However, Gosalyn knows it will have the wrong effect. Dad will fly into a rage, and Gosalyn doesn't need that. Right now, all she needs is solace and reassurance. 

"Let's go back to my place," Darkwing Duck says. Gosalyn had forgotten he was there. "I have a first-aid kit that'll care for those wrists." 

"Yeah," her dad breathes. The motion his chest makes comforts Gosalyn. It makes his presence so much more physical. She knows it isn't a dream. He's real, he's here, and he's holding her. "And then, the two of us need to find somewhere to stay…." 

"I'm almost offended you said that," Darkwing Duck faux huffs. "You think I'm gonna let you stay anywhere else but at my place?" 

Gosalyn feels her dad stiffen. "But‒ huh? You‒ You want us to stay at the tower?" 

Darkwing Duck barks out a laugh. "No, silly! At my house!" 

"... You have a house?" Gosalyn glances up to see her dad raising an eyebrow. 

"Of course, we have a house!" the other Gosalyn replies. "We don't live in that drafty tower, you know. Not like a certain hero used to…." She turns a sly smirk on her father. 

"But!" Darkwing's words stick in his throat. "That's totally against the hero rules !" he squeals. 

"You already know my name, buddy," Darkwing Duck says airly as he shrugs. "Besides, my gut tells me you're more than just some fan in a fancy dress costume." A knowing smile curves his beak. "Not everyone can jump from the tower into the icy waters of the bay and survive that."

Darkwing blinks. He brings his hand up to rub the back of his neck. "Gee, er, I don't‒ I don't know what to say…." Gosalyn tenderly punches him in the chest. 

"Say thank you, idiot," she reprimands affectionately. Her dad smiles down at her before returning to Darkwing Duck. 

"Well, er, thank you. We'll try not to be a bother." 

Gosalyn notices Darkwing Duck's eyes wander down to her, and he has that knowing smile again. 

"Oh, I don't doubt it." 

Chapter Text

Under normal circumstances, Gosalyn knows she would've been more enthusiastic about a tunnel leading to spinning armchairs. However, as she sits on Dad's lap and their world spins from Darkwing Tower to a living room, Gosalyn is silent. 

The moment her eyes fall upon the room, Gosalyn is very, very glad she's not in the mood to comment upon it. She instantly feels like she has stepped into an old person's home. She catches sight of a chunky TV. Grandma Kath and Nana Susie  (aka her dad's very cool moms)  are fifty-six and fifty-four, respectively, but even they have a very modern TV. Gosalyn glances at the masked duck; just how old is he?

Gosalyn peeks up at her dad, whose eyes rove around the room in a manner the young girl can't quite pick up on. 

"Exquisite, isn't it?" Darkwing Duck chuckles, a smug expression on his features. "Yep, yep, yep," he sighs. Gosalyn has to physically stop herself from rolling her eyes; the other Gosalyn doesn't think twice about rolling hers. "I picked out the furniture myself."

"Yeah, that's why it's so boring," the other Gosalyn grumbles as she hops from her father's lap. She ignores Darkwing's scowl sent her way. 

"No, it's…." Dad's eyes travel the room again before they land on Darkwing, and he swallows. "...  Exquisite ."

Darkwing coughs into his elbow and then claps as he stands. "Yes, well, it's not important right now. Come on, with me." He leaves the room and beckons at them, his Gosalyn hot on his heels. 

Her dad stands, holding Gosalyn close. 

"Dad, can I walk?" Not that she doesn't love being carried by her dad  (a fact she'll never admit out loud, even under the most extreme form of torture),  but if she doesn't walk soon, Gosalyn thinks she might just forget how to do it altogether. She knows Dad would carry her for the rest of his life if he could. 

"Er, yeah. Sure. Of course."

There's a hint of guilt in Dad's voice as he reluctantly puts her down. Then he smiles at her and, despite knowing that his is fake (and so is hers), Gosalyn returns it before slipping her tiny hand into his much larger one. 

Gosalyn knows that, for as much comfort as she needs, her dad needs just as much. Hand-in-hand, they follow the other two ducks to the kitchen, following the sound of activity. 

The other Gosalyn sits on a counter, eating a cookie, while Darkwing digs through a cupboard underneath a sink. 

"Put Gosalyn on the table real quick for me," Darkwing says, not looking away from his task. Gosalyn hops onto the table before her dad can do it. He smiles again, and Gosalyn reaches for his hand and squeezes it. 

Behind his mask, Gosalyn can see the stress clearly in his blue eyes. She knows his anxiety has reached an alarming level. But she also knows he's falling back on every lesson he's ever learnt as an actor to ensure it doesn't take hold of him.

"Hoh-kay, let's take a look at those wrists." Darkwing thoroughly washes his hands and dries them, then he's beside them, placing a bright red first aid kit on the table. He pauses and exchanges a glance between the two of them before sighing. Gosalyn and her dad look at each other and shrug.

"You need to change out of those damp clothes," Darkwing tells his counterpart firmly. His tone leaves little room for argument, but Gosalyn isn't shocked when her dad does anyway, lame as it is. 

"But, Gosalyn—"

"Will be fine without you for five minutes," Darkwing admonishes. "What Gosalyn doesn't need is you catching a cold. So, go and change ." 

Gosalyn nibbles her bottom lip to stop giggling at her dad. His beak is tight, and his blue eyes are more prominent than usual. It's a look that Gosalyn would find funny if her dad were dressed in civilian clothes, but since he's dressed as Darkwing, Gosalyn finds it hilarious. A bigger laugh rumbles in her gut, and Gosalyn tightens her beak. 

Darkwing arches his eyebrow at her dad.

"I assume you have clothes to change into?" Her dad gives a timid nod. "Well, go and change into them. Gosalyn," and the other Gosalyn perks up from her place on the counter, "show, uh…  uh …." Disbelief falls over Darkwing's face like he's only just been hit with the realisation of the situation he's in.

"Mr Darkwing?" His Gosalyn offers helpfully. Darkwing throws a glare at her, though Gosalyn isn't sure why. 

"...  Yeah ." Darkwing sounds and looks as though he's given up. "Please show Mr Darkwing to our guest room."

"Sure thing, Dad!" The other Gosalyn jumps down and eagerly grabs her father's counterpart's hand. Dad remains in place.

"Will you be okay?" he asks her.

Gosalyn rolls her eyes at him. "Dad, I promise I will survive without you for five minutes." 

" Go," Darkwing firmly says. "Please try not to get your wet clothes on my carpet. I don't need the stench of the bay soaked into them." 

Dad allows himself one last glance at Gosalyn and then lets himself be dragged away by her counterpart. 

Darkwing sighs and shakes his head.

"I don't know how you put up with him, kid. Anyway." He turns to her, and the firm expression melts into a soft, fatherly expression. "May I?" He holds his hands up, and it takes a second for Gosalyn to realise what he's asking permission for. 

Gosalyn nods, and Darkwing gently grasps her wrists, turning them slowly as he inspects the damage.

"Hmm. Looks like a first-degree rope burn," Darkwing mutters to himself. His eyes flick up to hers. "I need to take you over to the sink. Is that okay?" Gosalyn nods again, and Darkwing scoops her into his arms. 

Any adult that she didn't know would not have asked permission. They wouldn't hold her against their chest like she's delicate. Yet, as Darkwing holds her to his chest, a familiar feeling settles in her stomach. A sense of love, being protected, being safe. 

Darkwing settles her next to the sink and turns on the tap.

"I need to wash your wrists of any rope fragments that might be in there," he explains as he tests the temperature of the water. Gosalyn holds her wrists out, and Darkwing gives her a grateful smile. "I didn't  see  any rope in there, but better safe than sorry."

He runs her wrists under the cool running water, eyes carefully watching for rope. When satisfied, Darkwing turns the tap off and pats Gosalyn's wrists with a towel. He opens his arms, and Gosalyn easily slips into them. She is carried back to the table and put down by the first aid kit.

"I'm going to apply aloe vera next," Darkwing says, removing the gel from the first aid kit. He pauses. "You're not allergic to it, right?" 

Gosalyn thinks for a moment.

"Definitely not," she answers with certainty. The morning after being taken under his care, Dad had dragged her to a medical check-up so he could be sure of any underlying conditions or allergies. It had revealed a peanut allergy (Gosalyn hated those anyway, so it wasn't a huge loss) but nothing else. 

"That's a relief," Darkwing says. "I don't have anything else." His voice is light, and it hits Gosalyn that he's joking. A smile tugs at the corner of her beak. 

Darkwing applies the gel as Gosalyn quietly watches him. She wonders if he doesn't know what to talk about, either. The silence isn't awkward, but it isn't at the same level of comfort as it would be with her dad. It is probably the same for Darkwing and his Gosalyn.

He finishes a few minutes later and washes his hands in the sink again as Gosalyn inspects the thick gel smothered over her wrists. It feels calming to her injuries, even if it hasn't alleviated the pain entirely. 

She resists the urge to press her wrists together to see if the gel is as sticky as it looks. 

"Bandages next, kiddo." Darkwing rejoins her and retrieves a thick roll of gauze bandage from the first aid kit. 

"I'm actually allergic to those," Gosalyn says dryly. Darkwing shoots her a look that says as if I believe that, young lady. It looks remarkably similar to her father's version of that look.

Darkwing wraps bandages loosely around her rope burns and ties both off with knots so expertly done that Gosalyn wonders if he had ever been a Junior Woodchuck. 

Or whatever the equivalent is in this universe. 

"Take a sip of this," Darkwing orders as he hands Gosalyn a glass of water she hadn't noticed was on the table the entire time. Gosalyn arches an eyebrow. 

"Why?"

"Because you threw up," Darkwing explains patiently. "You need to settle your stomach." When Gosalyn raises the glass to her mouth, Darkwing quickly adds, "Tiny sips, okay?" A playful smirk curves his beak. "I spent the entire afternoon cleaning this kitchen, and I don't need  you  throwing up everywhere." He taps her beak as he says 'you'. A laugh rises in Gosalyn's throat, but she is quick enough to stop it from coming through her lips. 

"Why, young lady, is that a smile I see?" Darkwing teases. Gosalyn hides her smile with the glass of water as she takes another sip.  

This moment is so easily familiar to her, so normal that her heart pangs for her dad.

"Are you really Drake Mallard?" Gosalyn asks. Darkwing pauses at the sudden change of subject, and though his smile doesn't fall, it does falter.

"Yeah, I am—" 

"Can I see?" 

Darkwing points to the purple mask that is enclosed around his blue eyes. "You mean—" 

"Yeah." Gosalyn shoves her hands into her hoodie pockets, then thinks better of it and awkwardly lies her hands on her lap. It takes her less than a second to fidget with one of the bandages. "If that's okay." 

Darkwing's smile remains in place, though something in it changes. "Of course, it's okay, Gos." 

'Gos' - it's a nickname only a few people have the privilege to use. Gosalyn will not hesitate to reprimand people who do not have that privilege. 

She remains quiet. 

Darkwing removes his hat and mask to reveal a middle-aged duck who looks the same age as her dad. 

More or less, anyway.

"How old are you? "Darkwing—no,  Drake, puts a thoughtful hand to his chin and studies her. "Eleven?"

Gosalyn tilts her head. "Is there a reason you're asking, or are you just bad at small talk? Also, yes, I'm eleven."

"Well, yes, I'm horrifically bad at small talk," Drake answers. "But I did ask for a reason." A sympathetic look slides over his face.

"The gel should've taken the edge off, but." Drake cradles Gosalyn's wrist. "I bet it still hurts." Gosalyn averts his gaze. "How bad? On a scale of one to ten?" 

"... Ten." 

It was true that the aloe vera did take the edge off. It is also true that a sharp, tearing pain flares in her wrists. 

Drake looses her wrist and his hand goes towards the first aid kit once more, leading Gosalyn to wonder why he didn't get out everything he needed at the same time earlier. When he pulls out what definitely looks like painkillers for children, Gosalyn can't stop the grimace at the corner of her lips. Drake rolls his eyes at her in a manner that speaks volumes of how much he struggles to get his Gosalyn to take medicine. 

"Don't give me that look; it's strawberry flavoured—and I've yet to meet a child who doesn't like strawberry flavour." 

Gosalyn sticks her hand out. "Nice to meet you; I'm a child who doesn't like strawberry flavour." 

Drake stares at her for a moment before he scoffs.

"Yeah, like I'm gonna fall for that one."

Gosalyn shrugs. "Suit yourself." 

"Do you think your stomach is settled enough to take it?"

Gosalyn considers a firm no. There's no chance in hell she will have that devil-made liquid rotting away inside her. 

But then she catches the concern that briefly flashes over Drake when she does not answer immediately. 

"Yeah, it's fine." It isn't a lie. The bile that had assaulted her throat immediately after throwing up is gone, with only a small amount of nausea sitting in her stomach now. The sips of water didn't aggravate it, so she assumes the medicine will be okay, too. 

"Perfect." Drake's tongue pokes out as he meticulously measures a minuscule pouring of the malicious medicine. 

(she's definitely spent far too much time around her dad and Uncle Scrooge) 

"Okay, little missy, open up," Drake instructs in a sing-songy voice. 

"What am I, fi—" The devil liquid is unceremoniously shoved into her open beak. The strawberry-flavoured medicine burns its way down her throat and into her system. 

"Sorry, but if you're anything like my Gosalyn, then I had to take the chance while I could," Drake explains apologetically. "I would rather not have to pin you down to force you to take it." 

(dad had done that once when she was refusing to take medicine; the bruises painted over his beak quickly ensured he never did that again) 

"You okay, sweetie?" 

(think of the mighty mallard, and he shall appear) 

Dad walks in, now in his usual purple flannel shirt. The concern twisting his face is easier to read now his mask and hat are gone.

(though if anyone can read her dad's expressions easily through his mask, it's her) 

His eyes wander over to Drake, and for a fleeting moment, he looks like he's seen a ghost. It turns Gosalyn's stomach in a manner that makes her realise she would regret bringing it up now, so she puts it on the back burner. 

Gosalyn silently points to the box that houses the offensive liquid worming through her body. 

Dad picks up the painkillers, and his eyes scan the box.

"Oh, I see." He turns to Drake, who quickly wipes off his judgmental look, presumably at her dad's fashion sense. "Have you got any orange juice? Gosalyn can't stand strawberry flavour." 

Drake has the good grace to look sheepish as he tells her dad where the orange is. Gosalyn happily drinks it. 

"Guess it's my turn to get changed now," Drake announces (she wonders why adults can't say what they actually mean),  leaving the kitchen. Gosalyn and her dad watch him go; Dad's eyes linger a little longer. 

"Dad, are you okay?" 

Her dad's fake smile returns. "Of course, I'm okay, pumpkin." He tousles her hair. Gosalyn shoots him a playful glare under his hand and shoves it away. Dad sighs with relief and pulls her into a hug. "You already seem better." 

Gosalyn's nose wrinkles. "And you still stink of salt water." 

--

The decor in the guest room is simple - it matches the rest of the house. Gosalyn fidgets with the bed sheet of the double bed. Dad has already told her off multiple times for fiddling with her bandages, but she can't keep her hands still. 

Dad brought them both to bed early. Gosalyn hadn't argued against his decision. She is exhausted, physically and mentally. Their counterparts must have guessed this because she and Dad hadn't been bothered for even a second after coming upstairs. 

Gosalyn knows her dad is tired, too. He hasn't said anything about asking their counterparts for clothes to wear to bed (not that she would have worn it) or even brushing their teeth - and he was usually as unyielding as a rock lodged deep into the ground.

Now, Dad is quiet as he prepares her for bed. Neither of them knows what to say. No, that isn't true. They both know exactly what to say - but neither wants to broach the subject. 

What had happened with Negaduck. Dad is desperate to ask, and Gosalyn is desperate to tell him. It sits heavily in the air, choking them - like a knife being held to their throats. 

Her hands begin to tremble. Tears prick at her eyes. She can still feel the cold touch of the knife, the unforgiving stare of Negaduck bearing judgment upon her. 

It won't be long before Dad notices she is shaking. Gosalyn diverts the attention from the unspoken subject to another that neither wants to talk about but is just as important.  

"Do you think we'll be here long?" Gosalyn's voice is quiet. She's afraid of the answer. Dad pauses as he sits behind her, wrestling her hair into a loose pineapple. 

"I don't know, Gos," Dad says. His tone is laden with truth, which makes Gosalyn's stomach turn. She does appreciate that her dad didn't sugarcoat his answer or attempt to soothe her fears. If he's truthful now, it saves her feelings from being hurt worse down the line. 

"... What are we going to do?" Gosalyn asks in a shaky voice. 

Dad doesn't hesitate to wrap an arm around her. Gosalyn snuggles into his elbow. She's only known her dad for a year and a half, but she can't believe she ever lived without these arms to swaddle her in an ocean of love.

"We take one day at a time. We take each new challenge as it comes." Dad's free fingers massage her hair, and he shifts to sit her on his lap. 

Gosalyn can pick up on all the tell-tale signs that she's being manipulated into falling asleep. 

(it's okay to be manipulated as long as you know you're being manipulated)

"We'll be okay, pumpkin."

Despite how horrifying their situation is, Gosalyn knows her dad isn't lying. As long as they have each other, they will be okay.

"Love you, Dad."

"I love you, too, my little angel."

Those words are all the warnings she gets before it begins. Dad turns her around and peppers her with kisses across her face while Gosalyn whines and tries to push him away. 

"Dad, no- gross!" She protests. 

Gosalyn lives for these times in her life. 

Chapter Text

By the time the sun comes peeking through the blue curtains, Drake Mallard has imagined over two-hundred scenarios to dispose of a body while making it seem accidental. Does he even need to bother with that detail, however? It's true that he has yet to learn what Negaduck looks like, what he sounds like, his M.O.—anything about the villain. But it's very likely to be true that if Negaduck were to vanish, with no trace left behind that he ever existed, then nobody would be in a rush - or even a leisurely pace - to mourn him. 

Nobody would miss him.  

“... Urgh…  the sun is like murder..."

His daughter greets the day with her usual brightness. Then his stomach twists with guilt at allowing such a thought to intrude. In less than 24 hours, Gosalyn was kidnapped, scared enough to throw up, and had her wrists wounded. It is incredibly fair that she is cranky this morning. 

Drake is just glad that Gosalyn has slept at all. Lord knows he hasn't been able to. All night, he had been lying awake in the unfamiliar bed and staring blankly up as he lay and worried that Gosalyn would be snatched away from him— again. 

He definitely needs a gallon of coffee pumped directly into his veins. His lack of sleep and murderous plans make for a moody Mallard, especially if his reflexive internal thoughts towards his daughter are mean-spirited. 

The young father puts his theatre degree to good use and forces a natural smile. Too warm, and Gosalyn will immediately know there's something wrong.

"Hey, pumpkin," Drake greets softly. He rakes a gentle hand through her now loose hair. The pineapple he had wrestled it into the previous night has fallen victim to her wild tossing and turning in the night. He wants to ask how she's feeling but thinks better of it. 

"Mornin', Pops…" Her eyes are half open, and her beak is twisted into a grouchy frown. She rubs her eyes as another groan croaks out of her mouth. "Time s'it?" 

"I don't know, pumpkin." Gosalyn is too sleepy to have the problem explained to her, Drake decides.  

"Check your phone?" 

"Gosalyn, I can't do that. It's all the way over there." Drake sits up and gestures in a theatrical manner to the nightstand right next to the bed. "And I'm all the way over here. It's impossible."

Drake doesn't bring up the fact that it doesn't matter what time it shows on the phone; it's synced to their universe, not this one.

Gosalyn pushes herself up and throws a tired glare at her father through straggling locks of red hair. Drake places a hand on her head. 

"I think you need a haircut soon, kiddo. It's getting pretty long."

Gosalyn tries to push him away. She's still very sleepy, so it doesn't work. He pushes back, causing Gosalyn to apply all of her strength. It isn't much. 

(though he doesn't doubt his little girl could flatten him in two seconds flat if she really wanted to) 

This back and forth continues until a look of defeat comes over Gosalyn, and her arms slump to her sides. "Dad," Gosalyn whines. 

"Gosalyn," Drake returns in the same whiny tone. He tousles her hair, to which she protests quietly, and then moves aside her hair to plant a kiss on her forehead. 

A rapid knock raps on the door, causing Drake to startle,  and it flies open to show a pigtailed duck wearing a purple jersey. A familiar backpack is slung over her shoulder. 

"Great, you're up!" She races over to the bed and considers leaping onto it before deciding against it. "I kept your bag safe for you, Gos!" She shrugs the bag onto the bed and holds up her right hand. "Swear I didn't look inside it." 

Gosalyn doesn't waste any time opening her backpack to retrieve her phone. If Drake knows his daughter ‒ and he does ‒ she is about to ask for the Wi-Fi password. 

"What's the Wi-Fi password?" 

The other Gosalyn couldn't have been more bewildered, as though Gosalyn had said something completely foreign.

"I don't know…? Ask my dad; he probably knows. Oh yeah, he said to come down ASAP because he's got a plan for what to do."

Drake chuckles, "We'll be down soon." He places his hand on Gosalyn's head. "Someone is still a bit of a sleepyhead." He catches Gosalyn's foot before it can connect with his gut. 

The other Gosalyn places her arms on the bed, resting her head on them. "Yeah, so's my dad. He's so annoying about it, too." She tilts her head and smiles at Gosalyn. "How are ya feelin'?" 

There's something in her tone that picks at Drake. He isn't sure ‒ he barely knows this girl ‒ but something hidden in her voice suggests she's sharing a secret with Gosalyn. 

Gosalyn mumbles an answer. Drake ignores it. There is a cold numbness creeping through his veins. 

Negaduck had also kidnapped the other Gosalyn; if her tone is anything to go by, she knows more than she is letting on. The two Gosalyn share a secret, and neither is willing to release it. 

Drake's eyes dance over his daughter's counterpart as the ducklings talk. No injuries. No wounds. No bandages. He can't be sure until he asks, but on the surface, it seems that two Gosalyns had gone into that warehouse—and only one had come out in a worsened condition.

And it happened to be the one that Negaduck had never met. Drake can't shake the feeling that there's something else going on here. 

"Dad?" 

Gosalyn's voice pulls his attention back. Both girls pause their conversation to stare at him. The other Gosalyn has a clear expression of concern, while his Gosalyn hides it behind a tired stare. Drake forces a smile and a laugh. 

"Sorry." He means it, too. "I was just daydreaming." It's close enough to the truth that Drake ignores the pang of guilt that always stabs his stomach when he lies to Gosalyn, no matter how big or small. 

The two ducklings exchange a look, and with a shrug, the pigtailed Gosalyn rises to her feet.

"I'll see you downstairs." She closes the door with a soft click.

"You sure you're okay?" Gosalyn asks the moment the door is shut. The carefully guarded walls from before are down, and Gosalyn allows her concern to shine. Drake gives her a warm, honest smile and puts his hand back on her head. Gosalyn doesn't attempt to shove it away this time. 

"How could I not be okay with my little girl by my side?" Drake says honestly. 

Gosalyn's eyes dance across his face, carefully watching for any cracks on the surface. Drake imagines this is what it feels like to be interrogated by the police in a dark room, a dim light bulb swinging overhead. 

She seems to believe him or doesn't want to talk about it because Gosalyn straightens her beak and hops from the bed to prepare herself for the day. 

This is one of Drake's favourite moments of the day, on the rare occasion he's witness to it. He loves to watch Gosalyn throw her hair up in a messy ponytail and slip on the same old hoodie abandoned on the floor at night for a solid week before checking herself out in the mirror and shrugging at her reflection. 

She does all this now  (and she had still thrown the hoodie on the floor, even though Drake recalls telling her not to), except when she checks herself out in the mirror, she pauses to pull at her bandages. Drake has to resist rushing over to stop her; he's self-conscious of how much he sometimes micromanages Gosalyn. Drake sits on his hands. 

Gosalyn peers at the inside of her bandages and pulls a face. 

"Everything okay, pumpkin?" It isn't micromanaging to ask a question. 

(if that's what helps you sleep at night, Mallard) 

"I thought it would look more disgusting," Gosalyn says as she looks at the other wrist. "But they're just kinda all red and wet." She takes a closer look and scrunches her beak. "Oh, I guess they're kinda swollen."

Drake ignores the pang of dread in his heart.

"Does it hurt?" 

"A little? Not bad enough that I'm taking that horrible medicine again!"

Her face says otherwise. It isn't displayed in big, flashing lights, but Drake knows how to read his daughter. Her wounds probably don't hurt as much as Drake worries they do ‒ but they are painful enough that Gosalyn secretly wishes for painkillers. 

Drake is torn between wanting to take his daughter's pain away and honouring what she has said she wants. After all, Gosalyn is eleven, not three; she's old enough to know what she wants. 

"I wish Launchpad was here." 

Drake hadn't been expecting his daughter to say that, yet he's not surprised. He has no idea how he or Gosalyn ever dragged themselves through a morning before Launchpad moved in. Launchpad will cook them breakfast without complaint, with no requests too big or small for him. After breakfast, Launchpad will sit with Gosalyn in her room and lovingly brush her hair before throwing it up into her usual ponytail. Then, Launchpad will drop Gosalyn off at school, which allows Drake to crawl back into the pit that vaguely resembles his bed. 

When Drake usually wakes, somewhere around noon, the apartment is always slightly cleaner than it was that morning, and Launchpad will have coffee ready to go. The two will chat as they complete mundane household chores, mainly about Gosalyn, Darkwing Duck, both real and the T.V. show, and the McDuck family - Drake never really cares. He just cherishes each second spent with Launchpad. 

 (... fuck, he really misses Launchpad right now) 

"I know, honey. Me, too." 

Gosalyn smiles sympathetically. Her eyes dart around the room, and she runs over to the dresser, shoved against the wall. She starts going through the drawers and eventually fishes out a hairbrush. The redhead turns it over a couple of times. 

As Gosalyn hands the hairbrush to Drake, he readily takes it and invites her to stand between his legs. The hairbrush is probably not designed for curly hair, like Gosalyn's personal hairbrush, but it doesn't matter. Drake gently untangles Gosalyn's hair tie, watching each wave cascade down. Once all have been freed from their elastic prison, Drake delicately drives the brush through the sea of curls.

As expected, the brush does more to straighten than curl. Drake has an inkling that Gosalyn won't care; it isn't the point. If she genuinely cared how her hair looked, she would have kept it up in the ponytail and not asked at all. 

When Gosalyn decides she's had enough, she steps forward and throws her hair back up in a ponytail, uncaring if each strand is messy or tidy. 

With Gosalyn's morning routine all but finished, Drake finds the bathroom to have a quick wash  (no matter how hard he scrubs, the smell of seawater will not go away)  and then pulls Gosalyn to it so they can brush her teeth. She has the usual protest of 'But Dad, it makes more sense to do it after breakfast', along with a new protest that she doesn't want to brush her teeth with her finger. Drake quickly shuts that particular argument down by reminding her how much more gross it would be to use their counterparts' toothbrushes.

That particular arduous task done with, the two head downstairs. Though it won't compare to Launchpad's exemplary coffee  (seriously, it never tastes the same when Drake brews it),  the aroma of coffee is enough to provide a spring in Drake's step.  

Just as they step through the double doors to the kitchen and Drake is about to remind Gosalyn to be on her best behaviour, a burst of laughter comes from his daughter. 

Gosalyn rushes to clamp her hand on her beak, stifling giggles behind it. From his place in front of the coffee machine, wearing a green argyle vest over a pink shirt, the other Drake throws a tired but fierce look in her direction. "And what is so funny, young lady?" 

When Gosalyn takes too long to answer for his liking, Drake clears his throat in an overly exaggerated manner. He knows precisely what Gosalyn finds 'so funny', and even though he is inclined to agree  (no, but seriously, that green vest is visually offensive),  it doesn't mean Gosalyn should be laughing out loud at it.  

"Nothing! Nothing!" Gosalyn hastily defends, waving her hands. "Well, I mean, not at you or your clo‒" Drake elbows Gosalyn in the shoulder before her metaphoric hole becomes too cavernous. Gosalyn shoots him a dirty look. Drake returns it in abundance, crossing his arms for emphasis. 

Gosalyn's expression quickly shifts from irritation to defeat. Then, with a shove of her hands into her pockets, she clears her throat and mumbles, "Sorry. That was rude of me." 

There's a brief flash of a frown on the other Drake's face. Then, he coughs as he pours a cup of coffee into a salmon-coloured mug, the words' #1 Dad' emboldened in green.

"Well‒ uh‒ thank you. I appreciate that." His eyes flicker to her bandaged wrists. "Let me check those later, okay?" 

"Sure," Gosalyn says easily. 

Drake runs his hand over Gosalyn's hair, smiling down at her when she glances up. He then leads her over to the booth-style table in the corner of the kitchen, where the other Gosalyn mercilessly destroys a bowl of cereal, its sugar content undoubtedly more than double the young girl's weight. However, the instant the father and daughter sit, the cereal is swiftly abandoned and the pigtailed duck rounds on her counterpart, shoving her hand into her face. 

"Gosalyn Mallard, freelance journalist!" She announces solemnly, her expression matching her tone. Gosalyn blinks and cautiously shakes her hand. 

"Uh, hi?" 

"I've got a few questions to ask you, Miss…?" 

Another blink. "Mallard?" 

"Good name, doll, it suits ya." 

Drake doesn't recall another time he's seen Gosalyn look so taken aback and confused. He hides a barely contained smile behind his hand. A sneaker meets his shin seconds later under the table.

"First things first: how did you meet Darkwing, and did you punch him in the gut?" 

Drake doesn't miss the low, fond chuckle from his counterpart.

"That feels… oddly specific," Gosalyn comments. She leans forward, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Did you punch your dad in the gut when you first met him?"

"Sure did!" The other Gosalyn confirms proudly. "He was kidnapping me, so I gave him what for!" She emphasises this by pounding a fist into her hand. 

"I was not kidnapping you."

"The authorities wouldn't see it that way, Dad." 

The other Drake seems to sense he won't win this, so he lets it drop, but not without a mutter below his breath. 

"So? What did you do?" the other Gosalyn prompts.

"I kicked him in the face," Gosalyn says nonchalantly. 

Drake pats the spot where Gosalyn had kicked him on that fateful night. "I think I still have a bruise from that." 

The other Gosalyn looks at something underneath the table for a minute, and then when she looks up, she asks, "Second question ‒ are you from the future?"

"Future?" Drake and Gosalyn chorus, then exchange a glance. "What makes you say that?" Gosalyn asks. 

Her counterpart shrugs. "Just a hunch. And Dad thinks your clothes are too unfashionable to be from this time."

"Gosalyn!" 

"What? You're the one who said it!" 

"That doesn't mean you have to repeat it!" 

"Hey, don't do the crime if you can't do the time! Anyway," she shifts her attention away from her father to face her counterpart. Her father mimics her words in a mocking tone under his breath. "What was the year before you came here?" 

"2021‒" 

The other Gosalyn flies to her feet, slamming her hands on the table, causing Drake and Gosalyn to jump. The other Drake doesn't react, probably too desensitised to his daughter by now. 

"2021?!" She repeats, enunciating each syllable. "Keen gear! That’s… uh… uh…” Her eyes wander over to her father.

"Twenty-eight," he supplies patiently.

"Twenty-eight years from now!" The other Gosalyn exclaims. The smile curving her beak would be enough to power two entire cities. "You really are from the future!" 

Drake quickly does the maths in his head, though Gosalyn speaks first. 

"Wait, so this is 1993?" Gosalyn exhales through her nostril and slumps back in the booth. "Maldita sea. That means no Wi-Fi." 

"Language, young lady!" Drake hisses, cheeks reddening. 

"Daaad, I didn't say it in English." 

"And I don't care if you say it in Taiwanese; you still said it." 

"What, what?" The other Gosalyn chirps, her eyes wide and sparkling. "What did she say?" 

The other Drake speaks up, undoubtedly so his daughter doesn't learn how to curse in Spanish. "Let me get this straight: not only have you travelled from another dimension, but you've travelled in time?" 

Drake knows he should be the one to answer. He's too busy enjoying the coffee the other Drake placed in front of him moments ago. It isn't as good as Launchpad's, but it is close. 

"It looks that way." Gosalyn's brow knots as she straightens. "Unless our dimensions exist simultaneously, and ours is further ahead, while yours is behind ours. As far as I know, the Ra‒" 

Gosalyn immediately stops herself, her eyes wide and unmoving. It isn't because she wants to keep the name of that machine from their counterparts; it's because she still can't bear to say it out loud. Ever since the incident, Gosalyn hasn't ever let that name pass her lips. It isn't as though she is unable to allude to the machine, but saying its name will shut her down instantly.

Drake wraps his arm around his daughter's shoulders, pulling her closer to him. Gosalyn nestles into his embrace, resting her arm on his chest. He admires how strong and brave his little girl is, but even she has moments when her defences crumble.

"It's okay," Drake comforts. "You don't have to say it. Do you want to talk about something else?" Gosalyn nods in a muted manner. Drake's blue eyes travel around the kitchen for something interesting enough to completely steer the conversation away from that machine. 

Blue eyes land on uncertain green eyes. Drake silently implores her to continue with her journalist bit. 

The pigtailed duck swallows, seeming to understand the weight of her assignment. With less enthusiasm than before, the other Gosalyn picks up a notepad and pencil that Drake hadn't noticed she even had and flips it open. 

"Erm, let's see‒ uh…." 

"When's your birthday?" Three heads turn to the other Drake, kneeling by Gosalyn with a warm, friendly smile. "I bet it's September 6th, huh?" 

A small smile briefly lifts Gosalyn's beak. "Y-yeah. It is. September 6th 2010."

"Yours is May 17th," the other Gosalyn states, pointing at Drake. 

"Yeah. It is," Drake replies, friendly. "May 17th 1987."

The other Gosalyn's jaw drops open. " Whoa. That makes me older than you! Keen gear, I'm older than another version of my dad!" 

Smirking, her dad nudges her, eyebrows raised.

"I don't think that's how it works, little missy." 

She pokes her tongue out.

"That's how it works in my head." The pigtailed duck picks up her notepad and pencil again and looks at Gosalyn. "Who's your best friend?" She asks with renewed enthusiasm. 

"Dewey," Gosalyn replies without hesitation. Her counterpart's expression crumbles fleetingly. "And definitely Boyd, he's cool. Webby, too. Oh, and Lena and Violet!" Gosalyn fishes her phone from her pocket. "I have pictures; wanna see?" 

Both the other Drake and Gosalyn frown at the phone.

"You… you have pictures on that?" the other Gosalyn asks uncertainly. Gosalyn pauses. 

"Uh, yeah? It's my phone?" Her eyes travel to Drake, her expression screaming Dad, you're ancient; help me out here? 

(he's just barely old enough to have plausibly fathered an 11-year-old, ACTUALLY) 

Drake tries to remember what phones were like in 1993 when he was six. Images of his mothers, more his mom than his mum, glued to a singular position by the wall and talking for what felt like hours to him, twirling a cord around their fingers. 

His explanation begins awkwardly when Drake realises he has the full attention of everyone in the room, especially that of his counterpart, who has one thumb under his beak. 

"Well, uh, phones have come a long way since 1993." Drake retrieves his phone from his shirt pocket. "They're like computers‒ well, uh, way more powerful than any computers you might have." 

"Doubtful," his counterpart snarks. "The computer in the tower is pre-tty powerful." 

"... Right." Drake decides not to go down that particular route. His phone, almost certainly, holds more than twenty times the processing power of the computer of this Darkwing's tower. 

Of course, his phone has been upgraded by one of the most intelligent, if not the most intelligent, scientists of their time and, thus, is far more durable and powerful than the average smartphone on the market. But he won't mention that tidbit, either. 

"So, anyway, our phones are have evolved beyond just being for communication," Drake continues. "Gosalyn was born in 2010, so she's grown up with the idea of phones having cameras as the norm. But now, in 2021, the technology has advanced so much that it's almost rare to find a phone without a camera.

The other Drake and Gosalyn are silent as they take in the information until the other Gosalyn speaks up, "Dad, can I‒" 

"Gosalyn, I can't buy you something that doesn't exist yet." 

"So?" 

 "So, it's‒ oh, never mind." 

Gosalyn, who had occupied herself with scrolling through her gallery, shuffles to her counterpart. "Here's a good picture; there's Dewey, and this one is Boyd, Lena, her sister Violet, Webby‒" 

"Is that‒ Launchpad?" 

"Uh?" Gosalyn pinches the screen to zoom in. "Yeah, that's Launchpad." 

"Whoa, you have a Launchpad, too?" The pigtailed duck crawls over the table to go beak-to-beak with Drake. "Is he your sidekick?!" 

Drake averts his eyes as his face reddens.

"I… guess?" 

Was that really how you could refer to a guy you ‒  platonically  ‒ live with? A guy who was the entire reason you were a father in the first place? 

Gosalyn crosses her arms, smiling slyly. There's a touch of dread in the pit of Drake's stomach; good things have never followed that expression.

"No, no, no, look at his face. They're boyf‒" 

Drake has never moved so quickly in his life. He throws his hand over Gosalyn's beak and laughs nervously. "Kids, they have such active- ACK! GOSALYN!" Drake jerks his hand away as Gosalyn leans back, looking extremely pleased with herself.

Drake wipes his saliva-covered hand on her face. 

"Dad! That's disgusting!" 

"It came from your mouth in the first place." 

"If you have a Launchpad, do you have a Morgana, too?" 

Drake and Gosalyn turn their head at the same time at the pigtailed duckling. They exchange a glance and then shrug. 

"Who's that?" Gosalyn asks. Drake doesn't need to be told when a blush spreads over his counterpart's face. 

"Dad's girlfriend. He always gets so mushy around her, blah." 

"I do not!" The aforementioned mallard whines. "Anyway." He clears his throat. "That brings me perfectly to my plans for getting you two back home." 

Gosalyn arches her eyebrows. "... Your girlfriend is gonna help us get back home?" Her father's counterpart nods in a very sure of himself-manner until something best described as remembering your worst nightmare hits his face. 

What kind of woman is this 'Morgana'? 

"Uh, maybe?" He clears his throat and forces a severe expression. "Anyway, there is something more important we need to take care of before that." 

--

The 'something more important' is a trip to the mall. The 1993 Drake gives Drake and Gosalyn a budget of 150 dollars to buy whatever they thought most important. Though grateful for the money in the first place, Drake worries that more than 150 dollars are needed to buy even ten of what they need. 

Until he buys clothes for Gosalyn, and the price tags are much lower than he has come to expect. So he goes a little crazy after that, buying seven new outfits for Gosalyn, including one with a cute red cardigan, a white blouse with a scalloped collar, and a black chiffon tie hanging from the collar, with a grey skirt to complete it. Gosalyn had been hesitant to try it on; her tomboyish qualities resisted it, but when she looked at herself in the mirror, Drake saw the tiniest of smiles on her beak.

By the time they finish, Drake has managed to spread the 150 dollars far enough for clothes for both himself and Gosalyn, special hair products for Gosalyn, toiletries, a sewing kit to repair his singed cape with, plus fabric, and even some accessories to go along with Gosalyn's new outfits. 

Drake feels a bit apprehensive about having purchased so many items, wondering if it's a sign that he's subconsciously expecting to stay for an extended period of time. But he quickly reassures himself that it's just his natural tendency as a father to be prepared for any situation. Plus, even if they return home tomorrow, at least Gosalyn now has some adorable new outfits that will still be in style in their year.

New outfits that, even if Gosalyn won't wear when they return home, he has photographic evidence of her in. Yes, he had to be the typical dad and coo and squeal over each outfit Gosalyn tried on in the fitting room. Yes, he practically forced her to be a model and pose as he snapped hundreds of pictures, but when you have the cutest child to ever have graced the earth, how could he not?

When they arrive back at 1993 Drake's home, the first thing that Drake does is take a long, long shower in a desperate bid to finally vanquish the sinister seawater from his skin. Besides, he had slept in the same clothes he had worn all day, which was disgusting. The hot water and steam feel great for his aching body, too, still sore from huddling in the Thunderquack and leaping into the icy waters of the bay.

When he steps into the guest bedroom an hour later, rubbing at his head feathers with a towel and now dressed in a pink t-shirt and green open button-up plaid shirt, he is greeted by Gosalyn staring at herself in the mirror and pulling at the strap of her denim overalls, worn over a purple shirt. 

Drake pauses, his hand frozen in motion. He sneaks a glance at his phone sitting on the nightstand. If he's stealthy enough  (and he's Darkwing Duck, of course, he is),  he can grab his phone without Gosalyn ever noticing. He maps out the route in his head, then puts it into action.

He's two steps into the room when Gosalyn firmly says, "Don't even think about it."

Drake throws his daughter an innocent smile. "Don't what, Gos?"

Gosalyn turns from the mirror and jabs a sharp finger his way.

"You know exactly what. It's not like you didn't get hundreds of pictures already."

"Right," Drake agrees, then breaks into a grin, "Which means another two - or twenty - won't hurt!" He makes a mad dash for his cell phone, but Gosalyn is quicker as she darts across the bed and grabs it. 

"That's it, young man. You just lost your phone privileges." Gosalyn crosses her arms, tucking Drake's phone underneath her arm. An amused smile twitches at Drake's mouth. "Besides, you were the one that said we should conserve our batteries and switch our cellphones off. I have."

Drake copies his daughter's pose and levels her with a dry look.

"Really? Show me."

Gosalyn hesitates.

"... Well, I'm going to. Anyway." She dangles Drake's phone between her thumb and finger. "You can have this back if you promise to behave."

Drake takes in his daughter's demeanour. Playfulness is at the forefront, but frustration threatens to take hold if Drake pursues his desire to take more pictures. 

"Okay, I promise." Drake keeps his voice neutral; he doesn't want Gosalyn to think he's relenting to her, that he's upset he can't have his way, because it isn't like that at all. 

The single aspiration he strives for, above all else, is to keep his little girl happy. Therefore, if Gosalyn does not want more pictures taken, no camera shall be pointed in her direction. 

Gosalyn visibly relaxes and, as promised, hands him back his phone without hesitation or inkling that she thinks he'll immediately break his promise. His daughter's unwavering belief in him makes his heart soar to heights he never thought possible. 

Drake turns his phone off and pockets it. He has no doubt that the battery could probably last for the duration of their "stay", but it's better to be safe than sorry. Even though they likely won't require their phones here, they'll almost definitely need them when they return home. 

There's no guarantee that they'll return at exactly the same time they left or even on the same day. 

(and he's definitely going to ignore the growing anxiety that they'll be stuck here forever) 

There's a slight knock at the open bedroom door. Drake and Gosalyn turn to see a pigtailed duckling at the door.

"You ready to go?" She asks. Drake and Gosalyn look at each other, nod, and turn back. 

"We're ready." 

--

The group walks up to what Drake assumes is Morgana's home. It looms over its small patch, wedged between two skyscrapers. The house is a grey, wooden Gothic home. 

Drake bends to Gosalyn's level and whispers, "People my age would commit multiple felonies to own a house like this."

"Dad, they'd commit multiple felonies just to own a house," Gosalyn whispers back.

"Touché." 

"But what I don't get," Gosalyn raises her voice, "is why he has to be Darkwing for this, but Dad was told not to be." 

Darkwing chuckles bashfully.

"Well, Morgana just… prefers me like this," he explains, drawing out every word. "Besides, your dad's cape still needs to be repaired. No self-respecting superhero would dare step out with-" 

"Dad's letting his jealousy get the better of him. He's worried about what Morgana will do if there are two Darkwings." Darkwing throws a look over his shoulder at his daughter.  

"Oh, you mean she has a fetish for uniforms?" 

Drake gapes at his daughter. "Gosalyn! Where did you learn that word?" 

Gosalyn pauses before her beak lifts in a smirk. "Oh, cool, that means I used it correctly."

"I‒ I‒ uh‒ uh‒ no!" Drake splutters. "No, that is not the correct meaning of that word! However, I don't want to hear that word out of your mouth again." 

Gosalyn shrugs.

"Definitely the correct meaning," she mumbles to her counterpart, who nods. 

They reach the front door. Darkwing pulls a breath spray from his cape, prompting his daughter to roll her eyes. He stands there for what seems to be an eternity, preening himself and checking himself in the reflection of the gargoyle knocker. Finally, with a mumble of "for god's sake…." his Gosalyn pushes past and dramatically rings the doorbell. 

"Hey!" Darkwing pouts, sounding like a petulant child. "I wasn't ready!" 

"We'd all die of old age before you were ready, Dad."  

The door swings open, revealing—nobody. There is nobody on the other side. 

"Cool!" Gosalyn declares. Knowing his daughter all too well, Drake grabs her by the back of her T-shirt to stop her from running off into the definitely haunted house. 

A dark hallway stretches before them, with countless doors on either side. Darkwing, holding his daughter's hand, strolls into the house with the demeanour of someone wholly used to it. Drake supposes that makes sense. This is his girlfriend's house.

… Right? 

(a small part of him tells him that, actually, this entire thing has been an elaborate setup by the ghost of Jim Starling hellbent on getting revenge, and now he's being led straight to his untimely and grizzly demise) 

"I swear, the layout of this house changes every time we come here," 1993 Gosalyn comments, as though she was talking about weather behavioural patterns. 

The group walk until Darkwing abruptly stops at a door. His hand is inches away from it, then it flies open, and a tall woman clad in a figure-hugging red dress has her arms thrown around Darkwing before Drake can comprehend what is happening. 

"Dark, darling!" The tall woman exclaims affectionately. 

"H..Hi, Morg," Darkwing groans, struggling to get his breath out. 

"This is a surprise, though I must admit I was about to ring you. What's the…" Her voice dies down as her eyes land on Drake and Gosalyn. "...occasion?" In an instant, she's standing in front of them and taking in every detail of them. Drake puts his hands around Gosalyn's shoulders, who is, to no surprise, staring up at Morgana like she's the greatest thing since  Darkwing Duck. 

Darkwing clears his throat. "Morgana, this is-" 

"You and Gosalyn from another dimension," Morgana finishes distractedly. 

"Myself and Gosalyn from another dimen‒  what ?" Darkwing visibly deflates. "How did you know that already?" 

"Well, they've… oh, how can I put this?" Morgana draws to her full height and puts a thumb under her chin. "Imagine we all have small particles of energy floating around us, and with each different dimension, those particles change. They might change in colour, in shape, or size." As she talks, Morgana wanders over to a red sofa that Drake hadn't noticed was there before. 

Now that he looks around, it isn't the only thing that wasn't there before. An entire living room has appeared out of nowhere, replacing the hallway they had been in.

"The point is," Morgana continues, "we are all surrounded by this invisible energy. Only the top witches and wizards can see it. Unfortunately, my powers are nowhere close to seeing this aura. But I can sense it. Drake and Gosalyn have a different aura from us. Ours feels like the colour purple, and theirs feels like the colour green."

"Oh, neat, she's a witch, just like Lena!" Gosalyn exclaims while her counterpart asks, "How the heck do you feel a colour?"

"Besides," Morgana has a sly smirk as she stalks towards Drake. He gulps and takes a step back. "Look how cute he is!" The witch takes Drake's chin and tilts it to observe him further. "How could he not be you?" 

Darkwing bursts into strangled exclamations.

Morgana brings Drake closer and, her eyes narrowed like a hunter coming down on its prey, asks, "How old are you? Twenty-five, twenty-six?" 

If he wasn't intimidated by this woman with the big hair, long nails, and piercing green eyes, Drake would have celebrated that his skincare routine works. Instead, he stammers, "T-thirty-four, actually…."

Morgana's smile widens. "Thirty-four, really?" She finally releases him and pulls away. "Keep up the skincare routine."

"Hmph. I don't have a skincare routine, and I look fantastic for my age," Darkwing mutters. 

"Aren't you forty?" Gosalyn says. Darkwing gives a strained laugh.

"No, Dad's thirty-nine," 1993 Gosalyn happily corrects. Darkwing pulls his hat over his face.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Gosalyn!" Morgana drops to her knees before the pigtailed Gosalyn and yanks her into her arms. "I haven't yet said 'hello' to you." She pecks the girl's cheek; Drake expects 1993 Gosalyn to complain, but the girl does not utter even a single noise of disgust. Rather the opposite. 1993 Gosalyn melts into Morgana's embrace, returning the same level of affection. 

"It's okay, Morgana." The duckling draws away. "We've got more important things to think about, like…." She zips over to Gosalyn, grabs her by the arm and hauls her to Morgana. "Just look how cute my counterpart is!" 

Morgana chuckles. "You're right." She cocks her head as she sinks to her knees. "It's very nice to meet you, Gosalyn." 

"One of my friends is a witch," Gosalyn instantly brags. Drake pinches the bridge of his nose while Morgana laughs. 

"And I'm sure she's an excellent one, too." 

"Can we please get back to the matter at hand here?" Darkwing urges. 

"Matter at hand? What would that be?" 

It doesn't inspire confidence in Drake that Morgana's expression and tone are blank. In fact, it makes his stomach churn.

"Well, you know‒ a spell to get these two back home?" There's a slow realisation creeping over Darkwing's face. Drake's stomach churns again.

"I see." Morgana smiles, but it does not reach her eyes. "Dark, I'm flattered that you've such faith in my abilities, but there's nothing I can do. I'm afraid this is a matter of science, not magic." The witch faces Drake and Gosalyn, the former of which draws the latter close. "I'm truly sorry. I wish there was something I could do." 

"It's okay," Gosalyn says honestly. Drake squeezes her shoulders, and she flashes a quick smile up at him. 

Morgana's smile deepens.

"If you'd like, Gosalyn, I could show you some spells—if that's okay with your father, that is?" 

Drake waves a permissive hand.

"Go ahead." As long as Gosalyn isn't taught any spells, there isn't really any harm to come from it. 

"In fact, why don't you all stay for dinner? I was going to spend the night preparing some new dishes I came up with for my restaurant, anyway. You can all be my guinea pigs." 

It isn't until much later, when all dishes have been tried, that Drake understands why Darkwing looked seriously ill at their mere mention.

--

Walking around Darkwing's house unchaperoned doesn't feel right, even if it's only to retrieve his costume from the tumble dryer. Gosalyn was showing off her new bandages to her counterpart after Darkwing changed them, and Darkwing was… well—Drake isn't sure where Darkwing is. It's partly the reason why Drake feels uncomfortable.

Darkwing isn't  Jim Starling. Drake knows this; he's repeated it like a mantra in his head over one-hundred times today. Still, there's no denying the pit in his stomach at the thought of running into the older man and being alone with him. 

Drake pauses before the double doors to the kitchen. He is sure access to the utility room is through the kitchen, yet a voice in his head tells him not to enter. He does, anyway. 

And almost dies of embarrassment on the spot. 

Darkwing, still in his costume, sits at the table with a sewing kit laid before him and a needle and cape in his hands. Drake's cape. Darkwing glances up, eyebrows raised.

Drake instantly feels like a child caught sneaking around a stranger's house. "I‒ uh‒ utility room‒ looking‒ I was." Drake stops himself and takes a moment. "I was‒ I was looking for the utility room." 

Darkwing's eyes linger on him before returning down. "It's through the door by the stairs." Drake freezes; he hadn't even noticed that door! "I presume you were looking for this?" Darkwing holds up the cape. 

Drake numbly nods. "I was go-going to fix it."

(god, he sounds PATHETIC) 

"Nah, don't worry about it." Darkwing resumes stitching at one of the many singed holes in the cape. "I've had to repair many a singed cape over the past nineteen years." He only looks slightly smug when Drake's mouth drops open. 

" Ni-nineteen? You've been Darkwing for nineteen years?" Being Darkwing for a decade is unthinkable to Drake, who's only been Darkwing for just over a year, but almost two decades is entirely unfathomable. 

"Yep," Darkwing says like it's the most normal thing in the world. "I've been Darkwing since I was but a lad of eighteen." 

Drake stares at Darkwing in complete wonder. To be Darkwing from such a young age, since he was practically still a child … 

"How did this happen, anyway?" Darkwing suddenly asks. Dumbfounded by what 'this' refers to, Drake can only blink. "The burns?" 

Oh. Drake pokes his head out of the kitchen doorway to be utterly sure that Gosalyn isn't near or in a position to be able to hear him. Then, he sits down at the table and takes a deep breath. 

Gosalyn isn't the only one still unable to think about that night. 

"It happened when we were pulled into this dimension by a device called the Waddlemeyer Ramrod." 

Darkwing immediately stops. His blue eyes slowly pan up to Drake's, and when he speaks, it's as though someone has his throat in a tight grip.

"What did you just say?" 

--

"... And this is the soccer ball I kicked into Tank Muddlefoot's stupid face! Oh, and this beauty is the first and last science project I made. Well, what remains of it, anyway." 

Gosalyn barely listens as 1993 Gosalyn races around her room to showcase various precious possessions. 

There's a dull ache in her wrists as her mind races. 

"Things change, kid."  

Why did he let her go the moment he learnt who she was? Why did he act so familiar with the other Gosalyn? Why did he seem so overprotective of her? Why did he have the same voice as Darkwing? 

"Who's Negaduck?" 

"Yep, I trashed- huh?" 1993 Gosalyn pauses as it hits her what Gosalyn said. "'Who's Negaduck'?" She repeats. "I thought you already knew?" 

"Sorry. I lied just to seem cool. We don't have a Negaduck in our universe. At least, not one that  I'm  aware of." 

For a moment, all 1993 Gosalyn can do is stare at her. Then, she breathes and murmurs a quiet "Oh." Finally, she sits on the bed next to Gosalyn, eyes staring down at the floor. "I guess he's like you." 

"Like me?" Gosalyn is torn between being offended and completely bewildered. 

"Uh, yeah. He's… Dad, but he's‒" 

"From another universe," both finish. 1993 Gosalyn is taken aback for a second but swiftly recovers and nods.

"How did he end up here?" 

1993 Gosalyn shrugs. "I asked once, but he told me to buzz off and mind my own business." 

Gosalyn rolls her eyes with a scoff. "What an  ass ." 

"Yeah…" 1993 Gosalyn brings her head up, her eyes full of remorse. "I'm really sorry about what he did to you." Her eyes flicker, not to Gosalyn's bandages, but to her neck. "He's been stupidly overprotective of me for about a year now. I don't even know why, other than the fact he's Drake Mallard, and I guess  any  Drake Mallard is an overbearing jerk." 

"Tell me about it." There's a beat of silence. Then, Gosalyn's entire face brightens. "That's it!" 1993 Gosalyn knots her brow. 

"What's it?" 

Gosalyn jumps up from the bed to stand before 1993 Gosalyn. "He's from  another universe !" 

"Yeah…?" Gosalyn quietens as she allows her counterpart to get it. She finally does a second later, her face brightening just as Gosalyn's did. "Keen gear! That's a great idea! Nice to know I'm a genius in at least one universe." 

"Do you think he'll actually help, though? He doesn't exactly seem the type." 

"He'll definitely be a jerk about it at first. However, some well-placed kicks and a threat to never speak to him again will quickly remedy that. Besides, he knows that you're me now, so he'll be more willing to help."

If she's honest with herself, Gosalyn doesn't want to ask Negaduck for help; the thought of seeing him again terrifies her. It makes her skin crawl. But she also doesn't know what other option they have. 

He's a Drake Mallard who has successfully travelled to another dimension. 

It's with that thought that something suddenly occurs to her. "Does he have his own Gosalyn?"

A soft but sad look comes over 1993 Gosalyn. "I've wondered that, too," she admits. "But I never wanted to ask in case…." Her downcast eyes snap up to Gosalyn, who immediately hears the unspoken words and understands. 

She wouldn't want to know that either. 

1993 Gosalyn shakes her head, and the sad look is replaced by determination. "We'll sneak out tonight and ask for his help." She gets up and takes Gosalyn's hands. "This will work. I promise you." 

Gosalyn almost believes her. 

--

He stands in front of the pile of garbage that was once the Waddlemeyer Ramrod, his breathing heavy like the weight of the mace in his hand. It's as though he can't feel anything at all. It's not fair that he got so close only to fall at the last hurdle. 

It isn't fair. 

It isn't fair. 

IT ISN'T FAIR. 

He strikes the Ramrod again and again and again until the mace falls to the ground with a loud thud. 

The realization of what he's done hits him hard, just like the mace on the Ramrod. He's destroyed the machine that could have brought his little girl back to him, the same machine that took him a whole year to build.

And now, he'll never see her again. He brought the wrong Gosalyn here, and he won't be able to see his Gosalyn ever again. He falls to the floor, screaming in unbridled rage.

Chapter Text

"What's your Launchpad like?" 

The question gives Quiverwing pause as she digs through her closet for her hat. "My Launchpad? Well, he's, uh‒ he's nice. Really nice. And funny. He's always cracking me up. He's supportive as long as I'm not hurting myself or others. He… I guess he'll do anything for me." Quiverwing finds her hat and clutches it. "He's my second dad. And I… I miss him." 

Gosalyn's eyes trail to her lap. "Yeah. I miss mine, too. I wouldn't even know Dad if it wasn't for Launchpad. And as much as I can't imagine not having Dad in my life, I can't imagine not having Launchpad just as much." 

"How did your dad and Launchpad meet?" Quiverwing asks, green eyes lighting up behind a green mask. "Mine met each other when Dad crashed through the roof of Launchpad's hangar." 

Gosalyn chuckles. "Yeah, that sounds like Drake Mallard. Dad and Launchpad met on the set of a movie Dad was starring in."

"Wait." Quiverwing's voice trembles in excitement. "Your dad is an actor?" 

A smirk spreads over Gosalyn's beak. "Yep." 

"Keen gear! Is he a big movie star? How many blockbusters has he been in? Does he have a massive display case full of awards? How does he find the time to be Darkwing?" 

Gosalyn blinks. "Um… Well…” She ponders: tell the truth and admit that Dad, as much as a fantastic actor he is, has yet to have his big break, that the movie he was to star in was cancelled right in the middle of production, meaning the biggest project her dad has had, so far, is a small speaking role as a barista in a crappy sitcom. 

Or does she go along with what her counterpart has asked and greatly exaggerate her dad's achievements?

"No, he's not, so he hasn't been in any blockbusters, not yet. He has, like, one trophy from high school, but that's for attendance. As for finding the time from acting to be Darkwing—well, I'm sure Dad's given it up to be Darkwing." If her dad were offered an acting job that he couldn't turn down, whether because it paid well or something else, Gosalyn knew he would take it. For now, however, all of her dad's efforts were focused on Darkwing. 

(where did their money come from anyway…?)

Quiverwing takes in the information before she says, "Oh. Still way cooler than mine. Dad was only Darkwing before I came along." 

Gosalyn scrunches her beak. "Only Darkwing? You mean—"

"Yep. Before he met me and Launchpad, Dad was spending his life as Darkwing. Drake Mallard was gone." 

The implications of those words hit Gosalyn like an anchor to the sea floor. If this universe's Drake Mallard could abandon his identity (if she has that right and Gosalyn is sure she does), then it probably means he had no one—no friends, no family, not a single person. 

"Your dad really loves you," Gosalyn states seriously. She doesn't think there's even been a sentence she's meant more. 

Quiverwing smiles fondly. "Yeah. I know." She turns to the closet and searches through a couple of boxes that seem to have been thrown in without much care. The entire wardrobe appears to be that way. It reminds Gosalyn of her closet, where her clothes are haphazardly dumped in—until her dad helps her tidy it, anyway. 

Quiverwing faces Gosalyn, holding what looks to be a red mask. "Ready to go?" She hands the mask to Gosalyn. 

Gosalyn thumbs the smooth fabric of the mask before she lifts it to sit around her eyes and ties it securely at the back of her head. 

"Ready."

"We'll get out from my dad's room." Quiverwing pulls an annoyed face at her window. "Dad installed a motion sensor that trips an alarm if I set foot beyond it."

--

"Did you say 'Ramrod'?" Darkwing asks, voice filled with disbelief after minutes of excruciating silence. The needlework in his hands is all but forgotten. "You had to deal with that, too?" As realisation dawns on him like an anvil to the head, he continues, "And that probably means... Taurus Bulba, too."

Drake's chest tightens as his expression hardens at the mere mention of that…the name of that murderer. A foul, worthless creature that has subjected his daughter to more grief and torment than anyone should ever have to endure in their entire lifetime, much less when they haven't yet reached puberty.

"Yeah," Drake says flatly. "We had to deal with that, too. Gosalyn‒ he ‒ he killed‒" Drake's throat tightens as a wave of nausea rises in him. He clenches his fists tightly, his feathers ruffling in frustration as he tries to push back the overwhelming emotions. Images of Gosalyn's grief-stricken face invade his mind.

'But ‒ I don't ‒ I don't understand. Grandpa isn't… he can't be.'

‘Gosalyn, mijia, I’m sorry. But he confessed. There's video surveillance footage as well.'

He feels a soft, comforting touch on his shoulder. Looking up, Drake meets the gentle gaze of Darkwing, who smiles with understanding and empathy.

"Yeah," Darkwing whispers. "My Gosalyn, too." 

Drake's eyes widen, taken aback by the emotional weight Darkwing's words carry. He isn't used to hearing that voice say so much with only a few words.

His stomach churns with guilt. Darkwing had come in here intending to fix a cape he'd never been expected to, and Drake had stumbled in, made a complete fool of himself and drudged up feelings for Darkwing that were clearly hard for him to think about.

"Did‒ uh…" Drake rubs the back of his neck when Darkwing glances at him with interest. "Well, I‒ mean‒ did Gosalyn really punch you in the gut?" 

Drake doesn't doubt for a single second what happened. As a smile lifts Darkwing's beak, however, Drake knows he's steered the conversation the right way.

(which makes him relieved beyond belief because god knows he's atrociously bad at small talk ‒ )

"Yeah, she did that. Twice, actually," Darkwing answers fondly, rolling his eyes as one hand rubs at his gut. "I don't blame her ‒ I'm glad she did it." 

"Me, too," Drake agrees, then quickly adds, "My‒ uh, Gosalyn, I mean. For kicking me in the face." 

It had been intensely irritating at the time, but knowing what he knows now, he's glad that Gosalyn isn't afraid to defend herself. 

"Were you trying to save her from Bulba's men, too?"

"No… Bulba didn't really… have men," Drake says carefully. He is cautious about alluding to the Fearsome Four, afraid he'll let it slip that Darkwing Duck was a TV show. Darkwing and his daughter have, so far, taken the arrival of their counterparts from an alternate universe rather well, taking it in their stride and adapting to the unusual situation as though it was a minor blip in their daily routine.

However, if Drake now throws into the mix that he only became Darkwing Duck because of a TV show, in a homage to a childhood hero… it might just throw Darkwing for a loop that he'll never expect. It might just be too far.

"No, Gosalyn was trying to‒ uh, well, prove that Bulba wasn't the upstanding citizen everyone thought he was."

The words leave a horrible taste in Drake's mouth, and guilt creeps into his stomach. At the time, he hadn't been wrong to ask Gosalyn to prove her claims, but a part of him wishes he had listened to her immediately instead of trying to make out like she was the bad guy, as though her word meant nothing against Bulba's. As though listening to her would've meant he wasn't the hero Bulba had proclaimed he was. 

As though listening to her would've meant he wasn't the hero Bulba had made him out to be. 

"Bulba, an upstanding citizen?" Darkwing repeats incredulously. "I would sooner believe that the Queen of England is an alien in disguise! What exactly did Bulba do to trick everyone into believing he was an 'upstanding citizen'?"

"He claimed that he had built the Ramrod, that it was going to change the world." Drake scoffs while shaking his head. It's ludicrous now that anyone ever believed him.  

"Annnd let me guess ‒ it did exactly the opposite?"

Drake shrugs. "Well‒ uh‒ kind of? I‒I mean, yeah, it nearly destroyed all of reality. It wasn't a machine that created objects. It was an interdimensional portal." 

Darkwing's face softens with understanding. "It didn't make objects. It pulled them from somewhere else. That's how you got here."

Drake gives a single chuckle. "Well… kind of ." At Darkwing's utterly puzzled expression, Drake sighs. "Look, I know it was the Ramrod. There was no mistaking that light."

"But…?" Darkwing impatiently urges.

"But‒" Drake treads carefully. His following words place the terrifying thought in his head that he'll be declared a terrible father. "But I know it wasn't our Ramrod because Gosalyn destroyed it." Drake casts his eyes down the second he says it, dread plunging into his stomach. He doesn't want to see the inevitable judgment that he's sure will be apparent on Darkwing's face.

And he can't stop thinking about the heartbreak that hardened over Gosalyn's face as she readied her aim with the crossbow. As she ‒ at the time ‒ destroyed what might have been the only chance to find her grandfather. 

Before they knew they never had any chance of finding Dr. Waddlemeyer.

"... Huh. Good for her." 

Drake's blue eyes snap up to see a fond smile lifting Darkwing's beak. It is so utterly opposite to what Drake was expecting that he forgets how to speak. Or how to school his expression. 

He's sure Darkwing speaks, but Drake is too stunned to take any notice. Only when Darkwing quietly clears his throat does Drake realise he's been like a statue for a little too long.

"Hu‒ what?"

"I asked how Gosalyn did it."

"Huh? Oh, r‒right. She has a… crossbow." Drake's words slip away as it suddenly hits him that admitting his preteen daughter has a crossbow is stepping dangerously close to 'you're a bad father' territory, even if she made it before they met.

Again, to Drake's surprise, Darkwing only snorts as he shakes his head slightly. "Of course she does. You remember that costume Gos was wearing last night?"

Drake casts his mind to the previous night, pushing aside the part where his Gosalyn had been kidnapped and tied up against her will to recall 1993 Gosalyn in a purple and green archer‒themed outfit. "Quiverwing Duck, is that right?"

"Quiverwing Quack," Darkwing corrects fondly, with a touch of exasperation. "She drives me crazy with it. I love that she wants to follow in my footsteps ‒ and don't tell Gos I said that, I would never hear the end of it ‒ but…." The masked mallard sighs. "She's a kid. She's my kid, y'know? She's only ten, eleven in less than a month. I‒ I want her to do normal kid things. I want her to be safe ."

For not the first time, Drake is completely stumped by the duck in front of him. Just as the previous night, Darkwing has unmasked himself and revealed himself to be Drake Mallard, a father who wants to see his daughter safe and happy. 

"I asked Gos to be my crime-fighting partner at first," Drake admits softly, which earns him a look of surprise. "But I‒I don't know. It's not like I really wanted her to be. I… saw a little girl suddenly alone, and I didn't know how else I could take care of her." Drake chuckles. "God knows, I do try to stop her sometimes. I even tried to stop her only the third night we knew each other."

"And I bet she didn't listen to you at all," Darkwing says knowingly, smirking. 

"No, she told me I wasn't her family and ran off." The words had stung then (and a small part of him is still stung by them), but now, knowing his daughter better, Drake understands why she had reacted so strongly to being told to stay in the tower. 

He had understood it back then, of course, but now he's aware there's another underlying reason, though he has no proof ‒ only evidence.

"It's okay," Drake continues when silent sympathy washes over Darkwing. "I mean‒ she was right. We weren't family, then. I guess… I don't know. I guess I thought I had to be so stern with her because she has so much—"

"Spirit?" Darkwing finishes in a meaningful manner. Drake gazes at Darkwing for a moment. The older mallard smiles warmly at him. 

"Yeah," Drake eventually says, returning the smile. "Spirit."

"That spirit is why I asked you to watch Gosalyn last night," Darkwing admits. "I didn't trust you at all, but it was my only option. Normally, I leave Gos at home alone, and I ask the next‒door neighbours to check in on her." 

"But they're on vacation, right?"

Darkwing nods. "Right. And I don't exactly trust all of my neighbours. I…" A hint of red hits his cheeks. "I only talk to the Muddlefoots. They're the only neighbours that bother talking to us. I don't think the rest even like us."

That is one aspect that Drake can't relate to. He hasn't exchanged a single word with his neighbours on his floor or the entire apartment building. Drake prefers it that way. He doesn't plan on living there forever. It's far too cramped for his daughter to flourish in properly. 

'Muddlefoot', though? The name does ring a bell. 

"If it were any villain other than Negaduck," Darkwing continues, "I would have trusted Gosalyn to stay away. Maybe I'd even be okay with it if she tagged along. But Negaduck is different." Darkwing picks up Drake's cape and continues the repair job, showing meticulous care with each stitch. He does this in silence, then snaps his blue eyes to Drake. "Do you have a Negaduck in your universe?"

"Not really." Drake doesn't think a fictional character would count (and even then, Negaduck was a name given by the Darkwing Duck fandom). "Not to my knowledge, anyway." It's possible a Negaduck could exist. After the last twenty-four hours, Drake isn't sure much can shock him. 

"That probably makes sense," Darkwing comments. "Negaduck is —" The masked mallard stops himself, a deeply uncomfortable look crossing his face. Drake patiently waits while Darkwing struggles to find the right words. "Negaduck is‒ uh, well, he's… he's from another universe." Darkwing finishes his sentence in a way that makes Drake think he changed his sentence at the last minute. However, Drake doesn't focus on this. 

"Oh." Because there is something that can still shock him. He falls back on acting to force a neutral expression on his face. Darkwing continues like Drake hadn't spoken.

"I've been to it. It was called the 'Negaverse'." Darkwing scoffs with contempt. "What a conceited jerk! I mean, can you believe that? Who calls a universe after themselves? That's like if I called this universe the 'Darkverse' or something." He shakes his head. "Unbelievable."

Drake doesn't point out that it could be the other way around; Negaduck named himself after the Negaverse. He doesn't want to lend any kind of faith to the duck.

(besides, how do you even discover what your universe is called?)

It's then that something significant in what Darkwing said occurs to Drake. "Wait. You've been to another dimension?" Drake asks, "And you returned from it?" 

Darkwing puts the sewing down once more. "I know where you're going with this. But I've already thought about it. I went to the Negaverse through a portal in a bakery ‒ don't ask," he adds, holding a hand up when Drake opens his mouth. "When I came back here, though, I pulled a plug of some kind ‒ don't ask ‒ and I closed the portal to the Negaverse."

Drake tries to wrap his head around what the older duck is telling him. "So, what you're saying is the only way you know how to travel between dimensions is through a portal—"

"In a bakery," Darkwing chirps, as though it's the most essential fact. 

"In a bakery."

Darkwing nods. "Exactly. Sooo," he draws out in a low voice, "that I have travelled to another dimension and back… does not help us in the slightest ." 

An idea sparks in Drake. It isn't an idea he's fond of. He hates it so much that the mere thought of it makes him sick to his stomach. But the idea of him and Gosalyn being separated from everyone they cherish is something he hates more.

"What if we asked Negaduck for help?" It isn't the best idea ‒ it even borders on downright stupid ‒ but as long as the result is the same, Drake will do anything. 

"I thought about that, too," Darkwing answers. "But Negaduck would never help us. Besides, he only discovered the portal. There's no way that moron is smart enough to understand how all that malarky works."

Drake suddenly misses Fenton, who does know how all that malarky works. 

"Speaking of that moron…" Darkwing puts the cape down. "I better be off. Negaduck won't catch himself." 

"Wha‒ you're going after Negaduck?" 

"He hurt Gosalyn."

Drake swallows the lump that appears suddenly. A brief wave of nausea washes over him. "Y‒yeah. He did." 

Darkwing stands from the table and puts on his hat. "Keep an eye on the girls."

"Of course," Drake promises.

Don't lose them this time. 

"I'll be back soon." Darkwing exits the kitchen, and shortly after, Drake hears the blue chairs spin to indicate Darkwing's departure.

Drake sighs, trying to ease the tension that has overcome his body. He decides the girls will be okay for a few minutes, so he picks up his cape to inspect Darkwing's handiwork.

To his complete surprise, Drake can't find any evidence that it ever needed stitching in the first place. He carefully inspects every inch of the cape, repeatedly turning the fabric over. It looks as pristine as the day he crafted it.

(and he is still amazed that he was allowed to use his own costume for the movie)

If, for whatever reason, Darkwing has to give up crime-fighting before he's ready to, he would make a killing as a seamster. Drake gazes at the cape admiringly before carrying it to the guest bedroom.

As he neatly folds his cape and puts it with the rest of his costume (presumably put there by Darkwing), Drake notices how quiet the house is despite the presence of two preteens.

… Right? His paternal instincts scream at him that something is amiss. Drake's chest feels like his heart is being squeezed, and his legs turn to jelly. It is the same way he felt just before he discovered Gosalyn wasn't in her room. 

"... Gosalyn?" Drake calls out. "Are you okay?" He waits for her usual 'yeah, Dad, I'm good'—but nothing. Silence fills the air, threatening to suffocate him with its heaviness. 

Drake rushes to 1993 Gosalyn's room. It is empty. Panic and anger seize him all at once. Drake stands frozen, staring into the room with unfocused blue eyes. He has lost Darkwing's daughter for the second night in a row, but he cannot concentrate on that alarming fact.

Because, for the second night in a row, Drake has lost his daughter. 

As Drake springs into action, a string of curses flies loudly from his beak. He rushes into his Darkwing outfit and sets off using the back door, taking care to keep to the shadows. He is uncertain but suspects that the two Gosalyns share Darkwing's mission of locating Negaduck. Heck if he knows why. 

However, what he can be sure of is that Gosalyn is grounded for sixty years.

--

"How many abandoned warehouses does this city have ?" Gosalyn groans. They exit the twentieth abandoned warehouse they've looked for Negaduck in. "There's something our St. Canards have in common." 

"I was sure that Negaduck was using that one. I know he moves on quickly, but this is ridiculous." 

At first, they had returned to the warehouse Negaduck had kidnapped them to. Only Quiverwing had gone in; Gosalyn couldn't bear to look at it while she waited. As much as she wanted to find Negaduck, Gosalyn was only too glad when the warehouse turned out to be empty.

Quiverwing and Gosalyn move to the next abandoned warehouse, but Negaduck is not there. The same goes for the next one and the one after that.

"He's dead meat," Quiverwing grumbles. "How the heck are we meant to find him?" 

"How do you normally find him?" 

"Oh, just follow destruction and chaos, and he's never far behind. That, or he comes to find me." 

CRASH!

The two girls startle as a loud noise comes from nearby. Another crash pierces the air, followed shortly after by a louder, angrier one.

"Found him," the redheads' chorus. As the noise grows louder and more frequent, they follow it.

"What is he so mad about?" Quiverwing mumbles. They are near the warehouse where the crashes seem to be coming from. The barrage of hits comes to a sudden end, leaving behind a deafening silence.  Gosalyn and Quiverwing exchange a nervous glance before cautiously stepping through the entrance.

Negaduck is kneeling on the floor, breathing heavily and panting excessively, with a mallet beside him. In front of him lie the sparking remains of a machine. Quiverwing gasps, her entire body gripped by the sudden shock.

"The Ramrod?!" 

--

Crouching on a rooftop, Drake's newly repaired cape flutters in the wind behind him. He scans the warehouse district below for his daughter, her counterpart and Darkwing so that Drake can avoid him. If the older duck finds out that his daughter has been lost for a second time… It's not a thought that brings comfort to Drake. 

He doesn't blame Darkwing, either. If someone tasked with watching Gosalyn lost her not once but twice, Drake hopes he wouldn't be held responsible for his actions afterwards. 

Drake hears muttering as he climbs down to street level but ignores it. He doesn't want to run into a drunken lunatic, especially not now, so he heads in the opposite direction. However, footsteps immediately begin to follow him.

Drake quickly turns his head and glares fiercely over his shoulder. Like in every cliched horror movie, there is nobody there. The masked mallard rolls his eyes and turns back. He is caught off guard and suddenly finds himself on his back after receiving a solid punch under his beak. A single webbed foot pins him down.

"HA!" A very familiar voice exclaims. Drake groans. "I'll always get the upper hand on you, Nega—YOU ?!" Darkwing's voice squeezes through his throat. He sounds angry, horrified and angry all at once. "What are you doing here?!" Before Drake can explain, Darkwing hauls him to his feet. "Do not tell me you've lost my daughter for the second night IN A ROW ?!" 

Drake's gaze is locked onto Darkwing's, transfixed and unable to look away. He won't make excuses to the man. Darkwing's emotions shift rapidly from anger to disbelief before finally settling on a seething fury that causes his face to contort. He grabs Drake by the beak, pulling him close in a display of intense aggression.

"I gave you one job, and you—" 

Before Darkwing can finish his sentence, a plane in the shape of a duck's head comes hurtling towards them and crashes into them. 

"DW ?!" 

Chapter Text

August 1992, one year ago…

The rain lashes against the streets below. High in the sky, the clouds obscure the moon, casting St. Canard into a grim darkness. He couldn't have asked for better weather.

It’s a month to the day that she was snatched away. Deep down, a voice, one with the cadence of a nine-year-old girl with her hair in pigtails, tells him it is entirely his fault—but why face it head when he can face it down the barrel of a gun?

The pistol has been pointed at his target for a good five minutes, yet his target still wastes oxygen; he still sits on his stupid bike, talking to that stupid pilot while wearing that stupid purple outfit.

It’s all his fault.

For the past month, ever since waking up and realising he was stuck in this godforsaken universe, Negaduck has been repeating that to himself every day. If he blames the entire event on Dopewing, then that means never confronting the fact that he’s failed her.

(the one good thing in his life, and he fucked that up, just like everything else in his life…)

Negaduck shakes the (blatantly not true) statement away and wraps his finger around the trigger. One shot, just one, and he’ll have his revenge.

Darkwing took his daughter away from him, so now, Negaduck will take Darkwing away from his daughter.

He squeezes the trigger.

“Don’t even think about it.”

His blue eyes roll to the heavens. Only one hero has a voice that sounds like nails on a chalkboard. He glances over his shoulder at Quiverwing.

“I said,” Quiverwing growls, “don’t even think about it.”

“I’m not in the mood for games, kid. Run home to Mommy and Daddy.”

For a moment, there’s nothing, and Negaduck thinks she listened to him and left. He sneaks another glance to confirm it—when he sees that Quiverwing has drawn her bow and pointed it straight at him.

Negaduck snaps.

In a flash, he drops his gun and tackles Quiverwing to the ground, pinning her arms and legs to the ground. The young hero responds with a fierce glare and spits in his face.

The villain wipes off the spit and grabs fistfuls of Quiverwing’s shirt, pulling her so close that his blue eyes are mere inches from her green eyes.

There’s a bubbling in his gut. Negaduck ignores it, attributing it to a pizza he had found earlier in the trash.

“I’m going to say this only once, so listen up, kid,” Negaduck snarls, “I am not in the mood for your—”

And in an instant, his words catch in his throat, overshadowed by a realisation that struck him with the force of an anvil smashing into his face. Those green eyes that glare at him behind a dark green mask are the same eyes he had grown to care for despite how much he hadn’t wanted to. The same green eyes that always held a hint of mischief in them despite how innocent their holder professed to be.

“Gosalyn?”

Negaduck’s voice is barely louder than a whisper, but she hears him. The brief shock that flashes in her green eyes is all the proof Negaduck requires. He releases her, stumbling on his knees to her side. Nausea rises in his throat.

All this time, Quiverwing has been Gosalyn. How did he not see it sooner? How did he not realise the moment he heard her voice? All this time, Quiverwing has been his dau—

No. She isn’t his Gosalyn. They may have the same green eyes that shine with spirit and the red hair that stands out amongst hundreds, but she isn’t his. This Gosalyn probably doesn’t see the good in everyone, especially not someone unworthy of redemption.

Not someone who locked up and left the only person worth living for.

Not a monster like him.

He turns away from Quiverwing and, in the most dangerous tone he can use, tells her to “Get lost.”

He doesn’t make sure she’s left; the quiet footsteps tell him all he needs to know.

For another half hour, Negaduck remains on the roof, only sitting. When he finally leaves, he heads for his nearest hideout. Fortunately, it also happens to be his most rotten. An abandoned junkyard, the stench of decaying trash permeates every inch of the place.

The masked menace dumps his hat and cape on the floor and collapses on the couch, narrowly avoiding a protruding spring. He stares up, not focusing on anything in particular.

He needs her, and he hates it. He’s spent his life pushing everyone away, protecting himself from the hurt they’d cause him, most of all his family. He doesn’t need anyone, and nobody needs him.

Except her. Out of everyone, in not just one but two universes, only one little girl had fit perfectly into the little girl-shaped hole he’d had no idea had even existed in the first place.

She had stolen his heart utterly and mercilessly.

(... he can’t live without her…)

A plan forms in his mind, so stupid and insane that anyone else wouldn’t dare to entertain it. But if anyone can pull it off, it’s him. No matter how long it takes, he’s going to get Gosalyn. Come hell or high water, he’ll get his little girl back.

--

Tracking down what had happened to the Ramrod in the Primeverse gives him more trouble than sneaking into SHUSH headquarters to steal its plans. By a wild stroke of luck, it appears that SHUSH has the same idea for Ramrod as he does. Their plans probably (definitely) won’t be as good as his would’ve been; however, it will save a fuck ton of time. Time that can be spent tracking down—and stealing—the required parts.

Negaduck returns to his main hideout. A bulging trash bag is slung over his shoulder. Since the Ramrod was the only one of its kind in this universe and had been blown into a million tiny pieces (something else to thank Darkwing for), he has no choice but to build his Ramrod using random junk. He throws the trash bag into a hiding spot and heads for the space where he’s set up a TV and couch; it’s as close to a living room as he’ll get now.

The moment he steps through the door, he discovers he’s not alone. Dressed in her stupid costume, Gosalyn stands confidently between the TV and the couch, the vibrant colours of her costume standing out like a sore thumb among the dreary decor. With her arms tightly crossed and a sharp glare, she is clearly trying to appear intimidating. It’s about as intimidating as her moronic father.

“Are you stupid?”

“How do you know my name?”

“Guess that answers my question.” Negaduck sits on the couch. “Get lost, kid.”

Gosalyn stands her ground. “You know my dad’s name, too, don’t you?”

“I said, get—”

“Because I’m not, you know. Stupid. I know you’re Darkwing from another universe.”

Negaduck quirks an eyebrow, “And? What’s your point?”

“My point—wait, I’m right? You are from another—”

Negaduck shoots her a sharp, irritated glare. He crosses his arms, clearly showing how fed up he was.

“Right, right. Sorry.” Gosalyn clears her throat. “My point is that since you and Darkwing are the same person… well, that means that you know his name.”

Negaduck looks at her with a blank expression.

“... Get lost, kid.”

“It makes me wonder ‒ why have you never used that against him?”

“Are you deaf, as well as stupid? I said—get. Out.”

“There’s nothing stopping you from looking him up in the phonebook. So why haven’t you?”

Negaduck leans forward, his beak twisting into a vicious scowl.

“Kid, this is a dangerous line to tread. Leave, now.”

“Because, in my opinion, if you really want to kill him, that seems like the most logical step, doesn’t it?”

Negaduck flies to his feet and steps towards her. Gosalyn doesn’t even flinch.

“That’s enough.”

“There has to be a reason why you haven’t.”

“Kid—”

“Are you scared, huh? Is that it?”

Her words slap him across the face. He stands completely still, as though time has come to a halt, his gaze locked onto her with an intensity that makes it impossible for him to look away. Every muscle in his body is paralysed.

He does know Darkwing’s real name. He also knows he should use that information to his fullest advantage. He could easily attack the Mallard household and be done away with Darkwing, once and for all.

He is stopped by only one thing.

The image of her face, battered and bruised, and all life extinguished from her eyes. It is enough of a haunting image that Negaduck has never once entertained the idea of attacking Darkwing where it would really hurt, more than hurting Darkwing himself.

Negaduck snatches Gosalyn’s cape in each fist with a guttural snarl and hauls her tiny body into the air.

“Listen up, you snivelling little brat. I don’t have to explain myself to you or any other loser in this miserable world. So, I’m going to say this once more: get. Out. Now.”

He tosses her out of the nearest window, the little girl landing squarely on her rear.

“Hey!” Gosalyn complains, hurrying to her feet. Her beak turns down in a frustrated frown. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

Thrusting a finger in her beak, Negaduck threatens, “If I see you back here, you will not like the consequences. Don’t let that happen.”

Though she sticks her tongue out, Gosalyn decides to use her brain for once and leaves. Negaduck keeps an eye on her to ensure she leaves, then returns to where he’s holding the Ramrod parts.

He gathers the recently acquired parts, finds the plans, and sets about trying to get them to fit where he needs them to.

As Negaduck works, there’s only one person he thinks about.

What is she doing right now? Is she tucked up in bed? Is she still getting her straight A’s? Does she still wear her ridiculous dresses with her ridiculous matching ribbons?

…

Does she miss him?

His hands come to a stop.

What if she doesn’t miss him? What if all this effort is a waste of time? After all, she had helped Darkwing. That had to mean something. Had she—finally—grown tired of him? She hadn’t complained once when being taken to the Tower along with Darkwing and the Friendly Four. She might have begged to stay with him if she had still wanted him.

Negaduck glances down at the scattered junk surrounding him, and his vision blurs.

Can he handle her rejection a second time?

Gradually, Negaduck gets to his feet and gazes around the room before spinning on his heel and sweeping out of the room, his cape billowing behind him.

He doesn’t bother to lock up.

--

An anonymous tip, written on stained paper, is left in Darkwing Tower. It warns of a planned attack on the Children’s Orphanage on Senora Avenue. It doesn’t tell them who is planning the attack; nevertheless, the note is enough for Dad and Launchpad to stake the orphanage for most of the day. After a substantial amount of begging—and a promise to finish her homework before tomorrow—Quiverwing is (very reluctantly) allowed to accompany them. However, it is on the condition that she remains no more than a spectator. Quiverwing grumbles, but she knows she’ll break that condition.

When the crime-fighting family arrives, Quiverwing is ordered to remain on the Ratcatcher while Dad and Launchpad split up, observing all sides of the orphanage. Dad gives a heads-up to the orphanage staff, then keeps watch away from the Ratcatcher.

Quiverwing pushes her hand to her cheek. Her dad has parked the Ratcatcher two streets away so the “criminal scum” wouldn't be alerted to his presence and “run away screaming like little babies”.

When Quiverwing pointed out that this would probably be good, her dad frowned and asked, ‘How would I get my front page headline?’

The redhead rolls her eyes. Her dad would be insufferable for WEEKS.

Whatever. Quiverwing is confident nothing will happen. Her gut instinct tells her that the note is fake, most of all because she’s seen the handwriting on it before—and she thinks it belongs to Negaduck.

But why would he fake a note? Negaduck wasn’t the type to announce his attacks, so Quiverwing is sure it must be fake if the note is from his hand. He wouldn’t give a warning if it were someone else’s attack, either; he wouldn’t care enough.

Negaduck is behind it, but why? If it is only to draw Dad’s attention, then he would simply destroy a part of the city. There’s no fun to be found in luring him to an orphanage except, perhaps, to mess with him.

That has to be it. It’s a prank.

Or, Quiverwing realises with a start, it’s a diversion. While Dad is distracted here, Negaduck will attack another part of the city. She has to warn her dad. He’ll stake out the orphanage for at least forty-eight hours if he has his way.

As she leaps from the Ratcatcher, Quiverwing’s ears pick up a noise behind her. Drawing her bow and arrow, Quiverwing swivels, finding an alleyway. Overstuffed dumpsters, complete with flies, sit at the front while beyond is shrouded in darkness. The young hero rolls her eyes at such a cliché and treads forward, her bow ready.

“You can come out now! I’m not a dumb little kid, and I don’t scare easily!”

“Is that so…?”

Letting out a yelp, Quiverwing spins on her heel to aim her arrow at the punk who—

She scowls at the yellow-jacketed mallard leaning against the Ratcatcher, his arms folded and beak curved up in a manner that intensely irritates Quiverwing. She returns her bow and arrow to its quiver, then folds her arms across her chest.

“I knew this was you. I recognised your handwriting.”

His smirk falls, and Negaduck raises an eyebrow. For the second time in the last five minutes, Quiverwing once again rolls her eyes.

“When you shot Darkwing with that particle accelerator thing, remember? And you left that dumb rocking chair with that even dumber note.”

“Oh, yeah.” Negaduck snickers. “That was pretty funny.”

“It was NOT funny,” Quiverwing grouses. “Look, what do you want? Darkwing’s waiting by the orphanage. If you’re trying to distract him, then it’s not gonna work.”

“That idiot? He wouldn’t know a distraction even if it walked up to him and told him it was a distraction before hitting him in the face. Besides, I’m not here for Dipwing.” Negaduck pushes off the Ratcatcher.

“Then, what are you here for?”

“... You’re right.”

“I usually am,” Quiverwing mutters, “About what?”

“I do know Darkwing’s name… It used to be my name before…”

“Then, why don’t you do anything?”

Negaduck’s blue eyes briefly flicker to her.

“Well?” Quiverwing urges. “Don’t think I’m not gonna let you not tell me this time. You came to me.”

“... When I take Darkwing down, I want it to be fun,” Negaduck lies.

“Sure…” Quiverwing drawls. Negaduck might not be her dad, but he is the same person as her dad, and she always knows when he’s lying.

Crossing his arms, Negaduck grunts. “Hmph. Has anyone ever told you how much of a brat you are?”

“Every day of my life!” Quiverwing boasts.

Though it’s barely noticeable, the corners of Negaduck’s beak lift.

“Quiverwing?”

The young hero turns her head to see her dad heading towards her. Oddly, he doesn’t appear concerned or alarmed. If anything, he looks annoyed. That isn’t his usual reaction to Negaduck (most of the time).

When Quiverwing shifts back to Negaduck, she finds, with a third roll of her eyes, that Negaduck has vanished; though neither would ever admit it, not even under the most intense torture, Negaduck and her dad have a flair for the dramatic.

“You okay, honey?”

Quiverwing smiles. “Hey, Dad. I’m fine. What’s up?”

“Ah, you know.” Dad lifts her hat and ruffles her hair. “Just checking on my little girl and being a good parent.”

Quiverwing doesn’t hide her smirk. “... You got really bored, didn’t you?”

Dad looks offended. “Wha‒ w-why, of course not! I’m a highly trained professional. I don’t have the luxury of—”

“Dad.”

Flopping over, Dad sighs dramatically.

“... Fine. Yes. I’m bored. I mean,” he begins pacing, “is it really too much to ask for bad guys just to show up?! It’s rude and inconsiderate! I have better things to do with my life than hang around here!”

Quiverwing tunes out her dad as he continues to rant. Her green eyes roam the immediate area; as expected, there’s no sign of the masked menace.

The duckling has no idea why the villain would fake an attack just to speak to her, but Quiverwing does know one fact.

Negaduck will want to see her again.

(And he does, many times.)

--

“DW?”

As Darkwing regains consciousness, he’s faintly aware of a familiar voice and a pair of hands patting his torso, moving up and down in a frenzy.

The masked mallard struggles to open his eyes, but Darkwing Duck is nothing if not determined, and after a small fight with his body, he wrenches open his eyes. His body gets its own back, however, with shooting pain through his hip—a loud, pained groan croaks from his beak.

Two large hands help him to sit up. One is placed on his back, while the other is wrapped protectively around his (much smaller) hand.

(... he kinda likes it…)

“Gosh, DW, are you okay?! I-I, well- I hit ya so hard, I kinda split you into two!”

“Huh…?” Darkwing’s voice is soft, dazed from the dull pain creeping all over his body. He has no idea what’s happening or even where he is. All he remembers is—

Gosalyn.

Darkwing shoots up straight. He blinks, and his hazy vision clears. Directly in front of him, Launchpad is kneeling, concern etched into every inch of his face.

“Drake…?” Launchpad murmurs, “You okay?”

Slowly, Darkwing’s eyes travel down.

Launchpad is holding his hand.

Launchpad… is holding… his hand.

LAUNCHPAD.

HAND.

Darkwing reacts in his usual, calm manner. He scrambles to his feet, putting space between himself and Launchpad. An intense rush of heat spreads across his face.

“Dra—”

“I-I’m fine!” Darkwing squeaks. Launchpad doesn’t look convinced. Darkwing clears his throat. “I’m good, Launchpad. Really.”

“You’re red in the face, DW. Are you sure you’re okay?”

If possible, the heat grows hotter.

“Well, you- uh, did just hit me with a plane, LP. But not only did I survive it, I’m walking and talking. I’ll wake up in excruciating pain tomorrow, but otherwise—yes, Launchpad. I’m sure I’m okay.”

That seems to have worked. The pilot smiles and nods, then turns to see an unconscious Drake lying on the floor, just as Darkwing had been only minutes earlier.

“Gee, either I really did split you in two, or you’ve gone and replaced me.”

Darkwing crosses his arms. “He’s not a replacement, LP. He’s me, from another universe.”

“... Oh.” Launchpad grins. “Okay! I guess that makes sense.”

The duck on the ground emits a low moan. Launchpad rushes to help him.

“I got ya, DW. Uh, not you, DW. I mean, this DW. DW Two? DW B? Boy, is this gonna be confusing…”

“Never mind that, LP. Gosalyn’s in trouble. We’ve gotta find her.”

“You mean she’s been kidnapped?”

“No, she hasn’t been—” Darkwing pauses, blinks once, and then his beak curls into a scowl. “Hey! Why do you assume she’s been kidnapped? She’s never been kidnapped!”

“Well, DW—uh, you, not the other one—there was the one time with Megavolt when Gos was sleepwalking, then there was Quackerjack with that giant teddy robot, oh, and Tau—”

“I get the point, LP! Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, DW. Uh, you, not the other one.”

Darkwing rubs his hands down his face. There’s a sharp migraine developing behind his eyes.

--

“How do you have Grandpa’s machine? It was destroyed!”

Gosalyn knows she should be making a quip like, “It’s not exactly in perfect working order…” but she can’t.

All she can see is… her grandfather’s machine… blown to pieces—by her own hands.

His voice rife with emotion, Negaduck orders, “Get out of here, Gosalyn.”

“As if you actually expect me to do that,” Quiverwing grumbles, “You’ve got my Grandpa’s machine. I deserve to know why.”

Negaduck's head jolts upright, his eyes widening behind his black mask. “Are your ears full of shit?! Get outta here!”

Quiverwing matches his energy tenfold. “I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers!”

“I’m not in the mood for this bullshit! Get out!”

The arguing pair stand in front of each other, fists clenched and beaks inches apart.

“No! Not until you tell me why!”

“It’s none of your business.”

“It’s my Grandpa’s machine! It’s very much my business.”

Negaduck growls. “I swear, if you’re not gone by the time I count three, I’m gonna—”

A yelp catches in his throat when a crossbow, fully loaded, is thrust at him. His eyes dart to the wielder; Gosalyn’s face is set in a hard stare.

Her hands tremble.

“Tell her.” Gosalyn inches the crossbow closer, the tip touching Negaduck’s bill. “Now.”

Quiverwing shoots forward. “No, Gos—”

Negaduck holds up his hand. “It’s okay, kid.” He stares down his beak at the redheaded crossbow wielder. Not once, even briefly, do her eyes ever waiver. The villain groans.

“I rebuilt it,” he finally relinquishes, “I got the plans from the morons at SHUSH. I modified the plans so that instead of manipulating objects, it manipulates dimensions. It can bring someone here or send them elsewhere.”

Gosalyn’s heart pangs. Ignoring her stinging eyes, she demands, “Why?”

Negaduck turns his gaze away.

“Because I had someone stolen from me.”

A beat of silence ensues, followed by a soft gasp from Quiverwing.

“Me. Your version of me. You have a Gosalyn.”

“Had.” Guilt creeps into Negaduck’s eyes. “I activated the machine and tried setting it to my universe. It couldn’t find it, nor would it be stable long enough to search for it. So, I set it to find Gosalyn instead—and it did.” He slowly inhales. “But it wasn’t mine.”

All breath rushes from Gosalyn. Her heart hammers against her ribcage.

“I-it was… you,” she whispers, “W-we’re here because of you.”

--

His head is pounding like never before, more than the only time he was wasted in college.

(Though most of the headache came from being yelled at by his mother over the phone for a good hour.)

Still, at least he can tick ‘being hit by a plane’ off the bucket list now.

“Y’know, DW, he does look a lot like you.”

‘DW’? Drake has only ever known one person to use that nickname.

“What? He looks nothing like me! I’m way more charming, and I have more style.”

“Uh, whatever you say, DW.”

A pair of solid hands gently assist Drake into a sitting position.

“Easy there, buddy. I got ya.”

Drake cracks open his eyes to discover who the (oddly familiar, comforting, yet new) voice belongs to.

And then, his heart stops beating.

“You okay there, buddy?”

Launchpad.

“... W-what?” Realising that he’s staring, Drake’s face glows like the sun's surface. “Oh, yeah, yeah, I’m- I’m great. Great as you can be after being hit by a plane.”

“Fine, yes—we’re both surprisingly okay after being hit by the Thunderquack. Can we please focus on what’s important here?”

Drake’s stomach drops.

Gosalyn.

He had almost forgotten about her.

He’s the worst father ever. He doesn’t deserve to have a kid. He should be publicly shamed in the streets. He should never know happiness again.

… Then again, he was almost turned into a street pizza, so he—probably—isn’t the worst father ever.

“I am truly sorry I lost your daughter again,” Drake speaks, his voice cracking, “And I accept the full responsibility for it.”

“Good! It is all your fault!” Darkwing’s face softens. “Okay, it’s not all your fault. My daughter doesn’t let anyone stop her when she gets an idea stuck in her head. My gut tells me that she’s gone to find Negaduck. You feel the same, don’t you?”

Swallowing, Drake nods. “Y-yeah. If I know my daughter, she’ll also want to go after him.”

Both masked mallards fall into silence while Launchpad shifts his gaze between the two, clearly confused. However, a moment later, he smiles and places a hand on each of their shoulders. Darkwing blushes.

“We’ll find her, DW.”

--

Gosalyn experiences a surge of conflicting emotions: anger, surprise, and relief. The last one creates a pit deep in her stomach. Why is she relieved? Is it because her problem coincidentally happens also to be her solution? Or is it because if Negaduck has his own Gosalyn, that could mean…

… there’s a sliver of good in him?

Gosalyn shakes her head. Having a child doesn’t make a person good, especially if that person held a knife to someone else’s throat.

She’ll never forgive Negaduck—Gosalyn has never been sure of anything. All she wants from him is his help returning her and her dad home.

As Gosalyn tries to gather her thoughts, Quiverwing locks eyes with Negaduck.

“Tell me everything. Please.”

“Hmph.” Negaduck doesn’t shift. “Your stupid father. He got himself thrown into my universe—the Negaverse. He took it upon himself to ‘save’ it. Tch.” Negaduck looks away. “And he just had to get… her involved. I…”

The more he talks, the more Negaduck starts to shake. His fists curl by his sides.

“I… I locked her away with the rest of the losers she helped.”

“You know,” Gosalyn starts, her tiny voice echoing in the ample space, “for someone going to all this effort for their kid, it sure sounds like you had given up on her.”

Negaduck shoots her a look so deadly she should be halfway to the afterlife already.

“Don’t give me that look,” Gosalyn scolds, “You’re blaming Darkwing, but he didn’t make you lock her away. That’s all on you.”

Like a lit fuse, Negaduck explodes.

“I know!” he roars, his voice booming, “I know I fucked up. You think I don’t know how much I fucked up?! That it’s not all I think about every single fucking second of the fucking day?”

He begins to pace, his cape flapping behind him.

“I have to live with this stupid fucking bullshit for the rest of my miserable life because of what I did to her. It kills me, and now, I can’t do a damn thing about it.”

Negaduck collapses to his knees, thumping his fists against the floor.

Gosalyn watches him with conflict stirring within her. With a pang, she realises that, no matter what, Negaduck or Darkwing, Drake Mallard will always come first.

Right now, at this moment, the man in front of her is not Negaduck but Drake Mallard—and he misses his daughter.

Gosalyn closes the distance between them.

“What was she like?”

Negaduck slowly raises his head.

“W-what?”

Quiverwing chimes in, “Your Gosalyn. Tell us about her. She’s my opposite, right?”

For a moment, Negaduck stares blankly into space.

“Sweet. She’s sickenly sweet. Like a little princess. Loves wearing dresses, and her room is so pink, you need sunglasses.” Sitting up, he chuckles. “But you should never let your guard down. She looks innocent, but she’s the biggest little shit I’ve ever known. She shoves her beak where she shouldn’t, mainly if I told her not to.” He gives a roll of his eyes. “And the fucking cleaning and reading.”

Gosalyn quirks an eyebrow, “That’s a bad thing?”

“It is when she wants to stay up all night to read ‘one more chapter’.” Shaking his head, Negaduck scoffs. “The amount of times I caught her doing that. It didn’t matter how often I grounded her or took her books away; I would always discover her lying in bed, reading a book.”

“Why didn’t you just take her flashlight away, doofus?” Quiverwing teases.

Negaduck’s beak falls.

“She slept with a nightlight. Terrified of the dark. She was scared that…”

“Scared that what?” Gosalyn softly presses.

Negaduck grunts. “It doesn’t matter. Not now.” His gaze sweeps over the broken machine. “Nothing about her matters anymore.”

Gosalyn observes him as his expression steadily contorts. A snarl can be heard rumbling in his throat.

Making both girls jump, Negaduck bursts to his feet with a roar and kicks the nearest part of the shattered machine. Then he turns towards the warehouse entrance, intending to leave.

A hand shoots into his. Reflexively, he snatches his hand away; however, it pauses his sudden departure. He glances over his shoulder, and his beak turns down.

Gosalyn knows he is expecting Quiverwing to be standing there instead of her—not least with sympathy in her eyes.

“Listen. I know. I know what it’s like to lose someone like that. In that way.” Her eyes shine. “I’m probably never gonna find them, and even if I did, they’re—”

The word stops in her throat. She closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath. She holds it, and slowly, she releases it. Her eyes open.

“... Dead. He’s dead now. But Gosalyn isn’t, and I will help you find your daughter. I can never forgive you for what you did. But I am going to help you.”

Negaduck scowls. “Who said I wanted it?”

Quiverwing groans loudly.

“It’s frustrating how stubborn you and Dad are. Don’t be an idiot.” She grabs his other hand. Negaduck flinches, yet he does not push her away, nor does he wrap his fingers around hers.

Quiverwing opens her mouth, but another voice bellows in the warehouse.

“Get away from them, Negaduck!”

Darkwing.

The father rushes in, brandishing his gas gun. Quiverwing shields Negaduck, holding out her arms. Darkwing’s eyes bulge.

“Gos- Quiverwing, what are you doing?!”

A large duck dressed in a pilot’s uniform appears behind Darkwing. Quiverwing’s expression softens, though she doesn’t budge. Gosalyn understands why instantly—it’s Launchpad. She doesn’t have to be told to know it’s him.

“Get over here this instant!” Darkwing orders.

Launchpad rests a hand on Darkwing’s shoulders.

“DW, maybe you should—”

And then, as Gosalyn wonders if her dad is there, there’s another shout.

“NEGADUCK!”

Seemingly from nowhere, her dad tackles Negaduck, pinning him to the ground.

“You’re gonna—” Her dad yelps as Negaduck grabs him and hurls him across the warehouse. Gosalyn hurries to check on him. Once she’s satisfied that he’s okay, she turns to Negaduck.

“Hey! That was totally uncalled for!”

Negaduck growls. “I don’t like being touched.” He glances in Darkwing’s direction who hastily pulls Quiverwing behind him.

“Dad!” Quiverwing squeals. “Calm down.”

“Gos- Quiverwing! I’m not—”

“Dad.” Quiverwing levels her father with a look. “If anyone knows who you are, it’s Negaduck.”

“She’s got a point, DW,” Launchpad adds.

“She does not!” Darkwing lifts his daughter into his arms. “And I want you close, young lady. This is the second night in a row that you’ve snuck out!”

Quiverwing shakes her head. She glances at Negaduck, who is eyeing up all possible exit routes.

Gosalyn helps her dad to his feet.

“Just what are you two doing here?” her dad demands. “Do you have any idea how worried I was when I found you gone?”

“I know, Dad,” Gosalyn says, “And I’m sorry. But you never would have let me come.” She looks at Negaduck. “We came to ask for his help.”

“What?!” both Darkwing and her dad exclaim. Negaduck doesn’t seem impressed, either.

“You’ve probably already realised my dad and I are from another universe, just like you,” Gosalyn tells Negaduck. She rests her hand on her dad’s arm. “We’re helping you with your problem, so I guess it’d be fair for you to help us with ours.”

Negaduck gazes at her bandaged wrist, then over to Quiverwing.

“It’d be more than fair, considering it’s your fault they’re even here in the first place,” she points out.

“I- I’m so lost…” Gosalyn’s dad stammers.

“I’ll explain it later, Dad,” Gosalyn promises, smiling.

“Wait, wait, wait—did you just say you’re helping Negaduck? Why would you help him?!” Darkwing exclaims.

“He’s you,” Quiverwing states, “Did you forget that?”

“It’s not something I can forget,” Darkwing mumbles, “That doesn’t explain why you’re helping him.”

“Dad, he’s trying to get back to his Gosalyn.”

For once, Darkwing doesn’t immediately respond. His expression hardens as he contemplates what his daughter has said.

“... No. That’s not happening. Not now, not ever.”

Quiverwing shoots him an incredulous look.

“What?!” she exclaims, “Why not?”

Darkwing frowns, “Because I said so! Come on, we’re going straight home.”

“But, Dad—”

“No buts.” He marches towards the entrance.

“He doesn’t want you to help because he’s the reason I lost her. Aren’t you, Darkwing? You decided to save a perfectly happy little girl.”

Passing Quiverwing to Launchpad, Darkwing storms up to the villain.

“Happy?! You locked her up! That’s not what I call father of the year material!”

“You should have minded your own business!”

“I was saving her! That is something that someone like you could never understand.”

Negaduck grabs Darkwing by the jacket and snarls menacingly in his face.

“You… have… NO idea what the hell you’re talking about, you jack—”

Launchpad pulls the two apart, calmly saying, “Hey. That’s enough. This isn’t helping anyone.”

The two ducks glower at each other.

Launchpad kneels at Quiverwing’s height. He gently places his hand on her shoulder before extending a hand to Gosalyn. She smiles and steps forward, pulling her dad along with her.

“Listen, I don’t know what’s going on, but I think you two have the best idea about what we’re going to do.”

“We’re not going to do anything!” Darkwing protests. Launchpad quirks an eyebrow at him. Darkwing huffs and turns away.

“I’m not sure what the heck is going on here, anyway,” Launchpad continues, “I’m not entirely convinced this isn’t a crazy dream.”

Quiverwing lightly punches his shoulder, laughing, “It’s all real, ya big lug.”

Launchpad grabs her hat and ruffles her hair.

“Good. Go ahead, kiddo. The floor’s all yours.”

“Thanks, Launchpad. Dad?” Darkwing makes a slight noise. “If you lost me, you’d do anything to get me back, wouldn’t you?”

Darkwing spins so fast that he probably has whiplash.

“Of course, I would! What kind of a question is that?”

“Right—and that’s true, no matter the universe, right?”

“Always!”

“Then… it’s also true for Negaduck.”

Darkwing bends to meet her eye level.

“Gosalyn, listen. This isn’t as simple as that.” He puts his hand atop her head. “You’ve got a big heart, kiddo, and I love that about you, but… this isn’t something you should get involved in.”

Quiverwing’s beak turns down at the corner.

“Dad. Look at him.”

With great reluctance, Darkwing does as his daughter requests.

Negaduck’s head is lowered into his neck, his shoulder haunched. His eyes are as tight as his fists, arms tucked into his sides.

Darkwing envelops Quivering wholly in his arms. He holds her for a long moment, squeezing her before letting her go. He rises to his full height and fixes Negaduck with a fierce glare.

“Okay,” he says, surprising everyone, “But on one condition. If we bring Gosalyn here—and that’s a big if because it’s entirely her choice—then she goes into my custody until I know you can properly care for her.”

“Are you insane?! I’m not gonna agree to that!”

Quiverwing snorts. “He’s offering you a lifeline, moron. Don’t throw it away because your ego is larger than the universe.”

“No!” Negaduck retorts. “I’m not—”

“It’s that or nothing,” Gosalyn reminds him. “Only one choice gets you Gosalyn.”

“I… fine.”

“Good!” Darkwing proclaims. “And I know exactly who can help us.”

--

Her throat feels dry as she walks toward the small, rundown building. Half of its roof has caved in, there are holes where windows once stood, and the only door is hanging for its life on the last hinge.

Tangled and long red curls poke out from the hood of a torn black and red cape that drags on the floor behind her. Her two green eyes light up, and a smile spreads across her beak.

It’s been almost a year, and here it is. She’s finally found it. Standing before the small girl is the answer to her prayers, the HQ of PURE.

“I’m going to find you, Dad,” she whispers, “I promise.”