Disclaimer: I don't own Darkwing Duck!
Title: Man Got Shot, Daughter Got Revenge, More at Ten
Summary: Darkwing and Quiverwing both get into some pretty nasty scrapes over the years.
...
She doesn't think when Darkwing slumps to the ground. She doesn't think when Quiverwing Quack carefully notches her bow, aims, and fires. She doesn't even think while gingerly pulling her father onto her shoulders, or when she gets hit next. It's muscle memory, burned into her; notch, aim, fire. Down goes the baddie. When she hops into the Ratcatcher and tells Launchpad to punch it, she still isn't thinking, because she hates her thoughts and she's good at ignoring them.
She's already lost Grandpa and Ma and Pa. She can't lose Dad.
"He'll be alright, Gos," Launchpad whispers into the night, and yeah, sure. They said that about everybody else, too. 'Alright' is just a nice adult way of saying 'we think they'll live? Maybe?' and Gosalyn doesn't rely on maybes. She relies on definitive. Darkwing Duck is definitely gonna die. Maybe not tonight, but someday. That's a definite.
Gosalyn buries her face into Darkwing's sweaty sleeve and thinks. Thinks hard. Thinks, he can't die, I'm not old enough to pay bills. Thinks, I don't wanna go back to the orphanage. Thinks, at least he was nice about it. At least he didn't promise to stay like Grandpa.
Darkwing Duck doesn't die that night.
They all have their lists. Launchpad and Gosalyn and Drake. Might as well, right? If they're all going down, they might as well make it into a competition.
Things get harder as Gosalyn gets older and wilder. Darkwing has the odd bump in the road, sure- a good hit or a bad electrical current or someone with a gun- but Quiverwing seems to have them most everyday. She fears neither death or damnation, and Drake privately wonders if this is why they have that unspoken rule in parenting books not to take your baby girl out with you when your job just-so-happens to include protecting all of St. Canard.
"I hate this meme," she snarls one night while hobbling down the stairs. Her knee is wrapped in thick gauze. "'Arrow to a knee?' Puh."
Three days later her fever is so high it almost kills her. Gosalyn hadn't even told him it was infected.
The next near-death experience happens when Gosalyn is in class. Honker pulls her aside at recess, his voice squeaky and crackling with the beginning stages of puberty, and tells her that Darkwing fell into the river while fighting the Liquidator, and no one saw him get out.
"He'll be fine," she snorts, her heart jolting in her chest anyway.
She comes home to an empty house. Gosalyn calls Honker and they have a sleepover, playing Uno until it's not night time anymore, and still nobody has come home. Gosalyn's bill quivers just a little, but she lifts her chin and pretends she's okay with it. The next night is the same thing. Neither has slept. Gosalyn, sick in the heart, asks Honker where a thirteen year old can go that's not an orphanage or foster. They do their jobs well enough, but they don't work for girls like her.
"My parents'll take you in a heartbeat," he promises, squeezing her shoulder. "You can have Tank's room. He can sleep on the couch. If anyone asks, Mr. Mallard requested it."
"Launchpad was supposed ta' be my godfather," Gosalyn says wearily. "I always thought I'd have him, if nothin' else."
They're in the middle of packing when the door slams open, a half-starved but triumphant Drake marching in. Launchpad was close behind, yammering on and on about getting lost in the woods after washing up downstream. Gosalyn hugs them harder than she's ever hugged anyone in her life, shoulders shaking, and Honker looks away like he knows she'd want him to.
Drake and Morgana's relationship has always been complicated, but that's never stopped Gosalyn from using it to her advantage. She quite enjoys spending time amongst monsters, and though her magic is shaky she has fun with it anyway.
But monsters have a habit of getting into trouble with humans, usually through no fault of their own, and next thing Drake knows Honker is on the telephone in the hall, tapping his fingers anxiously on the table. He scribbles something down and hangs up. He says nothing until after the Muddlefoots finish dinner and bid him goodnight, then tells Drake she got quite the goring from some antlers by accident, but was otherwise alright.
"She's going to be the death of me," he moans, running a hand over his bill.
"Yeah," Honker agreed quietly. "Or vice versa."
Later on, Drake will peek at the pad, and find that Honker has a list of his own. There's a multitude of bullet points on it that he hadn't been aware of.
"Bringing a gun to a cartoon fight?" Gosalyn asks, twirling an arrow with a look of thunder. Darkwing is under the knife now- chances are high that he'll live, but chances are just as high that he won't. She's fourteen and can pay the bills and keep the house should he die, but honestly even if she could somehow swing it with minimum wage she wouldn't. She'd just destroy the place. "That's not fair."
"Hey, I can't help it if I'm a good shot," asshole gun guy says, shrugging. "You want a go?"
"My arrows are fine, thanks."
"Slow and clunky, you mean."
Gosalyn stops twirling and instead crouches down over the villain currently pinned under her feet. He's almost as scrawny as Megavolt, and he forgot to eat most of the time. Easy to overpower. No wonder he had to use something so bland and uninspired to one up her old man. "You don't wanna play fair? Fine. I won't either."
She plunges the arrow head into his gut. Asshole gun guy howls with pain. Gosalyn kicks him away.
"Tell your friends," she calls, turning away from the sight. "Quiverwing Quack doesn't like cheaters."
The next time, she does more than wound. The world spins hazily as Launchpad carefully picks her up, cradling her to his chest like she's the most precious thing in the world.
"Come'on, Gos," he begs. "You can't do this to me."
Gosalyn manages to crack open an eye. "Did I get 'em?"
"You got 'em good, kiddo."
"Is Dad gonna be okay?"
Launchpad nods. Something wet and warm splashes against the side of Gosalyn's cheek. "You better be okay too, okay? Promise me."
She closed her eye and leaned in close, hoping she didn't stain his scarf too badly.
"Gos?"
"Quit worryin', ya' big baby," she slurs. "Jus' gotta... rub some dirt in it."
"I think we may have a problem," he begrudgingly says one day while they sit facing each other, wrapped up like mummies.
Gosalyn raises an eyebrow. At sixteen, she's just a bit taller than him. "You're gonna have to be more specific. We have lots of those."
"Most of those are neurosis."
"Still."
"Gos," Drake utters, gently touching her cheek. There's a pretty deep scar there, but he'll be damned if he remembers where she got it. Maybe he wasn't even there. "We can't keep doing this to each other. You almost died."
"So did you," she shoots back, defensive.
"So did I," he agreed. "That's why I used we."
Gosalyn draws a leg up to her chest, wrapping her arms around it. "Well, what do you suggest? Darkwing and Quiverwing just vanish off the face of the Earth?"
"Absolutely not." The mere idea horrifies him. St. Canard relies on them, whether its citizens want to admit it or not. "But, I dunno, maybe we should think up some options on how to be safer."
Her beak scrunches up suspiciously. "You wear that bullet armor I got you?"
"Of course. It was a birthday present." Drake sets a hand on her knee. "Maybe we should look into getting you something too, sweetie."
"Maybe," she admits, surprising him. "I kinda... saved up some cash? It was gonna be an emergency fund, you know? In case you didn't..."
"Come home?"
Gosalyn shrugs. "I've had a lot of people do that to me."
"I know." Drake scoots closer. "But I'm not going anywhere, Gos, and neither are you. Right?"
"Right."
"Promise?"
Gosalyn hesitated.
"Honey, please. I can't imagine going on, knowing something happened to you."
"It's easier than you might think. You go numb. Time moves, and you move, but you forget to feel. Then you remember and cry a lot." Gosalyn pulled him into an actual hug, squeezing tight. "I promise, Dad."
Author's Note: -Busting through a window- Did someone ask for angsty-ish oneshot about the real concerns of being a hero? No? Well, it's here anyhow.
-Mandaree1