This is gonna be more than one chapter, by the way. I got the idea for this story while trying to think of a plausible timeline leading to the events of the Darkwing Duck comic story "Toy With Me", which, if you haven't read it yet, I highly suggest it, considering I'm basing a lot of this on context clues.
I kinda wanted to explore the briefly mentioned relationship between QuackerJack and Claire (who really only appeared for a handful of pages, but I quite like the air she gave off), and create my own chain of events to what I might think could have happened prior to the "Toy With Me" story.
In an interesting note, unlike most of my spontaneously written stories, this one has a distinct chain of events planned, so I do in fact have the whole idea, foreshadowing and conclusion decided right now, and am just writing it out, which takes a while, of course. :P
The next chapter is already 1,200 words in, and I just wanted to be sure I got that bit started before I got this posted.
"Jacky? Jacky!"
QuackerJack jolted awake with a startled gasp, feeling as though something had a vice-like grip on his racing heart as he coughed and clawed at his chest in a desperate attempt to catch his breath. He felt a pair of hands grab his shoulders and shake him with a frantic rhythm, and he was so very confused and panicked, his mind was reeling with an intense feeling that he didn't understand where it had come from.
He shouted and kicked his right leg, then heard a sharp cry of pain when his foot connected with something. This noise dragged some of his sense back to him, and he blinked rapidly as he tried to sort out what was going on.
His head was tilted back and he was staring straight up at a ceiling, and a fan that hung from it was on and spinning. Tearing his mesmerized attention from the fan, he clenched his teeth and rolled his head forward and was met with the sight of his girlfriend, Claire, hopping on one foot with a hand on the shin of the raised leg. It did not take him very long to realize that he'd kicked her in his panicked state, and the thought of it made him feel so miserable and bad, and made his eyes burn and watery.
"... I'm sorry..."
Claire looked up and quickly put her foot back on the floor, then rushed to the couch to sit beside him. QuackerJack couldn't read if her expression was concern for him or something else, but she was sitting beside him now, and she carefully slip her arms around him, holding him with such a careful embrace that he felt that clouded feeling in his head dissipate a little.
He rubbed the heel of his palm against his forehead, and groaned wearily, then became aware of the fact that he was shaking all over, and that his legs felt like jelly.
"... What happened..?" He mumbled, feeling his fight-or-flight instinct fade away and leave him feeling like he'd been run through the wringer. "... I... I don't remember what we were doing before this..."
"Well, you fell asleep about an hour or so ago while we were watching TV." Claire tilted her head upwards to look at him, which was enough to jog his memory of the aforementioned event.
Yes, that's right, they'd been watching the television after a long day, and he must have dozed off after he'd gotten comfortable enough. He vaguely remembered his eyelids feeling heavy at some point, so yes, it was very likely that he had fallen asleep.
"... Okay, but why did you have to shake me like that?"
"You were having a nightmare." Claire said, feeling his breath hitch when she put her head on his chest, and she took note that his heart was still beating rather rapidly. "It must have been a really bad one, because you were screaming about sharp toothed ducks and drooling monsters and your little banana friend..."
QuackerJack felt the color drain from his face as he knew exactly what it was she was talking about. A chill spread through him and he started shuddering before he could counter it, sliding down into a slumped position on the couch. A weak noise escaped him, and he felt like whatever had been squeezing his heart earlier had managed to do it again with more enthusiasm, feeling his breath knock itself out of his lungs.
"Jacky?" Claire's voice helped drag him back to reality and he was able to get a somewhat stable pattern on his breathing with a little bit difficulty. "You're wheezing, are you alright?"
Of course, she'd choose to address the most benign issue he was having right now, it was a tactic of hers to carefully ease him into talking to her when he was distressed. QuackerJack was aware of this method, but he much appreciated that she'd take the time to coax him rather than just pry away at him and his more severe issues like the others did.
"... Just... Oh, that caught me by surprise, is all..." He said quietly, squinting at the dim light of the TV, trying to figure out what had triggered that episode. He was disappointed that as the minutes passed, any lingering memory of the nightmare slipped further from his grasp, and he considered another possibility. "... I don't remember any of it, really... Could have been a night terror..."
"... Want to talk about it?"
"... If I can't remember a thing, I don't think I can talk much about it if I wanted to." QuackerJack shrugged, bringing the arm on the side that Claire was sitting on, up and rested it on her.
"What do you want to talk about, then?"
He thought about it for a second, then shook his head.
"Nah, I'm shot for ideas right now."
"Just talk about anything, I like hearing what you think about."
QuackerJack's face felt hot suddenly, like he was blushing. He snorted a short laugh, then grinned.
"... Balloons." He said. Claire gave him a quizzical look, and he added: "Balloons are nice and simple. Colorful. Classic. Makes people smile. They're all nice, but I think I like the mylar ones the best; they shine and glimmer."
"I like the balloon animal ones, the little poodle ones are cute."
QuackerJack's eyes lit up with enthusiasm and the grin widened as he sat up straighter.
"Oh, of course, I almost forgot about those!" He kicked his feet in childish excitement, practically squealing. "They've gotten so much fancier now, but it's always fun to see them get made!"
They chatted back and forth about all sorts of balloons until they petered out, QuackerJack being the first to have done so, on account of having been more worn. Before he nodded off again, he could not help but notice the fact that this was the third night this week he'd been awakened by some sort of sleep disturbance.
He wondered if this was because his med dosage was changed the week before on account of an odd rare reaction that had made some of the feathers on the back of his head molt prematurely (which he was glad he always wore his hat anyway, and no one could see the thin layer of down as the feathers grew back), and it was simply his system trying to adjust to the change...
"Wow, Jack, that's a pretty big cup of coffee you have there."
QuackerJack sipped at his extra large Starducks at his desk, and looked up from the computer screen at the dog that was peering over the top of the cubicle at him. He knew that his coworker had to have been standing on the desk in his own cubicle to be able to look at him like that. QuackerJack flashed a nervous smile.
"Just a rough night, is all, Rick." QuackerJack sipped the coffee again, which was probably comprised of more than half sugary syrup. He liked it this way. "Can't let myself fall asleep during work hours, the boss will be all over me on that."
"Yeah, just don't make it a habit, too much caffeine is addicting, y'know?"
Rick was one of those friendly sort of people who voiced concern over these kinds of things, and when he was transfered to QuackerJack's department the month before, he immediately seemed to gravitate to the buck toothed duck, and they'd become work buddies almost overnight. Whether Rick was aware of QuackerJack's prior "occupation" before being employed at QuackWerks or not, it wasn't too clear, but he seemed the kind of guy who was more concerned with the "now" instead of "back then".
QuackerJack appreciated that, even if he didn't voice it. He had been feeling isolated lately due to his department shuffling around workers and many of his acquaintances had been moved to where he hardly saw them outside of business meetings, and even more rarely in the break room.
He liked Rick.
"I don't usually get this much..." QuackerJack shrugged and sipped the coffee again. "I'll try not to make it a regular thing."
He typed away at the keyboard throughout the day, a little disappointed that his most recent toy suggestion for the company had been shot down. He was told that it simply wouldn't perform well with today's youth, but he was encouraged to give it another go if he either adjusted it or if he went back to the drawing board. The glimmer of hope that gave him made him more enthusiastic than it should have, he'd have to admit, but he was determined to make a name for himself in this department and live up to his self proclaimed title of "The World's Greatest Toy Maker" he'd given himself in the heydays of his original company, before it went under and he'd been forced into the life of crime as a desperate means to escape destitute.
"Mr. QuackerJack!" A loud voice cut through his thoughts and jolted him back to the real world. He jerked his head back and forth wildly in confusion as he wracked his brain frantically for what he could have possibly done to warrant that tone of voice.
"I-I-I'm sorry! I was j-just-!" He was quick to explain himself, but in his panic, he had no concrete explanation to give. He wasn't even aware what he could have even done. His mind was reeling.
A hand set on his shoulder, and he gasped sharply, then brought his hands up to his head defensively, shouting apology after apology.
"Mr. QuackerJack, please calm down." It was his supervisor, and QuackerJack felt himself involuntarily sink into his chair in embarrassment when he recognized the tone had been that of concern. "I was just telling you that you can take your lunch break now; you were just a little too absorbed in your work, I guess."
QuackerJack frowned to himself and looked around the room, and realized that yes, he must have, as everyone seemed to have already left for break, save for himself and Rick, who was peering nervously around the corner of the cubicle.
"I tried to get your attention myself, but you didn't seem like you heard me." Rick rubbed the back of his head and flashed a sheepish grin. "I got a bit worried after five minutes, you didn't even look up."
QuackerJack blinked and realized he was shaking again. He unconsciously brought his hands up and gripped his upper arms, trying to calm himself down. He had no idea why he'd been so unnerved, but he knew that he didn't like this feeling.
His supervisor was concerned, and grabbed another swivel chair as QuackerJack rocked back and forth with a low whimper, chair squeaking rhythmically. He put both hands on the distraught duck's shoulders, and QuackerJack looked up at him helplessly.
"Would you like to take the rest of the day off, Mr. QuackerJack?"
QuackerJack couldn't believe this. Was... Was he being talked to like some scared child? How absolutely humiliating! He...
He was nodding anyway, almost against his will, but he swallowed a lump in his throat and reached for the keyboard with trembling hands.
"... I... I still have so much to do, if I fall behind..." He trailed off, and realized his heart was pounding hard and fast and each shudder in his arm synced to each beat.
He felt sick. Really sick. And dizzy. Everything felt so far away, even though he was right here with it all. Was he having a panic attack? A heart attack..?
"You can't work at your best if you're not feeling your best, Mr. QuackerJack." His supervisor's voice sounded behind him, and the duck turned his head to stare at him with wide eyes. "You already put your two hundred percent into this, if you don't take care of yourself, you'll burn yourself out."
"But it's not my two hundred percent, I can do better, really!" QuackerJack shook his head, panicked, and pulled at the dingle dangles of his hat with such force, it was a wonder why he hadn't pulled the hat off entirety. "I-! I don't-!" He gasped then clutched the edge of his desk, realizing he was losing his grip on stability at the moment, in both senses of the term. "... C-Call Claire... I-I-I want-tuh Cah-Clah-Claire..." He stuttered weakly, clenching his teeth as his heart was now pounding in his ears. What was happening, what was happening? He gulped, and screamed more clearly with a desperate edge, tears welling up in his eyes. "I want Claire! I want Claire!"
It was decided that QuackerJack would be given a mandatory paid two weeks leave of absence, with the expressed insistence that he'd refrain from doing anything that was considered work assignments, and just relax. It was assumed that he'd been working himself ragged in his attempt to show how enthusiastic he was about his job, and that he'd simply bent under the strain.
QuackerJack was sitting, slumped to the side, in the passenger seat of the car, head resting on the window as he regarded the road with a sort of detached emotion, like he didn't really care what had just happened within the last hour.
Claire was driving the car for him, as it had been advised to do so as QuackerJack didn't seem to be in the right state to properly handle the vehicle as he normally would have. She looked at him once they paused at a stop light, and couldn't help but notice how dejected he looked. His arms were folded, and his knees were up to his chest as his feet were resting on the dashboard. She tapped the spot next to his foot, and managed to get his attention for a moment.
"Jacky, that's not safe, if we get in an accident, that air bag is going to break your legs."
"... We won't get in an accident, you're too careful of a driver..." He mumbled, but nevertheless, put his feet back on the floor space in front of him.
"I might be, but there's other drivers too, and not everyone is as careful."
"... Is that all you have to say to me?" QuackerJack huffed, which caught Claire off guard. "I have a total meltdown at work, and all you say is how bad it is to have my feet up on the dash?"
"I figured you'd talk when you're ready, it was already obvious that you were upset, I wasn't going to shake a stick at a beehive." Claire said sincerely.
"... A beehive? I'm a beehive?" QuackerJack snorted, finding that analogy somewhat amusing. "Go on, explain that one."
"Easy. Your ideas are like the queen and honey, and your tangle of emotions are the little workers and drones, and you've got them all riled up trying to defend the queen." Claire didn't look away from the road as she put the car back in motion. "Prodding at you right now when you're upset is like waving a stick at a hive full of confused bees. It's unnecessary, and just leads to escalation, so it's best to let it cool down so you can think more clearly later."
"... You're funny."
"There's a Hamburger Hippo's just off the off ramp, you want to get a milkshake?"
QuackerJack's eyes lit up and he nodded, looking more energetic than he had been barely five minutes ago. He sat up in his seat more alertly, and grinned.
"Chocolate."
The table top was sticky from spilled soda, as was expected of most fast food establishments that was popular with children. QuackerJack waited for the guy behind the counter finished wiping it up, and spun in his stool chair to pass the time as he and Claire waited for thier orders to be finished.
The bulldog behind the counter eyed QuackerJack with a look that clearly said he was wondering why this adult duck was fidgeting like an antsy child, and QuackerJack felt himself wilt a little inside, so he stopped spinning the stool with a pout. Claire looked back and forth between the two, and figured out the problem without having to ask.
"You're not bothering anyone, Jacky, you don't have to stop if that's what you wanted to do."
The larger duck perked up and smiled, then went back to his stool spinning, giggling without much thought on how that might have appeared.
The bulldog gave the table top one more wipe with the towel before he was satisfied with the cleanliness, and said to Claire: "Ey, is he alright?"
"... What exactly do you mean by that?" Claire said coolly, knowing full well what he was asking about, but was willing to challenge the dog about it.
"Y'know... Alright. Like..." He guestured to his head with twirl of the fingers. "Is he?"
"I can hear you, I'm not deaf." QuackerJack chimed while still spinning the stool. "You can just ask me, I'm right here."
The bulldog blinked then had his eyes open a bit wider as if he hadn't exactly expected that reaction, and now he looked like he wished that he could have worded that better.
"Okay, I'm just curious." He said, leaning on the counter in an attempt at a friendly gesture of interest. "Why you so twitchy? Can't sit still, can you?"
QuackerJack paused on spinning just as he spun around to face the bulldog.
"... Not too sure, I think the reason is because I'm just hyper." He said carefully, not really wanting to get into full detail about what sort of layers factored into that.
"Ah." The bulldog nodded. "My cousin's got one of those kinds of kids. Real handful, but he's got a lot of energy and real popular when they do the sports. Doesn't tire out as fast as the other kids, and he just loves soccer."
QuackerJack felt a spark of joy at hearing about a child that prefered playing outside instead of languishing away in front of the TV and playing those accursed video games.
"Really? That's good to hear."
Thier orders finally arrived, and before they could start nibbling away, QuackerJack grabbed the tray.
"Wait, wait! I wanna try something!" He said excitedly, before he set the tray back. "I wanna see if fries taste better if it's someone else's. Let's have each other's fries."
There it was. One of his silly little quirks. It was such a shame that no one really bothered to look at those, he really was endearing when he dared to open up like this.
"Wouldn't they taste the same, though? They came from the same fryer."
"Well, if you look at it like that, of course, but that's not the point." QuackerJack propped his head up with a hand by putting one arm on the counter, and reached for the pile of fries closest to Claire. "Suspension of disbelief can be powerful if you ignore the rules. I know the fries come from the same place, but I want to believe that your fries will taste better than mine because they aren't mine." He waved three fries pinched between his fingers for emphasis before shoving them in his mouth. "Therefore, I can trick myself into thinking your fries are better than mine, because they aren't my fries."
The bulldog behind the counter rolled his eyes and muttered something about "crazy kids", and went off to tend to the other customers. QuackerJack shot a brief glare his way, but let it slide, but not without sticking his tongue out first.
"Well, you definitely seem better than when we left QuackWerks." Claire's voice pulled his attention back, and he looked at her. "I won't lie, you gave me a bit of a fright when I picked you up."
"... I did..?" His voice was small, and the straw for the milkshake fell from his open mouth. He hadn't really considered the what it must have looked like from the other side of things.
"Yes." Claire reached for fries on QuackerJack's side of the tray, and dipped them in ketchup. "You were just so listless when I got there, but they told me that you'd had a panic attack when they called. In fact, I could hear you still yelling on the other end of the phone in the background."
"... I don't know what happened, honestly." His face turned red and he looked at the ground. "... I was just working, and... I zoned out, and the next thing I knew, I just felt... horrible?" QuackerJack always had such a hard time trying to find the words that accurately described the exact emotions that he had. He frowned, then added: "Alone? Like..." He held his hands up and scrunched the air between them, making a crunchy-like noise with his mouth, trying to pinpoint the description he was looking for. "I want to say: 'Fuzzy', like static, but that doesn't quite seem right."
He blinked, then looked to his left, seeing the bulldog behind the counter watching him with great interest, with his arms on the table top.
"... C-Can I help you, sir?" QuackerJack raised an eyebrow at him cautiously.
"Sounds like what you need is some self care. Get yourself some of those fancy fragrant candles, or a nice walk in the woods, I got a-"
"Let me guess, you've got a cousin who-?" QuackerJack deadpanned.
"Brother."
"Right. Look, I don't want to be rude, but this isn't your business. I mean, thanks for doing our food, but I don't even know your name."
"Jacky, it's not that bad of an idea." Claire touched his hand and he looked back at her. "You've got the next two weeks off, remember?"
"Because I made a huge scene at work. It's like being grounded, except I'm getting paid."
"And you've got two weeks to take it easy, so you might as well take advantage of the free time. Like a vacation."
"My idea of being on vacation is being able to make my toys in my free time without restraint, but remember, they advised me not to do work things for the next two weeks, so I honestly don't know what to do with myself." QuackerJack said in one breath, raising his pitch near the end to a squeaky voice before he inhaled deeply.
"... You could do scrapbooking."
"... Scrapbooking?"
"Yeah, why not? It's a creative thing." Claire shrugged. "You love creative stuff."
"Its just cutting up colorful paper, with stickers and framing pictures with little fancy matting with poster board cut up with pinking shears and... Oh, I see the appeal now." He changed his opinion seemingly in mid sentence. "... Actually, that doesn't sound all bad, it's like playing with paper..."
"We could stop by the craft store on the way home and pick up some supplies if you really want to do it."
"Alright, why not?" QuackerJack said, grinning widely. He stood up and pointed in no particular direction. "Claire Bear, get the keys to the car, we're going on a shopping spree!"
Claire barely looked up at him as he darted off. She simply grabbed another fry from the tray.
"... Claaaaaaaaiiiiiire!" QuackerJack's voice whined from across the parking lot.
"It's six dollars worth of fries, I'm not just leaving them here, sit back down and drink your milkshake, we've got all day."
"But... The mood. It's... A big creative mood."
"You missed lunch break, you're eating more than just a handful of fries."
QuackerJack was idly rattling the amber bottle of pills as he waited for his name to be called, ignoring the stares he was getting from people who recognized his preferred attire.
In addition to being forced to take a mandatory vacation, he had been quickly scheduled for an impromptu appointment with his psychologist that weekend, and while he really didn't care much for it; it was always such a boring session in a boring room and forced him to be away from anything that he could scribble on and write down ideas himself... He basically felt it was shoehorned into his bi-weekly schedule just to inconvenience him. It always seemed that his drive to create something kicked into overdrive when he was ushered into that dimly lit, bland office that was kept so neat, so orderly, without so much as a fuzzy bear on a shelf.
The room always seemed off to him, but those who he expressed the concern to merely insisted that the decor was meant to be non-threatening to all clients, and there seemed to be many of them who were obsessive compulsive about how immaculate the room they would spend an hour in was.
QuackerJack was not one of them, and it always felt like he'd stepped into another plane of existence when he pushed the finely carved and lacquered door open to shuffle in. The room absorbed outside noises and he could never hear the distant chattering of the people in the waiting room once he shut the door behind him. It probably didn't help that he'd have to be ushered down a long, brightly lit hallway, a gauntlet lined with framed photographs of fields filled to the brim with flowers against a backdrop of a clear blue sky.
It seemed so artificial, so saccharin, and he often wondered as he cautiously stepped down the hall, that this was purposely designed that way to make him feel like a bundle of nerves when he got to the end of the walkway.
"Ah, Mr. QuackerJack, come in."
"... You can just call me 'Jacky', I think I like that better, I've said that before..."
"Of course, Mr. QuackerJack."
QuackerJack narrowed his eyes, but quickly dropped the look and sat down in the large cushy chair opposite of the psychiatrist, who was a lady weasel. He gripped the bottle in both his hands tightly, and shook his foot on the floor in an unconscious fidget.
"Now, your regularly scheduled appointment was for next week, but it seems like there was an incident and your boss insisted that we'd schedule an emergency check in, would you like to tell me about that?"
QuackerJack felt his face gain a burning sensation as embarrassment made a sort of blush spread across the bridge of his beak. "Emergency" was such a strong word; and it made it all sound worse than it already was.
"... I... I had a..." He mumbled, before he cleared his throat and looked up from the pill bottle. "There was a bit of a problem at work yesterday. I'm not sure what happened... but something triggered such a big fright, and I kinda... I guess I had a panic attack, that's what they keep calling it..."
There was a noise, like pen scratching on paper.
"Have you ever had those before now?"
The duck blinked, and furrowed his brow in deep thought. Not that he could recall in recent times, but there was...
"Years ago, when my old company was starting to go bankrupt."
"Ah, yes, that's right, you used to run a toy company some time ago." There was a rustling of papers in a manilla folder, and the weasel extracted what seemed like a newspaper clipping. "QuackerJack Toys. You used to be quite successful."
"Yeah, until that-that Whiffle Boy came on scene and ruined everything." His voice gained a bitter edge and his fingers tightened around the pill bottle, before he caught himself and took a deep breath. "But, that was a long time ago, I lost and it took a great deal, but I'd like to think I pushed past it."
"But, only after your stint as a nemesis to Darkwing Duck, and your actions as one of St. Canard's most notorious-"
"That was a long time ago!" QuackerJack snapped, throwing the pill bottle to the floor at his feet in an outburst, before his face turned red again and he quickly picked it up and mumbled an apology as he spun it around in his fingers nervously. "... I'm sorry... It's just that... I want to get better, but people keep reminding me of what I've done, not what I can do now..."
"It's alright, Mr. Quack-"
"Jacky."
"Jacky. This is a safe place." The weasel said calmly as QuackerJack sank in his chair with a severely distressed expression, the pill bottle rattling and the bells of his hat jingling as he trembled again. "You don't have to be ashamed of how you feel, or how you respond. Otherwise, we'd likely make no progress in helping you."
"... I guess that makes s-s-s-sense..." QuackerJack managed in a tiny voice, darting his eyes around the room for anything that could remotely be more calming than clutching a bottle of pills and shaking them like an infant's rattle.
Oh, how he missed Mr. Banana Brain dearly.
"My job is to help you, Jacky. I can't do that if you keep trying to bottle up everything out of fear of judgment." The weasel smiled warmly and reached out into the gap between them and touched his arm in a friendly gesture, but he flinched involuntarily. "But, I'll say this; you've certainly made progress than when you were first brought in to me. Do you remember our first session?"
"... Honestly, no. No, I do not." He said truthfully, knowing full well that he'd been in such a jumbled state of mind after his beloved Mr. Banana Brain had been shredded before his very eyes, that he could only recall the following weeks after that as nothing more than a fever dream.
"I would have probably made more progress with a brick wall than I did with our first session." She made a cute small laugh, which eased QuackerJack down a little. "You could say that you were catatonic, and the only way to get a reaction out of you was when your hat was touched. You just screamed bloody murder; it scared the other clients in the waiting room, even."
"... Should you even be telling me about the other clients, I thought that was supposed to be confidential?"
"What I'm trying to say is that you should be proud of how far you've come in the past year alone. Not just in our sessions, but out there in the world, too. You're working, you can support yourself, and you've even built relationships." The weasel continued to smile. "It wouldn't be much of a stretch to say that you're probably my best success; they'd insisted that I couldn't so much as get a word out of you, but here we are. I'm happy for you, Jacky."
It had been so long since he'd heard an authority figure of sorts express such pride in him. He was so used to being bossed around by such, being apprehended by the likes of Darkwing, being intimidated by his old "boss" Negaduck (the fiend), overhearing how he was such a lost cause and a dangerous inventor of toys and was only allowed on the streets of St. Canard at this point so long as he didn't cause significant trouble that endangered anyone... That the idea that he was being congratulated for his tiny accomplishments was almost foreign to him.
"Now, Jacky, I see that you've brought a pill bottle along, is that your prescription?"
He opened his cupped hands to stare at the bottle.
"... Yes." He nodded distantly. "... I don't know if this is working right. They switched the dosage last week, and I've just been feeling really wierd since then."
"It sometimes takes a bit of time to adjust to a new dosage, but I'd be more than happy to takes some notes for you and check with your physician."
QuackerJack explained the odd occurrences he had had in the past few days, making absolute certain to bring attention to the night terror he'd experienced the other night.
"I mean, I'd be lying if I'd said I've never had a nightmare before, but this is the first time I can remember ever having a night terror." He said, twirling one dingle dangle of his hat between his fingers of the appropriate hand. "If Claire hadn't been there to snap me out of it, I don't know how long it could have gone on, or how it could have-"
"Night terrors themselves aren't inherently dangerous, if you were worried about some long term physical effects." The weasel reassured. "And while they can be a symptom themselves, they don't always mean that something is very wrong. When you're asleep, your brain works on a different kind of level, and-"
"I know how the brain works, I've studied it before, it was... Kind of part of a few of my old schemes." QuackerJack shifted his eyes to the right and narrowed them awkwardly. "... You've probably heard about that one incident where one of my... acquaintances and I had a bit of spree where I built a mind numbing machine disguised as a toy ray gun, and we kinda just... made everyone let us rob them blind without consequence."
"Ah, yes, that was one of your most memorable. You set the city on fire."
"Accidentally!" QuackerJack sat up straight and shouted defensively. "I didn't know that district was such a fire hazard! It was dark, and I couldn't see a thing. It was Mr. Banana Brain's idea anyway!"
"... You are aware that this Mr. Banana Brain was still an extension of you?"
"Of course, but he-!" QuackerJack suddenly huffed and clenched his teeth, then sank back in the chair. "... Well, anyway, thanks to the fact that we had ended up clearing out that district with the whole apathy thing not making anyone care to be there, there wasn't really any casualties. In fact, Megs and I helped put out the fire. Well, he actually flooded the place when he broke a fire hydrant, but the point is, we did a thing, the thing went sour, and we learned our lesson." He snorted and shook his head. "The most astounding thing is that we only got community service as punishment, so I guess they let us off easy."
"And, to be clear, this 'Megs' is..?"
"Megavolt. He's my-! Was. Was my best friend. I haven't seen him since starting at QuackerWerks, but I've heard that he works in one of the other departments." QuackerJack had a fond smile on his face now. "He's got such a bad memory, though. He's always forgetting everything, because something fried his brain when he was younger. But, we'd always have such a good time when we had to work together, so much so that we'd done a few team ups on our own. He was probably the only one who could keep up with my energy."
"You seem to think highly of him, then." The weasel thumbed through the manilla folder and pulled out yet another newspaper clipping. "Yes, I see, you're talking about Elmo Sputterspark."
"Oh, you know him, then? Can I see that?" QuackerJack reached for the newspaper clipping before he'd gotten an answer.
"It's just an article documenting your brief... employment under Negaduck."
Immediately, QuackerJack shrunk back with a harsh gasp as if she'd been holding out a scorpion at him. It was very clear that the mention of his old boss had triggered a sort of reaction in him.
"Mr. Qua-? Jacky?" The weasel said with concern as QuackerJack began shuddering. "Are you alright?"
"... Don't s-say that name, Ms. Mustela..." He squeaked, drawing his knees to his chest, appearing to be very distraught now. "... He's the one who k-killed Mr. Banana Brain..."
The weasel, Ms. Mustela, quickly stuffed the newspaper clipping into the folder, and pulled her armchair over to sit beside him as he slowly curled into a trembling ball.
"... Jacky?"
"... He k-ki-! He killed him! He killed Mr. Banana Brain!" QuackerJack wheezed, burying his face in his hands. He gasped like a fish out of water and wailed inconsolably. "Mr. Banana Brain didn't do anything wrong! He took Mr. Banana Brain away from me! He took him away from me! It's my fault, it's all my fault, I made him mad! Mr. Banana Brain is dead!"
This might have been a very concerning set of words if he'd been talking about a person, but QuackerJack was talking about his favorite toy; a banana faced doll he'd crafted with his own hands and had once carried around everywhere like his very own little friend after he'd lost everything and gone bankrupt. Given that Mr. Banana Brain had been such an important factor in his prior chapters of life, this doll had come to be a comfort item for him, something to bounce ideas off of, something that he could just talk to without fear of being betrayer and something he could project upon in his own little fantasy world. And now, in his absence, QuackerJack had lost that little element, and left the duck on rather unsteady ground every time he thought about his fallen fruit faced friend.
"... Jacky, it's certainly sad what happened to you, and I'm sorry if I've upset you, but you shouldn't blame yourself." Ms. Mustela said carefully, putting a hand on his shuddering back and giving him a few reassuring pats. "You weren't the one who tore him up, you didn't do anything wrong right there."
QuackerJack lifted his head out of his hands, his face a flushed hot, wet mess of tears, drool and snot from wailing so much.
"I just left him there! He needed me, and I left him there!" He squinted through reddened eyes and snuffled, then wiped at his face roughly with his spotted sleeve. He was hyperventilating. "I-I panicked, I didn't know what to do! I c-could have fixed him, but I was scared!"
"Jacky, here, don't wipe your face on your sleeves..." Ms. Mustela handed him a box of soft tissues, from which he grabbed a handful. "Now that you've let that all out, don't you feel better?"
"... No." QuackerJack mumbled, before he put a finger to his lip in thought. "... Okay, alright, maybe a little..." He blew his nose loudly, then sniffed. "... A lot."
"Now, normally, I'd save these for my younger clients..." Ms. Mustela said as she walked to her desk and opened a drawer, QuackerJack leaning over a little to watch her curiously. She pulled out a handful of colorful suckers. "But, I think you're never too old to like lollipops."
QuackerJack grinned and nodded enthusiastically, agreeing very much so.
"... Is there a blue raspberry one?"
"Yes, I think so."
Within seconds, he happily unwrapped the candy and was licking away at it, not caring that it was going to dye his tongue blue for a while. He was content for now.
"We'll still keep your regularly scheduled appointment up for next week, but remember, you can come and see me anytime if you feel like you need to." Ms. Mustela said as QuackerJack beamed at her, kicking his feet idly like a fidgety kid.
In the past year alone, she felt like, with all the progress, no matter how small, she'd made with him, had come to bring him like somewhat of a surrogate son in her eyes (albeit, awkwardly tall and probably closer to her own to her age than an adolescent), and she did genuinely worry about his stability, much like a parent would.
He was that special case.
QuackerJack popped the sucker in the side of his mouth to free up his hands and he hopped off the chair with a much more lifted spirits.
"Thanks, Ms. Mustela!" He chimed, and threw his arms in the air before he caught her up in a big hug, which pulled her feet off the ground due to her smaller stature.
"Jacky, I think this is the first time you've initiated contact yourself during a session."
"Is it? That's nice!"
"Yes. Now, when you leave, I'll be sure to run your concerns about your new dosage with the other health departments, and we'll see what we can do about that." Ms. Mustela said as QuackerJack set her back down. She looked up at him; he very much looked like an overgrown child right now as he held onto the rolled paper stick of the candy, which itself was still in his mouth. "Take care of yourself, you've got the next two weeks off, so just take it easy and don't stress yourself out."
"Claire's gonna help me start scrapbooking tonight!"
"Have fun with that, Jacky."
And that's the end of part one.
This is, if you didn't figure out already, going to be a bit of an exploration into how QuackerJack functions after Negaduck destroyed Mr. Banana Brain in the "Duck Knight Returns" comic arc, because I feel like there's not much explored in that territory...
Ms. Mustela is modeled around no one in particular, but I will say that her surname is the scientific genus name for weasels, because I just love being meta about names. XD