Title: Tipping Point
Summary: With Gosalyn gone, Darkwing has no one to blame but himself for pushing her away. Launchpad tries to get the hero back on his feet without any success. And even Negaduck knows that somewhere, something went wrong, forcing the villain to make the mistake that will cost him his minions, his empire and eventually his life.
Genre: Angst/Tragedy
Disclaimer: Don't own :3
Rating and Warning: T for violence. Some blood.
A/N: It's been a while :3
"Come on troops! Let's cage those creeps." Her voice rings through his head, clear as crystal. The memory of her pushing up her sleeves, ready to fight evildoers, makes his stomach lurch with dread.
"Reality check. We are the crime fighters. You are the obedient daughter who stays put and out of trouble." He hates himself for saying this. So patronizing, so degrading.
No wonder she left.
"Uhm, just what reality are we checking?" Launchpad had opted, trying to keep the peace between them. Bless his heart for always trying to keep everyone on track, time and again, whenever an argument between father and daughter was on the rise.
She would have left a long time ago if it weren't for Launchpad, probably.
"Ahw dad, do we really have to go through this again?" There it was. Her endless spirit always spurred her on to go against all his wishes. His little redheaded hellion would dive face first in to danger just to get a piece of the action. They had argued over this a dozen times before, and would argue over this same topic a thousand times more.
Or… well…
"I mean it Gos. If something were to happen to you, I don't know what I would do." Search St. Canard from the depths of the darkest crawlspace to the tip of the antenna on the highest tower in the city. Over, and over, and over…
…and over.
"Ok. I promise I won't get involved." She had promised him.
She had promised him not to get involved. That she would stay in the Ratcatcher, sit there like a good little girl and wait for him and Launchpad to get back.
That night has played out in his mind a million times over by now. All the things he had said. Everything he had done. Every step he took, every breath he took, that one moment he had taken to make sure his hat was on straight. One cannot fight evildoers with a hat that is askew.
The whole night haunts him like a ghost in one of his daughter's ridiculous B-movie horror films.
"Reality check. We are the crime fighters. You are the obedient daughter who stays put and out of trouble." Something in his chest lurches like a punch to the stomach. For the first time in an hour he moves, the pain in his chest causing a physical reaction. What kind of moron would say that to a little ten year old girl? What kind of a father would say that to his daughter? He loves her. He is supposed to love her.
Why did he say it like that to her?
"Reality check. We are the crime fighters. You are the obedient daughter who stays put and out of trouble." Breath is caught in his throat, the pain that punches him in the gut is pulling the air from his lungs. That is why she ran away. Of course that is the reason she ran away. And he thought it was weird she was always getting in to trouble, undermining his authority as her father.
The dozen or so fights at school. The bad grades. Sneaking out in the middle of the night so she could play hero in the tower. Staying up late to watch horror movies he is almost certain a girl her age should not be watching.
He is a lousy father.
No wonder she left.
Tears begin streaming down his face and beak, feeling hot against his cold skin. 'Gos…' Wrenches out of his chest and a thick lump of agony rises like bile up his throat. "I'm so sorry…" He whispers softly, voice hitching in his apology as he finally has the breakdown that has been brooding for months now.
"DW! Are you ok?" Launchpad throws in over the radio, voice tight with tension.
He doesn't hear it. Gosalyn's face flashes before his eyes. Her big bright eyes, her infectious smile, her naughty giggle, her never ending spirit. His body shakes with a broken laugh and a choked sob. Grief washes over his frame and drains the strength from his body. Even though the unforgiving ground scrapes his skin raw as he falls to his knees, he doesn't notice the flame of the injury on his skin.
"Breathe DW. It's ok, but you have to breathe." Launchpad sounds dangerously calm, but if you know the guy well, like Darkwing knows Launchpad, you can hear the tremor in his voice.
"Reality check. We are the crime fighters. You are the obedient daughter who stays put and out of trouble." He whispers softly, unblinking, still shedding tears.
"DW…" There is a long pause over the radio. It gives the hero a moment to catch his breath, but somehow he is unable to get control over it. "You have to pull yourself together…" Which is easier said then done. It feels as if he is breathing through a straw. The silence over the radio is short lived when Launchpad makes a decision. "Hang on. I'm on my way!" For as good as being on his way can get.
During their last mission Launchpad had gotten himself injured. Ironically while trying to save Darkwing from getting hurt. The pilot is now stuck in a wheelchair with one leg bandaged up from getting shot. An injury that will not be permanent but needs time to heal.
Thankfully, Darkwing didn't feel guilty enough already…
It is the reason why he is here, on this deserted rooftop, staring in to the dark skyline of St. Canard. The high building is the perfect vantage point to overlook a great portion of the city, all the way down to the harbor and the sea beyond it. To the hero's left, with one smaller building in between is the reason why he is stationed here.
The St. Canard House of Ancient Art is holding a special exhibition of jewelry worn by kings and queens from the past. The highlight of the show is a crown, jewelry and clothing worn by Queen von Ducken during her crowning ceremony in the early 1400s.
The crown alone is worth millions.
Security has been upped a hundred fold already. The police forces that are patrolling the building and the surrounding few blocks have been tripled, there is a chopper circling the outer premises and according to J. Gander the military has been put on stand by, just in case.
Just in case, the exhibition itself is enough to draw many big time villains, like bees to honey. It's not that the authorities are expecting some small time crooks to try and steal the jewelry, it's the worst of the worst they are expecting.
Being dubbed Public Enemy Nr. 2 did not fall well with Negaduck, who has been getting more and more volatile over the last few weeks.
They are hoping that the added security is enough to deter him from striking the museum, but with the added power of the Fearsome Four there hasn't been much that could stop the villain. Even if half of team Fearsome seems to have vanished from the face of the Earth, Negaduck still has Bushroot and Liquidator at his disposal.
So S. H. U. S. H. had called in the help of the vigilante as an extra trump card to lead in to battle should Negaduck decide to attack. Everyone has been on edge because tonight is the final night of the exhibit, with a big gala to celebrate and so far no has has made a wrong move.
So the dark cloud looming over the museum, accompanied by Launchpad unable to walk for at least another two months, have led to the events of one Darkwing Duck waiting out the night and any upcoming events.
One emotionally and physically exhausted Darkwing Duck.
Who is supposed to be ready to jump into action when the alarm bells begin to ring.
Alarm bells that have started to go off a little while ago, but Darkwing is so absorbed in himself he doesn't register the sirens that have picked up their alarm. High in the air the chopper makes an abrupt turn. It has has done a one eighty in midair and just passes the building the hero is occupying. The distance between Darkwing and the chopper grows three blocks, then four, and it would have gotten more if it hadn't been for the missile being shot at it. The explosion that follows is violent and the destruction immense as it plummets straight into another building.
Had Darkwing been paying attention he would have noticed the signature of his evil double written all over the missile.
Had he been in any better state of mind he would have seen the chaos that would soon develop. The explosion caused by the chopper has set the building on fire. Authorities are trying to save those who survived the initial blast and are now trapped in the inferno. Trees are marching the streets of downtown St. Canard. A huge tidal wave has hit the harbor. Police are scattered, firemen are sent to multiple locations and hospitals are getting ready for the first of the ambulances to bring them victims.
An explosion follows in the museum, triggered by, probably, a rocket launcher.
All of this chaos and there is no Darkwing Duck to bring order.
Hours pass, and the city fights on her own without its hero.
After what seems like minutes in the void of his mind, the sirens have begun to die down, the chaos in the city is ebbing away slowly and the sun is gently rising on the horizon. Long shadows are cast and the first rays of the sun turn the black sky into dark purple, slowly turning pink and red and orange as it climbs higher. Darkwing, still on his knees, body rigid from the stress and the cold, barely notices any change.
He doesn't hear the sirens slowly die out. Doesn't notice the trees and flood retreating from the streets. Doesn't smell the stench of fire and smoke slowly becoming less and less.
Doesn't notice the scraping sound creeping in closer as someone is slowly scaling the side of the building.
Had the hero been in any better state of mind he would have moved hours ago, heeding the small, nagging voice in the back of his head that is telling him that Launchpad is searching for him. That the poor pilot has probably managed to make his way through the tower, has crawled into the cockpit of the Thunderquack and is now circling the sky.
That little voice however, is drowned out by other, louder voices that are screaming and cursing at him. "Reality check. We are the crime fighters. You are the obedient daughter who stays put and out of trouble." Repeats itself like a broken record because he believes that is the reason why Gosalyn has left him. A nagging little voice is constantly berating him for being such a lousy father, that she is better off without him, that she has found a normal family with a mother and a father and brothers or sisters and other normally functioning members. Not the half baked attempt that he and Launchpad have been providing.
He and Launchpad together barely make up for one reasonable adult.
One voice chastises him for being a horrible friend to Launchpad, who is probably worried sick. Who has been worried sick for three months now, ever since Gosalyn disappeared. The friend that has his back, constantly, and who is probably suffering from her loss as much as Darkwing is. And yet, the pilot is too good a friend to show it. Too great a man to let the hero know that he too shed tears in her absence. That he too misses the tiny socks in the wash, the toys scattered around the house, the games of war in their backyard. Darkwing is not only a lousy father, he is also a lousy friend.
The voice tells him that Launchpad will come to his senses soon and leave him too, just like she did.
Another voice tells him that the great Darkwing is nothing without her. That the city will be better off without him anyway. Just look at what happened tonight.
That he should just kill himself.
One voice, that screams from the top of its lungs but still fails to get his attention is screaming, crying, begging him to please get up because someone is coming!
And still he doesn't acknowledge the looming shadow slowly creeping in his line of vision. He is too enthralled with all of the voices and emotions to notice his company lowers themselves to their knees in front of him. A hand is softly placed on his shoulder but retreats just as quickly, almost fearful to hurt him. The other seems to hesitate for a moment longer before the hand is placed back on his shoulder and gives it a squeeze. Darkwing still can't force himself to move even when his hat is lifted from his head and placed on the ground next to them with more care then the other might have intended.
He does finally move when the other places a gentle hand underneath his chin and pushes his head up, being awfully gentle about it.
Webbed feet.
A dash of yellow littered with red blotches…
A face split in half by a wicked grin.
The only answer the hero has for the newcomer is a dry, broken sob bubbling from the back of his throat. A stray tear runs down his face, landing on the ground with a soft plop so loud it could have been a bomb being set off right beneath them.
"You know I missed you down there…" Negaduck tries, emphasis on tries, to keep the humor from his voice. He leans in just a little closer and brings up the hand that was stationed on Darkwing's shoulder. With that hand he gently wipes away the trail left by the tear.
The grin on his face gets even wider. "You ok buddy?" There is laughter in his voice.
He knows something is wrong.
"Licky said something was up, but this…" He softly begins with that awful smile still on his beak. The horrendous nickname he oh so sweetly calls one of his minions is nothing short of foreboding. Darkwing know he should do something. All of the voices have stopped calling him terrible things and blaming him for everything and are now screaming at his to get up and defend yourself!
Even if Darkwing had been properly functioning and ready for a full on fight he still wouldn't be able to react in time. His body is lifted from the ground and slammed in to the wall behind him. The blow knocks the breath out of his lungs. Then a sharp intake follows when pain explodes in his chest, piercing through flesh and expertly cutting in between his ribs. The blade is perfectly lodged right next to a lung, only brushing past vital organs because Negaduck wants it to.
It leaves the hero gasping for breath, one arm raised to his enemy's chest, the other hand weakly wrapped around the hand pushing the blade in to his own chest. Not there to stop. Not there to push away.
Just there.
Darkwing jerks forward as his nemesis pulls the blade out of his chest. It doesn't abbreviate the pain one bit. The agony only intensifies when Negaduck plunges the blade back in to his body, lower then before and in his side, once more missing vital organs.
If the villain had wanted it he could have killed the hero off right then and there.
But Negaduck wouldn't be Negaduck if he didn't enjoy himself and milk this moment until the last drop.
Darkwing has been a thorn in the eye of many villains, including himself. It would only be fair that he gets to off the hero in one final, epic showdown that will shake St. Canard to its very core, letting its pathetic citizens know Negaduck has won. That Negaduck is king!
Even if this final showdown isn't really epic…
It can't really be called a fight. Not even if you squint your eyes and use your imagination to visualize the battle…
Negaduck is just… stabbing Darkwing a bit.
The villain relaxes his stance somewhat, if only to goad his nemesis to do something. Well, something other then lean against his free shoulder, breath ragged from the injuries, voice hoarse and skin beneath his feathers raw from the wild grief he has been experiencing throughout the night. This reaction, or lack thereof, sparks the first tendrils of rage in his own blood. Negaduck pulls the blade out of his adversary's side with a wet sound, feeling the warm liquid coat his fingers.
Darkwing raises a free hand to his new wound, more out of instinct then as a conscious reaction to stop the bleeding or hold the pain. The yellow clad duck takes a step back to give the other space. The hero would probably move to sit on the ground if he himself had the chance, but Negaduck isn't about to let him off that easy. "What? This not doing it for ya?" With a swift kick to the side he had just stabbed the villain downs the other, slamming him in to the ground and straddling his mirror image with his weight.
Out of instinct Negaduck grabs a free hand and pins it to the ground while raising the other to throw a punch at his nemesis. There is a gratifying crack when his fist connects with the other's face. Ready to pounce some more the villain waits just a few seconds longer before brining his fist down again and again, each time leaving a few more seconds in between his assault.
Seconds that keep ticking on after each punch. At some point Negaduck releases the other's wrist in favor of punching the hero with both hands, only needing to make minimum effort to swat away the hands that Darkwing brings up to defend himself with.
Although the word defend is really giving too much credit to whatever it is the purple clad duck is trying.
Or lack thereof.
Negaduck grabs a fistful of feathers in both hands and pulls the other's head up. Another deeply satisfying crack resonates when he slams the other back down on to the unforgiving concrete. He does it twice more for good measure before pulling his hands back and wrapping them around his enemy's throat.
And yet, the villain is unable to press down hard enough to actually do damage.
Two hands have wrapped themselves around his own wrists, weakly, the pressure nowhere near enough to throw the yellow clad duck off.
Even with Negaduck not trying to actually kill the other just yet.
Blearily blue eyes are staring up, unfocussed, darting left and right. Not daring Negaduck to kill him.
Not begging him for forgiveness.
Not asking for mercy or sympathy.
Not challenging the villain in any way.
The unsatisfying lack of passion that he is so used to getting from the purple clad hero sends Negaduck himself in to a rage filled frenzy. Logic and reason are thrown out the window as he begins throwing a barrage of punches at his nemesis, uncaring where they land, unsatisfied and disappointed and furious for the barely there soul that he is tormenting. Darkwing is barely raising one hand to shield his face, using the other to dig his fingers in Negaduck's leg. Not trying to throw the other duck off, but trying get to his throbbing injury that Negaduck is subconsciously squeezing with his leg as he sits on top of Darkwing.
Profanities and curses and random insults are flowing from Negaduck's beak like water with years of practice to back it up. He snarls a particular nasty comment with bared teeth and throws a punch to the side of his enemy's beak that makes Darkwing flinch. The raised arm the purple hero is using to sort of defend himself falls to the side, strength drained from his body.
The both of hem are left breathless for a tense few moments. Negaduck having exhausted most of his rage and venting it on the near defenseless duck he is still sitting on. Blood drips from his hands and sticks to his clothes and feathers. His wild eyes search the duck beneath him for a reaction in any way, shape or form.
Darkwing doesn't do much, other then taking ragged intakes of wet breath through sharp hitches of his chest. There is a soft rattle with each intake that Negaduck picks up on, indicating a lung has been pierced by a broken rib.
It goes to show the villain forgets his own strength sometimes. Especially in his fury.
Engines roar to his far left and when Negaduck jerks his head towards the sound he sees the Thunderquack soar through the morning sky. Of course that idiot pilot is searching for Dorkwing, certainly took him long enough.
The distraction helps with the last droplets of rage to dissipate from Negaduck's tense muscles, making way for a more controlled, much more dangerous anger. He looks back down, grabbing his adversary by the neck, lifting the fallen hero up as far as he can with himself still sitting on him, and slamming him back down into the concrete. The satisfying thud finally brings a cruel smile to the villains face.
Hazed eyes stare up, trying to focus on the evil duck. "I'm feeling generous today." He growls from somewhere deep in his throat. The foreboding tremor would have terrified anyone else should it be directed at them. "And seeing as you seem to be feeling a little under the weather…" His voice is a little hoarse from screaming profanities a little earlier. "Why do we not postpone our final get together, at least until you feel up to par again?"
Negaduck can be oh so generous sometimes.
"No one will fight you…" He promises, lowering himself slightly to look his downed foe in the eye. "No one will touch you…" He taps the other's chest with a bloodied finger. The vile grin on his faces spreads into an even wider smile filled with malcontent.
"No one will even look at you in a way that I don't like."
Darkwing gasps when the weight is lifted from his battered body. "That is a promise." Negaduck turns away with a flourish of his cape and walks towards the edge of the rooftop. The Thunderquack approaches, finally!
It seems the stupid pilot had to go through a lot of trouble to find Darkwing.
It doesn't matter, he thinks to himself as the plane comes to a stop in front of him, just as Negaduck was about to jump off the roof. He gives whoever is steering the plane a toothy grin, fully aware that his clothes and hands and face are covered in blood and stray feathers.
As he jumps down and the Thunderquack lands on the rooftop he is unaware that the decision he just made will cost him all of his minions, his crown in the Negaverse, his reign in St. Canard.
And his life.
I wanted to share this with you :3 I hope you liked it, it has been a while since I last wrote something. Do you think I should continue?