Rejuvenation

by Roaming Tigress

Chapter One:

Goodbye, Negaduck, and The Rebirth

It had been several years since Steelbeak had last seen Bushroot,; the last he had heard of the plant/duck hybrid was the arrival of the news that he had been mercilessly killed by none other than a jealous Negaduck, hell bent on making the top agent his own piece of property. The mallard had indeed got his wish, and for several years, until one night of July 2010.

There was something in the air that night, and it wasn't coming from the currency of Megavolt's light bulb collections. There was almost a magnetic pull in the atmosphere, for which the rooster had dismissed as merely being a change in the weather. It had been a particularly moody summer in St. Canard, after all. Yet, it was too strong. Even the breeze felt different. It had a lighter, warmer lift, as if it was the start of spring. If the rooster still retained his sense of smell, he may have been able to pick up a familiar scent that was of a mix of lavender and rain water. "Keep that up, and you'll wear a pattern into the floor . . . " Negaduck sighed, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair as he watched Steelbeak restlessly pace in front of the window like a panther in a zoo. It was then that Steelbeak finally stopped pacing, as if he had just realized he was doing it.

"Gotta go for a walk - " The rooster looked to the ground for a moment, then looked over his broad shoulder.

Negaduck shrugged, looking a little past Steelbeak as he watched the clouds roll in. "Going to storm. Wait 'till tomorrow."

Over the past few months, the bond that Negaduck and Steelbeak had for one another had waned, and there had been more bad days than good. There was silence over dinnertime, whereas before, discussions of villainous deeds were talked over. It went without saying that a break up in the future was inevitable.

Steelbeak shrugged. "Don't mind a bit of rain. 'Sides, already missed out on my morning run."

The rooster had always despised rain. He didn't like how it soaked up the down of his feathers and made his clothing stick to him. Then there was the issue of watermarks on his trademark metallic beak and Armani. He hadn't earned the nickname of the Devil's Dandy from SHUSH agents for nothing. Yet, Steelbeak was desperate. He had to get out, walk, run, whatever it is, to release the pent up anxiety building up inside him.

Thoughts of the rooster slipping out of his possession wormed their way into Negaduck's sordid mind. He reached into his jacket to retrieve a gun, but then slipped it out again with a growl. It would be too easy, too unsatisfactory, to kill him right here and then.

"You're free to go." He had felt the rooster's eyes on him as he reached into his jacket, plans of revenge already starting to kick in.

Steelbeak knew that Negaduck's words referred to more than just a literal walk in the park. This was it. This was it. He looked to the ground again, then back at the mallard who simply nodded, pulling out a knife to file his nails.

"Mmm, can remember when I first captured you. Shot you in the leg - "

"Ya's didn't get it all de out."

Memories of that night were coming back to Steelbeak. The searing pain of the bullet tearing through his flesh, hitting against the bone. There was the sheer terror of being pursued by the mallard whom he had once foolishly thought of as being a mere moodier rip-off of Darkwing Duck. He narrowed his silvery eyes, staring coldly at the mallard.

The rooster's hands clenched into fists. "Goodbye, Negaduck."

With that, Steelbeak left for the last time.

A pale blue fog floated over the forest floor on the outskirts of St. Canard, and with it, a warm mist gently trickled down off of the leaves of the trees. A steady calling of frogs broke the relative silence of the night, their song ever increasing in volume and then becoming silent once again as if something had disturbed them. And indeed, something had been disturbing them.

Was it a hungry raccoon? Restaurant owners looking to capture frogs for dinner? Children late out at night looking to capture them? Or was it an event that was unfolding that they had never encountered in all their millions of years of evolution?

A vine slowly snaked out of the water from the pond the frogs were calling from, reaching around the base of a dead tree and slowly upwards until it reached mid-height. Not wanting to be trapped inside, a small flock of crows took flight from their home in the hollow trunk. Their sudden flight had not gone unnoticed to the rest of the forest denizens.

Such an unusual growth attracted the attention of a curious deer, awoken from it's sleep by a startled member of his herd. The buck was bold enough to come close for an inspection, only to have it's nose slapped by what appeared to be a leafy hand. Shocked, the ungulate snorted and took off over the hill. No doubt, the buck had gained a new respect for his vegetarian appetite. Once all became still again, what appeared to be a duck's bill peeked around the edge of the tree, and with it, a green head, topped with what appeared to be a mop of gloopy algae. The creature shook his head to rid of itself with it, revealing a faint fuchsia tinge of feathery petals. This was Bushroot. Reginald Bushroot. Neither plant nor duck, but a mutation between the two.

For as long has he has been "dead", the landscape around him has been changed. What was once part of manicured park land had been reclaimed by nature. City cutbacks, said the mayor. Hauntings, the citizens claimed. Attempts to develop the plot of land for a Wallnut Mart were dashed after a bulldozer operator was mysteriously yanked out of his vehicle and slammed to the ground. He survived, but just barely.

Hauntings, the citizens said once again. The mayor once again, thought otherwise, just a gang of criminals - or was he covering up?

Slowly Bushroot pulled his form out from the pond, covered in algae and mould, but otherwise, his sinewy form was recognizable. Feeling dizzy, he leaned up against the tree for balance and gave it a gentle pat. Before the willow tree had died, it had formed a protective wrapping of roots around his body that was tight enough to safely secure him from being covered with the mud from the bottom of the pond, but not to hold him under the water indefinitely.

"Thanks old buddy." His voice, haven't been used for several years, was hoarse in tone. "I owe you one."

Reviving the old beauty might have been a long shot, especially after having been "dead" for so long, but nonetheless, Bushroot thought it was worth the try. With intense concentration, he put the palm of his leafy hand on the tree's bark and shut his eyes for a moment. Feeling no energy sift through from himself to the tree, he pulled his hand away with a sigh. Bushroot looked around for a moment, spotting a plant which the buck had uprooted as he fled from being slapped. He gently scooped it up and replanted it on the base of a tree. Over a period of time, this viney stem would grow up and around the tree's form. Once matured, on each spring, it would come out in full bloom. He hadn't regained his full strength to create it to mature earlier, but it was nonetheless a fine tribute t what had been a proud tree.

Thoughts of rejuvenation hadn't just been put towards plants. Memories of Bushroot's last moments were tickling back. He thought of Negaduck, and then Steelbeak, that charismatic rooster who had cared so deeply for him. Or so he thought. Why didn't he save him from being cut down by the murderous mallard? Cowardice, or fear?

How could he have allowed this to have happened, after I have treated HIM so well?

He scowled for a moment, feeling immensely betrayed. It wasn't against Bushroot's nature to hold grudges. Yet, for how long could this one last? If there was anyone who could relate to someone who had those moments of fear and cowardice, it was him. He shook his head.

I could live without him.

Bushroot shook his head again with a sigh. Walking out on him would make himself look all the more spineless, he thought, especially when he assumed he was still probably in Negaduck's grasp. Then his heart skipped a beat. Was Steelbeak even still alive? The plant-duck hybrid's heart raced even harder when he heard the snap of a twig. With Negaduck back on his mind and clinging onto it, he looked in every direction, looking out for the menacing mallard. Instead of taking flight, however, Bushroot held his ground, ready to fight.

Bring it on, Negaduck. Bring it on.