KrissyKat91: Just cleaning up the chapter a little.


Cast

(in order of appearance)

Donald Duck - Tony Anselmo

Panchito Pistoles - Carlos Alazraqui

One - James Horan


Ch. 1: Let the Games Begin

Donald Duck sighed to himself as he guided the 313 down the road. The triplets had been a whole new level of irritating as the start of summer drew near. It had been a relief to drop them off at the bus stop in Mouseton for the Junior Woodchuck summer camp, though he had to admit he'd be pretty lonely without them.

The boys' summer vacation induced insanity aside, things had been pretty quiet in Duckburg for the last month or so. No Uncle Scrooge hauling him off on some life threatening adventure. No Glomgold or Rockerduck going after the old miser's fortune. No Magica de Spell trying to steal his number one dime.

Gladstone had won a cruise and taken Daisy with him—so the headaches triggered by her attempts to get back with him were thankfully absent—and goodness only knew where Fethry was and what featherbrained obsession he had lodged in his skull this week. Even Jones, his nuisance of a neighbor, was keeping to himself.

All was calm on the Duck Avenger front, as well. No robberies or muggings or crimes of any kind had occurred in a little over a week. It was like every crook in the city had randomly gone on vacation. In all honesty, Donald was getting a little bored.

It's almost enough, he thought with another sigh, to make me wish something would pop up out of nowhere, right here on the highway, just to give me something to do.

Something appeared in the corner of his eye. He looked up and saw, to his horror, a body in the road.

"I wasn't serious!" he screamed, yanking the steering wheel to the side and swerving around the sprawled out person. As he did, he noticed the huge sombrero the person was wearing.

Oh no.

The huge, familiar sombrero.

Nonononononono!

Slamming on the breaks, Donald yanked the shift into park and launched himself out of the car with the hard-won speed and agility of a duck who spent many nights running around in spandex, cape and mask, and years before that being dragged along by his uncle on perilous treasure hunts. Calling on all that speed, the duck almost teleported across the street, skidding to a stop next to the person. Dropping to his knees, he grabbed the other bird and rolled him over.

Brown eyes, glassy with exhaustion, stared up at him uncomprehendingly.

"Panchito!" he half yelled, shaking him a little when the rooster didn't respond. "Panchito Pistoles! Can you hear me?!"

Panchito blinked dazedly, then gave a faint smile. "Buenos días, mi amigo," he croaked, then his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped in Donald's grip. Choking back a cry of terror, Donald pressed his fingers into his friend's pulse point, almost collapsing in relief when it thrummed against his fingertips. Shifting around a bit, he lifted the unconscious rooster up and, with some effort, managed to get him into the rumble seat of the 313, then ran back to get the sombrero that had slipped off his head and the plastic folder that had fallen out of his jacket.

Stuffing both of these into the seat next to the rooster, Donald hopped back into the driver's seat, shifted the car into drive, and headed for the only safe place he could think of in his rush to help his friend.

Ducklair Tower.


"Are you sure he's okay?" Donald asked, holding Panchito's arm still while a pair of mechanized hands deftly inserted an intravenous drip into one of his veins.

A synthetic sigh filled the air. "Yes, D.A., I'm sure. He's exhausted, dehydrated and undernourished, but otherwise healthy. Just as he was the last six times you asked."

The duck gave an embarrassed chuckle. "Sorry, One. I'm just worried."

"Clearly." The AI peered carefully at the insensate rooster. "You're certain it was wise to bring him here? He might awaken and discover your secret identity."

Donald shrugged. "Panchito's been one of my best friends for years. If I can't trust him, I can't trust anyone. But relax. If he doesn't figure it out on his own, I'm not telling him."

One's gaze flitted between the two birds for a moment. "…Indeed," he finally responded. "Though if it's all the same to you, I shall administer a light sedative, just to make certain he stays asleep until you take him home."

"Careful," Donald advised as he picked up and opened the folder he'd found with the rooster. "I don't know if he has any allergies."

"I shall monitor him closely, I assure you."

"You do that. Alright, Panchito, let's see what's so important you almost killed yourself to get here."


Ay caramba(1), Panchito thought hazily as he swam back to consciousness. My head.

Prying his eyes open, the rooster examined his surroundings. He was tucked into a bed in what seemed to be a typical (if slightly run down) bedroom. There was an empty photo frame on the nightstand next to the bed, and several squares on the walls that showed where more had been. The few photos left were too far away for him to make out.

Lifting his head as much as the pain pulsing through his skull would allow, he saw his sombrero sitting on a small dresser next to a lamp, and his clothes folded neatly on a chair. A glance under the covers showed him he was wearing a plain, ill-fitting white nightshirt.

And yes, it was more than a little embarrassing to know someone had changed his clothes for him.

Slumping back against the pillow, Panchito stared at the ceiling, feeling distinctly like he was forgetting something…

…THE FOLDER!

The rooster bolted upright, regretting it immediately as the room spun wildly and his stomach tried to leap out his beak. Hunching forwards, he put his head between his knees until everything settled back down.

Once he was sure he wasn't going to pass out again, he threw the covers aside and very carefully stood up. After a moment and a few deep breaths, he walked to the other side of the room and got dressed.

Cinching his gun belt, he frowned at the empty holsters. He'd been out of bullets since shortly after crossing the border, but that didn't mean he liked the idea of someone taking his pistols without his permission.

Sombrero firmly anchored by his comb, Panchito opened the bedroom door and warily started down the stairs. As he reached the bottom step, a wonderful smell assaulted his nostrils, causing his stomach to give a loud snarl. Blushing beneath his feathers, he followed the smell into a well used kitchen, where he saw—much to his bewilderment—Donald Duck sitting at the kitchen table, cleaning one of his missing pistols with an ease of familiarity he never would have attributed to his either of his best friends.

"Panchito!" Leaping to his feet, Donald darted around the table, skidding to a stop in front of the rooster, hands twitching like he didn't know what to do with them. "I didn't think you'd wake up so soon!"

"…You know how to clean a pistol?" Panchito blurted, giving voice to his confusion.

Donald arched a feathered brow. "As a matter of fact, yes. I'm even a decent shot with one, though I'm better with a shotgun. On a more important topic, how do you feel?"

The rooster's stomach snarled again, and he grinned sheepishly. "Thirsty, hungry enough to eat a horse, and I have the madre(2) of all headaches. How did I get here?"

"I found you on the road just outside of town," the duck replied, motioning him to the table and heading for the pot bubbling merrily on the stove. "And by 'found', I mean I almost ran you over. You've been out for almost twenty-four hours."

"With that much sleep, you would think I would feel better," Panchito grumbled, plopping his tail feathers into the chair and pulling the cleaning kit and disassembled pistol over to finish the job.

"That depends on when the last time you had something to eat was," Donald commented, ladling some kind of stew out of the pot and into a bowl, which he then placed in front of Panchito.

The rooster's hands stilled. "Ah…"

"That's what I thought." He held out a spoon. "So, I had a look through that folder you had with you."

"And you understood it?"

"Sure." A beat. "Okay, no, I had to look up a ton of stuff and use three different online translators, but I got through it. Anyway, you seem to have done pretty well for yourself since the last time I saw you."

"Gracias(3)," Panchito said, both for the food and the compliment, "but I am afraid my luck has changed for the worst. That is why I am here, amigo(4). I did not know where else to turn." He gulped down a few spoonfuls of stew, then looked back at his friend. "Someone is trying to steal my land."

Donald almost choked on his own stew. "What?! Why?!"

"Black gold, mi amigo! There is an untapped oil field directly underneath my main grazing land, never before discovered! Someone found out about it not long after I did, though I do not know how, and ever since then he has been attempting to strong-arm me into selling my property for far below what I paid for it, never mind what it is actually worth! Lately he has resorted to things like having my cattle stolen and my barn set on fire! He even tried to have Señor Martinez shot! I had to ship him in secret to my abuelo's(5) farm to protect him!" He slumped in his seat. "And the worst part is that I have no way of proving who did it all."

"Do you at least know the guy's name?" the duck asked, looking more than a little alarmed.

"Oh, sí(6). It is a strange one, though. Something like, ah, Rockhead Globgoal?"

This time Donald really did choke on his stew. "Flintheart Glomgold?!"

"Sí! That is the guy!" Panchito faltered. "Do you know him, Donal'?"

"Do I know him?! He's the Second Richest Duck in the World, and Uncle Scrooge's biggest business rival! He's ruthless; there's nothing he won't do to get what he wants!" He fell back a little. "I'll be honest, Panchito, you were lucky to get away alive."

The rooster swallowed hard. "This is… this is too big for just the two of us, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid so, which means one thing."

Panchito tilted his head in question.

"We're gonna need Uncle Scrooge's help."


(1) I think this is one of those phrases that doesn't actually mean anything. It's just an exclamation.

(2) mother

(3) thank you

(4) friend

(5) grandfather

(6) yes