He didn't like how bland tonight seemed to be.
He also didn't like how he would focus on the crisp and irksome wind and how it would blow down is neck instead of paying attention to some forthcoming warfare with a lunatic, or army of lunatics. He didn't like how not one single gizmo needed to be pulled out from his belt and aimed, arguably, safely onto an enemy to hold them pawn. He didn't like how his stomach started to hurt from a bruise given from the night earlier, and how little contact or consideration was given onto the mark. He didn't like the reality that yes, there are times the city needs him, and times where he can go home to his mates and rest. He possibly hates the fact that he dislikes the idea of going home, even more, endangering himself missing a calamity.
In general, he just hates how peaceful it can be at night sometimes, instead of what he was used to. So much can happen during the day, maybe too much can happen all at once. And in a shock, Donald could focus on only one thing during the night, instead of so much. It was always serene, and suppose he would hate that too, but there he was, expecting the peace to diminish when a bomb or alarm set off.
How he wanted that, but it never came when he needed it to. He needed something to happen, or he would be shifting building to building, being worried over nothing.
A small thought tells him to call his loves, to see if they're alright, but he imagined the worse outcomes out of the gesticulation. Possibly he would wake them up. He hopes that at least they are asleep during this hour and not waiting for him like they usually tend to do. Hopefully, if he calls, they don't sense that maybe, just maybe, he is Paperinik, currently dealing with a vexatious wind rushing into his face and into his phone speaker. So, with those in mind, he didn't try. He wandered around aimlessly, thinking about hating tonight and everything wrong with it.
With a tedious taste in his mouth and itchy sense under his mask, he grunted and turned around, directing towards home. He already started to withdraw his suit as he swiftly ran expeditious into the shadows and onto the streets, uniforms being switched between the small amount of time he had in the darkened parts of every alley. When finally in his sailor uniform, he stuffed his gadgets into the small foldable bag he always brings, then walked out onto the street roads where lights shined onto the sidewalks.
He walked casually and acted like there wasn't anything to hide, just in case of any passing car or other residents. It was a large city with a greater population, so he suspected some people to pass him on the streets even this late. Especially where he was headed, which wasn't even close to loosely populated. There was a lot of people he would come across every night after every battle, so he didn't expect anything different.
He didn't expect a moving brush at the small neighborhood park.
It was something he could let go as a goofy animal, he supposed, if he hadn't had experience with tricky criminals. Anyone who had not gone through the same job every night and same training, would be fooled about whatever could cause a racket, not being cautious and instead continue on into the dark night. Donald was cautious, very - very cautious, and the bush moving around like that was in no way in his mind a miniature squirrel nor bird.
He was sure he wasn't paranoid, but just to be sure, he calmly reached into the bag to grab onto one of his weapons. He felt the trigger of his grappling gun, and he thought it would be ideal to catch the person in question by tying them up.
He didn't question to himself if he was gonna inadvertently catch a young child or innocent civilian. Sure, he had his reflexes, but he knew timing meant everything, and he can spot a criminal versus an innocent.
He hadn't stopped to look at the bush any longer, continuing on home to make it seem like he let the obvious give away go. Whatever this person or thing had planned wasn't gonna work, Donald told himself. Whatever game they/it was performing was gonna end, and he'd be taken to the authorities. Then Donald can finally go home.
The rustlings of the brushes had stopped when he was at the entrance sign of the park. It was a pleasant square, Donald could remember. He hadn't been there since he and his sister were youngsters. He also remembers the absurd reason they stopped going there, because of their favorite tree being cut down. They carved their names into the tree with a butter knife their parents brought for a family picnic, getting in trouble just moments after when some stranger told their mom and dad about what they have down to the piece of wood. He doesn't remember what they had said to them, but it was probably over-dramatic nonsense that Donald wouldn't have kept as advice even if he did remember their words.
The thought that maybe what they said would be useful in a situation like this ticked him off even more. He didn't need their advice, he was a superhero, they would be listening to him instead. But, there was a small doubt in his gut that stayed with him whenever he fights an opponent, that maybe what they said was beneficial, but he just had to forget. He forgot a lot of things about his parents.
The memory of the butterknife flashed before him when he heard a small 'shrink' inside from the park fence. The last thing you want to do, even as a trained and experienced fighter, was to warn the rival that you know they are there. Donald would know, and amusingly, if you knew he was The Duck Avenger, he'd tell you how the battle turned out for him when he made that stupid mistake.
He continued to walk down the sidewalk at the same pace with the same none-suspicious temper. He knew the production of sweat was ready to drip from his forehead, and he blasphemed at himself for still being panicked after all this time. All heroes must be like this, always scared but brave enough to stand on their own and for their own. It comforted Donald whenever he thought about it like that, that he is brave, just like every other hero. He is brave.
"Here ducky-ducky~"
The knife that made the blood-curdling sound was eluded when Donald ducked and elbowed the secret person in the shins. The knife didn't hit the ground, but the attacker held onto it and moved down after the connection, earning a punch from Donald and a broken nose. Then, the knife hit the ground, but the man was still standing.
The duck did one last punch to the guy's face and a kick to his kneecap, likely busting it and making the much larger man fall down onto the street and into a puddle. Donald knew the man wouldn't try to get up, already being taken down, but not declaring surrender. It wasn't needed, Donald was already binding the guy up without the man struggling back.
The guy's voice was scratchy and grated. He smelt of smoke and alcohol, and not the familiar scent like from his José Donald relished so much, but more of a stench from a typical person abuser. It made anyone want to barf, knowing the person and the way he smelled. He was nothing but a worthless mess, trying to hurt others to seem important to himself as if he at all had a purpose. A purpose to annihilate, the least he could do. Donald snickered, even this excuse of a criminal did terrible at that. The duck didn't even need his suit on.
"If you try to escape, I will also give you a broken jaw." Donald threatened when dialing the police, eyeing the man down, who quivered from the pain and his imagination of receiving more of it. The guy was clearly intoxicated. Wasted enough to not know the reason of being in a hospital bed the moment he wakes up the next morning, with bandages on his face and a cast around his leg.
He finished his report to the operator, who kept him on the phone the entire time until the police appeared. The wait wasn't long, but it didn't really matter to Donald. He could be there all night with the guy and still be able to knock this man down even if he's sober.
The ambulance came and took the man out of the puddle and into the truck. Police asked for any harm done to Donald, getting a no and that he was completely fine.
They asked more questions, where all the answers came back as gratifying but quite a hysteria. The fact someone like Donald with his length and structure could beat up a much bigger man, one that was armed let's not forget, was humorous. Donald laughed along with them about the situation, and they offered him a ride back to his house.
It was what Donald wanted at the moment, his house still some ways away. So he happily accepted it and was in the front seat of the car heading home to José and Panchito. Their names lifted him and he couldn't wait to get there, to see their responses when they see him being brought home by a policeman. If they were awake of course, and he sort of assumed they weren't.
The lights were on when they pulled up into the driveway, and he frowned when he noticed Panchito's face peeping out from behind the living room curtain, startled to see a police car. A second later there was also José looking out to, the alike expression on his face, and Donald felt himself beam again and giggle.
The two birds left the window and presumably bolted to open the front door, it was only seconds until Donald saw Panchito leaping onto the porch and José observing from the doorway. Donald felt he was grinning widely when he stepped out, and so were his two lovers, who Donald felt was very relieved.
Panchito ran down the porch steps and was already greeting his duck with a crushing embrace. Donald saw José slowly making two steps down, only to stop to talk to the officer about what has occurred.
José's face said it all, and Donald wished he could hear what the policeman was saying, but the way Panchito was freaking out and clutching him so powerfully made the mallard lose focus on their words and instead on how extreme the hug started to be.
He was still trapped in muscular arms but was extricated up. He figured Panchito must have heard the part about Donald's self-defense or the reason why he had to use it in the first place. He assumed the latter because Panchito's face went into a scowl just seconds later, and the officer must have brought up the knife.
Donald put in the energy to separate himself from the rooster's hug, only making himself trapped tighter and tighter the more he attempted to leave. He thought why resist it, and just allowed himself to settle into his lover's chest. His heartbeat was fast and he felt the air of hostility leave the rooster's feathers and tapped Donald's like waves. There was no way Panchito was gonna let Donald sleep tonight without a complete search of new and unasked wounds.
José and the officer seemed just about ready to finish their conversation when they both shook hands and the parrot saying a kind 'thank you so much' to the policeman, who nodded with a smile and a last goodbye. He got into his car and left before Donald knew it, and then the duck was being carried into the house.
He didn't have time to speak until he met with the couch, his very concerned rooster boyfriend raising up his uniform to search around his feathers.
"Panchito, I'm fine," he scratched out and booted his webbed feet softly onto the rooster's stomach, trying to push him away.
He knew the rooster would not be convinced and would proceed to look around thoughtfully, preening merely from the sense to do so, even if Donald fidgeted. "I swear Panchito, I'm okay. I just want to go to bed."
"Let me see you first, pato." José kneeled in front of the couch and looked at Donald's belly and chest. He had the talent to catch things, not very visible things. But José had those strange types of talents, and Donald didn't try to stop him from using them to his aid. But he still shivered and freaked from the possibility of finding anything serious, and he prayed hard wordlessly that the parrot didn't.
The rooster lifted Donald up for José to look at the duck's back, where he didn't find anything either. He was more concerned about his spine, where the guy tried to stab him, but he didn't feel anything too grave, not even a cut. Maybe just a small bruise from the man's knee, and that's all Donald could expect at that moment. Obviously, José and Panchito were expecting way worse, not knowledgeable of what Donald was really capable of.
Donald thought he could lay his head back down onto the armrest, but instead was lifted up lightly by Panchito once again, guiding themselves to their bedroom to lastly get some sleep, Donald hoped. Just the view of the bed and the delicate comforter made Donald sigh and hang his head, willingly welcoming the sheets to meet with his back once Panchito set him down, José right behind them the hold time. Donald thought for a second how scary it was how he didn't hear José at all while being brought up here, but it was shrugged off, José always being the soundless character he was at the best of times.
Panchito got in from the left side of Donald, José from the right, who decided to take Donald's uniform off once he was resting on the bed with his green legs hanging from the side. Once Donald was topless, Panchito began to preen him and envelop his arms around him once again, the white feathers from the rooster's arms blending in with Donald's.
José joined in a laid down with them when he was wearing nothing either. He preened Donald's head as Panchito preened his chest and shoulders.
Just this moment made Donald gradually sigh and belly flutter with warmth, not really expecting this calm reaction out of the two, and instead just a long time staying up and bandaging spots that clearly did not need that type of attention. Everything was pretty nice, just like this night that he before hated so much, until the confrontation with the unusual and nasty fellow from the park.
Donald sort of wondered at that moment if José and Panchito would have been granting him this type of gestures if he didn't witness that this night. Something in his mind said yes, while somewhere else buried down told him a bitter no. It wouldn't be like this, for what Donald knew. It wouldn't be this touchy and special, and probably much less reassuring.
José susurrated something, not in Donald's ear, so the duck had no way of determining what the parrot had said. He was tired to ask, instead making a little 'hmm?' to make it seem like he didn't quite catch it. José repeated himself, but louder this time, "Do you feel any more pain?" He still muttered, but it wasn't noisy enough for Panchito to catch and to make a bustle about if Donald had answered yes.
The duck nodded, "Yeah, on my leg," he moved his knee up a bit, the knee he used to fracture the man's leg.
He winced when he noticed the movement of José's hand coming to meet with the spot Donald tried to point out, shaking when the fine touch from José's fingers calmly meet the mark. Donald felt José shift his beak to lean into the side of Donald's face to whisper again, "It's okay bebê, I promise this won't hurt."
Trusting the resonance and how José gently nuzzled into the sensitive part of Donald's neck, the duck moved his knee into the parrot's hand. The sensation thrilled and Donald could have sworn he saw a green light shine from underneath the feathered hand. He was too overtired to keep his mind on it, the strange trick José was doing was putting Donald into some sort of haze, making the duck more tired than before.
"W-What did you do, babe?" Donald moved his beak to touch José's, who he felt smile.
José kissed the duck's cheek and removed his hand from the now healthier knee, which drew a meager whine from the duck after the connection was now gone. "Oh, nothing, just gently rubbed the pain away." The answer was pleasing enough, and Donald let himself try to drift to slumber with José touching him all over from his chest to his delicate stomach, rubbing the pain away, as he had said.