And so continues our little tale of QuackerJack and his head injury~
It became apparent that week that there was certain triggering things that was difficult to avoid with Jacky. Perhaps most notable was the visceral reaction he had to hearing the distant sound of a landscaping device being started with several rough yanks of a pull cord, the noise having drifted through an open window.
The reaction had happened so gradually, that wasn't immediately noticed. Claire later felt guilty for missing the early onset warning signs, and she supposed that she should have noticed the sudden silence from Jacky.
It was a Saturday afternoon, and they were in the hospital Cafe, and she had been using highlighters to mark important things to note on one of those stapled packet of papers, and was color coding the suggested foods for Jacky to eat, in order to have a better list of what he liked and didn't like from the selection, and what was absolutely necessary despite his aversion to it. She was vaguely aware of the scent of cut grass lightly perfuming the air thanks to a soft breeze through the window, and she didn't immediately connect that the noise was a lawnmower.
She looked up after a while, and realized that Jacky was staring at the half eaten tuna sandwich on the plate in front of him with a wide eyed, distant gaze. Then she realized his face looked as though he'd seen a ghost, and he was holding onto the edges of table with shaky hands, as well as standing halfway out of his chair, as if preparing to suddenly run. It astounded her that she hadn't even heard him wheezing until just now, and there was so much trembling tension in his thin frame that she wondered if his muscles had locked up completely in the process.
But, it didn't take her as long to realize that he was likely having a panic attack.
"Jacky!" Claire quickly discarded the highlighter in her hand with a toss, and rushed to the other side of the table. It wouldn't be until much later that she'd learn that the trigger had been the sound of a gas powered landscaping tool (as Jacky had developed a fear of chainsaws years prior during his employment under his previous "boss"), but from what she knew about it, she couldn't blame him for reacting so viscerally.
As it would turn out, having a panic attack in a hospital cafe while surrounded by no less than five registered nurses during thier lunch break was probably a good place to have such a problem, as they were very well trained on the subject and able to help ease Jacky into a calmer state of mind far more efficiently than Claire could have on her own (and she made sure to take notes on that).
Of course, once he was aware that he was currently the source of commotion in the center of the cafe (now that he'd been calmed down to a more milder state of uneasiness and able to think more clearly), a vermillion shade of blush spread across his face and under his pale plumage almost instantly, and he mumbled half-hearted words of gratitude in an attempt to ward them away and push the attention away from himself.
Claire could tell that he was embarrassed, and the subtle tugging at her hand once he reached for it, along with a glance that desperately said "Get me out of here..." strengthened that notion.
There was some insistence on some the nurses' part that he should either remain seated for a little while longer, or at the very least he could be escorted to his room via wheelchair. He declined repeatedly, insisting that he could use his own legs just fine, and the offers were rather unnecessary anyway. Truth be told, Jacky did not want to be the center of attention, and this was all doing the exact opposite of what he wanted.
He continued to tug at her hand, and it seemed like they just couldn't get out of the cafe fast enough for his liking. He almost declined having what was left on his plate put in a styrofoam container, but accepted the offer out of being polite, and muttered a quiet "... Thank you..." as he shuffled awkwardly into the hall corridor.
"I'll carry that for you, Jacky." Claire said as she took the container from him. Truth be told, he looked as though his grip on the container could slip at any second, as he still looked a bit shaken from experience from about ten minutes ago. "Are you alright now?"
There was a pause before he shook his head slowly with a soft whimper.
"... N-No..." There was a stutter to his voice as he glanced around as if expecting something terrible was going to happen. "... You heard th-that, didn't you..?"
"Heard what?"
Jacky did his best to imitate the sound in question (and gesturing feverishly to emphasize), and while he was several pitches off, it was fairly clear what he was trying to describe, as he just couldn't seem to get the words right; it was arguable if it was due to how nervous he was, or maybe it was because his brain was still healing and he was stricken with a mild form of dysphasia as well.
"... The lawnmower?"
Jacky looked like he could have kicked himself once that information registered completely.
"Lawnmower?" He managed in a choked voice, clearly upset with himself for his reaction. He blinked a few times in shock, shook his head and added with slightly less hoarse tone. "... That was a lawnmower?"
"I think so, there's some yard work going on outside right now." Claire was trying carefully to not brush off why Jacky was clearly upset with the noise. She didn't know exactly why it had unnerved him, but she could tell that whatever panic that he'd felt at the sound had been extremely frightening and real to him, and she just didn't want him to feel like the situation wasn't being taken seriously. "... Is everything alright?"
"No! No! Nothing is alright, I'm an absolute twisted up mess of nerves and I hate it here and I want to go home!" Jacky suddenly exploded, stomping his foot on the linoleum tile, balling his hands up tightly at his sides. "I keep getting poked or prodded at and they keep shining lights in my eyes and I've been here for two weeks, I can't eat what I really want to eat, everything has to be monitored, and I still don't remember anything about those four months, and now I'm freaking out over a lawnmower!"
Claire was honestly a bit surprised that it had taken Jacky this long to lose his composure. He'd been unbearably patient with everything during the entire week, to the point that he was becoming more and more quiet as the days passed, and she knew him well enough to know that increasing silence on his part meant that an emotional storm had been brewing under the surface for some time.
That, and the fact that irritability and other forms of emotional instability were expected to be direct results of his brain injury (among other reasons), which was compounded with his preexisting social difficulties. Simply put; his capacity for properly handling his emotions was very thin and tiresome to himself, and meltdowns were bound to happen.
Claire waited patiently for him to peter out, and listened to his words as he continued to rant about how frustrated he was that such a simple noise had thrown him into a panic, and that the reasoning as to why was quite honestly one thing he'd prefer to have had wiped from his memory than that mysterious four month chunk that he had no recollection of.
His hands reached for the bandages that covered the stitches on his head as he shouted: "And I'm sick of these stupid things, I want my hat back, it's not the same, it's just not the same!"
Of course, Claire's hands caught his hands before he could tug off the adhesive strips from the gauze, as this was not the first time he'd attempted to do so, and certainly it likely wasn't going to be the last. Jacky sputtered to a stop and blinked, then rolled his eyes from side to side to look around slowly with a frown, as if he just realized where he was after he finished his rant.
He huffed through his nostrils for a moment and added in a forcibly calm tone: "... I need to check on Mr. Banana Brain."
The doll in question had been left in the room where he was staying, and it had been difficult enough to assure him that his banana buddy was perfectly safe in said room to begin with. This was because toting the plush around his daily venturing of the hospital was not advised on account of the third day after they'd been reunited, Jacky had unintentionally set Mr. Banana Brain down in one of the waiting rooms after getting distracted during an examination gauging how his motor skills were affected by his head injury, and nearly had a screaming conniption, thinking he'd lost his doll once again by his own negligence.
"Is everything okay, Jacky?"
"... I just... A-a-are you sure that was just a lawnmower?" The tension he seemed to be holding in his frame appeared to dissolve and he suddenly seemed so meek as he stole a glance at an adjacent window, as if to try to confirm for himself. "... It sounded like a... oooh, I hate that noise, I hate that noise..."
Of course, Claire had no idea why Jacky would be reacting so negatively to a landscaping device, and she could have sworn that he'd been perfectly fine on occasions before back home involving a lawnmower making a noise, but the littlest thought in the back of her mind chimed in to trivially point out that the lawnmower at her place of residence was electric and not gas powered. She did not make the connection right away, and briefly wondered if his apprehension was just a confused physical response because he had a known difficulty in sorting his emotions.
"... I need to check on Mr. Banana Brain..." He repeated a little more urgently, pulling back against the light grip Claire had on his hands, and trying to make his way towards the elevator. "Claire, I need to check on Mr. Banana Brain, I need to check on him, Claire..."
"Well, okay, we'll do that, but are you sure you're alright? You're still shaking." Claire's voice remained calm in spite of Jacky's rising panic, but she was confused as to why this was suddenly a priority for him, as well why he was so tense and agitated. "Why do you think you need to check on Mr. Banana Brain? Is everything alright?"
The general idea behind her questions was to help calm him down and urge him to talk about what was on his mind. His concern for the doll was clearly linked to his emotional response to the sound of the lawnmower, and Claire briefly wondered if perhaps Mr. Banana Brain had been subjected to being run over by a lawnmower in front of Jacky, as the patches and stitches in the doll's current state indicated that it had been torn to pieces at one point (a fact that she was very much aware of, as he'd more than once explained in the past about the fate of the doll).
"I just need-! Claire, I have to check on him, he's by himself, I need to go see him! He's all alone!"
It was clear that he wasn't going to be settled until he frantic request was granted, and every second wasted waiting to do it was just going to feed into that panic. Even if he was rationally aware that Mr. Banana Brain was just a doll; his emotional attachment was far less rational, and he legitimately worried for the doll's well-being as one would an old friend.
Not many people understood that concept, unfortunately.
"Okay, Jacky, we'll go check on him." Claire said finally, stepping towards the elevator with him once he tugged at her hands one more time. "How are you feeling right now? Are you going to be alright?"
"... To be honest, the air feels a bit thick, kinda tough to breathe right..."
"Try breathing like I'm doing, maybe that'll help."
"... M'kay..." Jacky mumbled quietly, slipping his hands from Claire's and snaking his limbs around her left arm so he could put his head on her shoulder as they waited for the elevator to reach thier floor. "... Mr. Banana Brain hasn't said anything at all..." He added as if it were an afterthought to all that was happening at the moment.
"Hmm?"
"... I just can't get the voice right." He said between slow and careful inhales, having matched with her pace. "It keeps coming out wrong..."
The elevator chimed and the doors opened as the pair stepped aside to let the current occupants walk out, then they entered. Claire pressed the button for the floor they wanted, and felt Jacky shift his balance and his weight against her as the elevator car lurched upward.
"... I've never had a problem making him talk before..." Jacky continued quietly. "... It's always been so easy, I just had to pick him up and the voice came to my mouth as naturally as my own..."
"Jacky, you're recovering from a head injury, I wouldn't be surprised if you just need some more time before you can do that again." Claire tried to be reassuring, but she knew that the best she could offer was a hopeful speculation. "Just let yourself and your brain rest for now, and don't force it."
"... What's the point, my job doesn't exist anymore and I'm probably going to be locked up once I'm all better, so I'm not really in a hurry for that anyway..." Jacky grunted with a bite of bitterness under his tone, which momentarily stunned Claire, as it was such an unexpected mood swing. "... I don't even know how they're going to put together a fair jury, everyone in St. Canard likely hates me, there's no way..."
"Oh, now that's just an exaggeration, not everyone." Claire was able to respond quickly enough after regaining her composure. "What do you want to do right after we check on Mr. Banana Brain? It's still early in the afternoon."
"... I think I want to lie down for a bit, my head feels sore..."
The elevator came to a stop and chimed again as it opened the doors. Jacky visibly flinched at the noise and sudden change of spacial orientation as gravity seemingly lessened and he nearly lost his footing when it did.
"You have a headache? How bad?"
"It's not horrible, it's just feels a little sore right about here..." He gestured to his forehead awkwardly as they stepped out of the elevator. "... It's really more like it's dizzy and... well, I want to say it's like if you get a dry fishbowl and drop a marble in it and shake it until it's rolling around the inside, does that make sense?"
Claire honestly tried to find a correlation between that mental image and how it was supposed to feel, and all she could figure was that it meant that it was disorienting and loud.
"I think so. Do you mean like a tilt-a-whirl sort of feeling?"
Surprisingly, Jacky snorted and chuckled under his breath.
"No, silly, that's how those pills feel." He said in a tired but playful voice, before cringing again as it became rather clear that his headache was somewhat distracting.
They walked to his room and Claire made sure to take extra care in opening the door to be sure that the loud clicking latch and creaking noise of the hydraulic mechanism that ensured that it closed on its own, didn't make enough noise to agitate his discomfort further. Perhaps he noticed, perhaps he didnt, but he was certainly grateful to finally be in the sanctity of his temporary residence.
She helped him climb onto the bed, and he didn't waste any time in snatching up Mr. Banana Brain, curling up on top the covers, and wrapping the doll up in his arms, pressing his face into the fabric, breathing in the familiar faint scent of cedar sawdust as if it were sweet, sweet aromatherapy. He was considerably calmer than he had been five minutes ago, but the calm in his features was paired with weariness, the same sort of fatigue Claire had seen cross him oh so briefly during her visit to him while he'd been incarcerated for his reckless escapades through town after he'd snapped. The same tired look that broke through the insanity and brought her "Jacky" to the surface before that panic and confusion had engulfed him as he was dragged away, reaching and screaming out for her.
"... Well, that was physically exhausting..." He finally mumbled as he stretched his limbs before settling into a less tense position, tilting his head in her direction to look at her more clearly as he clasped his hands together and pinned the doll to his chest under his arms. "... Body's all tired, but my brain is going a million miles a minute..."
"So, what do you want to do now that we're here?"
"... We don't have to 'do' anything, we could just... do nothing." Jacky said, shrugging half-heartedly. He smiled and scooted across the bed in a sort of exhausted inchworm fashion. "They have cable here, we could find a daytime movie or something, it's going to be a while until they have to check my vitals again, we got time to just mill around."
Of course, it goes without saying that not long after they settled into the idea and got comfortable together, Jacky fell asleep for a good two hours, likely because the whole ordeal about the lawnmower had been quite exhausting.
No matter, however. He seemed perfectly content now to lean into her, head on her shoulder, and Mr. Banana Brain tucked into the crook of his arm.
Goodness knows he needed to rest.
It was a weekday, and that meant that Claire couldn't come by until the evening, as she of course had a job in order to continue to be able to have funds. Jacky didn't bother to ask what the job could possibly be now that QuackWerks had dissolved, as it didn't see to have crossed his mind to do so, but he did know that that meant that he had to wait to see her later in the day.
He did not like that.
On this particular day (a Tuesday, I believe), he had a visitor in the form of Darkwing Duck, who was currently pushing a rolling media cart with a chunky boxy looking television monitor (almost archaic compared to what was available now) sitting atop the cart, and a VCR on the shelf below it.
Jacky blinked as it was pushed right in front of the bed he was sitting on. It had the unmistakable purplish colors that would easily have been identifiable on any of Darkwing's gadgets and machinery.
"... There's already a TV over there." QuackerJack said without missing a beat, pointing to the mounted screen in the corner.
Darkwing held a video cassette in his hand, waving it above his head. QuackerJack leaned forward and glimpsed a few more tapes on a lower shelf on the cart.
"Wow, Darkwing, tube television set? Tapes and tape player? That's some real vintage formats, really bringing out the nostalgia, aren't you?"
"Unfortunately, it was the only format I could get ahold of that was compatible with my... unique tech."
"It's alright if you're a bit behind on the technology, Darkwing, I like the old stuff anyway. Classic."
"It's not old, it's a unique piece of custom, superior-!" Darkwing snapped back before inhaling sharply and regaining his composure with a big, forced grin that did not seem at all calm. QuackerJack leaned backwards away from him with a mildly concerned look he gave at the expression. "Alright, QuackerJack, what I have here is a collection of footage of various sightings of you during your four months' long episode through the city."
QuackerJack's mildly concerned expression turned into one of full blown apprehension.
"... I don't want to see that again." He shook his head. "I already saw the footage on the news of when I-"
"Do you really think they'd show the complete unadulterated footage on a daytime time slot? It's cut and edited to fit for time, with the most important and interesting segments brought to the attention, while adjusted to be allowed."
"Now, why did you have to go and tell me that? As if this already didn't look as bad as it did, now you had to tell me that that wasn't even the worst of it?" QuackerJack incredulous tone of voice had reached a high pitch and escaped him like a squawk. "Why? Why would you do that? It's not very nice at all!"
"Because, QuackerJack-!"
"Jacky." QuackerJack corrected him with a bit of a biting edge to his voice.
"I'm still getting used to that, cut me a break." Darkwing said under his breath before clearing his throat and speaking louder. "Because, Jacky, do you really think you could get away with the defense of 'I don't remember'? Who's going to believe that?"
"... Do you?"
"What?"
"Do you believe me?"
Perhaps he hadn't expected to be questioned like that, but Darkwing had stopped talking momentarily and stared.
"... I'm not making it up, Darkwing." QuackerJack said quietly, fidgeting anxiously. "... I really don't remember anything about what I did. I know what I've been told, but I don't have any memory of doing any of that."
"I'm just saying, it's oddly convenient that not only did you get amnesia, but it's localized the exact events that are the problem here."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I'll be sure to land on the other side of my face next time I fall out of a third story window, nevermind that it's incredibly lucky that I didn't snap my neck after slamming into the pavement. My mistake, I must have landed the wrong way, I'm clearly faking this."
"... Well, at least your dry wit is still intact."
"Yeah, because that's what important here. My sarcasm. Thanks, thank you so much."
"Alright, alright, you don't have to be so defensive about it."
"I am not being defensive!" QuackerJack shouted as he slammed his hands down on the bed, which resounded a very unsatisfying FWOMP! as he did. "You come in here, dragging along some old television on some screechy metal cart with a box of tapes all about what I did that I don't remember at all, and you did not once even tell me 'Hello', you haven't even bothered to ask me about how I feel about all this. Do you think I want to be here! Do you know what it's like to suddenly find out everything is four months later? I was actually starting to do good with myself, and this happens and I'm all scrawny again, and I had a job, I had an actual job where I made things and I was getting paid, do you really think I'd set up all this just so I could ruin everything for myself?"
"I never said-"
"No, you haven't, and you haven't said otherwise either!"
"I don't know if you've cared to notice, but I am trying to help you!" Darkwing snapped back, patience worn very thin, and perhaps it was that statement that made QuackerJack freeze in mid rant as he threw one of the VHS tapes to the floor, causing the casing to chip and pieces of plastic to scatter across the floor as it split open on impact. "Why do you think I'd be here if I haven't tried to cart you back to the penitentiary by now! I have been trying to help you since I was asked to by Claire during the whole incident that got you injured to begin with! This whole thing is your own fault, all you had to do was come down off your little ego trip and listen to me, but no, you had to have those servers dragged up to the third floor of the building and-! And... Oh... Ooooh..."
Darkwing had sputtered to a stop once he realized his words wouldn't really make much sense to QuackerJack, a notion that was solidified by the wide eyed stare he gave Darkwing, mouth slowly closing to where his teeth weren't visible. There was honestly something mildly unsettling about QuackerJack staring at him like that, and Darkwing couldn't quite decide if it was because he was used to the toy maker to responding almost immediately with a playfully snide comment, or if it was because the expression he was giving Darkwing was not unlike that of a scolded child.
Considering the fact that Darkwing had smashed a VHS tape on the floor in a momentary fluster of frustration, it was likely that the sudden and loud negative feedback had stunned QuackerJack out of his surly response, and Darkwing had to admit that he had momentarily forgotten that he was dealing with someone who was recovering from a head injury and brain trauma, particularly one who wasn't likely to even recall the events on the tapes to begin with.
QuackerJack blinked a few times, looked at the remains of the VHS tape on the floor silently, then carefully reached under his pillow to grab Mr. Banana Brain by the hand, slid off the bed, and calmly walked to the door of the room.
Darkwing noticed that the limp QuackerJack had had earlier in the month had certainly improved, but there was still a visible difficulty in how he carried himself because of said limp. Nevertheless, QuackerJack still crossed the room, and without another word, he pulled the door open and stepped into the corridor. Through the observation window, Darkwing could see him step to the chairs lining the area below the window, and disappear from sight as he sat down.
Darkwing paused before looking at the video tape he had thrown to the floor, and cringed at seeing the pieces that had scattered. There was no way to salvage that particular tape, but at least he'd had the foresight to have left the master copies back at his base of operations, so all was not lost.
Darkwing stepped out into the corridor as well and, as expected, QuackerJack was sitting in one of the chairs under the window, legs drawn up to where he had his arms folded on his knees and his head resting on top of them. QuackerJack glanced at him, still holding the same expression he had when he left the room.
"... I'm sitting out here until Claire comes back." He said quietly. "... I told you, I don't remember anything. You didn't have to yell like that..."
"Alright, so maybe I overreacted just a teensy bit."
"You smashed a VHS on the floor. That's probably more than a 'teensy bit'. There's plastic bits and tape everywhere."
"Okay, I admit it, that was a little out of line." Darkwing sat down in a chair that was a couple seats away.
"What was even the point of bringing those things anyway? Don't you know that it's not going to trigger my memory back any faster?"
"Well, I suppose I was more or less testing-"
"I don't believe this!" QuackerJack shouted incredulously, throwing his hands in the air. "It's been a month and I still don't think you understand what's wrong with my brain! You said you were there, you were the one who brought me here, you saw me get hurt, how is it that you don't get it! I thought you were a detective, man, aren't you supposed to be smart!"
"Okay, now I think you're overreacting just a bit."
"I'm overreacting? I'm not the one who threw a video cassette on the floor and broke it. I told you, I don't want to watch any of that right now. I am not going to look at any of those tapes without Claire here." QuackerJack huffed. "You're cornering me, that's what you're doing, you know? Cornering me."
"It's just that... I've seen you bounce back from falls and hits before." Darkwing said, shrugging a little. "I don't get how this one time you just land wrong."
"... Did you push me out the window?" QuackerJack said suddenly, which made Darkwing flinch at the change in tone, which was almost accusing. "You were there, you brought me here, did you push me, and that's why you're here now, are you trying to get your story straight?"
"What? No!" Darkwing was a bit stunned by the accusation. "I couldn't have because I was tied down! I wouldn't have, either!"
"Then how did I fall out of a third story window of a business building if the glass is supposed to be reinforced and shouldn't be that easy to fall out of!" QuackerJack shouted. "Do you really think I wouldn't have considered all those little factors? You were there, Darkwing, how did I fall out of a third story window!"
"Why don't you ask him!" Darkwing pointed to Mr. Banana Brain, much to QuackerJack's initial confusion at the statement. "He was there, too, along with the replacement you made! Maybe you should ask him because he knows more about that than I do!"
QuackerJack was absolutely silent as he stared at Darkwing with wide eyes, clearly struggling to process this information. He frowned, then looked at the doll in his hands, then back at Darkwing.
"... There's only one Mr. Banana Brain." He muttered, rolling his eyes. "... He's a doll, Darkwing, he doesn't talk unless I make him, and he hasn't spoken all month." He heaved an annoyed sigh through his nostrils. "If you're not going to be serious about this, I don't know why I'm even bothering."
"If you'd just watch the tapes, you'll know what I'm talking about." Darkwing said in a low voice, obviously losing his patience again, but made sure to remind himself of the situation and QuackerJack's status as a brain trauma patient. This had to be handled with utmost caution. "I'm not going to sugarcoat it, but there's going to be some things on those that are a bit unsettling. Not just the Whiffle Boy Entertainment surveillance video, but there's some footage from security cameras that caught sight of you during those four months. You were not in a good state of mind, it's very clear in the footage, and it was even more obvious face-to-face."
QuackerJack blinked and lifted his head with an expression of mild apprehension.
"... Darkwing, I told you, I don't remember anything about that. I can't explain anything, I can't confirm it, it's honestly upsetting to know that I even did any of that." He shook his head and touched a hand to the bridge of his beak in an unconscious calming gesture. He blinked again and looked floored. "... All you've been doing is just keep telling me over and over and over and over about what I did. You haven't once asked me what I remember before waking up here, y'know? You haven't asked anything about what I've been up to before all this happened."
"Well, Claire filled me in on the gist of it in order for me to understand why I should have tried to talk you down."
"Alright, fair. But, haven't you even wondered about how I met her?"
"It crossed my mind, but like I said, the priority at the time was to talk you down before something happened."
"... When you word it like that, it just sounds even worse, if I'm going to be honest." QuackerJack said unenthusiastically. He cleared his throat. "... After I lost Mr. Banana Brain, things got a lot less fun. Then you disappeared. Then QuackWerks showed up, and before I knew it, I was given a job and place to stay that wasn't under the streets, and I could actually earn my own income, and it was nice, but it just didn't really feel like I fit into the whole thing. Yeah, I made a few friends in the company, but I just really couldn't go anywhere without feeling like a pariah. I mean, I totally understand why, but I did try to make an effort to start over. I really did." He sighed. "... Then I met Claire. She was bringing the mail to my department floor and I was telling a funny story to one of my coworkers, and I heard her laugh and... Well, it took me a few weeks to even figure out how to talk to her. I couldn't figure out why she was interested in getting to know me, but I'm glad she did. She's nice. I like nice."
"I see..." Darkwing said, mostly to move the conversation along. "Well, then, what is it you remember before you ended up here?"
Almost immediately, QuackerJack's eyes lit up when it was clear that he was relieved to finally be able to properly answer a question with complete confidence.
He recounted the entirety of the events leading up to the missing chunk of memories, from the anxiety attacks to the mystery of the placebo prescription, to the mandatory two-week vacation he was given after it was decided that he had been working himself ragged on the toy projects (which QuackerJack made sure to clarify and reiterate that he had to be forced to take the vacation). As QuackerJack continued to tell his story, Darkwing couldn't help but noticed that the particular focus appeared to be on the emotional aspect of things. QuackerJack would explain about how he felt during an event, rather than gloss over the event itself.
All in all, his recounting of the two weeks leading to his last memory before he woke up at the hospital was very thorough and frank, and it seemed like he had no hesitation in explaining even his behavior during and after a panic. Heck, he even prattled on about something involving swapping french fry trays and the process of scrapbooking and pizza with cheese crammed in the crust.
It was very clear that his general memory retention was fairly good, it's just that everything involving the infamous four months in action was a complete blank. And it was obviously very frustrating to QuackerJack.
"... I don't like this, Darkwing. I tried to do everything right, and I still managed to ruin it all. And the worst thing is that I don't even remember how or why..." QuackerJack was now looking at the tiles on the floor and seemed to be mentally counting how many alternately colored ones there were in his sight. "At least when I went bankrupt and lost the factory, I knew why and what I did wrong, even if it took me a few years to let it sink in. And I can at least still remember all of that."
Unable to come up with a good verbal response, Darkwing merely made a noise of acknowledgment that he hoped didn't sound accusing or disinterested.
This seemed to be acceptable, as QuackerJack returned the response with a half-hearted shrug.
"... I guess it's not completely terrible right now, though." QuackerJack added, cracking a small smile. "At least there's some familiar faces around here. I mean, I would have never thought Mr. Banana Brain was going to be back, much less repaired, yet here he is. And you really have no idea how much it means to me that you're back in St. Canard; it's just been so boring without your flair and those Crimebots have no sense of humor whatsoever. Whoever built those have no idea how to give them personality, at least my stuff had that much effort in them."
He forced a laugh.
"... I'll watch the tapes. I just want to wait for Claire to be here in case I need to be calmed down... She's really good at that."
Looking back on it, Jacky considered that he may have made an error in judging his capacity to be able to properly handle the feedback of information he'd receive upon watching the tapes. He had figured that it couldn't possibly be any worse than what the media had aired during new reports, but he had to admit that he was fairly close to being wrong about that.
It wasn't necessarily worse, as the media outlets hadn't shied away on details, it was more that there was so much unedited footage that prominently displayed the sheer amount of time each incident seemed to unfold.
The media had streamlined the footage, playing the relevant parts, which had made things seem more erratic in presentation with the jumpcuts, but truth be told... it was erratic even without the trimming. No clear pattern, no visible plan, not even a readable consistency in body language, it was like he'd been on autopilot the whole time.
It all felt like he was looking at a doppelganger on the screen, someone else in control of his actions like some man behind the curtain pulling some strings, while he could still recognize his own nuances that made him easily identifiable regardless of the grainy, poorly lit quality of much of the footage. It would seem that most of the incidents took place during the later hours of the day, as he crept throughout the city once the sun began to set.
The one that really seemed to set off a reaction of horror was the tape containing several pieces of footage of him decimating a Crimebot with his bare hands.
The first segment was a sort of diagonal overhead angle, the sort of display aspect that was common from security cameras set up on the outside of business buildings. It was grainy, like most of the footage he'd seen so far, but it was also harshly illuminated by what appeared to be a burning building not too far away from the focal scene.
Jacky could make out three other individuals who accompanied him, and had no problem in identifying them as Megavolt, Bushroot and Liquidator, all of whom were staring at the burning remains with varying degrees of apprehension, notably Bushroot taking a moment to steal a glance at the bleary eyed, grinning clown (regardless of video quality, that odd grin was so distinctive).
Jacky watched himself stand calmly in the middle of the group with his arms behind his back, and how he seemed to react to the scene before them with an unusual amount of dissonance, almost appearing to be amused by the fire, and continued to hold that expression as several Crimebots arrived to investigate the disturbance.
The lack of audio to the footage only made Jacky's imagination run wild as he muttered questions to himself about what could possibly be exchanged in words between the group, and that was when he saw himself tense up in the footage and without warning... The clownish toy maker launched himself at one particular Crimebot in a screaming ballistic rage, tackling it to the ground in a flurry of swinging fists as he dismantled the machine in a matter of seconds, reducing it to a pile of parts and components as he stood up shakily. At some point, he appeared to even try to strangle the non-existent neck of the Crimebot.
Jacky could see how uneasy Bushroot appeared as the other two stood in shock at the sight of the clown surrounded by dented and gnarled bits of metal, having done that despite his lack of physical abilities compared to his team.
He did not expect the relatively clear first-person perspective footage of the very same incident, apparently from the very same Crimebot that had been on the receiving end of his destructive assault. This footage, although visually damaged near the end, had been recorded on a much more advanced technology than simple magnetic tape, and the damage to the clarity near the end was a result of QuackerJack having damaged the camera connection and lenses during his berserk attack.
What had set him off, it seemed, was the utterance of the name "Negaduck".
The footage visually ended on QuackerJack's wild-eyed, enraged grimace before the signal garbled into a mess of pixelated squares once he made contact, but one could still hear the assault in progress in crystal clarity, as his voice screeched out: "NEVER! EVER! SAY! THAT! NAME!"
Jacky's fingers tightened around the cloth doll in his shaking hands as he stared at the screen with such a stillness settling through him, and such captivated attention that he was startled when he felt Claire place a hand on his shoulder while he sat on the bed and continued to stare at the footage. He seemed to have been completely hyperfocused on watching the screen that he'd momentarily forgotten where he even was.
The audio of him gasping and wheezing and panting after he petered out continued to play for a bit before Darkwing took the cue to pause the tape, but not before the tentative voice of a very unnerved Bushroot sounded off quietly, asking the clown if he was alright, the tone of it seeming more like he was asking pertaining to the state of mind and not the physical condition of him.
Bushroot sounded outright terrified.
Bushroot had always been wary of the clown, mostly because Jacky and the botanist had such differing personalities that they simply clashed without much effort, and Jacky had to admit that he used to find some amusement in teasing the normally reserved Bushroot just to test how far he could get before the plant duck snapped back.
It was always clear that Bushroot found Jacky to be a nuisance at most, but perhaps it was the childish attitude of the clown that often prompted Bushroot to nevertheless drag him out of danger instinctively whenever thier former employer would turn his rage on Jacky and the rest of team. If one were to discribe the dynamics between them, Bushroot was the mature and level-headed older sibling figure of sorts, while Jacky was the bratty little snot who'd whine and throw tantrums when things didn't go to his liking.
Bushroot, however, in this footage, sounded like he'd like nothing more than to get as far away from the clown as possible, and was perhaps only there out of necessity, or, Jacky wondered as the horrible plausibility had crossed his mind, maybe Bushroot was forced to participate in this event against his preference.
Bushroot sounded terrified of QuackerJack, plain and simple.
The tape had been paused just as a quiet, unhinged giggle in Jacky's voice followed Bushroot's question.
"... Jacky, if you want, I'm sure Darkwing wouldn't mind postponing the rest of the viewing until you feel more comfortable with it."
"... Wha..?"
It was obvious that he had no idea how to respond to that, and the shock had left him more or less speechless.
"... Jacky?"
"... Uh..."
"Jacky, are you alright?
Something suddenly snapped in him and he began to scream in horror, grabbing fistfuls of downy fluff from his head in his hands instinctively as he continued to screech and spiral out of control in emotional terror. He had no idea how to respond to this whole ordeal, and the overload of emotions and thier severity was honestly too much to process at the moment. He screamed as a means to alleviate the crushing pressure on his stability. He screamed because it was the only thing he could think to do.
When he felt his emotional state calm down and even out, he realized that he had managed to snatch up the box of unwatched tapes and was unsuccessfully attempting to flush a few of said tapes down the toilet in the adjoining bathroom. Why he would even think that was remotely possible in any state of mind, he could not say.
Of course, coming to realize what he was doing at the moment also meant that there was a sudden explosion of sound assaulting his senses as he stared in confusion while Darkwing attempted to salvage the water damaged tapes, shaking out the water while yelling in a flustered rage at Jacky as Claire carefully but firmly pried the box from Jacky's arm (he had the corner of the box resting on his hip to presumably free up his other hand to be able to operate the flushing mechanism).
The toy maker then realized that he was also actively trying to shove Darkwing away with a lifted foot (as his hands were already busy), and while the whole set up for all this seemed like it should have been comical, it was honestly far from it. His face was wet along the cheeks and it didn't take him long to realize that he must have had tears streaming down his face.
Jacky let go of the box and stepped backwards away from the scene in front of him, muttering a string of expletives under his breath as he understood what sort of damage he'd just done without thinking. He knew a great deal about old technology and media formats, and moisture was something he knew had no business being inside of a video cassette.
"I-I don't-!" He stammered, shrinking backwards into the opposite corner of the room, hands up, fingers curled and fists pressed under his jaw as he subconsciously tried to draw himself into a haunched, shaking position on the floor, appearing to be terrified of an inevitable and harsh reprimand. He shielded his face, and shook his head. "I didn't mean to do that! I didn't! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"
"It's not so much that you just tried to destroy the footage, it's that you have no idea how much effort it took to convert it into this format!" Darkwing snapped at him as liquid drained out of the crevices of the VHS tape he currently was holding over the sink. "I still have the hard copies obviously, but this was the only format that would work with my tech that I brought! New blank tapes are getting hard to find around here!"
Jacky visibly twitched at this statement, suddenly appearing to be stricken with incredulous aggravation at having just been put through this ordeal.
"What! Haven't you ever heard of a thumb drive! You could have just put a copy of all that on a single drive, and just plugged it into the TV that was already here! I was worried that I had ruined the hard copies!" He shouted back, throwing his hands in the air. "And everyone says I'm out of touch with the modern tech? At least I know how to handle modern media formats!"
"... That's what you're upset about right now!" Darkwing shot a glare at him. "You just had a full blown meltdown, tried to flush the tapes, and screamed your head off, and the thing you're upset about is that I used an archaic media format!"
"I don't know!" Jacky snapped back, eyes tearing up again, this time in frustration. "You just keep yelling at me, and I don't like being yelled at!"
There was a sharp knock at the room's outside door, followed by a very careful question about if everything was alright, by what sounded like one of the regular nurses.
"I'm fine!" Jacky shouted from across the room, perhaps a bit more rudely than he would have normally.
"Jacky!" Claire was a little shocked by the aggressive tone his voice had taken in that brief moment.
"What!" He barked before it dawned on him how he was acting, particularly when Claire flinched. Timidly, he mumbled an apology and hid his flushed face in his hands in shame, letting a whimper escape him.
The nurse peered into the small adjoining bathroom and was likely a bit surprised to find the trio of Ducks in there, one of which was holding a fair sized cardboard box haphazardly filled with VHS tapes, one duck standing over the sink while draining the moisture from a waterlogged tape, and the brain trauma patient sitting on the cold tiled floor with his face awkwardly hidden in his hands.
This was probably the fourth most unusual thing she'd seen on this particular shift.
"Is everything alright, Mr. QuackerJack?"
Jacky gave a single twitch and looked up through his fingers. He looked at Darkwing, who seemed a little concerned that his outburst was going to be outted, then he looked at Claire, who looked back at him genuine concern for his well being.
"... I'm just a little tired, that's all..." He said truthfully. The whole ordeal had left him feeling physically and mentally drained, and he had no doubt that screaming's reverberation through his skull did not help matters much. He braced himself against the wall and awkwardly stood from the floor, heaving a sigh. "... My head hurts..."
He blinked and realized that he was suddenly backed into the corner again as the nurse was quick to examine him and his reflexes.
"... Uh... I'm... It's fine, I just-" He stammered before gentle fingers carefully pinched his beak shut.
"Mr. QuackerJack, you are a brain trauma victim, if you say your head hurts, then I can't ignore that." The nurse reassured, holding up her other hand with the index finger pointing upward. "Follow my hand with your eyes, not your head, please."
He did so and clenched his jaw when he saw a flicker of concern flash across the nurse's face.
"... Mmph?" Jacky managed to utter through his closed mouth.
"I don't want to alarm you, but your eyes seem just a little off kilter..."
Jacky reached up a hand to pry his beak free.
"I've got that thing where my eyes kinda go different directions sometimes... It's got a wierd name, but it's a thing..." He mumbled, looking up at ceiling to avoid staring at her. "... My head hurts like something is squeezing it, like a rubberband around a bundle of newspaper, not where it's all bruised..."
"Any nausea or feeling any weakness?"
"No? I just feel tired, not sick." Jacky shot a pleading glance at Claire, nonverbally asking to be rescued. "Maybe 'tired' isn't the right word... Um... 'fatigued'? I just want to lay down where it's quiet and not all bright, it's making my head buzzzzz." He twiddled his fingers in the air near his forehead as if that was supposed to be a visual guide.
The nurse wasn't entirely familiar with the odd diction Jacky occasionally had when having difficulty finding the right words. She continued her brief examination before asking: "So, other than the headache, you're sure you feel absolutely fine?"
"Physically, yes." Jacky insisted. "I'm not sick, my head just hurts a little."
"A little or a lot?"
"A little." Jacky reiterated, starting to wonder if he was ever going to be get over to that bed without some ridiculous intervention. "I'd like to get out of this bathroom now, the tiles are cold."
"Well, based on your account, I'd have to guess what you're experiencing is a tension headache." The nurse said. "They're fairly common, even without a preexisting head injury. The good news is that they are easy to manage, and can be remedied as easily as drinking some water and sleeping it off with a nap."
"... Well, that sounds a lot less hectic than all the other treatments I've had." Jacky gave a feeble grin as he carefully stepped along the wall to escape the unintentional cornering that had happened. "I like that idea. I'm just gonna go over there now, this has been such a crazy day, what time is it?"
"Six in the evening."
"... It's still early. Well, dang."
Not gonna lie, I was so tempted to end this chapter on a medical cliffhanger, but that felt cliche and I felt like Jacky already had enough to have dealt with in this chapter. So instead, he got a tension headache that can be easily remedied with little to no ill effects.
Also, the entire second act would have originally used a different ending in which Jacky calmly hides in the bathroomafter Darkwing chewed him out and it's later found that Jacky dismantled the air vent cover and crawled his way through the vents to the hospital lobby to wait for Claire, but I felt that was a bit too silly and opted for the bathroom sequence where he frantically tries to flush the tapes instead because I kinda thought the overall absurdity that one would even think a VHS could be flushed seemed just the sort of thing I'd expect QuackerJack to do during a full scale freak out. It doesn't have to make sense overall, lol.
That, and I like to offer y'all the unexpected. I bet you didn't expect him to try to flush the tapes down the toilet, huh? :P