"I'm dreaming." Jacky said in a deadpan voice, sitting on the edge of a bed. "I'm asleep and this really isn't a thing that's happening right now."

"What makes you say so, Joe?" An unnaturally chipper voice chimed behind him, making Jacky cringe a little at the tone.

"... Well, for one thing, I'm looking out this window and there's literally nothing out there, absolutely nothing." Jacky didn't change his infliction in his voice, and shrugged. "Despite the fact that this room appears to be naturally lit, there is nothing outside to give such light. It makes no sense, but it doesn't have to if I'm asleep."

"Since when have you ever stuck to logic?"

"I'm nuts, not stupid."

"Well, Mr. Smarty Pants, any other clues you've picked up in your oh so brilliant observations?"

"... Well, I suppose another indication of my theory is that you're here and I don't have a doppelganger." Jacky looked over his shoulder with an expression of mild disgust at the wild eyed, widely grinning double in a perfectly repaired jester costume. "Just a little guess, really."

"You said yourself that you're crazy, maybe I'm just a hallucination of something about you and you're not really asleep at all?"

"Nice try, but I have my ways to tell when I'm asleep."

"Oh?" The doppelganger said, appearing to be very interested in the idea, dingle-dangles of the hat raising upward as if resembling perked ears. "How so?"

"That's confidential; only I need to know it, or else it compromises the whole concept." Jacky said, looking back at the dark window to nothingness. "I'm dreaming, and I'm just glad it's here and not…" He paused, then shook his head roughly and grunted under his breath.

Jacky felt a sudden springy weight on the mattress, making him lean slightly towards the foot of the bed. He looked to his side quickly and saw the double there on his hands and knees, staring at him with a very focused look.

"Tell me."

"No." Jacky shook his head. He blinked and was surprised to find that the other one was now much closer and continued to keep that same expression, perhaps with a little bit of annoyance sprinkled in.

"What's the trick? How do you know when you're asleep?" There was an insistent tone in the voice.

"No."

They were almost beak to beak now, and Jacky was beginning to feel uncomfortable, as if ice had touched his spine and spread through his body like creeping tendrils of unease.

"You just have to tell me!" The other whined, bouncing in an agitated manner, continuing to stare at Jacky with captivated focus.

"... Have I always had that bad of eye bags, or is that just with you..?"

"Don't change the subject!" The double screamed, grabbing Jacky by the shoulders, forcing the confused battered toy maker to squeak in surprise. "Tell me how you know the difference!"

"... If you're me, then you should know already…"

"You cheeky little-!"

"I really don't have the energy for this sort of thing right now, could you just get to the point?" Jacky wasn't in the mood for confusing cryptic symbolism. "What are you, like my subconscious or something? Maybe just that little side of me I'm worried about seeing in those tapes? You really think I'm worried about you being here? You're not the first fever dream I've had; I've been around the block a few times."

The doppelganger seemed to be a bit livid with this response. His fingers squeezed Jacky's shoulders before throwing him to the surface of the bed in frustration.

"Hey!" Jacky shouted. "Watch it! I don't need another knock on the head!"

"You shouldn't be worried about that; you said so yourself that you were dreaming." The other QuackerJack sneered, sticking his tongue out with a mocking nod. "None of this is real, so don't worry about a thing, Bing."

"I'll worry all I want, you don't tell me what to do."

"For someone who seems to think he's so in control of this situation right now, it's kinda funny how you are literally arguing with yourself."

"I guess." Jacky shrugged, heaving a sigh of disinterest. "... I really don't care what you're trying to do."

"What 'we're' trying to do, you mean."

"Oh, you are a nasty little figment, aren't you?" Jacky raised his eyebrows, and reached for the remote for the mounted television in the corner. "Not the first, but probably not the worst either…"

"I may be an illusion, but I had to come from somewhere." The other one shrugged, unsuccessfully stifling back a snicker with a bite of the lower lip. "You've known of me for the longest time; I'm nothing new."

"I figured as much. Your diction is familiar." Jacky exhaled and switched on the television, and frowned a little at the dead air on the screen. "Ugh, I don't care much for static…"

"You'll have to, that's all we get around here. Static. Dead air. White noise."

"... What a boring waste of fantasy television."

"Can't say much about the radio, either. Just a continuous loop of tunes you're either familiar with or half familiar with. The less familiar ones are just a gurgle, and occasionally just stop all together. Like an earworm, really." The double said, appearing to be bored with the thought. "You have brain trauma; it affected how you process and create information."

"I know that. There's nothing you can tell me that I don't know yet, you are just parroting what I've already heard and been told."

"You're so boring now, you're no fun anymore."

"And there is the gaslighting." Despite all this, Jacky still kept a calm tone of voice. "I like you better when you're encouraging. The last few weeks have just been nitpicking and negativity. We don't need that around here."

"Oh, is it 'nitpicking' to point out to you all that because of what you're afraid-?"

"Shut it!" Jacky snapped back, pointing at the doppelganger in a warning gesture. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. I won't have any of it. None of the bad vibes, we're going to let ourselves get better."

There was a pause from the other, who blinked a few times before bursting into rather loud and hysterical laughter. Jacky felt like someone was scratching a chalkboard behind his head, as it made his skin crawl ever so slightly. The other QuackerJack gasped dramatically to catch his breath and continued to snicker between inhales.

"You really think that's how it's going to work out?" He finally said, grinning widely at Jacky before chiming with a sing-song-ishly dissonant tone. "'Jack fell down, and broke his crown…'"

"... I'm not sure I follow…"

"Do you really think it's going to be as easy as 'get better'?" The double snorted harshly, and crawled forward across the bed top to hover over Jacky like an alpha animal staring down its subordinate. "You broke the rules, Jules. You're most certainly going back to jail after you're deemed healed enough to fend for yourself there. You attacked civilians, and you caused wanton property damages, and you hurt so many people. Quite frankly, I'm surprised you haven't heard a word about any casualties; I wouldn't be surprised if there's a body count from your little stunt."

"I-I haven't! There's been no reports of-!" Jacky stammered once that particular thought finally was forced to cross his mind.

"You sure about that, Matt?" The other QuackerJack grabbed him by the chin, continuing to smirk at Jacky, who stared back in wide eyed helplessness. "You know that you've been advised not to view the news reports of the events. What could they possibly be keeping from you? Surely, if it wasn't as bad as it seems, they'd have no problem with you wanting to see the truth?"

"... They don't want me to compromise any memories I may have managed to retain." Jacky mumbled, reaching his hands up to push the other away from his beak. "... It's very easy to think I remember it that way if that's all the information they're giving me. That's how manufactured memories work; if you hear it enough times, you believe it even if it's not correct…"

"And who told you that?"

"... They." Jacky said in a quiet voice, not looking the doppelganger in the eye. "... The doctors. Darkwing. Claire."

"And you're going to just trust what Darkwing has to say? Hasn't he dedicated a good portion of his career to undermining your crusade against the king of all mind rot, those horrible, horrible video games that are poisoning the youth?" The other QuackerJack leaned even closer and lowered his voice as if trying to keep what was being said as a secret between them, despite the two of them being the only two in this fabricated location. "Did you forget that Darkwing Duck is practically Whiffle Boy's number one fan boy? You really think he's forgiven you so easily for trying to destroy his precious little digital hero? Do you actually think he's your friend now? You don't even know who he really is. He could be lying about having pushed you out that window."

"... I know what you're trying to do. Stop it." Jacky said with a bit of a whine to his voice as the double pressed both hands to his chest and pinned Jacky to the bed, grinning even wider. "You're just trying to upset me; this is just anxiety taking form, you just want me to doubt things and get me all messed up and confused; I don't like this, why are you being so mean?"

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Mr. QuackerJack?" The illusion said without faltering as Jacky began squirming uncomfortably, visibly unnerved by being forced to remain on his back during this encounter. "He wanted mean; we got meaner. These days, you've got to play rough with your toys."

"... I… wuh-wha..?" Jacky tried to make some sort of coherent noise, but something about that last statement caused that overwhelming sense of anxiety to rise even higher. The static from the TV was getting very distracting, so loud, a barrage of white noise just filled the air and his ears. "... Whuzhappenin..?"

"You're a very sick little ducky, Chuckie. You're not well. That's what they say. 'Crazy Mr. QuackerJack's at it again.'"

"... N-Nobody says-"

"Have you forgotten what they used to whisper about behind your back? Did you really knock your head that hard?"

The other QuackerJack was continuing to push his weight into Jacky's chest, paralyzing him with fear. The poor, confused and mentally bruised toy maker could only stare in apprehension as the shift in weight distribution made it rather hard to breathe properly. A sort of creeping numbness made his limbs feel too heavy, as if invisible restraints had pinned them to the bed. He couldn't even muster the strength to curl his fingers to grip the fabric of the blanket beneath him.

"... Cuh… could you… geoffa me..?"

"The sleep paralysis is setting in, Mr. QuackerJack."

"... Wuh..?"

"You're having a nightmare. It's time to wake up."

Jacky's eyes widened in shock, almost perfectly round now. The dead air seemed to take on another form entirely, manifesting as little flickering fuzz, like a bad reception, that glimmered and danced before his eyes in tune to the crackling buzz of the static. It was disorienting, it was confusing, and most importantly, it was absolutely dreadful that his senses were going bonkers in this state of panic. He felt like he was losing his mind, that his ability to grasp the situation was crumbling apart like the binding of a wet book of smudged, incomprehensible words.

"... I-"

"WAKE UP, MR. QUACKERJACK!" The doppelganger suddenly shrieked as he grabbed Jacky by front of his shirt with both hands and shook him roughly.

Jacky screamed as his sense of feeling and moving flooded back to him in a rush. He kicked and flailed and threw his hands in every direction he could, desperate to dispel the terrifying illusion from him as far and quickly as possible. He wasn't entirely sure where he was now and what was happening around him at this exact moment, but he wasn't going to let himself continue to be pinned by that terrifying vision; squeezing the air from his lungs and making his arms and legs feel useless in defending himself as it pushed harder and harder against his chest.

The noise of wood against linoleum jarred his blurred focus and left him dazed and confused and gasping as he became distantly aware of the overturned nightstand on the floor in front of him.

"... Mr. QuackerJack..?" He heard a quiet but vaguely familiar voice drift into the room.

Jacky blinked and looked at the doorway to find one of the night shift nurses (a hen) standing there with a somewhat timid posture. That was when Jacky could see the mangled bits of particleboard on the floor near the door; he had clearly thrown the drawer of the nightstand across the room, but it didn't immediately stick in his mind that he had indeed been the one to do so. His tattered jester costume was among the mess.

His eyes dropped to the floor in front of him, and he saw the overturned nightstand in question, not immediately registering that he had been the one to do so.

"... This is a mess." He said in a bit of a monotone, as if he was simply stating it rather than observing it.

"Mr. QuackerJack, are you alright?"

"This is a mess." He said a little more urgently, shaking his head slowly. "Oh, no, this is a mess."

"Mr. QuackerJack, is everything alright?" The nurse asked essentially the same question, but in a different wording, as if that would coax an answer out of the confused duck.

"I've made a mess of everything, I can't leave it like this, I can't, I've made a mess, I can't just leave this here…" Jacky mumbled breathlessly, starting to sound agitated, as if the mere idea of the overturned nightstand was very distressing to him.

He flinched when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. He gasped harshly and jerked his body backwards, away from the source of the touch, and ended up stumbling backwards into the guest chair, squeaking in fright and confusion at the sudden realization that he was no longer on his feet.

"Oh, dear, are you alright, Mr. QuackerJack?" The nurse continued to ask, genuinely apologetic for startling him like that. "I didn't mean to frighten you, but it's awfully late in the night and you were screaming not too long ago."

"... What time is it..?"

"About half after one in the morning."

"... That's not late if you're an insomniac."

"Maybe so, but you are a resident in the Neuro Ward, so it's most certainly late in the night for a healing brain."

"... Was… was there anyone else in here besides me earlier..?"

Almost immediately, Jacky regretted asking that question, as he realized as soon as it left his mouth that it was going to bring up more questions.

"No one who shouldn't be." The nurse said, already beginning to look him over carefully in a quick visual exam. "There's not much activity around here after hours, so it's pretty quiet. Are you feeling alright, Mr. QuackerJack? You seem a little pale."

"... There was… I felt like a… like there was something heavy pushing on me and-and I couldn't move or breathe." Jacky said quietly, gesturing with a hand hovering over his chest, as he pulled himself into a more comfortable, upright position in the chair. "It was… horrible."

"And what you mean to say is that that 'something' took a physical form and stood over you and pinned you to the bed?"

Jacky was dumbstruck.

"H-how did you know?" He squeaked, eyes wide.

"You're aren't the first patient at the hospital to be afflicted with sleep paralysis, and you certainly won't be the last." The hen said, sounding sympathetic as she checked his reaction time with his eyes and frowned just ever so slightly. "... Are you aware that your eyes-?"

"If you're going to ask if I know that I'm cross eyed, yes, yes I do know that." Jacky nodded, trying to keep a straight face; anyone unfamiliar with the condition always seemed to react in concern or shock, but he was used to it. In fact, right now, discussing such seemed to ease the anxiety and confusion away, as it was something about himself that he was more knowledgeable about than the exact cause of the confusing nightmares that kept him from having a peaceful rest. "They do that sometimes, it's disorienting but mostly harmless. I forget the name, but I think it's also called 'lazy eye'."

The nurse continued to ask small questions about himself as a sort of assessment for his cognitive state, and Jacky eventually resorted to standard answers that were very clear that he wasn't exactly paying attention. He tilted his head to look beyond the nurse's shoulder and stared at the destroyed drawer at the door, distantly acknowledging that his old costume was among the mess.

Then something t-boned his train of thought and derailed it.

"Lumpy!" He shouted suddenly, startling the nurse, who had gotten used to the quiet answers. "He was in that drawer!"

The nurse was quick to place a hand on his chest to keep him in the chair, as he had attempted to jump up in a spontaneous panic.

"Mr. QuackerJack, please stay seated, you-"

"I can very well cross the room on my own, thank you very much!" He snapped back, still trying to stand, and doing so poorly due to the simple restriction. "Every second I'm wasting here is another second Lumpy spends-!"

"I'll look over there for you, you need to catch your breath, what does he look like?" The nurse said firmly, and the tone of voice made Jacky feel sheepish.

"... A clay snail. He's supposed to be a hermit crab, but he looks like a snail…" He mumbled, dropping his gaze to the floor. He felt a bit silly having to confirm that all the fuss was about a little handmade knick-knack, but he'd grown attached to the clay mollusk. "... You said something about 'sleep paralysis'? Is that..?"

"If you're wondering if that's anything that you should be worrying about, I can assure you that it's a very common occurrence, particularly with individuals who are recovering in this ward." The hen seemed to sense his apprehension. "It can happen for a number of reasons, like something as simple as not getting enough sleep or sleeping on your back or even having a stressful day."

"... Would having a brain injury factor into that?"

"That's certainly a possibility."

"... I don't like it." Jacky said in a quiet voice, grimacing. "... It feels too real."

He must have sounded like a frightened child once he said that, as the already gentle nature of the nurse seemed to soften even more.

"If it helps to ease your mind any, Mr. QuackerJack, bouts of sleep paralysis can happen to anyone. It's just your mind waking up before the rest of you, and an active mind may go wild during this state. It's a frightening ordeal, but harmless." She tried to assure him.

"... So what do I have to do to make them stop?"

"It depends, but the simplest thing to do is you could try not to sleep on your back."

"... Really? That easy?" Jacky sounded as if he thought that solution sounded something like a wives' tale or home remedy that really had no basis in fact. He did a half hearted shrug and clasped his hands together in a single clap. "Well, okay, you're the one with the medical experience here, I'll try, but what if that doesn't work?"

"Then a change in sleeping habits, starting with not being awake at this hour."

"... Can you please check on Lumpy? He's still under the drawer debris."

"I'll take care of that for you if you make the effort to go back to sleep." The nurse said gently. "You need to let your brain rest, Mr. QuackerJack."

"... I made the mess, I should at least help clean up, it's only fair."

"Don't worry about it, it's all part of the job anyway." The hen said with a bit of a laugh to her voice, which did not sound mocking. Jacky kind of liked that. "Night Shift would be too quiet otherwise, and we really have to stay on our toes if there's an emergency on this floor."

"... I don't remember throwing that."

"You don't have to apologize, Mr. QuackerJack, I understand." The nurse reassured him as she pulled the nightstand from the floor and turned it upright. The missing drawer made it look like it had a gaping hole in the front. She crossed the room to sift through the splintered mess of particleboard.

"I want to apologize." Jacky said quietly.

The clay snail was pushed into his hands, appearing to be unscathed.

"Does he look alright, or should I get anything for some patching up?"

"... He looks fine." Jacky mumbled, cautiously turning the figure in his hands before tentatively placing it on the surface of the battered nightstand, and climbing back on the bed.

The jester costume was picked up and given a few shakes to dislodge any debris.

"There's some holes, I'm sorry, Mr. QuackerJack."

"... Actually, I was wearing that when I fell through a window, those were already there." Jacky said in a monotone. "There was a lot of glass."

"Oh, is that how you got hurt? You poor man."

It had honestly been a long time since he could remember the last time anyone referred to him as anything other than "clown" or various other similar phrases that could double as being called "fool".

Well, except maybe Claire, who consistently referred to him as "Jacky", such a sweet and friendly sounding nickname. He much enjoyed that, so much so that he quickly warmed up to that as his preferred choice of labeling.

But anyway, Jacky could not remember the last time he'd been referred to as something other than some form of "fool" by anyone outside of his very small circle. It was a nice change of pace.

"I don't remember how it all happened, since I hit my head, but I'm told that it was a pretty bad spill." He said as he was handed the tattered costume, which he folded very carefully and set on the nightstand as well. He gave a small smile and nodded a gesture of "Thank you."

Maybe it was how the nurse responded to him, but Jacky couldn't help but feel more at ease than he had been at the start of this whole sleep paralysis mess. The nurse was friendly and understanding, as was most of the staff around here, and while he would have preferred to be in the company of Claire (a near impossibility for this hour, due to visiting time being over ages ago), he greatly appreciated the patience the hen had shown with him.

Jacky honestly hadn't paid much mind to what seasonal month it must have been by now. If his math was correct, then it had been about seven months since he'd initially had the breakdown that had resulted in this whole mess to begin with. Four months that he couldn't remember, and the three or so months he'd been in this hospital, recovering. So, it most certainly had to be autumn by now, and the orange-ish color beginning to take over the deciduous flora was proof enough at that.

You missed half of spring and near all of summer because of that whole mess. The inner voice chimed, sounding about as disappointed as he felt at the idea. It's going to get too cold to go outside soon, you're going to be stuck indoors for a whole winter.

"I like fall." Jacky said, almost a little too loudly, mostly to drown out the little voice. "It has all these lovely shades of orange and red, and the leaves are just so pretty."

"You've got quite a view from the window, too." Claire said, letting him lean into her as they sat on the edge of the bed to look out the large window to the world outside. "If the parking lot was there, you wouldn't see as many trees."

"Probably would enjoy it more if I was allowed outside more often."

"The weather's been getting colder, I think they're just probably concerned about you getting sick or something from the chilly breeze."

"It's not that bad out there, besides, I'm sure I could use a scarf and knit cap or something. Heck, I think they keep the temperature in here colder than out there right now anyway." He mumbled sourly, shaking his head. "I'm not gonna get the plague if I step on a leaf."

"But, you might catch a cold."

"I could catch a cold just by being here, too. Doesn't matter how prepared I am, someone could just sneeze on me. That's not a valid argument, Claire." Jacky said in an almost playful tone.

"Well, maybe so, but you have to admit that the weather has been getting a bit colder lately." Claire reasoned.

"All the more reason to enjoy what's left of the nice days before winter hits." Jacky said in a bit of a whine. "My whole summer was shot, that's not very fair."

"It's not like we can't do anything during fall and winter."

"Seasonal coffees are out, on account of the sugar and caffeine, and I haven't been given to okay for moderate consumption of that yet."

"There's more for fall and winter than pumpkin spice lattes, Jacky.

"Most, if not all, of the fall time goodies are all sweets. And no, we're not going 'sugar free', that's just chemicals as a stand-in. And it just doesn't taste the same."

"We got plenty of time to enjoy that later."

"Seasonal treats are seasonal, though."

"Shelf life's a bit longer than that."

"Who wants stale gingerbread?" Jacky sounded disproportionately appalled at the thought. He sat upright and stared at her as if that was craziest thing he'd heard in a while.

"I could just bake it, then. It won't be stale if I just make it fresh." Claire couldn't help but smile a little at his expression before she had said that.

"But, then it won't be seasonal." Jacky sounded just a little offended at the notion. "Gingerbread is a seasonal treat."

"Only if you make it seasonal. You do know that ginger snaps are available year round, don't you?"

"But, it's not the same. Gingerbread is seasonal, that's how it works."

"Next thing you're going to do is tell me peppermint is only to be consumed during the holidays."

"Only if they're in cane form. Peppermint candy discs are fine anytime."

"Now, why is that different, but the gingerbread absolutely must be seasonal, Jacky?"

"Because, that's just the way things are!" Jacky said in a bit of a bratty tone of voice. "Do you watch Christmas movies in July? No, because it's not how it's done! Yuh-you put things into total chaos that way, there's no limits and then you don't have anything specific to do for the seasonal times!"

"... They're serving pumpkin spice lattes in the hospital cafe right now, just a heads up."

Jacky made a noise somewhere between croak and a squawk, as if he lacked the ability to utter the sound he had intended.

"That's not proper." Jacky finally managed in a low voice, folding his arms with a pouty expression. "As if I didn't have problems with trying to keep track of time to begin with, now the constants have to be all out of place. It's not right."

"You can't tell me that you've never wanted to eat a candy cane in August at least once."

"... September."

There was a snort of a laugh.

"So, what's the problem, then?" Claire said as she watched his face darken with a reddish hue. There was a pause before she added: "... It's not really about the seasonal treats, is it?"

"... I missed a lot of time, Claire." Jacky mumbled, giving a bit of an uncomfortable squirm to shift his seated position. "... Four months is a long time. It's one-third of a year. I'm never getting that back, you know? I can't believe it's already going to be autumn again, because I missed almost all of summer…"

"Yes, there's a lot of missed time, but you're here now."

"But, I wasn't before. I wasn't here, and I missed so much and I still don't remember any of what I did during the-!"

Jacky stopped speaking abruptly as Claire caught his beak in a gentle silencing hold with her hand. He blinked and looked at her pitifully, managing a muffled whimper.

"And you don't have force yourself to remember all that; if it never comes back to you, that's alright. Your memory will heal at whatever pace it can."

"Claire, that doesn't sound very right to me." Jacky mumbled after he carefully pried her hand off his beak. "I mean, I don't particularly want to know all the fine details, I just want to know what happened and why. And no one but me really knows what made me fall like that, and I don't know how I'm supposed to know when I don't know, and-"

"But, Darkwing was there, wasn't he?"

"Yes, but he won't tell me what happened. He just keeps doing this whole thing about how I should watch the rest of those tapes, and anything he has told me doesn't make any sense."

"... What has he told you?"

"Not too much, because of the whole thing about not wanting to compromise anything I may or may not have retained, but he insists that Mr. Banana Brain has something to do with it."

There was a pause. Jacky noticed the silence immediately, and raised his eyebrows slowly as he stared at her incredulously.

"... Don't tell me you believe that too, Claire?" He said in a desperate tone.

"Jacky, I really don't know what to say about that to you. If you don't remember it, anything I say could ruin what memory you did manage to keep."

"... What did he tell you happened?"

"You know I can't tell you anything that would-"

"Yes, I know, I know, it's like it's the one thing that's impossible to forget because I hear it all the time." Jacky huffed, folding his arms in an almost petulant fashion. "It's not fair."

"Well, why don't we focus on something a little nicer right now, then? Not a good idea to get you all worked up over something you have no control on." Claire said, hoping to steer him away from that conversation. "That limp is getting better, I've noticed."

"Uh-huh…" Jacky said in a distant tone, eyes fixed on something just beyond Claire.

She turned to see that he was staring at the doll's hand poking out from under the pillow (the place in which he'd stash the doll during the day "for safe keeping"), and looked back at Jacky to see him lower his eyebrows slowly, appearing as if something in his mind was trying to turn those tired, battered gears, losing himself in deep thought.

"Jacky?"

"How many feet do you think is in three stories?"

"... What?" She had honestly been thrown for a loop at that question, and it's abruptness had her temporarily forget that "feet" and "stories" were referring to building measurements. Quite frankly, in the few seconds it took her to sort the question in her mind, she had simultaneously worried that Jacky had momentarily been stricken with a bout of "word salad".

"That must have been a thirty foot drop at least." Jacky said, as if he hadn't noticed her confusion.

Said confusion quickly faded when Claire realized what he meant.

"Yes, I suppose that sounds like it would be."

"I wonder if I'd fallen a shorter distance, if I'd still have this memory problem. I wonder what foot is the one that did that to my brain."

"... I don't know, Jacky."

There was another pause, this time from Jacky, appearing to be deep in thought once more, eyes once again locked on the plush doll's hand sticking out from under the pillow, before he inhaled sharply, placed his hand on his head and said apologetically: "Oh no, what am I saying? You don't want to talk about that sort of thing, I'm sorry."

Honestly, Claire was more concerned that his attention span had seemingly deteriorated twice within the time frame of three minutes.

"You keep looking at Mr. Banana Brain, is everything alright?"

"... Claire, do those hands look like they could cause bruises like the ones I had on my arms a while back?

"I'd say that they look too small to do that."

"Exactly! Why would Darkwing insist on that being that case? Surely he can't think I'm that gullible?"

"You're getting back on that subject again, Jacky." Claire warned gently, not wanting him to upset himself.

"I'm sorry, but it's all that's rattling around in my head right now." Jacky shrugged. "I can't help it, I'm just curious."

"How about if you keep talking about those nice little leaves you like so much?"

"There's not much more to say; they're pretty and I like the colors." He said. "I just wish they'd let me go outside so I can actually be there to look at them."

The Incident (Approximately Four Months Ago)

"... Hey, QuackerJack... Can you hear me..?"

Hardly.

Who was talking? He couldn't really tell, and there seemed to be a second voice joined in the muffled chatter that struggled to reach his ears. Something told him that he was familiar with those voices, but it just seemed like it was a fact that couldn't connect with anything his brain was aware of.

Everything felt sore, as if he'd been run through the wringer and flung against pavement like a wad of Nutty Putty. His face in particular, especially the right side, felt like it was… burning? It stung something fierce, like perhaps something had scraped against it, and inexplicable moisture had made his face feathers sticky and adhere to his cowl.

The ground beneath him was hard and scratchy, like perhaps concrete, but there also felt like an unknown number of little pricklies were nipping at his flesh where he lay.

His vision was blurred, his mind muddled, his body painfully heavy, and he couldn't remember where he was or why. More of those familiar voices drifted around, one in particular sounding urgent as he felt something reach under his arms and try to drag him to his feet, but he felt like his essence of being was inhabiting a ragdoll full of sawdust.

He simply let himself sink against whatever felt stable, and whatever beneath him seemed to move with great difficulty under his weight before something else joined in to assist. He coughed, then gave a weak moan of discomfort, distantly aware that his right side felt somewhat numb.

But, his head hurt.

Man, did his head hurt.

He had no idea what was going on, but he could most certainly say that, without a doubt, his head hurt and felt fragile like an overripe watermelon.

He struggled to open his eyes again and couldn't make out anything other than blurry smears of colors and shapes. It must be night time, as he could hear the chipper chirp of crickets punctuating the air before it was drowned out by a roar of noise and rushing air.

He really had no idea what was happening, and honestly, the first coherent thought to really cross his mind as his eyes drifted shut again was: ... I should have stayed home today…

That Same Night There was no way Darkwing Duck could have been able to predict this outcome in all the chaos and confusion. There was absolutely nothing he could have been able to do, especially when he had been pinned to that desk by those deceivingly strong sentient dolls, and he certainly could not have reacted fast enough once QuackerJack had crashed through the window and plummeted to the pavement below with a cry of shock and a shower of glass shards.

It had taken a lot of effort to drag QuackerJack into the backseat of the Thunderquack, mostly because Darkwing wasn't sure exactly how much damage they were dealing and if he should minimize movement of the neck and spine, or even if his handling of the deadweight that was QuackerJack's barely conscious form was causing even more damage to the terribly injured mad toy maker.

It didn't help matters much that QuackerJack was virtually mute during the procedure, save for the single reflexive shout of agony while an attempt was made to lift him over the threshold to the backseat and the occasional moan of discomfort during the route to the hospital

... As long as he's making noise, he's not dead yet. Darkwing told himself more than once, glancing behind him periodically as he kept his eyes more or less fixed in front of him.

"What happened exactly, DW?"

There was an extended silence from Darkwing as he glanced behind himself again, grimacing in guilt before looking at his partner.

"... He fell, Launchpad." He explained as brief and to the point as he could. "There was a backfire, and he was thrown out the window. I'm not sure what exactly is wrong with him, but he's in really bad shape right now."

Darkwing suddenly became aware of the silence in the backseat and quickly turned around after a rush of panic smacked him hard, fearing that he may have just had his first body count in the back of the Thunderquack. Thankfully, the silence was simply because QuackerJack had seemingly slipped into a deep sleep (or, thinking back now, Darkwing was sure it could have been a coma), and the silence was just that his breathing was quiet and remarkably stable in that state, albeit a bit wheezy (which was difficult to hear over the engines of the Thunderquack).

If anything, QuackerJack's chest was rising and falling at a steady enough rhythm, and that was a good sign. Of course, Darkwing wasn't no doctor, so he wasn't entirely sure, but basic knowledge told him that it was a good sign.

QuackerJack was still breathing, and that was a good sign.

"... What are we going to do?" Launchpad's voice broke the silence and Darkwing looked back at him with uncertainty, just as lost as he was.

"We're taking him to the hospital, of course." He finally said, although it had been the obvious route to begin with. There was an almost detached automatic rhythm to his speech as he stared ahead. "... We're going to take him to the hospital, and I'm going to explain it all to Claire, and I want you to go home and make sure Gosalyn isn't staying up too late, and I'll call you when I'm ready to leave."

"Is… is he going to be alright, DW?"

Darkwing did not answer, and remained as such for the rest of the trip.

The Following Morning A faint beeping drifted to his ears, and this was when QuackerJack became aware of the fact that there was an aching soreness throughout his entire body, particularly localized to his arms and the right side of his head. The ambient noises hovering around him did not sound familiar, nor did they sound comforting, and where he lay did not feel right to him.

Forcing his tired eyes open, he stared at a ceiling above him that was not his familiar ceiling. Squinting in confusion, he turned his head slightly, and before the soreness flared up and made him squeeze his eyes shut with a faint cry of discomfort, he could make out an orange-ish glow of the start of a sunrise gently brightening the room that was not his place of residence.

This was when the anxiety began bubbling to the surface and despite the pain and the weakness it induced in his appendages, QuackerJack pulled himself into a seated upright position, leaning against a headboard, wheezing and trying to process what exactly happened.

He looked down at his arms. His sleeves were short, leaving the limbs exposed, and revealing troubling bruises that dotted along his forearms, which would be a reasonable explanation as to why his arms hurt so.

Short sleeves? He hadn't been wearing short sleeves last he recalled. In fact, unless he was mistaken, he appeared to be dressed in hospital garb.

What in all the heck?

He didn't even think twice as he instinctively reached for the sensors stuck to him and pulled at them, not caring that a few feather fibers stuck to the adhesive.

Why was he here? Had something happened at work? Did he have another panic attack and had to be sent to the hospital because it had been worse than the last one? His arms were bruised; had there been an accident and was he injured?

Where was Claire..?

…

…

?

!?

Where was Claire!?

He was panting in heavy, distressed breaths as his eyes darted frantically around the room. This was most certainly a hospital room, and he had no idea how or why he was there.

His head hurt.

Like, his head really hurt.

Where was Claire?

He didn't know what was happening.

Where is Claire?

His head hurt.

There's too much noise.

This was not his home.

His head hurt and his arms hurt and everything felt sore like he'd been thrown against a wall like a racquetball.

He felt bruised. What happened? What in the world happened?

"Claire!" He shouted finally, wanting to get to the bottom of this conundrum. He took a deep breath and shouted more desperately, absolutely panic stricken. "CLAIRE!"

Present Day Darkwing was there for another visit. Of course, Jacky had come to expect that as a regular occurrence, and while it annoyed him that Darkwing still persisted in keeping the details of that day almost a total secret to himself to seemingly use that as leverage to egg Jacky into watching the rest of the tapes… Jacky did have to admit that he found it strangely comforting that Darkwing was taking such efforts to monitor him.

Even if the Duck Knight was frustrating him as all heck right now.

"Darkwing, if you're not going to tell me about what happened that night, then why are you even here?"

"I said I would explain after you watch the tapes. You need to actually see it because you are probably not going to believe anything I tell you."

"Try me."

"I did, and you ended up punching me in the face and taking my Gas Gun."

"That wasn't-!"

"And that's why I think it would be better if you actually saw the tapes first. You clearly didn't believe or understand what I told you about it before-"

Jacky slammed his hands on the table between them in frustration and said in a low voice: "Because what you are telling me doesn't make sense to me. I would not have tried to replace Mr. Banana Brain, and Mr. Banana Brain would never hurt me."

"While that's not an incorrect statement, I think you really should-"

"I WILL NOT LOOK AT THOSE TAPES UNTIL YOU TELL ME WHAT TO EXPECT."

"That would be considered compromising your pre-existing memories."

"... Oh my-! You have no idea how tired I am of hearing the word 'compromise'."

Darkwing did not respond to that, but strangely placed a newspaper on the table and picked up the front page to read as if this was not an odd action to do during a conversation. He opened it with a quick shake and lifted it up as if some tiny article on his side of the papers was very interesting to him

Jacky blinked, and tilted his head slightly to read the date in the top row of the front page facing him, and recognized that as a date within the week of the incident. He frowned as he realized that the front page had a big color picture of one of the now well-known stills of the surveillance tape of his attack on Whiffle Boy Entertainment, but nothing he hadn't seen before. The bold text at the last bit of the article square boasted more information on page A8.

He knew that Darkwing was trying to pique his interest. Oh, how sneaky he must have thought he was.

Grinning somewhat, Jacky reached over and pulled the top of the newspaper down a little to look at the Masked Mallard.

"Darkwing?" He said in the sweetest tone he could muster.

"Yes?"

"Could you hand me the Arts and Entertainment section? I haven't read the funny papers in months."