A/n: Hey guys. I've finally got back to this one. Dropping some backstory. Buckle in.

Launchpad settled back against the car. "You see, my dad was Ripcord McQuack."

Dewey blinked up at him. "Wait, you mean the guy Mom was going on about? He's your father? Why didn't you say anything?"

Launchpad shrugged. "He was a famous stunt pilot. Back when I was a kid. You would've loved him. And so did I. So I told Dad I wanted to be a pilot, just like him. I suppose I should've been more specific. I should've said, 'Dad, I want you to teach me to be a pilot, just like you!'

"But, my parents seemed thrilled, especially Dad. And they put me into flight training. I got to fly an aeroplane, so that was pretty fun. I was having a ball.

"But I don't think my instructor enjoyed it as much. He was always yelling at me and wouldn't really let me land the plane, even though he'd started letting some other students do it.

"And then, well, I guess he must've spoken to my parents. Because one evening they called me into the living room..."

Launchpad wondered if maybe he was in trouble. But his parents were home, together for once. They wanted to spend some time with him. He was happy for that, at the least.

Until his father spoke. "Launchpad," said Ripcord, "We're pulling you out of flight school."

"What?" Launchpad stared at his parents, where they sat on the double couch. Their faces were serious; they weren't teasing him. "Why? Wait…" And the faintest flutter of hope stirred inside him. "Dad? Does this mean you're going to teach me instead?"

"You know I don't have time for that." His father's words were spoken gently, but they still cut. He never had time. Not for that. Not for him. "You know how much training I've got on for this upcoming airshow, and…"

"Rip," Birdie said firmly, putting a hand on his knee. "We're not talking about you, okay? Launchpad, it's just, well, you know you're a little bit behind the rest of the class, right?"

"More than a bit," said Ripcord.

"But I'm learning! I nearly landed the plane, but the instructor took it off me at the last second. Besides, I'm a bit behind in school too. And you're not pulling me out of that."

Ripcord frowned. "Wait, when did you fall behind again? Why am I only hearing about this now?"

Oops.

Birdie tapped her knuckles against the side of Ripcord's leg. "He's doing as well as he always does. Maybe if you were home a bit more…"

"You can talk," Ripcord growled at her.

"But who's going to teach me?" Launchpad said, a little loudly. He had to grab his parents' attention before they started fighting. He let them fight far too often. But he could never quite figure out what it was he did that kept making them so angry with each other. This time, however, they calmed and turned back to him.

"Listen, son," said Ripcord, leaning forward. "Flying is fun, yeah. And you need to be trained to do it properly. But it also takes a little… raw talent. Sometimes, it takes a little for that to shine through, and sometimes…."

"We just don't want you to be disappointed," said Birdie. "You can try something else. We'll support you. But…"

"… you're just not cut out for flying," Ripcord finished sharply, ignoring the glare his wife gave him. "You're not going back to flight school."

Launchpad shot to his feet. "I can do it, Dad! You're such a good pilot. I've watched every one of your stunts, and if you just taught me…"

"I told you I don't have time for that."

Launchpad's fists balled at his sides. "You never have time!" The words exploded out before he could stop them. And for once, he didn't care. "You're always at your stupid airshows!"

Ripcord towered over his son. "Hey! If it wasn't for my stupid airshows, we wouldn't have enough money to send you to flight school or any other…"

"Your airshows?!" Birdie jumped up as well. And though her husband dwarfed her, she squared right up to him. "Cut that man of the house crap. I earn a damn sight more than you with all your showboating…"

"Well, it took you long enough! How many bloody years does it take to learn how to… you know what? I still don't understand what the hell engineers do except take twice as long to tell you somethings broken, and they don't know how to fix it either!"

"I could've finished in half the time if I didn't have to do everything around here!"

"Maybe if you'd been here for our son a bit more when he was growing up like you're supposed to…."

"Well, maybe I could've been if you'd had your head screwed on straight and signed a decent contract."

"I can fly a plane!" Launchpad shouted, but of course, no one listened to him. If he was going to get his parents to listen, if he was going to fly just like Dad did, he'd have to do something drastic.

"So I walked right out, and I don't think Mom and Dad even noticed at first. Either that or they thought I wanted my space. I think it was the airfield that told them where I was."

"The airfield?" said Dewey.

"Yeah," Launchpad drew a deep breath. "You got to understand. I was really upset. At first, when I asked them if I could train to be a pilot, I just wanted to get in a plane so I could be like my Dad. And, you know, so I'd have something to talk to him about. I mean, planes were everything to him. It was all he seemed to care about. But then, I got in one and, it was just so much fun!"

"Of course, it's fun!" said Dewey. "I get it too. I love flying. I don't know what I'd do if Mom told me I couldn't fly anymore."

"Well, I went down to the airfield, and I… I stole an aeroplane. I didn't mean to take it far or anything. I just took her out of the hanger, started her up, and sat there on the runway. Everyone was yelling at me. I think I blocked everything up."

"What happened?"

"Well, it worked. I got my parents' attention."

Launchpad gripped the steering yoke. Even over the buzz of the propellers, he could hear the ground crew. They'd found a megaphone and were not hesitating to use it to abuse the kid complicating their job, right on quitting time. Launchpad had no intention of listening to any of it. Not until he heard one voice.

"Launchpad, son, get out of the plane!" Ripcord held the megaphone, standing there with the ground crew and Birdie at his side.

Launchpad rolled down the window. "No! You're going to make me quit flight school!"

"You're only going to fail. You're not cut out to be a pilot. But, look, that's okay…"

"No, it's not. You think just cause you can do it, I can't!"

"That's not it!"

Ripcord's friends, the other stunt pilots, wandered over, along with their manager, Gasolini. "What's the holdup!" Gasolini barked. "McQuack, why is your kid on my runway without clearance?"

"We're dealing with it," said Ripcord. Both their voices were caught up by the megaphone.

"Seems he wants to show off. I wonder who he gets that from? But looks like a discipline issue. Doesn't seem too bright from what I hear. So what's wrong, you not man enough to control your own family?"

Ripcord scowled, then lifted the megaphone again. "Launchpad! Get the hell out of that plane, or I swear…"

Birdie shoved him in the arm. There was more giggling, ribbing and comments going on between the rest of the pilots behind them, though Launchpad couldn't quite hear them.

"Hey! Do any of you have kids? Well then, shut the hell up!" Ripcord raised the megaphone again. "Launchpad, I get you're upset. I'm not mad; I just want to help. Just get the aeroplane off the runway and shut her down, please? Then we'll talk, I promise."

Launchpad gulped. His Dad was talking to him, finally. Promising they'd talk more. That had to mean something, right? But it didn't quite seem real. He'd tried to get his Dad to talk, to spend time with him, for years. It couldn't be that easy. "I don't believe you!"

"What?"

"I don't believe you! You never wanted to talk to me. You're never home. It's like Mom's said, you're always hanging out with these losers. You just want me to stop making you look bad in front of your friends. But I want to fly a plane, just like you, and the only way you'll believe me is if I show you."

Launchpad wound up the window. He eased up the throttle, wobbling across the runway, and pulled the tiny aeroplane into the air. His heart hammered in his chest. Takeoff had been a little harder without his instructor, but he'd done it.

Launchpad banked around the airfield, teeth gritted. The tower was telling other planes to stay clear. At least they weren't yelling at him like the ground crew. They also gave two more planes clearance for takeoff.

"Launchpad." Ripcord's voice came over the radio. "We're up here with you, son."

A second aeroplane, a slightly smaller stunt plane, soared into view. Launchpad grinned. "See Dad, I can fly!"

"That's great, sweetheart." Birdie fell in beside him as well. "And we will talk about you flying. Let's just get you down and…"

"Do you really think we should reward him?"

"I think there's a bit more going on here, Rip."

Something blinked on Launchpad's console. "Um, what does that mean?"

"What, sweetheart?"

"There's a light flashing?"

"Did you do a prestart?" Ripcord grumbled.

Launchpad gulped. He hadn't quite got his head around that process yet, though it had been one of the first things his instructor had tried to teach him. In his hurry to prove himself to his father, he'd forgotten. "No."

"Like you do prestarts," Birdie shot back at her husband. "Forget about it, sweetheart. We'll just land, and then you won't have to worry about it. And we'll talk then, promise."

"Okay, thanks, Mom. I… wait, land!" Launchpad's blood ran cold.

"Yeah," said Ripcord. "How did you think you were going to get down from here?"

"I don't know how to land yet! My instructor was trying to teach me, and then he said…"

"Okay, Launchpad, calm down," said Ripcord, and even with the static of the radio, Launchpad could hear his voice soften. "I… I'm sorry, okay? You're right. I don't always give you as much attention as you deserve. And I'm trying to do better. But I think I get what you've been trying to tell me."

"Yeah?"

"You want your old man to teach you how to land a plane, yeah?"

"Yes!" Tears sprung to Launchpad's eyes. "Dad, that's all I wanted."

"Okay. I'm going to show you a little trick me and the boys have been practising. I'll guide you in, so you don't get scared, and you'll know exactly what to do. Head for the runway. Birdie, I want you to pull in under his left wingtip."

Launchpad circled around and headed for the runway. Mom pulled up on his left, Dad on his right. Both their wings came under his. They were almost touching his plane, though Launchpad was pretty sure there was still a minimal gap. Still, it felt like his parents were holding him up, and he immediately felt safer.

"Okay, I just need you to ease back on the throttle a bit."

"Ripcord, he's not a stunt pilot, and neither am I."

Launchpad pushed the throttle knob in.

"What are you, the other way! We need to slow down!" Ripcord's voice tore through the radio, and Launchpad's stomach twisted up in knots.

"What are you even trying to get us to do?" said Birdie. "Ripcord McQuack, if you are showing off for your friends, I swear…"

"Will you shut up for once in your life and listen to me?!"

"We need to get him to land the plane safely! Not pull off one of your stupid tricks."

"I'm Ripcord bloody McQuack! I am the best pilot on this damned airfield, and if I want to show my son how to land a plane with a little bit of flair, then I can..."

"You idiot! You are not in control of this!"

"I… I'm not…" Ripcord's voice wavered, and then the channel cut out.

Launchpad hands trembled on the control yoke. A third of the runway had already torn past beneath their wheels as they barreled ever closer to the hurricane fence, bushes and marshland at the runways end. "Dad?"

There was static for a brief few seconds. Then Birdie's stained voice cut in. "Ripcord! We're all up in each other's wings. You have got to tell Launchpad how to land like this. I cannot do this for you."

"Dad?" Launchpad said, and his voice cracked. "I don't know what to do. I need your help."

The radio buzzed static. Once again, his father ignored him. So Launchpad did what he'd tried to do when his instructor had snatched the controls back from him. He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, and slammed the aeroplane down onto the rapidly disappearing runway. And he dragged his parents' planes down with him in a tangle of wings, metal and screaming engines.

"You crashed the plane."

Launchpad hung his head. "Yeah. All three of them at once. And I was just learning to fly. So I wasn't as good at crashing as I am now."

"Were your parents okay?"

"Sort of. We all ended up in hospital. Mom and me, we were just a bit shaken up. They pretty much let us out right away. But Dad, Dad broke his leg really bad. And he had the big airshow coming up he was training for, and I could tell it upset him."

"Was he really angry?" Dewey burst in. "I mean, it wasn't like you did it on purpose."

"Actually, they weren't that mad. I mean, I didn't get to go back to flight training. But that wasn't because of Mom and Dad; I got banned from the airfield. But… well, Dad was recovering, so he was home a lot more. He still spent more time with Loopey than me, but she was younger, so… but he was talking to me more too. And, and I think he was actually listening, for once. And Mom got this promotion at work, so she was getting paid more, but she also wasn't doing any overtime, so she was home a lot more too and… you know, we'd watch movies and stuff together, and…"

Launchpad folded his arms across his chest. "It actually felt like we were a family for once."

"So, what happened?"

"Dad wasn't mad. But he just seemed… I don't know, sad? He was quieter than usual, and he'd talk about stuff other than planes. But when he started getting better, he was going and doing stuff at the airfield, not as much as before, because he wasn't training for the airshow, but… it seemed like it was stressing him out. So, one evening, he left the house because he said he needed some air. And I followed him."

"Where'd he go?"

"I found him at the airfield, in the hanger where his manager kept all the planes."

Launchpad slipped into the hanger. His Dad had never taken him here, though he knew it was where the stunt planes were kept. Tarps covered some in the corner. The hanger was quiet, and for a moment, Launchpad thought he must've been mistaken. His father hadn't come here. Then he heard his voice.

"You know there is no way I am going to make the next airshow, Gasolini."

Launchpad crept around the nearest plane. There was his Dad, his back to him. He wasn't talking face to face with his manager; he was on the phone. He leaned one shoulder against the wall, the handset to his ear.

A pause. "I don't care about the contract. Good luck making that thing stick. My legs busted up good. And I can't fly a plane in an airshow like this."

Another pause. "I… I don't know."

Launchpad shrunk back. He shouldn't be here. This was a private conversation. But he didn't want to leave either; he wanted to check his Dad was okay.

"You what!?" Ripcord exploded. "You have no right talking to my doctor! He has no right talking to you and… and I don't care! I can't… my leg's busted, and I can't fly these stupid, tiny planes. I never should have signed that contract. You're a weasling little jerk, and… it doesn't even matter. I can't fly them, okay? You'll have to find some other gullible, good looking idiot!" And he slammed the phone down, straight through its cradle and into the wall.

"Dad?"

Ripcord spun around, chest heaving. He held a bottle in his hand. He blinked like it took him a second to realise he wasn't alone. "Launchpad, what are you doing here, son?"

"You seemed sad at dinner. I wanted to see if you were okay?"

"Am I okay? Heh. Am I okay?" Ripcord looked at the bottle, glanced up at Launchpad then threw the half-empty bottle into a trash bin. "Well, I only just told my good-for-nothing manager I can't make the next airshow."

"Aw, Dad, I'm sorry. I know you were really looking forward to it." Launchpad reached out tentatively for his father's arm. His stomach dipped as his father shifted his weight back, moving out of his reach.

Ripcord walked over to one of the planes and rested a hand against its wing. It was an old biplane, a rusted orange with gold highlights. Despite its age, it could really turn a stunt with the right pilot. Launchpad recognised it; he knew his father flew it a lot, though he had only seen her up close on TV. "That's your plane, isn't it? The Joyrider? It looks really cool."

"My plane. Hah. Don't let Gasoloin hear you say that. I only flew it." He slowly removed his hand. "But now I can't."

Launchpad's shoulders slumped. "Because I made us crash, and you got hurt. Dad, I'm so so sorry. But, there's always next year, right?"

"I can't fly these planes again. Not just this year. Not ever."

"But… but why?"

Ripcord whirled around. "I tried, okay? I tried! With Gasolini harassing me and everything. But I can't! I can't even get in the cockpit, far less get one in the air. You were there. I busted my leg. Right? That's a legitimate reason? Isn't it?! And I can't… it just won't work with these small planes… I…" He turned back to the plane and ran his hand over the wing. His lip trembled, and tears sprung to his eyes.

Launchpad's gut tightened. He'd known something was wrong. He'd been flying less than a month, but the thought of losing that had driven him to steal an aeroplane. For his father… flying was his life. "Dad. I'm so sorry." He reached out a hand and put it on his father's arm. "Don't cry…"

Ripcord jerked his arm away. "I'm not crying! I'm a man. Why'd you have to steal that stupid plane, huh?"

"I wanted to fly, just like you…."

"Yeah, well, so do I." Ripcord's fists bunched at his sides, and he loomed over him. "And now I can't. Not like this. I tried, LP. I tried really, really hard and… I can't and…"

"Dad…"

His father turned his back to him. "You did that to me."

"I'm sorry." And, one last time, Launchpad reached out for his father.

Ripcord shrugged him off. "I don't want you here. Leave."

"Dad…" Launchpad stomach plummeted from beneath him. He stared at the back of his father's broad shoulders and willed him to turn around, to look at him, to listen to him.

"I said go! I don't want you… Get the hell out of here."

"So I left," Launchpad finished.

"The hanger?"

"Duckburg."

Something thumped into Launchpad's arm; Dewey clung to him. "Aw, LP. I'm sorry. How old were you?"

"I'd just turned 16."

"But, you were still a kid! Are you sure your dad wanted you to leave?"

"He said he didn't want me." It had always been at the back of Launchpad's mind, growing up. Had his father really wanted him? Had Mom? After all, why would Dad have focused so much attention on flying rather than his own family? His father's words to him in the hanger that night had not come as a surprise. "Besides," he said quickly, "Flying those stunt planes was my dad's life. I ruined that for him. And neither he or Mom came for me after I left, so…."

Dewey turned the flyer over in his hands, smoothing out creases. Then he held it out to Launchpad again. "What about Loopey?"

"She was the only one who tried to get me to stay."

"Launchpad, what are you doing?" His little sister stood behind him as he crammed VHS tapes from under the TV into his tattered duffel bag on top of the underwear and bags of chips he'd already packed.

"I'm leaving, Loopey."

"But why?"

"Dad told me too." He slung the bag over his shoulder and pushed past her.

Loopey grappled onto his legs. "Don't go."

Launchpad knelt down and ran his hands through her hair. "Look after Mom and Dad, okay? I…" Tears filled his eyes, and he gripped Loopey tight to his chest. "I love you Loops… in case no one else here tells you… I love you…" And he got up, walked out and didn't look back.

Launchpad fingered the flyer. "I bailed on her."

"You were upset." Dewey stood to his feet. He frowned down at Launchpad, hands on his hips. "And what does seeing your sister have to do with your stupid parents anyway?"

"Huh?"

"I don't see their names on that run sheet, do you? Do you have any reason to think they'll be there?"

"No, I don't think they go to airshows anymore."

"Well, then why can't you see Loopey? I get your parents were terrible, and that really sucks. And I can't believe you went through that, but just because your parents sucked, that doesn't mean it should mess up your relationship with your sister, right?"

Launchpad stood slowly to his feet. He felt something stir down inside of him. "What if she doesn't want to see me?"

"There's only one way to find out, isn't there?"

Launchpad squared his shoulders. "You're right, Dewey. I… I'm going to the airshow!"

Dewey grinned. "This is going to be so much fun! You'll see your sister, but I bet you'll enjoy the planes too."

"Hey, I'll try."

Della burst into the garage, waving a flyer above her head. "Hey! Check it out!" she said, her voice weirdly stilted. "The airshow is in town! Wouldn't it be great if…"

"Mom! Launchpad is going to come to the airshow this year! Isn't that great?"

"He's…" Della lowered the flyer, and some of her energy seemed to drop off. "That's actually really great. I'm glad, LP. I'm sure you'll, um… it'll be good for you… with all the aeroplanes, I mean, and er…" She turned her attention to Dewey. "Aw, kid, thank you." She grabbed him up in a hug.

"For what?"

"Um, nothing. I just love you."

"Mom, I know, not in front of LP."

Launchpad smiled faintly. Della was a good parent, and he was glad Dewey and his brothers had her. They really didn't know how lucky they were. Imagine having with Loopey what Dewey had with his brothers? He could only hope, but even the thought of seeing her brought a warm feeling to his chest. Maybe going to the airshow wouldn't be so bad after all.

A/n: If you enjoyed, please leave me a review. :)