"I'm sorry, Dewey. I should've known you'd never set me up like that." Launchpad pinned his phone to one ear with his shoulder as he stuffed loose clothing into the washing machine. He had forgotten in his haste to invite his parents over was that he really didn't want them to see the place a total mess like it usually was. He'd cleaned up the pizza boxes and quickly discarded the ever-accumulating soft drink and beer bottles. And then Della had texted him. He'd almost ignored it but now was glad he hadn't. His best friend hadn't tried to trick him. Dewey still had his back, which made Launchpad feel a little better about seeing his parents.

"That's okay. And it's great you're having your parents over too."

Launchpad answered with a noncommittal grunt as he slammed a fist into the laundry to get it into the washer. He knew that wasn't how you were supposed to load it. The last time he'd tried to run it so full, he'd woken up to what he thought was someone breaking in. After he'd ground-pounded the presumed burglar, he'd discovered that it had only been the washing machine vibrating across the floor and making a racket. Although it had survived his assault, it still had a sizable dent in its side and could definitely not handle a full load anymore. But, for the moment, Launchpad just wanted to get everything out of the way.

"It'll be okay. I know you said they sucked, but maybe your sister is right? Maybe they have changed. I mean, they want to see you. I know how much I missed my mom... what if they miss you like that? You can always call me and let me know how it went? If you want?"

Launchpad finally managed to close the lid on the machine. "I will. Thanks."

There was a knock at the door. Launchpad almost dropped his phone. "Oh no. I haven't even got food ready or…"

"LP, they're not there for your food. It's okay, go."

"Thanks, buddy. I'll… I'll be okay." Launchpad hung up. He drew a deep breath and then opened the small door beside the roller garage door.

Loopey grinned up at him. "Hey, bro. I brought snacks." She held up two bags of chips.

"Thanks." It was less that Launchpad was grateful for extra snacks and more that she had, intentionally or otherwise, got to the door first and formed a buffer between him and his parents.

Mom took his hands in hers. "I'm sorry we lied to you, sweetheart. Thanks for still letting us come over and see your place."

"That's okay, Mom. This is where I live." Launchpad stepped back to let them see the somewhat tidier than usual garage. The brief moment it took for his parents to look around dragged out like an eternity.

"You live in your boss's garage?" said Ripcord.

"I… yeah. Do… do you like it?"

Ripcord grinned. "This is awesome. I think the only way it could be better is if you had a plane in here."

Launchpad grabbed him by the sleeve. "I'll show you my gym." It was only at the bottom of the stairs to the loft, where Launchpad kept his gym equipment and hammock, that he realised he'd grabbed his dad without a second thought.

Ripcord smiled up at him. "Go on, I'd love to see."

Launchpad showed him the boxing bag and threw a couple of punches into it.

Ripcord caught the bag as it swung towards him with a grunt. "That's a hell of a right hook."

"Mom taught me."

"Oh, yeah, of course."

"Ripcord!" Birdie called from downstairs. She laughed. "I found all our VHS tapes!" She knelt in front of the television, pulling out the tapes that Loopey had found before.

Ripcord and Launchpad joined them downstairs. "Um, yeah." Launchpad rubbed at his arm. "Sorry. Most of them were Darkwing Duck, so I figured they were mine anyway."

"I'm not mad. I'm just surprised you still have them. All of them. You completely cleared the cabinet out when… when you left home."

Ripcord knelt beside his wife. "Is it just all the Duckwing?"

"Here's one of my Nicolas Crane… wait… nope Darkwing Duck," Birdie turned the tape over to reveal 'Darkwing Duck' scrawled over the top of the original label in black marker. "I probably shouldn't have taught you you could tape over literally anything if you just put sticky tape over the tab."

Launchpad sat down beside them and dug into the back of the cabinet. He handed Ripcord one of the three tapes, buried up back. "Here, Dad. I had these ones too."

Ripcord frowned as he turned the tape over, then his eyes widened. "You taped the '95 airshow?"

"Yeah. I taped all your airshows," Launchpad said thinly.

Ripcord's eyes sparkled as he cradled the tape. "I know you'd at least recorded some of them. When you took these as well, I figured you'd just planned to burn them in an oil drum or something."

Whilst they had remained buried in the bottom of this duffel back in his travels, and more recently, the back of his TV cabinet, and he'd never watched them, his dad's words made Launchpad frown. "Why would I do that?"

Ripcord squeezed his shoulder. "Thanks, son. This is great. Can we watch this?" It was weird to have his father ask him for something rather than tell him what to do. To have him look up at him, excitement pent up inside, waiting for a positive response.

"Um…"

"Maybe," said Birdie. "Launchpad might like us to watch some Darkwing Duck with him."

"I did this really awesome loop the loop in '95," said Ripcord, "where I …."

"You had extra time up your sleeve. So you doubled back through one of the gates in a loop," said Launchpad. "And you still beat everyone's times."

"Exactly!" Ripcord grinned. "Man, I cut that close. Could've taken out…. out the pillar had I been an inch closer…" He trailed off, a frown creasing his features.

"See," said Loopey. "This is why I beat your times. I get the job done, and I don't show off."

"Your planes are made from lighter materials than the ones I used to fly, miss," Ripcord said with a wink.

Loopey shrugged. "Meh."

Launchpad had wanted to watch Darkwing Duck. He'd never really watched it with his parents, and now, they might actually be willing. But he couldn't disappoint his dad. Not after seeing that look in his eyes. I mean, he'd kind of screwed up flying for him. It was the least he could do. Besides, they were together, right? That was the important part. "Sure, Dad. I just got to go start the quesadillas."

"Right. Okay, how do I put this in?"

Birdie took the tape off him. "Here. It's not hard."

"Says the engineer. Never could operate this thing."

Launchpad started up his single burner gas stove, which, along with his microwave and a frypan, made up his kitchen. He threw the tortillas into the frypan and started stuffing in ingredients.

Loopey peeped over his shoulder. "You sure you happy to watch an airshow? I thought you hated them?"

"It's okay. I think it might be different. You know, with Dad actually here."

"Can I help?"

"There's cheese in the fridge."

Loopey opened the fridge. "Ooo! Beer!"

Mom and Dad continued to argue over the VCR in his living area. Only, they weren't arguing. Not like Launchpad remembered anyway.

"Move your hands; you're in the way."

"That's the play button, right? It's got an arrow."

"That's rewind, you dork. Seriously, how is this more complicated than the cockpit in my plane?"

"Like you would say, this was probably designed by a man."

Launchpad felt a small smile play at his beak. This was okay. He was doing this. By the time he and Loopey put together the quesadillas and brought them over, Mom and Dad had got the tape playing. It was in good nick, without the hint of static that had started to play at the corners of Launchpad's much more frequently watched Darkwing Duck tapes.

"Man, your takeoffs are slow," Loopey said as Ripcord's plane took to the air.

"Hey!" Ripcord laughed. "Jeeze, is this how you're talking to Brett and all my other trainees? Be quiet and watch. You're going to get a really good lesson here. You may as well pay attention."

"Hope it's less boring than your usual ones."

Launchpad sneaked a look over at them as he grabbed a quesadilla off the plate. How were they getting on so well? He was sure Dad would've yelled at him if he'd spoken to him like that when he was younger. At least, he assumed he would have. He'd hardly been home enough for him to be sure.

"Watch, watch…" Ripcord leaned forward as he completed the course.

As the next pilot took to the air, Loopey commented about this guy's form. Ripcord took a quesadilla, leaned back and rested his free arm along the back of the sofa behind Launchpad, but not quite touching him. "I keep telling you, the older planes didn't have as many bells and whistles as yours, Loopey. You had to fly by the seat of your pants. You got to learn just how far your wingtip was, how close you could fly next to the rest of your team…"

As his father spoke, Launchpad pressed himself into the back of the couch, so he just touched his father's arm around him. The drone of his dad's voice enveloped him. This was what he had felt in those months after they'd crashed the aeroplanes. When his father was home. When they'd watched movies or played board games together, as a family. He'd felt safe. He'd felt happy. This was what he had wanted.

But something did not feel quite right. Launchpad stayed pressed back against his father's arm, trying to find that feeling again. Trying to make it feel right.

Sure, this felt comfortable. But it was because his family were comfortable with each other. Launchpad could not feel where he should slip into the conversation, not as easily as Loopey did. He had only done this with them for a few months. Then his father had told him to leave and had snatched that all away from him. They must have spent so much time together, like this, up until Loopey herself had left home. And he was sure, when that happened, it had been of her own choosing.

Meanwhile, Launchpad had been sleeping on buses, and boats, and finding himself in the arms of strangers. Looking for someone to care about him and thinking that spending a night with someone was what that looked like. Up until he'd found those few special someones, who'd really cared about him, and showed him what he'd been searching for.

"Hey, buddy, you still with us? I was telling Loopey cargo planes just cannot execute a turn like that. You fly one, right? Can you tell her…" Ripcord moved his arm down, actually resting it around Launchpad's shoulders.

Launchpad shot to his feet. "I… popcorn…" He bolted for the kitchen, snatched the bag of popcorn off the milk crates that served as his countertop, and crammed it into the microwave. He focused on the bag turning inside, trying to calm the thump of his heart in his chest.

"Launchpad, are you okay?" He jerked at the touch on his arm, but it was only Birdie.

"I'm… fine, Mom. We just need dessert, and…" His throat was constricting again. "Mom, I can't do this."

Birdie took his hands like she had when he was little. "Hey, it's okay. I don't know what's going on, but it'll be okay. Talk to me."

"I…" Why had it been easier to talk to his mom like this when he was younger? Launchpad didn't know what was going on inside him, not in a way he could put into words.

"Don't worry about popcorn," said Ripcord. "That double loop I was telling you about is coming up. I want you guys to see."

Launchpad's hands tightened in his mother's.

"Rip," said Birdie. "I think you need to turn off the TV."

"Huh? Launchpad, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong? This was a mistake."

"Hey, come and sit down. If you don't want to watch this, we can talk. We're here to spend time with you, so…"

"You don't want to spend time with me! You just want to watch your stupid airshow."

Ripcord stood to his feet. "Hey! I did not even know you had these. I asked you if we could watch them. Now, if you'll just settle down…"

"Don't give me orders. This is my house!" Launchpad stood beak to beak with him. His father may have still been an inch or so taller than him, but he certainly did not seem as imposing as he remembered. Not as scary. Not as unreachable.

"I am trying to spend time with you. I'm trying… I don't think you understand how this was for me sometimes. I had a lot of stuff on. You work, right? We didn't live in our boss' garage. We had rent to pay, and… we did the best we could. I know I've got a lot to make up for. But, son, come on, you have to give me a chance." Ripcord reached out for him.

Launchpad moved back. "I thought this could work."

"Just tell me what's wrong."

"You've always just… those airshows are more important than me."

"They're not. I promise."

Launchpad gritted his teeth, if only to stop the tears squeezing out of his eyes. "I don't believe you."

When Ripcord spoke again, his voice was strained, but he didn't yell. "Well, what the hell do you want me to do to make you believe me? I can't… there's only so much I can say…"

His father's words to him earlier came back to him. Launchpad ignored the sick feeling rising in his stomach and snatched the other two airshow tapes off the table to hand to his father. He had to do this. "Prove it then. You said you thought I would've burnt them. So, prove I'm more important. You burn them."

"Launchpad!" said Birdie. "You can't…"

"I can't trust you if you don't prove it! I can't take your word. I don't know you well enough!"

Ripcord's eyes narrowed. "I get you're upset. But you know there are no copies of these anywhere and…"

"I just need you to… the burner is right there…" Launchpad flung a hand back at his kitchen.

"You're acting like a child."

"Ripcord!"

"Alright, everyone, calm down!" said Loopey. "Maybe we should just go out for… ice cream… or…"

Launchpad shouldered past his dad. He reached under the television and ripped out the VCR, trailing cables behind it. He shoved it into his father's arms. "This is all you care about, so just take. You can watch your airshows. And you don't need to pretend like you want to be here for me."

"Launchpad," Ripcord fought to keep his voice steady. "I just want…"

"Yeah? Well, I don't want you!" And somehow, as the words that had been branded in Launchpad's mind, when his father had told him to leave that night in the hanger, tore from his mouth, it felt good. It felt so good to throw them back in his father's face. "Now, get the hell out of here."

Ripcord turned around, VCR and all, and left.

Birdie picked up her handbag. "Let us know when you're ready to talk, Launchpad. Civilly."

Launchpad flushed. Mom and Loopey. They were still there. "Mom, I didn't mean…."

Birdie forced a smile. "It's alright. I didn't realise how hard this was on you. We'll get out of your hair."

Launchpad sunk back onto his sofa, head in his hands, finally alone. Alone like he had been for years. This was not what he had wanted. But how else was he supposed to trust his dad? Mom and Dad had always yelled at each other. What else was he supposed to do?

Launchpad pulled out a Darkwing Duck tape. He needed to distract himself. He paused, uncomprehending where to shove the VHS in the empty, dusty space beneath the television. He groaned. He'd given the VCR to Dad.

He lifted his phone and stared at the screen. But it was late. If he called Dewey, Della would have his head. He didn't know how to explain this to his friend anyway. Because as his anger cooled, Launchpad realised he didn't know what he was supposed to say. He couldn't complain about his parents' visit when he was the one who had sabotaged it.

Instead, he thrust his hands into his jacket pockets and walked out into the night.

A/n: Hopefully I am not revealing my age by knowing all the VHS tricks.

Poor Launchpad. He's trying, but his emotions are getting in the way.

Drafted a good 6k words on this yesterday (that was like, my entire day) so a good few chapters coming soon!