Launchpad woke the following day to a comfy bed and light filtering in through pale blue curtains. It should've disorientated him; made him wonder where he was, not waking up on his sofa, in his hammock, or in the driver's seat of Mr McDee's town car. But, somehow, he remembered immediately where he was.

Launchpad got up, slipped on his boots, then headed into the small bathroom linked to the spare bedroom in his parents' apartment. His eyes were still a little red. He couldn't remember the last time he'd broken down so badly. He washed his face, then stared at himself hard in the mirror, hands resting on the vanity edge.

"Come on, LP. Your parents love you. You know that now." And, despite the pain that realisation had caused him, it was now accompanied by a tiny spark of warmth. He clung to it. "And they didn't always get things right. But they're trying now and… and you gotta give them a chance. A real one. Not just one to get it done and dusted and off the to-do list. You gotta try love them back. You've got a chance to be part of your family again. You gotta be there for them to and… you have what you wanted. You just gotta enjoy it.

"I can do this!" he pounded a fist on the vanity, and a little ceramic soap dish bounced off and smashed. "Aw, crap."

Launchpad slipped on his jacket and headed out to the kitchen. This place was, well, maybe not big, but like a rabbit warren. It was super nice, but he really liked the open space of his garage better.

"Don't put them on yet. They'll go cold."

"I don't want the dough to go all funny."

"You're funny."

"Hmph."

Launchpad followed the sound of his parents' voices and found the kitchen. Birdie and Ripcord were both behind the counter. Ripcord held a bowl of pancake batter, glaring at his wife, who stood between him and the stovetop. Birdie took out the spoon from the batter, then tapped it on the end of her husband's beak.

"Mom? Dad?" Launchpad found himself staring at his parents, not quite comprehending the exchange.

"Launchpad, you're up!" said Birdie.

"Hi…" He tried very hard to say good morning. But his father was looking at him with a dollop of batter on the end of his beak. "Dad? You're in the kitchen?"

Ripcord glanced either way. "Um, yeah? Kitchen is where the food is?"

Birdie pushed past her husband. She ushered Launchpad to the small breakfast table. "Come on, sweetheart, sit down."

Ripcord started heaping spoonfuls of batter into the frying pan. He chewed his lip as he concentrated, like getting the spoonfuls in took some sort of delicate manoeuver. Launchpad had never seen him use anything but a microwave.

"Sweetheart," said Birdie as she sat him down. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah…"

"Your dad said you had a rough night last night. Sure you're okay?"

Launchpad smiled faintly. "I think so. Maybe just hungry."

Birdie rolled her eyes. "Why am I not surprised. But, we love you, okay? I know we weren't the best parents for you growing up, but we'll always be here for you."

"I know, Mom. Thanks. I… I love you guys too. And you know you were a good Mom. I just… well, I guess I know you had a lot of stuff going on. And I'm glad you're my Mom."

Birdie threw her arms around his neck, holding onto him for a long moment.

"Mom?"

"Thanks, sweetheart," she said with a sniff as she pulled away.

Ripcord came over with a plate of pancakes and put them on the table.

Launchpad broke into a grin. "Hey, you made them aeroplanes?!"

"He always makes them aeroplanes. You just need to use your imagination," smirked Birdie.

Ripcord scooped up a big fat one, which looked like a regular pancake, and plopped it into Birdie's plate. "This one's your fat plane."

"Hey!"

The pancakes tasted good. After they finished breakfast, Birdie stood to her feet. "Come on. You're supposed to open up the show with that windbag, and we'll be late. And I've still got to upload the tweaks I made yesterday."

"Your planes later in the show," Ripcord smiled good-naturedly. "Eh, make him wait. Traffic might make us a bit later anyway. We'd need to be there in fifteen minutes."

"Hey, I'm Mr McDee's driver. I could drive you," said Launchpad. "I know Duckburg traffic like the back of my head. I'll get you there in no time. And I have a drivers' license now!" He dug in his wallet and shoved the license in Birdie's face.

"Sweetheart, that's great." She snatched it off him. "Wait, how'd you get them to take such a good picture?"

"I practised. And I got them to take it a couple times. But I did have to flirt… come on, I'll drive. I'll get you there in time for the start."

Launchpad was proud to admit he was true to his word. He screeched into the airshow's parking lot with a minute to spare. "I'll have to park in the garage, but you guys go. I'll catch up with you. Mom?"

Beside him in the passenger seat, Birdie carefully extricated her fingers from the death-grip she'd held around the armrest from all of twenty seconds into the trip. "We're alive."

Ripcord got out of the back and opened her door. "Damn kid, that was awesome. Where'd you learn to drive like that? I got to see you in a plane."

"I'll show you the Sunchaser…"

A car behind them honked.

"Come on," Ripcord pulled Birdie out as she clung to his arm instead. "We'll see you soon, son."

Launchpad drove off to park the car, and a grin crossed his beak. He was doing this. It was fun! He was no longer scared. He would have a nice, uneventful day with his parents at an airshow. And he was going to enjoy it.

Nothing could ruin this.

"I am going to kill Scrooge."

Della stood in the Sunchaser's hanger, tapping her foot. The very deliberate ring of her robot leg on the concrete floor was making some of the nearby pilots nervous. Good. Of course, Scrooge would rent out the entire hanger, making it impossible to either do maintenance on the Sunchaser or get her out.

Della drew in a breath. Ah well. Maybe she should just give up, go outside, and enjoy the airshow. Not that the other pilots and the herd of tiny planes were moving anywhere fast.

"Are they letting us take the planes out yet, Brett? We're on in like twenty minutes." Across the hanger, Loopey was waving her arms as she spoke with another young pilot.

"Hey, it's like your dad says, Gasolini is a jerk, and he's in charge of the airshows, so if he says we got to stay in here…" Brett shrugged. "Besides, if it delays stuff, he'll be the one that gets booed. Didn't stop him from taking out that hunk of junk, though."

"Huh?"

"An old biplane, one of those pure mechanical relics."

Della wandered over to them. "So is this why everyone is still here boxing in my plane?"

Loopey must've recognised her because she gave her a smile. "Heck, I don't know. Whoever thought these many planes could fit in here is an idiot. At least we'd managed to shuffle them all out before."

"Oh, yeah, a money-hungry idiot," Della said with a roll of her eyes.

And then all the hanger doors slammed closed.

"Don't worry, everyone," said a voice over the hanger's loudspeakers. "You're not in any danger. It's just… well…youse aren't going to be the stars of the airshow today. There's been a change in the schedule."

Della stiffened. "That sounds like one of the Beagle Boys!"

"So just sit back, relax. You all get the morning off. We only want one pilot for this next bit… and orders are we don't want him weaselling out of it… so that means you lot get taken out of the mix. Just don't set anything on fire. We've blocked the fire exits too!"

"What the hell is going on?" said Loopey. Her fists tightened. "One pilot... does he mean Dad?"

"I don't know," said Della. "but this doesn't sound good. So what do you say we find a way out of here?

"Sounds like a plan."

"Um, that's not actually a plan," Brett pointed out. "But I'm in too."

By the time Birdie made it to her plane's hanger, she'd regained her composure. They'd really fallen short in a lot of areas with Launchpad. I mean, he'd left home. But maybe they should've taught him to drive. Obviously, he could, but, you know, it would have been preferable if he did it without spending so much time on the sidewalk.

Her plane was already powered up, humming softly. Ripcord needed to be on stage with that bastard Gasolini, apparently. Which meant someone else had to fly the plane out there for him. Birdie didn't trust anyone else, she had a pilot license, and she didn't want anyone to scratch her baby. At least, not until she handed it over to Scrooge and got paid.

"Hi, Ma'am."

Birdie's gaze shot up from her tablet, where she'd been going over some last-minute numbers. "Who are you?"

"The name's Bomber, ma'am. Scrooge McDuck hired me. Said you needed someone to put this beauty out for your husband to put through her paces."

Birdie's eyes narrowed. Damned McDuck had been pressuring her to get the plane finished. And now he was sticking his beak in and hiring pilots for her? Didn't he realise that if he just gave her her space, he'd have the best plane every hard-earned dollar could buy? And it wasn't like him to waste money when he should know he already had a perfectly capable pilot.

"I do have a pilot's license..." she grumbled.

Bomber shrugged his big broad shoulders. "Hey, I'm just doing my job. You're welcome to come aboard and keep an eye on me if you'd like."

Inviting her aboard her own plane! Still, she shouldn't be mad at the poor boy. She'd still tell Scrooge to just let her manage her own project.

"Thanks. I will." Birdie climbed up the plane's ramp, still poking her tablet. At least it'd give her a few extra minutes to make her tweaks.

Bomber moved past her, up towards the cockpit. The ramp slammed shut behind them. Birdie followed, more slowly, across the cargo area, watching her feet as she tried to read the tablet simultaneously.

"Good morning, Mrs McQuack. I've tried to speak with you, but you've always fobbed me off. I'm a big fan of your work."

Birdie's eyes shot up at the sound of the familiar, nasally voice. "Mark Beaks!? What the hell are you doing on my plane?"

Mark Beaks sat in the chair at one of the consoles, leaning back, arms folded, for once, minus the ever-present phone. "Why, I'm here for a copy of your work. It is, technically, mine, after all. No, don't worry. You don't have to do a thing; I'll handle everything. All you've got to do is come along for the ride."

Launchpad was afraid he would be late. But once he'd pushed his way into the crowd, to where Dewey and Penny stood close to the stage, he found that his father and Gasolini had yet to make it up there. Good. Now that'd they'd patched things up somewhat, he was actually looking forward to seeing his father perform.

"Launchpad, you made it," said Dewey. "Look what Mom got for me!" He held two pairs of complicated goggles up for Launchpad to see. "They're your Mom's VR goggle things. She gave them to my Mom… and she gave them to me… we could use them in the cockpit when we're up flying together and see what the other person sees."

"Can't we see that anyway?" Launchpad asked.

"Oh… yeah…"

Launchpad ruffled a hand through Dewey's hair. "They'll be fun to play with anyway."

"How did last night go?"

"It went… yeah, it was good. I actually had a really good… talk with my dad."

"That's great, LP. I wish…" And the rest of Dewey's sentence was drowned out as the crowd broke into a roar and Ripcord stepped onto the stage.

Ripcord stepped out onto the stage, feeling the familiar thrill as the crowd erupted in cheers. Of course, it wasn't the same thrill as actually flying the planes. The crowd would never know that feeling, never understand what it was he had always truly been chasing. But the cheers certainly didn't hurt to stroke his ego a bit.

"Good morning, everyone." That was as far as he got before he was drowned out.

There were more people today. The area in front of the stage that yesterday had been used as a runway was now crammed with people. Hopefully, that would not cause any issues. On one corner of the stage sat something roughly plane sized under a tarp. Gasolini hadn't told Ripcord what was under it.

Ripcord sighed and lowered the microphone, deciding it was best to let everyone settle down. Whether this was for him, or the plane, Birdie's work deserved to be seen. As much as she thought she was doing something nice for him by telling Scrooge he was the only one to fly her plane at the airshow, Ripcord welcomed the chance to give his wife's work the platform it deserved.

"Are you guys done yet?" he said as the volume finally died down.

Gasolini had told him to go out first, by himself, which was undoubtedly a publicity stunt. But, at least he'd been somewhat civil. Some of the small stunt planes were supposed to be up first, including Loopey's. They should've been overhead warming up now, but the sky was empty. That was weird. But Gasolini would hardly sabotage his own airshow simply to make Ripcord look silly for getting the schedule wrong.

"Now we're supposed to have some stunts up first, but…"

"I'm afraid I've been a little underhanded," Gasolini said as he stepped onto the stage. "There's been a change in plans."

"Huh?" Great. What the hell was he playing at.

"Oh, don't look so confused." Gasolini winked. "Ripcord here thinks that all he's got to do is talk and let everybody else do the stunts for the first part of today's show. But I've got a surprise for him. You, see, Ripcord was the best. But he wasn't able to do it alone. He had a partner. A plane that could pull the tightest loops. He was her best pilot, and after he left, she never flew to her full potential again. Instead, she sat in the corner gathering dust…

"Until today!" Gasolini strode over to the tarp and whipped it off, revealing the Joyrider. Out here, her new paint job glinted, highlights of gold sparkling in the sunlight.

Ripcord gulped at the lump in his throat. This is why Gasolini had her done up. This was why she was here. Suddenly, he found himself questioning the man. Sure, he'd made some snarky comments throughout the show, but maybe that was just supposed to be banter. After all, they'd hardly spoken in years. Perhaps, like he had, the man had changed. A large part of this display was for the crowd, for the show. But maybe, this was actually a make it up gift.

Gasolini's hand slapped into his shoulder, jarring him back to reality. "Look at this guy. He's absolutely speechless. We used to call this baby the Joyrider. Come on, McQuack, say something! Your public's waiting."

Even though he'd already seen the plane, Ripcord did not need to fake his response. "She's beautiful."

"Go on. Why don't you get up in the cockpit? Like old times, huh?"

"The cockpit…" Ripcord felt his guts twist up. "Hey, I'm a little bit too old for that, alright?" He hoped the waver in his voice simply sounded like he was overwhelmed at the plane's presence. He ran a hand over the wing, as he had the previous night. "I… I took her through so many loops…"

"And you can again," said Gasolini.

Ripcord sighed. Nope. Gasolini was playing mind games again. But he was done being scared of this man. He could put on a show too. "Oh, don't I wish. Why don't I tell you about, instead, that time I pulled a double loop in this beauty? For no reason other than it was fun. Come on, Gasolini, you remember that, dontcha? Remember yelling at me for messing up my times, even though I still won? You got any footage of that? Or any of the other stunts I pulled in the Joyrider? If you wanted the next generation to see what a real pilot could do in a bucket of bolts like this, you haven't set this up very well."

Gasolini did not reply. But he smiled, ever so slightly.

Then the whump of a pressure wave blasted its way across the stage and through the crowd. Birdie's plane was suddenly overhead, looming.

Ripcord lowered the microphone. "Alright, what the hell are you playing at?"

Gasolini shrugged, in a way Ripcord did not quite believe. "Hey, I'm as confused as you. We weren't going to bring the beast out for another hour."

The screen behind them came to life. Mark Beaks grinned down at them.

"Hello, everyone, Mark Beaks here! To introduce my new plane… well… the guts of it anyway. My programming runs her, you see. I'm going to throw away the shell… absolutely useless."

"What?" The angriest snarl Ripcord had ever heard escape his wife tore out from the speakers, making him go rigid. "You're throwing away my plane? The programming is not yours!"

Mark Beak's eyes widened as he flailed towards something off-screen. "Eep. Grab her. She's going to hit me… thank you." He turned to the screen. "Yeah. Unfortunately, I only own the programming, as it was stored on my Cloud. It's in the fine print, everyone. May I suggest you read it? But no, I don't own the actual plane. Boo. And that means as soon as I strip the programming, I'm dropping her in the bottom of the ocean. And, if this engineer stops screaming obscenities at me, I might be nice enough to let her bail with the pilot and me. Byeee." The aeroplane turned lazily away.

Birdie was on the plane. He had to get her off. His pilots… Loopey, Brett… he didn't know if they could keep up with that thing, but they could try. He grabbed Gasolini's arm. "Gasolini, the other pilots. Where are they? We have to get Birdie off and save her plane if we can."

"I agree…"

"Oh," said Mark Beaks, over the screen. "Did I mention we locked up all your pilots? So good luck following us." The channel shut off.

"Son of a…" Ripcord cut himself off, remembering belatedly he was on stage.

"Oh, dear. That's unfortunate. But hey, don't worry," said Gasolini, clapping a hand to Ripcord's shoulder. He raised his microphone, so his voice boomed out. "Ladies and gentlemen, it looks like we've had a development. And no, this is not for show. This is serious. But… you interrupted me before Ripcord, with your prattle, typical, but listen to me for a minute. We don't need another pilot. We have you."

"I don't have a plane I can use."

"We have the Joyrider. I didn't just do up her paint job. She's fully functional, ready to fly like she used to."

"I can't fly her," Ripcord said thinly, his voice booming out far louder than he was comfortable with across the near-silent airfield. "Not with my, you know, bum leg."

"I made some modifications," said Gasolini. "I see no reason someone with a 'bum leg'," and as he said it, he made air quotes, "shouldn't be able to get her up in the air, even if they are a bit rusty. So come on, I'll even help you into the cockpit."

Ripcord gulped. His hand was cramping around the microphone. His body tensing up, useless.

"You know," Gasolini said, breaking into a wolfish grin. "Unless it isn't because of your leg. Unless it's really because you're afraid of stunt planes."

Launchpad's fists bunched at his sides. Why would his dad be scared? He couldn't fly because he'd been hurt in the crash. Launchpad had been there!

"Come on, McQuack. It's an easy choice. Your wife's plane is on the line. Maybe even her life. The Joyrider has been rebuilt for you, modifications and all. You can go up there, after her. Or you can bail like you did on me. Come on, what's it going to be? Are you going to get up there and fly, or are you a coward? Flight or…" he snorted. "Flight?"

"I… I can't…"

"Can't, or won't? "Gasolini pushed. "There's no reason you can't fly this plane, even if you had a bum leg. Which you don't."

There were a few gasps from the crowd.

"That's right, folks. Ripcord McQuack lied about not being able to fly a stunt plane anymore. I mean, you wouldn't want to admit you just decided to quit…"

"I didn't quit! I do want to fly! I love flying!" Ripcord barked out, voice strained, even over the microphone.

"As much as you love your wife? They're both up there. There's your plane… off you go!"

"I… I can't…"

Gasolini was the man who'd kept his dad away from him. And after listening to his father's story last night, Launchpad knew it was not simply that. Gasolini had made doing the thing he loved most a constant struggle. Now he was ripping him to shreds on stage? No. Way.

"What's he doing?" Dewey whispered harshly.

"He's bullying my dad." Launchpad pushed forward through the crowd, but the people were packed tight around the stage. He grunted as he shouldered into someone's back.

The man shoved him back. "Watch it!"

"Hey!" And then Penny was there beside him. "Clear the way!" She thrust her spear - where the heck had that come from? - between those blocking the his path, prodding them aside. A few glared, but they quickly complied when they saw what she was using to make her request. Launchpad pushed his way to the stage.

"So, what's the problem?" Gasolini laughed. "There aren't any other pilots here to bail you out."

"I'm a pilot!" Launchpad leapt onto the stage and snatched the microphone from Gasolini.

"Wha… where's security…" Gasolini baulked. He waved a hand at the two bulky security guys standing near the stage. "Get over here."

Neither of the men moved a muscle, probably because Penny stood at their side, casually blocking their path with her spear.

"But that's beside the point. Because my dad is Ripcord McQuack!" Launchpad put a hand on his dad's shoulder, squeezing it hard. "And he's the best pilot there ever was!"

"Yeah!" A few people shouted their agreement from the crowd.

"Wait, Ripcord McQuack has a son?" yelled someone else.

Gasolini retrieved another microphone from the side of the stage. "Wait, this is your boy? The one who made you crash because he stole one of my planes? Ruined flying for you?"

Some of the strength returned to Ripcord's voice. "Leave him alone, Gasolini."

"Yeah," Launchpad admitted. "I did. Dad crashed his plane and got hurt because of me. But we've talked it over. We worked it out because that's what families do. And he may not be able to fly any other stunt plane, but… my dad's the best pilot ever." He turned to Ripcord and lowered the microphone and his voice. "Come on, Dad. Don't let him push you around. I know you can do this. If he's fixed the plane so your leg won't get in the way, you'll be fine, right? It's not like you haven't been flying at all. You'll pick this right back up. Even if you can't do it as fancy as you used to, that doesn't matter. All you got to do is get Mom."

"Yeah, go Ripcord!" Dewey yelled. "Ripcord! Ripcord! Ripcord!" Others quickly joined in.

"Dad, it'll be okay," said Launchpad. "We believe in you."

Ripcord's chest heaved as he looked into his son's eyes. Then he gritted his teeth and lowered his gaze. "Everyone… cut it out! I can't fly the damned plane."

His father's reprimand cut and Launchpad took a step back.

"It's okay. I'm not mad at you. I get what you're trying to do. And I appreciate it, you don't know how much but…" Ripcord drew in a deep breath, and his shoulders slumped. "But Gasolini's not wrong. There's nothing wrong with my leg."

The chant died.

Ripcord looked into Launchpad's eyes, speaking only to him. His microphone was lowered, but it still picked up his voice in the silence that followed. "I mean, it's never been quite the same. But I should have been able to operate a stunt plane from about four months or so after the crash. I just… I couldn't. Not stunt planes, anyway. Launchpad, every time I get in a tiny stunt plane cockpit, I just… I freeze up.

"All I can think of is barreling towards that fence. Knowing you and your mother's lives were in my hands… and by the time I realised what an idiot I was, I couldn't stop it. I couldn't control what you guys did. And… and I froze and couldn't even control my own plane. And it was all because of my own stupidity.

"Now, when I get in a stunt plane, I can't even get them off the ground. Even if I just sit in one, I… I freeze up. I want to help your Mom. Like she's been there for me, more times than I can remember. But... I can't…" He gripped his son's arm, and Launchpad could feel the shake in his father's hand. "I'm sorry. I should have told you all this last night. I guess I was still worried you'd judge me. I'm sorry I lied to you."

"Dad," said Launchpad. "That's okay. I wouldn't have… it's okay to be scared. You don't have to hide it."

"This is even better," said Gasolini. "I thought you'd pulled a fast one on me. That you were blaming your leg to get away from your contract. But you… you actually can't fly them. Not because of your leg, but because you're scared. You really are a coward."

Ripcord squeezed his eyes shut hard and shuddered. "You know what," he said, barely loud enough for Launchpad to hear. "Fuck it. Yeah, Gasolini." He lifted the microphone, and it had no problem picking up his voice. "It's a bit more complicated than that, but yeah. I can't fly stunt planes anymore because when I get in them, I'm too scared to move. But I know what I can do. I know damned well how to teach someone to fly a plane.

"Hey, kid," he yelled out at the crowd, pointing at Dewey. "Is that my wife's doohickey you've got there?"

Dewey held up the two pairs of overcomplicated goggles in his hands. "Yes?"

"Good, bring them up here."

Dewey started to push his way through, then someone picked him up. The crowd passed him over their heads until he reached the front. "This is awesome!" said Dewey, as he was dumped on stage.

Ripcord grabbed the goggles and thrust a pair into Launchpad's hands. "Son, I messed up as your dad, and I'm sorry. But someone needs to go up there, get your Mom, and save that beauty she spent so much time working on. So, I'm going to do what I should have done a long time ago. I'm going to teach you how to fly a stunt plane. I've trained dozens of pilots, and now, that's what I'm good at."

"Wait, you're going to teach… him?" Gasolini laughed. "Your kid who flunked pilot school? Who made you crash?"

"Shut up, Gasolini! I'm done letting you push me around. I've got a few things I've been meaning to say to the airshow board about the way you run things, and I think I've just worked up the courage to say them."

"Yeah, shut up!" someone in the crowd yelled, followed by boos.

Gasolini's grin faded as he looked over the crowd. "Hey! He's the one who lied to you. He didn't give up his career because of an injury. He lost his edge! He got scared!"

"Let him send his son after his wife."

"Yeah, shut up, he's trying to teach his kid!"

Gasolini stepped back. "What the hell is wrong with you people? He's a coward!"

And then Penny was on the stage flanked by the two security guards. "I think you're done here," she said.

Gasolini glared, more at the tip of her spear than Penny herself, and then spun on his heel and stalked off the stage.

Ripcord strapped the goggles onto Launchpad's head. "I'll be able to watch what you do through these. I'll tell you what to do."

It finally sunk through. "You're… going to teach me to fly the Joyrider?" Launchpad's heart leapt. And then plummeted. "But Mom's up there. What if I muck up?"

"I'll be right by your side. Figuratively. That's the best I can do. I promised I wouldn't bail on you, remember?"

"Okay, Dad. I got this." Launchpad climbed into the little biplane. It was small, but once in the cockpit, he felt snug. Ripcord gave the propeller a spin, and she started up.

Over the drone of the propeller, Launchpad heard shouting. Not like the ground crew, yelling abuse, like the last time he'd been in a plane this small all those years ago. But the crowd, led by Dewey, had started a cheer. "Launchpad! Launchpad! Launchpad!"

Launchpad grinned. So, this was why his father had loved airshows so much.

"Get up to speed and pull her up," said Ripcord, his voice coming crisp and clear through the headset on the goggles.

Launchpad did as instructed. And then he was in the air, tearing after his mother's plane.

A/n: I hope you guys are having as much fun reading this as I am writing it. Please leave me a review. :)