Chapter 12: Boy's Night
***Author's Note***
Two things: first, trigger warning for self-harm, suicide, and depression. This chapter is a bit heavier on the hurt/comfort of some of the previous ones. If that isn't for you, consider skipping it. If you or someone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts, please call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 800-273-8255.
Second, thanks for everyone reading this! I hate to ask, but if you could leave a comment I would really appreciate it. I'm still going to post, but having people responding or critiquing can help me tweak the story to better fit what you guys want. Thanks!
***DT***
Fenton glanced up from his phone and looked over at Drake. The two were half-watching some documentary about England in the 1700s after they'd returned from their patrol. Thankfully the night had been mostly quiet, aside from a jewel heist in one of Duckburg's seedier areas. Todavía no puedo creer que pasamos por ambas ciudades, esto es una locura. It was only 11:00, but their patrol had taken 4 hours through a number of unfriendly neighborhoods in both St. Canard and Duckburg, leaving both men exhausted.
"Fen, I don't think I can pretend to watch this anymore. I'm wiped." Drake muttered, fumbling for the remote.
Fenton yawned, "Fine by me. Gyro wants me in early to help finish some big project, so I need to get to bed anyway."
Drake sighed, "You could've told me." He frowned as he put on his concerned boyfriend face, "You need sleep just as much as any duck. You need to prioritize your health and rest just as much as everything else."
Fenton rolled his eyes, "Okay, next time I'll let you know."
"Good."
Fenton was up at six courtesy of his phone angrily buzzing at him. He was a heavy sleeper-not as heavy as Drake, but pretty close-which meant he had to have it set on the loudest setting to hear it. He jabbed the screen until it stopped and he slowly rolled out of bed, tucking his legs under him as he plodded across the heavy carpet toward the bathroom.
The rest of the day was a blur, much like the one before it, and the one before that. Breakfast-toast, eggs, bacon, coffee; driving to work, fumbling with his ID badge, elevator down to the lab, obligatory small talk with Gyro and Manny, lunch with them and Launchpad, more work, a meeting, finishing one last thing that took way too long, commute home in shitty traffic, helping Gos with homework, dinner, patrol, TV, bed.
It wasn't that Fenton didn't like routine. He didn't mind it terribly at first, especially because his new routine frequently included amorous activities with Drake, but after a while it started to get a bit grinding. After a month of it he was tired. It was nearly May when he finally felt like he'd had enough of the same.
"Drake, I think we need to do something."
Drake looked up from the dishes he was scrubbing in the sink. "Thank God you agree, I swear ever since they changed the packaging on this stuff it doesn't suds right. I think they changed the formula."
Fenton couldn't help but smile. Drake was a remarkably intelligent man, but he was also dense as a brick wall at times. "Not about the dish soap, but I agree, we do need to change brands. I mean about our routine."
"What's wrong with our routine?"
"Nothing, but it has gotten to be a bit much. Why don't we take a night off? I'm sure Duckburg and St. Canard won't self-destruct if we skip one night of patrolling." He pled with his eyes, "I need a break."
Drake nodded, "It has been a bit repetitive, if I'm honest." He glanced at the calendar, "Do you want to add another date night?" They'd decided in twice a month date nights where they'd spend some quality time together.
Fenton rubbed his arm, "Don't get me wrong, I love spending time with you, but we spend so much time together, don't you think it makes sense to try and have some fun with other people in addition? Otherwise we're likely to get sick of each other."
Drake mused, "Well, it has been a while since I went on a boy's night."
Fenton clapped his hands together, "Perfect! Who do we invite?"
"I guess I could see if I could get someone from work, but I'm not really friends with any of them… given the large age differences and short time I've known them."
Fenton nodded, "Yeah, I'm not keen on inviting Gyro. He's definitely getting better but he's a bit… intense to hang out with if you don't know him well."
"Okay, so outside of work, then. Who did you spend time with before we started dating?" Drake asked.
Fenton reddened, "Um, I didn't really spend time with anyone. I was always working. Y tu? What about you?"
"Before Gos I didn't really have anyone else, it was just mostly work or trying to find jobs to make ends meet."
Both were silent a moment before Fenton snapped his fingers, "What about Donald Duck? He visits the lab sometimes and we get along fine, plus he owes me for all the times I've fixed stuff that his boys have broke."
"I think I've met him a couple times before when we were working on the DW movie, he seemed like the most normal one in that family. Sure, I'd be okay with him." Drake paused, "I guess I could invite Launchpad."
"Wait, Launchpad, as in Launchpad McQuack?"
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's the only person on this planet unfortunate enough to be named after a runway." Drake quipped; not wanting to point out his own name was just the generic term for any male duck.
"How do you know Launchpad?" Fenton asked, his face screwing up slightly.
"Shortly after I started being DW he showed up and wanted to be my sidekick, I turned him down, not because I didn't think I needed one, but because I didn't want him getting shot-I mean, he's not exactly stealthy."
"You can say that again." Fenton remarked, "I run into him at the Money Bin on a relatively regular basis when he's ferrying around Mr. McDuck. He's usually around for lunch so we eat together a lot of the time. He's pretty nice, though he seems to be incapable of driving something without it crashing. I once saw him crash a forklift into another forklift. I don't even know how he did it; they were both supposed to be in park."
"Sounds like Launchpad."
"Don't get me wrong, he's a nice guy, we've hung out a couple times at the company parties and he always has good stories. Apparently Scrooge sometimes takes him on adventures. I guess he and Donald would be able to talk about that, if worse comes to worse."
"Alright, I'll text Donald and Launchpad and see when they're free." Drake replied, quickly creating a group chat on his phone.
Drake: Hey, Fenton and I were thinking about having a guy's night. When are you free to hang out?
Within a minute Launchpad had replied.
Launchpad: Hey! How are you doing Drake? I haven't heard from you in forever! How's the whole Darkwing Duck thing going? Are you sure you don't need a sidekick? I'm free whenever Mr. McD doesn't need me to help out, and I don't think we're going adventuring soon, because, like, there was this thing with the boys grades needing to be higher, but, anyway, I'd totally be up for something. Let me know when!
Drake couldn't help but chuckle; even in chat it was clear that Launchpad was Launchpad. "Launchpad just texted me back."
"Already?"
"Yeah, he said he's free whenever. That just means we need to wait for us and Donald."
It was another two hours before Donald replied.
Donald: Sorry, late night with the boys. Dewey decided the best way to study for his history exam was to try and use a magical artifact to help him scry the answers to his test. Turned out it was cursed-big fucking shocker there-and we spent most of the evening trying to get that under control. I'm glad Beakley let me put them back in public school, I'm pretty sure the mansion wouldn't still be standing if they kept up with her private tutoring at home. I'm free Fridays and Tuesdays. Monday is Louie's art class, Wednesday is Woodchucks, and Thursday Daisy and I have family night with the triplets and the girls.
Drake tilted his head slightly. Donald had girls?
Drake: The girls?
A few moments later Donald replied.
Donald: May and June, Webby's sisters. Daisy has custody of them and because we're together she wants us and the boys to do family things. It's just the eight of us-the boys, Webby, and the girls plus me and Daisy. This week's a rock climbing gym-Webby's choice.
Drake: Wow, how the hell do you handle 6 kids? We've got two of us and Gos is enough trouble all by herself.
Donald: I have no fucking idea. How about Friday, I need a break.
Drake: LP, that work for you?
Launchpad: Sure! Should I bring anything?
Drake: Dunno, we'll figure out what we're doing first.
***DT***
After some discussion it was decided that the four would go to Round 4. Round 4 was well known for three things. First, despite being a 'family friendly establishment' it was basically adults only after 8. Second, they had cheap beer. Third, and most importantly, it was the only place in the Duckburg-St. Canard area that had bowling, billiards, an arcade, and laser tag (hence the name, with the 4 different activities). Because, while yes, all of them were in their thirties (except Fenton, who was almost thirty), and none wanted to openly admit it, it was basically a Funzo's for adults.
Drake and Fenton were waiting by the main entrance. They were planning on meeting LP and Donald at 8, and they still had a few minutes to go. Fenton glanced at his phone, idly rubbing his other hand in Drake's palm. They looked up as a large crash was heard from across the parking lot.
"Launchpad's here." Drake commented, not particularly surprised at the smoke starting to rise from a few row away.
A minute later the bomber-jacket clad duck appeared, weaving through the rows of cars. He almost got hit by a car driving in the lane between the lot and building, but avoided it. He smiled, as if almost getting run over by a Civic was a normal occurrence for him, which actually didn't seem that unlikely…
"Hey! How are you guys? I haven't seen you in forever!" Launchpad nearly picked Drake and Fenton up as he crushed the two of them in a bear hug.
"LP!" Drake wheezed. "Good to see you, but if you could let us down, I think you've already cracked enough of my ribs…"
"Oh, sorry!" He set the two smaller ducks down.
Fenton wheezed, "Esta bien. No problem, Launchpad. Just, please, warn us next time, okay?"
He nodded before he started enthusiastically chattering. Despite having lunch with him a few times a week Fenton had never quite gotten used to the speed at which LP could talk when he was particularly passionate about something. After Darkwing Duck, his next most passionate interest was adventuring with Scrooge, so he had decided to spend the time until Donald's arrival discussing their most recent adventure-a temple in some forsaken city in the middle of the Sahara Desert.
"Which is when we finally found the treasure room!" He concluded, seemingly perfectly timed to Donald's arrival.
The sailor was clearly in need of some relaxation. It was apparent that Donald was stressed. Scrooge had hired him as a consultant, which meant steady work, but it also meant that he had work stress on top of his family's usual insanity. His feathers were sticking out at odd angles and he had bags under his eyes-something everyone present, barring Launchpad, had.
"Alright. I'm starting with a fucking drink; it's been one hell of a week. Anyone else thirsty?" He muttered, heading toward the door. He paused before remembering himself, "Sorry, let me do that again. I'm a bit out of practice with adult conversations. How are you guys?"
Drake smirked, "Nice to see you too, Donald. We're fine."
"We get it. Tu tienes muchos niños, a ton of kids to keep track of. No way in hell we could do that." Fenton replied. "I could definitely get a drink. Drake?"
"Sure."
They entered the sliding doors and headed toward the food court portion of the establishment, passing the main counter and a few karaoke rooms on the way. After a few minutes they had drinks and had decided to get started by bowling. As it turned out bowling, despite being one of the few sports most people can excel at drunk or sober, was not a strong suit of most of the men present.
Drake started and launched his ball full-force. It smashed into the head-pin and left four pins-two on either side. "Stupid ball, must be weighted wrong or something…" He muttered as he tried to hit something his second throw, only to have the ball slide harmlessly through the large gap in the middle. He scowled and returned to his seat grumbling.
Fenton followed, he tried to get his ball down the alley, but it didn't seem to want to cooperate. Instead it decided to go about 10 feet, then hook into the gutter. "Okay, just have to change how I throw it, I guess…" He did, and the second ball went 5 feet before it too landed in the gutter.
Donald was next. Before he started everyone took a half-step back. It was well known that Donald tended to get angry at times, and accidentally being too near him wielding a 15 pound bowling ball wouldn't be ideal. Their prediction was confirmed when he fouled by stepping across the line and his strike didn't count. He turned beet-red and started hopping about on one foot, angrily punching the empty air. "What! You've got to be fucking kidding me! That stupid machine doesn't know what the hell it's talking about!" He fumed as he kicked the ball return, causing it to drop a ball onto his foot. He shouted before limping back to the table as Fenton and Drake both tried to keep their chuckling to a minimum.
Finally, Launchpad was up. He picked up the ball and accidentally stumbled, dropping it halfway down the lane. It miraculously kept its course and gave the pilot a strike.
"Show-off." Donald bitterly muttered.
And so it continued until the 9th frame of the game. Drake had 71 points, Donald had 95, and Fenton, well…
"¿Por qué no puedo golpear nada? ¡Esto es ridículo!" He scowled as he bowled his 18th gutter ball.
Drake patted his hand as his boyfriend sat down. "Calm down, you're gonna kick all our asses at pool, so relax." He pecked his forehead, knowing that Fenton was very talented at billiards-last time I took him out to a gay bar with a pool table, he ended up beating everyone else in the place.
Donald got a spare, bringing his score over 100. He seemed pleased enough as he hummed a happy "Hmph!" at the ball return that he'd earlier damaged.
"Alright LP, you're up." Drake said, nudging the big guy forward.
Launchpad again stumbled and dropped his ball awkwardly on the boards, but it still managed to take out 7 pins. He walked over to the ball return and waited for his ball, resting his arm on top. All of a sudden a grinding sound started, and before he could react Launchpad had most of his right sleeve pulled into the ball return. Mercifully he had kept his arm free, but he was essentially stuck.
"Launchpad! You okay?" Fenton asked, scrambling over to his struggling friend.
"Yeah, I'm okay. My sleeve's stuck, but I'm okay."
"Take off your jacket; you should be able to get free. We'll get someone from the desk to shut off the ball return and get your jacket out." Drake said, pressing the button to call for help to their lane.
Launchpad's face briefly morphed into something unreadable before he slowly started taking off his jacket. He extricated his left arm, then slowly started turning around, but he seemed hesitant to pull out the right one. After a sharper grinding sound and the realization that soon his arm would likely be pulled into the machine he decided to yank his right arm free and hide it under his left one.
"Are you okay?" Donald asked, his parenting instincts on display as he quickly sidled up to Launchpad and started looking over his friend for injuries. "Here, show us your arm."
"It's okay." Launchpad quickly replied, trying harder to hide it from sight.
"Launchpad, come on, we need to check it to make sure you're alright. There's no harm in a few cuts or scrapes, we'll get you patched up." Fenton said reassuringly.
Drake quickly realized something. "Guys, back off."
Fenton and Donald looked at him, confused, but complied. Drake rarely used his 'teacher voice' with friends, but when he did it was clear there was reason to listen.
"LP, look at me, I want you to know you can trust us, okay?" Drake placed his hand on his shoulder.
Launchpad looked hesitantly at Drake before his eyes darted away, flickering to his arm before trying to focus on something else.
"We aren't going to hurt you. Can I please see your arm? I promise, it's going to be okay."
Launchpad finally relented, slowly unfurling his right arm from where it had been tucked away. Along his right arm there were a few small red marks. All about 2 inches long and spaced fairly evenly. Some looked much older, and were almost hidden by his feathers. But one looked like it had barely scabbed over.
Drake held in a breath, he knew Fenton and Donald could see as well. "Let's get somewhere a bit quieter, I've had enough excitement for a little while. You okay with that?"
Launchpad nodded, refusing to look at any of his friends as they went out the side door and onto a patio that occasionally hosted an outdoor bar-currently closed because it wasn't yet 10 pm. The four sat at a table, Drake and Fenton side by side and Donald beside Launchpad opposite.
"Before we do anything, I need to ask, are you planning on committing suicide? I want to make sure you're safe." Fenton stated. As he did it felt like all the air from the patio had suddenly dropped ten degrees.
"No, not right now." Launchpad said, refusing to look up from the table.
Drake's eyes darted over to Fenton, who nodded, signaling that Drake could talk. "Was that why you cut yourself?"
"No, maybe? I don't know…" The pilot seemed deflated. "Sometimes it just feels like I don't have any control, and it, I don't know, I know I can do, well, I can do that." He gestured to his most recent mark. "It's my choice to." He paused, his eyes watering as he felt his throat get hot and tighter. "You guys, you all have reasons to be happy. I, it's just, I… It's so fucking hard!" He let his head hit the table. "I act like I'm happy so people like me, but I'm broke, alone, and my closest friend is a 12 year old! I mean, I…" at this point he stopped being able to talk and instead quietly brushed his reddening eyes, trying to stop his few acquaintances from avoiding him. Because at this point they already know I'm a fucking loser, might as well not make them think anything worse.
"Launchpad, we're here for you." Donald replied gently rubbing the pilot's back the same way he had whenever one of the boys had a particularly rough cry. "You know I was in the Navy, right?"
Launchpad made an indistinct noise of affirmation.
"I enlisted when I was 18; I wanted to get the hell out of McDuck manor and out of my sister and Scrooge's shadows. I figured I'd already been adventuring tons of times, I could handle a little time on a boat." His expression darkened, "I was wrong."
"I saw some shit. I'm not going to talk about all of it, but I'll say this much. The smell of roasting flesh is isn't easy to forget. When I got back I had nightmares every day. I couldn't sleep, wouldn't eat, even Della-oblivious to nearly everything-she noticed." He sighed. "It got so bad I just wanted it to end. I just wanted the pain to stop…" He was silent, not wanting to share some of the close calls he'd had when he had had particularly dark days, "If she hadn't disappeared and left me the boys, I don't think I would still be here. With them, I had a reason. There was something I needed to do. So I got help. Serious help. I still go to a therapist, Lloyd Jones. He served too, and he really helps me to figure things out. But I'm not really totally better, there's still times when I feel… off, but it's better, way better, than before."
"We're here for you. Fenton and I, we've gone through some shit too…" Drake looked over and Fenton nodded in confirmation. "We want to make sure you're safe. Look, why don't we call it a night. You can spend the night with us, and then in the morning, if you're ready you can talk more, we can talk, okay?"
Launchpad looked up from the table, "Sorry for ruining tonight."
"You didn't ruin anything." Fenton quickly asserted. "You needed help, and we're doing it. After all, we'd be pretty piss-poor superheroes if we didn't."
"Wait, you guys are superheroes?" Donald asked, tilting his head.
"Oh yeah, we never told you, did we?" Fenton said as Drake frowned at his boyfriend. "What? I figured he knew, all his kids do."
"The boys knew before I did?"
"Oh yeah, Dewey's known about me for years at this point."
Donald huffed irritably, "So, just to make sure, who are you guys?"
"Gizmoduck and Darkwing Duck." Drake gestured between the two of them. "And it goes without saying that you tell anyone and we'll do something unpleasant."
Donald raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Drake sighed. "Fine, just don't tell anyone."
***DT***
It was a little after midnight and Launchpad was asleep on the couch. Fenton was on his phone, notepad by his side making notes on how to best help Launchpad and what he should and shouldn't do in the morning. His aunt had worked with suicidal patients before, so he'd heard how she dealt with them on occasion, but he needed more information on what to do. He looked up as Drake slid open the window to the fire escape.
"I thought we weren't patrolling tonight?"
"We aren't. I'm paying someone a visit."
"Drake…" Fenton warned, knowing the look in his boyfriend's eyes.
"Don't worry, it's nothing bad. Donald and I are going to talk with Scrooge."
Fenton raised an eyebrow, "Just to clarify, you and Donald-who, no offense, both tend to have issues processing strong emotions-are going to talk with Donald's uncle, with whom he has a tenuous relationship, about his driver's potential suicidal tendencies."
"No."
"No?"
"It's Launchpad's place to share that information. We're talking with Scrooge about how Launchpad needs a raise and how I'm willing to give up my Darkwing money for it."
Fenton's brow rose, "You're sure that's okay?"
"Some extra spending cash I can't even legally declare or the life of my friend? Easy choice."
Fenton smiled, "You know, you really are one of a kind Darkwing."
"I'd hope so. Can't have you falling for another caped duck who owns a motorcycle with his face on the front."
They quickly embraced and Drake slid out the window, planning on meeting Donald at the manor.
***DT***
In the morning Launchpad woke up to the smell of burning toast and Drake angrily cursing. "Oh come on you piece of shit! Give me my fucking toast!"
He rubbed his eyes and sat up, remembering the events of the evening before. He quickly tensed up as he realized that at this point Gos was probably home, And there's no way I can explain to her… She's just a kid!
"Don't worry, Gos is still next door. He never curses quite so much in front of her." Fenton said, seemingly reading the panic in the large duck's face. "Here. It's the largest shirt we had." He tossed Launchpad a large checkered flannel. "In case you wanted to, y'know…" He tapered off.
Launchpad gladly accepted and put on the shirt. It barely covered his shoulders, but it did reach down far enough to hide everything. Before he could say his thanks his phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Launchpad, my lad, I have something I need to talk to you about."
"Oh, hello Mr. McD! Sorry, if I'm late, I had a night out and-"
"Ye aren't late, I never call ye on Saturdays unless it's for afternoon errands. I wanted to talk about your position."
Launchpad gulped. "Um, yeah…"
"Well, with Della coming back I don't really need a pilot…"
Launchpad paled.
"However, I do need something else."
"Something else?"
"I need someone to work with our product safety division. We've had too many recalls lately on some of our house wares. Given how good ye seem to be at crashing every vehicle known to duck, I figured you'd be a natural fit with our testing division."
"Buh?"
"What I'm saying lad is that I'm offering you a promotion. You can still be my driver and go on adventures if you want, but I'm also giving you a steady job during the day when I don't need ferrying around. You'd be working out all the kinks with our products and reporting on ways to improve them before they get to market."
"A promotion?"
"Aye lad, you're overdue, anyhow. It's been more than a few years you've been with us and you deserve it. It would come with a raise, as well." Scrooge begrudgingly admitted the last part.
"A raise?"
"Aye, I recently had some money free up and I figure if I'm going to offer you a position you may as well get compensated for it. So, what d'ya say?"
"Yes!" Launchpad leapt off the couch and nearly crashed over the coffee table.
"Very good! We'll talk details Monday morning. Enjoy your weekend."
Launchpad happily ate breakfast with Fenton and Drake, and while they didn't discuss any more the evening prior he did accept the card to Donald's therapist-something Drake had grabbed the night before. While things weren't perfect, at least there was a path forward. Drake and Fenton had made Launchpad promise to check in regularly with them, and Donald had done the same. It wasn't going to be easy, but thankfully it seemed likely that things would be okay.
