"Be good, Gosalyn. Be brilliant."
Nothing really felt off to Darkwing - it seemed one thing he and most of his doppelgangers had in common was their love not just for their own respective versions of Gosalyn, but for each other's. Of course some of them would want to have a moment to say goodbye to this variation of their little girl. He'd done the same once. Evidently, his Gos understood that, too. Only one of them was her father, but they were all part of him in some ways. There was certainly a lot of love in that room, but the presence of one of its worst side effects was overwhelming.
Morgana shuddered. All of the Darkwings who had bid Gosalyn farewell gave off some air of joy and sentiment, but in this one she sensed, alongside that sentiment, the most awful kind of heartbreak. She didn't say anything then. No point spoiling the moment for anyone else. It wasn't until later, when Gosalyn had been sent to bed, that Drake brought up the solemn expression she'd had.
"I'm not sure you want to know, Dark," she warned him.
"Come on, Morg," he pressed, pacing back and forth across his living room. "If there's somethin' off about one of those guys, don't you think I should be prepared in case he comes back?"
She sighed, "I-it was the one in the green suit. The one who attacked the house."
"You think he's still a threat?"
"No, no, he was just as brainwashed as the others. When he talked to Gosalyn, though...he felt so...so dejected."
"Well, sure," Drake shrugged, oblivious to the silent movements of something sneaking up behind the chair Morgana was sitting in. "He probably just wanted to get back to his own reality; see his Gosalyn."
"I don't know if he has one."
"Of course he does! How else would he know who -"
He looked back at Morgana, his realization bringing a look to his eyes that had to be something close to a visible manifestation of the archer's aura. This, naturally, was not the first time the possibility had found its way into his mind. Most of the time, he simply swatted the thoughts away, reminding himself that he wouldn't let that happen. But infinite realities meant that there was at least one version of him who would, or who already had.
He was silent for probably too long before saying, "It's getting late." Morgana rose from her seat and nodded. A quick kiss goodnight, and she was gone. Turning toward the staircase, he caught something out of the corner of his eye. Behind the armchair crouched a tiny figure with a worried look on her face and a Halloween mask in her hand. Drake scooped her up and started to carry her up the stairs and back to her room.
"You're never gonna scare her like that, Gos," he said flatly, holding up the mask. "She grew up on this sort of thing times a hundred, remember?" But her self-imposed challenge was no longer the biggest thing on her mind.
"What were you guys talking about?" she asked, despite her already having a decent idea.
He barely even tried to dismiss it. "It's grown-up stuff. You wouldn't get it." He nudged her door open with his elbow and tucked her back in, giving her a peck on the top of the head. "Get to sleep, alright?" He clicked off the lamp on her nightstand and walked out, letting the door swing shut behind him.
"Would, too," Gosalyn muttered to herself as she turned onto her side and kicked her blankets into place. As she closed her eyes, memories of her grandfather putting on a happy face telling funny stories from his son's childhood, absentmindedly switching the words to her lullaby to "Close your eyes, little boy blue…" and crying silently in his room returned to her. She'd figured out early on that grown-ups were no less susceptible to sadness than she was. They were just better at covering it up sometimes. And her dad thought she wouldn't understand it. It was almost funny.
She'd grown up on "grown-up stuff."