I've never really thought myself to be a hero, or a villain at that. Nor have I ever really thought that I had the potential to save Darkwing Duck's life that night. Not even Spike, my only understood companion, could really believe that I held the duck's limp arms, as I walked through that front door.

I remember how dim his eyes had looked, so many shadows in them that it nearly shocked me at first glance. He couldn't be dead, could he? This couldn't be the new reality; Darkwing Duck lying dead in my very own greenhouse, and I was the first to know.

But then again, everything had already been morphing into a new reality within a matter of a month. No one had even seen a feather of Darkwing for that entire time, not ever since Bulba came man-hunting him down. From then point on, officers were sent out on patrols every night, the Justice Ducks scoured the streets as if it were a daily routine, and no villain dared to come out of closed doors.

It would be painful for me to say it, being a nemesis of such, but I actually felt bad for the guy. If not for him at least, then for the family he must have had back at home. Waiting day and night for news that he may have had some survival from Bulba's grasp, that maybe somehow he had escaped safely. Maybe life would give him a second chance.

Well, he had obviously managed to escape, with my help of course. Him surviving it, however, had been a completely different myth of its own origins. Spike had grumbled a slur of incoherent snorts, as I had mysteriously strewn the duck across my bed,-which wasn't much, an assortment of comfortable twigs and wet soil-and making the sleeping area perhaps a bit more tolerable to his imaginary liking. I wouldn't have thought he would notice it as much, if he was actually dead.

He was lucky I could barely recognize his face through the black, charred, burns and purple blemishes that patterned it. Bulba had already had his fun with him, and now was likely out there hunting for him again. Aside from that fact on whether or not he had actually survived, what was I to do? If he was dead and I was caught with the corpse, that would be the final line for me. But if he was alive, his hunter was still out there, with a lust for his blood. Just the thought of the predicament shook my leaves; why had I even put myself into this mess? If I had just left him in the sewers where I found him, I wouldn't even have had this kind of night.

I couldn't help to do much else but stare at the poor guy, his chest rattling as it rose and fell at steady lengths. I wasn't a medic, I was a scientist. Even if I could save his life, I wouldn't have the known knowledge to do so. In addition to that, what would the other guys think? I was already a "wimp of a villain" in their eyes, and if in any case such as this one, it was solid evidence that I began leaning into the heroism side: who in their right mind would save their arch-nemesis from the clutches of death?

Someone with a brain the size of a vegetable, apparently.

Spike was still giving me the stink eye by the time I finally casted my gaze away from the sight, a dead reminder that I needed a really good explanation. "Look, I wasn't just going to let him rot to death, okay?" The plant chomped his quarrelsome jaws with rage; he wasn't going to pass on just that note.

"I hate him as much as you do, but there's a time to be hateful and forgiving." I glanced back at Darkwing; his struggle to breathe seemed to have doubled the effort. "Besides, he let us off the hitch a few times, so I don't see a problem in just returning the favor." Spike had grumbled, but it was one in agreement, finally. He shuffled over to the body, gazing at him intensely under the dim light. He looked up at me questionably, a look I foresaw the minute I had found the courage to take action for once. "He was just laying in a sewer, ropes tied up and everything." There was no doubt that he had been some sort of hostage, and it was a matter of letting Bulba find him on his own, or dragging the body back home with me before he had the chance to. "I don't even know how he got there."

It was after one of our hang-out nights at Liquidator's place, which was obviously where pipes and water would have presented itself into a landscape. On my way back from the get together, I decided to take the long route home, just to feel the night breeze hug against my face for a few minutes longer. That's when I regretted that whim, because that was the very thing that led to me finding the duck's body laying in a puddle of water, his soul almost fractured under the slips of light from the pothole above.

It was way out of Liquidator's territory, and I already spent about thirty minutes walking alone before coming to the stop. It was either helping a fellow St. Canardian out, or living with the thought of leaving a man to die alone in a cold sewer. I would have rather risked losing my sunlight than to live with that guilt for the rest of my life. So, I dragged him the rest of the way back until I reached the surface. Then I grabbed a shopping cart from some abandoned store-nobody really took care of the cleanup for the place, after shutting it down ten years ago-along with an old blanket I found in the dumpster, and pushed him the rest of the way home like it were my groceries, in high hopes to distract attention.

I didn't know who else to tell other than Spike, and even if he was as close to a friend I would ever get, that little chomper wouldn't be much help anyhow. Nobody from the Fearsome Four had ever spoken to Negaduck after the whole power theft ordeal, and Quackerjack would lose his marbles if he found out I was helping an enemy. Megavolt likely wouldn't have given two bolts, and would just leave the problem to me to handle. I wouldn't even know how Liquidator would handle the whole occasion, he had always just seemed unpredictable in these kinds of situations.

"What do you think I should do?" Spike gave a few ruthless yaps to my response, as if it were a virus. "Well sorry, I won't ask you for help next time." I couldn't help but huff, not only in annoyance but in tight worry. I was on my own, unless I told somebody.

I looked back at Darkwing's staggering body, for all I knew it could be a matter of days before he took his final breath. If I truly intended to save his life, I would need to act quickly; standing there being dumbfounded wasn't going to get me anything but a funeral for his grave. I took another breather, and strided in a direction with full confidence on what my plan could be.

I reached the phone, and stared longingly at the dial numbers; I needed someone other than myself and a bunch of helpless plants, but who would even listen without outcasting me? The police were a definite no, unless I really wanted to go to prison. I guess there were also Darkwing's comrades, but who knew if that would be like handing myself to the police anyway? If I contacted any small shot villains, they could surely take advantage, and shout to the world that I was actually some hero, which in return could also gain unwanted attention from a blood thirsty Bulba. Finally, if I wanted Quackerjack, Megavolt, or Liquidator's help, I would need a real good alibi in convincing them to do so.

I tapped my flimsy fingers in impatient thought, and with a final look at Darkwing's shuttering face, I finally dialed a number. It was like being suffocated in the very pits of a coffin I made for myself. I gave an uneasy smile, despite the person on the other line not being able to see it. "Hey Liq, do you have a second?"

"Bulba, out of all people it had to be Bulba." Gosalyn kicked some dust in the air, ignoring Honker's coughing fit in reaction. She kept storming down the dirt path, wishing the bright summer day above her would suffocate and die. "Years of finally having a life that wasn't in the orphanage, and now I'm only going to go back!"

"Gos, you're not going back."

"I might as well be!" The little duckling did his best to keep up with the girl's pace, but her adrenaline got the best of her speed compared to his own. "Gosalyn, calm down."

"How am I supposed to, Honk!? Dad has been gone for a month, and the last person he was seen with was Bulba!"

"You're only making it worse for yourself, by getting so riled about it!" Honker pushed his glasses back on his face, after wiping the dust off from moments before; his small face squished up in a stern tone. "I know it's hard, but everybody's looking for him. Just give them some more time."

"A month should be enough time." Gosalyn slipped her school bag off her shoulder, and threw it carelessly against an old, wilting tree. She flopped herself down heavily on the patched grass, and stared at the river that sensed an illusion of carrying all of her problems away. Honker only sighed, and repeated the gesture as he sat down with her, peering over the cool, summer water. "If it makes it any better, we only have school for another week until vacation starts."

"And Dad won't ever see another one." Honker sighed in defeat of reassuring her any further, it was obvious from how pessimistic she was being. The two children sat quietly, as they watched their reflection shape and shift, dependent upon the chaotic but gentle waves of the river current. A bird sang wistfully in the distance, as bugs buzzed from the homes in the bark of the trees. It was a truly beautiful sight for such a dark day, and the only thing missing was the laughter of children.

"They'll find him, Gos." He peered up at her cold face, her eyes a duller green then the newly sprouted grass about them. "Just give them more time."

Author's Note:

Thank you for taking the time to read my first chapter into this story! Sorry it's so short, but many more are in the making and will be published soon. All criticism is appreciated!

I do not own any Darkwing Duck/Ducktales properties, and neither do I make money off of this story. All reserved rights go to Disney and its original creators.