A/N: This was an unintended combination. teh-bluejay suggested the song. rubbersoles19 wanted a fic where we saw Darkwing's childhood.

So, naturally, my brain melded them together. I hope you guys like it!

Negaduck. Supreme ruler of the Negaverse. Public Enemy #1. Darkwing Duck's arch-iest of arch nemeses.

Was coming to Drake's house for Christmas.

And he hadn't had a bad Christmas ever since Gosalyn had come into his life. Well, there was that one year he'd been in the hospital, but other than that. Amazing. Magical. All of them.

But this one. This year?

Drake was already worried that it would rival his Worst Christmas Ever.™

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The officer came into the cell block and approached the door. "Drakey Mallard?"

Drake rolled his eyes. Great. Now everyone in here had heard his childhood nickname. Awesome.

For a moment, he considered not answering. Just staying right there on the bench through Christmas.

But the more rational side of him wanted to leave, so he stood reluctantly with a murmured, "Yeah?"

"Bail's been paid." The officer unlocked the cell door and swung it open. "Yer goin' home, kid."

Great.

Just great.

Heaving a sigh and stuffing his hands into this sweatshirt pocket, Drake trudged out of the cell, careful not to make eye contact with any of the other inmates.

"Drakey" had sort of ruined his chances at being cool.

Following the officer to the front of the station, Drake tried to keep his breathing even, his temper under control.

He could do this.

He could.

Rounding a corner that led to the main lobby of the station, Drake came face to face with his father.

Stellar Mallard leveled him with a sharp glare but didn't say anything. Just pointed to the main entrance doors.

Drake heaved a sigh but obeyed, trudging out into the chilled winter air.

Their Volkswagen was parked sloppily in one of the visitor spots, the front tire crossing the white dividing line. But hey. A for effort, right?

Turning to his father in disgust, Drake said, "Did you drive yourself here?"

"No one else was able to take me," Stellar said, glaring down at Drake. "'S three in the mornin', Drakey."

"Don't call me—" Drake sighed and glanced back at the crooked parking job. "How'd you figure out I was here?"

"Ol' buddy o' mine who still works on the force." Stellar gave Drake a sidelong look. "Were ya gonna call?"

Drake shrugged. He would've rather been caught dead than call his old man for help.

"Better give me the keys," he said, holding out his hand. "You're probably not sober."

"I'm sober enough! 'Sides, I didn' think I'd have to bail my damn kid outta jail now did I?" Stellar said, fumbling through his pockets for his car keys.

Drake scowled but didn't say anything.

Stellar was usually drunk more often than he was sober, especially since Ana had died earlier that year. Not like Stellar had been sober much before she'd passed. Drake had stopped counting how many times Stellar had tried — and failed — to go through AA. It was always the same empty promises ("I want to get better", "I want you to be proud of me", "I want to live a normal life" blah blah blah) but Stellar had stopped making all of those promises, empty or no, hitting the bottle even harder since the funeral.

For Ana, Stellar had tried — however pathetically — to change.

For Drake, Stellar rolled into a police station at 3am, barely sober, because a concerned friend had called. If the phone call hadn't come, the older mallard wouldn't much care one way or another what his son had done or where he'd gone. But the call had forced responsibility on Stellar, the friend probably working the night shift — maybe he was the officer who'd used the name "Drakey" — and had been keeping an eye on the Mallard boy until the father appeared.

After the fifth time of Stellar searching his pockets and coming up empty, Drake intervened. "Did you drop them?"

"Nah. They're here somewhere."

"Did you leave them inside?"

"I told ya I have 'em and I have 'em."

"I don't think you do."

"Y'know what, you ungrateful little delinquent?" Stellar growled, turning his hooded eyes on his son. "The next time ya get arrested for defacing public property, Imma let you sit in that cell and rot."

"Good," Drake spat. "I wouldn't want you to come bail me out anyway."

Stellar stuffed his hands into his pockets then pulled out the ring of keys from his coat triumphantly and rattled them in Drake's face. "Told ya I had 'em." He spun towards the car, saying, "You can walk your ungrateful ass home."

"You can't drive," Drake said because even though he was 18, he was the adult. He'd always been the adult.

"Drove myself here, didn't I?" Stellar pointed a finger at Drake. "Don't you bother comin' home unless you got an apology ready."

"Then you're not gonna see me again."

Stellar sneered and climbed into the car, muttering to himself the whole time. He peeled out of the parking lot not bothering to glance over his shoulder as he left his son behind.

But this was better. Drake hadn't wanted to spend Christmas with his father as it was, hence the wandering around the streets late at night. And drawing on the department store's Santa set up. Honestly, those smiling elves and eight tiny reindeer had been asking for it.

Hunching over, Drake left the precinct and headed towards the Bay, hoping to find some peace and quiet away from all this holiday cheer.

Christmas had never been what it looked like in the movies. His mother had tried to make it special, had brought in decorations and what presents she could afford. Made a traditional dinner. But then Stellar would barrel in, sloppy drunk and angry that he hadn't taken part in any of the festivities.

So Drake avoided the holiday. Wanted nothing to do with it. But it was everywhere with its lights and its Santa displays and its gingerbread and its carols that he wanted to pull his feathers out.

Audubon Bay was, in retrospect, a bad place to go when you wanted to avoid Christmas. The suspension bridge was adorned in lights and wreaths, a cheery welcome to anyone coming into town. Drake sighed, crossing the street and walking onto the bridge. Cause where else was he gonna go? Back home? No way. The only path for him was forward.

Maybe he would just keep walking. All the way to Duckburg. Not look back. Get a fresh start.

But that was the thing.

He didn't want to be in a different city.

He wanted to be anyone other than Drake Mallard. Drake Mallard was a wimpy dorky loser with no career prospects and, now, a criminal record. Drake Mallard was weak and boring.

He wanted to be someone exciting. Like the heroes in those comics he still kept shoved under his bed. They had exciting lives and everyone loved them. If he was like that, if he was the hero, he'd be respected by the citizens of St. Canard and feared by the criminals.

There seemed to be no end to the Christmas decorations around him and Drake felt like he was drowning. He needed to get away. Get up somewhere to breathe. Somewhere high where no one would bother him.

Glancing up, he caught sight of one of the bridge's topmost towers. Sizing up the one closest to him, Drake wondered if he could climb all the way to the top. It was probably quiet up there. And far away from anything Christmas related.

As he contemplated whether to climb or stay put, snow started to fall and effectively made up Drake's mind for him. It was Christmas enough with the decorations, but with the snow on top of that?

No, thanks.

He glanced around for any cops before jumping up onto the suspender and shimming his way up the cable. He climbed up to the top of the tower, relieved when the building sitting at the peak was an empty space. And that there was no glass in the windows.

Heaving himself up and over, Drake plopped into the tower.

Where it was dark and not Christmasy at all. It was cold all the way up here above the city, but he could deal with that. Because he felt like he could breathe up here. And there was so much room, a first and second floor connected by a spiral staircase.

And all unused if the mounds of dust were anything to go by.

Drake inhaled.

And exhaled.

This was nice. The solitude. The distance.

Peering out of one of the windows, Drake didn't think Christmas looked so bad from up here.

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This Christmas couldn't be as bad as that one, right?

No, he was actually asking.

Because no one else seemed phased that Negaduck would be in their home on Christmas day. Launchpad drove them home from S.H.U.S.H. like everything was normal. Gosalyn dispensed the meds S.H.U.S.H. had given Drake then sent him to his room to rest.

She ended up staying with him all night, making sure his concussion wasn't more serious. And each time he woke, he remembered and seriously?

Was no one else going to freak out over this?