Chapter Text
“-alright so, moving on. How do you know Edmund Chicane?” The FBI agent across the holding room table asks a dirty, bruised, and still bleeding a little bit Duck Newton.
Duck takes a sip form the Styrofoam cup of water that they’d allowed him to give himself a moment to think.
This FBI agent man had already asked him the basics: his name, job, station, what the fuck he was doing with a sword belt, etc etc and already Duck finds his attention drifting as the words blur together.
It’s far past midnight, the small window in Kepler’s sheriff station’s holding room pitch black in the night. It’s a tiny little room illuminated by a bright fluorescent light. As the only room really fit for questioning in the whole sheriff’s station, Duck isn’t too surprised to find himself locked in here. Kepler’s tiny government buildings weren’t prepared for the sudden influx of government agents and state troopers, but well, Duck could understand why they had shown up, what with the mountain collapsing and all that.
But still, Duck is exhausted. After dispatching the abomination, witnessing whatever fucking light show it vanished into, watching the top of the mountain Duck had known his entire life float into the air and collapse on his town, and then barely managing to shove his apartment keys at Minerva before he was immediately taken into custody by government agents of some sort, Duck thinks he’s kinda earned a little R&R.
But no. Mysterious government agents in suits pro’ly wouldn’t agree if they knew, and more importantly; Duck absolutely cannot tell them that he’s spent his entire Saturday hunting down a shapeshifting light monster. Duck doesn’t know what exactly the suits are after, much less where Ned, Aubrey, and everyone else are but he sure as hell won’t betray their trust. There’s been complete radio silence from the rest of the Pineguard ever since Duck went to the telescope that he’s desperately trying not to think about at the moment.
Duck suddenly realizes he’s managed to completely empty his cup of water and has been attempting to drink air for a good five seconds when the government agent, whose name Duck can’t rightfully remember, shakes his head.
“Now now Mr. Newton, I recognize that you’re probably hesitant to share information with me-”
No shit, Duck thinks.
“-but allow me to show you something.” The government agent man says. Duck really wishes he could remember this FBI agent guy’s name, but he hadn’t been paying attention and it’s too late to ask now. Asking for your interrogator’s name in the middle of your own personal interrogation strikes Duck as a bit rude.
Mr. Agent pulls a file out of his briefcase, casually throwing some photos from it out onto the table and all thoughts about the social rudeness of name-asking fly away.
There’s a picture of himself, Aubrey, and Ned walking around the woods near the gate to Sylvain, a picture of them huddled together talking in the lounge of Amnesty Lodge, a blurry photo of Duck thrusting Beacon at a blurry unrecognizable Leo Turkesian, a picture of Duck skitching on Sheriff Owen’s car to follow the abomination, and a photo of Ned pointing his Narf Blaster at something out of frame. At least a dozen at best mildly suspicious photos of the Pineguard’s activities sit on the table before him. Duck feels his stomach drop to the floor.
“Mr. Newton, we’ve been investigating Kepler for months now. We have reason to believe that you, along with Aubrey Little, are associated with Edmund Chicane. Is this correct?” The man asks, though Duck is pretty sure he already know the answer to that question.
“Uhh, I guess you could maybe say that we do know each other. Y’all already got all these creepy invasive photos anyhow.” Duck responds, starting to sweat. Why the hell are they asking about Ned?
Duck Newton knows that his ability to lie is bad at the best of times, but he’ll try his damndest. As long as he doesn’t mention that he hunts monsters from another planet he should be fine, right?
“Let’s try again then: How do you know Edmund Chicane?” The agent asks, pushing a photo of Ned, Duck and Aubrey towards Duck. Well shit.
“Well uh… he’s a friend of mine. We hang out.” Duck responds. Don’t say monster hunting, don’t say monster hunting, don’t say monster hunting.
“You ‘hang out’? Doing what exactly?” The agent questions, eyebrow raised.
Duck quickly runs through his options. What have he and Ned done together? Monster hunting? Already ruled that one out. Monster hunting planning sessions? Same sorta thing. Going through a magical portal in the woods and obtaining magical items from a giant cat together? Nah, don’t want to get arrested for illegal substances.
Damnit, he can’t say any of that. What else has he done with Ned?
“Uh- Soup. We eat soup. At the uh, soup place.” Duck stutters out.
The FBI agent stares at him.
“Listen, you ever had real good French-onion soup? Because buddy, lemme tell you: life-changing stuff right there.” Duck’s on a roll now. Lying? Nope, can't do it. Talking about French-onion soup? Hell yeah.
Unfortunately, the FBI agent isn’t so easily deterred.
“Not to knock your soup hobby, but I’m referring to the monster hunting.” The agent says.
Duck freezes.
“The- what?”
“The monster hunting? Your friend was so forthcoming on that television broadcast that I thought you might be the same.” The FBI agent comments blithely, like Duck has any idea what he’s talking about.
“Broadcast?”
“Oh? You don’t know?” The agent asks slowly, his disbelief evident in his expression.
“Your friend Edmund Chicane went on television to tell everyone that there were monsters in Kepler, preparing an attack from the archway in the woods.” The agent says.
What.
Duck crushes the Styrofoam cup in his hand as his eyes shoot open.
“Mr. Chicane also indicated that there were others including him that had known this truth for some time. From there, it wasn’t hard to make the connection to you, Ms. Aubrey Little, and Ms. Madeline Cobb over at Amnesty Lodge.” The agent continues, watching him intently.
Duck tries to bring his face back into some semblance of calm, but his tired mind is racing as he jumps from one thought to another.
What? Why would Ned do- was Ned trying to protect the town- wait, was it the shapeshifter? Why would it go on TV- have they arrested Ned? Aubrey? What about the lodge?
The agent slaps his hand against the table, pulling Duck’s attention back to him as the agent speaks firmly.
“Duck Newton, I believe that you are a part of this little monster hunting gang.” The agent states confidently, thrusting the photograph of the Pineguard walking towards the archway at him.
Speechless, Duck stares at the photo. It’s surprisingly high quality for a photo that had to have been taken from a bush or something, because Duck doesn’t remember anyone else being there for this moment.
It’s a picture of himself holding Beacon while Aubrey laughs at Ned, who’s gestured so dramatically with his Narf Blaster that he’s losing his footing (Duck remembers him falling on his ass a few seconds later). Behind them stands the archway to Sylvain.
Duck manages a few pathetic spluttering attempts at words, but ultimately can’t think of a single damn thing to say. Which, when he recalls this moment later, is probably what saves him. But right now, as Duck stares past the agent in front of him, all he can think about is a night’s visit to another world with Aubrey’s bubbling enthusiasm and Ned’s boisterous bullshit confidence bolstering him.
God, what he wouldn’t give to have them both with him right now.
The seconds tick by into minutes as the agent’s hand droops and his face slips from confidence to annoyance.
“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” The FBI guy snaps at him, throwing the photo down on the table in frustration. Duck would feel bad for him, but Duck’s ability to process the current situation has left for Chicago.
The holding room door flies open as another agent darts inside. Her well-pressed suit covered in dirt that she tracks onto the floor.
“Sir, sorry to interrupt but-.” She says, breathing heavily as she leans over to catch her breath.
“Agent Brown, what have I told you about interrupting me when I’m in the middle of questioning?” Duck’s interrogator groans, standing up from his chair.
“Sorry sir, but we’ve found and secured Aubrey Little.” Agent Brown says as Duck’s already elevated heart rate shoots through the roof. Fuck. Duck doesn't know whether he should be relieved or terrified.
The man questioning Duck smiles, like this is exactly what he was waiting for. “Oh! Wonderful. Where have you put her?”
“Well sir, this is the only holding room in… the entire town. It’s here or one of the three cells, I guess, but those are full with people from the mob earlier-“ She says and Duck’s heart skips a beat.
“Wait, a mob? In Kepler?” Duck asks, his voice cracking in disbelief.
Neither agent spares him a glance.
“Hmm, I suppose we can keep the both of them in here for now.” The FBI agent states as he quickly picks up the photos and files littered on the table, sweeping Duck’s crumpled Styrofoam cup remains onto the ground in his hurry to clear the table.
“That would probably be best sir. The townsfolk seem… uncomfortable with her around.” Agent Brown comments, idly brushing some of the dirt off her suit jacket. Duck has no clue what that means. Ain't none of the townsfolk been scared of Aubrey since she spent an entire forty-five minutes playing with her rabbit on Saturday Night Dead.
The problem is, Duck realizes, that he's desperately missing some vital pieces of whatever happened in town while he was out fighting an alien on a telescope satellite dish. And he needs to figure out what happened, fast.
“Well then, Mr. Newton, I’ll be right back.” The FBI agent says before Duck can say anything and walks to the door. He exits the room, gesturing for Agent Brown to leave with him.
But right before he closes the door, the man leans back into the room and meets Duck's eyes with his own.
“Perhaps Ms. Little will be more cooperative?” The agent questions with a smile.
Fingers of dread crawl up Duck’s back.
The FBI agent slams the door shut behind him.