Work Text:
In their line of work strange things were actually pretty common. 'Did that mean you could still call them strange?' Dick wondered, even after all this time the English language still gave him things to ponder with all its weird nuances. Anyways, the strange thing in question was a run in with Klarion which resulted in Damian being turned into a duckling. It was the CUTEST thing that Dick had ever seen. He had been called to the Bat cave one night under a code brown only to find a tiny baby duck wielding one of Damian's daggers threatening everybody's ankles. Dick couldn’t stop himself; he let out the biggest coo and clutched his hands to his chest like an anime girl encountering an adorable bunny.
“Is that Damian?’ his voice went up 3 octaves, as he squealed in delight. “Is that my baby bat?”
Tim had climbed up onto the bat computer to keep typing out his reports but also to keep out of Ducky Dami’s reach. He was still pondering the physics of the ducking being able to not only grip the dagger but also be able to swing it with enough force to cut anything when the thing weighed more than his duck form. He had thought Damian was cute for all of five minutes before the little bugger managed to stab him in the ankle.
“Yeah, it appears that his team had a run in with Klarion a few hours ago. They dropped him off about half an hour before we called you. It is definitely Damian in there the murderous intent alone is proof of that.” Tim replied. “Constantine and Zatanna are both preoccupied with big world endy stuff. They have no idea how soon they could come over to look at him, so you need to take care of him in the meantime.”
While Tim had been giving Dick the status report Dick had swooped in and picked up the Angry Duck, giving it the biggest cuddle he could. Dick had deftly avoided both the huge dagger and the sharp beak while he hugged his youngest brother. Dick looked up from his duckie snuggles into his other little brother’s eyes.
“Did you forget I'm undercover Tim, I can't just bring a Duck with me to the FBI.” Dick replied. Tim just glared back, still wrapping his freshly stabbed ankle.
“You can't just bring a Duck with you to the FBI, Neal.” Peter sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. How had he thought this was a good idea again? Sure Neal had improved their closure rates and become a pretty good friend, but the weird and strange situations he got himself in were migraine inducing.
“You can’t stop me, it’s a licensed Emotional Support Duck…” Neal started. The two of them watched his little murder fluff ride by on the roomba wielding his favorite dagger with a look of instant death on its tiny feathery face. “-In-training. Emotional Support Duck In Training.” Neal's voice trailed off in uncertainty.
“Yeah, I have paperwork.” Neal said confidence back in his voice. He handed Peter a copy of the supposed Emotional Support Animal paperwork. Peter sighed again. He knew these were forged, but was it worth the hassle and possible legal battle to fight Neal on this. He had no idea why Neal suddenly ‘needed’ an ESA duck of all things, but one thing is for sure that dagger was not coming with them.
“The dagger has to stay. The Duck should stay but it can't bring the dagger, or the roomba.” Peter felt his soul leave his body with those words. This was going to be a day.
“Umm, what have you got there Neal?” Diana asked. Looking at the feathery ball of fluff poking out of Neal's breast pocket like the world’s angriest pocket square, small plastic spork sitting in the pocket like a trident.
“Oh this is Little D. He’s my Emotional Support Duck.” Neal said with earnest wide eyes shining innocence.
“Ok,” Jones said hesitantly. “But why does it have a spork?”
Peter just let out a small groan remembering the fifteen minute conversation Neal had with his duck about why they ‘couldn’t take the dagger to work, and maybe could we please leave all the weapons at home, and no a butterknife is not a better option, oh look how about this spork instead.’ Peter wasn’t sure if this was him having a mental breakdown or Neal having a mental breakdown but he figured the longer this duck was in with Neal the bigger chance one or both of them were going to be admitted into the psych wards.
“Don't ask.” Peter said in the same dead voice you typically found in college students during finals weeks and cashiers halfway through a Black Friday shift of doom. Peter trudged up to Hughes office to update his superior on their new addition to the White Collar team. He was not sure how this was going to work out. But Neal did have copies of paperwork stating that Neal needed to have the duck with him at all times, so Peter figured Legal and Hughes could figure this one out.
The agents, while puzzled, seemed ok with the new addition to the team. Jones even picked up an extra roll during lunch to slip to the little fluff. Neal however seemed to treat it like it was capable of human thought and emotions, even going so far as to show it the case files and ask its opinions. It was unnerving to walk into the conference room and see their latest case files spread out on the table with a small duckling staring intently at them. What was even more unnerving was to then see it grab a spare pen and point out something on the page and for Neal to instantly have a breakthrough on the case.
“Good Job, Little D, You're getting better at solving these kinds of cases.” Neal praised the tiny duck petting its head.
“D says that we should interrogate the Father again, because his answers aren’t adding up.”
The duck let out a quack of protest flapping his wings at Neal.
“Ok, yes D, I know that you didn’t say that but we can’t dangle the suspect over the edge of a roof to see if he confesses, that isn’t how things are done in the FBI.”
Damian crossed his wings across his chest in a clear pout. Peter sighed again, how in the world did Neal find this blood thirsty duck in the first place much less come to understand it. Or was he just making things up to talk to the duck about, and if so how did he time the creatures reactions as well as he did? Was this simply the embodiment of Neal’s own repressed violence? God he was contemplating the nature of violence embodied in animal form. What was he coming to? He should really schedule another visit with his therapist, he seemed to have more of those since Neal joined his team. But was that actually Neal's fault or him finally realizing that he had no control over his entire existence.
“Ok, sure why not go and interrogate a man based on the say-so of a duck. Get your stuff Neal, and are you bringing your new friend with you too?” Peter said.
“He is an emotional support duck so yes he needs to go with me wherever I go.” Neal pulled out those wide innocent eyes that made Peter convinced that he was up to no good.
That was why A Fed, a Con, and a Duck walked into a bar….Peter wished this was just the start of a bad joke and not the reality that he was currently living. Why did they have to confront the man at work, they could wait until he was at home right?
“We're here to talk to Lars.” Neal said oozing charm as he approached the bartenders. The Bartender spotted them and prepared to run; he only got three steps from the bar before the duck flew out of Neal's pocket wielding his spork like a trident. It looked like vengeance personified, duckified? Personified in duck form. Either way, the duck flew out of Neal’s pocket, stabbed the man with his plastic spork and proceeded to peck at him until he fell to the ground subdued. Peter pulled his cuffs out of his pocket and arrested the guy. How in the world was he going to write this one up? No one was going to believe the suspect was arrested by a stabby duckling.
“You two made the arrest, you get to do the Paperwork.” Peter said with vindictive glee as he dropped a pile of paperwork a foot and a half thick on Neal’s desk. Suddenly Peter’s migraine was feeling much better.
The White Collar crew adapted pretty well to having a duck as a part of their team. For two weeks Neal brought his fluffy little Murder Bird with him to the office, more than once the sight of the tiny ball of feathers flying at the suspect with its spork caused the suspect to just give themselves up to the nearest agent. With both Neal and Feral Duckie, Peter’s closer rates went up another 25%, there was just something about the two of them working together like they were a well oiled machine. It was kind of concerning how well Neal could understand the Duck’s quacks and flaps.
Neal was sitting at his desk Friday afternoon sketching on the back of one of his messed up reports, the duck was sitting next to him and drawing on the back of a different report. It looked better than anything that Peter could draw. How in the world could a duckling that shouldn’t even be able to grip a pencil draw better than an adult human?
“You two ready to go?” He asked. Peter was almost becoming fond of Neal’s Attack Duckling. As long as it quit trying to bite his fingers off he might even call it cute. He will never admit to slipping it some of his arugula salad the other day.
“Sure thing.” Neal gathered up his stuff and slipped his ESA duck into his breast pocket. Peter had no idea how they were going to handle it when this thing got bigger. Would they have to take a duck in a basket to the crime scenes? If anything Neal should be the one figuring this out, not him. The three of them loaded up and he dropped them back at Neal's apartment.
“Ok, vacations over demon brat.” Jason said when Neal walked into his apartment. Jason, Zatanna, Roy and Lian were all scattered throughout the place.
“Hey guys, Do you ever go anywhere without your entourage anymore Jay?” Neal greeted his friends. He loved teasing his brother, but he was just glad Little Wing had found someone to let into his life.
“Uncle D,” Lian squealed with delight flinging herself at the man.
“Careful munchkin, you don't want to crush Damian here.” he gently pulled her away from his pocket where Damian glared at the others.
“Is that Uncle Little D?” She reached out and petted the top of the tiny feathery head poking out of Dicks pocket.
“You better not fucking bite her.” Jay growled.
“Alright guys I don't have all day you can finish your little reunion after I've fixed the kid.” Zatanna said. “Put him down somewhere, Dick so I can get a look at just him.”
Dick set Damian on the ground in the center of the room, he and Lian continued to play off to the side while Zatanna muttered spells at Damian.
“Hey, if Dami’s a duck, could you argue it’s his secret admiration for Timmy taking form?” Jason taunted.
A round of quacks exploded from the ground.
“....I will remove your spleen and force it down your throat if you don’t take that back this instant Todd.”
“Hey, we don’t talk about removing peoples spleens Damian.” Dick automatically reprimanded him. He blinked a moment, “Oh, that wasn’t just quacks. You're back to you again.”
Dick moved over to give Damian a hug.
“Have you not smothered me enough these two weeks, ceases your infernal cuddling.” Damian slapped halfheartedly at his older brother.
“Thanks Z.” Jason said. “Come on Demon we got to get you back home.”
“Goodbye Richard,” Damian said quietly, hoping that no one heard the love he hid in his voice. “It was nice to spend some time with you like we used to, even if I wasn't able to help you on your case as much as I am usually capable of.”
If Dick felt a little lonely after they all left, well that was no one's business but his own.
Neal walked into the office Monday morning, jaunty step and rakish tilt to his hat but no duck in his pocket. He got a few strange looks, how quickly something became normal, as the agents noticed the lack.
“Where is your little friend Neal?” Peter asked, gesturing to the man's chest.
“What little friend are you talking about, Peter?” Neal asked.
“You know the little stabby duck with the spork you’ve been carrying everywhere lately?” Peter was confused. Why would Neal just suddenly not bring in the duckling anymore?
“What Duck? Are you feeling ok Peter?” Neal asked, turning back to his desk.
Peter was going to have to schedule an appointment with his therapist if he was imagining baby ducks stabbing their suspects into submission. Maybe he needed a vacation. Somewhere with no criminal informants and no ducks.