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Launchpad was panicking. Just a small, little, itsy-bitsy bit. He didn't quite know when he became the ultimate secret-keeper between at least two superheroes, and yet, there was never a day where he wished he wasn't. Still, it maybe would be easier to explain these situations when the secret identities in question were shared.
"DW, why of all days to severely injure yourself did you have to do it today?"
"Would you have preferred it to be some other day?" Darkwing asked, raising a brow, Launchpad pressing a hand against his side.
"I mean, you invited Fenton over for the Darkwing marathon later today," Launchpad mumbled, instructing Darkwing to press on the wound. He began to carefully wrap an arm under DW's, supporting his weight. "We could always cancel-"
"No! Nope, nuh-uh. He seemed pretty excited, cancelling is not an option. It's not like we haven't seen each other injured before, considering last week I patched him up after that..." Darkwing paused, "whatever lab incident that was!"
"I was there, DW, I remember, but he definitely knows you weren't on call today, considering you complained about it yesterday, not to mention, some of these may be hard to explain— I think it may be hospital time."
"What? Lau- Pilot! I'm totally fine!" Darkwing glared. Considering Launchpad was carrying most of his weight, the glare wasn't effective.
Brushing by the almost-slip-up, Launchpad swept an arm under Darkwing's knees, effectively sweeping him off his feet and carrying him bridal style. "Hospital time, DW. Car crash?"
"It's not that bad! I promise, not that bad."
"You were impaled less than four minutes ago, not to mention, concussion is still up in the air, and I think that you might need stitches. I'm taking you to the hospital, you don't get a say in this."
"The only thing hospital-worthy is probably my ankle, we've patched up worse in the garage!"
Launchpad frowned, signaling it was the end of the discussion. He wasn't entirely too worried, considering Darkwing was still talking, but he also knew Drake was an actor. It was in the job description to hide unwellness.
"Do you have clothes in the saddlebag of the Ratcatcher?"
"Yeah, we're gonna have to tear them, though."
"Seriously, though, how bad is it?" Launchpad asked, trying to hide his overwhelming concern. Stay calm, that's what he's always been told, by his parents, by Scrooge, by Drake, he can do that.
"I'd survive if we went back to the garage and did it," Darkwing groaned, "but my ankle might be broken? Up in the air, still."
"Dr- Darkwing!" Launchpad set him on the Ratcatcher, legs over the side, as he dug through the saddlebag for Drake's spare clothes. "If I set you in the sidecar do you promise you'll be alright?"
"Yeah, promise. Eyes on the road, though. Sooner we get this all wrapped, sooner I can get to bed and look presentable for Fenton."
"I don't think that should be the goal here, DW."
"Better than nothing, right?" Drake passed a signature Actor™ Smile, still trying to play to the 'nothing is wrong' illusion. It wasn't working.
"Whatever you say, DW, whatever you say."
The ride was short-lived, pulling into an alley a block away. Launchpad helped Drake weasel out of the suit and helped rip the holes into the fabric where Drake had wounds. Setting Drake to lean against the wall, Launchpad quickly hid the Darkwing suit under the seat of the Ratcatcher, covering the bike in a tarp.
Drake went to protest, "I can walk-" dying in his throat as Launchpad scooped him up.
"Sure, you just had a car crash so severe we didn't wait for an ambulance, and I'm going to let you walk into the hospital on your own two feet. Sure, Drake."
"Fine, you win."
Launchpad just smiled, tightening his grip on Drake, hoping to minimize the jostling in the next block he had to walk. Drake complained, minimally, but still, mumbling about how he would've been fine at home.
They received a few odd looks, Drake being banged up and bridal-style carried, and Launchpad, looking much better than his counterpart.
"Oh sh-" The receptionist swung open the doors to triage, beckoning them in without filling out paperwork. Drake was set in a wheelchair, and they were both ushered past the doors, into the back of the hospital. Drake's wheelchair gained an entourage, a doctor, or nurse, asking what had happened, where he hurt, and how much pain he was in.
"Car crash. We were nearby so my partner here decided just to carry me instead of potentially waiting for an ambulance. He worries too much."
"Drake, now is not the time." Launchpad did stutter, just for a step, when Drake effortlessly called them partners. The implications were most likely lost on Drake as he continued.
"Side, I got some metal jammed in there, but without thinking, I pulled it out- don't lecture me I was panicking, I know you should leave it in- and my ankle is killing me. I hit my head on the steering wheel, so some pain there, and my ribs don't feel incredible, y'know. Seatbelts, life-savers, rib-crackers!" He huffed out a laugh, clearly out of breath from rambling. That's what sold it to Launchpad, the rambling. He made the right choice.
"Alright. Drake, was it? You mind telling me what year it is?"
Drake blinked for a moment, brows furrowing. "Uh... I think I do mind."
They brought Drake into a room, a nurse already tending to his side as a doctor shined a light in his eyes. Another nurse was checking the swelling on his ankle, leaving Launchpad utterly alone in the hurricane of personnel.
He tucked himself into one of the seats, trying to be as out of the way as possible.
"Sir? Are you alright?" The nurse that was tenderly wrapping Drake's foot cast a glance his way.
"I'm fine, just bruises, rest and ice will fix me up. The- the impact was mostly on Drake's side."
"Alright," the nurse stepped away from Drake's ankle, flashing a light in Launchpad's eyes, "do you know what year it is?"
"2018."
"Alright, good, and what can you tell us about Drake?"
"That's Drake Mallard, he's from Saint Canard. I should have his ID on me here somewhere- I'm his emergency contact, and I can call the other emergency contact listed and inform them what's going on-"
"Thank you," she squeezed his hand, "breathe. He's going to be alright. If you need to make that phone call there's a lobby just down the hall." She paused for a moment, glancing him up and down, "You're doing just fine, dear."
Launchpad handed the nurse Drake's ID, scrubbing his face. "Nearest bathroom?"
"Next to the lobby. X-Ray is gonna want to see that ankle, but I doubt we'll take him for a little bit, so he should still be here when you get back. I'll fetch you both some ice."
Launchpad nodded his thanks, catching Drake's eye in between the staff surrounding him, making a phone with his hand and nodding towards the door.
Drake nodded, then turned back to the doctor cleaning up his side.
Launchpad stretched, wincing when his shoulder protested, walking down the hall. Though his first call should've been Scrooge, since Drake was on Scrooge's paycheck, he couldn't bring himself to dial the number.
He called Fenton. He answered on the second ring.
"Launchpad! Hey, what's up, buddy? I'm wrapping up my last project now."
"Fenton-" Launchpad sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face, "Drake and I got in a car crash. We're alright, but Drake's getting checked out at the hospital right now, I think he might have a concussion, broken ankle, some other stuff. He doesn't want to cancel-"
"Can I see him? Can I come see you? Are you alright? Dios mío, what happened? How did I not hear about a crash on the scanner?"
"Breathe, Fenton, yes, you can come see us. I'm alright, Drake is too. I'll let the nurse know you're coming."
"I'll be there soon. Blather- "
The call disconnected.
Launchpad sighed to himself, taking another moment. He dialed the other emergency contact of Drake's.
"McDuck here."
"Mr. McD, I, uh-"
"Launchpad, laddie, take your time." Scrooge's voice softened, just a tad.
"Drake's in the hospital."
"Is that why I just saw Gizmoduck flying out of here?"
Launchpad exhaled, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, "Yeah. They- they don't know, Mr. McD, so Fenton thinks there's been a car accident, as does the hospital."
"Are you both alright?"
"I'm good, Drake's probably concussed and maybe has a broken ankle. They haven't done an x-ray, yet."
"Good," Scrooge let out a sigh, "good. Is Drake worried about his insurance? I'm not sure if I got around to telling him he's got insurance, comes with the job. If he's worried, tell him not to."
Launchpad grinned, tiredly, slightly hysterically. "He doesn't know what year it is, but if he starts worrying, I'll let him know."
"He doesn't realize he's a part of the McDuck clan yet, does he?"
"I don't think so, Mr. McD."
Scrooge, despite the Duck Temper, despite the years of being alone, despite everything, softened even more, "I'll have Fenton invite him over for one of the mansion dinners. I think he and Donald would get along greatly," he chuckled.
Launchpad, still slightly stunned from the softer Mr. McD, just huffed a laugh.
"Go take care of him, Mr. McQuack."
"Yes sir!" That was something he could do.
The call clicked.
Launchpad took a moment. Drake getting hurt was still not something he was used to. He inhaled, exhaled. Reconsidered, for a moment. Drake getting scraped was a common occurrence. Drake getting banged up was a common occurrence. Drake talking his way out of doctor visits was a common occurrence. For Drake to actually be in the hospital? It scared him. At least Fenton was running around in a metal suit; Drake's outfit hadn't been upgraded to be anything but a costume.
Launchpad found the bathroom just outside of the lobby, stepping in to splash water on his face. He unzipped his jacket, shrugging it off, grimacing at the tenderness of his right shoulder. Launchpad pulled the t-shirt's sleeve to the side, massaging at the sure-to-be-bruise gently. He fixed some of his rougher feathers, lying them straight. Drake was definitely going to need a preening session when he was released, Launchpad knew. Drake hated his feathers being misaligned and dirtied, much more than any other duck Launchpad had really known. The McQuacks loved to preen but used preening as more of a bonding session than a necessity; crashing was usually bound to damage some feathers, so the McQuacks grew used to it.
As Launchpad pulled the jacket back up over his shoulder, leaving it unzipped, he heard an uptick in commotion outside the bathroom.
"Please don't let it be Drake escaping. Please don't let it be Drake escaping. Please-" As Launchpad stepped back into the lobby, he saw Fenton, though absent of the duffel that the Gizmoduck suit was often held in, talking to the triage desk.
"Please, you gotta let me see him. His name is Drake Mallard? I'm not directly family, but-"
Launchpad stepped out, sliding up to Fenton. "Sorry, so sorry, I meant to warn you Fenton was coming, y'see, we're partners," Launchpad mirrored what Drake had said earlier, Fenton's cheeks dusting pink, "all three of us."
"Oh, of course! I do believe he's waiting on an x-ray, go on now," the receptionist opened the door for the two. "Do you remember where his room is?"
"We've got it, thank you!" Launchpad replied. Fenton grasped Launchpad's hand as Launchpad began to lead them both through the hospital's hallways.
"Are you okay?" Fenton tugged Launchpad to a stop, glancing him up and down, locking in on a cut on Launchpad's cheek.
"I'm fine, no concussion, nothing broken, just some bruises. Ice and rest will have me as good as new in no time."
Fenton reached up and brushed his fingers around the feathers on Launchpad's cheek. "And Drake?"
"He'll be okay, Fenton. He was real worried about canceling on the marathon."
"Oh, that blathering- "
"Fenton, we're alright. Come see. He's just down the hall."
Launchpad steeled his nerves as he led Fenton to the end of the hall, almost shocked when he heard nothing unusual, just soft chattering and whirring equipment. He knocked gently on the wall, "Drake, you've got a guest."
"Oh? What are you waiting for? Come in!"
"Good to see you're not arguing with your doctors."
"I would never! I'm so well beh- Fenton?"
Launchpad felt tension seep from his shoulders at the sight of the relief on his two friends' faces. Fenton scurried from Launchpad's side, scanning Drake up and down. "Drake? Are you alright?"
"What are you even doing here, Fen?"
Taking the nickname in stride, Fenton glanced around the room, gaze lingering on the hen actively stitching Drake's left arm up. He swallowed, shook his head, then asked, "Excuse me, miss? Is there a cloth I could use somewhere? Some of the blood is crusting on his feathers."
The hen looked up, eyes soft, glancing between the three ducks in the room, "Course, honey. Check the cabinet above the sink, it should be unlocked."
Fenton followed the instructions, grabbing the cloth and running it under the sink. Launchpad took the moment to pull up a chair near the foot of Drake's bed. "How are you feelin' Drake?"
"Confused, mostly. Everything's a little fuzzy. And bright." Drake winced, beak screwing up as the hen continued sewing. "I can't even feel it, really, it's odd. Everything's just a little... off. Y'know?" Drake paused, sighing and leaning forward, slightly, "I'm glad you're back, both of you," he added as Fenton saddled up beside him, dabbing at dried blood above his eyebrow.
"I'm meant to be cleaning you up from stunts. Not dangerous car accidents, Drake."
"I know, I know. Hey, now we're even, I think."
"Not even close, but I'll let it slide. What even happened?"
Launchpad watched the two superheroes lightly bicker as Fenton cleaned Drake up. Concern was still littering his gaze, but he looked lighter while talking to Drake.
"I'm not going to lie, I don't entirely remember. We were nearby enough that Launchpad, the big worrywart, just decided to carry me over here. I think I would've been fine."
"Drake, you're getting stitches right now," Launchpad interjected.
Drake glanced over at his arm, "Well, would you look at that?"
Fenton hummed, satisfied with his cleaning, and tossed the rag into the contaminated laundry basket. "I can't believe you were worried about the Darkwing marathon, of all things. I've never felt closer to understanding my M'ma's frustration about my priorities than in that moment."
"You told him?" Drake shot a playful glare Launchpad's way.
"Of course I did, Drake. You were fighting me on if we were going to the hospital."
Fenton pulled a chair up next to Launchpad's, the hen finishing up her stitches. "X-ray techs should be by soon to collect him, if you need anything, he has a call button on his remote. The nurse's station is just down the hallway to your left."
"Thank you!" All three called as the hen left.
After a moment of impatient silence, Fenton hopped back out of his chair, looking at Drake's ankle. "I'm no medical doctor, but I'm pretty sure they're going to tell you this is broken. Does it hurt?"
"If I say no, you won't believe me, right?" Drake's focus seemed to waver. "Everything kinda aches, kinda pulses. I'll be alright though, pretty sure it's all superficial."
Fenton mumbled under his breath as he took to fluttering around Drake, checking him over. Drake and Launchpad watched him flutter, Drake with a mild fascination, and Launchpad with slight confusion.
"Fenton, buddy, are you alright?"
Fenton paused from where he was examining the fresh stitches on Drake's arm. "I'm alright, promise, just have a lot of energy, that's all."
"Hey, look at me," Drake leaned down into Fenton's eyeline. "I'm right here, and I'm alright. Just a little banged up. I've been through worse, and probably will go through worse—"
"Let's not say that—"
"But I'm here, and fine. It's like Darkwing says, I'll always get back up."
Fenton paused, blinking at Drake. "You've been through worse?"
Launchpad froze, rapidly realizing his predicament. Drake seemed aware enough to not reveal his identity, but again, Launchpad wasn't sure Drake's Actor™ Smile had ever fully faded. And Fenton.... Launchpad looked at Fenton, clearly shaken by Drake being in the hospital. Launchpad couldn't place the look in Fenton's eyes, he didn't know him quite well enough to recognize the furrow of his brow, but Launchpad knew he didn't like it.
"I mean, sure," Drake began, breaking Fenton's gaze. "Stuff happens."
Fenton seemed to pause, more on the tip of his tongue, but Launchpad watched as he shook the thought away. He went to dab at Drake's cuts, pausing before realizing he had tossed the rag away, already. "Stuff does happen, certainly to you, Drake."
Launchpad deflated as Drake took the bait. "What is that supposed to mean? I'm pretty sure you fell asleep on Launchpad's couch a week and a half ago!"
"And at the beginning of this month who tripped on set and fell into a rosebush?"
Launchpad found himself grinning at the bickering pair of ducks in front of him, for the first time in a few hours feeling the tension flood out of him. He couldn't keep in the chuckle, wouldn't even have dreamed of it. Both pairs of eyes landed on him, almost immediately.
"He's laughing at us," Drake stage-whispered to Fenton.
"I think he, maybe, is allowed to laugh. He crashes more than us and yet ends up the least injured."
"Don't discredit yourselves, you two seem to find yourself in increasingly drastic situations." Drake and Fenton exchanged half of a glance, resettling their looks on Launchpad. Launchpad felt their stares, and more importantly, the weight of their secrets, as he continued, "It comes with being a Scrooge McDuck employee. Ask just about anyone."
"I think he's got a point." Fenton stage-whispered back, causing Drake to break down into chuckles.
After a moment, the three snapped to attention at a knock on the wall. A swan approached with a portable hospital bed and another nurse. "Now... which one of you is Drake Mallard?"
Launchpad and Fenton gestured to Drake, who chuckled in response. "Are you the team coming to tell me my ankle is broken?"
The swan half-smiled, good-naturedly, "Yes, we are. We'll have him back soon enough, probably no more than twenty minutes, then someone will come to update you three on a care treatment and hand you some paperwork."
"Thank you!" Launchpad chimed, helping Drake onto the new bed. "Behave, Drake." Drake didn't have much of a chance to protest as he was wheeled out of the room.
Fenton, finally, retook his seat, anxious energy converting into a leg bounce rather than fluttering. He turned towards Launchpad, "I know you said you were alright, but it's very possible the adrenaline had stopped you from feeling anything more severe. How are you now?"
"I am still fine, Fenton, promise." At Fenton's gaze sharpening, Launchpad added, "Sore. If anything. I was terrified, especially when Drake didn't want to go to the hospital, but he's going to be alright, and I'm going to be alright."
"Absolutely. Does Scrooge know? Do I need to let him know- no, I'll let him and Gyro know I won't be at work tomorrow."
"Woah, Fenton, you don't need to do that."
"Please, let me. It's the least I can do. And we can use Darkwing Duck to keep Drake on bed rest. How did you guys crash? Did someone hit you?"
Launchpad hesitated for a moment. He studied Fenton and the surrounding room, grabbing Fenton's hand. "Fenton, don't worry about it for now, alright? Half the city is probably waiting to hear why Gizmoduck was out and about at this time of night. You're usually on day patrol, after all."
Fenton's leg stopped bouncing. He rubbed his thumb against Launchpad's feathers, gently misaligning and realigning them. "You're right. But if there's anything I can do-"
"Just stay. I think your company will really help Drake not go crazy."
"I can do that. I can absolutely do that."
"There's a lobby just down the hall, if you'd like to go call Scrooge. And Ms. C. I'm going to figure out how to get us home, considering it'll be quite suspicious that you don't have a car here."
"Blather- yeah, you're right. Thank you, Launchpad. I'll be back. Call me if you need anything."
"Breathe, Fenton," Launchpad smiled as Fenton disappeared to call his mother. After confirming Fenton wasn't going to come sprinting back at a mere moment of being separated, Launchpad pulled out his own phone and texted Scrooge.
Launchpad McQuack - Today at 2:32 AM
Sorry for the text, Mr. McD! Can I borrow a limo?
There was a pause.
Mr. McDuck - Today at 2:33 AM
Aye, laddie. You don' needa ask. Shall I send Donald to drive the limo over?
Launchpad McQuack - Today at 2:33 AM
Good call, Mr. McD! Tell Mr. D. I'm sorry for waking him up!
Mr. McDuck - Today at 2:35 AM
Don't worry about it, lad. He's on his way, he'll text you when he's arrived.
Launchpad McQuack - Today at 2:35 AM
How is he getting home?
Mr. McDuck - Today at 2:36 AM
LP, worry about those two superheroes you have to wrangle.
Launchpad McQuack - Today at 2:37 AM
Understood, Mr. McDuck!
Launchpad inhaled. Exhaled. He let the noise echo around the small room, taking in the calm. After a few moments, Fenton reappeared in the doorway, feathers on the top of his head mussed from stress. Overall, though, Launchpad noted, he looked infinitely more relaxed than when he had left the room.
"Scrooge told me he would handle Gyro and just focus on taking care of Drake. Can you believe I ever thought that guy was scary?"
Launchpad snorted, scrubbing at his eyes. The fatigue of the day had started to set in, and Launchpad still had to drive the group back to the garage.
The two sat in comfortable silence together until Launchpad's phone buzzed.
Mr. D. - Today at 2:42 AM
lp, I'm outside.
"I'll be right back. Hold down the fort while I'm gone."
"Will do!"
Launchpad found his way back out to the front desk, to the front of the hospital, and then to the parking lot, where the inconspicuous limousine was parked. Donald was standing outside the driver's door, swinging the keys on his finger.
"Thanks for coming, Mr. D."
"Launchpad, you don't have to call me that. Besides, it was no worries at all. Is everyone okay?"
"Drake's getting his ankle x-rayed. The theory is, it's broken. And Fenton was definitely ready to hunt down whoever crashed into us, but I think I've calmed him down, now."
"And you?"
"I'm okay, now. Ready to go home and watch Darkwing Duck until I can't keep my eyes open, but I am okay."
"Good. I'm glad you called, LP." Donald reached up to give him a hug, wrapping his arms around LP's shoulders.
Launchpad cautiously returned the hug, taken minimally aback. Launchpad knew he was invited to Duck/McDuck family dinners, and he knew each member of the family, and yet, something seemed to disconnect from the dining table to the hospital parking lot.
"Uncle Scrooge is planning another family dinner, soon. He thinks Drake and Fenton don't understand that they're family, yet." Donald half-whispered, still holding Launchpad.
"That's a really good idea."
Donald finally pulled away, gently smiling at the taller duck, handing him the keys. "Let us know if you need anything, Launchpad."
"You got it, Mr. D!"
Donald, who had begun to walk away, paused. "You don't need to call me that."
The dark parking lot felt like an entirely different world from the one inside the hospital, from the one he lived in a few hours ago. "Alright, Donald. Get home safe."
Satiated, Donald smiled. "Will do, Launchpad. You as well."
Launchpad ensured the limo was locked before he headed back inside the hospital, bracing himself for what he might find. In Drake's temporary room, though, he found Drake, lightly dozing, and Fenton, lightly messing with his hair.
Fenton quietly whispered, "They're bringing his discharge paperwork around soon. His ankle is indeed broken, hence the cast. I'll fill you in."
Launchpad took his seat beside the two, chuckling to himself, softly. They were all going to be fine.
Launchpad McQuack - Today at 3:13 AM
We made it home okay! I've got them.
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