Spring had finally arrived, and he hated every single second of it.
The other four had run off after hearing his insane cackling and the sound of chainsaws, and the last he'd seen of them was an electrical arc sparking over downtown. Momentarily, he lost electricity; however, a few minutes later they came right back up again, almost exactly to the second he expected. "Idiots can't do anything right," he groused as he sharpened his insanely large knife. It was his new toy, though somewhat useless unless he got up close and personal; he had carved a giant slug into the handle, crossed out with an X. Admittedly, it was a pretty bad drawing, but it was the spirit of the idea that mattered.
Late afternoon, the four pitiful morons he called a crew came shambling back, looking as if they'd been in the oven too long. Except for Liquidator; he looked the same, just a little more annoyed. Maybe a little thinner. When they saw him peering out through the crack of the door, glaring at them for disturbing his peace, they all but ran into the other room. He took the opportunity to barricade it shut, cackling some more for good measure. "I'll let you out when I feel like it!" he shouted at them as they banged on the wood, dusting his hands off.
Outside was ridiculously bright and green. He glared out the window as if everything had personally offended him, and picked an axe to grind. After a while, he couldn't hear the other four continuing to pound on the door, which meant they'd either gotten smarter - after all, Liquidator could just slide under the blasted thing - or they were commiserating about how horrible he was. What a joke; of course he was horrible. He wouldn't be Negaduck if he weren't a bad sort.
That didn't mean he was without a strange sort of honour. After all, he could, if he wanted, walk right out of his hideout, up to Avian Way-he even knew a shortcut-and knock on the door. He could kill his namby pamby counterpart and his stupid sidekick before they even blinked, and it never seemed to occur to the idiot that he knew. Of course he knew. Darkwing Dumb-Dumb had been to the Negaverse and had seen the exact parallel; they even lived in the same house and used the bridge as a base of operations. They had the same neighbor. Negaduck even had similar pictures of himself and Gosalyn on the walls, though he wouldn't admit it under threat of death.
Gosalyn loved spring. His Gosalyn, at least; he had seen the half-mad tomboy that ran wild under Darkwing's care, getting herself into trouble left and right. He couldn't imagine the girl who dressed up as a superhero herself stopping to pick wildflowers like his daughter loved to do. She would bring home bouquets of them to "brighten up the house," stinking up the place with the scent of green living things. The Muddlefoots laughed at her whenever she came outside to toss them in the garbage after they died, sometimes tossing her in with them. He'd come home to find her climbing out of the can, brushing herself off, and acting as if nothing had happened, still smiling despite bits of dead leaf in her pigtails. Granted, he toyed with her as well, but she knew he would never honestly hurt her. Her trust in him despite his fury was absolute.
His axe was ground to a nub. Grunting, he tossed it aside.
"I'm leaving you little worthless babies in there until you figure out how to get yourselves out! Maybe by the time I get back you'll have eaten each other." All he heard was some weak pounding in response, and he began to whistle as he sauntered out into the hazy day, clanking as he walked. It was amazing how much ammo and weaponry one can hide under a cape on a warm day.
Spring had finally arrived, and he loved every second of it.
The Four Little Lost Bunnies had come to town for a commercial, and he had merrily rampaged across the set, setting fire to the backgrounds and destroying everything his chainsaw could chew through. His only regret was that he wouldn't be eating rabbit stew, the little menaces getting away, but one can't have everything.
Dr. Slug's Sluggees tried to corner him in an alley, realizing too late how stupid that idea was when he hit them with a HyperSoaker full of salt water. "Number 2, huh?! Ahahahahaha! Eat salty death!"
No mail box went unbroken as he sped down the street on a stolen bicycle-some times, the simplest plans were the best-swinging his spiked bat like a demented ball player. When someone ran out to chase him with a bat of their own, he pulled out his rocket launcher. The sudden reverse and outright world record set as the poor soul tried to outrun the rocket was classic, and he even managed to take out a cluster of cars. "Ah, my baby; where would I be without you?" he crooned, hugging his toy.
It really had shaped up to be a perfect day.
Until a net fell on his head, dragging his hat down over his head, and tripping him flat.
"Having fun causing chaos, Negaslime? Don't bother getting up; Quiverwing Quack has her arrow on you!"
"That...is a terrible threat." He managed to untangle his arms enough to push his hat up, glaring at the diminutive chick. Who did, in fact, have an arrow aimed at him. A rather sharp one. Clearly, Darkwing had managed to drill the notion of playing with sharp objects into her brain easier than he had with his Gosalyn.
Luckily, he always carried sharp objects, and Quiverwing yelped as he withdrew one of his knives, cutting himself free in one swift motion. "Stay where you are!" she shouted, re-adjusting her aim.
"Ah, don't worry, kid; you're not worth it. Now, if you can drag that worthless crimefighter Darkwing out here, maybe I'll consider getting my hands dirty." He buffed the knife clean on his sleeve and tucked it back into his cape as she continued to aim at him, though her arm was beginning to shake. Rolling his eyes, he touched the tip of the arrow, pushing it down. "Beat it, kid."
"Excuse me!?" A snarl of pure rage accompanied her renewed aim. "I'm a superhero just as much as da-I mean, Darkwing Duck! I have my own legion of fans, you know! I can fight crime better than him!"
Negaduck snorted, folding his arms. "Well, get on with it then. Shoot me. I don't have all day."
Her bow drooped again, though she continued to glare at him. "I can't just shoot you, you have to fight back at least!"
"Why? I'm Negaduck. I'm eeeeevil, right?"
"Well, yeah, duh."
They stared at one another for a silent minute; somewhere, he could hear crickets chirping, a sound foreign in his universe. A world of chaos and destruction was simply too loud to hear such a simple noise. How strange that it didn't bother him.
He could see a dandelion beneath Quiverwing's boot, crushed in her advance towards him. His Gosalyn would have been devastated; this Gosalyn hadn't even noticed. For some reason, he felt obligated to point it out, and he did so: "You stepped on a dandelion."
"What?" Her bow dropped completely, and she stupidly looked down at her foot. When she saw the flower, she blinked up at him. "So? It's just a stupid dandelion."
"Yeah. Stupid. My Gosalyn loves them more than puppies. She'd be crying her eyes out if she were here, trying to fluff it back up." He could hear her sudden sharp intake of breath, and he smirked at her. "Oh come on. I know my goody two-shoes counterpart is dumb, but is he really that dense?"
Quiverwing's hands were twisting around the handle of her bow, wood beginning to creak. "N-No. He said he had closed off the way to your world, but...I guess I never thought about it. Not really. I don't think Dad has either." She looked down, staring at the mangled flower. "You can't go home, can you?"
When he had managed to find an exit out of the dimensional vortex, he had been dismayed to realize he was back in Darkwing's world. He had adjusted quickly, but everything was still off-kilter to him, and the pleasure he gained in wrecking havoc was tempered by the realization he might never get back home. Gosalyn's question almost hurt as it reminded him of the truth again.
"Though about asking Morgana if she could whip up a spell. It might be a little difficult, since she hates my guts." He thought of the Morgana in the Negaverse, a sweet, pathetically innocent white witch; she worked in vain as a librarian at the St. Canard public library despite constant vandalism. Against his better nature he had flirted with her more than once, and when he saw Darkwing with her criminal sorceress counterpart all but draped over his arm, he had almost laughed. It seemed everything had a parallel; where he had no love life, Darkwing was a Casanova.
"You...am I all alone, then? Again?"
Quiverwing sounded almost pathetically close to tears as she asked, sheathing her arrow and slinging her bow onto her back. He could hear the hollow echo in her voice that she had the night he rescued her, cheerfully smiling despite her loneliness. Negaduck snorted, waving flippantly at her as if it were nothing important.
"Nah, the Friendly Four morons are taking care of her, from what Darkwing told me. Or the Darkwing's Ducks, or whatever stupid name he gave them. Whatever. She's in good hands. Probably better fathers than I was." That hurt. Telling Quiverwing that was akin to suicide; he wasn't supposed to feel anything but rage and lunacy. He couldn't have her know he was soft.
He almost fell over when she hugged him.
He nearly died when she kissed him on the cheek.
"You were a great dad, dad." She took his hand, setting the crumpled dandelion in his palm. "I'm sorry I crushed it."
"I...what? Huh?" he babbled, not knowing what else to say. Rage and lunacy was no good for situations like this. Well. Lunacy was arguably a fall back, but not with Gosalyn.
He held the flower and continued to stare at it as she ran off, more than likely heading home to her father. Would she tell him the truth, yelling at him for being so dense? Oddly, he had the feeling she wouldn't say anything; if he knew himself-and he did-it would do nothing but throw his counterpart into the reverse, anger instead of shame. He'd be banging down his door, trying to pick a fight with the evil bastard who lied to his little girl.
It stung to admit that he and Darkwing were not always as opposite as they wanted to believe, though he was still convinced he was the smarter one: good was always dumb. After all, Darkwing had not disposed of his old name as easily as he had; there was not two Drake Mallards in the phone book. He had made sure "Negaduck" took up half the page, and had threatened the clerk to make sure. "Darkwing," by contrast, only took up two rather pitiful lines.
The dandelion left a smear of yellow on his finger as he puffed it up. Maybe he'd put it in some water when he got back to the hideout. Maybe he wouldn't.
Days later as he revved up his chainsaw and headed after the retreating flash of purple, he had it tucked into his hat; if nothing else, it served as a distraction to throw Darkwing off his game. And that was always fun, no matter what the season.
