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The "Dead Duck" Trilogy
Part Two

By Draca


Darkwing studied Morgana's face as she broke the news to him----the news that there was nothing anyone could do to save him. To bring him back. He lowered his head in sadness.

"I'm very sorry, Dark, dearest," said Morgana softly, a tear welling in her eye.

Before any of them could react further, a figure appeared by the tall clock as it began its gloomy midnight chime. The spectre was dressed in a black hooded robe and carried a long scythe in one bony hand. It was not hard to determine who this figure was.

"Ah, Mr. Mallard? I trust there won't be any more stalling?" demanded Death, regarding him with----well, actually, no one could tell how Death was regarding him, as the Grim Reaper's face, rather fortunately, was not visible.

Darkwing's sigh would have broken anyone else's heart. But then, if you're a skeleton, what kind of heart could you have? "Just give me one more minute to say goodbye."

"Very well . . ." said Death condescendingly. "One more minute." As he drifted toward the wall he murmured to himself, "I do hope I'm not going soft . . ."

Darkwing turned to Morgana. "Goodbye, Morgana," he said sadly, placing his ghostly hands over hers and giving her a kiss on the cheek. "I'm sorry we never got a chance to get together."

Launchpad was already in tears as his partner approached him. The pilot couldn't bring himself to meet Darkwing's gaze; he kept his eyes tightly shut in denial of what was about to happen. "So long, pal. You were the best sidekick I ever worked with!" Darkwing gripped his best friend's shoulder, trying to reassure him. After a pause, he added thoughtfully, with a soft chuckle, "Of course, you were the only sidekick that . . ."

Darkwing moved past him, saying, "Take good care of Gosalyn," in such a soft voice it was almost inaudible. Gosalyn was crying loudly and there was no mistaking the anguish in her face as she turned away, eyes shut tight as tears streamed down her face. Darkwing knelt down, placing a hand gently on her shoulder and wishing he could hug her properly. Gosalyn forced herself to choke back the sobs and look up at her father one more time----the last time. There was a tremor in the crimefighter's voice. "Bye-bye, Gosalyn, Honey. I love you! Remember: wash behind your ears, eat your vegetables, stay out of prison . . ."

"Darkwing," said Death patiently, "We really must be going."

Darkwing rose, swallowing at the lump in his throat. But he did not want to make his family sadder than they already were. "Well, so long everybody." He gave a lopsided smile. "Don't expect any postcards."

He turned and looked at the Grim Reaper. "All right, I'm ready. Let's go."

Darkwing Duck----crimefighter, admirer, partner, and father----turned away with Death and walked out the door; but it was really the last door that everyone will eventually walk through some day.

Launchpad choked through the tears. "Look at him," he wept. "Look how brave he is!"

Darkwing walked down the long path alongside Death, head held high, shoulders back, accepting with a quiet dignity and strength the fact that all living creatures must one day end their time in this world, and indeed, Darkwing's time was up and it was----

"Oh, come ON!" cried Darkwing, falling to his knees and holding out his folded hands at Death in supplication. "I don't WANNA die! Come on, don't make me, don't make me, give me a chance! I'll never ride without a helmet again! I'll never ride without a helmet again! I promise, I promise, I----"

SNAP.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"STOP!"

Death looked down in annoyance at Darkwing's frozen form. The duck was still kneeling, hands folded almost in prayer, looking up at the featureless form of the Grim Reaper's darkened, unseeable face. His eyes were pleading, his beak forming the word "promise" even as he remained frozen in a time lock.

By the time Death looked back up, the surrounding scenery had already changed from the dark gloomy form of Morgana McCawber's mansion to a cloudlike place of light and dark. There was a glittering to the dull colors, a brightness to the night-like background. The shadows were illuminating the figure of Death and the motionless Darkwing Duck.

It was the land known as Limbo.

But Death was quite familiar with Limbo. And at the moment, that was not what was concerning him.

What was concerning him was the sight of a tremendous hoard of people surging his way. Their numbers were too great to count quickly; well, not for Death, but he had no particular need or desire to bother with such petty details as numbers. He had other things to deal with.

The group of people stopped before him and Darkwing, all talking at once.

"SILENCE!" bellowed Death; and when Death gives you an order, you listen.

Everyone immediately stopped talking.

"That's better," said Death calmly, arranging his robes around him. "Now, what's this all about?"

A bit of struggle from the group. At last, a tall duck with long, dark blonde hair, glasses framing her blue eyes, and (most noticeably) long, folded dragon wings trailing behind her, stepped forward. A large red parrot perched on her left shoulder; a small silver dragoness was hanging from her wings and had wound its long sinewy neck over the duck's, so that the dragoness could tuck her head over the girl's right shoulder and see what was going on.

The duck paused a moment, then spoke. "My name's Draca----"

"More or less," said Death, in what would have been for anyone else a simpering tone.

Draca blushed a deep crimson but ignored the comment. "I'm Draca, or D'Artagnan, or Calvina Rex, or whatever name you'd like to give me. And this is Iago," indicating the parrot, "And Sherith," pointing to the tiny dragoness.

"And these are all my friends," she said, waving a hand to the crowd.

"All of them?" said Death quietly.

She frowned. "I don't know them all by name. But we all have a common link. That can make us all friends. We've come for the same reason."

"And what, pray tell, would that be?" asked Death, who knew very well.

She waved a wing tip to point to everyone behind her. "We----we've come to tell you that you can't do this."

"Do what?" asked Death, still calm.

Another figure stepped forward to stand beside Draca. A pine martin, her eyes shining. "You can't take Darkwing Duck away."

"And you are . . . ?"

"I am Alice Martin. Hazel. Mainecoon. And I am telling you, you can't take Darkwing Duck!"

"I think you're all to be quite surprised to find out what I can and can not do," said Death morbidly (which, now that I think of it, is a redundancy. But I'm only the storyteller, and that's what happened).

"I bet," muttered Iago coldly.

"Iago," hissed Draca, but it was Sherith's menacing glare that silenced him. The parrot settled for glaring at Death sternly.

Other fans were pushing forward.

"You can't," insisted someone else. It was Serena, shaking her head. "Darkwing Duck can't die. Not now!"

"Of course he can," said Death reasonably. "Any creature can die now. Or do you obsessed fans think that Mr. Mallard is above the Laws of Nature?"

"No," sighed Draq, shaking her wings. "It's not that at all."

"Look," added LL, almost snappily, as she glared at Death. "Why are you being so difficult?"

Malcho and Don Justin regarded LL rather nervously. "Don't worry," she assured her two friends, "I'm not mad at you."

"Boy, I know how you guys feel," murmured Iago companionably to the two from the corner of his beak. "You should see Draca when something makes her mad!"

Sherith whacked him with her tail, looking defensive.

"NOT NOW!" shrieked Jean from her place next to Lady J, silencing them all. "There is a more important issue at the moment. Now, Mr. Reaper, why are you being so difficult?"

"I am Death, after all," answered the Reaper, as if that explained it all.

"Thanks for the help," someone muttered from the rear of the bunch.

"What do you want me to do?" demanded Death, glaring at the back of the group; not that anyone could tell that, his eyes not being visible. "Why do you people always try to talk me out of these things?"

"Though I'll give you this," he added, eyeing the group, "Not many come to speak on another's behalf like this."

Death sighed as the band of fanatics missed the clue he had tried to give them. Ah well. There was still a chance that they would----

"The world needs Darkwing Duck," said Lady J, tears in her eyes. Jean nodded in agreement, her eyes glimmering. Lady J continued, "What are all those people going to do without a superhero to protect them?"

" 'Those people'?" questioned Death.

"You know," said Zippy, looking at the Reaper nervously. "The citizens of St. Canard."

"Ah."

"Come on!" cried Electra, clenching her hands at her side. "You know what we're talking about!"

"Darkwing Duck is a hero," said the Lauderdale, looking down at the motionless form of the duck, still in the time-frozen kneeling position. "A crimefighter. A vigilante. He protects all of St. Canard!"

"So do the police," said Death, fingering his scythe.

"It's not the same," sighed Renard, looking tired. "Darkwing puts his whole heart and soul into what he's doing. It's his life. He has to be one of the most worthwhile people in all St. Canard!"

"Certainly more worthwhile than Herb Muddlefoot," snickered Iago.

"NOT NOW!" shrieked half a dozen people, Draca included.

"Sorry," he huffed.

Rirse was nodding in agreement to Renard's statement. "Who's going to protect the city of St. Canard if Darkwing is . . . gone? The Fearsome Five and F.O.W.L. and all the rest of them are still out there! They'll be no stopping them! Who will fight for justice if Darkwing can't?"

"Gizmoduck?" suggested Death.

"I can't believe you said that," said Niniane in shock, staring at Death.

"There will be other crimefighters. Not every city has a crimefighter, you know."

"St. Canard does," Voodoo Doll shot at him. "They need him."

"This is hardly my problem," Death said rather moodily. "You all are wasting my time."

"Don't you care about all those people?" cried Mystie.

"Of course, but I must say I am much more rational than you people are," said Death idly. "There were criminals before Mr. Mallard became a hero and there will be criminals a thousand years from now. One more crazy costumed clown hardly makes a difference."

"But he does!" shouted that same voice from the back.

"What about Julieanne?" asked Draca, a tear dripping from her eye. "Darkwing has made a difference for her! He'll make a difference for others, too!"

"Julieanne and her family is hardly my concern," Death said in a snarling tone. Everyone shrank back in alarm. "I can not be made responsible for natural happenings. Unless there is a true reason why you can convince me that it is not Darkwing's time. And since you haven't----"

"You don't think helping all those people is a good enough reason?" gasped Diane.

"He's helped enough people! His job may be finished in St. Canard! That's hardly my department!" hissed Death. "Doesn't it occur to you that the fact that he's helped so many makes an excellent reason for him to die now? I assure you, he'll be going right to Heaven."

"May be finished?" asked Lady J, pouncing on the all-important statement.

"I told you, I don't know," said Death patiently. "And neither do you. None of you know if Darkwing will be able to do any more good in St. Canard than he's already done. So if that's the end of your argument----"

"Wait!" cried Dawn, speaking for the first time. "You said he's done his work in St. Canard. Well, what about his family?"

Death paused. "What do you mean?"

"His family," repeated Dawn, looking at the spectre with a steady gaze. "He has a girlfriend (well, sort of) and a best friend and partner who really care about him. And his little girl! Gosalyn's just nine. She's just a child! She still needs her father to raise her!"

"My dear," sighed Death, "Fathers die every day. That is hardly a reason for me to return Mr. Mallard to his city."

"But Gosalyn does need her father," said Mainecoon, her eyes unreadable.

"Everyone needs a father," agreed Death. "The world doesn't work that way. I assure you, however, Gosalyn will be able to deal with this. Darkwing revived the spirit in her. It is alive and well. Her father will live on in her. And she has Mr. McQuack and Ms. McCawber to assist her now. Even those strange neighbors of her's will be a source of support for her."

"Her spirit will be crushed," said LL quietly.

"No," said Death levelly, "If anything, her spirit will be strengthened."

No one could speak.

"Do you mean to say," said Zippy at last, "that you believe that this is a good think for Gosalyn?"

"Perhaps," said Death, and if he had had an eyebrow to raise, he would have been raising it then. "Grief can be a source of strengthening. You all know that. And I don't know if I'd say that this is a good thing for Gosalyn; but perhaps! Who's to say? That is not my department."

"Just what is your department, you ly----"

Malcho hissed and Iago withdrew once more, sulking this time.

"Now, you've managed to reassure me that both the city of St. Canard and the Mallard family will do just fine without their Darkwing Duck," said Death as silence descended around the atmosphere. "So if you will excuse me, I must be going. It's time----his Time."

Death turned to Darkwing, waving his scythe through the air around the motionless mallard. A glimmering light of white and black began to shine about him.

"Thank you for the entertainment," said Death, as the light began to pulse.

"Wait!" cried Dawn. "Give us more time!"

Death turned away from Darkwing, the light surrounding him disappearing instantly. "More time for what?" the Reaper demanded.

"Time to think!" Wonder Girl cried, as Voodoo Doll bit her lip. "Time to figure out how to----"

"Convince me?" hissed Death, as two red-hot coals suddenly began to glow in the recesses of his hood. Everyone shrank back in alarm. He continued speaking as a bright black light enveloped him, and he seemed to grow almost twice his original size. "I am tired of you people trying to convince me all the time! A creature's time to die is a creature's time to die, which is something that can not be changed! As if the pathetic snivelling and whining I always hear could change that! I've had quite enough of these games! But," and there was a sudden hint of craftiness in his posture and voice, "If you all insist on playing them, let us even the score and do away with all these silly complications."

Death snapped his fingers, and there was a sound like a silent thunderclap. A flash of black lightning. And when it was over, there was no longer a group of great dragons and ducks, foxes and faeries, cats and canines, creatures so magnificent they were indescribable in terms outside of the imagination. All that was left was a group of humans. Regular, run-of-the-mill humans. A few adults, a few children, many teenagers and young adults. But that was all.

Everyone looked quite crestfallen.

"There," sighed Death tranquilly, surveying the group with satisfaction. "Now that I can see what I'm dealing with, you may continue."

Iago, who now had been reduced to nothing but a ghostly echo reverberating through the air just like all the other true characters, except of course for Darkwing himself, snapped, "What did you do that for?"

"Why, isn't it obvious?" grinned Death; at least, his voice was grinning. "I have decided to play the game on my own score now. If you all insist on whining at me, you are going to do it as you truly are----a sorry bunch of humans, pathetic humans, with no more power or mysticism than any of the other humans out there! No more hiding behind false identities, trying to live a life that's not yours!"

"At least they're alive," whispered Sherith through the air, "Unlike some people."

"Yes, well," sighed Death, ignoring the jibe.

"Change us back!" cried Serena. "We can't----"

"You most certainly can not," sighed Death contentedly. "I have much more control over you than you realize, especially here and now, in Limbo, with you all trying to bargain with me."

"What exactly have you done?" demanded Dawn, a strange quiver in her voice.

"Isn't it obvious?" said Death in smooth tones. "I have taken away your nonsuchical false pretences, those indulgent fantasies you spend so much time in!"

There was a sudden flash of dreaded understanding in the Lauderdale's eyes. "You've taken away our imaginations, haven't you?"

"In a word---yes." Death's tone was cold.

No one could speak.

"Imagination is the only magic the humans have left," explained Death, ignoring the stunned shock that had fallen over the crowd. "Most of those imbeciles think imagination is another word for believing in lies. It's not. It's making the unreal real, the impossible possible. It is what makes you truly a dragon, or a duck, or a fox, or a martin. It's what makes you believe, it's what makes you who you are.

"And now it's gone."

Niniane finally spoke, being the first to be able to overcome the hollow emptiness they were all feeling, the feeling that half of their being was missing----which it was. "But we'll get it back when we leave Limbo . . . right?"

"NO."

Silence again. What could anyone say?

"Finally," sighed Death, exasperated. "I can go!"

The white blackness was wrapping around Darkwing again.

"I know," said a quiet voice suddenly.

The light disappeared once more as Death turned.

Everyone turned to see Draca, her eyes glimmering with tears. "I know," she repeated softly.

Death drifted closer to the group, but no one shrank back this time. He looked down in empty blackness at the teenager, watching her closely. For the first time, when he spoke, his voice was almost gentle. "You know what?"

"I know why you can't take Darkwing away."

There was almost a note of hope in Death's voice, if you can imagine. "And what reason might that be?"

A tear slid down Draca's face. "We need him."

Death smiled to himself. "What was that?"

A second tear followed the first. "We need him."

Dawn's eyes shone. "We can't prove that St. Canard still needs him----"

"----And we can't prove that his family still needs him," Lady J jumped in.

"----But we still need him," finished Dawn. "Now more than ever."

"He gives us hope," said Mainecoon softly, lowering her eyes as they brimmed with tears. "Sometimes, he reminds us of who we really are."

"Not ducks or sorceresses, or bears or rabbits, or these mythical powerful beings," said Voodoo Doll suddenly, as she realized something important. "Darkwing Duck, in his own way, helps make us us."

"He is what makes us who we are," said Draca, still crying. "We all love many things in this world, and Darkwing is one of them. He's important to us all. Take that away, and you'll be taking away a part of us. Not even the St. Canard part of us. Just us. What we are in the purest sense. Just what makes us be ourselves. The people. The humans."

"You know," Iago broke in, unable to stay silent any longer, "A sorry bunch of pathetic humans?"

Death smiled a real smile to himself.

"That's why Darkwing Duck can't die," sobbed Draca. "Because he's a part of us. And that's one part of us that will never die, with or without our imaginations, and no matter what you do!"

Death laid a hand on her shoulder----it was like having a piece of frozen iron strapped to your arm. Draca shivered. "That's all I needed to hear from you all."

No flashy theatrics. There was a simple snapping of Death's fingers, and as soon as they all heard the

SNAP.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"----promise! I'll even wear a helmet to bed!"

Darkwing opened streaming eyes to find himself in his pajamas, in his own bed, clutching onto Launchpad's shirt in a (he swallowed hard) death grip.

"Whoa, easy on the fabric, D.W.!" said Launchpad, easing off Drake's grip on his shirt.

"Launchpad?" cried Drake in shock.

"That's some bump you got on your head there!" explained the pilot, patting Drake on the head as he spoke.

"It's a miracle you weren't killed," added Gosalyn from her place beside his bed. Drake whirled on her, eyes wide. "O-Oh, but Gosalyn, I was killed! And you were there, and you, and----and I'm NOT dead! I'm alive! I'm really alive!"

He jumped from the bed, grabbing her into his arms in a huge hug. He set her joyfully on the floor again, then went dashing throughout his bedroom, grabbing the pile of papers next to his typewriter and flinging them joyfully into the air before skipping out the door. He was too happy to care. He was alive and he was home. That was all that mattered.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The varied collection of creatures looked down on the scene from their place in the stars. "A job well done, wouldn't you say?" asked the pine martin.

"Most definitely," sighed the dragon, gazing on the happy scene with joyful eyes.

"Who would have known that the answer was so simple?" asked the tiny silver dragoness beside her.

"Not you, obviously," shot back the red parrot, then dashed away to avoid being hit by the snake-like dragon and canine pirate coming from behind him.

"All in all," continued the fox, "You have to admit that it was pretty cool to be able to help Darkwing like that."

"After all he's done for us," grinned the priestess from Avalon.

"Yeah," beamed that voice again, lurking from back in the shadows. "Looks like we need Darkwing just as much as he needs us!"

"Absolutely," sighed the girl, her eyes hopeful. "I'm glad we finally figured it out."

"Of course we need Darkwing," said the pine martin. "Everybody needs someone like that. We all need hope in our lives."

"We get hope from lots of places," the canine pointed out. "We're not about to lose St. Canard."

The silver dragon quoted.
"They can promise me disaster,
And I know it will be hard.
But no matter what they do to me,
I'll go back to St. Canard."

"And Darkwing Duck," grinned the electric figure.

"Come on, guys, let's get out of here," sighed the duck with dragon wings. "I've got homework to do."

End Part Two

Part III