A.N: This story was written entirely on the word processor on my phone, and it took forty days to finish and edit. Because I basically work 3 jobs, the only time when I could write was while I was on the train, waiting in line, etc.

The Duck comics, the Three Caballeros, Ducktales, and Darkwing Duck all belong to Disney. This story combines elements from all of them. As you read, events will feel like a part of a bigger context. Some things will seem curious and unexplained. I hope you enjoy, and let me know your thoughts and ideas in the comments section!

And remember, Google's your friend.

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"We remain children in our parents' eyes no matter how old we get. We could be forty nine, and they'd still ask, 'What are the boys up to?'" – Anonymous

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oOoOoOoOoOo

It came as no surprise to Donald Duck as he stepped out of his plane and into the intense sunlight; Mexico's sun was a strong one. Even with the month of October around the corner, the heat still permeated within the bus that picked them up, and the airport itself.

Donald adjusted his duffel bag on his shoulder and looked at his watch, though he already knew what time he arrives, and smiled – it was only noon. He could enjoy the rest of the day with Panchito's family without falling asleep from exhaustion on their very first meeting. He didn't really think they'd mind if he did, but he still wanted to make a lasting good impression. Panchito had said he would be waiting for him and José at the meeting point, and then they'd take a train and hop off at the nearest station to his family's ranch.

When Donald finally exited passport control, he found the rooster already waiting where he said he would be, his own duffel bag hanging loosely from one arm. Despite the crowd and people running into each other, the rooster's deep-red feathers were not hard to spot amidst it all.

Donald's face split into a wide grin and he waved, making his way through the crowds. He let out an exaggeratedly-woeful sigh when his friend screamed his name loud enough for everyone to turn around in alarm, and near-collided with him in an embrace, duffel bags falling carelessly on the floor.

"Can you believe it, Donal'!" exclaimed Panchito. "Finally, you meet mi familia. They're so excited to see you and José! Ah chico, I want to take out my pistols right n-!

"No, no! Not in the airport!"

"Si si amiigo, I know. I learn from my mestakes. They're in my bag. Now let's grab José an' get out of here. The sonofagun shouldn't be lon' now!"

"So, how was Costa Rica?" asked Donald as they managed to move a bit closer to the gates.

"Maravilloso. Everytheng, the colors, the forests, the culture, the girls-" he gushed. "I have a thousand stories to tell you two!"

"I've always wanted to go," said the duck wistfully. "Della, my sister I told you about, flew there once with her crew, and she swore up and down it was one of the most beautiful places on Earth. I was hoping I'd get to visit it during my time in the Navy, but there's nothing in the foreseeable future.."

"What are you waiting for the Navee for?" asked Panchito, cocking an eyebrow at his American friend. "Adventure waits for no one! I'll take you there, if you want, you and me and Zé. Tomorrow even."

"Not tomorrow," said the duck with a laugh. "But yeah, you're right about that, Panch. I won't wait any longer. We'll do it sometime."

"¡es un trato!" promised Panchito, resting an arm around the sailor's shoulders. He listened to Donald talk some about his uncle and nephews and what they had been up to, taking interest in all the subtle tonal changes and expressions as they ranged from love, to worry, to anger and frustration, and finally, to yearning. Panchito understood what it felt like, to be hit with the pining for your favorite people when away from home.

When they finally spied their friend José Carioca amongst the new arrivals piling out through the gates, the green parrot was half-dancing to a barely-audible local track from a distant speaker, side-stepping gracefully despite the crowdedness, feet lightly landing on the white tiles, and never the gray. His brilliant tail feathers swayed this way and that, and some of the arrivals even slowed their pace to watch.

"Okay, okay, show's over. Move over, Ma'am, please. Joe! Tippytoes, save your energy for the family dinner tonight," said Donald as he reached over the gate and bodily pulled his Brazilian friend through.

"Donaal'! Panchie!" exclaimed the parrot, discarding his suitcase ('Of course Joe would carry a suitcase', thought Donald, amused) and threw himself between them to hug them both. Panchito loudly made his happiness known, startling everyone within a 200-meter radius once again. José pulled back to give them a kiss on each cheek and proceeded to hug them again. Then he leaned back to pat their cheeks and leaned back to hug them, again.

"Eu sinto falta de você, meus amigos," he breathed in his familiar, affectionate manner.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Both Donald and José thought it was a miracle they made it all the way to their station without being thrown off the train for Panchito's singing – as he put it – 'a su amado Jalisco' nonstop, up and down the slim carriages, shooting rounds through the open windows.

The walk to Panchito's family ranch, normally no longer than thirty minutes according to their host, was much longer; the trip peppered with Panchito's childhood friends and neighbors rushing up to them – with a whole lot of aggressive hugging, affectionate screaming, and speed-Spanish.

Donald let out a sigh as they finally reached the outer fence. Panchito swung the door open, and they made their way through neat, green fields with colorful shrubs and gorgeous dahlia of various colors and arrangements. Josè breathed his love for the well-cared for flowerbeds, took out his analog camera and started snapping photos of the foliage, dogs, swines, birds and horses living out their daily routines.

They made it to the front porch. Panchito put down his duffel bag by his feet, then threw open the front door and sucked in a deep breath.

Donald winced at the slam of wood against concrete, and plugged his earholes with his fingers. "Panchito, why –"

"YAAAAAAAAH-WOOOO!"

Instantaneously, a flurry of movement filled the house, and a dozen voices crowed right back at them. Donald took an alarmed step backwards. Jose had to clap his whole hands against his ears, but he was grinning widely.

A small chick, coming up no taller than Donald's leg, slid out from under the nearest couch, like a mechanic coming out from under a car, and made a dash for Panchito, arms raised eagerly up to the sky. The rooster picked her up an inch before her face collided with his knee, and hugged her fiercely.

"Mi pequeño sucesor mi hermana menor Francesca!" he crooned to his little sister, combing through her short, fuzzy chick-feathers. "Me extrañaste, niño?"

"Thi!" squealed the child as she hugged his neck. Another small chick suddenly appeared at Panchito's leg, and with an affectionate whoop swooped her up as well to nuzzle their faces.

An older rooster appeared from the hall on their left, and Donald could immediately tell he was Panchito's father. Linked in one arm was a much older rooster, a little hunched with age, but with perky, bright eyes.

A couple gunshots rang through the house, and at the top of the overhead staircase stood a slender hen in a homely apron with a pan in one hand. The only aspect that did not fit her traditional-looking mom mold was the smoking pistol in the other hand.

"Welcome to our home in Mejico!" she announced enthusiastically. Before Donald could reply, he suddenly found his face pressed into someone's chest, and it didn't take him long to realize it was a woman's.

"Panchito, tus amigos son tan guapos!" said the middle-aged hen in an approving tone when she released him. "You two weelcome to home," she added in very broken English, and proceeded to grab José in a hug. "Heh, Mi sobrino sabe cómo recogerlos!"

"Nonono, no están disponibles," said Panchito in mock-regret before embracing her.

A rooster in faded jeans and horn-rimmed glasses was suddenly at Donald's side. One moment he wasn't there, the next he was. The duck was admittedly a bit surprised someone in this family could arrive at his side so silently.

"Pero!" cried Panchito happily, leaving his father and grandfather's embrace and turning to the new arrival. "¡Te extrañé mucho! Maldita sea todo ¡Te extrañé mucho! Donal', José! This is Junipero, my eldest brother! He's been away, in Inglaterra!"

"Our family overacheever," said Panchito's father with a grin. "Doctor Junipero Quintero Gonzalez."

"Bien. Call it the curse of being the first child," said Junipero. "But yes, I'm regarded as the family 'oddball', as they would say."

"Si, alo Currito!" shouted Panchito's grandad into a phone. Where it came from amidst all the commotion, neither Josè or Donald had the faintest idea. "Tus hermanos de vuelta a casa..si, espere – Oy, elchiquillo! Panchito! Tu pequeña hermanito está en el teléfono!"

Panchito grabbed the handset and screamed into it. Donald heard someone scream back. "Mi verdadero mi favorito mi hermano aventurero! ¡No es justo, Rito! Cuando vas a volver a ver a tu hermano favorito?" he shouted with drama, stressing the words and giving his older brother a sideways glance. Junipero kept a perfectly unconcerned expression, and even gave a crooked, I-don't-give-a-damn-smile.

"Sigo siendo el favorito de Mama," he quipped, to which Panchito's gave him a long, sideways glance and made a show of turning his back to him. Junipero turned to Donald and José.

"I win," he said with no elaboration whatsoever. "Panchie's gonna love on our brother for some time, so let me show you his room until he's done. You can rest your heads for a few minutes."

"No, we used to it with Panchie," said José as he and Donald followed through the large house. Every wall was adorned with pictures of family and friends, kept within elaborate framing. "Is that your little maninho on the phone? Your leetle brather?"

"Si, Currito. He can't sit still, like Panchie. He volunteers at UNICEF."

"Oh, é lindo!"

"And you'll still meet our sister Margarita. She'll be back from the downtown any minute now with her little niños."

Panchito's room was, well, it couldn't be mistaken for anyone else's. Trophies of old and recent bull fights were displayed on the shelves with care and attention (though Donald had a strong feeling that was his mother doing the decoration). The many figurines of bulls and other assortments of farm animals stood to serve as paper weights and book-ends. There were also trophies from several wrestling events, bong-ties, and many framed group photos going as far back as school days. José left his suitcase by the bed, and went to look at the photos carefully.

"José, Donal'," called Maria, appearing at the door. "Get washed and come down for dinner."

"Sim Mãe do Panchie ," said José happily, looking up from the picture frame in his hands.

"Are you sure you don't want any help, Ma'am?" asked Donald. "I can help in the kitchen –"

"No. You two be our guests tonight. Tomorrow you can help in kitchen."

Donald laughed. "I can do that."

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Donaal'.."

"Yeah, Joe?"

"I don' theenk I will be able to dance tonight."

"..neither do I. And I have no regrets."

The two birds were slouched on a sofa in the spacious living room, their legs stretched out in front of them, their bellies no less than two inches bigger than they were three hours ago. The house was full of a pleasant din and loud laughter. Panchito's tiny sisters and Margarita's children ran and shrieked through the house.

The two friends turned their attention back to Miguel. Panchito's father was telling the story of yet another event that had happened to him during a recent business trip in India. Like Panchito, he never seemed to run out of stories to tell, and his tales were never boring. The group in the living room just kept growing and growing, as more relatives and friends came over. There were even a few nosy neighbors whom Donald was sure just invited themselves over, though none of the Gonzalezes seemed to mind. Why they were there, Donald and José found it completely unsurprising when one of them said, "We come because we hear screaming; there be always screaming when someone visit Quintero-Gonzalez familia home."

With every story Miguel told, Donald grew fonder and fonder. He wondered if Miguel reminded him of his own father on some subconscious level, whom he'd lost when he was only a duckling. He was too young to remember what his dad was like, but he did remember the sense of security, and the generosity he had inherited from Grandma Duck.

It was funny how this calm and level-headed rooster could be the father of a firecracker like Panchito, whom seemed to have instead taken after his excitable, accommodating mother. But there was no question that Panchito got a few things from his father as well. The more subtle things – the same surveying look, the confidence, and what Donald called, in both annoyance and affection – 'Panchito's Herding'.

"But what means, his 'erding?" wondered José when his American friend voiced his thoughts.

"You know, that thing Panch does with everyone," the duck tried to elaborate. "Leading you around places or pushing you away from things. You know?"

"Sim, Donaal', he's a vaquero. It's natural.." said José with a shrug. "..an' um galo. How can you find this strange?"

Donald rolled his head against the back of the couch. "I guess you're right about that."

"Patos just don' like to be told what to do," his friend quipped, and Donald had to laugh.

He really, really loved his two friends.

"Oh hey, Junipero," he greeted when the rooster came to join them. "Where's Panch gone off to?"

"Out in the stables, begging Señor Martinez on his knees to forgive him for not taking him to Costa Rica. I can' believe he's still angry about this."

"..Señor Martinez wanted to gallop all the way to Costa Rica? Is he serious?"

"That's what Panchie told him before he left, but the Señor felt betrayed and thought Panchie had no faith in his endurance. But it's simply Panchito could not ask him to cross entire countries on his hooves. Now Señor is mad, but he'll come around eventually.

"I hope you're not getting exhausted from all of Pa's stories?"

"Are you kidding?! I can tell Panch got his love of adventure from him. He's had some amazing experiences."

"Eu amo isto, tudo isso," said the parrot, indicating the house itself. "I love these atmospheres so much. And I love how you all look so alike; beautiful family likeness."

"Do you have any relatives who travel a lot?"

"Aah, minha família? They don' like leaving home, they get so homesick," said José. He seemed to consider for a moment, and added, "Ne realidade, I get very homesick too."

"My Uncle Scrooge travels. But he travels to hunt for treasure, mostly, not to see the world like Panch or even Mr. Gonzalez. They notice very different things."

It was true. Panchito remembered faces and voices, and would willingly travel hundreds of miles without food just to listen to someone tell a story he's never heard before. He lived for stories and songs around bonfires under starry nights, and could relay his adventures to his friends in stunning detail, making a simple encounter with a stranger sound like an experience. His Uncle Scrooge on the other hand, remembered places and events much more vividly. He could've worked as a mapper with the incredible memory he had of all the locations he'd visited during his lifetime.

"Scrooge..?" said Junipero, saying the name slowly. It sounded so familiar. " Is your uncle Scrooge..he is a famous American business man?"

Donald laughed. "You could say that. Scrooge McDuck."

"¡Ay! Pa did business with Scrooge McDuck before! He's a good man, but so harsh to make deals with!"

"Yep, that's definitely him."

"Caramba. You know Pa's ranches are a primary dairy suppliers for the McDuck diary factories!"

Junipero was a very easy person to talk to, which was a pleasant surprise to Donald. All the doctors he knew – including his Uncle Ludwig – were either kuckoo, or boring. There was no in-between.

"So Junipero, what does it feel like to be the most normal individual in a household like this?" asked Donald, to José's laughter.

"Donaal'! Be fair, Señor Miguel is muito normal também."

"It's great to have variety under one roof," Junipero said with a grin. "But I agree with José – Pa's the most 'normal' one, but he always told us to be who we are, and follow whatever fills us with passion.

"I went to Oxford to become a doctor. Rita makes beautiful cakes in her free time. Rito works on the ranch and volunteers at UNICEF, and Panchito decided to become a caballero. He's not – how you say – a business head like Pa, but he loves the animals, and he takes care of them when he's home. And he loves adventure and people."

"Well all you guys are very people-oriented," Donald voiced what he saw.

"Maybe so, but pasión de viajar is just not for me. Rito and Panchito need to travel a lot and see new people. I'm where I belong here in Mehico, helping people be well. Though it means I must study some in the mortuary, of course."

"Moor-toary? What's that?" wondered José.

"It's the place people who died go to for doctors to know how they died, Joe," explained Donald.

"..o necrotério? But why you work there?"

"I go to study, to learn more about our bodies," said Junipero simply, almost softly. "So I can try to help living people be better.

"Though I have to admit my love for biology sometimes took me too far during my years in school. Pa once refused to talk to me for a week."

"What deed you do?"

"I brought home a body. I hid it in my bedroom and studied all night. Ma discovered it the next day while cleaning under my bed, even though I had told her a thousand times I would clean my room and not to enter it lest she upset my delicate system..these are looks of judgement you're giving me.."

"..You kept a dead body under your bed. In this house," deadpanned Donald.

"I had a fridge, don't worry."

"That's not the point! You know, I take it back!" he threw his hands up in the air. "You're just as insane as the rest of them!"

"You sound like mean Panchito," said Junipero, feigning hurt. Truth was, he's been attacked for that incident far too many times to care anymore.

"Panche!" José called when their friend came back. "Did you know about this? Your brather kept um cadáver under his bed! How did you feel about that?"

"And where did you get that bump?" asked Donald, pointing at the large red lump at the rooster's temple. "Don't tell me.."

"Señor Martinez is very upset," grumbled Panchito. He flopped down next to them. He noticed a couple stray hays dangling in front of his face, and pulled them out with a loud huff.

"He'll forgive you," said the eldest brother kindly. "Know that he missed you extremely when you were away." That seemed to make Panchito feel a little bit better.

"The guys want to know what you think of that time I brought home the body-"

"Aaah chico, by the time I returned from my travel through the Western Desert, it was over a long time ago. I couldn't be a part of it!"

"Aw, what a shame," said the duck sarcastically.

"But it's alright, because it's like I'm never gone," said Panchito lovingly. "They tell me everything that happened while I was away. Si, Pero?"

The elder brother nodded, his right arm and head relaxed against the back of the couch. For just a moment, he looked almost sad, but Donald dismissed the thought in favor of exhaustion after a long, loud day.

It was past 1 a.m. when people finally decided to have some decency and leave their hosts to get some sleep.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Donald awoke suddenly.

It was pitch-black in the room, the only way Panchito could sleep deeply. Donald stared at the ceiling and took in a long breath, mind muddily wondering what could have pulled him so abruptly from a peaceful slumber. José was sleeping deeply on his left, comfortably curled up on himself on the soft mattress provided for them by the bed. The sailor breathed for a few silent moments, and gratefully felt the pull of sleep come to claim him back once more.

His eyes had closed only for a moment or two when he heard the faintest sound of a shuffling footstep. From the left, where he knew the window was.

His brain snapped to attention, senses heightened by years with the Navy pulled taught. He remained completely quiet on the mattress, struggling to keep his breathing even. He opened his eyes as wide as they could go, desperate to see anything in the blackness. He heard another shuffle – fainter, but a hair closer than the first. He gritted his teeth when he promptly remembered he had absolutely nothing but his fists to defend himself with, and that José has always been slow to react to dangerous situations.

Something gleamed off the right corner of Donald's eye, and he quickly turned from his sleeping friend to see an outstretched arm, extending over his head, only a couple feet away from his beak. Gainsboro feathers. A pistol.

He clapped his hands over his ears and shut his eyes as a loud bang shook the room.

José nearly jumped out of his feathers. He shot up with a startled yell, and Donald quickly pulled the two of them down into the mattress, nearly digging a hole into it in his haste as another gunshot rang in the room, immediately followed by a third. What glass had remained of the window shattered, and the unfamiliar voice grunted in surprise and barely-held pain.

Both birds clung to each other. In the wake of the split-second flash as the third bullet left its barrel, Donald barely caught sight of Panchito standing on the bed, wide awake and alert like he wasn't in a coma mere seconds ago. Both pistols were out. Miguel's voice could be heard shouting from somewhere in the house, followed by Maria's and Junipero's aggravated yells.

Panchito spoke in aggressive Spanish, and the unseen stranger apparently realized that breaking into this particular room was a very stupid thing to do. Donald lifted his head to get a good look at the face – keeping José's low just in case – but the man was already making a dash for the broken window.

Panchito hollered in rage, and he sprang– clearing the width of his friends' mattress completely – and flew through the window after the invader.

More shots – mixed with Panchito's yelling – could be heard outside, moving farther away into the darkness. Donald got up and ran to the bedroom door, only for it to swing open and smack him in the beak.

"Are you alright?" asked Junipero urgently. "Panchito, la ayu –!" the words died on his tongue. His eyes roved from the empty bed, to the messed serapis on the floor, to the shattered glass by the open window. "La mierda."

"We need to go after him!" urged Donald. "Give me something to fight with, and you call the cops!"

José grabbed his shoulders from behind. "I'm coming weeth you!"

"No, Joe-"

"Nunca. I'm coming weeth you!"

"No, these men are very dangerous," the eldest sibling said tersely through gritted teeth. "They won't hesitate to shoot you, both of you. And neither of you are fast enough with elrevólvers –"

"We can't let Panchito go after him alone-!" shouted the duck, furious and afraid as another distant shot rang. He could now hear the enraged voices of stirring neighbors.

"Pa went out after him. He's – he's who they came for," said Junipero, looking suddenly weak and unsure.

"Who's they? What are you talking about?" yelled Donald.

"Who's enemies with Señor Miguel..?" asked José softly, trying to calm down his winded friend. They could hear Panchito's mother holler belligerently. More shots, probably from her own pistol, were heard.

"There's a man..from America, who's been trying to take over Pa's businesses for a long time," admitted Junipero in rushed breaths. "We don't know where he came from – we don't know anything about him at all except that he's from a city called Sin Canard."

"St. Canard?"

"Yes. Long story short, Pa made it very clear he's not interested in no asociación with a criminal who wants to inject a biological component that allows our cows to produce more milk!

"Then he would sell this...this maldito carcinógeno lactéo to McDuck's dairy factories to be distributed all over the world!"

"So he intends to just kill your dad and seize the business? People don't do that - there are laws –!" The sailor yelled, trying to get around Junipero.

"Not everywhere is like Duckburg," was the reply he got as the rooster intercepted him. "And this man has much support, even Canard's vigilante cannot keep him en la cárcel!"

They heard a whoop, and a round of shots. "Ah gracias a Dios," breathed the rooster, letting his head fall into his hands. "This ended much better than last time."

"Last time?" sputtered the duck. "Oh my God." he said a silent prayer of thanks, but the haze of adrenaline was still coursing through his veins.

"Lo atrapado!" They heard Maria yell triumphantly. "¡Bien! Chica! Dile a Francisco que llame a la policía– !" her words become indiscernible as she hurried farther away from the house.

"Let's go make sure they're alright," Donald said and moved past Junipero, who didn't stop him this time. José closely followed.

"Don't tell Panchito what I told you," pleaded Junipero. Donald stopped in his tracks when he heard the thickness in his voice. "He doesn't know Pa's targeted. We never told him."

Donald turned to look at him incredulously. "..that's messed up," he said finally, in something akin to dread.

"Não..não, isso não está certo," whispered José, also distressed. "You can't hide sometheen like that frome 'im. Panchito would no – " he struggled to find the words, his accent becoming more and more pronounced. "Você pensou no que ele faria se algo acontecesse com Senõr, e ele só soubesse quando era tarde demais?!" he said heatedly.

"Pa couldn't bring himself to tell him," whispered Junipero miserably. "And he doesn't want any of us to. You don't understand..el alma de su padre Panchito." He raised both his index and middle fingers together, side by side.

"We talk about this in another time," said José as he pulled Donald by the hand. The three of them ran down the staircases, down to the reception. They were joined by the curious children, and a stern Margarita, who was trying to keep little Francesca from running off. The front door was left wide open, and the expansive ranch gardens beyond were alive with the shouts of awakened, worried animals, and nearby hectic neighbors.

Maria returned, walking briskly towards them. Her pistol could be seen poking out of the pocket of her apron. It was an odd sight.

"Papá and Panchito are coming right behind me," she assured them as she reached the door.

"And that man?"

"Unconscious y atado," she said with a wicked grin. "Our neighbor Francisco is very grumpy when something wakes him. An' he doesn't have sense of humor. He is previous in Armada de México."

And surely, the two roosters soon appeared out of the darkness, "José, Donal'! You two alright?" Panchito asked as he embraced them at the doorstep.

"¿Todos los niños están bien?!" asked Miguel urgently, striding through the door and all but discarding his shotgun on the floor.

"Si si, gracias a Dios," confirmed Maria gruffly. "¿Qué tan mala es esa mano?" she said in a lower voice, taking his bleeding left hand into her own.

"Está bien. Hemos visto días peores," he said dismissively, pulling it gently but quickly from her grasp.

"Esta es la tercera vez," she added in a lower voice, giving him a look that managed to be both worried and venomous.

Miguel expertly ignored her meaningful glares, more concerned with checking on everybody else; the baby twins, Margarita and her toddlers, and grandadRoberto, who miraculously went on sleeping on through the whole thing.

"Papá! Estas herido!" cried Panchito from behind him, noticing the wound his father was subtly trying to hide. "Bastardo! I'll shoot both his hands next time I see him!"

"No, esta bien. Solo pica un poco," said his father calmly. It was astonishing how calm and nonchalant he sounded, with a hole through the tissue joining his thumb and index. Panchito was having none of it. He and Margarita rushed him to the sink to clean the wound and wrap it in one of his handkerchiefs despite Miguel's exasperated demands to leave him alone. Maria, of course, let his children do what they wanted as a way of expressing her displeasure with him.

"We should get your dad to a clinic and get his hand properly wrapped up," appealed Donald.

"Si si. Yes, of course. As soon as the sun comes up. De hecho, it is nearly dawn."

"How can Papá de Panchie be so calm with this hurt? Pareco doloroso e deve ser.."

"Fathers go so far for their niños," said Juniper broodingly. "I could live and die and I'll never know the real extent of what he bears for us. There could be things even I don't know about. And he would never tell me. I feel like such a child."

"No, don' be hard on yourself," said José.

Donald had never once actually thought about it. There were many things he'd gone through in his life to make sure his nephews lived normal, healthy childhoods. He went through so much, but it was never his nephews' business to know, and he never thought of telling them anything.

"He loves you all so much," he said simply.

"I know. You take it for granted, no? You believe your papá will always be there."

José nodded but was quiet, his large doleful eyes bright, and Donald wanted to hug him. They looked at their friend as he fussed over his dad, the latter just giving up altogether and letting his son look after him.

"He must know, right?" whispered José in Donald's ear.

Should they tell him, against Miguel's order? It didn't seem fair, that they know the looming danger over their friend's family when he himself didn't.

Donald almost pulled him aside to do what would clear his conscience, but then decided it just was not the time or place. There would be no sleeping after the night's events, naturally, so he might as well go help Panchito's mom prepare for breakfast. Cooking had always been good for his nerves.

The first rays of dawn were already appearing over the horizon. It slowly bathed the Quintero-Gonzalez ranch in warm hues. The dahlias were covered in morning dew, as beautiful as ever.

Deciding whether or not to tell Panchito could wait for another day…

oOoOoOoOoOo

Steelbeak held on to the rungs with one arm, and turned his whole body to look at the vigilante of St. Canard – and his arch nemesis – in the eye. Granted, it didn't have nearly the effect he wanted, what with the helicopter carrying him away too fast to make his exit dramatic enough. But even in the darkness of the night, he could see the pinpricks of emerald that made the irises of St. Canard's Darkwing Duck.

He barked an order to his pilot, and turned back to look at his enemy. "You're in over ya head, Darkwing," said Steelbeak calmly, mockingly. "You know what they say about us roosters.

"We fight to the death."

The vigilante looked on as the criminal escaped into the dark sky, eyes blazing with fury. In one hand, he held the other bleeding limb, courtesy of a gunshot that thankfully missed something vital.

He didn't know what Steelbeak was up to this time, but the recurring deportation requests for his henchmen made to St. Canard from Jalisco gave him some ideas. None of them were pretty.

It was time to call on Lauchpad back in Duckburg.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Fin