Warnings: Kidnapping, Car Crashes, Erotomania, Implied PTSD, Emotional Manipulation, Toxic Mindsets.
A.N. - The most highly anticipated thing I've ever written. For now.
An explosive gasp erupted in the backseat, mimicking the shrill ascent of a banshee's howl and nearly causing Donald to swerve into the parallel lane. The sailor whipped his head around and clenched his teeth in alarm at the sight of Dewey stretching his legs to their limit and pressing his face against the window. "Sit down!" His words were garbled by his raspy voice, which imitated someone attempting to speak underwater, but his harsh tone conveyed enough worry to elicit a response from the middle triplet.
"Uncle Donald, stop the car!" Dewey barely had the patience to finish the sentence and maneuvered between different areas of the glass as if searching for a way to float through it. Sparse vehicles decorated the street, and Donald cursed his luck as he found himself in the busiest lane. An empty cup rolled across the dashboard, its final drops having trickled to the floor weeks ago.
The sailor spared a glance at the sidewalk with which Dewey seemed to be fascinated, but what caught his eye was not the buckteeth of the infamous walrus mascot from Funso's Fun Zone. Sorrow and a twinge of uncertainty claimed his expression. "Dewey," he chided, fumbling for a gentle explanation of the reality of the problem, "your friend needs a little space. Remember?"
* * *
The bronze light of the fire, its embers melting and crackling like popcorn, cast a timid shadow across the ire of Scrooge McDuck. Every crack in his rugged beak and wrinkle in his weathered face were visible under the shimmering heat, and the lurid glow reflected in his eyes as if it were a manifestation of the anger that had followed him since an early age. His black cane curved like a striped holiday candy, tattooing the faded rug that stretched to the borders of his office.
No sunlight breached the wine-red curtains that obscured every window and grazed the dusty floorboards. "Keep this sort of depravity out of McDuck Manor! Until you three bampots can get your heads on straight, I don't want to hear another word about them!" With a commanding wave of his arm that seemed to slice through the possibility of debate, the trillionaire straightened his posture and assessed each of his grandnephew's reactions with dour scrutiny.
Dewey wept as he had been after your departure. A plead for deliverance was screaming at the barest part of his voice, but it was lost in the whirlwind of tears dampening his cheeks.
Subtle creaks marred the wooden chair on his left, an indistinct yet rhythmic voice replacing the tyranny of Scrooge's yells. Huey had clenched his teeth and draped each arm over the opposite shoulder in an 'X' shape, and as he rocked like a baby in a cradle, his face was acrid and fearful rather than miserable. He had begun to mutter a chronological list of Junior Woodchuck rules upon taking his seat and was approaching the midpoint.
Watching his older brothers unravel like poorly tied shoelaces foiled Louie's cling to the belief that the situation had not exceeded his ability to persuade, for the joke about siblings often attributed the strength to the eldest. The house that he one day hoped to own gained a foreign hostility. It shook the lackadaisical triplet into a state of apprehension and propelled him to his feet, clasping his hands together in an act of pure impulse.
"Uncle Scrooge, please!" His voice wavered as his eyes flittered between the myriad trophies that lined his granduncle's desk. "We'll ... We'll be better! We won't keep them all week -- or even all day!" It was a string of empty promises, for Louie, deep in the part of him that listened to Dewey's sobs and Huey's rants, knew his brothers would never stand by such an arrangement. He was aware of the personal insincerity that beset his words, too, something which Scrooge acknowledged with a shake of his head.
"You're not hearing me, lad. This little 'game' of yours is over. You ought to know better than most, I won't be having anyone under this roof breaking up families."
Idling on the other side of the door with her head lowered, Webby fiddled with her thumbs and listened as the conversation rose to tumultuous heights and sank to melancholy lulls. She struggled to appease the remorse that was turning her usually delicious lunch into a source of nausea. Beakley stood beside her with her hands cupped and her eyes facing the solid wood texture of the entrance to her employer's office, a product of the years spent with the paranoid minds at S.H.U.S.H. headquarters.
Webby raised her head and took a step towards the door, but her grandmother rested a hand on her shoulder. Despite the minimal force and soft tone behind it, the duckling understood that her presence was best left unstated when Beakley reassured her, "You made the right choice."
The short, narrow door at the front of the mansion, an anomaly next to the lavish portraits, creaked open with audible hesitancy. "Boys?" inquired a raspy voice, and the perplexed figure of Donald Duck ambled into the foyer. He looked at Beakley with a questioning stare before turning to the office in a moment of suspicion, prompting the housekeeper to expel a quiet sigh.
"Donald, could you accompany me to the kitchen?"
* * *
The triplets had, in the way a trapped animal foresaw the arrival of a hunter, awaited the eruption of their temperamental uncle's wrath, yet the sailor was oddly reluctant to contribute his opinion to the discussion. Donald watched the road with depleted mirth for life as if sealing a morose realization behind his weary visage. As his eyelids drooped from a weight much more potent than a lack of sleep, perhaps he blamed every time he had made them stay on the boat rather than allow them to explore.
Like a lightbulb springing into existence at the first sip of electricity, Dewey's bottomless optimism was revived by a mere glance at the street. "I just wanna say hi, I promise!"
Before Donald could expose the inevitability of otherwise, an embittered voice snapped, "Why? They made it clear they don't want to see us anymore." Huey sat on the inner seat with his arms crossed and his shoulders slumped, a mixture of umbrage and despair ruining his posture.
What he viewed as an impossible and horrific conclusion scarred the rambunctious triplet's excitement, but his faith in your connection refused to waver. "Because they're my friend, and I miss them."
Huey slammed his back into the seat and turned his head away. Envy and denial caused his foot to begin tapping the floor as he crossed his legs, an admission of lasting unrest that garnered a look of bewilderment from Louie. "Dude, are you still mad about that?" The youngest triplet had curled into a ball against the door with his hood pulled over his face, but the commotion drew him out of his brooding.
Fidgeting and waving his arms in mock uncertainty, Huey shook with an agitated chuckle that contained no happiness. "Just -- probably their last day at the manor, and you're the only one who got to spend any time with them."
Dismissing his scornful mood in the pursuit of improving his own, Dewey offered his eldest brother a look of frustration before shifting his attention to the window. The rambunctious triplet squeezed the glass and bared his teeth with so much enthusiasm that his cheeks ached. A squeal rose in his throat that suggested the desire for either you to inexplicably enter the automobile or himself to teleport outside it, which drew a grumble and an eye roll from Huey.
Passing you shattered his fragile hope as if he were longing to visit his favourite toy store, only to watch a 'closed' sign be placed over the name. "Uncle Donald-" his plea was ardent and borne of juvenile want, but the vehicle proceeded to gain speed.
"No, Dewey," came the sailor's stern reply, his inner sympathy for the duckling's condition buried in the droop of his beak.
Dewey grappled like a wrestler fighting to escape from a headlock with the urge to face his uncle, eyes darting between the corner store and the top of the driver's seat. The shape of you was fading into the crowd and shrinking into obscurity, and he feared that turning away once more would eliminate any straggling traces. The lock disengaged with a resounding click that echoed in the minds of everyone in the car.
Before Huey could snatch the back of his younger brother's shirt, a potent gust of wind lashed the fresh opening and tossed him against an unprepared Louie, whose face contorted with spooked discomfort as he was pressed to the adjacent window. The voice of nature was howling and reverberating through the automobile like a palpitating heartbeat. The addition of screeching tires as the hot asphalt flayed them struck Huey with such paralyzing fright that his fingertips tore bits of leather from the seat and exposed its interior, which was a spongy and pallid yellow.
Donald, following a hysterical squawk that nearly ejected him from the roof of the car, slammed his fist into the child lock. The click was silent among the roars of passing engines, some desperate to avoid a collision and others continuing with undeterred apathy. It was ultimately a worthless gesture, for the backseat door hung ajar in the push of the wind and the flow of traffic.
As soon as the cement, hardened and rough after years beneath the unrepentant glare of the sun, scraped the soles of his webbed feet, Dewey considered retreating to the familiar walls of the vehicle. A parasitic heat swept across his plumage with the rush of a sports car zooming past, its cherry-red frame rattling from the apparent dragon trapped under its hood. Bursts of courage began to sever the strings of doubt holding his body as the memory of his mother's adventurous spirit floated to the forefront of his thoughts, and his quivering legs eased into a sprint.
Lurching forward when his robust pressure on the brakes forced the car to stop, Donald slung his arm around the back of his headrest and craned his neck to peer at his nephews. Huey had jumped up as if to pursue Dewey and was observing the street with trepidation, while Louie pulled his hood down with a slow yet evolving curiosity. The vacant seat beside them etched a terror greater than any beast of earth or sea into the sailor's being.
Each automobile was like a bullet, content to miss him but promising grave injury if touched. Dewey leapt over bumpers and slid underneath tailgates as if he were a ballerina prancing from one side of the stage to another. The latter earned the occasional blast of exhaust fumes, and the duckling collapsed prostrate on the sidewalk with a fine layer of soot coating his feathers.
A couple of bystanders approached him with audible concern, none of whom were the reason for his journey. Their questions faded into nonsensical hums as he lifted his head and surveyed the nearby shops. The tinted windows denied an extensive look inside, and his heartbeat had begun to accelerate when he spotted you strolling in the opposite direction with a paper bag in your grip.
As if injected with pure energy, Dewey sprang from the bumpy concrete and shook like a wet dog to cast off the soot. It drew coughs from the bystanders, a repetitive sound that was quieted by the rambunctious triplet's growing tunnel vision. The havoc erupting in the street prompted a curious glance from you, and the subsequent twitch of your wrist was interpreted as a sign to follow.
Donald raced across the street in a delirium of panic. His screams of his nephew's name echoed in Duckburg like the tolling of church bells, interrupted by the occasional squawk after a vehicle narrowly avoided colliding with him. Traffic had stopped as discordant crunches of metal accompanied the blaring horns, and a smoke cloud was billowing into the sky.
Stunned by their uncle's egregious capacity for destruction but thankful for the now-empty street, Huey and Louie dashed ahead of the sailor. They identified the boisterous voice of Dewey among the frightened murmurs of pedestrians and slipped through the crowd, Huey grasping Louie's hand when he attempted to swipe a duck's wallet, to find you observing their sprinting brother with a look of incredulous horror.
The world seemed to slow the closer the duckling came, his feet kneading the ground and his words stretching to incomprehensible lengths. There was no longer a sweltering heat oppressing you from above but a frigid emptiness as if the pile of cars and rows of stores had vanished like a traveller beholding a mirage of water in the desert. The rocky texture of the sidewalk gained the smoothness of rich floorboards, and the faces of bystanders, once full of emotion and colour, greyed and morphed into the lifeless indifference of statues.
Bright light, a commodity that should have been abundant in the street, dimmed as old sensations of dread were awakened. It was like your brain forced you to relive the past against your will, a distressing experience that paralyzed your body and left you unable to flee. Dewey saw your lack of movement as a welcome greeting, and he hugged the arm that clutched the bag to deter you from, in his opinion, changing your mind.
"I knew you wanted me here! Uncle Scrooge and Huey told me I was imagining things, but I knew we were still friends!" The tale of his voyage to reunite with you was babbled in a surge of pride as if his actions were heroic and deserved glory.
Your mind fought to escape, while your body refused to obey. The mental war that filled you with grand anger and fear was invisible to the outside world apart from the distrait look that numbed your face and the periodic jerk of your head that the duckling mistook for a nod. You gave the illusion of listening, and he was so desperate to preserve what existed only in his fantasy that he believed it.
A shout bellowed from a car's length away on the sidewalk. "Dewey, let go of them! Can you not tell they're freaked out?" It was noticeable to the perceptive gaze of Huey, whose webbed feet slapped the concrete like yardsticks. He stopped behind his younger brother and upon turning to you, buried his moment of chivalry in resentment. His glare was that of a disappointed parent after their kid defied their wishes.
The demeaning nature of his stance, arms crossed and forehead creased, was matched by the timidity of Louie's approach, which resembled a fawn leaving its thicket for the first time. The generally lackadaisical triplet's steps were brief and uncertain, and his hood had found itself draped over his slumping head. A hand emerged from his pocket with a small but valuable collection of prismatic jewels, the sunlight reflecting an array of red, blue and green hues.
"They're a lot better than what I had last time," he promised as if the quality of his granduncle's gems was the deciding factor in whether the car would return to the mansion with an extra passenger or not. Louie was struggling not to crumple beneath the weight of his self-doubt, for the notion that his greed had cost all three of them your friendship had been squashing his confidence in himself like a fist smashed a bug.
"Bribery? Really, Louie?" Huey criticized his brother's materialistic strategy with a dismayed frown, only to march forward and yank one of Dewey's hands off you. "What they need is a reminder that their life was much better with us than it is without us."
Enraged squawking transcended the wails of ambulances and police cruisers swarming the road. Huey jumped, loosening his grip on his brother. Dewey looked to ensure that he was facing a different direction before clutching your arm again, and his response to the neurotic triplet's expression of bored irritation was a nervous laugh.
"Boys!" Rage and worry clouded Donald's voice as he charged through the edge of the crowd. His outfit was torn and reeked of motor oil, with several loose feathers drifting around his body. "What were you thinking? You could've been killed!" hollered the sailor among a few obscenities that he stifled so they would not reach the ears of his nephews.
"Uncle Donald, they're not mad at us! They want to come back-" Dewey aired his misguided joy with a bounce of his feet, but his uncle did not wait to hear a bit of it and instead began pulling each triplet away from you. Their outcries were ignored as he grasped his most stubborn nephew with both arms.
Donald, refraining from using his full strength, struggled to break Dewey's hold on your arm. "They need to go home," protested the sailor. He looked at you as if hoping your vocal agreement would convince the duckling to relent. "You want to go back to your parents, don't you?" Instead of the frantic 'yes' that he expected, your answer shattered his conviction like glass.
"I haven't seen them in weeks."
Releasing his nephew out of shock, Donald watched with dazed concern as the rambunctious triplet scrambled to continue his embrace. It had yet to reach its ultimate potential, but the sailor's attitude towards the entire day shifted. Where guilt and doubt once festered like a disease, interest in your safety and home life blossomed.
Huey and Louie flocked to your side, talk of a permanent residence in McDuck Manor gushing from every triplet and impeding their uncle in his quest for clarification. Haunting scenarios that ranged from a car driving away in the middle of the night while you slept to a fatal accident on a business trip plagued his mind, and Donald was overcome by his fatherly instincts.
"They don't have anywhere to go. Can they stay with us? Please, Uncle Donald?" The blatantly endearing voice from Louie was not what persuaded him, for he had been subjected to it many a time when the lackadaisical triplet wanted something. Instead, the sailor could not confirm that, at your house, affection and a warm meal were anticipating your return.
* * *
A solitary knock was all Donald managed before the door was opened to reveal Mrs. Beakley, who grasped the hose of a vacuum cleaner in one hand and the doorknob in the other. Her eyes widened at the sight of you, and Donald reacted to her silent request for his assurance with a grim nod of his head. Expression becoming one of austere indifference, the housekeeper allowed him entry and counted heads as the porch emptied.
She had no intention to linger for the impending confrontation, her footsteps moving to the kitchen to resume cleaning. Scrooge descended the bottom staircase with his cane jabbing each step before his spatterdashes touched it. "Oi, kids! I hope you've learned your lesson-" his beak was opening to pronounce the next installment of his advice when your presence evoked a bewildered shout.
"Oh, you've got to be pulling my leg!" The waterfowl waved his cane in a show of indignation and pointed it at the triplets, running a hand down his face and gripping the rim of his top hat. "What did I say about taking them from their home?! Their family? Why, in my time, we'd never do a thing so rotten!"
Donald removed his sailor cap and held it to his stomach, fingers kneading the fabric and eyes averting to the tile floor. "Uncle Scrooge, could I have a word?"
The trillionaire paused his tirade, back curved and arm hovering in the air, before returning to a posh stance and looking at his nephew with disbelief. "Dinnae tell me they roped you into their harebrained scheme!" When the sailor merely offered a despondent expression, Scrooge swung his hand beside his head as if the motion would shame reality into conforming to his wishes.
The quiet patter of webbed feet was the only sound to co-exist with the waterfowl's rant.
"I thought I taught you better than that! You cannae just-"
Upon reaching his cantankerous uncle, Donald whispered a tale that filled the mansion with lurid silence. It lacked many a degree of certainty, but the wrath that had gushed from Scrooge like a blazing inferno vanished in a wave of regret. "What?" he mumbled, his voice a mere whimper compared to his earlier howls.
The creases in his forehead relaxed as his lower jaw sagged. Broad sorrow replaced the narrowed umbrage in his eyes, and before he could drift too far into his childhood, the trillionaire faced his grandnephews with tentative acceptance. "You may just get outta this one, lads." Cheering overpowered the gloomy quietude that had encased the manor, booming louder than a mortar shelling a hill.
The triplets backed away with noiseless reluctance when their granduncle approached, and Dewey prolonged the process of releasing your arm until you tugged it to your side. Extending a smile that was meant to inspire security but only caused the pit of your stomach to drop, Scrooge placed a hand on your shoulder. "Welcome to Clan McDuck."