Chapter Text
It was not an unusual day, not in the slightest.
Another board meeting kept Scrooge at the money bin later than usual. Uncle Donald retired to his bed having returned from an exceptionally early job, and slept on the houseboat. Mrs. Beakley had spent the day running errands, leaving Webby behind to guard the house. Not that the house to be guarded.
Yes, the day was quite usual, quite normal for all they had been through as of recently.
Not wanting to disturb Uncle Donald, who was again sleeping in his bed in his house boat, the boys and Webby occupied their day in the mansion, which was an extraordinarily easy feat.
Louie fell back on the sofa, "I’m bored."
"Seriously, bored?" Webby lied on the carpet with her right wing extended. Beside her was a First Aid Kit, and Huey, who administered the routine bandage wrapping, "We just finished playing Black Ops: Winter Has Come, and we were getting ready Lunar Madness!"
"Yeah…but seeing Huey's busy wrapping your not broken wing, I'd say lets chill."
What he didn't say was that the three of them were completely exhausted where Webby's adrenaline was barely nicked.
"How about a nap?" Huey finished the bandage wrapping and patted her arm reassuringly, "It's always good to put my exemplary First Aid badge to work."
"She didn't break her wing," Louie groaned, "I don't think she even sprained it."
"But we don't want Mrs. Beakley getting upset over it," Huey replied easily, "or too upset considering it is definitely sprained."
He glanced down at his patient whose sheepish grin held him back on his usual scolding, "It's fine, really. Granny's used to this. Last time I missed a grab when climbing to my bedroom, and broke my leg! She was totally fine with it."
"How fine is fine," Louie asked.
"She couldn't get that mad seeing all I could do was stay in the mansion." Webby shrugged, "The worst I got was no target practice for a week, but like I said – broken leg."
Other than that, their day went along swimmingly. The children went into the television room, where Louie had control of the remote after a minor tussle with Dewey. Louie recline on the left end where Huey sat on the right. Dewey rested his head on his older brother's lapped, and Webby went into the kitchen to pop popcorn.
"It isn't the microwavable kind," she declared proudly.
"Wait, so you like pop it old school?" Dewey tilted his head in confusion, "On the stove?"
"It tastes so much better," and reassured them she had done this many times before, which was true. It was one of the few treats her granny allowed.
They heard the popping kernels in the distance, and lied about as Louie flicked through the channels.
It wasn't until Webby had returned several minutes later, handing them a large bowl of buttered popcorn, while she sipped a glass of water, and they had agreed on the Disney channel that the question was asked.
Good Luck Paisley played in the background, and Louie stared, "Remember that lady at the mall carrying that egg at the mall?"
"H'yeah, it was weird," Dewey said.
Huey looked at them with a smile, "I thought it was cute! The mom had it snuggled in its little egg cozy."
"Oh yeah, they use special materials for those cozies," Webby chewed, "they're really soft. Granny still has mine."
"Yeah, yeah, but where did it come from?"
Dewey sent him an obvious duh look, "What are you talking about? It belonged to the mom."
"But where did she get it?" Louie grabbed Dewey's leg and pushed it to the side, "Where does the baby come from?"
Huey faltered, "Babies come from eggs…"
"And you say I'm repetitive," Dewey chuckled.
"So where do eggs come from?" Louie held Dewey's leg and shot them a definitive look, "The baby comes hatches out of the egg, so where the heck does the egg come from?"
Webby pushed another handful of popcorn into her mouth, "And so, this reference interview has finally produced the real question."
Dewey rolled his eyes, "You've spent too much time with Quackfaster."
"That's easy," Huey prepared to explain, "eggs come from…wait…hmm…," he trailed off, his index finger folding in realization.
"Where do egg come from," Dewey shot up quickly, eyes wide, "does the duck come before the egg, or is the egg before the duck?"
Louie opened his arms in exasperation, "I know right!"
"I know where they -," a hand slapped across Webby's beak, and their heads turned to her.
"Wait, you know?"
"Of course Webby knows!" Dewey glared at Huey, "And you know too, don't you?"
Webby moved his hand from off her mouth, "You're telling me they don't know?"
"I didn't think they were ready to know!"
Louie and Dewey stared at their sister-friend and oldest brother with rising suspicion, and surprised aghast. They knew something they didn't, and Huey had determined it was too much for them to know?
"Wait, wait, no fair!" Dewey hopped on the sofa, "You can't hold out on us. Tell us the truth, where do eggs come from!"
"And how do you two know away?"
They shared a brief look before answering.
"Junior Woodchucks bird nesting project."
"Granny told me." She shrugged before stuffing her mouth with more popcorn, "And I read a lot. I'm sure you can use your phone's Wifi to find out."
"Webby, no!" Huey cried, and when Louie reached for his phone, he launched himself on his younger brother, grabbing the phone from his hand, "No, no, no, they must stay decent!"
"What is wrong with you!" Louie yelled, "Give me back my phone."
Dewey stared, "It has secrets, doesn't it? Secrets to the universe."
"Nope." Webby answered, "Just secrets to where eggs come from, and really, you can't just not tell them, Huey. They'll figure it out anyway."
"Not on my watch!" He clutched the phone to his chest. He thought of his next actions, of his reasons why, and shook his head, "I'm not going to be the one to tell them!"
"Fine!" Dewey stomped on the floor, "If you don't want to, we'll ask Uncle Donald!"
"Yeah, he'll tell us," Louie stuffed his hands into his hoodie and glared, "he won't be able to dodge it."
Huey stared at his brothers, and he stared at Webby who had retrieved the remote and changed the channel. It appeared he was alone in this one.
"Actually, that isn't a bad idea." Huey threw him back the phone, "Let's ask Uncle Donald. It's already three, and he should be up by now. You ask him, and he'll tell you."
Dewey gave him a look, "Seriously?"
"Seriously."
Louie grabbed his phone and stuffed it back into his pocket, "No jokes, no long winded speeches of responsibility?"
"Ask Uncle Donald, and you will know." He returned to his seat and grabbed a handful of popcorn, "But I'm outta this. You can do it on your own."
It didn't taken them a minute to leave the television room, crashing and bumping into each other as they raced to the house boat where their uncle slept.
"That's going to go really bad, you know?"
Huey smacked his lips and reached for more popcorn, "Oh, I know, but I wasn't going to touch that with a ten foot pole. Junior Woodchuck Guide rule number 517, When in doubt, consult an adult."
"We'll get the pillows and ice cream ready, won't we?"
"Oh absolutely," he pointed to the television, "WWC?"
"Gosh, I love the Wombat Wresting Channel!"