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Scrooge awoke with a start. He did not know why.
Heart palpitations rattled in his chest. He rolled to the edge, slipping on his slippers.The chilly air called for a robe.
Experience told him this was some sort of premonition, and to not take this lightly. He checked each of the kids’ rooms, counting their slumbering heads.
One in Della’s. Three in the boys’. Two in - no, he did a double take and stepped into the room fully. Webby snored quietly, snuggling deeper in her blanket, but her twin bed decorated in grey and blacks was empty.
Scrooge frowned and walked to the bathroom. No one was there. He scratched his head in thought, wondering where she could’ve gone, and fastened his robe tightly, determined to get to the bottom of it.
But there was no need to worry Webbigail. He preferred not to imagine her panicked expression once she realized her best friend wasn’t where she was supposed to be. He left the room quieter than a mouse and closed the door like, only with a tiny click crying aloud.
She wasn’t upstairs, or in her room. “Where could she have gone,” downstairs he went, scenarios running amuck in his head. Magica would be so bold to reappear in his mansion. She had no claim to the child or need, but that had never stopped her before.
Her vindictiveness knew no bounds. He was at the bottom of the stairs where he debated his next course of action. Sleep had taken off, and he was alert, unnervingly calm. He was going to make a left when he heard a small grumble to his right, and the very clear clink of glass meeting counter top marble tile.
Scrooge moved silently, tip toeing around the corner and made it to an empty dining room. Ahead was the kitchen door. The noises were soft, deliberately quiet he presumed, but were sloppy enough to warn him this was the work of a child. He pushed the door two inches forward, just enough to see, and saw for himself.
An opened bottle of grape jelly was at her right, and an opened bottle of peanut butter was to her left. A fastened loaf of bag was to her front along with a half sliced banana. Lena worked with a scowl, more focused on her sandwich than the noise she was making.
Scrooge sighed. Bits and drips of peanut butter fell onto the counter in solid globs. Beakley wasn’t going to be pleased, and frankly, he wasn’t in the mood to witness any morning lectures. Instead of returning to bed, he opened the door.
Lena’s head spun to his direction, eyes wide as she held a butter knife coated in jelly over her bread.
“Mr. McDuck?”
“Lena.”
“I don’t think I need to explain myself, do I?”
“No, I suppose you don’t.” He walked around the counter and pulled up a stool. “Midnight snacks are quite a treat,” he glanced at her ingredients, “bananas and grape jelly?”
She shrugged, “Better than it sounds.”
Scrooge took her word for it. He did take his time to gaze over the mess she made and her not completely well rested face. Her eyes were still puffy from sleep, and he recalled such a look from years gone by.
He sighed, unsure of what he should do. "No two children are alike," his sister warned years past. But it was obvious to him that something was amiss.
“A snack has never hurt anyone, except for the cannibal dragon named Cannibal, but may I ask why?”
She sent him a look, “Because I’m hungry?”
“Beakley would like to have a word with you on that.”
They chuckled, and her laughter eased his doubts, though they stayed near.
“I don’t know,” she said, laughter dying. “Had s bad dream or something.” She spread her peanut butter on her bread and moved to the jelly.
“A nightmare was it,” he grew serious and lowered his tone, “the M word?”
“No? Yes? Maybe?” Her speech slowed as she tried to connect her thoughts. "It wasn't a nightmare. I know that much."
“How?”
Lena smiled sardonically, “Because it was so good, Mr. McDuck. Weird but good. I was in this tiny cottage, and someone was singing. I don’t know what they were singing or what their voice sounded like, but the tune made me feel warm, safe. Guitars or an electric keyboard, I don’t know.”
“Sounds enigmatic.”
“Exactly,” she drawled. “And then some raven came and dropped off a sandwich.”
“What happened next?”
“I woke up.” She grinned at him, “And I realized I was peckish for some peanut butter-jelly and bananas.”
Her sly, humorous banter couldn’t conceal the slight reddish discoloring of her sclera. Her eyes' whites mostly returned, but Scrooge guessed its coloring wasn’t completely due to a lack of sleep.
Now wasn’t the time to address is.
He glanced at her finished sandwich and chuckled. “You can’t have peanut butter without milk,” he hopped off the stool and went to the fridge. “And while you’re at it, I’d like to try one.”
“Seriously?”
“Course. Food adventures are important, not as important as business and treasure, but still important.”
Lena shook her head. Incredulous or amused, he couldn’t tell, but he reasoned it was most likely both. He poured glasses of milk, and she prepared a second sandwich. They sat on their stools, dining on their midnight meals.
“I think,” she chewed, “I should give it up, that dream. It was too weird, y’know?”
“We can always look into it, if that’s what you wanted,” he swallowed. “This is good. But Lena,” he faced her.
“Hm?”
His expression was neither grave or light. Maybe stern, maybe soft. Could have been a combination of the two. Whatever it was, Lena was surprised. This look was new to her.
“Whether you choose to let sleeping beasts lie or go off in search of the truth,” he bit into his sandwich, “I’ll never give you up, y’understand?”
“My ray of light.”
He supposed this struck a nerve for her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She fought them off quickly and sniffed, nodding her head as she resumed her sandwich.
“Thanks Mr. McDuck,” she whispered.
“Always, dear.”
“Are you going to help clean up?”
Scrooge chuckled. “Absolutely not,” he answered.
She knew he wasn’t joking. “Next time I’ll make the sandwiches in your room,” she teased and drank her milk.
The night was long and filled with horrors, but it seemed, at last, she found a way to keep them at bay.