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The first dream they shared was of isolation and loneliness, of empty black sky and too-bright ground, of rustling wind and the desperate whirr of machines, of bitter, silent sea that refused to hear their plight. Of flying so high and still not high enough, of being surrounded by power that refused to heed. Of screaming in frustration and despair, of pleading uselessly to the power that be and not having their wishes fulfilled, even though they were ready to pay the price.
They woke up in their old room in the manor with a start. The moon loomed in the distance, its silver light illuminating them through the window. They fell back asleep, the events of the day too tiring for them to stay awake – the invasion of the Moonlanders, reuniting at long last, finding out about their magic… They both bore scars from their separation and all the events that led to their reunion. Perhaps it was a fluke, something odd that would never happen again that they laughed at in years to come.
They fell asleep side by side, the excitement of the newest adventure draining them, after tucking the boys in. The sofa was never the most comfortable sleeping place, but they had each other’s shoulders and the warmth of their backs pressing against the cushion.
They dreamed of planes crashing, of the deafening roar of metal screeching against rock. They dreamed of a weight cutting off her leg and gold band muzzling his beak and cuffing his wrists. They dreamed of the crushing weight of gravity as they fell back into Earth’s orbit.
Again, they woke with a start. They blinked the sleep out of their eyes, studying each other’s irises.
“Is this going to be a thing?” Donald asked.
“God, I hope not,” Della groaned.
If there was an omniscient deity out there they did not grant the twins’ prayers.
It was a thing.
The dreams were expected at this point. They kept getting shared dreams whenever they slept near each other, so they made sure to put a distance between them whenever night fell. There were still some shared dreams, but at least it wasn’t every day.
The feelings, though. That was unexpected.
He got it first, during a quiet breakfast with their family in an otherwise quiet morning. Dewey demanded pancake, a request that was soon echoed by his brothers, and then Webby agreed and stared at him with those wide, hopeful eyes, and Donald knew the battle was lost. He sighed and took the necessary ingredients to make the batter, directing Huey to handle the bacons and battling Della for command over the stove.
“No, go make a pot of coffee instead!” he yelled.
“What, I can totally fry some eggs,” Della protested.
“You haven’t actually touched a stove since you got back from the Moon and I have heard of the cake incident. You burned the stove; that doesn’t count. Sit down!”
Della blew raspberries. “Spoilsport,” she grumbled as she passed him, poking him in the rib. Their magic mingled, intertwining as they passed, and Donald felt fondness that wasn’t his; it felt foreign and reminded him of light feathers falling from the sky, breeze brushing his face, clouds drifting lazily as the afternoon went by. He froze in surprise, pulling his magic back in reflex.
Della met his eyes, and he knew she felt that.
“Mom, Uncle Donald?” Huey called, shaking them off the reverie. “Do you want the bacon crispy or not?”
“Uh, either way is fine, honey,” Della answered, and Donald nodded mutely as he resumed his motions to mix the pancake batter. They both knew this was only the first in what would be millions to come.
They went back from a strangely eventful trip to the grocery store – of course this family could make a trip to a grocery store eventful; who else would be able to find the egg of an apparently extinct bird species in a grocery store of all places if not Huey – and they put their groceries to the kitchen, heaving a sigh that told everyone of how tired they were.
“Can we just have one day where we don’t have to deal with this?” Donald complained.
“I hear you, but let’s be real here. Do you honestly believe we can catch a break? I mean, this is the family where one member got stuck in the moon. We all have magic and the Greek gods are basically our friends at this point.” Della stared at him in challenge, lifting a brow.
“Ugh, don’t remind me. I just want things to be normal for once.”
“This is our normal, what can you do.”
Donald sighed, “Yeah,” and bumped his shoulder to hers, and their magic mixed together like pigments in oil. Something distinctly Donald snaked its way to her head, a resignation mixed with some possessive grip, a sense of it’s not perfect but I would never trade this for anything in this world, something that was undeniably salty and wet and rushing that screamed seawater and the deep.
Again, they froze, but this time they remained touching. The magic mixed further, and Della caught more things; confusion, surprise, disbelief, a question of some sort that she couldn’t understand.
Donald broke the contact first, though the magic touched still. “Oh,” was all he managed to say.
Della nodded in agreement. “Yeah,” she breathed. “Oh.”
It felt like intruding on something private, when they received glimpses of what the other was feeling. It felt like violation, when they felt joy that wasn’t theirs brush against their cheek, lighting up the room in a way only the other could. It didn’t matter that they’d grown together, spending so much time memorizing each dip and line of the other’s face and learning what they meant. It didn’t matter that a split second of a glance could tell them what the other was feeling. Feeling what they felt was different from knowing, and it was crossing such a bold line it felt like jumping into a chasm.
They kept wincing and dancing around each other that the kids started getting anxious, so Donald sat next to her on her bed and sighed. “We can’t keep going like this.”
“Nope. We can’t,” Della agreed. She turned to face him. “So, what are we gonna do about it?”
Donald inhaled. “We build a wall to keep each other out,” he said.
“I don’t know, I do like that we were able to communicate like this,” Della said with a frown. “Like earlier, when you practically rolled your eyes at me when Uncle Scrooge started monologuing? I like that.”
“So, not a wall?”
“No, maybe a wall. But with a window.” Della smiled, eyes shining.
“Or a door,” Donald added. “Anything to let us in when we’re knocking.”
“Wall with a door,” Della repeated. “That sounds good to me.”
“Question is, how do you build the wall?” Donald leaned to Della, a glint in his eyes. Della leaned in in response. Their magic brushed and mingled and they shared an old memory, of leaning in to each other, stifling giggles as they set a whoopie cushion on Uncle Scrooge’s seat in his study. They both froze at the memory, and their gaze hardened. They needed that wall, and they needed it fast.
They built it brick by the proverbial brick, shaping the wall with their magic and willing each strand not to mingle together. They built a wall, somewhere they could access each other and whisper secrets with their magic, just beyond the others’ hearing. They learned to send feelings, impressions, washed out memories to form messages only they could decipher, and rejoiced when they realized, once they put their mind to it, they could send visuals to each other.
Not words. Never words, no matter how much they tried.
Donald noticed Louie glancing at them whenever they allowed their magic to connect, and he had to take a step back. When he was finally alone with Della, he asked, “Can the others read what we send each other?”
Della blinked. “I… don’t know? Why?”
“Louie kept glancing at us,” he answered. “I don’t think he understood what we were sending each other. I mean, we’re still figuring out what we’re telling each other too, but…”
“Yeah, I don’t want him to know how we managed to get Uncle Scrooge run around in the manor naked, either. Uncle Scrooge would skin us alive,” Della grimaced. “Not to mention it’s inappropriate…”
“Let’s keep things PG-13?”
“And let’s keep things like childhood pranks out. I don’t want to give them ideas.”
Donald hissed. “Ugh, yeah.” He shook his head. “The things they get into… was this how Uncle Scrooge feel like raising us? We were both little shits.”
“Must be,” Della sighed, but fondness swirled through her magic and nudged Donald’s anyway, prompting a similar reaction from his magic. “But, come on. They can’t be that bad, can they?”
“Dewey hotwired my boat and all three of them planned to go to Cape Suzette on their own, Della. They specifically waited until I needed to go for a job interview.”
Della gave a low whistle. “Oh, man. Yeah, that is a headache.”
Donald moved around her to get back to his houseboat. “They got that from you, you know.”
“Excuse you, sir, you were as much of a little shit as I was,” Della said, smiling.
“Well you gave birth to them, clearly they got it from you.”
“Well you raised them and they’re all little shits, just like you were. So who did they got it from, hm? Check and mate.”
Donald sent her a flare of annoyance and amusement mixed into one. “Look, buddy, you had your fill for the few weeks I was gone and they’re worse than ever. You’re a bad influence.”
“Whaaat? I’m just continuing the path you chose!” Della sent him the emotional equivalent of sticking her tongue out at him, and he couldn’t help – he laughed.
The dreams continued, despite the dams they built, the distance they put, the magic they used to speak to one another, as much as feelings and impressions could speak. They kept coming, smaller in number but stronger in intensity.
The first few weeks, they laughed at it. Those dreams, disturbing as they were sometimes, were so… small compared to what they faced on the daily basis. Being late to class and forgetting your pants, wearing silly clothes and dancing in the town square… what were they, compared to fighting aliens? What were they compared to surviving on the Moon by yourself, raising three babies and holding so many – too many – jobs to keep yourself afloat? What were they compared to being a member of the Duck family?
And then, as they got better at sending feelings and impression through their link – but not at blocking, their walls still too weak, too easily broken through, the torrent of what they didn’t want to share too strong to keep in – the underlying fears leeched in. Dreams of Uncle Scrooge, buried in rubble, the triplets with red marring their feathers, too still to be asleep, of Webby screaming her throat hoarse as the world around her fell to pieces, tears spilling and running down her cheeks like rivers.
The desperation to keep the nightmare under control rose until it couldn’t be contained anymore.
It was odd, what you learn about others from their dreams. What they fear, what they love, what they desire, all laid bare as their consciousness seeped into yours.
It was unsettling, what you learn about others as they woke from their nightmares.
Della woke up with a choked scream. It was rarely a full scream, usually stifled before it could reach any occupant of the room save for Donald. It made his breath catch as her panic seeped into his mind, their addled brains that already had fear steeping in with the nightmare jolted by the confusion thrown into the mix.
Donald woke with barely a sound. Simply eyes opening in a sudden motion, a quiet gasp in the otherwise silent night, drowned in Della’s muffled sobs. It disturbed Della, how quiet he was in sleep and in the in-between, when he had no qualms about being loud and demanding and angry when he was wide awake.
They talked about it, hovering above mugs and pots of long-cold coffee and freshly baked brownies they made from cheap brownie mixes Uncle Scrooge always scoffed at – from-scratch stuff were always better, but mixes saved time, and they didn’t want to take too much time making a ruckus in the kitchen when they only wanted something sweet.
“How come you’re so quiet when you wake up?” Della asked, spooning brownies into her mouth and glaring when her poor coordination led to the brownie falling to the kitchen counter.
“I raised three kids and I don’t want to wake them up,” Donald explained. “After the first few times, you learn how to be quiet.”
“They’re heavy sleepers though,” Della protested.
“Not really. It’s like they take turns being the light sleeper for each night,” Donald said, bringing his mug to his beak. “Huey’s usually the one that sleeps the lightest, but sometimes it’s Dewey instead. Louie usually sleeps well unless he’s got something in his mind. But once one of them wakes up, they all wake up, and they won’t sleep again until morning.” He sipped loudly and put the mug down. “So, yeah. You learn to be quiet.”
Della looked away. “Sure was tough, huh?”
“I guess.”
“I’m sorry it fell to you,” she said, staring blankly at her cold coffee. “I should have been there, and instead I was just… stuck in the Moon.” She frowned. “And now I’m playing catch up but I’ve lost ten years and I’m not going to get it back and – “ she took a deep breath and shoveled brownies into her mouth until it was impossible to speak.
“You tried to get back,” Donald noted, thinking back of their shared dreams, of Della digging through the rubble to get materials so she could rebuild the Spear, screaming in frustration when all she found was pieces and scraps. “It won’t bring back time, but… it’s something.”
“It’s something,” Della echoed. “Doesn’t feel like it, but sure, I guess.”
The dreams started to decrease as they found a way to handle the way their magic pulled at each other as if desperate to dig into the other’s head. The wall stood tall and strong, the door opened only with a knock, and physical distance strengthened the wall that grew weaker in their sleep. It was a balance. Not ideal, sure, but a balance nonetheless, and a balance that kept getting better. If they followed the tracks they knew the nightmares would eventually stop.
Uncle Scrooge knew about their late night coffee-and-brownies party, because of course he did. And their magic got all sorts of screwed through magical shenanigans, because of course it was. It was all par for the course of being a Duck.
They never thought magic could bear scars, but theirs did. The Void Ring left its marks on their magic, unseen by all but undeniably there. Della’s magic hung heavier on her shoulders, like a cape instead of a cloud. It grew lighter with each passing day, but it would never be the same. Donald’s magic used to envelope him in a light, encasing him from head to toe, but now it pooled under his feet if left to glow for too long, dripping, though the time it took to drip and pool grew longer every day. They both knew it was a small price to pay for survival.
And then the slew of memories came in, in the form of dreams they once had managed to keep at bay and flashes when they reached for teacups and sudden bangs when they least expect. Small things at first; changing the boys’ diapers, paragliding and skydiving, changing perspectives in shared moments that had them gripping each other dizzily.
Della came to the houseboat in the middle of the night after a shared dream, tumbling in like a hurricane and staring at him, agape, disbelief in her eyes. She made a beeline to his closet and started rummaging through it, and took a few steps back when she found what she was looking for.
Donald reached out to her tentatively, both physically and magically. “Dell?”
Della whipped around to face him. “You’re Paperinik?!”
“Aw, phooey.”
“You didn’t think you should tell me this?”
“Dell, keep it down!”
Della’s voice dropped to a hiss. “You didn’t tell anyone about it?!”
“Well, I mean, I started going out as Paperinik because I was a little shit who did things for shits and giggles and Uncle Scrooge would blow up at the things I did, so…” Donald inhaled. “Yep. Nope. It’s a closed chapter in my life now.”
“What in the world. What even, Don.”
“…coffee and brownies?”
“Oh, definitely. Let’s go to the kitchen.”
More memories came in, gripping them in the shoulders and screaming to their faces without showing signs of letting go.
They walled them up as well as they could, repairing the dam though it kept cracking and breaking, and talked well into the night with mugs of coffee and tins of brownies.
The next time, it was Donald’s turn to come into Della’s room, struggling to keep silent so as to not wake the kids. He barged in without bothering to knock, knowing Della was awake and waiting for him.
He sat on her bed, refusing to look at her. “You didn’t tell me your husband was a giant ass,” he said at last, when he was sure he wouldn’t scream his words.
“Well I don’t want my brother to be committing murder in the streets,” Della said with a shrug. “I handled it. Besides, it’s… what did you say it was? A closed chapter in my life, I think?”
Donald huffed. “I still don’t like it.”
Della shifted and put her hand on his arm, flaring her magic in invitation, sending the cooling warmth of a mug of coffee and the sweetness of chocolate through their magic, ending it with a question.
Donald sighed and nodded. “Coffee and brownies. Yeah.”
Uncle Scrooge found them blearily waking up in the kitchen the next morning, just as the sun started to peek out of its hiding place.
“There are better places to sleep than in the kitchen,” he said as the twins blinked at him. He glanced at the mugs of coffee and the empty tins that once held brownies. “Why do you drink coffee at night? This is what happens if you drink it at night instead of in the morning.”
“It’s not like we were going to sleep again after getting a shared dream,” Della said, rubbing her eyes. “Might as well drink coffee.”
Uncle Scrooge sighed, long and hard. “I told you to come to me if this persists,” he said.
“We’re handling it,” Donald said as he massaged the crick in his neck.
“This isn’t handling it,” Uncle Scrooge said, gripping his cane so hard it seemed the wood would creak. “Drinking coffee at 2 A.M and eating tins of brownies, however small the tins… that’s not handling it.” He sat on the table, by Della’s side. “You could have tried something. We have valerian tea to help you sleep. Warm milk and honey. Hot chocolate!”
“We were handling it,” Donald insisted. “Things were on a good track until that ring.”
“The ring?”
“It… disturbed the balance.” Della sipped her coffee, made a face, and spat it back out into the mug. Donald sent her a wave of disgust and she glared at him as she poured the mug’s content into the sink. “We started sharing memories when we sleep and it’s kind of annoying. But it’s similar to when we started sharing dreams, I think we can handle this.”
“Should I get you the Orb of Remedies, then?”
Della sent Donald a look, poking him with a question that he mirrored. They both shrugged. “It’s okay, we’re handling it,” Donald assured.
“Just… talk to me. If it gets worse, talk to me. I want to help,” Uncle Scrooge said, and the twins felt a clench of guilt in their guts. They weren’t sure who it was from.
It got worse before it got better.
Donald ran to the docks at night in Paperinik’s suit, weaving through the alleys and punching creeps in the face in hope that the fatigue would keep him asleep and keep the nightmares and memories back.
His fatigue leeched through the bond and seeped into Della instead, and she received every single detail of the fight in their dream that night.
He didn’t stop going out as Paperinik, but he stopped going until he felt he couldn’t stand.
They went on another adventure with Uncle Scrooge and the kids, and they knew they were barely keeping it together when their gazes flickered and they switched places. They barely kept their screams in, surprised at the sudden change to a body that wasn’t theirs but they knew all too well. They flickered back immediately to their own place, feeling their own magic churning with something odd and unfamiliar.
The ring left its mark on them. They just didn’t know how bad until they were yanked out of their bodies and shoved back in unceremoniously.
Later, Donald sent Della impressions and feelings, after this is done.
Della’s rebuttal was quick. Disagreement and pressing urgency; No, better be as quick as possible.
Donald repeated what he sent Della, and Della finally sighed, conceding. There wasn’t much they could do, with them being on a plane going to the ruins Scrooge had located the next treasure he wanted to nab.
Uncle Scrooge had shown more and more interest in magical treasures lately. Before, he went out just for the fun of it, for bragging rights, for the adrenaline. Ever since the kids’ magic became apparent and the twins’ intermingled more, he began actively searching for magical artifacts. He brought the Orb of Remedies basically everywhere, and the twins were grateful for it. it had proven useful in their many misadventures. It did have the unfortunate downside of making Dewey even more reckless than usual, but Donald was more than capable of curbing that.
This particular object, the Mirror of Breaking, apparently had the power to break curses on anything that was reflected on its glass-covered bronze face, framed by circular bronze that was decorated with golden leaves. The frame was tarnished, but it could be cleaned easily enough. Neither of the twins knew why Uncle Scrooge was so interested in it and why he was so adamant about getting it; most of the things he accumulated in the years of adventuring were cursed and his idea of dealing with the curses was to stick them into his garage and forget about them.
They didn’t participate much in the conversations. They hadn’t in a while, too wrapped up in their messed up magic and the taint the ring had left in them. The sky and the sea met halfway in the horizon and worked to slough off the corruption, but it was a slow process, and they weren’t sure if they had enough time to work on it. They’d gotten good with reading the impressions and feelings, and sending visuals was as easy as snapping fingers at this point, and that mastery over their bond helped with keeping the corruption at bay, but not by much.
Donald sent a flurry of visuals and impressions, framing the question, Do you think the memory sharing and the switching is because of the corrosion?
Della answered immediately, I hope so, because that means once the corrosion is gone we’ll be good as new.
Donald sighed. Hopefully.
Apparently, the mirror sat prettily in a ruins of a castle, where the only way to reach it would be through a tiny sliver of road in between cliffs, with gaping maw of rocks below. They managed to get to the castle without any incident, miraculously enough, and stepped foot in the safer grounds where rose bushes had overgrown so much the door to the castle was blocked by thorns.
“The wall over there is all crumbled,” Louie pointed out to the side. “Maybe we can go through there instead.”
“Oh, good eye!” Uncle Scrooge praised, and they went through the crumbled walls.
The castle was no more than partial walls overgrown by vines and bushes by this point, with moss covering the stones and roots peeking from the floors. Uncle Scrooge led them through the now-open corridors into what would have been the main hall of the castle, where a single podium stood in the middle of the room with the blue sky towering over it. The mirror at atop the podium, silent and waiting, and Dewey ran ahead to take it.
“Wait, hold on – “ Donald called out, but Dewey had already reached the podium and held up the mirror. Nothing happened.
Dewey looked around. “Well, that’s… anticlimactic,” he settled at last.
“Yeah, this isn’t following the usual pattern and I don’t like it,” Louie said, looking around warily.
“Adventuring isn’t about patterns, Louie. Not everything follows a pattern,” Uncle Scrooge said, walking over to study the mirror, still in Dewey’s hands. “Besides, there were texts that consider the mirror useless. Something about the magic not activating properly or needing blood sacrifice.”
“Excuse me but did you say blood sacrifice? Whose blood are we talking about here?” Huey piped up.
“The mirror’s holder, naturally,” Uncle Scrooge answered all too nonchalantly, turning to Dewey when he squawked in surprise. “Don’t worry, the texts says you should drip your blood to its back. We can see some dark stains there but it’s not like you’re bleeding.”
“I guess it’s fine, then?” Huey muttered uncertainly, taking the mirror from Dewey’s hold and turning it around in his hands. “Is this real gold?” he asked, brushing his fingers against the golden leaves, careful to avoid the dark stains at the mirror’s back.
Louie hummed, hovering near and holding his hand out over the mirror. “I think it is,” he said, tilting his head and reaching out to touch it. “It’s tarnished and it feels like it’s not… pure? But I think it’s real – ow!” he jumped back, hand trembling, as Huey yelped in surprise when the mirror slipped from his hold. He tried to catch it again, but it escaped his hold anyway, rushing to the ground.
Webby managed to catch it before it hit the mossy stone floor. She stared at Louie. “What? What’s wrong?”
Louie grunted, holding his trembling hand in his free one, and reached to the khopesh he strapped to his back. Della drew a sharp breath, suddenly alarmed at how Louie’s shaking had the khopesh rattling, worried that he was seized by some sort of leftover curse on the mirror, but instead the contact to the weapon seemed to calm Louie and still his hand. He breathed and looked at the mirror. “You don’t feel that? It was like I got zapped by Dewey’s magic, but worse.”
“No? I don’t feel anything,” Webby said, pulling herself to her feet. She turned to Huey and Dewey. “Guys?”
“No,” Dewey answered, while Huey shook his head.
Uncle Scrooge hummed in thought as Della and Donald made their way to Louie, Donald strapping the khopesh back to Louie’s back as Della studied his still-trembling fingers. “Maybe it’s related to the mirror’s lore. The blood sacrifice. Louie, do you have a cut on your hand anywhere?”
“Not that I know of,” Louie answered, the same time as Della gave a decisive no.
“Okay, so not blood,” Uncle Scrooge mused. “Magic?”
“We didn’t get that sort of reaction,” Huey pointed out. “So it can’t be magic.”
“Louie? Are you okay?” Della asked, gently folding Louie’s fingers into hers. Her magic, mingled as it was with Donald’s, pressed into his and sent phantom chill of Louie’s hands into his, and he frowned in worry.
“My hand fell asleep and I can’t really feel anything there,” Louie admitted. “I think it’s the mirror, I felt something spike when I touch it.”
“Magically?” Donald pressed. Louie looked at him and nodded.
Their concern simmered together and intensified. Della whipped back to Uncle Scrooge. “Let’s go back, Uncle Scrooge,” she requested. “We’ve got the mirror.”
“We still have a whole castle to explore – “
“Uncle Scrooge, Louie touched that mirror for maybe a millisecond and his hand fell asleep. The mirror obviously affected him,” Della said, chasing Uncle Scrooge’s gaze with her own. “You already know magic damage can be fatal. Let’s get back to the plane and have him hold the orb. I know you have it with you.”
There were times when all those frankly astonishing number of years Uncle Scrooge had walked the earth turned into mere five when he was excited about adventure, and this was clearly one of them. He had been focused on getting the mirror before, but once they got it, he looked like a child ready to explore the unknown, and both Della and Donald stared at him in their shared, simmering alarm wanting him to agree to get back immediately.
He seemed to understand their concern, though, as he agreed. They made their way back to the plane, where Launchpad was waiting, once again making their way through the tiny road and trying to ignore the rocks below. Uncle Scrooge handed the orb to Louie, apparently having it in his pocket, telling him to be careful not to drop it.
They miraculously managed to get through the trip unscathed when they headed into the castle. Not so with the trip back.
Maybe it was the fatigue after going for so long, or maybe he stepped on a rock, or maybe it was just plain bad luck, but Huey slipped and careened to the side dangerously. Just as the others stretched out their hands to catch him, his feet left the ground and he plummeted down.
Instincts and reflexes alone drove Donald to jump after him, mind blank but for the pleads to keep him safe and the ring of his scream. He had half the mind to send Della an impression of jumping, help me that he haphazardly threw together just before he jumped, chased by the kids’ surprised and panicked yells and Della’s high pitched screech. He managed to grab Huey in midair and folded his small body into his, hugging him into his chest as he positioned himself underneath Huey to absorb the impact of the fall if he ended up crashing.
They say that moments before you die your whole life flashes in your mind, and time stretched just so you could see all that flash of memory.
Donald didn’t see that. Not a flash of his whole life rehashed in its sick reminder of what he had and hadn’t done, but he could feel Della’s feelings, anger at his recklessness and concern and desperate to grab them both.
Donald sent her a visual of him jumping, into a gaping black maw underneath him. It was accompanied by urgency and a soft plea. She had barely any time to process what he meant, and when she understood it was all she could do not to cuss him out then and there, because he was already jumping off and she could barely catch his tail feathers from the air. Instead she screamed, disbelieving and angry and so terribly afraid.
Della managed to grab Donald and Huey just moments before they crashed to the unforgiving rocks and landed them harmlessly on the bottom of the cliff.
And then the force of her anger and the sheer bludgeoning power of her relief slammed into their bond, and they reeled, gaze flickering and switching, switching, switching.
Della didn’t care. Through the switch-switch-switch, she glared at her twin – his face, her face, his face again, back at hers – and yelled, “Are you out of your mind?!”
Her voice mixed with Donald’s as they kept switching, from her high pitched scream to his scratchy screech and back again. Huey stared with wide uncomprehending eyes, leaning back as he held his arms up as if trying to shield himself. If she saw, it didn’t register.
“What were you – what were you thinking?!” she continued the tirade, still switching, and there was a wave of nausea underneath all the anger and the rotten magic. “Just jumping like that, without even telling me? I can fly! I can do the jumping!”
“I told you I was jumping!”
“You barely gave me time to even process – what the duck, Donald!”
“Oh, like you barely gave us time to process the fact that you went to space in an untested space ship?” Donald threw back, and it was so jarring, to hear those biting words in his and her voices at once, to be pinned by that poisonous gaze worn by a face she knew best and a face she saw in the mirrors.
She reeled, but she threw back anyway, “Going in a space ship isn’t the same as jumping off a cliff without any gear!”
“I don’t care if I died as long as my family is safe.”
“Oh, shut up! You don’t care if you died?! What about the others, do you think the kids wouldn’t care if you died?!”
“Better me than them – “
“Stop!” Huey’s voice rang out loudly, and they shut up, looking at him and his tumultuous magic. “What’s going on? Why do you keep… switching?”
The question stopped the wave of anger and replaced it with still dread, then they exchanged a quick glance as their magic flared and mixed, switch-switch-switch still, throwing questions back and forth and probing and feeling and realizing.
“It’s gotten worse,” he whispered.
“You think?” she bit back, but there was no heat behind it. She reached to his hand and he reached back, clasping, and letting their magic mingle some more until it settled and they stopped flickering back and forth.
“How long has this been going on?” Huey asked.
“A while,” Della admitted. “We thought we had it handled, but it’s worse than we thought.”
Donald swallowed bile in his throat, holding his beak shut in one hand to keep it from coming up. When it settled, he sighed. “Let’s get back up. We need to use that orb. The corrosion is worse than I thought.”
“Wait a minute – a while? How long is a while? How come we don’t know about this?” Huey demanded.
“Uncle Scrooge knows,” Della said, standing up. “We convinced him we had it handled. Come on, I can carry you both.”
With Donald on his back and Huey at her chest, she called to her magic and buried her ire at how it felt brittle and heavy. She managed to fly them back to safety all the same, the trail of while behind them looking like heavy rain cloud instead of a sliver of white mist that bloomed into plumes.
They landed just by the plane, and not too long after Uncle Scrooge arrived with the rest of the kids. Launchpad hovered around them, seemingly able to sense they weren’t in the mood to chat.
As soon as Uncle Scrooge was in sight, Huey perked up, yelling, “Uncle Scrooge! Come quick, Mom and Uncle Donald aren’t in good shape!”
“Oh, phooey. He’s gonna be mad,” Della groaned. Donald’s agreement wafted in through their mingled magic.
“Their magic is weird and they kept switching places earlier!” Huey babbled as soon as Uncle Scrooge was close enough. “Their magic kind of mixes and it’s just – weird, like it’s much heavier than it’s supposed to be, and – “
“Huey, it’s fine,” Donald assured. He met Uncle Scrooge’s gaze for a split second and looked away. “It’s just… the aftermath of the ring.”
“But you keep switching, and – “
Della looked up just in time to see Uncle Scrooge’s expression shuttered close, like it always did when he went livid. She gulped as he asked, low and slow, “I thought I told you to tell me if things gets worse.”
“We didn’t think it would be this bad,” Della muttered.
Somehow, the long exhale Uncle Scrooge let out was so much more devastating than if he had screamed at them. He turned at Louie and said, “Louie, is your hand okay?”
Louie blinked at him. “Uh, um… it’s okay now, I can feel things and it’s not trembling anymore.”
“That’s good. Give the orb to Della and Donald, okay? We’ll go soon.”
Louie obeyed instantly, purposefully making a wide berth from Webby, who held the mirror in her hands. He handed the orb to Donald, wincing when their magic brushed, and stepped back with an uneasy look in his face.
“Louie?” Donald called uncertainly.
“Please fix your magic. It’s… not good,” the youngest whispered.
“How does it feel like?”
Louie shook his head, frowning. “Like… like rot.”
Donald inhaled and nodded, waving Louie to go into the plane. The orb sat on his palm, and he offered it to Della with a single glance. Della clasped her hand over it, and they held hands with the orb right between them as they walked up the ramp into the plane, following the rest of their family.
It was funny, how neither of them realized how nauseous their own magic had been making them until the mending properties of the orb took that away.
Apparently, it showed in their outward appearance, too, because Uncle Scrooge took one look at them, snorted, and gestured as he turned to the kids, saying, “And this, children, is why you communicate and ask for help when you have a problem you can’t resolve by yourself.”
Della gasped dramatically. “Uncle Scrooge! How could you, in front of my kids?”
“It’s a good life lesson for them, Della.”
“I mean, yeah, but you didn’t have to say it that way.”
Louie peered over. “Wait, where’s the orb?”
“In here,” Donald answered, holding up his and Della’s clasped hand. A memory resurfaced in his mind, and he smiled, sending the feelings and impressions to Della through their bond. The corrosion had knocked their walls down that the communication was almost too easy, and now that the orb was mending their magic they knew building a new boundary would be much easier and stronger without needing a harsher separation.
Della received his message and laughed. At the kids’ questioning look, she explained, “We used to do this all the time when we were kids. Taking things and hiding it in our hands like this, I mean. And we used to hold hands a lot, so people don’t think much on it.”
Uncle Scrooge sighed in exasperation. “They’re half the reason I’m very protective of my dime.”
Webby gasped. “You stole the dime?!”
“And many others!” Della bragged. “And we got the dime multiple times.”
“We were troublemakers when we were kids,” Donald said with a smirk, then he directed his gaze to the triplets. “Which is why I know to stop you before you do anything. I can tell.”
“Wait, give me a list on what pranks you pulled and tell me in detail how you got to do what you did,” Dewey asked immediately. Huey pulled out his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook and clicked a pen open next to him.
Uncle Scrooge, likely foreseeing a disaster in the future if the twins’ successful heists were to be revealed to the triplets, shut that down immediately. “Alright now, you can discuss that later. Let’s get back to Duckburg now.”
They realized, as the orb kept mending and restoring and purifying their tainted magic, that the first time they did it the process was cut short when they let go of the orb in favor of turning to the sky and the sea to replenish their magic. The sky and the sea did indeed replenish their magic, but they were not capable of purification the way the orb was capable of.
This time, they made sure to keep the orb on their person until the last hint of corrosion was purged out of their system.
That night, for the first time in a while, they burst with so much energy and excitement that Della went for a midnight flight, dancing with the clouds, while Donald donned his suit once more to go toe to toe with the new onslaught of villains that started to sprout in Duckburg's streets.
For the first time, their shared dreams was filled with laughter and warmth instead of screeching metal and fear.