Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dewey ducked out of the path of the sword as it came hurtling towards him, candlelight reflecting off its blade, and the weapon sailed past him harmlessly. His opponent recovered quickly, blocking his retaliating swing. The resulting clash echoed through the room, bouncing off of wooden walls and adding to the tension. Dewey huffed and retreated a few paces, muscles rigid as his assailant grinned and fell into a ready position.

The creaking sound of old wood walls was faint in between the heavy breaths of warriors locked in furious battle. He paid no attention to the flickering light from the candles strewn about the room. He couldn’t care less about the cold night wind rustling the leaves outside. All that mattered was the fight, and getting out alive.

Dewey narrowed his eyes, shifted his foot, and pushed forward. His grip on his weapon was strong, his will was made of iron, he was a fighter, he was brave, he was—

– flat on his back.

The tip of his opponent’s sword came to a rest near his neck, and Dewey dropped his head mournfully to the floor in defeat. He knocked the weapon away easily with the flat of his free hand, struggling for the breath that had been knocked out of him.

“You brought your fists to a sword fight,” Dewey wheezed, pointing an accusing finger somewhere above him. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh, come on, you let yourself wide open!” Webby grinned down at him triumphantly. “Plus, it’s more fun like this.”

“Maybe for you,” he shot back, not half as irritated as he was pretending to be. He’d known Webby for years now; he was used to her quirks. “Help me up?”

She tossed her sword to the side, giggling softly as she offered him a hand.

“I don’t believe that that is the correct way to treat your weapon, dear,” a new voice suddenly spoke. Webby, startled, dropped Dewey’s hand and he fell back to the ground with a dull thud.

“Granny!” Webby exclaimed, having whipped around so fast that a nearby candle flame danced in the wind she’d created. The corners of her beak were turned slightly upwards in a sheepish expression, like she’d been caught sneaking cookies straight from the jar. From what Dewey could see – lying on the floor dejectedly – she could use some backup. He valiantly stumbled to his feet.

In the open door of the empty barn was Mrs. Beakley, already dressed and ready for the day in her sturdy training outfit and stern frown. She made for a scary sight, as she always did, but the amusement in her eyes betrayed her. Dewey knew better than to be truly fearful, though he didn’t always.

Six years ago, back when he and Webby had first met – through a stroke of luck or fate – he’d been terrified. He’d also been 6 years old, afraid of the dark, and living in an orphanage. The same orphanage that he’d lived in for as long as he could remember. There’d been a lot of other kids there over the years. Some of them came and went like clockwork, while others just showed up one day and never left. Some had been there longer than Dewey had, and everyone tended to avoid those kids; they looked sad and lost and hopeless. Dewey had wanted to help, but didn’t know how he could, and he could admit that he’d been a little bit scared of them. A little bit scared of becoming them. So he stayed away, and everyone else stayed away, and Dewey couldn’t ever make a friend without having to watch them leave.

Then one day there’d been Webby. Dewey had snuck out early in the morning one day and gone to walk in the market -- because some of the vendors were kind and gave out free samples – and he’d run full tilt into a girl a little smaller than him. Somehow, Dewey had been the one to fall over, and Webby had helped him up, and she hadn’t stopped helping him since.

They were fast friends and largely inseparable during the two weeks she stayed in his village, much to the amusement and annoyance of one Bentina Beakley. The older duck was a traveling trainer, going from village to village to teach the less fortunate how to defend themselves, whether it be with swords, fists, or by other means. Since the fall of the Kingdom many years prior, bandits and thieves had become disturbingly commonplace, and business was booming. Especially back then. Which meant that as quickly as Webby had arrived, she had to go just as fast.

And Dewey wasn’t going to watch her leave. He was 6 years old and afraid of the dark and he wasn’t going to be alone anymore, not if he had anything to say about it. So, he ran away with what little he owned stuffed in a potato sack, and Webby hid him in a chest of clothes on Mrs. Beakley’s wagon. Mrs. Beakley found him 2 hours later, and Mrs. Beakley let him stay. The rest, as they say, is history.

Fast forward six years and Dewey wasn’t scared of Mrs. Beakley, but he did have a healthy amount of respect, and so he couldn’t help but wilt a little under her stern gaze.

“It’s dangerous to spar without an experienced supervisor.” Mrs. Beakley used her foot to flick Webby’s sword into her waiting hand. “You could have been hurt.”

“Sorry, Granny,” said Webby earnestly. “We just wanted to practice before we leave today. And we’re fine! No one got hurt.”

“Totally fine!” Dewey wheezed, bent over with his hands on his knees. “Even if it wasn’t fair.”

“Not everyone fights fair, dear,” Mrs. Beakley said gently.

Dewey glanced up from his braced position – Webby was rubbing circles on his back apologetically – and finally noticed something strange. Webby brought it up before he could.

“I thought we weren’t leaving until noon,” Webby said. “You look ready to go?”

“We have to depart earlier than usual if we wish to make it to the next village by tomorrow,” Beakley explained. “It’s not a well-known place. The roads will be rough.”

Dewey straightened as the older duck moved closer and took his sword from his slack hand. When he and Webby had woken up early to get some practice in, they’d been counting on no one else being awake to catch them. Oh, well, thought Dewey, so much for stealth.

“Go back to the inn and get your things together,” Mrs. Beakley instructed, holding open the door of the shed for them. “We leave in half an hour.”

“Yes, Granny,” Webby said, and they nudged each other on their way through the door.

The first rays of sunlight were peaking over the horizon as the young ducks made their way to the village inn. The sounds of the locals beginning their day followed them down the neat dirt road, and Webby smiled and waved at every person they happened to pass. The villagers couldn’t help but wave back; even some of the gruffer ones offered a smile. After all, no one could resist Webby’s kind nature and overflowing optimism. Everyone ended up loving her eventually, and everyone missed her when she left.

Dewey suppressed a sigh. Webby and her granny were the only family he remembered having. There were certainly no family ties back in the orphanage. He doubted anyone even noticed when he ran away. People barely noticed him now.

Don’t get him wrong, Beakley was a saint for taking him in, and he loved Webby like a sister, but he never stopped feeling like a part of him was missing. Like there was a big, empty space in his chest. Filling it with Webby’s endless cheer didn’t work, and throwing himself into training didn’t make it go away. Nothing did, and it ached something awful. Especially at night when there was nothing left to distract him. It felt like loneliness, or pain, or grief. It was confusing, since as far as he knew he had nothing to grieve.

“Are you okay? I didn’t throw you too hard, did I?” Webby’s concerned voice broke Dewey out of his thoughts and made him realize that he had been subconsciously rubbing his chest. They were stopped at the door to the Inn, his friend examining him for any sign of injury.

“I’m fine,” Dewey reassured her, stepping past her to open the creaky old door, “but I will be wanting a rematch. I must reclaim my title of undefeated champion!”

“But that would be a lie,” Webby pointed out, walking backwards so she could look him in the eye with a cheeky grin. “You’ve been defeated a great many times.”

“That’s a gross exaggeration.”

“Maybe, but even if you’d only been beaten once, the title of ‘undefeated champion’ would be a lie.”

“Okay, I’ll just have to go for the title of occasionally defeated, but still a champion.”

“That would be your current title.”

“Ouch, Webbs, tell me how you really feel.”

Webby grinned at him as they gave in to giggles, and they entered the room they’d been staying in. She pulled aside the dull curtains hanging in front of the small window, revealing a brilliant sunrise that bathed the world in golden light and came close to burning his retinas. It also revealed the disaster area that was the floor, covered in clothes and blankets from their stay. Dewey winced. They’d have to stuff their things into bags pretty quickly if they wanted to leave on time.

“You’re getting better,” said Webby in reference to his sword fighting skills, beginning to pick through the mess. “You could fight someone with less training than me and win easily.”

“Too bad I only ever fight you,” Dewey teased. “It’s not like you’ve been training since you could walk, right? Oh, wait, you have been.”

“I’m telling you you’re talented, dummy.” She threw a pillow at him with scary accuracy. “Most people can’t do what you do, and you’re still learning!”

Dewey hummed in reply, haphazardly shoving random items of clothing into his bag. Mrs. Beakley would scold him for not folding them, but she was probably busy scolding random villagers outside by the wagon, so he was in the clear.

He closed his bag the best he could what with the overflowing clothes and set it down on the floor next to the door. Then he took his favorite jacket off the hook in the closet and slid it on over his light blue shirt. The jacket was dark blue, collared, and made of leather, with a pocket on the left side, right over his heart. Dewey patted lightly at said pocket, feeling the hard metal shape of the object inside, reassuring him that his prized possession was exactly where it needed to be.

Dewey turned around just in time to watch Webby painstakingly fold her last pink shirt and put it carefully into her neatly packed bag. He chuckled quietly, fondly.

“Ready to go?” Webby asked, slinging her bag over her shoulder and standing up.

“Yeah. Hey.” He gently grabbed her arm as she went past him to the door. “Thanks.”

Dewey felt a little down about himself and doubtful of his abilities more often than he liked to admit, and Webby’s unconditional support and kind words mattered more to him than he could ever say. He didn’t know where he’d be without her. The orphanage, most likely.

She beamed and ruffled his hair. “Can’t have my best friend thinking he’s no good.”

They hauled their bags down the stairs and out the front door to the familiar waiting wagon. The sun had been steadily climbing since they’d left the training shed, and it had finally made its way fully out from behind the earth’s horizon.

Webby took his bag from him as they hopped in the back of the wagon and threw their luggage into one of the three chests at the front. One for supplies, one for clothes, and one for weaponry. Beakley poked her head in and looked them over before nodding to herself.

“Where we’re going is more dangerous than any outer villages we’ve been to. I know it will be difficult, but I want you to stay close and do as I say,” she said calmly.

“Have you ever been there, Granny?” Webby asked.

“No.” Mrs. Beakley frowned. “But there are rumors. Promise me?”

Dewey and Webby glanced at each other.

“We promise,” they said in unison.

Mrs. Beakley tapped both of them on the head and shut the back of the wagon. The back was a piece of wood that only flipped up to cover the bottom half of the opening; it was just there so that nothing fell out during their journey. A canvas covering shielded the sides and top so that the inside stayed dry when it rained.

The older duck went around the front to her regular seat and took the reins of the two horses who would be pulling them, urging them forward. Webby leaned the whole top half of her body out the back of the wagon to wave goodbye to everyone as they passed, and Dewey patted the pocket over his heart one more time.

Chapter Text

Angry shouting echoed through the dark alleyways, the sound bouncing off cold stone walls as Louie ran. His newly acquired treasure was tucked safely under one arm as the other held the hood of his cloak firmly over his head. It was a beautiful and clear night, lit by the stars, the moon, and the flickering lanterns in otherwise dark windows. The spotty light came from all angles, casting odd shadows across the maze of pathways that was his escape route. All the better, because as far as Louie was concerned, shadows were his closest friends.

He took a hard left as he plotted his path carefully in his mind. Pass by two alleys; make a right. Immediate left. Straight until he reached a dead end. Turn right. Past the hanging shop sign with the faded lettering. Turn left. Take a—

His feet flew out from under him when a puddle of mud took him by surprise. He landed hard on his left arm and the hood slid off his head, revealing messy, unkempt hair. Louie grimaced, heart racing and arm throbbing. He hadn’t accounted for puddles, he hadn’t seen that particular angle, and now he would pay the price for his ignorance. He scowled. Stupid unpredictability. Stupid mud.

Dumb mistake.

The pounding of a great many hurried footsteps snapped Louie out of his scolding thoughts, and he scrambled to stand. His arm ached with the impact of the fall, but he was still clutching the bundle with his prize under his good arm. After the danger he’d put himself in to get it, he wasn’t letting it go without a fight.

Louie spun around and started to run, but of course, it was too late. A large hand grabbed him by the hood and yanked him violently backward, choking him briefly and causing him to let out a dry cough. His back hit the wall less than gently, and when the shock of it all wore off, he was dismayed to find himself surrounded by about five brutish looking street thugs.

“The jig is up, kid,” the Leader growled, as if that wasn’t the most cliché thing he could’ve said. “Give back what you stole, and we won’t hurt ya.”

“Much,” another one piped up, grinning.

Louie barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Intimidating figures that they made, they were also all muscle and no brains. That being said, muscles could pummel him to a pulp much easier than brains could.

Trying desperately to steady his breathing, Louie cast about frantically for a new exit strategy. The word on the street about this particular group of brutes was unreliable at best, and grossly embellished at worst. The one thing that stayed consistent was that the group had four members, not five. Which meant that more than likely, one was newly recruited. A plan coming together in his mind, Louie straightened up best he could.

“What— this is what you want?” Louie looked up at them with what he hoped were honest eyes. Maybe they’d spare him if he looked innocent, since being a literal child apparently wasn’t enough. His voice shook, and that part wasn’t an act. “I don’t— I don’t understand.”

The biggest brute, which Louie spontaneously named Meathead, ground his clenched fist into the palm of his hand in an expression of his apparent toughness.

“Maybe we spell it out for you, then,” said Meathead.

“I’m just doing what I was told.”

“You expect us to believe that?” The leader scoffed, but something unsure shone through his eyes. “What idiot would tell you to steal from us?”

Louie made a show of nervously glancing at each of their faces, not quite meeting their eyes, before landing squarely on one member in the back of the group. The one who didn’t have as much muscle as the rest, the one who’d been shuffling his feet and looking worriedly up and down the alley, the one that the rest unconsciously separated from, used to being a four man team. The one who was new, or so Louie was hoping.

“It was him,” Louie said, pointing with a shaky finger. “H-he said he wanted to look good and catch me red-handed, but he promised he’d let me go!” Louie said pleadingly, staring imploringly at the new guy with wide eyes. “You promised!”

The accused thug froze like a deer caught in headlights, well aware of his tenuous position in the group. His wide eyes only served to further back up Louie’s claim. The rest of the members gazed at New Guy incredulously.

“Jackson!” Meat Head roared, glaring at the accused before whirling to face the leader. “I told you it was a bad idea to take him in!”

Leader scowled and shifted his focus to New Guy, apparently called Jackson.

“Is this true?” Leader demanded. “I stick my neck out for you and this is how you repay me?”

Jackson shook his head frantically, backing up a few steps down the alley. The poor guy looked scared out of his wits, and Louie would’ve felt sorry for him if it weren’t for the fact that the same guy had been ready to watch him get beat up just a minute ago.

“You know I wouldn’t! I would never!” Jackson shouted, fists clenched but shaking.

“Then why did you disappear an hour ago? Meeting with him?” Meat Head gestured angrily toward Louie without looking at him.

“No! I went to get my jacket!”

“Likely story.”

“True story!”

“Ain’t nothing true from a liar like you.”

“The kid is the one lying, I swear!”

“You think we’re dumb enough to be fooled by some street rat?!”

Soon enough, all the members of the sad little group were at each other’s throats and shouting nonsensically. Several arguments were happening all at once; issues that had been allowed to fester for years were coming out in the open. In all of the confusion, one guy even admitted to being afraid of the dark.

Louie slowly pulled his hood back on his head and slipped away into the shadows. As soon as he turned a corner he began running again, stepping more carefully this time, shivering as the wind cooled his muddy clothes. The shouting faded the farther away he ran, reassuring him that his attackers either didn’t realize he’d gone, or no longer cared if he was there or not. After a tense minute of full-on sprinting, his destination finally came into view.

Built into a long row of run-down stone houses was a small storage shed. It had no doorway, as the entrance had been filled in long ago by a family who’d wanted the new door to connect to their kitchen. When they tried cutting the hole for the new door, the house had collapsed, and the family moved away soon after. The house was empty, and broken, but the shed was still mostly whole and almost fully closed off from the rest of the world.

Louie passed by where the old door used to be and squeezed in between the doorless shed and the tall building still standing next door. It was a tight fit, which anyone bigger than Louie would be hard-pressed to manage, and that made it the perfect hideout. The perfect home.

He brushed aside the small section of cloth he had hung and hopped up to climb through the window it concealed. Louie dropped into the dim room and sank to the rickety wood floor, struggling for breath and straining to hear something besides his own heartbeat. His tired eyes scanned the room automatically, searching for a threat that wasn’t there.

The shed was small, with stone brick walls and a reasonably sturdy roof that only leaked in two spots. In the corner was a good-sized pile of faded blankets he had collected over the years, which was the closest thing he had to a bed. A small wooden table sat in another corner, left there by the previous owners. It was where Louie placed his food and other useful supplies he found. Or stole, whatever. The only other thing in the room was a chest – which had also been left behind – where he put his clothes. Most of the shirts and jackets were too big for him, but he wasn’t in the position to be picky.

Once he was sure that no one had followed him, Louie let out a shaky sigh and brought a hand up to the hollow piece of metal that was the clasp of his cloak. He rested his fingers on it gently, knowing that it would pop open like a locket if the right pressure was applied; knowing that his most important treasure was kept hidden inside.

He sat there on the ground until he calmed down before standing up and shedding the dark green cloak, now muddy. At least his shirt matched the mud, but he’d still have to wash both of them at the river the next day.

When his cloak was folded and set down on top of the clothes chest, Louie finally turned his attention to the thing that had nearly gotten him beaten within an inch of his life. He unwrapped the cloth carefully. Two loaves of fresh bread, a pouch of strawberries, and a good chunk of cheese greeted him. His stomach grumbled, his bodies way of reminding him that if he didn’t eat soon, it would protest by dropping dead. As much as Louie wanted to stuff his face and call it a night, it was smarter to ration the food. He broke off a small piece of bread, and even smaller piece of cheese, and popped a few strawberries into his mouth. The rest was wrapped back up and placed on the table in the corner.

It wouldn’t last long, and it really wasn’t the type of thing that warranted the extreme violence his actions had been met with. Thugs, however, hardly ever listened to reason, and they listened to each other even less. They were only joined together by their need to incite fear in everyone in the immediate vicinity, even children.

But whatever, Louie could take care of himself just fine. He’d been doing it since forever. What had happened in the alley was just one example in a long line of similar incidents. Louie may not have had much of a higher education but he more than made up for it with street smarts.

For instance, he knew things about people. He knew that loyalties shifted quickly; that trust was the most fragile thing in the world. At least in that respect, he was invulnerable. Louie had no one to be loyal to, and no one to trust.

He sighed. It was lonely business, being a homeless orphan. He certainly wouldn’t recommend it. Zero stars.

And yet as difficult as it was getting by on his own, he preferred it to being in the orphanage, if it could even be called that. It had been tiny, and short-staffed, and lonely even though he’d shared a room with five other kids. Five other kids that happened to be the only other kids in the entire orphanage. They’d all been thrown out on the streets when it shut down – due to insufficient funding and arrested caretakers – and Louie never knew what happened to the others. Some days he could convince himself that he didn’t care.

Around that time was when the pain in his chest got worse. He’d been seven years old, holding a stuffed animal in the middle of the street, scared and young and all alone in the world.

The pain had always been there, of course, but never was it more apparent than when he was newly homeless and had no one to turn to for help and reassurance. Every day, to some degree, he’d be minding his own business and there it was – the empty space in his chest where it felt like something had shattered, or broken beyond repair. It seemed to poke at him, urging him to find whatever would help him heal beyond jagged edges and broken glass. Pushing him to find a family to love, and to love him in return, as corny and cheesy and unattainable as that sounded.
The feeling irritated him, because if he had no one to be loyal to, and no one to trust, then there certainly was no one out there for him to love.

Louie exhaled softly, crossing the room and blowing out the half-melted candle, making his way to his pile of blankets. He wrapped himself up in his favorite one and flopped down on top of all the others, eyelids already heavy.

He wasn’t entirely comfortable, and his stomach wasn’t completely full, but it was close enough, and close enough was good enough for Louie.

It would have to be.

Chapter Text

There was no better way to start the week than with a small explosion, no matter how much the neighbors complained.

Huey backpedaled rapidly out of the growing cloud of black smoke emanating from his workplace. It was spreading quickly; he’d have to open a window as soon as his body stopped trying to eject his lungs. He pushed his goggles up on the top of his head with one hand, using the other to brace himself against the wall as he coughed. He made a note in his head about the combustibility of the substances he’d been working with, not willing to make the same mistake twice.

“Huey!” A frantic voice called from the hallway, and Huey choked on his next breath trying to pull himself together.

The solid oak door was all but kicked in as the owner of said voice entered the room. Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera was a duck of average height, but extraordinary intelligence. He was just one of the scientists that worked at the lab, and he was also one of Huey’s favorite people.

Fenton took one look at the situation and crossed the room in hurried strides to throw open the windows on the opposite wall, taking a moment to apologize to startled pedestrians walking down the street. The scientist then turned around and regarded the younger duck with a bewildered expression. Huey winced.

“My calculations must have been a little off,” Huey said, rushing through his explanation, twisting his hands together anxiously. “I…didn’t think it would react that way.”

The table that had once held his notes had been scorched black by the fire, so he couldn’t exactly check to see where he had gone wrong. Luckily, it didn’t seem to matter, because in the next second Fenton was smiling manically.

“Your first explosion!” The brown feathered duck ruffled Huey’s hair where it stuck up above his goggles. “It’s a very important rite of passage for any young scientist, and you’re a prodigy! I didn’t cause my first one until I was fourteen!”

Huey faltered under the unexpected praise, laughing nervously. The logical reaction to destroying someone’s property would be anger, but he supposed that the people at the lab hardly followed social norms. It was part of why he fit in so well; the other part being that he soaked up any information offered to him like a sponge. He was the perfect student, and most at the lab loved to teach.

“Won’t Doctor Gearloose be mad?” Huey asked.

Fenton frowned slightly and came over to inspect the damage. It had been a relatively small blast, and only the things that had been on the table were worse for wear. The older scientist rubbed at a scorch mark experimentally.

“Long as it gets cleaned up, I don’t think he’ll be too angry,” Fenton said lightheartedly, a sort of awkward smile on his face. “He appreciates a good explosion just as much as the rest of us.”

Huey sighed in relief. The last thing he wanted was to be kicked out of the one place where he felt at home. When he had wandered into the place a few months ago, everyone had been so nice. They’d been excited by his eagerness to learn and willingness to listen. Even the owner of the lab, Gyro Gearloose, had been impressed. Since then, he spent most of his days there as a sort of unofficial intern, and he had a blast. Sometimes literally.

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” Huey said as he grabbed a broom. “I even double checked the measurements.”

Fenton brought his hand to his chin in the universal gesture for thought as he inspected the remains of the failed experiment.

“It’s likely that you misread one of the labels. These two chemicals mixed in any capacity would have caused an exothermic reaction,” said Fenton kindly.

“Duly noted.” Huey’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment at the mistake he’d made. He knew that he had read the labels correctly; he just hadn’t known about the dangers.

The two of them together cleaned the area in amenable silence. Soon the only way to tell that there’d been a mishap was the scorch marks on the table, and even those were hardly noticeable on top of the numerous burns that had come before them. It was a very sturdy table.

Huey did the last bit of clean up as slowly as he could, trying to delay the inevitable. The sun was dipping closer to the horizon, and he would have to go home soon. Back to the large house full of empty rooms and the suffocating presence of the mansion’s owner. She rarely showed her face, but it always felt like she was watching him anyways. When she did address him, she loved to remind him that without her he’d be rotting in a filthy orphanage somewhere. He was lucky, she claimed, to have been taken in by such an esteemed member of society with a noble bloodline.

Said bloodline was where the nobility started and ended. There was nothing noble about Magica DeSpell.

Huey didn’t know why she bothered to adopt him if she hardly ever wanted to see him. It probably had something to do with social status and/or appealing to the general public. Huey couldn’t care less.

The last of the glass shards that had once been test tubes and beakers clattered together as he tossed them in the trash. A hand dropped onto his shoulder and squeezed comfortingly.

“Want me to walk you home?” Fenton asked.

“No, I’ll be fine.” Huey shook his head. “Thanks, though.”

The older duck slid the goggles off the youngers head, the better to ruffle his messy hair once more. They walked out to the street together before parting ways.

“See you tomorrow!” Fenton called, beaming a smile and waving at him from afar.

Huey couldn’t help but grin and wave back. It helped to have something to look forward to.

He turned and walked towards his house, dragging his feet the whole way and studiously avoiding eye contact with other people on the street, almost hoping that he’d never get home, that he could just walk forever. Sadly, even slow progress was still progress, and he reached the familiar front door all too soon.

As expected, no one was there to greet him when he entered. Huey sighed, running his fingers through messy hair as he made his way to the kitchen, light footsteps echoing in the lonely hall.

The kitchen was a large room – as almost every room in the house was – with one whole wall made of glass, giving Huey a great view of the sunset. A view that he ignored.

He rummaged through the cabinets in search of something he felt like eating, eventually coming up with some leftover biscuits and a container of rice. Munching slowly on a biscuit, he made his way to the table in the next room.

The table was solid oak and surrounded by six chairs. Huey allowed himself to imagine, just for a moment, what it would be like to sit down for a meal with a loving family. A mom, a dad, maybe some siblings, laughing and joking and arguing and yelling because that was what a family did. He could come home to a house full of loud and occupied rooms and feel happy to be there. He could feel like he belonged.

Huey grimaced, the food suddenly losing its flavor. Indulging in such fantasies never failed to make his chest feel as if he were being crushed by an unseen weight. It was something that had been plaguing him for as long as he could remember, and he’d been searching for a cure for at least half of that. It was how he’d come across the lab in the first place, but Huey hadn’t even been able to find an illness that fit the description, much less a cure. He’d eventually resigned himself to never knowing what caused it – the invisible weight of what resembled failure on his shoulders, or maybe an unfulfilled responsibility. On his worst days it made him terribly sad. After all, he had no one to be responsible for.

He stopped eating halfway through the rice. Suddenly, he had no appetite.

Huey stood up from the table, berating himself for bringing his own spirits down so thoroughly. He went to leave the way he came in, turning around slowly only to nearly die of a heart attack at a tragically young age.

In the doorway was Lena, who had been silently standing there for who knew how long.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to recover from whatever embarrassing squeaking noise he had made, and his mind was racing. The only person Huey was less likely to see than Magica was her niece. Lena had taken care of him when he was really young since no one else was going to do it, but she’d become increasingly distant in recent years. Huey had tried multiple times to start conversations or help her do chores, but he was rebuffed every time with short one-word answers. Eventually she stopped speaking to him altogether, if he could even find her in between all the errands her aunt had her running.

Which was why Huey was struck speechless by the simple fact that she was standing right in front of him. And now that the initial shock had worn off, he noticed that she was wearing an odd expression, looking him up and down almost like she was sizing him up. He shifted awkwardly, rather unused to being on the receiving end of such intense attention.

“Hey,” Huey greeted cautiously. “Are you…doing okay?”

Lena grimaced and broke eye contact, huffing softly. She stood there a minute, clenching and unclenching one hand, the other one hidden in the pocket of her sweater. Fighting a war with herself, it appeared.

“Lena?” He asked uncertainly, taking a half step closer.

There was a tense moment where nothing happened. Then Lena’s expression shifted to something firm – resolute – and her shoulders straightened. The battle decided.

“You have to go,” Lena said softly, but surely. “She’s got her goons coming to get you. You have to leave.”

Huey felt his heart begin beating faster as his mind tried and failed to process the words.

“What?” he croaked.

“Aunt Magica.” Lena’s beak twisted into a grim line. “She’s got criminals on their way to— to come and kidnap you. Tonight. Right now.”

The teen moved closer with jerky, hurried steps, yanking her hand out of her sweater pocket. She held something out to him.

“Here.” She pushed it into his clumsy, shaking hand. “This is yours.”

Huey clutched the object – which looked like it was made out of gold of all things, but the world was kind of fuzzy at the moment, he could be wrong – in his hand. Dizziness made him sway on his feet and he braced himself against the table behind him. Nausea burned low in his stomach, making him regret ever eating anything ever in his life.

Violently pushing his blind panic to the back of his mind, he grabbed Lena’s wrist before she could back away.

“You’re giving this to me? What is it?”

“No, it’s not mine,” she snapped, stressed. “It’s the only thing you had with you when we took you in. It’s yours. Magica took it, and I’m giving it back.”

Lena pulled her wrist out of his grip and took back the object, which he now realized was attached to a chain. She slipped it over his head, where it fell to hang around his neck. His hand automatically came up to where it rested on his chest, over the place that always ached, and he clutched what might’ve been the only clue to where he came from tightly in his hand. So tightly that it hurt.

“Take it and go out the back door.” Lena shoved him towards the hallway. “Find somewhere to hide, hitchhike if you have to, but you have to go far. And you can’t come back.”

With his plans for the evening in shambles, his world turned upside down, and his head filled with a million questions, he asked the most important one.

“What about you?”

Lena’s face softened and she ruffled his hair, much like Fenton had done only an hour ago. Just one hour, and everything had changed.

“I’ll be fine, squirt,” said Lena. “Go live your life. A good one, yeah? For me.”

Tears sprang into his eyes and he pulled the older into a spontaneous hug. He had always hoped that under different circumstances the two of them could’ve been closer. Now he would never know.

Lena hugged him back briefly before pushing him gently in the direction of the back door. Tears clung to her eyes as well, much as she tried to hide it. She grinned weakly.
“Bye, Huey.”

He hadn’t heard her say his name in years.

“Bye, Lena.”

He slid the (golden?) object under his gray vest, letting it rest on the long sleeve red shirt underneath. He darted down the hallway to the door, resolving to get a better look at the thing later, when he wasn’t running for his life.

Huey wondered vaguely why he didn’t feel much betrayal. Maybe because there had to be trust first in order for it to be broken. While he never trusted Magica, he never in a million years thought that she’d do something like this. There seemed to be no reason for it, surely there were simpler ways to get rid of him. Why go to all the trouble? Why him? It made no sense.

Then again, he didn’t know Magica very well. Maybe this was the sort of thing she did for fun.

Cold night air hit him square in the face as the door to the house shut behind him for the last time. Gravel crunched under his webbed feet as he headed for the woods behind the estate. He used to play there when he was little, pretending to go on grand adventures with his make-believe family. Maybe it was sad, but those were some of the happiest days of his life.

As soon as he reached the edge of the forest, he turned to get one last look at the place he grew up in, chest heaving. An empty house with empty people all pretending that the others didn’t exist. Where a lonely boy looked out of his window every night and wished that the hollow space in his chest would stop being so heavy. Paradoxical, he knew, but he had no other way to describe it.

Lost in thought as he was, he failed to notice the creeping footsteps until someone grabbed him from behind. One huge hand was twisted into the front of his vest while the other smothered his scream. Huey thrashed wildly in the hold, much to the amusement of whoever was manhandling him.

“Well now, looks like we’ve got a wiggler,” said a voice from his right, unsettlingly delighted.

A short beagle wearing a red shirt with a large letter B sewn onto it entered his line of sight. He was smirking and rubbing his hands together, as villains tended to do. Huey trembled helplessly, eyes wide.

“Sure seems like it,” said the giant holding him. “D’you think Ma will be happy, Big Time?”

The short one – presumably Big Time – scoffed.

“Of course she will,” he said haughtily. “The jobs gone off without a hitch! Use your brain, Bouncer.”

Bouncer lifted the hand that had been covering Huey’s beak up to scratch at his head in embarrassment. Huey took the opportunity to once again try screaming bloody murder. The beagle holding him, Bouncer, jumped as if startled, and a third crook Huey hadn’t been aware of leaped in to slap his own hand over Huey’s beak. The scream cut off.

“I said use your brain, Bouncer!” Big Time shouted, red in the face.

“Sorry, boss,” Bouncer said, actually sounding so. He turned to the third beagle. “Thanks Burger.”

Burger grunted and moved away when he was sure his pal had a good hold on their hostage once more. Without preamble, Huey was lifted off the ground and crushed against Bouncer’s chest as they made their way back through the woods.

Right about then, Huey was wishing that he had been using his brain. Of course criminals would sneak in through the woods! And of course, he would walk blindly into their arms. Tears of frustration and fright fell down his face and pooled against the hand holding him still.

Now he was being taken away to who knew where. Away from the guardian who had sold him out and the scientists who’d become his only friends. Away from Lena, who had tried her hardest and given him a chance. He’d let her down.

Huey let out a short cry when he was thrown harshly into a dark wagon. The whole thing was enclosed and made of wood, with no windows, making him feel like he was in a coffin. The double doors slammed shut, cutting off any light and trapping him inside. He sat in shock, listening to his kidnappers celebrating and laughing outside of his prison. Huey didn’t know if he was breathing; he couldn’t remember how.

As the wagon moved slowly but surely away from his hometown, he curled up in the corner and hugged his knees to his chest, doing his best to ignore the crushing weight of his fatal mistake.

Chapter Text

Mrs. Beakley had been right about the road being rough, but Dewey wasn’t surprised – she was right about most things.

It had been over a full day since they started their journey, traveling slower than usual in order to properly rest the horses every once in a while. Not to mention that Mrs. Beakley did need to sleep if they wanted to arrive safely, which Dewey most definitely did.

It was tedious, but with Webby along for the ride the trip had hardly been boring. His best friend had been traveling this way her whole life, and had since come up with a ton of different games to play. Some were incredibly complex and imaginative, with a long list of rules and a runtime of several hours. Other times they just competed to see who could yell the loudest. Mrs. Beakley did not approve of that particular game.

“I spy something…green,” Webby said, the words long and drawn out.

She was laying on the floor with both legs up the wall, looking completely at ease in her odd position. Dewey turned and squinted out the back of the moving wagon. He always had difficulty guessing what on earth Webby was looking at, and she didn’t make it easy. Most of what he saw was green!

“Okay,” Dewey began slowly, buying himself time to think. “Is it a tree?”

Webby shook her head.

“Grass, then.”

“Nerp!”

“What about that bird?”

“No,” Webby giggled.

“That one?”

“No!”

Dewey sighed in an exasperated fashion. That accounted for all the green he could see. “Did we pass it already?”

“Definitely not.”

Mrs. Beakley chose that moment to jerk the wagon to a stop, much to Dewey’s relief. Webby’s feet slid sideways down the wall and thudded to the floor at the same time Dewey’s elbows did, since he’d fallen backwards unsteadily. He tilted his head back to look at his friend upside down.

“I yield,” he said with a half grin. “What was it?”

Webby stood and walked over to pick up something off the floor of the wagon. She held it down in front of his upside-down eyes. It was a tiny piece of broccoli left over from breakfast. Of course, she would see it. He scowled playfully.

“I’ll get you next time,” he said.

“I know you will.”

Grass rustled, and Mrs. Beakley appeared at the back to let down the wagon door. She had parked off to the side of the path, and their two horses were being led away by stable hands to be taken care of.

“We’ll have to walk from here,” Mrs. Beakley said. “The roads aren’t made for a vehicle this size.”

The chests were unloaded, with Dewey and Webby carrying one between them and Mrs. Beakley with one under each arm. He craned his neck around to take in the sights as they made their way into the village. Mrs. Beakley had stressed the importance of staying close, apparently because the people who lived here were just as rough as the roads were.

Dewey had to admit that he felt the strange vibe flowing through the place. It wasn’t as nice as other villages he’d been to. Everything looked run down to some degree; the houses were crumbly, the path was cracked, and vendors sold their wares from lopsided booths. Walking in the middle of the street, he got the feeling that he was being watched from several different nooks and crannies. Noise echoed around him. People haggling for a better price in the market, kids arguing nearby, and the parent trying to pull them apart. Dewey’s chest tightened and he blinked cautiously, uneasy and a little sad. This seemed like the type of place you lived if you had nowhere else to go.

The door to the old Inn creaked as they pushed it open, as did the stairs when they were directed to their room. As soon as they entered, Mrs. Beakley stacked the three chests one after the other in the closet while he and Webby raced to claim their beds. There were only two in the room, so Mrs. B would have to set up a cot.

Dewey plopped down on the bed closest to the window and looked out at the busy street. There was a market going on, and colorful booths lines the road on both sides. There were fruits and veggies meticulously stacked at some, and varying items of clothing at others. He thought he’d seen someone selling knives on the way in. He shuddered.

“It’s really something, huh?” Webby said, joining him at the window, and he nodded.

“You think we’ll get souvenirs?” Dewey joked.

“Maybe a knife.”

“You saw those, too?”

“Of course I did!” Webby shot him a teasing grin as she nudged him in the ribs. “You’re looking at the world’s leading I Spy champion.”

Dewey shoved her shoulder playfully as they both laughed, relieved that the somewhat tense mood had been alleviated. Then Mrs. Beakley cleared her throat, and they turned in unison to see her standing there holding out their swords and the sash they could sheath them in, which was called a baldric. They stared at her in confusion, unblinking.

“Just this once,” said Mrs. Beakley, something heavy in her eyes, “you can carry these with you. For protection only.”

Dewey exchanged an uncertain look with his best friend. They were never allowed to carry their weapons through town; this was a big deal.

Webby stepped forward to take her things, and he followed. They slipped the baldric over one shoulder so that it hung like a sort of leather sash, Dewey having to first remove his jacket in order to do so. He put his jacket back on and sheathed his sword at his side, Webby having already done the same. The swords had been custom made for each of them, both lighter and smaller than a normal sword. Easier for children to handle.

Dewey shrugged slightly at Webby, who turned to her granny for further instruction. Beakley nodded to herself and they followed her when she started out the door.

“You two know the drill. We’ll be offering our services, but this time stay close. Do not wander off,” said Mrs. Beakley.

For the next hour they traveled the streets of the village, telling the residents and merchants what classes they offered and inviting them to sign up. Almost in complete contrast to the last place they had visited, most people were gruff and short with them. There were only a few exceptions, and the ones that did sign up seemed to be a little too eager.

Webby walked beside him where they trailed behind Mrs. Beakley, headed for the next part of town. She was attempting to balance the apple she’d bought on her beak, swaying her head back and forth, eyes narrowed in concentration. Dewey laughed at his adoptive sister when the fruit rolled off and into her waiting hand.

“What do you think the point of this trip is? No one here seems like the type Mrs. B would bother to train,” said Dewey, keeping his voice at a volume he was sure Mrs. Beakley couldn’t hear.

“Granny says that everyone deserves the chance to defend themselves, as long as they don’t use their skills to hurt people who did nothing wrong,” Webby recited.

“I guess.”

Webby went back to balancing her apple, and Dewey wandered off into his own thoughts. Everyone did deserve a chance to defend themselves, but what if their original good intentions changed and they injured others who were still defenseless? Would it be Mrs. Beakley’s fault for teaching them, or their own fault for making the bad choice? He had asked a similar question once, after an incident in a small fishing village. 'We do the best we can, but in the end, we are responsible for our own choices. Not anyone else’s,' Mrs. Beakley had said. Dewey had a sneaking suspicion that she’d felt guilty anyway, but he supposed she’d wanted him to learn a lesson that she never had. Most days Dewey was just glad that someone cared enough to teach him.

Unfortunately, one lesson that he hadn’t yet learned was how to think and pay attention to his surroundings at the same time. Thus, he failed to realize that Webby had stopped walking until he bumped right into her.

A few things seemed to happen at the same time. The apple made an arc toward the ground as Dewey bounced back a few steps upon impact with his friend, which put him in the perfect position to witness a green blur jump out from behind a booth and grab the falling apple before it hit the dirt. It was a miracle of reflexes that Dewey grabbed the culprit before they could escape down an alleyway.
Dewey looked down in bafflement at the fistful of dark green fabric he had a hold of. It appeared to be some kind of cloak. It was slightly damp, like it had been recently washed. Finally, his gaze traveled upwards, only to meet a pair of startled green eyes. The crook had to be around his age, and was maybe an inch or two shorter. His beak was hanging open in surprise.

Webby walked over with a confused – and slightly worried – look on her face.

“That’s actually my apple,” Webby said, pointing.

The boy looked down at said apple clenched tightly in his hand, then at the swords hanging at their waists with a calculating gaze. Dewey frowned.

“We won’t hurt you,” he said carefully. “We just want it back.”

The boy in green sighed silently and held the red fruit out to Webby, resigned. Dewey reluctantly released his hold on him.

“Here,” the mystery duck said quietly. “Sorry.”

Webby shook her head and gave a small smile. “Keep it.”

Dewey and the kid turned nearly twin expressions of shock toward her, and something strange flitted through Webby’s eyes, there and gone before he could name it. Then she shook her head as if to clear it and waved, starting in the other direction to catch up to Mrs. Beakley.

“Come on, before Granny realizes we’re not right behind her,” she called back at him.

The duck beside him gave him one last suspicious look before darting off into the alley, disappearing within seconds. For some reason, it felt wrong to let him go.

Dewey fought the instinct to chase after him and ran to catch up to Webby.

“Why would you do that?” he asked her.

She shrugged. “If he needed it badly enough to steal it, then he needed it more than me.”

It never failed to amaze him how Webby could see the absolute best in people even after witnessing the worst. And she made it seem so simple.

“Plus, he kinda looked like you,” she added with a mischievous grin. “I couldn’t just leave him hanging.”

Dewey rolled his eyes. He hadn’t noticed any resemblance at all.

Mrs. Beakley was looking around frantically when they caught up to her. They smiled sheepishly when she saw them, marching toward them quickly.

“Where have you been?” She demanded, and they winced.

“We got a little held up,” said Dewey. “Webby dropped her apple and we, uh, were looking for it.”

He did his best to look convincing; lying wasn’t really his thing. But if Beakley found out what had really happened, she might make them stay behind at the Inn for the whole trip.

“And we found it, but it was really dirty, so we threw it away!” Webby added brightly, and lying really wasn’t her thing, either.

The older duck looked between them suspiciously, but evidently decided to drop the subject, and they continued on their route.

Several hours later saw them heading back to the inn for the evening. It would be getting dark soon, and one thing they didn’t want to experience was the village night life.

They were stopped at a food booth where Mrs. Beakley was shopping for dinner when Dewey heard the noise. A faint crashing sound and some kind of yelp drifted from a nearby alley. He met eyes with Webby, who was looking back at him questioningly, having not heard anything. He struggled briefly between two lines of thinking before coming to a decision.

Curiosity killed the cat, after all.

Dewey jerked his head slightly in the direction of the noise and then gestured between himself and the alley, indicating he was going to go check it out. Webby frowned a bit, pointing to herself uncertainly, silently asking if he wanted her to come. He shook his head and glanced at Mrs. Beakley, who was putting vegetables in a basket. Distract her. Webby sighed, nodding and looking at him with as stern a stare as he’d ever seen on her. Be careful. He grinned. You know me.

With one last glance to be sure no one was watching, Dewey turned and ran down the alley, listening for any further noise to guide him. He heard the dull thud of something heavy hitting the dirt close by, and he cautiously peeked around the next corner.

The alley opened up into a square shaped space guarded by the stone walls of tall buildings on each side. A pile of broken wooden crates sat in a corner. Dewey hadn’t realized they were so close to the edge of town, but there was a large opening on one side of the clearing with nothing but open fields and rolling hills beyond it. A completely enclosed wooden wagon with four horses faced in that direction, poised for a quick escape should the need arise.

And there in the middle of the square was the same kid in the cloak from earlier, on the ground and surrounded by three beagles of varying sizes. One seemed to be pure muscle, and they all wore red shirts with a ‘B’ of the color black sewn in the middle.

“This is just— It’s a misunderstanding,” the duck in green was saying, hands up placatingly, voice trembling minutely.

“Are you calling me an idiot?!” the shortest roared angrily. “Grab him, Bouncer!”

As the mountain of muscle advanced, Dewey felt a strange feeling building in his chest. It was growing alarmingly quickly, and strangely enough it originated exactly where the hollow space had always been. This time though, it burned instead of ached. An odd, strong, strangely nostalgic protective instinct had been awoken, like it was a dragon that had been hibernating for a thousand years. It made absolutely no sense, especially directed at this random stranger, but Dewey made the executive decision to be confused later.

The young duck in the blue jacket reached slowly for his sword. ‘For protection only,’ Mrs. Beakley’s voice drifted into his mind, and he winced. Well, she had never specified for whose protection.

With a deep breath and a whispered apology to his guardian, Dewey stepped into the clearing.

Chapter Text

The first thing Louie had done that morning was head to the river with his cloak. He’d doused it with water and thoroughly scrubbed it of dried mud, doing the same to the brown shirt he’d worn underneath. He had left them both on a rock to dry and given himself a quick wash, keeping a close eye on his clothes in case anyone got any ideas. As soon as the cloak and shirt were mostly dry, he’d put them back on and continued his day with newly clean and fresh clothing.

Which was why it was such a shame that he’d ended up in the dirt again so soon.

Three dogs surrounded him – beagles – wearing red shirts with B’s on them. They were hilariously staggered in height. One was absolutely huge, while another barely even surpassed him.

Louie had been minding his own business, trying to break into their wagon, when the walking mountain had grabbed him from behind and tossed him into a precariously stacked tower of empty, rotted, wooden crates. They had, of course, toppled down on top of him. He hadn’t been given any sort of recovery time either. The medium sized beagle had pulled him out by his leg and dragged him to the middle of the clearing, where walking mountain and his buddies now stood over him menacingly. All in all, it wasn’t an ideal situation.

“You really thought you could get away with stealing from us, you little brat?” The short one hissed, red in the face with anger. “You thought you could rob the Beagle Boys?”

Louie had no idea who they were, but he was not about to tell them that. Having no information put him at a distinct disadvantage, giving him less to work with to talk his way out. He’d have to try some general de-escalation tactics.

“Hey, I didn’t know that that belonged to somebody,” he began, moving into a sitting position and raising his hands up in front of him. “This is just— It’s a misunderstanding.”

Louie knew it had been the wrong thing to say when the short one immediately scowled.

“Are you calling me an idiot?!” The beagle screamed, then turned angrily to the biggest one. “Grab him, Bouncer!”

The huge henchman started towards him, and Louie thought for sure that he was about to die. If that guy got one good punch in, he’d be dying of internal bleeding before the second one landed. Not to mention the external damage he’d be suffering from. Not only would Louie die, he would die looking like roadkill, and his last meal would be an apple.

An apple that had probably been poisoned, let’s face it. No one just gave food away. Especially not kids that carried around very sharp, scary, deadly weapons.

The big guy – Bouncer – reached toward him with a hand about the size of Louie’s whole self, and Louie wanted to close his eyes, but no part of his body seemed to be responding.

So, it was with eyes wide open that he witnessed the miracle that took place next.

“Hey!” A voice called sharply from behind him. “Let him go.”

Louie’s head jerked to the person who had spoken, and he came to the conclusion that the apple had definitely been poisoned, because he was surely hallucinating.

Standing right behind him was the kid in the blue jacket from earlier, face determined and sword drawn, looking about ready to punch the universe in the face and/or die trying.

Louie stared wide eyed in surprise, barely breathing. Part of him thought that maybe the stranger had come back to exact his revenge on him for stealing his friend’s apple, and was only attempting a rescue so that he could kill Louie himself. The other part of him thought that he should really just forget about the apple thing and enjoy the last few minutes of his life on earth.

The duck in blue took another couple of steps, effectively moving in front of him. Bouncer was quite obviously confused at this interruption, and the large beagle turned to the leader for guidance.

“Uh, Big Time?” he asked uncertainly.

Bigtime scowled, which he seemed to do a lot, and stomped his foot. It reminded Louie of the children he saw throwing tantrums in the market sometimes.

“He’s just a kid! Get them both!” Big Time shouted.

Louie finally thought to stand, and did so in as coordinated a fashion as one might expect from someone fearing for their life. The ground seemed to sway beneath his feet, and Louie took a few deep – albeit shaky – breaths.

“I’ll take the big one, you take the quiet one,” the kid with the sword whispered back at him.

Louie’s head shot up. “What?!”

But his mysterious would-be-savior had already rushed headfirst into danger like it was as simple as breathing, expertly evading and dodging the clumsy attacks of his adversary.

Bouncer at least didn’t seem to have any kind of formal training, relying more on brute force than anything else, which of course still made him fairly dangerous. Fortunately, sword kid appeared to have been well taught. Unfortunately, Louie’s strength tended to lay more in verbal sparring matches, and the still unnamed beagle that was approaching him didn’t seem much for conversation.

His opponent lunged at him, quicker than he expected, and Louie ducked clumsily out of the way, stumbling as he went. Get it together, Louie.

He scanned the area around him for something of use, his eyes catching on the pile of wood scraps from the broken crates. He grabbed a plank of wood in subtly trembling hands and whipped it up in front of him just in time to block the punch that came seconds later. The plank shook as the fist connected with it, and the dog released a garbled growl. Louie quickly scrambled around the beagle and spun around when he’d created some distance.

His opponent was closer than he thought he’d be, and Louie cried out as he was shoved back into the wall behind him. Thinking fast, he kicked out hard with his foot and connected it to the beagle’s shin before ripping himself out of his attackers grasp and shooting past him.

In a moment of misplaced confidence, Louie swung his plank of wood at his opponent’s head.

He missed.

The wood clipped the dog’s shoulder with all the strength that Louie had in his body at the moment, which was only enough to knock them both a bit off balance. He tripped backwards until his back hit someone else’s, and he jumped in surprise, shooting a glance over his shoulder and relaxing only slightly.

While Louie had been engaging in a somewhat comical fight with the silent member of the gang, the sword kid had been battling fiercely with the huge one. Bouncer’s shirt was now torn in multiple places, and one of his arms was bleeding from a pretty nasty – but not life threatening – cut. The beagle was not happy about it.

Big Time was standing off by the wagon shouting what could be mistaken as encouragement to his lackeys.

Louie and the strange boy in blue stood back-to-back as their two attackers regrouped and circled them menacingly.

“I have a plan,” said the sword kid quietly. “Do you trust me?”

“No!” Louie snapped, overwhelmed and half hysterical.

“That’ll work.”

Not two seconds after that particular declaration, the sword kid spun around and put his very sharp, deadly weapon right up to Louie’s neck. He let out a strangled yelp, more like a wheeze.

“Thanks for this, really, but I’ll be going now.” The kid pulled Louie backward slowly as he spoke. “I have a bone to pick with this one, so I’ll take it from here, don’t worry. Good day.”

It was a terrible plan, but Louie almost thought it could work, especially since Bouncer and the other one had stopped advancing on them. What they didn’t see, however, was that Bigtime had managed to sneak behind them while they were busy watching the other two, and now the short beagle grabbed the sword kid from behind. The kid cried out in shock and anger, hastily moving the sword away from Louie’s neck as he was pulled back.

Bouncer rushed forward and knocked the weapon away from the madly struggling kid, and Louie was yanked into the tight embrace of the remaining member of the group. His trusty wooden plank dropped unceremoniously to the ground as the beagle picked him up and threw him over his skinny shoulder. He thrashed best he could in the hold, but it was clear that the fight was over.

Big Time handed the sword kid – now swordless – over to Bouncer before bending to pick up the fallen weapon. The leader turned toward the group, amusement shining in his eyes, putting up the front of someone who hadn’t just ordered criminals to fight children.

“Bouncer, Burger,” said Big Time gleefully. “Why don’t we take them to Ma, too?”

The shortest beagle went over to the waiting wagon and put the sword in a storage chest attached to the side before pulling a key out of his pocket and unlocking the back. The double doors swung open menacingly.

“Throw ‘em in,” Big Time said, gesturing grandly to the interior of the wagon.

Bouncer and Burger carried the struggling children swiftly to their doom, the sword kid now recognizing their situation and calling loudly for help. Louie didn’t follow his lead. He knew that no one was coming, at least not for him.

Being thrown into the wagon didn’t hurt as badly as being thrown into the crates had, but it was extremely painful in other ways, like being torn apart from the inside out. Louie had been living on the streets for a while, and he’d been through more than he cared to recount, but this was definitely a first. His heart pounded in his chest and his hands shook – he was scared.

Louie’s attempted rescuer landed beside him with a thud, having been thrown in none too gently. The doors slammed shut with depressing finality.

“You can’t do this!” Sword kid yelled, jumping up and shaking the doors.

His exclamation was met with mocking laughter from the outside of their prison, and the kid kicked the door in frustration. Louie focused on remembering to breathe.

“Actually, they can.”

Louie jumped at the unexpected voice, pushing himself off the ground on weak arms and jerking his head around. There at the opposite end of the wagon was yet another kid – captive? – this one in a long-sleeved red shirt and a grey vest. He was hunched in the corner, gaze flickering between them nervously.

“They did it to me,” the new kid continued quietly.

“Who are you?” Sword kid asked shakily, his hushed voice breaking. “What are you—why are you here?”

“I’m Huey,” said the kid, and he shrugged his shoulders a little awkwardly. “I’ve, uh—I’ve been kidnapped, I guess.”

It hit Louie then that he was being kidnapped, too. Which was absolutely ludicrous, because only important people or people who were important to someone were worth kidnapping, and he was neither.
Louie dragged his trembling hands down his face and groaned in frustration. The day had started out so well.

The sword kid – having had the same revelation, if the look on his face was anything to go by – opened his mouth to reply, but the wagon jerked, and he knocked his head against the door. Louie’s breath hitched, and he had a hard time keeping his balance as he pushed himself further against the wall.

They were moving, which meant that the kidnappers were likely fleeing the scene of the crime, and taking them far away from any sort of help. He dropped his head to his knees and shut his eyes tightly.
“No, no, no,” Sword kid mumbled to himself, eyes fixed on the doors as if he could see through them at the world they were leaving behind.

Louie figured that he must’ve been holding out hope that his friends would come and save him. They were all getting their hearts broken today, it seemed.

The wagon moved quickly and steadily away from the village, until the muffled voices of the Beagle Boys were all that they could hear. Eventually, the kid in the blue jacket sat down against the wall across from Louie, adjacent to Huey’s wall at the front of the wagon. A dry laugh escaped him.

“I’m Dewey, by the way.”

Chapter Text

Huey spent the first few hours of his life as a kidnapped child alternating between crying, hyperventilating, and staring at the wall. He’d lived in the same village – in the same house – for as long as he could remember. He’d never left before, never seen much of the world outside of the small part where he was raised.

Magica, of course, had never been one for family road trips, although she was prone to sudden unexplained disappearances. Huey hadn’t thought much of her trips then, when life was boring and lonely and normal, but now he wondered if she’d been off somewhere throwing criminals at unsuspecting children, like it was a hobby or something.

Eventually, and after many false starts, Huey pulled himself together enough to think about what he should do next, which was difficult because he had absolutely no context to his situation. He didn’t know why he’d been kidnapped, why Magica had wanted it to happen, or where he was being taken. So, the best plan he could come up with was one in which he sat still, gathered information, and kept an eye out for an escape opportunity.

About two days after he got snatched – the longest two days of his life – the wagon stopped. Not the stops he’d grown used to, the short ones where they let him out to use the bathroom and gave him food, but a long stop in what Huey had determined must be a village. His hypothesis was confirmed when he heard the Beagle Boys discussing the gathering of supplies, needing to be ready to see ‘Ma’.

Their voices had disappeared for a bit, so Huey took the opportunity to unfold his stiff limbs and thoroughly search the space in which he was being held. It was barren except for a chest filled with identical shirts of varying sizes, and a metal hook on the wall that could be used to hang a lantern. There was no lantern, however, since it apparently wasn’t enough to leave him metaphorically in the dark – they went for the literal meaning, too.

The walls were solid. The doors were sturdy, and perpetually locked. Overall, it was a very depressing analysis.

Huey was sitting dejectedly on top of the chest – wondering why the universe had such a personal vendetta against him – when he heard the noise, and he froze like a deer in headlights, barely breathing, wondering if he was imagining it. The faint metallic scraping of the lock outside being messed with, unaccompanied by the loud voices of his captors.

The sound persisted for a few seconds, as quiet and fragile as Huey’s hope, and then it stopped. There was a surprised yelp, and then from farther away came the sound of wood cracking and hitting the ground. Huey cut his eyes toward the noise worriedly, wishing he could see what was going on. He pressed the side of his head to the wagon wall, trying to hear what was happening.

There were voices. The Beagle Boys, mostly Big Time, and then there was one that Huey didn’t recognize. A young voice, belonging to a kid, who was presumably the one who’d almost become his unintentional rescuer by breaking into the wagon. Huey stomach tied itself in knots, reacting to his feelings of helplessness. He didn’t want to hear anyone get hurt, especially not when he couldn’t do anything about it.

Big Time shouted something authoritative and annoying, and Huey’s heart jumped into his throat. And then there was a new voice again. Another kid. Another person who didn’t know what they were facing.

What followed could only be some kind of scuffle, if the panicked breathing and occasional cries were anything to go by. It seemed to go on forever, but it couldn’t have been any longer than three minutes. It didn’t matter. A lot of damage could be done in three minutes.

The kids were captured. The Beagle Boys amused laughter grew louder as they neared the wagon, as did the shouting of the second kid, calling for help. Big Time opened the doors, and Huey squinted into the light with watery eyes, just barely able to make out the evil grin on his captor’s face. The kids were thrown roughly into the wagon with him, and Huey’s breath hitched.

They looked to be around his age, and they looked like they could be related in some way. One had on a brown long-sleeved shirt that was a bit big on him, and a green, hooded cloak that fell off his shoulders and down his back like a cape. The other kid was wearing a light blue shirt with some kind of leather strap running diagonal over it, and a dark blue collared jacket. Both were in obvious distress, and Huey was right there with them, actually, because what the heck.

Huey introduced himself best he could, since they hadn’t seemed to notice him and he kind of thought it was important that they were all on the same page, or that they at least knew of each other’s existence. They didn’t have much of a conversation, since they were rudely interrupted by the wagon moving, which incited renewed panic in his new cellmates, which made Huey panic by association and for a great many other reasons as well.

The blue one paced frantically as they got farther and farther away from the village, while the kid in green stayed hunched against the wall, seemingly unaware that he was shaking. Both of them had tears gathered in their eyes, but in general Huey thought that they were handling it better than he had, which wasn’t hard but was still something to be proud of.

Some undetermined amount of time later, the kid in the blue jacket sat down and announced that his name was Dewey.

“Oh- um, nice to meet you?” Huey said, unsure of what a normal response would be in this situation.

“Could be nicer,” Dewey said simply, and yeah, that was true. “What are you in for?”

“Magi— My guardian hired these guys to kidnap me,” Huey said tiredly, avoiding eyes contact that was sure to be awkward. “I was taken almost two days ago, I think.”

“Oh,” said Dewey, and Huey huffed a laugh, because he didn’t know how he felt about it either. “Uh, why?”

“I don’t know.” Huey shrugged. “I didn’t know her that well.”

“You and her… you aren’t related?” Dewey asked, clearly trying to get a grasp on the – admittedly, confusing – situation.

“I was adopted,” Huey explained. “I’ve lived with her my whole life, but she didn’t want much to do with me. I barely saw her.”

Not that he was all torn up about it, especially in light of recent events.

“Hey, I’m kinda adopted, too!” Dewey perked up, excited to finally have common ground, and Huey couldn’t help a small smile. “I ran away from the orphanage and stowed away on my adopted family’s wagon when I was six.”

“And they let you stay?”

“Oh, yeah, they’re the best.”

Dewey deflated suddenly, the light in his eyes dimming. “They’re gonna kill me when I get back,” he said. “Webby probably thinks it’s her fault.”

Well, at least one of them was holding out hope for getting home. Dewey had said when, not if. Huey wished he knew how to hope like that.

Looking at his dejected fellow prisoners, sitting hunched up in the dark headed someplace that was surely dangerous, Huey couldn’t help but feel at least partially responsible for their predicament. If Huey hadn’t been stupid enough to get captured, then maybe the Beagle Boys would’ve never crossed paths with those two boys.

“I’m really sorry about this,” Huey flicked his gaze between the two sheepishly.

“What? Why?” Dewey waved a hand dismissively and shook his head. “It’s not your fault that they kidnapped us, or you for that matter.”

Huey gave a tentative smile, a bit shocked at how sure Dewey seemed about that. Dewey returned his small smile with enthusiasm. He seemed the type to do most things with enthusiasm.

“So,” Huey said, changing the subject, “how do you two know each other?” They looked like they could be brothers, or at least cousins.

“I just met him today actually.” Dewey turned to face the other with a questioning gaze. “I don’t even know his name.”

The nameless kid shifted uncomfortably and crossed his arms, the very picture of someone who was out of their element. Which was fair, because they all were. Huey would be concerned if this was something that they were used to.

“Are you okay?” Huey asked, and the kid cut his eyes towards him warily. “You’ve been quiet.”

Dewey straightened in alarm, and Huey automatically tensed.

“I forgot! You fell into those crates, right?” Dewey asked, eyes searching the poor kid for injury.

“They threw me into the crates actually,” said the kid quietly, and then he cleared his throat and spoke louder. “I’m fine. Probably just have some splinters.”

“And bruises,” said Dewey, and the look in his eyes said that he was prepared to argue, but the kid just shrugged.

“Was it— which one of you tried to pick the lock?” Huey asked, nodding his head in the direction of the doors.

“That was me,” said the nameless duck with an irritated sigh. “Guess I wasn’t quick enough.”

The kid tapped absentmindedly on the clasp of his cloak as they all lapsed into silence, settling into their bleak situation and becoming accustomed with each other’s presence. They’d be spending some unconventional quality time together, after all.

“Louie,” said the kid suddenly, staring at the ground as Huey and Dewey jolted a little. “That’s my name.”

Huey blinked at both the soft, tentative voice, and the odd tension it held. It was almost like it had been painful for the young duck to say out loud, like it was secret information that would get him killed. Maybe in certain circles it would. Or maybe Huey was reading into it too much.

“Alright, Louie,” Dewey began, leaning forward. “Why did you steal my friend’s apple?”

Huey frowned in confusion. For two people that had only met that day, they had some very baffling history.

“Well, I ate it,” said Louie evasively, looking at Dewey warily. “It was poisoned, wasn’t it.”

“What? No!” Dewey exclaimed, looking mildly offended. “Why would it be poisoned?”

“No one gives food away for no reason,” said Louie, like it was a law of the universe and they were fools who didn’t know.

Dewey scowled and crossed his arms. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“Why did I do it?” Louie asked.

Dewey nodded.

“We all need to eat, don’t we?” Louie shifted and leaned back on his hands. “Unless I got kidnapped with an immortal.”

“If I was immortal,” Dewey scoffed, “then we’d all be out of here already.”

“Sure,” said Louie easily.

“In fact, we wouldn’t be in here in the first place.” Dewey pointed at Louie. “I would’ve saved you first try, no problem.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Huey butted into the conversation, no longer willing to listen confusedly on the sidelines. “You were there because you tried to save him?”

“Yeah,” said Dewey, but he seemed frustrated with himself. “I should’ve been able to. But I— the guy was unarmed, and I didn’t want to hurt him.”

Huey stared blankly. Who was this kid that had to hold back if he didn’t want to injure someone? It was possible that Dewey was exaggerating, but his gut feeling told him otherwise, and Louie, who had been there, who had seen it firsthand, didn’t seem to question it.

“I… am not much of a fighter,” Louie said, wincing afterwards and glancing at Dewey guardedly. “I’m sorry I kind of got you into this.”

“Okay, I can get into trouble just fine on my own.” Dewey grinned at them, all soft edges and warm eyes. Almost fond. Of people he’d just met. “Both of you stop trying to take the credit.”

The three of them laughed softly, though it was more enthusiastic exhaling than anything else. It was hardly audible of the rattling of the wagon traveling uneven terrain, but it was something, and it mattered.

Huey smiled slightly, letting the tension drain out of his limbs for the first time in days, noticing that the other two had mostly dropped their defensive body language. He felt lighter than he had since he’d been captured. Less lonely, somehow, than he had felt in his entire life.

The wagon shook violently as it rolled over rocks and holes in the ground, and it was this that led Huey to doubt that they were on any actual road. It would make them harder to track, probably, if anyone was looking. If they listened closely, they could hear the voices of their captors, happy and carefree and invincible, and if they listened closer then Huey could make out the sound of crickets chirping nearby, signaling the end of another very long day.

“Does anyone know where we’re going?” Dewey asked, flopped against the wall.

“All I’ve heard is that they’re taking us to ‘Ma’,” Huey said, doing air quotes.

“I heard that, too.” Louie frowned. “But why kidnap me and Dewey? They couldn’t have planned that.”

“Something tells me that they don’t plan much at all.”

Dewey had laid down with his back on the floor and his legs up the wall, for some reason.

“What do you mean?” asked Dewey, tilting his head back to look at him.

“They’re up for hire,” Huey explained. “They’re like low-level henchmen. Someone else is calling the shots.”

Like Magica, or whoever ‘Ma’ was.

“I don’t think they had much time to consult their boss in between capturing us and throwing us in here,” Louie said.

“Impulsive decision, maybe?” Huey shrugged. “Big Time seems to mostly run on emotion. You made him mad, and he’s doing something about it.”

“So they’re dumb,” Dewey stated dryly.

Louie snorted. “Seems legit.”

Huey leaned back against the wall, sensing that the conversation was over for now, and crossed his arms against his chest. He was met with the hard shape of the strange object that Lena had given him before he’d left. He had inspected it closer after calming down from his kidnapping, and now he knew what it was; he knew what it meant.

He’d been trying hard not to think about it too much. It was too confusing, and overwhelming, and decidedly not what he needed to worry about right now.

Huey uncrossed his arms, closed his eyes, and pushed it from his mind once more.

Chapter Text

Silence had fallen in the wagon, which was good because Dewey had a lot to think about. Just that morning he’d been playing travel games with Webby, and now he was headed into an uncertain future with two complete strangers. It was safe to say that the day had been a complete emotional roller coaster, one that left his legs shaky and his head spinning.

On the bright side, Dewey thought that they all got along pretty well, for people who’d been thrown together in the worst possible circumstances. They’d talked on and off about where they could be going or how to make an escape, but in the end, they were talking themselves in circles, digging themselves deeper into despair. They stopped talking about it for their own sanity, and really, there wasn’t much to be said anyways. They would have to wait and see.

Huey had actually fallen asleep during a lull in the small talk they’d turned to, and he was sitting slumped over with his head resting against the wooden chest, eyes closed and breathing softly. Dewey recalled him mentioning that he’d been taken around two days ago, and figured that the poor kid hadn’t slept a wink since then.

In all honesty, Dewey should probably be sleeping, too. They needed to be well rested and alert for whatever would come in the following days, but it was easier said than done.

Dewey had been in his first real fight that day, and he had lost.

He tried telling himself that there was nothing more he could’ve done. Bouncer was too big and had been unarmed. Dewey hadn’t been trained to fight someone who had no weapon, and he hadn’t been trained to kill. He didn’t want to be trained that way. And on top of all that, he’d also been woefully outnumbered and half distracted by the kid he’d been trying to save.

These were all things that Webby would say to cheer him up, but it didn’t make him feel much better. Not when she wasn’t actually there, not when he wasn’t sure if he wanted her to be or not. Because maybe she would’ve been better. Maybe she would’ve won, and succeeded where Dewey had crashed and burned. Where Dewey had failed.

And it was worse, because he’d failed more than just himself. He’d failed Louie, who he hadn’t been able to save, who maybe would’ve been better off without him.

Louie didn’t seem to hold it against him, at least, and had even sort of apologized for his role in getting them both captured, but the apology wasn’t needed. The kid hadn’t asked for Dewey to swoop in like some kind of hero and make everything worse than it already was.

In fact, Louie hadn’t said much at all.

He had participated in their discussions, of course, but he was carefully, subtly guarded with everything he said. He gave away nothing about himself, whereas Dewey had let slip basically his whole life story without realizing. All that Dewey knew about Louie was that the kid was some kind of thief, which he had mixed feelings about, seeing as how Dewey lived with people who traveled the world teaching people how to defend themselves from thieves.

Thinking of thievery brought him back to that morning, with Webby and her apple, and Dewey’s stomach growled. It wasn’t very loud, but Louie seemed to hear it, and he shot him an amused look.

“I haven’t eaten since lunch, okay?” Dewey said defensively, half smiling.

And odd expression flashed across Louie’s face, a moment where his walls cracked a bit, but it was gone before Dewey could decipher the meaning of it. Still, he got the sense that he’d said something wrong, and he tried to fix it.

“Good thing you got that apple then, huh?” Dewey prompted, wishing that he had an apple right about then. He was starving.

“I guess so,” Louie said slowly, his gaze fixed firmly on the wall somewhere next to Dewey’s head, eyes flashing like he was gathering the nerve to say whatever it was that he was about to say. “It was the only thing I ate today.”

Dewey’s eyes widened in surprise, and somewhere in the back of his mind his aforementioned ‘mixed feelings’ were rolling in their grave, because now he absolutely did not care if stealing was illegal or not. He cared more about the kid sitting in front of him, who maybe needed more saving than Dewey had initially realized.

He’d known that thieves didn’t typically live lives of luxury, but he’d known it without knowing that he knew it. Webby had known, of course she’d known, and she knew and knew that she knew, and well. She’d said it best, when he’d asked her why she’d let Louie take the apple.

‘If he needed it badly enough to steal it, then he needed it more than me.’

And she’d been right. Louie probably needed a lot of things more than other people did.

It was distant, distorted and covered in fog, but Dewey still remembered a time before he’d been adopted, when he’d gone digging through the trash for extra scraps because there’d been too many mouths to feed and not enough food and he hadn’t been strong enough to fight for it, or selfish enough to want to.

“I’m glad that Webby gave it to you,” said Dewey, and he meant every word and knew that he meant it.

Louie broke his staring contest with the wall and fixed him with an assessing gaze, intense and searching. Dewey tried his best not to squirm, or make a stupid face, and he stayed quiet for as long as Louie needed. The kid must’ve found what he was looking for, because he relaxed and quirked the corner of his beak up in what might’ve been a smile.

“Thanks,” said Louie, but it was a little more casual than anything he’d said before, and Dewey felt like he’d won something. “And thank you for trying to help me. You didn’t have to.”

Dewey thought to wave the gratitude away, but something stopped him. Louie hadn’t thanked him for saving him, because he really, really hadn’t; he had thanked him for trying. And since Louie most likely didn’t go around thanking people very often, Dewey thought that maybe it was important to accept it.

“You’re welcome.”

Louie shrugged and leaned his head back to look at the ceiling.

“You’ve mentioned Webby a few times,” he said conversationally. “She seems nice.”

“She is.” Dewey smiled fondly. “She’s the one that convinced Mrs. B to let me stay, she’s like my sister. They— they’re probably freaking out right now. Looking for me.”

The thought both comforted and upset him. Maybe they could find him, but they must be worried sick. He imagined himself in Webby’s shoes, and immediately wanted to throw up. He cleared his throat and tried changing the subject.

“Uh, what about your family? What are they like?” Dewey asked, blinking away visions of a distressed Webby.

He was taken off guard when Louie gave a short laugh. It sounded more resigned – or pained – than happy.

“I’m part of the orphan club, too,” said Louie with a sad twist of a smile. “The orphanage shut down a few years ago and we were dumped on the streets.”

“What— all of you?” Dewey’s voice was oddly strangled.

“Well, all five of us.” Louie huffed and rested his elbow on his knee. “Wasn’t very close to any of them. I haven’t seen them since then.”

There weren’t many times in his life where Dewey had absolutely no clue what to say, but this was one of them. Pieces of a puzzle he hadn’t been aware he was building clicked into place, quietly and subtly, like it was trying to not draw attention to itself.

Louie stole because he had to, because there was no one taking care of him. He had looked surprised when Dewey showed up to save him, and he hadn’t called out for help when they were being taken away. Louie was completely alone in a way that Dewey had never been, and for a moment he was struck speechless by the enormity of it all – of how much it mattered.

“Those idiots out there actually lucked out when they chose to kidnap me,” said Louie absentmindedly, now frowning at the wall. “Because there’s no one who’s gonna come looking.”

Silence. Dewey tried to form a complete thought, tried to think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound totally stupid, and he failed even that. How could he comfort someone who was so confident that they were right? And how it pained him to admit it, but maybe he was.

“There’s no one looking for me, either.”

The voice was quiet and vaguely apologetic, and Dewey and Louie both jumped and turned to look at Huey, who’d apparently woken up at some point during the rather tense and serious conversation they were having. Dewey didn’t know how much of it he’d heard, but it must’ve been enough.

“My 'legal guardian' got me into this mess, and I doubt she’s had a change of heart.” Huey sighed and let his head fall back against the wall. “And Lena tried to warn me. She might not even know what happened, and if she does, she doesn’t owe me anything.”

A despondent silence settled over them, the hopelessness of their situation becoming more apparent than ever. It was well into the night now, the interior of the wagon only lit by the moon and stars shining through minuscule cracks in the wooden walls. The wagon still rattled along without a care for its miserable prisoners.

Dewey hadn’t had the easiest life, especially not the first half of it, but now he wondered if he still took it for granted. He’d never really had a home, as Mrs. Beakley traveled too much to make owning a house anywhere practical, but Dewey had found a sort of family. Even if it didn’t always feel like it was enough, or like there were missing pieces. He never went to bed hungry, or alone, and he knew without a doubt that they were coming after him. Huey and Louie didn’t have that certainty. They’d never had it.

From what Huey had been saying about his life, it must have been luxurious, but also insurmountably lonely. Especially if he couldn’t think of a single person who would look for him.

And Dewey wasn’t sure if Louie even had a home. Obviously, he stayed somewhere, but he’d had to learn to take care of himself at a very young age. He’d had to learn to survive. All on his own.

Dewey had always been an empathetic person, but the heartache he felt thinking about what these kids’ lives have been seemed a little overboard even for him. He wanted them to have better lives, wanted it so fiercely that for a moment he believed he could will it so.

But the past was the past, and the present was challenging enough as it was. Maybe though, in the future, he could get Mrs. Beakley to consider taking Huey and Louie in. Webby would be all for it; she’d probably end up leading the charge.

For now, however, the one thing that had become painfully apparent was that they couldn’t count on outside help to get them out of this mess.

“Well,” Dewey said, straightening up with newfound confidence, “then I guess it’s up to us. We’re going to get out of here it it’s the last thing we do.”

“It’s certainly headed in that direction,” Louie mumbled, and Dewey graciously ignored him.

“We should try to sleep if we want to accomplish anything tomorrow.” Huey could be heard shifting around, attempting to get comfortable. “Or today. I don’t know what time it is.”

“You were doing more than trying to sleep for a while there,” Dewey teased, unable to help it.

“Very funny,” said Huey, yawning. “Goodnight guys.”

Goodnight. Ha.

“I’ve had better,” Dewey mumbled as he settled down.

“I’ve had worse,” said Louie.

Chapter Text

Sleeping in a moving wagon was actually very difficult, Louie discovered. He’d never been in one for any length of time, never had a reason to, and the unfamiliar feeling made it impossible to be anything other than stubbornly awake. He’d been dozing on and off, hardly aware of the passage of time. Though he vaguely remembered hearing the faint sounds of soft snoring and slight movements from the others.

What finally jolted him awake for good was surprisingly not a particularly bumpy stretch of road, but the absence of movement at all – the wagon had stopped.

Louie wasn’t the only one to register the change; Huey and Dewey were already rubbing their eyes and looking around blearily, warily. They’d all ended up closer together during the night, somehow becoming huddled at the front of the wagon, at the farthest possible point from the doors. It felt safer there, but not by much.

Gravel and dirt shifted outside, the lock rattled, and the doors opened.

Louie had to shut his eyes tightly against the stabbing light. He doubted that it was much past sunrise, but after being in the dark for several hours even dim light was like staring directly into the sun. A hand latched onto his shirt sleeve; judging from the angle it was probably Huey. Louie’s first instinct was to shake it away, but he stopped himself, since it was a good way to keep track of where he was in relation to others. And maybe it calmed him, somewhat.

Someone snickered meanly outside the door as Louie tried desperately to see through squinted eyes. The wood floor groaned as weight was added to it, and then a much more menacing hand grabbed Louie’s other arm, yanking him toward the outside. He cried out, and his eyes flew open involuntarily – ow – just in time to see the gravel and rocks he was headed for. Huey hadn’t let go of him, either of out fear or surprise, and he had apparently grabbed hold of Dewey as well.

All three of them hit the ground in a tangle of feathers and limbs, groaning and yelping as they tried to get their bearings. Louie managed to get to his knees, and he blinked dazedly at his now scraped up hands. His eyes had finally adjusted a little to the light, and he winced at the sharp, stinging pain coming from the cuts. They weren’t bleeding – much – but it was still a shock to his system.

Huey finally let go of his sleeve, and Louie turned to look at the rest of the sorry scene. The duck in red had landed mostly on top of him, and had been spared scraped hands. His knees, however, had not emerged unscathed. Dewey had initially landed on top of them both, but had immediately tripped over them and dove headfirst into the ground. His forehead above his right eye was bleeding slightly, but he still glared fearlessly at their captors.

“Aw, did we wake you?” Big Time grinned maliciously. “I’m sorry.”

The Beagle Boys all had a good laugh at their expense as they sorted themselves out. Louie had thought that they might’ve reached their destination, wherever that may be, but they appeared to be in the middle of nowhere. All he could see – blinking nervously at his surroundings like a baby deer – was rocks, dirt, and grass nearly as tall as he was swaying in the breeze. The sky was a light shade of blue; the sun had just risen.

Louie’s breath hitched and his heart leapt in his chest, beating at all the wrong moments. Why had they stopped if not because they’d arrived? All he could think was that maybe their captors had realized that he wasn’t worth keeping. Maybe they were dropping the dead weight.

He shared a look of suppressed panic with Dewey as they were separated, but Huey was shooting reassuring glances their way, as though he knew what was happening.

It turned out alright, because apparently they’d stopped for a reason other than killing and/or abandoning kidnapped children. They were taken away to use the bathroom while the horses drank and rested.

Louie thought briefly about making a run for it, but the beagles were watching them closely, and there was no way to know which direction to go. He could be running to his death for all he knew.
He reluctantly climbed back into the wagon when he was told, although not without several unprovoked, bruising shoves from Big Time. Huey and Dewey joined him soon after, looking about as disheartened and pained as Louie felt. They were given a slice of bread and flask of water each. Poison once again occurred to him as a possibility, but at this point it didn’t make much sense, and he was tired of worrying anyway. So Louie gobbled the bread and simply glared at Dewey when it looked like he might offer half his piece for him to eat.

When they were finished eating, Huey moved closer to Dewey and carefully inspected his head wound. The duck in blue winced when Huey touched it, but sat still enough to let him clean it with a bit of water and one of the Beagle Boys’ extra shirts.

“Thanks,” said Dewey, and he immediately brought a hand up to try and touch it, but Huey smacked it away.

“Leave it alone or it’ll start bleeding again,” Huey said sternly.

“Yes, mom,” Dewey teased, but he listened.

Huey rolled his eyes before shifting closer to Louie and reaching out to him, intent on checking his scraped hands next. Louie jerked said hands back toward his chest on instinct, and Huey paused, looking up at him for a tense moment before smiling a small, encouraging smile, so honest that it almost hurt to look at.

Slowly, and without consciously thinking about it, Louie held his hands back out, palms up, an offering, and Huey took them very gently in his. He proceeded to remove the bits of gravel stuck in the cuts and clean them with water while Louie stared the whole time, not sure how to react. When it was done, he thanked Huey, who just grinned softly and shrugged like it was no big thing. Except that for a kid who rarely had someone willing to help him, it was huge, and a little bit terrifying.

Some amount of time later, they were moving again. There was nothing new to talk about in relation to escape plans, so Dewey regaled them with stories from his life. He told them about how his friend Webby had convinced her granny to let him stay, and how they traveled all over to train people in self-defense. Dewey had been practicing sword fighting since he was seven, which Huey had been surprised by, having not seen the fight that led to them getting captured. Not that Louie had seen much of Dewey’s sword skills, either, since he’d been equally busy at the time.

Huey told them about his life living in a huge house with occupants he hardly ever saw, one of whom was the entire reason they were in this situation. He’d been living there his whole life, apparently, and had never seen much of the world. He was the exact opposite of Dewey in that way. And it was clear that Huey didn’t much like his home life, but he perked up a fair amount when he spoke about a science lab that he visited, and the people there that taught him anything he wanted to know. It was easy to tell that Huey wanted to make those scientists proud, and Louie understood – he’d had a mentor, once.

Louie himself didn’t have much he wanted to say about his life, since most of it was either extremely boring or insanely pitiful. He did end up telling them about the stray cat that visited him called Knots. She got her very literal name because she had long, dark fur that was always tangled. Louie tried his best to smooth it out when she came around, but it was easier said than done. He would give her scraps of food if he had some to spare, and she was good company – his only company. Dewey immediately wanted to meet her.

In spite of everything, Louie found that he was becoming more and more relaxed around Huey and Dewey, even though he kept reminding himself to keep his guard up. It was like second nature to joke and tease them, and an odd, all-encompassing feeling arose when he did – a feeling that he didn’t recognize. It troubled him how easily his walls were coming down, and how open he was to being hurt. It was dangerous to trust anyone when trust was so fragile, and so easily broken. If Huey and Dewey could find a way to escape without him, he was sure that they would do it. They’d be stupid not to, and Louie wouldn’t even be able to blame them.

However, such an opportunity hadn’t presented itself, and this was still the case at the end of the day, and through another restless night.

Around noon the next day, a full day and a half since their capture, and after hours and hours of stopping randomly and increasingly rough treatment, they finally reached their destination.
One by one they were dragged out into the sun. Their surroundings hadn’t changed much since their last outing; there was still only fields as far as they could see. But this time there was a small house not far away from where they were parked, another wagon that actually had windows, and standing right in front of them was Ma Beagle.

At least, that’s who Louie assumed she was. She was a short woman –though still taller than they were – in a simple yellow shirt and purple skirt. A leather bag was hanging low at her side, and she was scowling at them.

“What is this?” Ma Beagle snapped at the three criminals. “You were sent after one kid. I count three.”

Big Time stepped forward from where he’d been standing proudly behind them and yanked Louie back by his hood. Louie flailed to keep his balance as Huey and Dewey shouted in alarm, held back by the other two Beagle Boys.

“We caught this one—” Big Time shook him violently, “—breaking into the wagon in the last village.”

Ma Beagle sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose in a long-suffering way. If these were her children, Louie almost felt bad for her. Almost.

“And the other one?” Ma Beagle asked tiredly.

“Tried to help the thief, but we snatched him, too,” Big Time stated proudly.

Bouncer and Burger nodded eagerly in agreement. Ma Beagle inhaled sharply, and Louie tensed.

“You’re all morons!” Ma Beagle exploded. “We have no clue who’ll come looking for these kids!”

Everyone flinched as she yelled, and a flock of birds burst out of the grass to flee. Louie watched them go with envy.

Bouncer and Burger shrunk back as Big Time frantically tried to defend himself.

“No one’s lookin’ for this one!” He pushed Louie back to his spot beside the others. “He’s just a street brat.”

Ouch. The truth hurt sometimes.

Dewey clutched at his sleeve, presumably to make sure that he wouldn’t be taken again, and when Louie glanced at him, he was scowling at Big Time.

“What about that one?” Ma Beagle gestured at Dewey, continuing to refer to them as if they were produce at the market.

“I don’t think he’s got family,” said Big Time nervously, obviously unsure. “No one would let their kid wander around a village like that by himself.”

Ma Beagle looked over each of them, and was quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time. Eventually she walked slowly around them until she was behind them, standing in front of the wagon that had been their prison. They turned to face her cautiously.

“Well, what’s done is done,” said Ma Beagle, a cruel smile pulling at her mouth. “Suppose we can find some use for ‘em.”

Louie shivered, absolutely certain that he never wanted to know what his ‘use’ might be.

“Throw the brats back in the wagon, boys,” Ma Beagle said, still smiling. “We’re heading out.”

Again? Louie barely stopped himself from groaning aloud as they were shuffled back in the direction of the wagon. His breathing picked up, and he was struck with panic at the prospect of once again being hopelessly trapped, knowing that the longer they stayed, the less likely escape was becoming. C’mon, Louie, think, he told himself firmly. You’re good at this. Find an angle out.

Louie’s eyes flitted around restlessly, weighing options and making connections before landing on his target. Ma Beagle’s bag hung low enough that he could easily see inside, and something in there was reflecting the sunlight – a glare being thrown off a metal object. And Dewey may have been a trained swordsman, but Louie had a certain set of skills, too. If the object was what he thought it was, then it could be exactly what they needed.

As they got closer to Ma Beagle, Louie hesitated a split second, uncertain, but he had nothing to lose. He purposefully tripped and slammed into her side, arms flailing. He only had a second before she shouted in anger and shoved him harshly to the ground, dusting herself off, but a second was good enough.

Huey rushed to help him up with a concerned gaze, and Louie shot him a small, half-crazed smile. He’d accomplished what he had set out to do. They were still woefully outnumbered, hopelessly lost, and completely trapped, but now they had something more.

They had a chance.

Chapter Text

Huey was getting very tired of hearing doors slam shut. Wagon doors specifically, and specifically the doors of the specific wagon that they were in. He tried to open them – on a whim; on a hope; on a wish and a prayer – but as usual they didn’t budge. He sighed and sat down heavily, feeling crushed by the weight of the world.

“Where do you think we’re going now?” Dewey asked, huffing in exasperation.

“I’m not sure I want to know,” Huey replied.

The Beagle Boys could be heard moving around and conversing loudly outside their prison. The wagon swayed slightly, and then there was the sound of hooves on gravel, getting fainter as the source of the noise got further away. Huey guessed that their captors were transferring two horses over to pull the other wagon; presumably the one Ma Beagle would be riding in. He assumed she wouldn’t be riding with them, or at least he hoped.

The occupants of the wagon of doom sat in silence as they listened to the chaotic movements outside. Big Time apparently got his knack for yelling orders from his mother, whose screeching overpowered everything else.

Eventually, they heard the shouting fade, and the other wagon roll away, theirs following close behind.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Huey said quietly, partially to himself as motivation.

If they didn’t escape before they reached their final destination, who knew what would happen to them. The Beagle Boys appeared to have plans for him, but Dewey and Louie were unexpected. They could be in more trouble than he was.

“I agree, like, wholeheartedly,” Dewey said, “but we kind of need a plan.”

Huey’s heart plummeted, sank right to the ground, because nothing had changed. They were still trapped and alone, and was it really this hopeless?

“I… might have one,” Louie spoke up, glancing around as if afraid the criminals would hear him.

Huey and Dewey blinked at him in uncomprehending confusion, and then Louie pulled a knife out of his sleeve.

And it was no pocketknife – it was larger than any normal knife Huey had ever seen, about the length of his forearm. It had a sturdy handle and a serrated edge. If he had to guess, it was probably best when used to saw through things. Thin branches, for example. Or the wooden walls of a wagon.

“Are you— What?!” Dewey reached out and took the knife to examine it closer. “Have you had this the whole time?”

“No, Dewey.” Louie shook his head in exasperation, but a smile was pulling at his beak. “I took it out of Ma Beagle’s bag when I tripped into her.”

And yeah, it was concerning that Ma Beagle carried around this kind of topnotch weaponry in her handbag, not to mention unsheathed and plainly in view. What did she even use it for? Huey suppressed a shiver and added that to the list of things that he didn’t want to know.

“And she didn’t notice?” Huey asked.

“Not yet at least.”

Huey gave a short laugh of astonishment. Of all people he could have been stuck with, here he was with a skilled swordsman and a master pickpocket. Only time would tell if this was a good thing or not.

“What are we gonna do with it?” Dewey asked curiously, a new spark in his eyes.

“We might be able to cut around the lock,” Louie explained, a hint of doubt beneath the thoughtful tone of voice. “The lock would – maybe – fall off. And we could open the door.”

Huey felt hope bloom in his chest, but was reluctant to let it grow too much. He was just as reluctant to kill it.

“Wouldn’t they hear us?” Dewey asked. “You know, sawing and stuff?”

“Not necessarily,” Huey cut in. “Not while we’re traveling on these bumpy roads. The wagon makes too much noise, and they’re always shouting anyway.”

Dewey grinned excitedly as he handed the knife back to Louie, who seemed to be trying his best to not smile. This was the first semblance of a plan that they’d had, and it brought both relief and anxiety upon them.

“Is there any way we could get my sword back?” Dewey bounced in place. “I don’t—I’d rather not leave it if we don’t have to.”

“Maybe,” Louie said, frowning thoughtfully. “We could try to cut a hole in the wall to get to the storage box.”

Huey remembered seeing the storage boxes during the few times they were let out. There were two on each side of the wagon, bolted tightly to the outside for easy access. Well, easy for anyone who wasn’t trapped inside. They might be able to cut into it, though, if they played their cards right. The question was: did they want to risk it?

Louie turned around to examine the wall behind him, staring for a few seconds before pointing at a spot a few inches above they floor.

“It would be right around here,” he said.

It seemed like Louie had a good enough memory to be reasonably confident in that statement, so Huey didn’t question it.

“Are we going for it?” Dewey asked, a hint of worry in his voice.

Huey shared a look with Louie, conflicted, because they both knew that it would be safer if they left it alone. The longer they sawed away at the walls of the wagon, the more likely it would be that they’d be caught.

Of course, having the sword could be a good idea, too, if Dewey was as skilled as he said he was. And it was obviously important to Dewey; a piece of home that he carried with him – a piece that he didn’t want to leave in the hands of the Beagle Boys. Huey felt the weight of the ‘necklace’ he’d been gifted against his chest, and he understood.

The fact that Dewey seemed ready to give up a part of himself if they thought he should only solidified what Huey knew was best.

“Might as well,” said Louie, beating him to the punch. “We’ll have to wait until night, so we won’t be interrupted. And we’d better hope Ma Beagle doesn’t miss her knife.”

Huey and Dewey nodded in agreement, Louie hid the knife behind the chest, and they settled in to wait. Dewey brought up travel games, and having nothing better to do, they agreed to play readily enough.

Dewey won most games, Huey was humble enough to admit it, but Louie continuously beat everyone at Rock, Paper, Scissors. He was scarily good at predicting what move they would make before they even thought of making it. Huey did win once – on complete accident – but Dewey and Louie still cheered and applauded playfully.

It was a strange, foreign feeling, to be getting along with kids his age. The truth was, Huey didn’t really know how to have friends. The only people he consistently spoke to were the people at the lab, and they were all full-grown adults. He hadn’t known Dewey and Louie very long at all, and the circumstances were hardly ideal, but already he was closer to them than to anyone else. Though to be fair, the bar was pretty low.

Huey laughed to himself as Dewey once again accused Louie of cheating. Maybe they weren’t quite friends yet, but they had a long road ahead of them, and a long time until it ended. Things could change.

They stopped three more times before night fell, and the three of them grew more and more tense each time. Huey could only hope that the Beagle Boys hadn’t noticed, even though he doubted that they were paying much attention.

They were at least being given plenty of water, but it was clear that they were being fed table scraps. Louie seemed perfectly content with the food, and Dewey didn’t complain either. Huey guessed it must’ve had something to do with the depressing conversation he’d overheard the first night – the one about Louie’s past. It did seem shallow to complain about the amount of food they were getting when it might be more than what Louie got on his worst days.

Eventually, they were shut up in the wagon for the night, water newly refilled. There was still no sign that Ma Beagle had noticed her missing knife, and that was a miracle, as far as Huey was concerned.

A few minutes after the wagon started moving again, Huey wordlessly took the knife from its hiding spot and handed it to Louie, who turned to begin the process of recovering Dewey’s sword. The hardest part was getting the knife through the wood for the initial cut, but after several long minutes of persistence, a big enough slit was made that they could begin the sawing motion.

“You take over,” said Louie quietly, huffing a shaky breath and waving Dewey over to him.

Dewey eagerly began sawing away at the wall with Louie’s guidance, and Huey leaned forward to check on Louie’s hands again. He’d forgotten about the scrapes over the course of the stressful day, and now they were chafed and irritated by the friction from the knife. Huey frowned, knowing that he couldn’t do much more for them, and feeling like he couldn’t do much at all.

After what felt like almost an hour of taking turns, hushed conversations, and carefully listening for any sign of danger, the rectangle of wood fell obediently out of the wall. Louie put the piece of wood into the chest to keep it out of the way, and Dewey reached through the hole to grab his sword. It took some careful maneuvering and a great deal of patience, but eventually he pulled it out of the wall and grinned, relief in his eyes.

“Anything else in there that we could use?” Huey asked.

Dewey sheathed his sword at his hip and reached back into the storage chest to dig around. All he came up with was empty flasks and torn, dirty clothing, which was promptly shoved back into the wall.

“Nothing good,” said Dewey, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “I was hoping that we’d get lucky and discover a feast.”

Louie scoffed from where he was starting to cut around the lock.

“Keep dreaming,” he said, though not unkindly.

“I think I will,” said Dewey, smiling a cheeky smile, and Huey shook his head to hide his own grin.

They fidgeted as Louie sawed away at the door, scared of discovery and anxious to get going.

“Where are we gonna go?” Dewey blurted suddenly, and Huey glanced at him. “You know, when we get out.”

“Away from here,” said Louie, pausing to wipe his forehead and look at them with tired eyes.

“I think that first we should focus on putting distance between us and them,” Huey suggested, wringing his hands together. “Then we can decide where we’re going.”

“That works for me.” Dewey nodded at him and walked over to nudge Louie, plucking the knife out of his hands. “My turn.”

As Dewey took over the job of breaking them out, Huey walked over to the chest at the front of the wagon and started pulling shirts out by the armful. He tried to ignore the way his arms shook with unreleased tension and nerves.

“What are you doing?” Louie asked, standing over his shoulder.

“It’ll take them longer to realize that we’re gone if the door isn’t swinging open,” Huey explained, and he pointed between the hook on the wall and the door. “If we can tie these shirts together like a rope and then tie one end to the door and the other to the hook, then we could leave a big enough gap to jump out without it becoming obvious that we’re gone.”

Louie looked at him and cracked a small, genuine smile as he sat down to help, and Huey felt like he’d won something; he felt like he was finally being useful.

They’d just finished the rope of shirts and secured one end to the hook when Dewey gave a choked cry. They whirled around to see him holding tightly to the edge of the door, holding it shut. There was a chunk of wood missing where the lock used to be, and Huey’s heart leapt in his chest, either out of fear or joy.

“The piece fell out,” Dewey said, sounding breathless and looking wild.

Huey took the other end of the shirt-rope and rushed to the door, reaching through the hole to fumble blindly for the outside handle. He found it, and managed to tie the rope somewhat securely. Dewey let go of the door on his signal, and it swung open just enough to let them through. They gathered at the edge to look out, each holding their recently refilled flask of water. Dewey clipped his to his belt, and Huey and Louie slung theirs over their shoulders to hang by their sides.

The wagon was traveling along a narrow, overgrown dirt path, guarded on either side by thick foliage and trees. Fortunately, Ma Beagle’s wagon was leading, or else they would’ve been caught for sure.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Dewey said, mostly to himself, staring wide eyed out at the world. “Uh, right or left?”

It really didn’t matter, but it would be best to decide on a direction before they all hurled themselves out of a moving wagon. Huey remembered the few times they’d been let out of their prison under close guard, how they’d had to stop themselves from gallivanting off into the countryside because there was no way of knowing if it would be their doom. They weren’t stupid, or desperate enough to run then, but they were now. Or something like that.

“Right?” Louie said it like a question, eyes fixed in that direction, but they both agreed easily enough.

Huey dropped his gaze from the trees to the ground, steadily moving beneath them. They weren’t traveling very fast, but it would still be difficult to stick the landing and rush immediately into the woods, especially quietly.

Huey swallowed hard, trying to encourage his heart to get out of his throat and go back to where it belonged. He glanced over at Louie, who looked almost as nervous as Huey was, though he hid it better, and he looked at Dewey, who was shuffling his feet, obviously growing restless.

Without warning, and without grace, a fierce sense of responsibility crashed into him. Huey wanted these kids to be home and safe so badly that the force of the feeling almost knocked him down. He would get them home. He had to. They were here because of him, and he would get them out of it. He’d keep them safe.

“So,” said Dewey, in such a conversational tone that you’d think he was talking about the weather, “who wants to go first?”

Seeing that his question was met with ringing silence, he turned to look at them.

“Come on, it’ll be fine. Just bend your knees and roll if you have to,” Dewey said. “Trust me?”

“Do we have a choice?” Huey asked.

“Nah,” said Dewey, grinning, and with that he leapt out of the wagon.

Huey couldn’t stop his gasp, and he and Louie rushed to look out. A relieved breath escaped when he saw that Dewey had landed successfully and was bolting silently into the woods. Huey shared a look with Louie, either offering reassurance or searching for it, and then he pushed back his fear and jumped.

He landed hard on his hands and knees, the same knees that were scraped and already sore, and he jerked his head up just in time to see Louie hit the ground a few feet away. The wagon continued on uninterrupted, the open door held in place by the rope of shirts. Huey pushed himself to his feet and stumbled swiftly towards the trees, reaching down to grab Louie by the sleeve on the way.

Dewey was waiting for them a few feet in, and they stopped to regroup, breathing heavily and sharing incredulous, muffled laughter; watching to be sure that their former captors hadn’t stopped.
The wagon kept going, and Huey smiled somewhat giddily, because something had finally gone right. He’d done something right.

As one, they turned and ran deeper into the woods.

Chapter Text

Twigs snapped and leaves crunched underfoot as they charged blindly forwards. The surrounding trees towered over them menacingly, looking more like silhouettes of horrific monsters than the friendly shapes that they were in daylight. The world was dark, made of shadows, and they had no clue where they were headed, but Dewey still preferred it to being stuck in the wagon. At least they were doing something. At least they were free.

They ran for as long as they could handle, crashing through bushes, snapping tree limbs, and altogether probably leaving a fairly obvious trail, but they couldn’t stop. They were being driven by the need to get as far away from danger as possible. Distance was first priority, and then they could attempt to be stealthy.

Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime of frenzied running, Huey stumbled into a tree and leaned against it, coughing and panting. Dewey took a slightly different approach and fell flat on the ground to rest. Leaves crunched and shifted beneath him, and he spared a moment in between gasping for breath to hope that he wasn’t laying on any spiders.

He fumbled for his water flask and unhooked it from his belt with shaking hands, popping the lid off to take a small drink. It was difficult to restrain himself from gulping the whole thing down, but he had to. Who knew when they’d find more water?

Dewey eventually recovered enough to lift his head, and he saw that Louie was sitting against the same tree Huey was leaning on. Neither of them seemed very eager to keep going, but they also hadn’t yet lost that trapped, cornered look in their eyes. Even though they most likely hadn’t been discovered as missing yet, the feeling of being chased clung to them and didn’t seem to be letting go.

Dewey sat up. Clearly, they couldn’t keep going at the pace that they had been, but at this point any pace would do.

“This is too much exercise,” Louie wheezed from his spot on the ground.

Huey laughed weakly. “Especially after sitting in a wagon for several days.”

It was true. Dewey’s muscles ached as he stood up, his arms sore from sawing wood and his legs an odd combination of weak and numb. Still, he managed to walk over and offer Louie a hand up.

“Yeah, and if we don’t want to do that again,” Dewey said as Louie took his hand, “then we should definitely keep going.”

Louie sighed, and Huey turned to look back at the way they came.

“And we should maybe be a little more subtle about it,” Huey said, a tired amusement in his voice.

Dewey followed Huey’s gaze, and he had to chuckle a bit. It was dark, but he could still make out a clear path where foliage had been crushed and leaves had been disturbed, and anyone who knew what they were looking for would pick up on it right away.

“You know, I think you’re right.” Dewey turned back to face the others. “Which way now?”

It really didn’t matter as long as they weren’t retracing their own steps, so they chose a random direction and started walking. Carefully, this time, without destroying the environment. With any luck, the Beagle Boys wouldn’t be able to find where they’d jumped off, much less find them, but luck hadn’t exactly been on their side. Until recently, he supposed. Escaping felt pretty lucky.

Dewey tipped his head back to look at the stars as he walked. He couldn’t see them clearly through the canopy of trees, but they twinkled in between leaves and gave him the impression that the sky was winking at him, like it knew something that he didn’t know. Soon enough, he tripped over a root, and he decided to focus more on the ground than on the stars.

They walked for most of the night, keeping up light conversation about mundane topics to chase away the tension. Favorite colors, favorite foods, funny stories. Huey had apparently caused his first explosion, recently.

They did have to stop and rest a few times, and they tried their best to drink as little water as possible. Inevitably, it would become an issue, but they were attempting to put it off for as long as possible. Another issue was food – or rather, lack of food – because already Dewey was hungry. As captives, they had been fed twice a day – it hadn’t been enough, but they could survive on it – but as fugitives there was no telling where their next meal would come from. Dewey avoided thinking about it, and hoped that his stomach would do the same.

Gradually, the sky got lighter and lighter. Dewey yawned greatly, and as if it were contagious, Huey and Louie did too. Walking all night had taken its toll, and sooner or later they would have to really rest.

“Do you think they’ve noticed that we’re gone?” Dewey asked, rubbing the nonexistent sleep out of his eyes.

“If they haven’t yet, they will soon,” said Huey, in a tone of voice that suggested he was too tired to care.

Huey had been leading the way for a while now, since the sun had risen, and it felt right somehow. Like this was how it should be.

In the morning sun, the forest had transformed. Beams of light shone through the layers of leaves and cast dappled shadows on the ground. Birds sang from places they couldn’t see, and the wind rustled bushes and wove between their fingers.

Dewey couldn’t help but think that Louie blended in well here. With his brown shirt and green cloak, he almost resembled a tree. He snickered, and Louie shot him a questioning look over his shoulder.

“What?” asked Louie, eyebrows furrowed like he couldn’t decide if Dewey had lost his mind.

“Nothing, you just—” Dewey laughed again. “You kinda look like a tree.”

Louie looked even more bewildered.

“I’m not sure if I should be offended or not.”

“Well, it wasn’t meant to be offensive, so…”

“Things that aren’t meant to be offensive can still be offensive, Dewford.”

Oh, he was really starting to regret telling them his full name. At least Huey had given his in return – Huebert wasn’t much better – but Louie was adamant that his name was already full.

“Speaking of trees,” Huey interrupted. “One of us should climb up and check our surroundings.”

“I’ll do it!” Dewey volunteered, bouncing excitedly. “Hold my sword!”

He thrust the sword at Louie, who took it clumsily with a choked noise of surprise. Dewey sped over to a sturdy-looking tree, cracked his knuckles, and started climbing, distractedly agreeing with Huey’s reminder to be careful. It took several minutes to reach the top, but he made it without injury, which was a miracle in and of itself. He steadied himself on the branch below him and looked around.

Dewey was sure that he’d never seen so many trees in one place before. They spread out in every direction as far as he could see, all different shapes and sizes, a sea of green, moving gently back and forth like waves. A few miles away rose what was either a small mountain or huge hill, breaking the monotony of the forest. That too, had trees growing on it, but they were sparse in some places and allowed him to see the rocks and boulders behind them.

He stayed put for a moment longer than necessary, enjoying the vastness of the world and the breeze in his feathers – the way that everything seemed alive. He’d developed a new appreciation for open spaces after having been confined in what was essentially a glorified box for several days. He was sure he’d never see a wagon in quite the same way ever again.

Eventually, with some reluctance, he climbed back down and reported his findings.

“I think our best bet is the mountain,” Huey said when he’d finished.

“Why?” Louie asked flatly, seemingly not excited at the prospect of hiking uphill.

“If Dewey couldn’t see any roads or villages from here, then we need to get higher up.” Huey ran a hand through his hair anxiously, eyes flitting in the direction Dewey had pointed out to them. “If we still can’t find anything, we’ll have to make our way back to the path that the Beagle Boys are on.”

No one needed to say what that would mean, because they all knew. They’d be easy targets there, where their former captors might be looking for them at that very moment.

“Mountain it is,” said Louie resignedly, and he gave Dewey his sword back.

Dewey pointed them in the right direction, and they set off once more. It took a while, but eventually the ground began to slope, and they could see the large shape of the mountainside looming over them. The incline only got steeper as they walked, and Dewey took a drink from his flask when he could stand his thirst no longer. He was discouraged to realize that it was now only half full.

Before he could bring up his concern however, Huey spoke.

“Do you guys hear that?” he asked.

They all stopped walking to listen, perking up for the first time in hours, and there it was, almost too good to be true: the sound of rushing water. Dewey took off running with no heed to his former sluggishness, and he ended up charging straight into a small creek. Cool, clear water flowed around his ankles, and sunlight reflected in points off of the waves.

He turned to see Huey and Louie standing on the shore, looking shocked, and Dewey couldn’t help the bright, beaming smile he sent their way. As the rush of excitement caught up to them, they cheered and waded in, splashing each other as they began to refill their flasks, drink as much as they wanted, and then refill them again. Huey was babbling about how he should have known to look for water at the base of the mountain, like he expected himself to think of everything, but Louie threw water in his face and shut that down pretty quick. Dewey had never been happier to see water; it felt like reuniting with an old friend.

Old friends. Thinking of old friends made him think of Webby, and his good mood diminished somewhat. He missed her, badly, but he didn’t wish that she was here with him. Not here in the middle of nowhere, not back in that stuffy wagon, not struggling to survive – even if she’d be better at it than he was.

It was a horrible, overwhelming situation that Dewey had found himself in, but at least he wasn’t alone. He had Huey, who was probably the smartest person he’d ever met, who grew up lonely and without love but was no less kind for it. And he had Louie, whose main goal everyday was survival, who fed stray cats when he could barely feed himself.

Well. Webby had always teased him for getting attached too quickly.

It was around noon when they finally left the stream and continued up the mountain. Rather reluctantly, he might add. The ground became rockier the higher up they got, and eventually they had to push each other over ledges and up steep walls in order to make progress. They couldn’t go on forever, however, especially running on exactly zero sleep. So, when they stumbled rather miraculously upon a cave, they stopped.

The cave wasn’t that big, being about the size of four wagons put together. Dewey chuckled at his own system of measurement, but it was accurate, and wagons were the only point of reference that was fresh in his mind. It was a cozy space, and it offered a sense of security that they hadn’t had in a long time.

Dewey glanced at the horizon before turning back to the cave. The sun would be setting soon; it had been almost a day since their daring escape.

The mouth of the cave was only big enough for one person to go in at a time, and Dewey went in first. There were a few little holes in the ceiling worn away by time and other nightmares, allowing sun to shine down and illuminate the place in a haphazard way. Huey trudged in soon after, looking dead on his feet, still a little soggy from the creek, and then there was Louie.

Louie, whose cloak got snagged on a rock sticking out of the wall. When it didn’t come loose with a tug, he sighed and reached for the clasp. Dewey had been looking on in amusement and even chuckling, but what happened next shocked him into silence and cut his laughter off at the knees.

The clasp of Louie’s cloak did something peculiar. There was a faint clicking sound, and the front half of the metal piece swung apart from the back half like a locket. Something tumbled out from inside and bounced across the stone floor to land perfectly in a sunbeam. Light reflected brilliantly off of gold.

There on the ground was a piece – a fragment – of what could only have once been a circular medallion. And except for the three green gems set into it – into the gold – it looked exactly like his.

Chapter Text

When Louie was seven years old, the orphanage that he lived in shut down. He still didn’t fully know why, and he suspected that he never would; maybe it had been insufficient funding, or maybe the staff had gotten tangled up in something bad. Either way, it had the same result. It ended with him standing in the street, alone and with nowhere to go.

It started with a staff member, who had been the only adult left in the orphanage, and she’d called him into her office three days before the end. She’d been tired and resigned, and Louie had been small and wary. He didn’t know why she’d been there – why she’d bothered to stay. Possibly, she’d drawn the short straw, or maybe she’d felt like she owed it to them to be there, like a captain going down with the ship.

She’d sat him down and told him that he had a file, and that in that file was something that was his – something that had been with him when they’d found him. She’d given it to him, and Louie hadn’t let it out of his sight since.

It was a piece of a medallion, made of gold, with three deep green gems set into it so that they could be seen from both sides. There was part of a pattern on the front, and on the back was his name and the date he was born, carved into it precisely. It had been a big deal, for a seven-year-old.

It was still a big deal.

He should’ve been more careful. He should’ve been. It was such a dumb mistake, but Louie had been kidnapped, and then he had walked for miles, and he was so, so tired. His cloak getting snagged on the wall of the cave was just the cherry on top of a very difficult day, and in his haste and frustration, he had been reckless.

The clasp split apart and opened. The sound of metal bouncing on stone echoed around the otherwise silent cave, and the medallion piece settled down gently in a sunbeam, reflecting light from gold and gems.

Huey had moved automatically to pick it up, Good Samaritan that he was, but he froze suddenly, seemed to stop breathing, and he looked up at him in shock. Louie’s heart beat faster at the odd behavior, at his own inability to predict what would happen next.

He freed his cloak with one more panicked tug and rushed over to recover the fallen object. Louie brushed it off with trembling hands and examined it for damage, but thankfully it looked the same as always; beautiful and impossible and golden. It was incredibly valuable, but Louie had never been able to bring himself to sell it.

It was the only thing in the world that was his.

“Where did you get that?” Huey spoke softly, carefully, like his voice was a wrecking ball and the silence was glass.

When Louie looked up, both Huey and Dewey had adopted odd expressions – eyes wide and unblinking, like they couldn’t quite believe what they were seeing. It put him immediately on guard.

“…It’s mine.” Louie matched Huey’s tone of voice. “An orphanage worker gave it to me before they kicked us out. She said it was mine.”

He’d been seven years old, receiving his first clue to where he came from in the form of a very expensive and personalized item. Someone somewhere had loved him, once.

Huey was still frozen and staring, a hand raised halfway in the air in some forgotten action. Louie blinked at him, tense, wondering if he should say something, and then movement from Dewey caught his eye. At first Louie flinched, thinking that he was going for the sword, that this was the part where they robbed him blind and left him alone, but Dewey went straight for the pocket of his jacket. The one on the left side of his chest.

And he pulled out a medallion piece almost identical to his.

Louie’s eyes widened, his breath caught, and he glanced sharply back at his own hand to make sure that his medallion piece was still there, that this wasn’t some kind of magic trick. But there it was, and there Dewey’s was, existing separately and simultaneously.

Huey made some sort of strangled noise, overcome by an emotion that Louie hadn’t yet identified. He hadn’t even identified his own emotions.

“I snuck into the orphanage archives before I ran away.” Dewey was staring at him. “This was under my name. It has my name on it.”

Confusion. Shock. Fear. Louie’s head was spinning as he struggled to form any coherent thoughts. The medallion piece had been his best kept secret for years, closely guarded, because if anyone in his rundown village had known that he’d had it, they would’ve fought him for it, hurt him for it. It could support a family for years; it was one of a kind. Or maybe not.

Here in front of him was a missing piece. Part of the whole that Louie had never really tried to find.

“I don’t…” Louie began, and then changed course. “What?”

Dewey shrugged distractedly.

“I’ve only ever told Webby about it,” said Dewey, “and we looked for an answer for years. We couldn’t find anything.”

Huey finally broke out of his reverie, shaking his head in astonishment.

“I’ve read about them,” Huey said, and each word sounded heavy. “Before the Kingdom fell, they were given to members of the royal family at their birth, or hatching.”

Louie leaned heavily against the cave wall, sure that his legs wouldn’t support him for much longer. It had to be a mistake.

But Huey was sighing softly, and Huey was pulling something out from under his vest by the chain around his neck.

“Lena gave this to me when she told me to run.” He was holding a third medallion piece, identical except for the single red gem sparkling in the light. “Magica had—She’d hidden it away for years, and I never knew.”

What did it all mean? His brain still refused to connect the dots.

“Do you think…?” Dewey trailed off.

He walked over to Huey, and they held their pieces close together. Now Louie could clearly see the gems: two blue ones on Dewey’s, and the red one on Huey’s. Their pieces fit together perfectly, clicking into place and held there by an invisible magnetic force. Dewey laughed, unbelieving, and turned to smile widely at Louie as he beckoned him over.

Louie moved slowly toward them, unsure of when he decided to do so and feeling more like he was in a dream than reality. He hesitated – clutching his medallion piece tightly – and then he handed it to Dewey, giving in to the part of him that needed to know. It clicked into place with no trouble at all.

There in the palm of Dewey’s hand was a complete medallion, perfectly circular and dazzling in the fading sunlight. The pattern on the front was whole again, and he recognized it as the old royal crest – the letter ‘S’ with a line down the middle – carved into gold and surrounded by gems of red, blue, and green.

They all stared down at it, maybe waiting for something to happen that reflected the importance of the discovery, but the world was still and quiet. It almost felt like time had stopped, just for them.

“What does it mean?” Louie desperately wanted something to make sense, and he turned to the one person he thought could help. “Huey?”

Huey let out a barely audible sigh, fixated on the object in Dewey’s hand, and then he looked up.

“If it’s real, and if what I read is real, then—” Huey shook his head to clear it. “Then we’re part of the royal family. We could be related; we could be brothers.”

“Brothers?” Dewey repeated, and he sounded cautiously excited.

Louie, however, was feeling nauseous. It was too good to be true; it couldn’t be true, and if it was, there was no way that they’d just happened to stumble upon each other like this. They were not brothers, he didn’t believe it – even though he could see the resemblance between Huey and Dewey; even though he’d noticed their stupid, rhyming nicknames – he didn’t believe it. Not yet.

“One thing that confuses me,” Huey began, “is why it’s all in pieces. It’s tradition to give each royal child a full medallion, with the number of gems indicating birth order. I don’t know why they’d separate one into three pieces.”

“Shortage of gold?” Dewey asked humorously.

“I doubt it,” Huey said, not picking up on the teasing tone.

“It’s ridiculous anyway!” Louie snatched his piece away from the others. “We’re too close in age to be brothers!”

“That’s it!” Huey exclaimed excitedly, snapping his fingers. “Breaking the medallion piece makes no sense if we were all hatched months apart, but if we hatched around the same time—”

“We’re triplets!” Dewey said, a big grin on his face.

“It’s possible,” Huey said, smiling tentatively, like the meaning of it had finally caught up with him.

And Louie wished more than anything that he could disappear and give himself maybe a couple of years to just think. Time was moving too fast, and nothing was making sense. He held his medallion piece firmly over his heart, trying to somehow calm its frantic racing. It was all too much.

As a fellow hostage, Louie was okay; he was useful. But as a brother, he’d be nothing but a disappointment. He couldn’t be what Huey and Dewey were suddenly hoping that he was. He couldn’t be what they wanted or deserved. He was still just a thief, and a con artist. Still just a stranger.

“No, it—it’s not,” Louie said, backing away a few steps, looking for room to breathe. “It’s not possible.”

Huey and Dewey turned their attention to him, the latter looking mildly offended.

“Why not?” asked Dewey.

Louie shook his head, having a hard time finding the words he wanted to say and the breath he needed to do so.

“Okay, Let’s say—Let’s say that we are long lost brothers. What are the chances that we all just—just happened to run into each other like this? Things like that don’t happen in real life,” Louie said.

“It just did,” Dewey insisted. “It doesn’t matter what the chances are, it’s done.”

“So, what, it’s fate or something?”

“It might be!”

Louie stopped pacing – when did he start? – and stared down at the floor, breathing shakily, wishing that he wasn’t alone in his skepticism.

“There’s no such thing as fate,” Louie said quietly.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Dewey had a determined look in his eyes, and Louie feared that his carefully constructed walls would crumble from the force of it. “But there’s us. Right here, right now.”

Yeah, here they were, standing in a damp cave that was miles away from any sort of civilization, having recently escaped captivity. They were hungry, and exhausted, and they were still in danger. If fate existed, it had a cruel sense of humor. And it hadn’t been kind to Louie.

Dewey was silent for a moment, looking between them, heart on his sleeve whereas Louie’s was in his throat, and then he spoke.

“Have you ever had this— like, a weird feeling in your chest?” Dewey asked. “Where it hurts like something’s missing?”

Louie blinked back the sudden surge of tears in his eyes – overwhelmed and exhausted – because how could Dewey have known that?

“And it just feels sort of…” Dewey paused, eyebrows furrowed, like he was searching for the right word. “…Hollow.”

“Heavy,” Huey spoke softly, gazing back at Dewey, clutching his medallion piece tightly in his hand.

And then they looked at him, these two kids he’d stumbled upon by accident, and he felt like he was seeing them for the first time. Huey, who had tended to his damaged hands. Dewey, who had tried to save him. They had cared. And Louie had been lying his whole life, but he couldn’t lie to them.

“Broken.”

A pause.

“It’s been better, recently,” Dewey told them. “Since I met you guys.”

With a jolt, Louie realized that he was right. He’d felt a lot of things during the past few days, but that familiar ache hadn’t been one of them. Some of the jagged edges had been rounded out, and the glass had been swept to the side. Not quite healed, but somewhere close. Somewhere on its way.

He looked down at his hand – at the medallion piece that fit perfectly with Huey and Dewey’s – and there was a part of him wanted to believe, to throw caution to the wind and be their brother, to have a family. But the other part was too damaged, and guarded, and so, so tired. He couldn’t let himself hope.

“What do we do now?” Huey asked.

That was the question. Everything that they’d thought they knew had just gone out the figurative window, and they’d have to reach some conclusions about the new information pretty soon, but Louie couldn’t think any longer; he couldn’t deal with this right now. Nothing good would come from trying to figure it all out right then, anyway, at the end of a very long day.

“Can we just sleep?” Louie asked, hoping that he seemed steadier than he felt.

Despite his efforts, he must’ve sounded pretty pitiful, because Huey’s anxious face softened, and Dewey stopped bouncing in place.

“Okay,” said Huey softly.

Dewey looked like he wanted to fight it, but Huey shook his head at him, possibly picking up on Louie’s need for time to process, and Dewey relented. They were all exhausted anyway. The topic was reluctantly dropped until such a time where everyone was both well rested and reasonably sane. Although, based on that criteria, it may never happen.

Louie made his way to the side of the cave, pulled his hood up onto his head, and curled up on the ground facing the wall. As the sun sank slowly below the horizon, he took one last look at his piece of the medallion – his piece of the puzzle – before hiding it away in its place once more.

Another problem for another day.

Chapter Text

Unsurprisingly, Huey didn’t sleep very well. His emotions were fighting in a bloody, brutal war with his logical thinking, and neither one was coming out the winner. The idea that they were triplet brothers – that they were royalty – seemed fantastical even with the evidence right in front of him; even with Dewey and Louie in front of him. Even with the few facts that they had.

The sun had been slowly setting during their accidental discovery and the subsequent conversation, and now it was dark. He didn’t know how long it’d been since they’d all settled down, but it was long enough for Louie’s irregular breathing to even out, signaling that he was asleep. Which was a good thing, since Louie seemed to be the most distressed by the day’s events.

Frankly, they all needed rest, and it was a shame that Huey wasn’t getting any.

Dewey let out a sudden sigh, and Huey just about jumped out of his skin – wow, he really was on edge – before sitting up quietly to look towards him. Dewey was laying on his back close by, wearing just his shirt and jacket, having removed his sword and put it on the ground next to him. He was staring at the ceiling of the cave with intense focus.

“Dewey?” Huey whispered.

Dewey flinched a little, hand twitching toward his sword before Huey’s voice registered and he relaxed. He pushed himself smoothly into a sitting position, propping his elbow on his knee and resting his chin in his hand, blinking slowly back at him in the dark.

“Can’t sleep?” Huey asked, softly.

“No,” Dewey replied, and then he nodded in Louie’s direction. “I can’t believe that he can.”

Huey glanced over at where Louie was sleeping, as still and silent as the world around them.

“I think it’s been a lot for him.”

“Yeah, I guess,” said Dewey, frowning thoughtfully at the wall. “Do you really believe that we’re brothers?”

There was no simple answer to that question. Huey hardly knew where to start. The truth, maybe.

“I don’t know.” Huey smiled somewhat sadly, hating to admit it, hating that he wasn’t sure. “Do you?”

Dewey turned his gaze back towards the ceiling, and Huey realized all at once that he had actually been looking through one of the holes – past the cave ceiling and out at the sky. It was a beautifully clear night, but it hung over deeply troubled people.

A ghost of a smile crossed Dewey’s face when he answered the question.

“I think I do.”

But he said it like he was talking to the stars, or making a solemn vow to the universe, and it made Huey believe just a little bit more.

Louie shifted rather abruptly in his sleep, turning over so that he was now facing towards them, back to the wall. He was curled up on his side, his slightly oversized shirt making him appear smaller than he was, and something in Huey’s chest squeezed.

“I don’t want things to go back to the way they were before we met each other,” Dewey said, more serious than ever, staring at Louie across the cave. “I’d never forgive myself, if he had to go back.”

Huey sighed sadly, breathing slowly and deliberately, trying to untangle the writhing knots in his stomach. Because he’d never forgive himself, either. He already shouldered the blame for getting them all caught by running straight into the arms of the Beagle Boys and setting the wheels in motion.

“Yeah,” agreed Huey, frowning. “I guess neither of us really has a place to go.”

It wasn’t something that he’d thought about while they were escaping – because, you know, priorities – but now that they were free it was becoming more and more relevant. It wasn’t like he could go back to Magica, so where exactly was he escaping to?

Almost as if he’d heard the question, Dewey spoke quietly, vulnerably.

“…You could come with me.”

Huey turned with wide eyes, and Dewey smiled sheepishly.

“You’d do that?” Huey asked. “You’d let us stay with you?”

“Well, of course I would,” Dewey said, enthusiasm returning to his voice, filtered as it was through a grin. “Based on recent experiences, I can say with absolute confidence that there’d never be a dull day between us.”

Huey laughed as quietly as he could. Yeah, things had been quite…exciting, recently. It was becoming difficult to imagine each other in any situation other than this one. It was hard to remember normal life.

“We could use a few dull days,” said Huey, suppressing a yawn.

“Yeah, I guess that fighting for your life loses it’s charm after a while.”

Understatement of the century. Huey had been dead tired and sick of fighting since the first day he’d been captured. Perhaps even since the day he was born.

“Maybe Louie’s got the right idea,” said Huey as he laid back down, nodding sleepily at their dozing companion.

“Oh, he definitely does.” Dewey fell back to the ground with his arms spread wide. “At least about this.”

Dewey was likely frustrated about Louie’s disbelief in their family ties.

“Give him time,” Huey whispered softly, eyes already closed.

Dewey might have been ready to believe wholeheartedly, but others were more cautious. As much as Dewey was prone to throwing himself fully into things, there were also people who preferred a quieter approach, like Louie did. Huey himself fell somewhere in the middle. He needed facts to feel sure, and while he did have some facts, he still wasn’t ready to fully believe it. Not yet.

Huey needed time, too.

He was awoken the next morning by the sun shining rather mercilessly directly in his eyes. He blinked blearily at the ceiling, squinting and scowling lightly. It was just his luck that he’d positioned himself perfectly underneath a hole in the ceiling.

Huey fully intended on going back to sleep, but he sat up to check on the others first. Dewey was sprawled on the floor a few feet away, beak hanging open and snoring softly, sleeping with the same enthusiasm that he applied to everything. And Louie was gone. Louie was gone.

Huey knew that he was probably fine, logically, but a newfound brotherly instinct was urging him to check, just in case.

Huey pushed himself up off the ground – wincing at all of his sore muscles – and exited the cave, emerging groggily into the early morning sun. He didn’t have to go very far before he found Louie, who hadn’t gone more than ten feet away from the entrance to their shelter. He was sitting on a moss-covered rock near the edge of a pretty steep drop, facing toward the sun, cloak and hair swaying gently in the cool breeze. It was a serene sight, but it seemed out of place after all they’d been through.

Huey walked over, being sure to make noise so Louie could hear that he was approaching, and he sat down next to him on the rock. Louie glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, still on guard and wary. In his hand was his medallion piece.

It was still jarring to see it; it looked so much like Huey’s own. The three green gems sparkled. If it was true, if they really were brothers, then Louie was the youngest. Maybe not by much, but by enough that it mattered.

Huey took his time enjoying the view of the landscape. They had made it a few feet over the treetops, but they weren’t yet high enough to see much else.

“I don’t know if I can believe it,” Louie spoke suddenly, and he was staring resolutely into the distance when Huey turned to look at him.

“You don’t have to,” Huey assured him, voice patient and understanding.

This wasn’t something that could be forced. It was too important.

“I mean, some of it makes sense, I guess,” Louie said, words rushed like he was forcing them out. “But the royal family disappeared years ago, how could we be part of it?”

“It’s a long shot” Huey said, “but the Kingdom falling does sort of coincide with our hatching. It was a dangerous time, maybe they had to give us up.”

“It’s a really long shot.”

Huey shrugged. “Maybe.”

“And how would we have gotten so separated? What went wrong?”

“There was a war,” said Huey, moss beneath his hands and his heart on his sleeve. “It would be easier to ask what went right.”

“Seems like nothing did,” Louie said, sounding defeated, and Huey’s chest constricted, a spark of anger at whatever had brought Louie to this point.

He took his medallion piece out from under his vest and flipped it over to the side with his birthdate, and his name. Magica had always called him Hubert; it was Lena who gave him his nickname. He tilted the object towards Louie.

“Does yours have the same date as mine?” Huey asked.

Louie blinked, taken aback by the subject change, but he flipped his piece over to compare. The dates were the same, they were possibly triplets, and the names—

“Llewellyn?” Huey asked, amused.

Louie winced, but he shot him a small smile.

“Don’t tell Dewey,” he said.

Huey chuckled, but he agreed, and he hung his piece back around his neck and tucked it beneath his vest.

They sat in a comfortable silence, watching the sun climb over the treetops and the clouds glide slowly across the sky. The Beagle Boys most definitely had noticed that they were gone by now, and could be in this very forest, searching for them. It was a beautiful place they’d found, but they couldn’t stay.

“I’ve never had a family before,” Louie said quietly, some time later. “I don’t know how to have one. I don’t know how to be a brother.”

Too bad there isn’t some sort of guidebook, Huey thought. He could use one, too. For now, though…

“How about—” Huey stood up and looked down at Louie – “we start as friends?”

Louie shot him a wry grin.

“I don’t know much about that either.” He stood up. “But I can try.”

Huey smiled and held out his hand to shake, which Louie did, his eyes mischievous and still just a little bit unsure. But he was trying. Something warm came alive in Huey’s chest and settled down to stay. It was like they’d finally been properly introduced.

Dewey chose that moment to arrive on the scene, sleepily rubbing his eyes.

“Are you guys sealing a business deal or something?” asked Dewey, smiling quizzically.

“Or something,” Huey and Louie spoke in perfect unison, and then looked at each other in surprise; Louie seemed mildly annoyed.

“’Not triplets’ they say,” Dewey grumbled, but he looked satisfied.

Together, they cleared away any sign that they’d been there, saying silent goodbyes to their temporary shelter before continuing up the mountain. Some parts of the journey were easier than others, but after about an hour of groaning and complaining, they finally reached a point high enough to survey the landscape. As it turned out, and to the relief of them all, the climb had been worth it.

They stood at the ledge of a dauntingly high cliff, with the treetops now far below them. It looked pretty much the same as before, except now they could see where the forest ended, and beyond that—

“There, see?” Huey pointed out past the edge of the forest, shielding his eyes with his other hand. “A road! It’s got to connect to a village somewhere.”

There it was – their salvation. A dirt road worn away by time and continued use, cutting effortlessly through fields of tall grass and wildflowers.

Dewey whooped and held his hand out for a high five, which Huey happily returned – albeit a bit awkwardly. It felt like they were finally going somewhere, rather than wandering aimlessly or running away.

Huey took a moment to stand still and breathe it all in, standing high above the rest of the world and feeling elevated for the first time in his life. The cliff a few feet away had a steep drop, and yet he had the strange thought that if he fell, he might float instead of sink.

He turned just in time to watch Dewey pull Louie off the ground, where he’d collapsed to catch his breath after the climb. Behind them – a glorious backdrop – was the beginnings of the forest that would lead them back down the mountain, almost on the opposite side from where they began. Huey could hear running water not too far away; it was likely the source of the stream they’d found earlier.

Unbidden, Huey was suddenly overcome by the feeling of déjà vu. Multiple memories jumped excitedly to the forefront of his mind, memories of being young and lonely and going off into the woods to play pretend. He’d spend hours in the forest behind his house, going on imaginary adventures with his imaginary family and friends. It was bittersweet to look back on that time and realize just how much things had changed, and how his current circumstances were an echo of a young boy’s dream, twisted into a nightmare. It was no longer pretend, and there were consequences to that.

Louie came up next to him quietly, now interested in seeing where they were headed, and even he couldn’t help a small smile. It was a big improvement from that morning, at least. Huey turned his head to look out at the wide-open world that was spread out before them, just as beautiful as it was dangerous.

“Ready?” Dewey asked from behind them, and Huey nodded absentmindedly.

Eventually, they’d have to talk about the medallion and what it meant. Eventually, they’d need a plan beyond ‘keep walking’. But right now, they had to get off of this mountain and out of the woods. It was another problem for another day.

“Yeah,” said Huey, eyes fixed on the road far below. “I’m ready.”

Chapter Text

Never before in his life had Dewey felt so close to just – literally exploding. Everything after the ‘big reveal’ of the medallion was total internal chaos. His thoughts ran in circles like an excited puppy, and it was almost torture trying to stay still; trying to not blurt out everything that he was thinking at any given moment. He’d never been one to keep his hopes and dreams to himself, so this was painfully new territory.

Because, well, they had agreed to not talk about it until they were safe – or the decision was at least implied – but seeing as how the one thing they weren’t talking about was also the one thing that everyone was thinking about, conversation was slow. There hadn’t been any meaningful exchanges since they’d set out to find the road, and it was all Dewey could do to hold it together. He really didn’t want to scare away Huey and Louie with an excited, emotional outburst.

In an effort to cover their tracks, Huey had suggested that they make their way to the stream they’d heard, and they had been wading through the knee-deep water ever since. It was tedious, but it kept them cool and provided them with plenty to drink. Dewey’s stomach, however, was getting difficult to ignore, and he heard Huey’s rumbling on and off. None of them had eaten in over a day.

Walking in line formation – with Huey leading, himself in the back, and Louie sandwiched in the middle – he could watch both of his new friends closely. They were all low on energy, due to lack of food and insufficient sleep, and it was easy to see the effect it was having on them. They walked slowly, they stumbled, and they drank a ton of water trying to fill the empty spaces. Everyone was a little subdued, because they’d come all this way and still didn’t have an exact plan – especially in regards to their newest discovery. They’d reach a village, hopefully, but then what?

Dewey was lost in his uncharacteristically brooding thoughts – maybe even frowning a bit – when Huey suddenly yelped, stumbling and splashing through water as he scrambled to the side a few steps. Louie jumped, and Dewey’s hand automatically fell to the hilt of his sword.

“What’s wrong?” Dewey asked, voice tight as he surveyed the area for danger.

Huey laughed in a nervous fashion, shoulders shaking like he was trying to suppress it.

“Oh, ha—just a fish, I think,” Huey said sheepishly, face a little red. “It touched my leg.”

There was complete silence for at least three seconds as the words sunk in, and then Louie started giggling quietly. That was apparently all it took, because now the dam was broken and before long the three of them were doubled over in laughter. They were standing in a river, in a forest, on a mountain in the middle of nowhere, and Dewey was crying laughing. Maybe it wasn’t really that amusing, but after days and days of stress and revelations, it was the funniest thing in the world.

They didn’t stop laughing for a long time, but when Dewey finally got himself down to just the occasional giggle, he had never felt so warm and full. He looked at his friends smiling faces, and he realized that this was the first time had had seen Huey and Louie really laugh. Happy was a good look on them.

Tears were streaming down each of their faces, their bodies letting go of all excess emotion they had built up over the last week or so. A weight that he hadn’t been aware of lifted off his shoulders. If Dewey ever saw that fish again, he might even attempt a grateful hug.

“We’re a little jumpy, aren’t we?” Dewey asked through soft giggles.

“More than a little, I think,” said Louie, breathless and still smiling a bit.

“You can say that again,” said Huey, whose face was still a little red. “I think my life flashed before my eyes!”

This set them off giggling again, but they pulled themselves together and made a valiant attempt to continue onward.

They’d only been walking for a little while longer when they came across a fork in the stream. One way would presumably lead back around the mountain to where they’d started their climb, which they did not want to repeat. They had no idea where the other option would take them, but it was their goal to stay in the water for as long as possible so as not to leave behind footprints or disturbed shrubbery.

The young ducks stood and stared for a minute, discussing which way was the correct way to go. Huey and Louie eventually agreed to go right, since that way was more likely to take them closer to the road. Dewey trusted their sense of direction, so he shrugged and followed them.

In all honesty, Dewey felt a little useless out here, where there was nothing and no one to fight. The other two had been instrumental in their escape; Huey with the rope of shirts and Louie with the knife. They were both very smart, but in different ways that complimented each other. They were useful, not that they had to be.

Dewey figured that his main purpose now was as the guy with the sword – the protection. And he was more than fine with that, actually. He’d like to see the Beagle Boy’s just try and mess with them again. This time he would be ready.

Somewhere along the way, Dewey had begun humming. It quickly turned into full-blown singing, though, with Huey mumbling along and Louie pretending to be annoyed by it. They were the same songs that Dewey and Webby would sing together on long trips, trying to outdo each other as they watched the world go by. It made him miss her and Ms. Beakley even more. He hoped that they were safe.

In the middle of Dewey’s personal favorite song, Louie suddenly splashed his way out of the river, stumbling along the bank as he adjusted to walking on dry land again. Dewey quit singing and walking, sharing a confused look with Huey as they watched from the stream. Louie stopped a few feet away and started inspecting a bush.

“What are you doing?” Huey asked, baffled.

“There's berries,” said Louie, waving them over with a small, triumphant smile.

Dewey wasted no time in getting over to the berry bush. It was suddenly his only goal in life.

“You’re sure they’re safe?” Huey asked.

“Yes.” Louie rolled his eyes, already chewing. “I’ve been eating them for years. There’s a bush near my village.”

Huey still seemed a little wary, but soon enough they were filling their pockets with as many of the little red berries as they could carry, eating a ton along the way. Huey and Louie didn’t actually have pockets, though, so they compromised by filling Louie’s hood to the brim with the berries. There was no sense in leaving food there if they could help it.

They left behind a much different bush than the one they had originally discovered, most of the berries being either on them or in them.

Trudging back into the stream and resuming their traveling line, they were in higher spirits. It still didn’t take long for Dewey to get bored.

“How much longer?” Dewey asked, trying to not sound like he was whining.

“Who’s to say,” Louie responded vaguely.

“Well,” said Dewey, “I was hoping that you would say. Or Huey even.”

He looked past Louie towards their ‘leader’, and Huey glanced at them over his shoulder, meeting Dewey’s pleading gaze with a grin. He shrugged.

“Who’s to say,” Huey said cheekily.

Huey and Louie high-fived as Dewey groaned dramatically, though still with a smile on his face. It was a nice atmosphere that they had created, joking and laughing – and then Dewey tripped.

It was just their luck that they happened to be at an unfairly steep part of the mountain slope.

The blue clad duck found himself rather abruptly on his back, and the rushing water combined with gravity pushed him along at a pace that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with. Dewey slammed into Louie’s knees, already screaming, causing the younger to fall on top of him before sliding off with a splash and a shout of alarm.

They took down Huey next.

Before long they were all being washed swiftly down the mountainside, having just completed the worlds worst domino chain reaction. The world was a blur of water and leaves and brief contact with the others, and he was pretty sure that all of them were screaming. If there was any sense to the yelling, he couldn’t decipher it.

Eventually, and thankfully not too long later, the ground evened out enough that they could find their bearings. It had been only a few minutes, but they had been long minutes of flailing and scrambling, and they came out of it soaking wet, spitting out water and stuttering coughs.

“That’s one way down a mountain,” Dewey laughed, wheezing, but only when he was sure he wasn’t going to fall over.

Huey and Louie simply glared at him from where they were standing, and Dewey was struck by how similar they looked with their hair soaking wet and flopping into their eyes. And actually, Dewey probably looked the same. Somewhere in his head a memory stumbled forward, a memory of Webby talking about Louie.

‘He kinda looked like you.’

He’d laughed it off at the time, but now he was starting to believe that his best friend/sister had secret psychic powers.

These were his brothers. Dewey knew it in his heart, and felt it in the not-so-hollow space in his chest. Never before had he believed so strongly in something. This, he knew, was worth fighting for.

“Whatever,” Louie grumbled, shaking his head back and forth too dry his hair. “We should be close to the edge of the forest.”

Almost out of the woods, Dewey thought humorously, but he didn’t say it aloud just in case his jokes were wearing thin.

They had lost quite a lot of their precious few berries while they were being washed away. Dewey’s own pockets were still relatively full, but Louie had lost most of his, and Huey had none. It was disheartening, and they could only hope that they would soon reach a village, and then they could eat something more substantial than berries.

When the trees started getting thinner and the river started to curve, they refilled their water flasks one last time and set out on dry land. Finally, the end was in sight. They came to the edge of the forest – only a few trees surrounded them now – and they stared out into the greenish-yellow grass. It was nearly as tall as they were.

Dewey knelt down and stood up with Huey on his shoulders, examining the terrain.

“Do you see anything?” Dewey asked.

“Kind of.” Huey raised a hand to shield his eyes. “It’s a straight shot. It should be simple.”

“We’ll see,” Louie said.

Huey hopped off Dewey’s shoulders and lightly slapped Louie on the arm.

“Stop being so pessimistic,” Huey said lightly. “We’ll make it!”

“Dead or alive.”

“Stop that!”

“Come on guys!” Dewey plunged forward into the grass. “We’re wasting daylight!”

Without the trees to block it, the sun was now beating down on them full force. At least their clothes would dry faster.

Dewey took the lead this time since it was simple and easy, and because he wasn’t particularly afraid of the tall grass. Huey was behind him mumbling about hidden snakes while Louie very carefully only stepped where they already had.

Dewey was very aware of the extra weight against his chest in the one pocket that he hadn’t filled with berries. What he really wanted was to sit down and talk about it; put their pieces back together and stay in one spot until they all believed in it.

Back when he had first trusted Webby enough to tell her about the medallion piece, they’d gone crazy trying to solve the mystery. They would sneak off to the library in every village and try to dig up information. But after years of nothing, the excitement had faded. Now it was back, ten times stronger and more important than before. Dewey was restless. He wanted to get to work and figure it out.

It was at that moment that he couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

“So, Huey,” Dewey said as they walked, doing his best to appear nonchalant. “How’d you know about all that medallion stuff?”

“Oh, um, there was this big library in my— in Magica’s house, and after I read all of those books, I snuck into her private office,” said Huey sheepishly, and Dewey grinned. “She has a ton of books about the royal family, and that’s where I read about it.”

Huey trailed off, and Dewey rolled that information around in his head.

“Do you think she knew?” Louie asked suddenly. “You said that Magica had your piece, and if she was reading all those books, and then she had you kidnapped…”

“I don’t know,” Huey said, voice strained.

It was all adding up to paint a pretty suspicious picture. Magica had to have suspected that Huey was royalty, or even known for sure. But why the kidnapping? What had she been up to?

“She sounds crazy,” Dewey said, scowling.

“Probably not entirely sane,” Huey agreed, with a short, humorless laugh.

And yeah, he definitely would not be letting her near Huey ever again, not after what she’d gotten them all into. Not after the way she’d betrayed Huey.

Dewey had meant what he said about taking Huey and Louie in. They both deserved better. In fact, Dewey was of the opinion that they deserved the world. The good parts, not the bad. They were a good part.

“Did you learn anything else from those books?” Dewey asked.

“I don’t remember all of it,” Huey admitted. “There was a lot of stuff about the old Kingdom, and the war. The king and his relatives disappeared right after, and it did all happen around the time we were hatched.”

“What was the war even about?” Louie asked, kicking at the ground as he walked.

“Mrs. Beakley talked about it a lot.” Dewey frowned. “I think she lost people in it. Basically, the king went to war against a bunch of corrupt people, and no one knows what happened at the end because both sides just sort of…faded out of existence.”

Dewey and Webby had only ever heard about the fighting, since they hadn’t been around to see it. Most people remembered it – even though it had occurred upwards of a decade ago – but no one liked to talk about it. It was forgotten in the way that bad things were when everyone was set on pretending that it never happened.

“So even if we wanted to get definite answers, we couldn’t,” said Louie.

“I guess not,” said Huey. “There’s no one left to ask.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dewey turned around and shook his head. “All of the records say that they disappeared, not died. There’s gotta be someone out there who knows.”

“It’s a long shot,” Huey said, and Louie nodded in agreement.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” said Dewey, “but we’ve been operating on long shots since we met.”

“True,” said Louie hesitantly, “but we still don’t know if any of it is real.”

Dewey turned back around to hide his frustrated scowl. It made perfect sense to him, so why didn’t Louie feel the same? You know why, said a voice in his head. It sounded suspiciously like Webby, and he chuckled. Count on her – or his memory of her – to still be giving him advice.

It was a long time ago, but Dewey still remembered the feeling of being all alone in the world. Before Beakley and Webby, he’d been in the orphanage which had had an especially hard time with food supplies in the winter. All of the children would end up squabbling over the food. There’d been quite a few kids there, and they’d been older and stronger than him back then.

After dealing with that for years, it had taken a while for him to believe that Webby and Beakley were fair and trustworthy, that they wouldn’t keep anything from him, and they’d give him his fair share.

A lot of time had passed since then, but it wasn’t the type of thing that was easily forgotten. For Louie, the wound was still fresh, and much deeper than Dewey even knew. He’d have to give it time to heal. It would be frustrating – siblings were like that – but it would be worth it; it already was. Dewey would wait for as long as he had to.

He was startled out of his thoughts as he quite literally stumbled upon the road. It was as a lower level than the ground surrounding it, hence the tripping. They let out a small cheer as they celebrated their accomplishment – this one thing that had gone right – and the discovery of this small piece of civilization.

“Alright, so, left or right?” Huey asked, a surprisingly common question, recently.

“I don’t know,” Louie said, examining both directions. “What’d we do last time?”

“When we jumped out of the wagon?” Dewey asked, and Louie nodded. “Oh, we went right.”

“That seemed to work,” said Louie, shrugging.

“Okay, right it is,” said Huey.

They resumed their normal lineup with Huey in front, and they finally got to walk in a straight line, on flat ground, able to clearly see where they were going. It was glorious. Dewey grinned and popped a few berries in his mouth. Things were looking up.

An hour later they were hiding in the grass on the side of the road, having spotted a wagon coming up behind them. They watched anxiously as it got closer.

“It’s not either of the ones that the Beagle Boys have,” Dewey remarked.

The driver was an older dog with long floppy ears, and overall did not appear very threatening. The wagon he was driving was more of a trailer, really, with no roof and low sides.

“We’d get to a village faster if we tagged along,” said Huey nervously.

“But would we survive the trip?” asked Louie.

Dewey rolled his eyes.

“Come on, we’ve seen worse than that guy,” Dewey said, “and I could protect us if I had to.”

Huey sighed, but nodded, and Louie grimaced.

“Fine,” Louie gritted out.

Dewey led the way out of the grass and flagged down the driver with flailing arms.

“Excuse me!” Dewey shouted as the guy stopped. “Would you give us a ride to the nearest village, please?”

The man looked disgruntled, and who wouldn’t in this situation, but he agreed easily enough and with minimal questions about what on earth they were doing alone in the middle of nowhere. You had to appreciate the people who didn’t ask questions. Well, except for maybe a few, because as soon as they got going, the guy did have a few problematic things to ask.

“Are your parents waiting in the next village, then?” the dog asked, and then, sensing the hesitancy, “You three are related, aren’t you?”

Louie said no at the same time that Dewey said yes, and they shot annoyed looks at each other. Huey sighed tiredly.

“Who’s to say,” said Huey.

Chapter Text

Louie was absolutely blindsided by the strong urge to cry when the village came into view the next day. It felt like maybe, just maybe, they were safe.

The driver, who had introduced himself as Timothy, had kept them traveling for half the night before pulling over to the side of the road to sleep. It had been another tense night, feeling more vulnerable out there in the open than they had in the cave. They’d dozed on and off for a few hours before Timothy awoke and they carried on.

Now, as they rolled leisurely into the village, it was just past sunrise. Instead of the clear and sunny skies that had been following them relentlessly for the past few days, it was overcast and grey. It actually made Louie feel a little better. Finally, some appropriately themed weather.

The village they had arrived at was a smaller village; smaller than Louie’s own, which was saying something. It was well kept and clean, with neat little stores and fully stocked booths of produce.

They said their goodbyes to Timothy – who had said almost nothing the whole trip – once they reached the center of the village. The driver grumbled and continued on to wherever he had been going before they’d stopped him. Louie hoped that he made it there okay.

Then they were standing alone in the square. Only a few people were bustling around, but after the last few days, it seemed like a crowd. It felt unreal. The citizens and travelers surrounding them had been going about their regular daily routines while the three of them had been fighting tooth and nail to make it in the wilderness after escaping the clutches of criminals. Everything about Louie’s life had completely transformed, but the rest of the world had remained largely unchanged. He felt horribly out of place, somehow.

But there they were. They had made it to where they’d wanted to go, and they’d reached the end of their plans. There was only one question left to answer.

“Now what?” Dewey asked, still staring at the scene around them, looking similarly unsettled by the fact that there were people who still lived normal lives.

Louie reached up slowly and rested his hand carefully over the clasp of his cloak. This was one mystery that he couldn’t ignore. He’d been thinking about the medallion through all of yesterday – agonizing over it, really – and he still didn’t quite know how he felt about it, much less what he should do about it. There was so much that didn’t make sense, so much that they didn’t know.

Then find out, a part of him whispered. Solve it.

Louie spent a lot of time in his life being scared, it was just how he was, but he’d never been this terrified and conflicted before. He’d never had to let anyone in, never had to worry about anyone being close enough to hurt him.

He’d never had a family. So how could this ever work out?

“We should find somewhere to rest,” Huey suggested, shuffling his feet nervously as he looked around.

Louie deflated in relief, and Huey managed to lead them to a library after asking a few of the locals for directions. No one looked at them strangely, which was strange in and of itself. He felt like everything that they’d been through must show in everything that they did, but no one seemed to pick up on it. They weren’t looking for it.

They made into the library without incident, and they sat down at a wooden table in the back, pushed up against a window unlike any that Louie had ever seen. It was made of painted glass to form the picture of a field of flowers.

They looked around the area to be sure that they were alone, and luckily, they were under the cover of several tall bookshelves. Dewey unbuttoned his pocket, took out his medallion piece, and laid it on the table; he didn’t say a word, but the absolute certainty in his movements spoke for him. Huey put his piece next to Dewey’s, and with a great amount of reluctance, Louie followed slowly.

All three pieces rested innocently on the table, oblivious to the emotional turmoil that they were causing. Louie could hardly bring himself to look away, and he sighed quietly at the sight, at his piece that would fit so readily with others when he himself did not.

“Okay, so, what do we know?” Dewey asked, hands braced on the tabletop, ready to get down to business, and— oh, they were actually going to talk about it.

Louie grabbed the sides of his chair in an effort to ground himself. He wasn’t ready; he would never be ready.

He had to be ready.

“We each have a piece of a medallion, and they fit together perfectly,” Huey began, confident in listing off facts. “According to the dates on the back, we all hatched on the same day, and we know that— that only members of the royal family get medallions like this.”

“And,” Dewey continued excitedly, and – oh, boy – now he was really on a roll, “the royal family disappeared after the war, and the castle was destroyed and abandoned. We’re all orphans, which can’t be a coincidence.”

Dewey looked straight at Louie as he said that last part, a pleading look on his face. Louie broke eye contact to stare at the table, feeling a little trapped.

“Magica wanted Huey kidnapped,” said Louie quietly, glancing around the room, wary of anyone who may be listening, “and she knew about the medallion. She had all those books about the Kingdom, and the war.”

And the medallions, apparently.

Even Louie had to admit that there was a disturbing pattern here. At least part of it had to be the truth. Huey was probably royalty for sure, since Magica seemed to think so. Not that she was very trustworthy or anything.

“Right,” Dewey said absentmindedly, pushing their pieces until they clicked together. “She’s probably got some answers.”

Louie opened his beak to say something, mildly alarmed at what Dewey had just implied, but Huey beat him to it.

“We’re not going to her,” said Huey firmly. “I’m not going back and putting you two in danger again.”

What about you? Louie wanted to ask, something indignant making itself known, but it got stuck somewhere along the way.

“Oh, no— I didn’t think that we should.” Dewey said quickly, head tilted apologetically. “I’m just saying that she can’t be the only one who knows something.”

They all fell silent, Dewey tapping his fingers on the table as Louie gazed out the window, deep in thought and not really seeing anything.

What were they even going for here? There was nothing for them at the end of this. If they were royalty, then they were the heirs of a ruined castle and a broken throne. They were still just a bunch of orphans, out of place and out of time, just as lost as they’d always been.

“There was, a… a rumor,” Huey said hesitantly, “about what might have happened to the King and his family.”

“There are a lot of rumors,” said Louie, who couldn’t name one but knew that they existed. “Why is this one special?”

“Because this is the one that Magica seemed the most interested in,” Huey replied. Dewey leaned in as he spoke, and Louie narrowed his eyes a bit. “She, um, she seemed to think that there was another castle somewhere that they had fled to.”

“How has no one found it then?” Louie crossed his arms and shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Scrooge McDuck was a crafty king,” Huey countered. “He was known for being ‘tougher than the toughies and smarter than the smarties’. It’s not out of the question.”

“So, what, you think we should just up and go looking for this fictional secret castle?”

Louie looked around incredulously, searching for someone who shared his shock, only to be met with Huey’s deadpan gaze and Dewey’s excited nodding. His eyes widened.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Louie said flatly.

“I think that we should look into it,” Huey said placatingly. “We can’t go anywhere until we have an idea of where it is, anyway.”

“I second that,” Dewey said, and Huey nodded.

“You have a family to get back to!” Louie pointed out, ignoring whatever it was that suddenly squeezed in his chest.

“Yeah, I do,” Dewey said, frowning and looking away, “but they have no clue where I am or what happened to me, and I don’t even know where they are. There’s no way they’re still at your village. They would’ve left to look for me by now.”

“But—”

“And,” Dewey cut him off, “now I have another family to get back to.”

“How can you be so sure?” Louie asked, genuinely curious and way out of his depth.

It was like Dewey had some kind of superpower that allowed him to believe in things wholeheartedly without worrying about getting hurt. What if they went looking and there was no one left? What if everyone really was gone? What then?

“I’m not sure.” Dewey gave them both a look. “But I’d rather know than not, and I’d rather try than give up.”

“When you put it that way…” Huey said, hesitant but hopeful.

Then both Huey and Dewey were looking at him for an answer, and he exhaled shakily. This was nowhere near what Louie had expected would happen when they reached a village. He had assumed that they’d say their goodbyes and go their separate ways and that they’d forget about him; they’d move on. This weird loyalty seemed misplaced – maybe since he’d never encountered it before – and he couldn’t be sure of what they were actually loyal to: each other or the mystery.

But as much as Louie’s brain was screaming at him to get out now, there was a bigger part of him that wanted to stay, that knew he couldn’t leave if he tried. He’d gotten to know Huey and Dewey pretty well over the span of a few days, and he could no longer do them the disservice of believing that they would rob him blind or leave him for dead. They were too good for that. If anything happened that made them hurt him, it would have to be his own fault.

Now what?

The question had been following them for days, being repeated after every milestone, or whenever they reached the end of their half-baked plans. When it was asked, they paused, decided, and then they kept going. They kept going. Now it was Louie’s turn to answer that question for himself, and no one else.

He looked down at the medallion, and found that he could no longer deny what it could – maybe, just maybe – mean. It was possible that he belonged somewhere, but he had to be willing to put in the work to find it. He had to be willing to put his heart on the line.

He had to be brave.

Louie took a deep breath; felt it tremble in his lungs. Well, he had nothing better to do.

“How do we start?” Louie asked.

“Yes!” Dewey exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air in celebration.

Huey grinned widely as Louie glanced away in embarrassment and checked to make sure that they were still alone.

“Okay, spread out.” Huey stood up and spoke with authority, still smiling. “Bring back anything that might be useful to figure this out. History books, maps, anything.”

Louie nodded, and they grabbed their medallion pieces off the table before shooting off in different directions to search the library. Divide and conquer, Louie thought, a slight grin pulling at his beak. He’d never been able to try that strategy before.

There was one problem, though. Having never been in a library ever, Louie was immediately overwhelmed. He figured pretty quickly that he wouldn’t have much to offer in the way of finding books and maps, but that was fine. He could be useful in other ways.

Useful.

Louie regretted thinking those specific words the moment that he thought them. Ma Beagle’s threatening remark from a few days ago shoved its way into his mind, and he couldn’t quite suppress his shiver.

“Suppose we can find some use for ‘em.”

Louie leaned lightly against a bookshelf and closed his eyes, willing himself to get a grip. He wasn’t a tool, or a slave; she would never make him into one. She wouldn’t get the chance.

He shook his head and opened his eyes stubbornly, forcing himself back into the real world, heading to the front of the library where the owner was sitting behind a desk. Louie managed to talk her out of a few pencils and several sheets of paper for note taking. She also let him rifle through the box of lost and unclaimed items, and he grabbed a small brown backpack. It was a nice bag, and the librarian only let him take it because it’d been there for months.

Paper and pencils secured in the backpack over his shoulders, he left the building entirely in search of another thing that would prove useful to their mission: food. It wouldn’t be as simple as stealing this time; the last thing they needed right now was another target on their backs. So, he resorted to begging.

Louie walked around for several minutes, asking everyone he saw if they had food or money to spare. Most people avoided him like the plague, avoided even looking at him, but a friendly baker invited him to his shop and gave him everything that was about to go bad. That included two short loaves of crumbly bread, a dry batch of muffins, and a block of slightly squishy cheese. He put the food carefully in the backpack and sincerely thanked the baker. Louie’s mouth was watering the whole way back to the library.

Huey and Dewey were sitting at the table when he arrived, fidgeting with the items they’d collected, and the moment they saw him they jumped to their feet. Their eyebrows were pinched with worry, but their eyes shone with relief. Louie glanced out the window at the sun and realized that he might have been gone longer than he thought.

“We couldn’t find you,” Huey said, a thick band of nerves straining his voice.

“Where did you go?” Dewey asked – well, borderline demanded – as he grabbed his arm and pulled him to the table. Huey pushed him down into a chair.

Louie sat in awed silence as Dewey crossed his arms and Huey stared straight into his soul. He had never had parents to grill him on his whereabouts, or scold him for missing curfew, but he imagined that it was something like this. He didn’t know if he liked that thought or not.

“I got food,” Louie explained slowly, and he took the backpack off his shoulders to dig through it. “It’s not fresh, but it shouldn’t be terrible, and it’s not like we can afford to pick and choose.”

The tension bled gradually out of Huey and Dewey as they sat down heavily, helping him pull out the food and inspect it.

“We can’t afford anything, really,” Huey pointed out, eying a muffin. “We’re broke.”

That just so happened to be Louie’s area of expertise. He knew how to live on practically nothing; he knew how to survive without a dollar to his name.

They settled down to eat, research and medallions momentarily forgotten. All of the berries that they had left were quickly eaten, and they each took a muffin so they could save the bread for later. They would need to make the food last for as long as possible, and if there was another thing that Louie was good at, it was rationing.

“Where’d you get the backpack?” Huey asked when they were finished eating, examining said bag with curious eyes.

“Lost and found.”

“That’s pretty smart,” Huey said, smiling sideways at him.

Louie shrugged, turning his attention to the pile of books and rolled up papers at the other end of the table.

The food was packed carefully back into the bag, and the table quickly became a disaster area of research. They got to work, bouncing ideas off each other and relaying information for Huey to jot down on the paper Louie had given him. Thick history books and single sheets of old paper kept appearing in front of Louie so that he could examine them; he was lucky enough to have been taught how to read, though he was nowhere near as quick as Huey was.

As Dewey had mentioned in his story of researching with Webby, nothing came up about the medallions specifically, which Louie thought was strange. Why was that information missing? All that they had to go on was what Huey remembered reading in some weird secret books in his weird legal guardian’s weird secret office. It was very…strange.

Louie shook his head lightly and reread the same page for the third time, having accidentally not been paying attention. He hadn’t known much about history before, but after this he might as well become a professor. The story was like this:

King Scrooge McDuck rose to power at a young age, quite a long time ago. He became known for his adventuring spirit and routine treasure hunting expeditions, but he was also a fair and just ruler. It wasn’t until many years later that his niece and nephew entered the picture. No one knew exactly where they’d come from, but the people loved them.

Most people.

Sadly, as it turned out, no one could be well-known without having enemies, of which Scrooge McDuck had no shortage. Those villainous citizens banded together to form an army and waged war on the kingdom. A mysterious war, for no one was aware of how it had turned out.

Now the royal family was gone, the villains were gone, and much of the land was in shambles as people struggled to get by and return to normal. This little village that they’d found to hide out in was a positive example of a community, but the place where Louie had grown up was on the opposite end of the spectrum. With no king, everyone was fending for themselves, and this was the world that they had been born into. It was all that they knew.

Louie closed the book he’d been reading with a quiet groan, rubbing at his aching head. There had been no mention of a medallion, and certainly no information on a second castle.

When he lifted his head out of his hands and looked around, Dewey was facedown on the table and snoring. Huey was staring intently at the map he’d spread on the ground – due to lack of space on the table – and frowning.

“So,” Louie began, plopping down next to Huey on the floor, “this is horrible.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Huey said dryly.

Louie snorted and turned his attention to the map. It was a map of the entire kingdom, so it was fairly large. Huey had marked some things down and made notes in pencil, which Louie asked him to explain.

“This is where we are.” Huey pointed to where he’d drawn a little star, a much too happy shape for their situation, in Louie’s opinion. “Right here is the forest that we came from, but there’s no marked roads that go through it.”

The forest was huge, and the mountain they’d climbed only took up a small portion of it. He almost couldn’t believe that they’d been so lucky as to make it out.

“So the Beagle Boys were using some kind of unmarked path?” Louie asked.

“I guess so. There’s no way to know exactly where we escaped the wagon.” Huey furrowed his brow and shook his head. “Anyway, this is your village, where you and Dewey were taken, and here’s mine.”

Louie gaped as Huey drew a thin line predicting their journey up until this point. He’d known, of course, that they had to be pretty far from where they’d started, but to see it was a whole different thing. They really were on their own, and far away from anything familiar.

“This is where the old castle is, or the ruins of it, anyway.” Huey drew a little crown to mark it on the map, and then leaned back on his hands.

“So we’ve got nothing,” said Louie.

“So far, yes.”

“It could be anywhere.”

“Yes.”

“It could be nowhere.”

“Also yes.”

Louie sighed and mimicked Huey’s position leaning back, glancing out the window. It was just past noon; the weather had become more pleasant, and the sun was now blazing through the painted glass, turning their research space into a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of light. Everything was bathed in color.

Without warning, Huey shot straight up beside him, scrambling to his feet, and Louie almost jumped completely out of his feathers.

“Don’t do that!” Louie sputtered, putting his hand over his heart and taking a few deep breaths.

He looked up in irritation at Huey, who was standing and staring down at the map with intense focus. Half of his face was lit up by the colorful light coming through the window.

“What?” asked Louie. “What’s wrong?”

Huey glanced at him and gave a hopeful smile.

“I’ve got an idea.”

Chapter Text

Most of the kids in Huey’s village had made fun of him at one point or another for being a bookworm. Even Magica had made barbed comments on it whenever she bothered to speak with him. He hadn’t let it get to him – much – and now he was beyond happy that he had kept it up, because his wealth of knowledge about random and widespread topics was really paying off.

One moment he was sitting in silence with Louie, despondently staring at the map, and in the next he was on the move with his brain in gear, suddenly inspired by the sun, of all things. The midday sunlight had come streaming through the painted window, casting colorful shadows all around the room, which of course included the map. It had stirred something up in the back of his mind, and without warning he was reminded of that fateful day in the cave, light reflecting off of the gems of Louie’s medallion piece.

All at once, he had an answer, or at least a theory.

“Dewey!” Huey said excitedly, rushing over to shove the sleeping boy’s shoulder.

Dewey startled awake and nearly fell out of his chair.

“What ‘s it?” Dewey asked tiredly, gaze darting around the room. “What’s wrong?”

Huey stomach twisted a little, wishing that he could’ve let Dewey sleep – they hadn’t gotten much, lately – but he also knew that he would want to be awake for this.

“I need your piece of the medallion,” said Huey, holding out his hand, “and a ruler.”

Dewey’s face scrunched in confusion, but he handed over his piece.

“What do you need a ruler for?” Louie asked from his position sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“You’ll see,” Huey replied, nearly vibrating in excitement. “I need your piece, too.”

Louie opened the clasp of his cloak – Huey wondered where he’d gotten such a thing; he’d never seen anything like it – and gave him his piece easily enough. Huey couldn’t help but smile, warm and giddy, because Louie wasn’t as reluctant or wary as he had been in the past.

“Thanks,” Huey said, then turned to Dewey, who was just getting to his feet. “Now go get that ruler. The librarian should have one.”

“Aye, aye, captain!” Dewey gave a playful salute and raced away.

Huey grinned and shook his head helplessly, getting to work putting the pieces together. They clicked into place audibly and stayed together pretty well; Huey suspected some sort of magnetic devices had been inserted into the gold when they were made – made to be both separate and together, it seemed.

“There’s a lantern in the next room, could you get it? The one that’s already been lit,” Huey said, kneeling on the ground as he addressed Louie.

“Sure,” Louie replied, and he went off to do his task in a much more subdued manner than Dewey had.

Huey moved the map where the colors from the window couldn’t touch it, placing the medallion in the center and readying a pencil to the side. Dewey burst out from behind a shelf just as Louie came back through the door, each carrying the respective items they’d been sent for.

“Is anyone gonna tell me what’s going on?” Dewey asked amusedly.

“Huey has an idea, apparently,” said Louie, setting the lantern to the side.

“Okay,” Huey began, shaking his hands out as he prepared to explain. “So there was this one summer when I did a whole bunch of research on cartography, or maps and stuff—"

“Of course you did,” Dewey interrupted him with a smile, but it was fond. It was a nice change of pace from the mean-spirited teasing that he’d endured at home. Huey rolled his eyes anyway, and continued the explanation.

“—and I somehow ended up reading about this old code. It had to do with light passing through an object to mark a specific location on the map. There was a certain way that you had to hold the object the light.”

“Okay, so the lantern is the light. What’s the object? The medallion?” Louie asked.

“I think so.” Huey shrugged self-consciously. “It only works with the specific map you were meant to use, and since this is the most common map of the kingdom, it’s our best shot.”

“But what’s the goal? How does it work?”

“The object usually has a few holes in it, and the point is that when the light travels through them and creates dots on the map, all the dots would line up with an existing landmark except for one, and that’s the location,” Huey explained, wracking his brain as he tried to remember everything.

“Let’s do it,” Dewey said easily, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “How high do we have to hold it the medallion?”

“Standard height was twelve inches. Lantern directly above the medallion.”

Dewey measured twelve inches with the ruler, Huey lifted the medallion to the correct height, and Louie held the lantern. Three seemed to be the perfect number to get the job done, and Huey smiled. He could’ve done it by himself, probably, but he didn’t have to, and that was the beauty of it.

Immediately, little points of light shone down onto the map, traveling through the total six gems.

“Cool,” Dewey whispered, and Huey smiled wider.

He moved the medallion around slowly, and Louie followed with the lantern, their eyes chasing the colorful little dots around the paper. It took a few tense minutes, but eventually Huey narrowed his eyes, rotated the medallion a bit, and found exactly what he was looking for.

“Look!” Dewey exclaimed excitedly, leaning forward and bumping Huey’s shoulder in the process. “It’s all lined up!”

And he was right; five of the gem lights were dancing above existing villages, but one of Dewey’s blue dots was swaying out in the middle of nowhere.

“Mark it down!” Huey urged.

Dewey scrambled for the pencil and drew a smiley face right under his blue light. Huey laughed a little breathlessly, a bit surprised that his plan had worked.

The location was surprisingly only a few miles out from an existing village – practically halfway across the map from where they currently were – and was nestled deeply in yet another forest. It wouldn’t be easy, exactly, to get there, but it was a start.

“That’s where we’re headed,” Dewey declared with a grin.

“You say that as if it’s just down the street,” Louie grumbled, “but it’s like a gazillion miles away.”

“Road Trip!” Dewey exclaimed, shaking Louie’s shoulders excitedly.

Huey set the medallion down and took the pencil from Dewey, drawing a star next to his smiley face. Then he drew them a path from village to village until they reached the one closest to their destination, connecting it near to the star with a decisive line.

Huey grinned softly to himself, feeling a little giddy, because this was what he loved doing. Putting his research to good use and charting maps and making plans made him feel like his life had meaning, like this was what he was meant to do. Dewey and Louie didn’t even seem to mind that he was a huge nerd; in fact, they welcomed it. There was teasing, of course, but it was lighthearted, and for Huey – whose chest had always felt heavy – that was a big deal.

Maybe soon they would find out if they were really brothers, though he found himself drifting closer and closer to that line of thinking. Not that he put up much of a fight otherwise; he wanted to believe it; he really did. He already thought of Dewey and Louie as his closest friends, though there wasn’t much competition. They knew things about him that no one did. He couldn’t imagine leaving and never seeing them again.

“Gimme that,” Louie said suddenly, and he grabbed the pencil form Huey’s hand to draw a question mark next to Dewey’s smiley face and Huey’s star.

“It may be mysterious, but we’re still going,” Dewey said.

“Yeah, yeah.” Louie waved him off.

“Not right away, though.” Huey began closing and stacking their books. “We can rest for a bit.”

“Oh, good,” said Louie, deadpan.

Huey rolled his eyes and went back to tidying up their space. Their books and other papers went off to the side as Dewey rolled up the map and Louie returned the lantern and ruler to their respective locations. They split the medallion and took their pieces back.

Huey carefully put the map, pencils, his notes, and blank paper into the backpack with the food. He settled it onto his shoulders, along with the weight of the world. Or at least the weight of responsibility. He was the one that had chosen their destination, and he was the one with the map. He had to keep Dewey and Louie safe from Magica, who was first and foremost his problem.

They walked out of the library with much more purpose than when they’d walked in.

They headed towards that village square and refilled their water flasks at the well in the center before sitting down on a bench beneath a tree. Huey relaxed, the small crowd of people milling about the square giving him the assurance that nothing bad could happen to them – not with this many witnesses. Magica couldn’t get to them.

Huey sighed tiredly. He and Magica had never been close – had never been anything close to close – but it still hurt that the person who was supposed to take care of him was the whole reason that he was in danger. Was he really that easy to just— not care about? Lena had drifted farther and farther year after year, he’d never had a friend his age, and his guardian wanted him kidnapped. Had he never been worth it to anybody?

“Huey? You okay?” Dewey’s cautious voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he turned to see both Dewey and Louie looking at him in mild concern.

“Yeah, I’m just— I just wish I knew why she did it.” Huey kicked at the cracked stone bricks beneath his feet, avoiding eye contact. “And why she wanted me gone.”

“Crazy people don’t need a reason,” Dewey said, tense and angry.

“Magica has a reason for everything. She’s smart.”

“Not smart enough to love you, though.”

Ha.

“No one loves me,” Huey said, and he shook his head ruefully. “No one even likes me.”

“Hey! I do.” Dewey put a hand on his shoulder, and Huey looked up at him in shock.

“You’ve known me for like, a week,” Huey protested weakly.

“That’s long enough.” Dewey grinned and nudged Louie. “Right, Lou?”

“You’re a good person,” Louie said slowly, looking a little embarrassed but sounding sincere. “And you’re my first friend. That’s a pretty big deal.”

Yeah, it was. Huey was proud of that accomplishment.

“Thanks, guys,” Huey said quietly, smiling sheepishly. He was a little ashamed at needing reassurance; he wasn’t usually so dramatic.

“No problem,” Dewey said breezily, then he fixed Louie with a playful glare. “I’m your second friend, right?”

“I guess you’d have to be, by default.” Louie grinned slyly. “You’re my only other friend, so…”

Dewey shoved Louie’s shoulder, Louie shoved back, and the two quickly began some sort of play fight. Huey watched in amusement, his spirits lifted. Truth be told, Dewey and Louie were his first friends, too. They may even be his brothers. His younger, triplet brothers. What a world.

As the day went on, they talked more about how they might get to where they were going. Modes of transportation and concerns about food and water were discussed. It would be nice to find more people like Timothy, who would give them a free ride and ask minimal questions. ‘Free’ being the key word, since they were dirt poor and had exactly zero money between them. The irony of carrying around solid gold and not being able to afford a single grain of rice was not lost on him.

More and more Huey was intimidated by the journey ahead of them. They’d have to stop at quite a few villages, because if they didn’t, they’d likely starve to death, which would be a bummer. All in all, nothing about the trip was certain. As Dewey put it, they’d just have to ‘wing it’.

But did they really think that they could make it on their own? Huey had spent the last few days hungrier and thirstier and more scared than he’d ever been, and there didn’t seem to be and easy way out. His life had become a blur of dark rattling spaces, endless forests, and restless wandering. The wind had been knocked out of him the day that Lena had told him to run, and he hadn’t quite been able to draw a full breath since.

Louie had never known a life of luxury, so he was handling the rough and tumble portion of their adventure quite well, and all Dewey did was roll with the punches; he was adaptable. Huey relied heavily on what he knew, and this was uncharted territory. It made him feel frozen and fragile.

And Dewey and Louie were putting so much faith in him. Huey really wasn’t all that confident in himself, but his two friends were willing to follow him anyway. A knot formed in his stomach at the thought of disappointing them. He had to be right, had to lead them to safety.

“So, where are we gonna sleep?”

Huey turned at the sound of Dewey’s voice, and paused to consider the question.

“Well, no Inn would take us because we can’t pay them,” said Huey, “but maybe someone will let us stay in their barn or shed or something.”

“I’ve always wanted to sleep in a barn,” Dewey said wistfully, looking for all the world like his dream had just come true, and Huey chuckled.

“I’ve slept in a shed for the past few years,” said Louie casually, as if that was a totally normal thing to say.

Dewey made a wounded sort of noise, and Huey’s heart dropped.

“That’s sad, Lou,” Dewey said, and that didn’t even begin to cover it.

“It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Louie said defensively. “It’s kept me alive this long.”

“Well then, I’m very glad that it exists,” said Huey gently, backtracking a little.

Huey had picked upon the fact that Louie seemed very sensitive to pity. Actually, he seemed to be very emotionally sensitive in general, despite his tough life. None of the bad things that happened to him could quite harden Louie’s heart; the kid routinely fed a stray cat, for crying out loud.

Louie seemed to flounder for a minute, lost, before landing on a simple response.

“Okay, whatever.”

Huey shared a look with Dewey, fond and hopeful and exasperated at the same time. They all had a lot of healing to do, and Huey was unspeakably happy that Louie seemed to be letting them get closer to him.

But, back to the task at hand.

“Split up and look around?” Huey suggested hesitantly.

Louie nodded, but Dewey furrowed his brow anxiously.

“Split up?” Dewey repeated, standing up and turning to face them. “What if one of us gets into trouble?”

“We’ll be fine, we’re miles away from where we last saw the Beagle Boys.” Huey placed a comforting hand on Dewey’s shoulder, trying to convince himself as much as Dewey. “What are the chances that any of them are at this specific village, anyway?”

Dewey looked conflicted, clenching and unclenching his hand around the hilt of his sword. Huey thought he understood; their lives had changed so much recently, and the only constant had been each other. Being apart would be difficult, and it might seem wrong, but it was the most efficient way to find a place to sleep.

“We’ll be fine,” Huey repeated, and Dewey sighed.

“Yell if you need help,” Dewey said, waiting until Huey nodded before turning to give a stern look to Louie. “You too, don’t be like last time.”

Huey tilted his head confusedly before he remembered what Dewey was referring to. He had only heard one voice calling for help when he’d been stuck in the wagon - listening to strange kids fighting criminals - and the voice had been Dewey’s.

Louie gave a small smile, looking like he wanted to make a snarky remark, but he refrained. Dewey was both serious and worried; the situation called for an equally sincere reply.

“Fine,” said Louie, “I promise. But the same goes for you.”

“Deal,” Dewey said, and relaxed a little bit.

Huey stood up – more than a little nervous himself, now – and looked around. “Meet back here in half an hour?”

Dewey and Louie agreed, and they all set off in different directions.

Huey curiously examined the storefronts and produce booths as he walked. It really was a nice little village that they’d found, and the good number of travelers hanging around were a testament to that. In truth, it was the kind of place that Huey wouldn’t have minded growing up in. The village where he’d lived with Magica was a large and upscale place, mostly home to the wealthy. Everyone seemed to be competing with each other, somehow. It was all ‘Look at my big house, look at my expensive things, look at this poor orphan child that I adopted out of the goodness of my heart. Beat that.’

This village felt more like a community, and Huey liked that.

That being said, he was unfamiliar with this particular community, and he didn’t really know what he was looking for. He had never been the type of person who could walk up to strangers and make conversation, much less ask them if they had a barn to sleep in, but Dewey and Louie were counting on him. They needed this. They all did, so Huey furrowed his brow in concentration and kept looking.

A few minutes later he stumbled across a crowded diner, or at least that’s what he thought it was. It seemed to be a place where people could gather to talk, eat, and drink. While Huey didn’t like big crowds – detested them, actually – it was as good a place as any to get some information.

He pushed through the swinging doors and walked cautiously into the room filled with tables and chairs and people. A few of them were obviously farmers, and he started with those ones, asking them if there was anywhere that three young boys could stay the night. Some were suspicious and turned him away, while others just said that they didn’t have the space.

Huey was beginning to think that this would be harder than he thought - and maybe more trouble than it was worth - when he walked by a hallway and heard a voice that made him freeze.

“Little brats ran off into the woods a few days ago. With any luck, they’re dead.”

Huey could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest even as his breathing stopped completely.

The voice was Ma Beagle.

How is she here? How? His thoughts were frantic.

“If you believe that, then what do you need me for?” asked a deep voice. It sent shivers racing up and down Huey’s spine.

“My boys have been in those woods ever since, following the trail, and they haven’t found ‘em yet.” Ma Beagle paused. “I’ve heard that you’ve got yourself quite the reputation for this sort of work. There’s a big reward in it for you if you can find ‘em and bring ‘em back alive.”

“I’ll need more information.”

Ma Beagle sighed in an exaggerated fashion. “The kid that we were hired to nab - he’s special. Guaranteed part of the old royal family line, according to her.”

A pause.

“And the other two?”

“They’ve seen too much," Ma Beagle said angrily, “and you can’t tell those brats apart, anyway. Just grab ‘em all.”

“Is there anyone else that you’ve contacted about this?”

“I’ve got plenty of people out lookin’, but I hear that you’re the best of the best. Graves, right?”

“Falcon Graves,” the voice confirmed, “and I’ll do your job.”

Huey’s lungs were burning with the need for air, and he stumbled back frantically, trying to remember how breathing worked. Air began wheezing in and out of him, a shallow victory, and he forced himself to focus as he scrambled as quietly and inconspicuously as he could to the door, now wary of every single person in the diner. He had to find Dewey and Louie, and they had to run. Again.

Huey’s eyes stung as he ran toward their meeting place. He had thought that they were safe, that the criminals would be busy searching the woods, and that by the time they were finished they would be long gone and far away, but he was wrong. Everything was so much bigger than he thought it was.

Ma Beagle had her people – and who knew how many there were – out looking for them at this very moment. Not to mention the mysterious and intimidating Falcon Graves, who apparently had ‘quite the reputation’.

Unbidden, a stray thought ricocheted to the forefront of his mind. Did Magica know that he’d escaped? Was she looking for him, too?

“Huey! Huey, what’s wrong? What happened?” Dewey’s voice was frantic, and as Huey came back to himself, he realized that he was back at the bench in the village square, hyperventilating. Dewey was gripping his shoulders, and Louie was standing behind him looking a little scared.

Huey shook his head helplessly, trying to get his breathing under control enough to speak, to warn them.

“I saw— I heard—” Huey gasped. “Ma Beagle! She’s here, and, and she’s got people e-everywhere looking for us!”

Dewey’s grip on his shoulders tightened as he glanced wildly around, and Louie shuffled closer to them until they were gathered in a tense huddle.

“What?” Louie whispered, his voice breaking.

“She’s still looking!” Huey said, anguished. “And she’s here. We have to go. Now.”

It reminded him of what Lena had said before he’d been kidnapped, when she’d given him a chance to escape.

‘You have to go. She’s got her goons coming to get you. You have to leave.’

Nothing much had changed, it seemed. They were still running. They had never been safe.

Huey jerked himself up into a standing position and grabbed the sleeves of his friends with shaking hands to keep them all together. They started down a random road at a brisk pace, trying to move quickly without drawing unnecessary attention to themselves.

“Where are we going?” Dewey asked worriedly.

“I don’t know,” Huey replied, wracking his brain for an answer. “For now, just— away from here.”

They finally turned onto a smaller street and put their backs to the wall, assessing the situation. It was less busy here, with only a few people milling about. A few wagons slowly rolled by.

“We’ll have to start this trip early,” Huey said. “If there really is a second castle, maybe someone there will help us.”

“Agreed,” Dewey said, “but that might take a while.”

To hear even a shred of negativity from Dewey, the eternal optimist, meant that things were very serious indeed.

“We need someone to drive us,” Louie said.

Huey nodded in agreement. No way they’d make it on foot.

“I’m a driver!”

The three boys screamed bloody murder and grabbed onto each other at the unexpected voice that came from close by. Huey blinked, and Dewey had his sword in hand, holding it in front of them all protectively. Louie was holding onto his arm tightly.

Next to them was a very muscular, tall duck, kneeling on the ground so he was at eye level with them. He had red hair beneath a brown hat, and he was wearing a brown jacket, tan pants, and a friendly smile that was turning apologetic.

“Sorry about that,” said the man. “Didn’t mean to scare you, but I heard you say that you needed a driver, which I am. A driver, I mean.”

The duck scratched at his head and gestured to a nice-looking wagon across the street.

“That’s mine right there. Just got repairs, so she’s ready to roll!”

The tension melted slowly out of Huey’s body. This guy didn’t seem malicious. In front of him, Dewey slowly put away his sword.

“Who are you?” Dewey questioned warily.

“Oh, right.” The duck smiled sheepishly. “I’m Launchpad!”

“I’m Dewey, and that’s Huey and Louie.” Dewey hesitated. “Can you really drive us?”

“Sure can! Where do you need to go?” Launchpad asked enthusiastically.

Louie nudged Huey gently, letting go of his arm, and Huey stepped up next to Dewey.

“Um, we have a map, if you can follow it,” Huey said.

“I can do maps,” Launchpad said seriously, nodding.

“We don’t have money,” Louie spoke bluntly.

“I do,” said Launchpad, with an excited smile. “You can have some of mine!”

There was baffled silence as the three boys exchanged flabbergasted looks, and then Louie pushed in front of them.

“Okay, whatever, can we go now?” Louie asked.

“Absolutely! Just get your things, and—”

“We don’t have things,” Huey interrupted, growing more restless by the second.

Launchpad very briefly had a confused look on his face, and then he just grinned and stood up. “Then hop in!”

They crossed the street to the wagon, which was made with a rounded canvas covering rather than wood. There were no doors, just a little piece of wood that flipped up like a tailgate. It looked nothing like the Beagle Boys wagon, but Huey still felt the suffocating feeling of being trapped, just by looking at it. Dewey and Louie had to have been feeling it, too, because they somehow found themselves congregated at the opening, hesitant to get in.

But Ma Beagle was here, and Falcon Graves was here, and it was only a matter of time before the both of them learned that they had been here, too. All they’d have to do was ask around; plenty of people had seen them. So one by one they climbed into the wagon, flinching when Launchpad closed the tailgate with a bang.

Huey pulled the map out of the backpack with trembling hands and crawled to the front of the wagon, where the canvas split like a curtain. He pulled part of it aside and stuck his arm out towards Launchpad, who was sitting on the driver’s bench holding the reins of the horses.

“Here’s the map,” said Huey. “Try to follow it exactly.”

Launchpad took it from him and propped it up on the seat next to him.

“Yes, sir, random kid I just met,” he said merrily.

Huey backed up and let the curtain fall back into place, turning to face the others just as the wagon began to move. Dewey was sitting closest to the opening, able to keep an eye on the outside. Huey knew that he’d positioned himself that way intentionally, ready to defend if need be. Louie sat a little further in, against the opposite wall from Dewey, and Huey was standing at the front. They were in the exact same spots that they’d been in when they were with the Beagle Boys. It was a strange parody of just a few days ago, though it felt like hours, and it felt like a lifetime.

They were tense, and still, and quiet. The illusion of safety that they’d felt when they’d arrived at the village had been shattered, and they were trying not to cut themselves on all the glass.

The late afternoon sun was shining brightly as they left, the clouds from that morning having disappeared. Huey watched Louie pull the hood of his cloak up onto his head, which Huey thought may happen mostly when Louie was upset; it was a small way to hide from the world.

Huey sat down heavily and pulled his knees to his chest. It was a bumpy ride so far, with Launchpad somehow managing to hit every single bump in the road. No wonder the wagon had needed repairs.

“Did— did you say that there are people everywhere looking for us?” Dewey asked suddenly.

Huey nodded sadly.

“And she was talking to someone. Some sort of professional, I think.” Huey paused. “She knows about me. She thinks I’m royalty. They all do.”

There was silence, each of them drowning in their own thoughts.

“We’ll have to be careful. We can’t be seen, and we don’t know who can be trusted,” said Dewey. “Everything will be fine once we get to the castle."

“If,” Louie said quietly. “If we get to the castle.”

“We will. We’ll be fine,” said Dewey.

Huey stared out the back of the wagon and watched the village get smaller and smaller.

“We’ll be fine,” he whispered to himself.

Chapter Text

Very frankly, Dewey was sick and tired of running away. It had never been his style. Ever. That had been Mrs. Beakley’s biggest complaint, back when his life was normal and he regularly practiced sword fighting under her instruction. She’d said that it was one of his biggest weaknesses, that he didn’t know how to back down or step away. It was something that he had to learn – something that he was still working on.

If only she could see him now, actively avoiding confrontation and backing down so thoroughly that the enemy was hardly a blip on his radar. Not that running away didn’t have its own downsides. It was exhausting. Dewey was usually all for a challenge, but this was one thing after another with no rest. Eventually, they’d crumble.

For now, though, they were traveling steadily away from the nice, peaceful village that had turned into the center of all evil, and all were silent except for Launchpad, who was talking quietly to himself in between his humming. The noise helped to ground him, actually, and Dewey was thankful for that.

Once the village they’d left behind was completely gone from their view, and they no longer felt as if a single whisper would bring calamity upon them, they huddled together in the center of the wagon and spoke quietly.

“So you— you actually saw Ma Beagle?” Dewey asked, desperate for every detail, wanting to understand.

“Not exactly,” Huey replied, and his hands were still shaking, “but I know it was her. It’s not a voice that you forget.”

“Don’t I know it,” Louie said, voice hushed, and they all shuddered.

Dewey honestly doubted that he’d ever forget anything about the past few days; not unless things got somehow worse and he received amnesia. At which point he may throw in the towel and give up on happy endings entirely.

“Alright, so, uh, she’s got tons of her evil henchpeople hanging around,” Dewey said, recapping, “but who was she talking to? Some kind of professional, you said?”

Huey nodded uncertainly. “She called him Graves, I think.”

Dewey felt as if he’d been sucker punched in the stomach; he would’ve doubled over if he wasn’t frozen solid in shock. He knew that name.

“Falcon Graves?” Dewey choked out, hands curled into fists.

Huey nodded and looked at him in concern.

“Yeah, that was it,” said Huey. “Are— are you okay?”

Dewey shook his head lightly and turned to stare out the back of the wagon, almost expecting the criminal himself to be standing in plain view. He’d been hearing that name for years, from Mrs. Beakley herself. There was never very much information attached to it – his guardian didn’t talk about suck serious things around him and Webby – but what he did overhear was spoken in hushed whispers and worried tones. Falcon Graves brough Mrs. Beakley a lot of clients, unintentional though it was. Anyone who’d had the misfortune of a run-in with the guy came out of it wanting to learn self-defense, if they even made it out at all.

“I’ve heard of him,” Dewey said, glancing back at the others with a grim look, “and it’s nothing good.”

He’d leave it at that. There was no need to incite more panic than there already was.

“Well,” said Louie in a flat tone. “That’s promising.”

Dewey simply shrugged and mustered up a teasing grin.

“Glad you think so, LouLou.”

“Do not—”

“Okay!” Huey lurched forward in between them before they could get into it. “So what are we doing? Are we still following the original plan?”

Oh, right. It already seemed like forever ago that they decided on a destination for their ongoing road trip of insanity, but it had really only been a few hours. Huh, and to think that they’d had hopes of sleeping tonight.

Now that they were aware of the monsters lurking around every corner, they once again had to revisit their plans. Every time they stopped in a village, they would be in danger, and everyone would be a threat. It was hardly an ideal situation, but what choice did they have? They’d been backed into a corner. They couldn’t just go back to their normal lives anymore, not with every criminal on the planet looking for them.

“We’ll be targets everywhere we go, so we might as well be going somewhere specific.” Dewey leaned back against the wall with a huff. “Moving targets are harder to hit, anyway. I say we keep going.”

“We’ll have to be careful,” Huey reminded.

“When are we not?”

Huey gave him a deadpan look, and multiple incidents jumped to the forefront of his mind, practically begging for attention. There was Dewey, jumping in to save Louie and putting a sword to his neck.
There they all were, crashing blindly through the woods to escape, and then later, screaming and yelling as they were washed down a river. Dewey cringed, chuckling a little anyway.

“We’re not exactly subtle,” Louie grumbled.

“Okay, yes, but now we can be better,” said Dewey. “We’ll just have to enter Stealth Mode.”

“We keep a low profile,” Huey said, nodding, “and we try to not be seen by literally anyone if we can help it.”

“Sounds like my daily life,” Louie remarked, laying back with his hands behind his head. “Count me in.”

With that resolved, they took the time to rest. It didn’t seem to be getting any easier for Huey and Louie to sleep in a moving wagon, because unlike Dewey, they weren’t used to it. They were exhausted however, so eventually they dropped off into light sleep. It gave Dewey some time alone to process everything that had happened.

Launchpad’s wagon, he’d noticed, was almost an exact replica of the one that Mrs. Beakley owned; the one that he’d traveled on for half his life. It was shame that he was wary of it, now. After having been kidnapped and trapped in a wagon for several days – not to mention experiencing less than kind treatment – it was now almost impossible to feel safe or calm in one. He knew that the others felt the same, if the way that Louie jolted when they hit a bad bump or Huey kept a close eye on the door was any indication.

It would be a difficult thing to explain to Beakley and Webby, who he refused to think he’d never see again. Heart sinking, Dewey closed his eyes and sighed. They had to be worried sick, and who knew what they were up to, or even where they were? He hoped desperately that they were safe, and that they would stay that way until he saw them again. He couldn’t wait to introduce them to his brothers. His brothers. Webby might just have a heart attack when she found out. It made Dewey chuckle just thinking about it.

And it was true, part of him felt guilty that he was going on this spontaneous quest instead of looking for them, but he had to hope that they would understand. The said truth was that Dewey just, didn’t know where they were. At this point, it might’ve taken longer to find them than it would the hidden castle, which they already had a possible location for.

Dewey told himself this, but still felt guilty. He missed them.

Then Dewey shifted to look at his sleeping companions, and he couldn’t help but crack a small smile. Beyond the fear and guilt of the day, there was unmistakable excitement and a kind of deep-rooted contentment. Despite Louie’s doubts and Huey’s caution, they had agreed to go looking for answers, possibly feeling the same strong pull that he did. There was an odd and deep connection between them, strong and steady even though they hadn’t known each other for very long. It was a bond that had grown beyond its years, and it brought with it a feeling that filled the empty space in his chest that had been there since forever.

That same feeling seemed to be pushing them towards finding the answers to their questions – maybe even pushing them home. Dewey had never actually had a home, having moved around so much, and he knew that Huey would hesitate to call the mansion that he’d grown up in a home. Louie— Well, Louie lived in a shed. So maybe they’d all lived very different lives, but now they were searching for the same thing, and Dewey knew that somehow – some way – they would find it.

Without much warning, the wagon jolted violently as they rolled over what had either been a large rock or a deep pothole. Louie woke with a muffled shout of surprise, and Huey shot upright, eyes darting around confusedly. Dewey waved his hand gently to get their attention.

“Everything’s good, Launchpad just keeps hitting every possible obstacle,” Dewey explained, half amused.

“Of course out of everyone, we’d get the crazy driver,” Louie mumbled tiredly.

“A free ride is a free ride.” Huey shrugged. “All things considered, we’re pretty lucky.”

“I really wouldn’t call anything that’s happened to us so far ‘lucky’.”

“Fair enough.”

And that was how the evening passed, with the three of them dozing on and off, bickering back and forth, and playing games to occupy themselves. When asked, Launchpad informed them that they’d eventually be making camp for the night and continuing in the morning. It should take them two days to arrive at the next village, and the three of them intended on using that time to plan on what they’d do when they got there.

The nights were spent on the side of the road. Launchpad slept in a bag on the ground, while they stayed in the wagon. Dewey was especially appreciative of the fire that was started – the nights were cool – and the blankets that they were given. It had been quite some time since he’d slept so cozily. They were finally able to catch up on some of the sleep they’d missed, even if it meant dealing with the occasional nightmare.

Eventually, their next stop was only an hour away and Dewey was growing restless, filled to the brim with nervous energy. Huey was methodically going through the supplies from his backpack for what had to be the fifth time at least; apparently his way of keeping calm involved intense organization, because he’d already unpacked all of Launchpad’s things before putting them back neatly (with permission, of course). Louie was sitting against the wall with his eyes closed, not asleep but rather attempting to block out the world.

The backpack scraped across the floor as Huey buckled it and pulled it towards him. They’d eaten the rest of their food that morning, but Launchpad had been kind enough to gift them a few blankets, and Huey had grabbed two of the more informative books before they left the library, so the bag was pretty full.

“Should we go over the plan?” Huey asked, and his voice was thinly strained, anxiety posing as calm and collected. It had the same effect as children stacked on top of each other wearing a trench coat, a poor disguise worthy of pity.

And Dewey wasn’t much for plans, as anyone who knew him could tell you, but they made Huey more comfortable, so he’d been making an effort. They might as well be on the same page anyway.

That being said, they’d ‘gone over the plan’ several times already. Dewey could probably recite it in his sleep, but if this was Huey’s way of keeping his cool, he could go along with it.

“Sure,” Dewey said, and Louie didn’t argue.

The plan was this: Launchpad would drop them off just a few minutes away from the village, and then circle around in the wagon to the other end to wait for them. Their odd driver had agreed to take them as far as they wanted to go, and had never questioned anything they asked of him. It was strange, in a comforting sort of way.

The three of them would then make their way through the village, staying mostly separated so as not to be seen together, since three kids would be more distinctive and easier to remember than one. They would not make appearances in the same place twice, nor would they double back without reason. Launchpad had given them each some coin to pay for food or other supplies, and they’d collectively decided to just go and see what they could afford rather than try and plan it out beforehand. They would then meet back up at the other end of the village and hop in the wagon to travel once again.

“It’s a pretty good plan,” Louie assured, high praise from a schemer like him.

Huey nodded and swung the backpack stiffly onto his shoulders. Dewey double and triple checked that both his sword and water flask were attached to him. He didn’t fault Huey for being nervous; he was, too. Falcon Graves was the monster that he’d grown up hearing about, and he’d be perfectly happy if their paths never crossed. Not to mention the unknown number of scouts out there searching for them, and the fact that they had no idea what they might look like.

Dewey had been against splitting up, but Huey and especially Louie had argued for it, and in the end, he had to admit that it was safer, in most ways.

As soon as the village came into view, they piled out of the wagon and stood – tense but determined – in front of Launchpad.

“We shouldn’t be more than an hour,” Huey told their driver. “Just— if you could wait by the side of the road where we’ll be able to see you?”

Launchpad smiled and gave them a thumbs up. He really was one of the most genuine people that Dewey had ever met.

“I’ll be there,” Launchpad assured them. “Have fun!”

The driver hopped back on his wagon, pulling recklessly onto a side road to begin the roundabout journey around the village. They’d told him that he could go with them, as long as he kept his distance and didn’t draw attention to them, but he had declined. He was rather attached to his wagon, it seemed.

“Do you think that he can make it without crashing?” Louie asked absentmindedly, fiddling with the strap of his water flask, and Dewey chuckled. There’d been quite a few close calls these past two days.

“Let’s hope,” Dewey replied, and they started the short trek towards the distant buildings.

Walking in silence, Dewey had the distinct feeling that he was a soldier marching into battle. Going straight into a place with unknown dangers was bound to make anyone antsy. Sometimes, it made Dewey excited, but not this time, not when there was this much to lose. This wasn’t a fun adventure like he and Webby used to talk about.

In a perfect world, Dewey would have met Huey and Louie randomly on the street, and Mrs. Beakley would’ve taken them in, and then they could all go looking for the castle together. No criminals would be looking for them, or chasing them, and they wouldn’t be in danger of starving. It would be amazing.

Actually, in a perfect world, the three of them wouldn’t have been separated in the first place. They would’ve grown up together, and Huey would be more confident, and Louie would be less wary. They would both be loved so, so much. He was sure of it. Of course, Webby and Beakley would be there too, somehow, because no world of his could be perfect without them in it.

They came to a stop a few yards away from the entrance to the village, standing side by side in silence.

“Stay on the main road as much as you can,” Huey instructed, shifting his backpack restlessly. “I’ll see you soon.”

And then he was moving, his nerves easily identifiable, if you were looking for it. Louie glanced at Dewey and gave him a nod and a half smile before setting out at a brisk but steady pace, deceptively nonchalant.

Dewey sighed and patted his sword carefully for reassurance, watching his brothers until they disappeared into the crowds. His anxiety levels ramped up the moment they were out of sight, but he pushed it down best he could and followed their lead.

This new village was much different from any of the ones they’d been to so far, but it also seemed oddly… familiar. The place was even more crowded than where Louie came from. People were milling about in groups or with their children, causing a cacophony of noise, of yelling and laughing and just the general sounds of existence and life. It was overwhelming, grating on his nerves and dancing on the grave of the normal life he’d left behind. Or rather, the one he’d been forcibly removed from.

Dewey exhaled heavily and strode forward with purpose, weaving around kids and adults and vendors pushing carts. There was no time to freak out; he had a job to do.

The sun beat down on him mercilessly as he made his way down the road. It really had been far too long without rain; even the river on the mountain had not been as full as it could’ve been.

Dewey exchanged a few coins for a basket of fruit at one booth, and he gave a few more to buy pie at another. He did his very best to not stand out in any way. He made no eye contact, he told no one who he was, and he stayed close to the walls. Dewey had never been more invisible, which was why it scared him half to death when someone called him by his name.

“Dewey?” A voice asked from behind him, and Dewey just about jumped out of his feathers.

He whipped around – one hand already hovering over his sword – and immediately understood why the village around him looked so familiar.

“Violet?” Dewey said faintly, and there she was, standing in front of him with a basket of bread and a confused look on her face.

Dewey had been here before – to this exact village – with Mrs. Beakley and Webby. It had to have been almost a year ago, so it was a wonder that Violet had recognized him at all. She and Webby had hit it off really well, and they’d hung out together every day of their visit while Mrs. Beakley handled the business stuff. Dewey had tagged along, of course, since he and Webby were kind of a package deal. Webby had nearly cried when they’d left, making her granny promise that they’d come back one day. Dewey had never thought that he’d be the first one to return, and without Webby in tow.

“Violet!” Dewey rushed closer to her, beyond excited to see a familiar face, and so relieved he might cry. “Oh my— How even—"

Violet held out a hand to steady him, confusion and concern fighting to be the dominant facial expression.

“Are… you alright? Are you back in town?” Violet asked, glancing around and looking over his shoulder. “Where’s Webby?”

Dewey laughed anxiously, rubbing the back of his neck with a single hand. “That’s—it’s actually a long story, but she’s not with me, right now.”

“You’re alone?” Violet frowned. “It was my understanding that you are supposed to stay together.”

“Well, yes. Usually it’s— I mean—” Dewey sighed and looked over his shoulder before turning back with a serious expression. “Look, she’s not even in the village, and neither is Mrs. Beakley. We’re kind of, sort of, very separated.”

Violet stood in front of him, now utterly flabbergasted, and Dewey knew that he didn’t have time to fully explain. All the time in the world might not have been enough.

“Listen, if you see either of them, tell them you saw me, that I’m okay.” Dewey swallowed against the lump in his throat. “And tell them that I’m sorry, but I can’t stay put.”

“Dewey, what’s happening?” Violet asked, her grip on her basket becoming stronger.

“I… I think it’s safer if I don’t tell you.” He didn’t want to drag her into it, or give her information that people would hurt her for. It wasn’t worth the risk. “Just, if anyone else asks about me, I was never here. Okay?”

Violet nodded jerkily, and Dewey flashed a small smile.

“One more question,” he said. “Are you selling that bread?”

Violet shook her head incredulously and shoved the basket into his arms, making him fumble with the other things he’d bought until they were arranged in a way he could carry them.

“Take it,” said Violet tensely, worry masked as frustration, “and be careful. I still expect a visit from both you and Webby.”

Dewey nodded, fully intending on keeping that promise. They wouldn’t be running forever, after all. Just until they reached the finish line.

“Count on it,” Dewey said, resolute, and he mentally mapped the way to the meeting point. “Thank you, Violet.”

Violet smiled thinly.

“See you later,” she said, almost like a threat, or a promise.

“See you later.”

And then Dewey turned around and left as quickly as he’d come, dodging people and keeping an eye out for shady characters all the same. Tension crept back into his frame, paranoia at having stayed in one place talking to Violet for so long.

He saw a flash of red and grey as he came to the edge of the village, and he head right for it, knowing that it was Huey. Sure enough, there he was, leaning against a well – which reminded him that he needed to refill his water flask – and watching him come closer with obvious relief. Huey’s backpack was noticeably fuller, giving him hope that they wouldn’t be going hungry anytime soon.

“Have you seen Louie?” Huey asked as Dewey scooped some water into his flask.

“Not yet,” Dewey said. “Why?”

“I keep feeling like someone’s watching me.” Huey glanced away sheepishly and fidgeted with his sleeve.

Dewey took a quick look around. No one seemed to be abnormally focused on them, at least.

“Well, as soon as Louie gets here, we’ll leave.”

“I’m here.”

Louie’s sudden voice cause Dewey to jump and Huey to yelp. He had somehow never noticed how naturally silent Louie was, both light on his feet and practiced at blending in.

“Give a guy some warning!” Dewey exclaimed, laughing lightly, and Louie shrugged with a grin.

“But it’s so much more fun this way.”

Dewey shook his head playfully and nudged Louie’s shoulder. “You and Webby would get along great.”

Louie refilled his water, and they eagerly left the village behind to head for Launchpad and wagon, carrying their newly acquired supplies best they could.

“It was so weird to actually buy something,” Louie commented, shifting the sack of vegetables in his arms.

“Welcome to the straight and narrow,” Huey said teasingly, in higher spirits now that they were leaving the village. “We hope that you enjoy your stay.”

“Yeah, no offense,” said Louie, “but so far it’s been less than ideal.”

“We here at the straight and narrow are very sorry to hear that,” Dewey said, using the tone of voice that most innkeepers used. “What is it that we can improve?”

“Less danger and criminals, please,” Louie replied, glancing behind them to ensure that they weren’t being followed.

“We’ll see what we can do.”

“It’s kind of ironic that the straight and narrow needs less criminals,” Huey said.

“Kind of sad, too,” said Dewey, returning Huey’s grin.

They came upon Launchpad and the wagon just a few yards away from the last building. It was closer than they’d agreed upon, but it hardly mattered at this point. They were too relieved that he was there at all.

They piled into the back tiredly, worn out by their hour of constant vigilance. Dewey laid his things out on the floor and crawled up to the front, pulling back the canvas curtain and tapping a sleeping Launchpad on the shoulder.

“Rise and shine, LP. We’re ready to go,” Dewey said as the driver opened his eyes.

“Got it.” Launchpad saluted goofily and set about preparing to leave.

Dewey let the curtain fall as he backed up and turned to face his friends. Huey was once again reorganizing his backpack, Louie sitting next to him munching on a piece of broccoli.

Without warning, a prickling sensation slithered up his spine and up the back of his neck, accompanied by an unsettling feeling in his stomach. He shuffled along the floor towards the back of the wagon, which Launchpad had just closed. They were moving now, on their way to the next destination. Dewey stared out at the row of buildings they had just left behind, straining to see something - anything.

There was nothing there, and in some ways, that was worse.

Chapter Text

If Louie could travel back in time to the day before he’d been captured, his past self would most certainly slap him at least twice. The first time would be to make sure that he was really there and whatnot – proof of existence, if you will – but the second slap would occur only after attempting to explain to past Louie exactly what the future had in store for them.

It said a lot about his character, Louie thought, that he couldn’t even trust himself; that he would sooner slap himself (twice) than believe a word that he said. And Louie knew himself better than anyone, that’s why there was no trust there.

Anyway, bottom line: time travel was problematic at best. If Louie could travel back in time to the day before he’d been captured, he wouldn’t. That was just his personal choice, seeing as how he’d literally end up beating himself up about it.

Snap out of it, Louie. Pay attention.

Currently they were sitting a few yards off the road, huddled by their campfire and closely examining the map. Louie had gotten a bit carried away, staring at the tiny black dot that represented the place he’d spent most of his life in. He was so far away now, both from the village and from the kid he used to be before he left. Involuntarily, he might add.

In other ways, though, nothing much had changed. He still had people chasing him, he was still running, and really, he was only a few days older than he had been. Funny how time worked that way.

But no, what had changed the most was the level at which those things were happening. Instead of common crooks and street thugs chasing after him, it was every criminal with a reputation and a connection to Ma Beagle. Instead of running for a couple minutes to the safety of his shed, he’d seen more of the world in just the past two days than in his entire life. Really, it was just escalation. Some parts of this whole adventure were very familiar to him, while others managed to be completely foreign.

His companions for example. The fact that he had friends. That was different. Louie couldn’t remember the last time that he had looked over his shoulder and been relieved to see someone right behind him. Probably because it’d never happened before. Except it did, once.

“Louie? You with us?” A hand waved in front of his face, along with a blue sleeve, and Louie blinked back into awareness. “Earth to Louie?”

Louie scowled at the amusement in Dewey’s voice and pushing the waving hand away.

“Are we really that boring to listen to?” Dewey grinned and shared a look with Huey, who was shaking his head in a resigned sort of way and smiling. “Say it ain’t so, bro.”

There was a part of Louie – the worn and frayed and broken part – that recoiled at the implications of what Dewey had just called him, even after having had some time to process the possibility. But, there was also something in him that grew warm, silently and completely filling every empty space in his chest and overflowing into emotions that he couldn’t even begin to sort through.

At the moment, those two parts pretty much canceled each other out, so he simply shrugged and smirked.

“I hate to be the one to tell you, I really do,” Louie said, “but it’s true.”

“How dare!” Dewey gasped loudly and fell back onto Huey’s lap. “I am wounded.”

“Drama queen.”

Dewey turned his head enough to wink at him before poking Huey in the side. “The disrespect am I right?”

“Tragic,” said Huey, deadpan. “I can’t believe that you would do this to us, Louie.”

“Alright, I’m sorry.” Louie rolled his eyes and scooted closer, peering down at the unrolled map. “What were we talking about?”

“We?” Huey repeated, amused.

“You.”

God, was having friends always this annoying? Louie pushed down the urge to smile and instead shoved Huey’s shoulder, which in turn jostled Dewey, who was still in his lap.

“Well,” Dewey began as he sat up, “Huey and I were discussing our options for the next stop we make.”

“We want to minimize the number of populated areas we stop at,” Huey explained. “So, we’re figuring out which villages we can cut from our route.”

Louie nodded to show that he was following.

“We have enough food for a few days, so we can skip this next village and go straight to this one, and from there we can decide what to do next.” Huey tapped another black dot on the map before sitting back. “I’m trying not to plan too far ahead. Everything is so unpredictable.”

Huey stopped talking, looking at him like he was waiting for something, and Louie realized belatedly that he wanted his opinion.

“Sounds good to me,” said Louie, and Huey nodded.

“And you’re sure you don’t need us to repeat it again?” Dewey shot him a teasing grin. “Or were you listening this time?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Louie mustered up as innocent a look as possible. “Were you saying something?”

The three of them bickered back and forth until Launchpad came back with more firewood and suggested that they get some sleep. So, they grabbed their blankets and crawled back into the wagon to curl up on the floor. Dewey’s elbow was kind of digging into his back, and Huey’s cold feet were shoved against his leg, but it was surprisingly comfortable, and it felt safe.

Louie gazed sleepily out the back of the wagon at the stars, twinkling lazily in the dark sky. He couldn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have, because the next thing he knew the sun was shining into his eyes and Launchpad was rattling around outside.

Then they were traveling again.

And it was boring.

He kept telling himself that this was better than the alternative of being captured and/or enslaved, but there were only so many travel games that a person could play before they went insane. That being said, Louie could live with the boredom, actually, because he knew that it was hardly the worst-case scenario. Far from it, really.

So, they traveled, and it wasn’t all bad.

Launchpad was a calming presence somehow, for how chaotic and scatterbrained he seemed. When Louie took naps or when Huey organized or when they happened to both be doing those things at the same time, Louie knew that Dewey would go up front to sit by Launchpad. The two got along quite well, which— yeah, that was fair.

Launchpad had let Dewey take the reins one day, happy and smiling as if nothing could go wrong, and of course anyone who let Dewey drive a wagon was going to be one of his favorite people. It was also a good way to have Louie waking up in a panic after his maniac friend scraped the wagon against a tree on his way by.

Or maybe Launchpad had been driving, it was honestly hard to tell sometimes.

In between sleeping and game playing and strategizing, Louie was often left alone with his own thoughts. He was used to it, of course, but the things he thought about now were very different from what they were before. The usual concerns about food and water and shelter were there – they always had been – but they had faded into he background a bit; Huey had most of that handled, anyway. Now, Louie’s mind ran wild with theories and debates.

And doubts.

What if the medallion piece had never been his, and it was given to him by accident? What if the second castle didn’t exist? What if everyone who could give them answers was dead and gone? What if they were wrong about all of it?

What if they were right?

Somehow, that last question was the most terrifying of them all. If they were wrong, nothing much would change. He would just go back to his shed and live like he always had. It would hurt, he got those phantom pains in his chest just thinking about it, but at least it would be familiar. If they were right, then everything would change. More than it already had, his world would change around him, and Louie was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to keep up.

It was four days later that they stopped at a lake. The surface was calm, the stillest thing they’d seen in what felt like years.

“Now Huey,” said Dewey, amusement lacing his voice, “there might be fish in there. You think you can handle that?”

Louie chuckled, immediately brought back to that moment on the mountain when Huey had scared them half to death screaming at a fish. Simpler times.

“Only if you promise not to trip and fall,” Huey shot back, grinning.

And who could forget being tackled from behind and being washed away. Louie swore that there was still water in his ears.

Dewey rolled his eyes with a bright smile – more relaxed than Louie had ever seen him – before nudging Huey’s shoulder and taking off for the water, throwing everything he was wearing except his light blue undershirt onto a rock. He waded into the water and waved at them enthusiastically, already soaked.

Louie turned to Huey, about to remark on the childishness of their friend, but it didn’t quite work out that way.

Huey smiled, possibly the most unrestrained smile that Louie had ever seen on him.

“Race you,” Huey said, excitement dancing in his eyes, and he shoved Louie lightly before running off toward the water.

Louie stood in shock for a moment, then let out an incredulous laugh and shook his head. Childish though it was, they were children after all. Sometimes Louie forgot – when he was running from thugs, or stealing food, or huddled in a shed during the winter months – that he was still young. He forgot to let himself be a kid. Huey and Dewey were reminding him now, whether they knew it or not.

Louie ran for the water and didn’t look back. He left his cloak on the shore next to Dewey’s jacket, and splashed his already soggy friends as soon as he was close enough.

They spent the whole day at the lake, and it was like a mini vacation. The next village was only a day or so away, and they had enough food to last, so there wasn’t much pressure to get going. Well, apart from the nagging feeling that they were being chased, which Louie tried his best to suppress for just one day. Just one.

And it was the best day of his life; the most fun that Louie had ever had. Maybe there were a few happy tears mixed in with that lake water, but no one would ever know for sure.

Launchpad beat them all at a cannonball competition, and then they each took turns riding on his shoulders in the water. Louie didn’t like it very much – it was too high, and he didn’t fully trust LP not to drop him – but Dewey had an absolute blast.

All too soon, the sun was setting, and they waded out of the lake with the intention of drying off and eating something for dinner. Dewey went with Launchpad to get the food out of the wagon and start a fire, and Louie found Huey sitting on a log overlooking the lake that the sunset had painted orange and red.

Louie sat down next to him, aware that the light and playful mood from the day had changed into something else. Not exactly something negative, but rather reflective. Somber, even.

“It’s been two weeks,” said Huey, quietly, and he didn’t have to elaborate.

Two weeks since he’d been captured. Two weeks since Magica had turned his world on its head.

It took Louie off guard. He hadn’t exactly been keeping track, but he remembered that on his first day of being kidnapped, Huey had already been there – alone – for two days. In two more days, it will have been two weeks for Dewey and Louie, too. He wasn’t sure why that felt like such a big milestone. The weeks had passed in an instant; they had dragged on for years. How much longer would they be going on like this?

Louie didn’t say anything in response to that. What could he say, anyways? And he suspected that Huey didn’t need words. So Louie leaned gently on Huey – a way of support; of supporting each other – and hoped that it was enough, hoped that he was enough.

It wasn’t long until they heard their other traveling buddies coming back towards them. Dewey was loudly singing some campfire song while Launchpad roasted something on a stick over the fire that they’d made. Huey leaned more heavily against him as they watched the others, and Louie almost wished that they never had to leave this lake, this day, this moment.

Huey sighed – although not unhappily – and stood up.

“C’mon, launchpad will most definitely burn the food if we don’t help out,” Huey said, the corner of his beak lifting upwards.

“Sometimes I wonder who saved who,” Louie remarked.

He knew, of course, that Launchpad was doing more for than than they were for him, but he also had to admit that the guy could use some help. So they cooked sometimes, they cleaned, and they never complained when LP had to stop and rest. As they had no money, this was they closest they could come to paying him back.

They gathered by the fire and ate. It wasn’t exactly a luxurious meal, since they were still trying to ration, but it was more than enough, and Louie had learned a long time ago to take what he could get. He’d been eating more consistently the past week than ever before, anyway. He had Launchpad to thank for that.

“Hey, look!” Dewey was suddenly on his feet, pointing at the sky, eyes shining in excitement. Louie looked up on instinct and caught the tail end of a flicker. “A shooting star! Make a wish!”

“What?” Louie asked, confused and a little lost.

“When you see a shooting star, you make a wish,” said Dewey, like it was obvious, and Louie rolled his eyes.

“That makes no sense.”

“So? It’s fun!”

Louie looked over to Huey, who he expected to be the one with a logical outlook. Since Dewey had presumably already wished something, and Launchpad had loudly proclaimed that his wish was to fly, Huey was his last hope.

Huey was grinning.

“Don’t look at me,” said Huey, with great amusement. “I already made mine.”

Louie threw his hands in the air. “You’re all insane!”

“I’m almost offended that you ever thought otherwise,” Dewey shot back gleefully, and Huey laughed, freely and joyfully. It was contagious, and soon enough everyone was laughing.

Louie looked up at the sky in a long-suffering sort of way – not half as irritated as he was pretending to be – just in time to see another shooting star. The full thing from start to finish; bright and beautiful and far too easy to miss, if you weren’t looking for it.

Make a wish, it taunted him, like the stars were waiting, like the universe had been building to this one insignificant moment.

And he felt silly, but no one would ever know, so he caved.

Make a wish.

More days like this one, Louie thought.

More days like this one.

Chapter Text

“Okay, we’ve got three more villages to stop at, then we have to go on foot,” Huey was saying, examining the map closely as they once again revisited their plans.

“Great,” Louie said, but he didn’t seem all that thrilled. “Any mountains this time? I need to mentally prepare myself if things are going to be difficult.”

“I’m not sure,” Huey replied, squinting at the map. “It’s hard to tell. Maybe not? No promises.”

He glanced apologetically at Louie, who was sitting at the edge of the wagon with Dewey, peeling oranges and dropping the peels out the back and onto the ground. They’d be arriving at the next village any minute now, and they’d be able to get more food, so eating a little extra was okay, and even encouraged.

Huey knew that he’d lost weight since being captured. Two weeks of sporadic food intake had taken its toll on all of them. Dewey had become leaner, but it wasn’t as noticeable due to the muscle he had built up from years of sword training and general athleticism.

And Louie was skinny, but he’d been that way before. He was an inch or so shorter than Huey and Dewey, and his shirt hung off him a little awkwardly, since it didn’t quite fit. Huey knew that it was all just more proof of the way he’d grown up. Not getting enough food in his early years could account for how short he was, and having no money to buy proper clothes solved the mystery of the baggy shirt.

Louie was skinny, yes, but maybe a better word would be small. Small in more ways than just stature. It was there in how he held himself, in how he was ready to disappear at a moment’s notice. It was there in how easy it was to lose track of him if you weren’t paying attention. If Louie didn’t want to be found, then you wouldn’t find him. It was as simple as that.

It almost made Huey want to tie them all together, so he knew where they both were at all times. It made him want to shove food in Louie’s direction every chance he got. However, if he shoved anything at Louie it would most certainly push him away.

And Huey needed him to stay. He needed Dewey to stay.

It scared him, how much he wanted them to be what Dewey thought they were. Brothers. Huey had grown up alone, had always been alone in everything, but his life hadn’t been terrible, really. He’d had enough food, of course, and he’d had a place to live, but it hadn’t been enough. Why hadn’t it been enough? Huey always thought that it should’ve been.

But there had been plenty of things that he’d wanted. He’d wanted friends, a family, a mother or a father, but those things had really been more wishes than wants. They passed by, and he’d never known what exactly he was wishing for anyway.

This thing, though, this new idea that Dewey and Louie could be his brothers, made him want. His wish to the shooting star had been a simple and easy decision to make.

Please, let it be true.

Only time would tell, but it was unclear if time or the universe or the stars were on their side. Only time would tell, but time had always loved its secrets.

“The village plan hasn’t changed, right?” Dewey asked, and it startled Huey out of his brooding thoughts.

“No, it hasn’t,” Huey answered.

“If it isn’t broken, don’t fix it, I guess,” Louie said distractedly. He’d finally peeled the whole orange and was preparing to eat it.

“That doesn’t mean that it can’t be improved,” said Huey, because it was something that had been drilled into his head back at the lab. “So if anyone has any suggestions…”

Louie shook his head, apparently unwilling to talk while chewing orange slices.

“I don’t have any ideas,” said Dewey, who had no such reservations and was speaking with his mouth full. “We’ll be fine, I think.”

And they were.

The next stop went off without a hitch, aside from being just as terrifying as the first one. Launchpad had a good amount of money, surprisingly, and had no problem with handing it out, long as they also bought some things that he wanted. So they went down the main streets buying food and when they were done they refilled their water at a well. They still stayed separate – which was nerve-wracking and seemed somehow fundamentally wrong – but every now and then Huey was reassured by a flash of green or blue in the corner of his eye.

They made it back to the wagon without issue, and Huey crossed that village off of his mental checklist. One down, two to go.

Much like the past two weeks, the next few days went by in both a flash, and dragged on for what could have been centuries. He spent most of that time observing his new friends/almost-brothers.

It hit Huey, sometime between one village and the next, that he’d never known these kids except as captives: as children running from criminals. He really didn’t know what they were like in normal life, and how could he? It bothered him – knowing so little and missing so many pieces – so Huey did his best to pay attention to every single thing.

Dewey was constantly moving, tapping his foot or bobbing his head. Anything, really. He made noise, he hummed, and he was always starting conversations, but that could be because he was used to a more talkative traveling companion.

Other than that, another thing that Huey had come to notice about Dewey was the odd intensity of his friendship. Being on the run as they were, it was easy to see the nervousness that came when they had to split up, and how his hand was always hovering just above the hilt of his sword. Dewey and that piece of metal were practically attached at the hip – pun intended – and he wielded it with a sort of desperation that Huey recognized.

Dewey held a sword in much the same way that Huey held a book, as if his identity was caught up between the pages, like facts and knowledge were all that he was. It was mirrored in the way that Dewey was a little too quick to throw himself in front of them, a shield against the world.

In many ways, Louie was the opposite. He was eerily still and quiet at times, and Huey got the unsettling feeling that every move he made was intentional somehow; planned out, even though it couldn’t be.

More than that, Louie carried himself with a deceptive sort of nonchalance, gliding through life in such a way that it made you wonder if he was paying attention to any of it, but it only appeared to be disinterest at a surface level. If anyone bothered to look closer, they’d see the constant awareness. Louie observed. Maybe it came from a life where zoning out yielded terrible consequences, or maybe it was just how he was; it could be both.

It felt like a triumph, the few times that Louie had let his guard down around them. Louie’s tentative trust was the type of thing that Huey could wear as a badge of honor, alongside Dewey’s easy friendship and utter devotion.

And Louie was smart, but in a different way than Huey was. Where he himself was all cold calculations and straightforward facts, Louie had a flexible sort of wisdom that came from experiencing the world and understanding it in ways that Huey couldn’t. If he wanted to oversimplify, he’d call it street smarts.

The day before they reached the second village in their line up of three – it was two days after leaving the lake – was the two-week anniversary of Dewey and Louie’s capture.

“We should have a party,” Dewey said as they laid side by side on the wagon floor, and he was grinning. “Louie’s in charge of invitations.”

Louie didn’t even move as he spoke, “You’d be very disappointed in the guest list, then.”

“Can I be the planner?” Huey asked. “I’ve always wanted to plan a party.”

Magica used to host parties, whenever she happened to be at the house. Huey hadn’t been allowed to leave his room during those, and he had never seen the guests. It didn’t bother him much then, but now he wondered if the Beagle Boys had been there, or any of the other monsters chasing them.

“Of course!” Dewey answered enthusiastically, seemingly happy that they were playing along. “And I’ll be the entertainment.”

They woke up in the morning right outside the next village. Once again, they followed their plan, and things went well. Huey stuffed his backpack as full as it could be, and the others carried as much as they could without falling over.

The only hiccup for that trip was that Louie was late.

Because he’d gotten lost.

Huey and Dewey had waited at the end of the village near the wagon for nearly 20 minutes, becoming more and more worried by the second. Huey had been about to charge right back down the streets searching when Louie appeared, walking swiftly toward them with an irritated expression on his face. It was obvious what had happened.

“Not a word,” said Louie, but they had plenty.

“Aye, aye, captain,” Huey said dryly, too relieved to be mad.

“More like captain lost,” said Dewey.

It was two days later that they arrived at their last village, and that was when things finally went wrong.

“Can you believe we’re almost there?” Dewey asked in an awed voice. He was leaning halfway out the back of the wagon, enjoying the sight of passing fields of wheat.

“I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that we’re going,” said Huey.

There had been a few moments here and there where what they were doing caught up with him, and in those moments he felt insane. So he mostly tried to ignore it and just focus on the next step. It was better that way.

“What if there’s nothing?” Louie’s voice drifted over from where he was sitting against the wall, staring vaguely in their direction.

There was silence, because of course they’d all been thinking that same question. They each had a lot riding on this. They’d put aside their lives for it; they’d bet all that they had. Would it even be true?

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” said Huey. One thing at a time.

Louie looked worried, but he nodded anyway.

The closer they got to their end destination, the more tense they all became. Tense with anticipation, with fear, with excitement. The air was thick with it.

“We’ll have to say bye to Launchpad,” Dewey said sadly. The two of them had grown quite close, it seemed, but after they left the next village it would be simpler to go on foot.

“Maybe you’ll see him again,” said Louie, surprisingly the first to offer comfort. “He seems like the type that’s hard to shake.”

“Yeah,” said Dewey. “I wish we could’ve told him more, you know? Or explained why we have to leave, or where we’re going…”

“It’s safer for all of us this way,” said Huey gently.

“And he never asked,” Louie said, voice relaxed and amused.

Launchpad never ceased to amaze, or amuse. After having seen – experienced – the worst of the world, LP had really come out of nowhere to represent all that was good. The only reason they’d gotten so far was because of him.

The wagon stopped right outside their last village, and their loyal driver came around to meet them as they got out for the last time.

“Where do you want me to wait?” Launchpad asked, smiling and eager to please.

Unexpected emotion tripped Huey up.

“Nowhere,” Huey said eloquently, mentally reprimanding himself afterwards.

Dewey stepped forward to save him.

“What we mean to say,” said Dewey, “is that this is our last stop.”

“Go,” said Louie. “Be free.”

Launchpad looked momentarily confused – a familiar expression – before he smiled sorrowfully. “It was an honor, little dudes.”

Dewey leapt at him for a hug, and the big duck crushed him to his chest. Louie took a small step back, as if afraid he’d be next.

“Bye Launchpad,” Huey said when Dewey rejoined them on the ground.

“See you around,” Louie added, and LP waved.

“Hope you get home safe,” said Launchpad.

A lump formed in Huey’s throat, choking whatever he might have said in response. Their driver had never really known where he was taking them, but was it possible that his words were right, anyways?

“Thanks,” Dewey said, smiling a watery smile. “We will.”

Launchpad hopped back onto the wagon and turned around the way they’d come. He waved goodbye until the wagon blocked his vision, and Huey waved back.

“You guys are saps.” Louie’s voice was steady, but he was blinking a bit too fast for it to be normal. “It’s disgusting.”

“Oh, please.” Dewey grinned and ruffled Louie’s hair. “You’re all heart, Lou. Don’t even try to deny it.”

Huey suppressed a laugh at the disgruntled look on Louie’s face, made even more hilarious by his now disheveled hair.

“Time to go,” said Huey, before a fight could break out. “Meet you at the end.”

They’d done this three times already, the being separated thing, and it never got any easier – just more familiar, he guessed.

Huey held the small bag of coins – the last thing LP had given them – as he walked down the main road. He knew the Louie and Dewey would be spread out by now, but he couldn’t help but keep an eye out for them anyway.

He bought bread, even though it’d made up a lot of their diet for the past week or so. It was cheap and easy, and exactly what they needed in their complicated life. He carefully put the wrapped bread into the backpack, and he never did get to buy anything else.

A voice called out suddenly, a voice that was angry, a voice that Huey recognized, and he froze, instantly on guard.

“Wha— You!”

Against his better judgment and ignoring all his instincts, Huey turned around, and there was Bigtime Beagle, stomping toward him at an alarming pace, radiating pure fury. It almost didn't compute, at first, and it didn't seem to make sense. But that didn't make it any less real.

They were in a pretty large village, but still the crowds were thin, so there was no one on hand to hide behind and nothing in the beagle’s way. Heart simultaneously in his throat and in his feet, Huey spun around and did the one thing he’d become very practiced at during the past two weeks: he ran.

His heartbeats echoed in his ears, his breaths came in shallow gasps, and each footfall sent a jolt of fear shooting up his spine. Running, running, running. They’d been running all this time, and someone had finally caught up with them.

Where before he was passive about it, now he was frantically scanning the street for his friends, and by sheer luck he found them. Dewey was standing at a booth on the side of the road, and Louie was a few meters away on the opposite side. They were unaware of the very immediate danger that they were in, and Huey tried to get his voice to work, to warn them, but all that came out was a strangled sort of wheeze.

As it was, he crashed into Dewey full force, and his friend just barely managed to keep his footing as Huey coughed violently, trying to dislodge what was clearly panic in his throat.

“Whoa, Huey, what’s—” Dewey’s voice cut off and his breath hitched as he saw who was chasing them, and without further ado he grabbed Huey’s sleeve and yanked him along as they – once again – ran.

Dewey went straight for Louie, and with suck certainty that the blue-clad duck had to have been keeping tabs on him. Louie turned around before they got there, having sensed something about their presence – possibly the utter air of panic surrounding them – and his eyes widened. He threw a handful of coins at the vendor he’d been talking to before snatching a bag of oranges off the table. Huey grabbed his hand as they ran by, and they fell back into the routine of fleeing danger side by side. At least this time they weren’t in a forest in the dead of night.

“Are there any more?” Louie gasped out, glancing over his shoulder at Bigtime, who was currently neither gaining nor advancing.

Huey shook his head and finally found his voice. “I didn’t— didn’t see any.”

“The other two have got to be around here somewhere,” Dewey said breathlessly. “What do we do?”

Huey was about to express that he had no flipping idea when he felt his foot catch on uneven ground, and he went crashing down, causing Dewey and Louie to stumble and cry out. They got him to his feet quickly enough, but it was still too long. Bigtime was even closer behind them, shouting angrily.

“The well!” Louie exclaimed suddenly, pointing beyond the deserted side street they were on to the ring of stacked stone bricks signifying the well.

“What about it?” Dewey asked, one hand on his sword as they ran.

“Just— come on!”

Huey decided to trust in whatever Louie was scheming up, and they directed their frenzied attention to their new destination.

They didn’t run fast enough.

Dewey went down hard as Bigtime grabbed the back of his jacket, and all three of them screamed. Dewey was immediately struggling, kicking at every part of his attacker that was in range as Huey and Louie attempted to pry Bigtime off him. It was a cacophony of noise and sound. No one quite knew what they were saying, but they were very passionate about saying it.

Bigtime yelped suddenly and reared back, throwing both Huey and Louie to the ground. Dewey sprung up, sword in hand, though it was unclear how he’d unsheathed it. Bigtime backed up until he was against the well, which only came up to the middle of his back. All of them were breathing hard, and Louie was coughing lightly from having had the wind knocked out of him.

“You dirty little brats!” Bigtime seethed, glaring at the sword, the only thing keeping him at bay. “Do you know what you’ve done? You made me look like a moron!”

“Like you need help with that,” Dewey scoffed, sword held steadily in front of him, eyes focused.

“Why, you—”

The beagles voice cut off with a startled cry as Louie – who Huey hadn’t even seen move – swung his bag of oranges with both hands and all the strength in his body. The bag connected with Bigtime’s face with such force that juice sprayed out, and the criminal tipped backward into the well, his screaming cutting off with a distant, echoing splash.

Huey sat frozen on the ground in the wake of the chaos, which couldn’t have lasted more than five minutes. Dewey let out an incredulous laugh, and Louie dropped the bag of oranges, grimacing at his juice-stained and sticky hands. It should’ve been a happy moment, but something heavy was sinking into Huey’s chest. My fault, he thought. It’s all my fault and I couldn’t even help.

He was utterly useless – sitting on the floor, or running away, and overall never facing this problem that he’d dragged them all into. Magica was after him. Why couldn’t he be strong and handle it himself? Why was he insisting on keeping Dewey and Louie close? It was so very selfish of him. They didn’t deserve any of this; it was Huey’s problem to solve, his broken life to fix.

It struck him then – too late, always too late – that he should’ve led Bigtime away from his brothers – brothers? – and that it would’ve been better that way. If they got him, would they still chase after Dewey and Louie? Could the whole swarm of criminals be stopped if only Huey gave himself up?

Bigtime couldn’t have been here alone, Huey thought with sudden clarity, and that was what finally got him to his feet to interrupt the celebration.

“Louie, you were— you were like a fruit ninja! Oh my—"

Huey cut Dewey off by grabbing his arm urgently.

“We need to hide somewhere,” said Huey, rushed and tense.

Louie cleared his throat pointedly, and Huey turned in time to see him gesture grandly to something in the distance. It turned out to be a small wooden barn stood between a row of houses. It was an odd place for a barn, sure, but it would suffice.

Despite everything, the prospect of staying in a barn made Dewey’s eyes light up, and they set out swiftly for the structure, only leaving behind a bag of smashed oranges and a beagle stuck in a well.

Chapter Text

Dewey grunted as he pushed the sliding wood door to the barn closed. It was stupidly heavy, which managed to be both reassuring and worrying. On the one hand, it wouldn’t be easily opened by their enemies, but on the other hand, they had sort of backed themselves into a corner.

Already, Dewey swore that he could sense danger closing in on them from all directions. He was experiencing the slow kind of dread that came with hiding themselves away, unable to see what was coming. Needless to say, it had them all on edge.

“How’d they find us?” Dewey hissed in a low voice, back pressed up against the shut door.

The barn was pretty dimly it, setting horribly appropriate mood lighting for the situation they’d found themselves in. Huey was pacing on the hay covered floor, running a shaking hand through his messy hair.

“I don’t know,” Huey’s voice came out breathlessly, sounding almost more panicked and desperate than Dewey felt. “I don’t know.”

“It was either sheer luck, or they had some idea.” Louie was sitting on a large sack of wheat against the wall, and his voice was venturing into hysterics. “May—maybe they followed us.”

Dewey thought of Huey’s apparent paranoia – the feeling that someone was watching them – and he thought of eyes staring out from the shadows. Had they ever really escaped?

“What do we do?” Dewey directed his question at Huey, whose careful planning and abundant knowledge had gotten them this far.

They needed a miracle; they were too close to the end to fail now. Time was running out, and Dewey couldn’t come up with well thought out plans like Huey; he couldn’t see every angle like Louie could. The best he could do was watch their backs while they did their thing.

“Huey?” Dewey prompted, and the duck in question lifted watery eyes to look at him.

Huey’s expression shifted through a million different emotions before settling on something like resolve. But it was a kind of resolve that seemed wrong, the kind that made Dewey’s stomach twist.

“You two go,” said Huey, taking off his backpack and setting it on the floor, oblivious to the slowly dawning horror on the others’ faces. “And I’ll stay.”

There was a long moment of stunned, heavy silence.

“What?” Louie croaked, with a voice like broken glass.

Huey’s gaze flicked over to him for just a second before settling somewhere on the wall.

He’s serious, Dewey thought, and something in him burned.

“What?” Dewey didn’t know what he sounded like, he only knew of the chasm in his chest and the fire in his heart, wild and raging. Louie’s head snapped up, and Huey flinched. “How could you say that?”

“Dewey—”

“No!” He cut Huey off. “We get there together. That’s the plan!”

“It can be improved.” Huey hugged his arms against his stomach, voice small but firm. “This is how I improve it.”

“No it’s—no it’s not.” A laugh slipped out of Dewey, high-pitched and fast, without humor. “This is how you get captured, Huey. This is how we lose you.”

Huey said nothing, and Dewey stepped forward until he could see the moisture in Huey’s eyes, unwilling to back down.

“Why would you even suggest—”

“Because I’m the one they’re after!” Huey shouted suddenly, eyes blazing and fists clenched. “This has never been your fight. It’s mine!”

“Not anymore,” Dewey snapped. “Not since we got thrown into the wagon with you, not since I found out that you’re my brother, not ever again!”

Huey shook his head violently, glaring daggers right back at him. Dewey had the vague thought that he’d never seen Huey this angry before, but he pushed it aside.

“And you’re gonna bail?” Dewey poked a finger at Huey’s chest, and the latter slapped his hand away.

“I’m giving you a chance to get out!”

“Guys, come on.” Louie appeared next to them, on the sidelines of their fight, voice strained and eyes worried. “We need to think of something else.”

Dewey ignored him, his eyes boring accusingly into Huey’s.

“You’d leave your family?” Dewey asked lowly. “Or did you never really think it was true?”

“I told you already,” said Huey, and his voice finally broke. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t want to find out?”

“That’s not—”

“Dewey—” Louie started, but Dewey snapped his head toward him and cut him off.

“And you,” Dewey said, angry and hurt and so, so scared. “You never believed in the first place! You never even tried!”

He didn’t know what he was saying, didn’t know why he was suddenly so furious, and he didn’t know how to stop.

Louie blinked slowly, one hand hovering in the air where he’d started to put it on Dewey’s shoulder, and then his gaze cut to the ground. He stepped back and let his arm fall back to hang stiffly at his side, silent.

What are you doing? A horrified voice echoed in his head, and it sounded like a mixture of everyone whose opinion had ever mattered to him. What have you done?

“It’s my problem,” Huey reiterated, teeth clenched.

“It’s ours.” Dewey felt something wet drop onto his hand, and he finally realized that he was crying. “Why can’t you see that?”

“All I see is a way to fix it, and this is it.”

Dewey let out a strangled scream, turning away and pacing angrily. He’d never been good with words. How was he messing it up so badly? Why did he always mess it up?

“Are we really that easy to leave behind?” Dewey finally asked, facing firmly away from Huey and staring at the ground, watching the tears drip down.

And that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? It was Dewey the orphan, always afraid of being tossed aside. Dewey the fighter, who couldn’t fathom having no one left to fight for. Dewey the brother, who only wanted his family to be together.

Deep down, Dewey knew that it wasn’t a selfish decision that Huey was making. Quite the opposite, really, but it couldn’t happen. If Dewey’s only purpose was to keep them safe, then he’d do it until he died.

“It’s not easy.” Huey’s quiet voice floated over from behind him, soft and fragile. “It’s the hardest thing I’ll ever do.”

“You won’t do it.” Dewey turned around, and both of them were crying now. “Huey, you can’t.”

Huey’s face crumpled, and he squeezed his eyes shut, wiping at them furiously.

“I know.”

“Why, then?” Dewey’s voice was desperate and wavering.

“It’s just— It’s my fault. All of it.” Huey opened his eyes and stared at him miserably, and Dewey found himself drifting closer. “I got captured, and it’s the reason you got captured, too. They’re after me. I’m tired, Dewey, I want it to stop.”

Dewey was sure that nothing on the planet could’ve kept him from hugging his brother just then. He crushed him to his chest with waning strength, knowing that Huey, like Louie, had only ever known how to be alone. Dewey swore that they’d never be that way again.

“I thought we covered this,” said Dewey, with just a hint of amusement. “No blame game, right?”

Huey laughed quietly, stepping back and wiping any remaining tears away.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” Huey said weakly.

“We can’t ever make things easy on ourselves, can we?” Dewey sniffed and picked up Huey’s backpack, handing it back to him. “We need a new plan. One where we all make it.”

“Okay,” Huey said tiredly, settling the bag on his shoulders. “We’ll do it your way. I’m sorry for— going off the rails, I guess.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have yelled.” Dewey quirked a grin. “Especially since we’re supposed to be in hiding.”

Huey ducked his head and chuckled.

“And Louie, I’m sorry for— Louie?” Dewey had turned to address his younger brother, intent on apologizing, but Louie was gone.

Louie was gone.

Dewey whirled around to check behind him just in case, a knot forming in his stomach when there was nothing there. He felt cold all over.

Where is he?

Huey was checking behind a hay bale, as if Louie would just be chilling back there for some reason, but he came back empty handed, wearing an expression of barely restrained panic.

“Did you see him leave?” Huey asked.

“No!”

He would’ve known if the door had opened, he would’ve heard it, so how on earth did Louie disappear?

Pieces of the hay that Dewey was walking on tickled his ankles as he paced. They were rolling on the floor, blowing in the wind—

Wait. Wind?

Dewey scrambled suddenly to the wall, following the breeze, and there it was. Hidden behind a rusty old farm machine was a small square opening, presumably for smaller barn animals if the barn had been in use. It was just big enough to fit through.

Huey walked up next to him, breathing irregularly. “Do you think…?”

Dewey nodded. Of course the first thing that Louie would have done upon entering the barn was find all possible exits and escapes, and of course he could’ve left without drawing attention to himself. It wouldn’t have been hard, what with the intense argument that had been going on, not to mention Louie’s natural talent for sneaking around.

Dewey was filled with sudden guilt. In trying desperately to get one brother to stay, he’d pushed another one away. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, and he saw Huey turn to him anxiously out of the corner of his eye.

“Where do you—”

And Dewey never did get to hear the question that Huey had started to ask.

Because that’s when the screaming started.

Chapter Text

Two weeks and three days after stealing an apple from a girl on the street, Louie walked silently out of a barn, making what had to have been his stupidest move in recent memory. He shouldn’t have left, and he knew that, but he’d never been good at watching things fall apart; he’d always been too aware of his own inability to put it back together.

Two weeks and three days after stealing an apple from a girl on the street, Louie smacked a criminal in the face with a bag of oranges and sent him tumbling down a well. They’d been found. Trouble had finally caught up with them.

Huey had tried to give himself up, and Dewey had finally had enough of being the only one who seemed to believe. He’d tried to build an anchor to keep Huey with them, an anchor made of accusations and fear. Louie had never cared enough about anyone to care if they were fighting, and it scared him that now he did.

Two weeks and three days after stealing an apple from a girl on the street, Louie continued the ongoing trend of running away from his problems. Huey and Dewey were fighting, and it brought Louie straight back to that alley with the group of thugs who’d been after their little bag of food that he’d stolen. All that Louie had had to do was make them fight, because he knew that it weakened them as a group, and once they’d started fighting, he’d run away. He ran now, too, because while so many things had changed, this one thing was too deeply ingrained.

Louie had tried to stop the fighting. He’d tried to do a lot of things.

‘You never believed in the first place! You never even tried!’

Somehow, Louie made it back to the well. The bag of squished oranges was still laying on the ground dejectedly, and it took several seconds of staring at it for Louie to realize that he shouldn’t be there. He never should’ve left the barn.

Belatedly, he realized that he’d been crying silently for a while now, and he wiped at his face halfheartedly. He took a deep, trembling breath, trying to calm himself enough to think clearly.

Louie stepped closer to the well, bracing both hands against the cold, damp stone that circled it. When he looked down, the well was empty. It took him a minute to remember what was wrong with the well being empty, and by the time his sluggish, panicking brain got a clue, it was too late.

Large hands grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, and he was lifted swiftly and easily off the ground. Harsh laughter sounded from behind him, coming from more sources than he was entirely comfortable with. Louie’s heart was beating loudly in his ears, causing the laughter to echo strangely in his head, like some kind of nightmare. The person holding him was eerily silent.

Louie took in great, gasping breaths as he twisted violently in the unrelenting grip, kicking himself mentally for the stupid mistake he’d just made. He strained to look over his shoulder, and he caught a glimpse of dark-feathers and a neutral expression. Falcon Graves, presumably, was the one currently holding him hostage. Perfect.

Behind Graves were the three Beagle Boys, either grinning maliciously or outright glaring. Louie felt his hands start to tingle, and was unsure if it was caused by fear or the tight grip that the falcon had on his shoulders. He really was in over his head this time.

“Is this the one?” Graves asked, and his voice was monotone and professional; cold and detached.

It was somehow worse to hear the complete lack of emotion in the falcon’s voice than to hear the anger in the Beagle Boys’. Louie renewed his frantic struggling, trying to free his arms.

“No, that ain’t him,” said Bigtime, scowling and still looking soggy.

It was likely that the whole whacking-him-with-a-bag-of-oranges thing had now caused the beagle to have a personal vendetta against Louie specifically.

Sure enough, Bigtime smirked, an angry glint in his eyes. “But he’ll do.”

Louie winced.

Falcon Graves didn’t nod or acknowledge the statement in any way. He simply threw Louie over onto one of his shoulders, holding him there firmly with one unfairly large hand. Now able to see behind the falcon, Louie was forced to face the burning resentment that was present in the eyes of the Beagle Boys. If nothing else, villains sure knew how to hold a grudge.

Louie’s gaze darted to the distant barn for a split second, mind racing. Would Dewey and Huey come for him? From what he knew of them, they probably would, but did he even want them to? They’d be in danger if they came, they’d be walking right into the hands of all the enemies they’d made. Some of which they hadn’t even met yet.

And Louie cared about his friends more than he’d ever cared about anything, but it was life’s great tragedy that loving someone might put them in danger, that friendship could cause them to be hurt. How did people do it? How did anyone summon the courage to walk around caring and act like it wasn’t an open wound?

Louie blinked his eyes forcefully against the well of frustrated and terrified tears. Maybe he was just being dramatic, but recent events left him feeling like he had the right to be that way.

Dewey’s usually the dramatic one, he thought, somewhat hysterically. After all, Dewey had been the one to leap into a fight that wasn’t his own to try and save Louie’s sorry tailfeathers. Needless to say, his current situation was reminding him of the first time he’d been captured by these people, about two weeks and three days ago. He had struggled then, too, silent where Dewey was loud.

Loud.

‘Yell if you need help. You too, don’t be like last time.’

The words floated gracefully into Louie’s panicked mind as he recalled a conversation, from the very first time they’d decided on splitting up for real. Dewey had said it, because Dewey maybe knew him better than he’d thought, and he’d said it loud enough to echo through time, it seemed.

And when Dewey had said that, Louie had promised, even though he’d never made a promise before. He couldn’t bring himself to break it.

Two weeks and three days ago, Louie went quietly. But not today. Today, he screamed.

“Dewey!” Louie shouted, voice cracking under the strain of it, squirming in his captors hold, eyes fixed on the ground so as not to give away his friends’ location. “Huey!”

It was late in the day, and some kind of event was happening on the opposite side of the village, so out of sheer bad luck there was no one else around to hear his cries. Louie still shouted his friend’s names anyway, unsure of what exactly he wanted them to do. Did he want them to save him? Did he want them to run?

Mostly, he just wanted them to be aware that they had to make a decision about it.

Falcon Graves growled, stopped short, and grabbed Louie harshly by the wrist, yanking him out to hold in front of him and cutting off his yelling. A sharp pain shot down his arm, and Louie let out a strangled gasp, weakly attempting to pry the hand off of him. Graves just scowled at him before maneuvering him against his chest and covering his mouth with one hand. Louie kicked his legs violently, his shouting now muffled, but it had no effect.

The falcon continued walking, and the Beagle Boys followed closely behind, jeering and laughing cruelly. Louie tried to bite the hand over his beak, and he tried to wiggle his way out, but nothing worked. He kept trying though, because Huey and Dewey wouldn’t want him to go without a fight.

After several panicky, pain-filled minutes of walking – his wrist hurt - they reached the outskirts of the village, where the grass was tall and suspiciously dead-looking. The small party of criminals went straight for a medium sized stone building that on first glance appeared abandoned. It was covered in ivy, and small bits of the stone walls had crumbled away over time. There were no windows on the front wall where the heavy wooden door was, and even without seeing the inside of the house, Louie could guess that it had recently acquired some new occupants.

Bouncer rushed ahead to open the door – it creaked and groaned on its hinges – and Louie was carried inside the room. He had to blink to adjust his eyes to the dim light, and once they did, he almost wished that he’d just closed them instead. Although maybe not, because Louie had always preferred to actually see the danger in front of him, of which there was plenty at the moment.

Ma Beagle stood in the center of the building – the whole house was only one room – beneath the only lantern, addressing maybe ten other people. Many of them were more beagles closely resembling the Beagle Boys, but Louie could also see a dog dressed in pirate clothes with a sword hanging at his side. The pirate’s sword was different than Dewey’s, but Louie didn’t know nearly enough about swords to say anything about those differences.

In the corner of the room was a smaller grey bird fiddling with something that smoked, and he had looked up and smirked when they came in. Other than that, everyone else was just your generic everyday henchman, and Louie didn’t have the patience or mental space right now to give them the time of day.

Somewhere behind them, the door slammed shut, and Louie’s heart jumped against his chest before sinking. This one wasn’t going to be easy.

Ma Beagle didn’t acknowledge him – didn’t even look at him – until Falcon Graves literally tossed him at her feet. Louie winced as he caught himself on his hands. The wrist that Graves had held him by was throbbing and sending sharp pains shooting up his arm. He sat back on his knees and cradled it to his chest before snapping his gaze up to Ma Beagle, who was – predictably – scowling. Louie summoned the courage to glare.

“And which one are you?” Ma Beagle drawled, leaning forward menacingly. “The swordsman, the thief, or the royal?”

Maybe two out of three, Louie thought, but he rather liked being alive, so he didn’t say it out loud. Information and knowledge were power – power that he did not want his captors to have. So, he resolved to stay quiet.

Ma Beagle began to walk around him slowly in examination.

“No sword, so you’re no fighter,” she said, coming to a stop in front of him with a gloating grin. “And you’re too rough around the edges to be Magica’s kid.”

His resolve broke.

“Huey’s not Magica’s anything,” Louie sneered, and the band of criminals around them looked amused. A few chuckled or cooed.

His body was achingly tense, and though his knees hurt, he didn’t move off of them. He’d always hated being surrounded.

“The thief, then,” Ma Beagle continued, dark amusement coating her voice. She reached into her bag and slowly pulled something out. “Recognize this?”

She dangled the object a few inches from his face, and Louie’s already strained breathing hitched.

It was the knife.

It probably would’ve been smarter to have taken with them when they’d escaped, but of course, they hadn’t, and as soon as she’d seen it, Ma Beagle would’ve known that it had been stolen and used to help them get out. She now knew that it had been him who’d taken it.

She came closer with the knife in hand, dipping it down to lightly rest it on the top of his head. Louie fought against the swirl of fear and anger in his stomach, and tried hunching closer to the floor, much as it humiliated him.

“Bouncer,” Ma Beagle said, and it was a thinly veiled order.

Her largest son came up behind him and gripped his arms, lifting him and setting him on his feet, holding him firmly in place with such a strong grip that Louie was sure he’d have bruises on his arms later. Louie grunted, glaring in a way that he hoped helped to cover his terror.

As the knife moved slowly towards his face again, Louie ducked his head, and he caught a flash of movement in one of the windows at the back of the house. Everyone in the room was focused on him, which was lucky, because there was Huey and Dewey peeking up over the edge. Louie’s eyes widened in shock.

Then the knife touched his head again and he flinched violently, having been unprepared and distracted. His gaze flitted over to the window again, just in time to see Dewey grab Huey’s arm as the latter prepared to launch himself into the room. Both of them appeared furious, and seconds away from intervening, which would certainly end in disaster.

Louie, in a grand moment of panic, spoke out loud.

“Wait!” He shouted in a strangled voice, eyes cutting up to Ma Beagle in an attempt to make everyone think it was directed at her. Huey and Dewey had gone still, though, so he knew they’d gotten the message.

Ma Beagle simply chuckled, tapping him once on his beak with the knife before moving away.

“Keep in mind,” said Ma Beagle, “that the only way you’re useful to me now, is as bait.”

Huh. She’d found a use for him after all.

“That is, assuming that they come for you,” Ma Beagle continued, slipping the knife back into her bag and smiling cruelly. “You were alone when my boys found you, weren’t you?”

It was obviously a rhetorical question.

And they had come for him, but would they be able to get him out of this mess?

Bouncer dropped him less than gently back on the floor, and Ma Beagle finally shifted her focus away from Louie in order to address the room as a whole.

“I want most of you dimwits out lookin’ for the brats, and two you posted outside the door.” She gestured and pointed importantly. “Graves and I have to go meet up with her highness.”

Ma Beagle had said the title sarcastically, and it was clear who she was referring to.

Magica.

Louie’s heart raced and his stomach flipped. Once upon a time, the hardest thing he’d had to do was escape a wagon with four captors, and now there was a whole brigade.

“Karnage!” Ma Beagle barked, and the pirate-looking dog stepped forward. “Do you think you can handle one restrained child?”

Restrained? Louie was mildly confused, until he saw Bouncer and Burger coming towards him with a long coil of rope.

“It would be my pleasure,” the dog – Karnage – answered, and he performed an exaggerated bow. “He will not escape the clutched of Don Karnage!”

This guy belongs on a stage, not here, Louie thought irritably. He was almost insulted that this was the person meant to be watching him, but then the ropes were wrapping around him, pinning his arms to his sides, and he no longer cared. His wrist hurt, his breathing was restricted, and he felt more vulnerable than ever. Tears pricked at his eyes, but they were the kind that were easy to blink away.

“Alright, move out, all of you!” Ma Beagle shouted and gestured pointedly towards the door.

As all of the beagles began shuffling for the exit, Louie was struck by how stupid of a plan that was. They were spreading their forces thin and sending most of their people out to search the village. Did they really think that Huey and Dewey wouldn’t come for him? Were they so sure of it that they didn’t even consider that maybe they already had?

Then he thought of the way that Ma Beagle looked at her own children, as if they were little more than strangers. There was a coldness there, one that Louie had seen plenty of times before. He’d seen it in every group of thugs he’d ever run into, the same ones that he’d been able to manipulate so easily. Loyalties shifted, and trust was easily broken, but now he thought that it might not have ever been that simple. Maybe there hadn’t been loyalty or trust in those groups, not really. It was only ever a surface level feeling. It was all for show. It was all fake.

Maybe the real thing wasn’t quite so fragile.

Ma Beagle was sending out her best defenses to search the village because she couldn’t fathom what would bring someone running towards danger. She couldn’t fathom family.

Privately, Louie smiled, and for once it didn’t feel like broken glass.

Chapter Text

Huey had never really gotten angry before. Sure, he’d been frustrated or annoyed, irritated even, but he’d never had a reason to be as irate as he currently was. He guessed that it was just a side effect of having siblings.

The fight with Dewey had been stupid. Huey didn’t know what exactly he’d been thinking, only that it was his responsibility to end it all, if he could find a way. The best way had seemed to be giving himself up to the enemy, since he thought that maybe then they’d leave his brothers alone.

But he’d been wrong, he knew now. It would have been merciful to let Louie and Dewey go, and these people were without mercy.

So, he’d gotten angry during that fight with Dewey, but it was the kind of anger that came from a place of hurt and fear and guilt, the kind that lived somewhere near his stomach. The anger that he felt now – watching all of those people taunt Louie, and hurt him – was all consuming. It felt like fire, starting in his chest and growing outwards until he was sure that everyone could feel the heat.

He could sense Dewey sitting tense beside him, and it was a kind of tension that he usually adopted right before drawing his sword. Huey absentmindedly wondered when he’d learned to recognize that, or when he’d learned to read him so well.

Because he had come to recognize that Dewey’s emotions worked differently than his own did. Dewey’s were like an underlying current, always close to the surface. His feelings showed clearly in everything he did, and it didn’t take much guessing. When he was angry, the current got stronger, almost electric where Huey’s was hot.

In this moment, Dewey looked just as furious and worried as Huey was, and he wondered vaguely if he would feel a shock if he touched Dewey’s arm; he wondered if Dewey would be burned if he touched his.

Getting a read on Louie was a little more complex. Any ordinary person would not be able to tell what he was feeling, but if you spent any amount of time with him, it became the easiest thing in the world. His emotions were very internal, and yet whatever he was feeling tended to radiate gently outwards, invisible to anyone who wasn’t looking for it. Louie didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, but it was sewn into every fiber of his being, if you looked close enough.

And currently, they couldn’t be looking much closer. It was easy to tell that Louie was scared, sitting tied up in a room full of their greatest enemies. He kept shooting nervous, secret glances over at them, and Huey wanted nothing more than to charge in and burn the place to the ground, but Louie had told them to wait. They’d gotten the message loud and clear, even though Louie had made it seem like he was addressing Ma Beagle.

She’d been holding a knife and it had been way too close to Louie—

But Louie was right. Huey couldn’t fight ten criminals and win, no matter how angry he was.

Dewey pulled him back down into the bush below the window as the majority of the room’s occupants filed out the door on the opposite side. They laid low in the dirt – trying to keep their breathing quiet – and listened carefully until the sounds of footsteps and whispers faded into nothing.

Finally, they shuffled back into a standing position to peek through the window, which was really just a gaping hole, since the glass had long since broken. Louie’s gaze snapped over to them from where he was sitting beneath the only lantern in the room, and he smiled a tiny, strained smile. Huey tried to smile back, though he was sure it looked more like a grimace.

Next to Louie was – What was his name? Oh, right – Don Karnage. The pirate had drawn his sword and was performing several flashy moves, which Huey noticed valued style over effectiveness. He was humming.

Huey shared a look with Dewey, silently trying to figure out what to do next. They had better odds now that the majority of their enemies had left. It had been a tactically unsound decision, in Huey’s opinion, but he wasn’t about to complain about the much-needed good luck.

Dewey turned to him, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and he looked like he was about to say something, but then Louie cleared his throat from inside the house. Huey snapped his attention back to his youngest brother.

Something had changed in the way that Louie was holding himself. There was a spark of something building behind his eyes, and he straightened up in his bindings, collected where before he was scattered. His gaze traveled from Don Karnage, to the window where Huey and Dewey were, and then to the corner for some reason; Huey couldn’t see into that corner from the angle he was at.

He saw Louie take a deep, quiet breath, and without knowing why, Huey suddenly got the feeling that he was about to watch a show.

“So,” Louie said, his voice remarkably even, “how’d you get stuck with this job?”

Huey frowned in confusion and shared a baffled look with Dewey. Louie was… making small talk?

“Well, obviously, I am the best choice.” Don Karnage sheathed his sword with a flourish and turned to face his captive, apparently not fazed by the attempt at conversation. “Ma Beagle trusts me, as she should.”

The pirate flashed a cocky grin and Louie tilted his head in a considering sort of way.

“Oh,” said Louie simply. “I thought it might’ve been because the job is easy, you know? Less legwork and all.”

Karnage scowled and crossed his arms. “Easy?”

”Well, yeah.” Louie wiggled a bit in place, raising an eyebrow. “I’m tied up, aren’t I?”

The pirate was silently fuming now, his sense of importance having been diminished. He huffed and turned away from Louie to pace. Huey and Dewey quickly ducked out of sight.

It was silent for a while, with the only sounds being of pacing and the noise from whatever was going on in the corner.

“How long are all your pals supposed to be out there? All night?” Louie asked, with half-faked concern.

“Until your bothersome friends are found,” Don Karnage said with a grin. “And it is only a matter of time before they succeed.”

“Huh, guess whoever finds them gets all the glory,” Louie said, not missing a beat, and the pirate appeared to be having an epiphany. “But I doubt they’ll find where they’re hiding, anyway.”

Karnage narrowed his eyes and whirled around, oblivious to many things, but not the implications of what Louie had just said. “You know where they are?”

“Did I say that?” Louie stared hard at the floor, doing a very good impression of someone who’d let a secret slip.

“Tell me.” When the pirate’s demands received no answer, he drew his sword and marched angrily over to Louie. “You will tell me!”

Don Karnage knelt and pressed the sword against Louie’s neck, and there was a flash of genuine fear there. Huey automatically latched onto Dewey’s arm to stop him from moving – which he had started to – because they couldn’t intervene. Not when Louie was so obviously up to something.

“Be patient,” Huey breathed, just the faintest trace of noise in the air. Dewey huffed, but settled back.

“Where are they?!” Don Karnage asked, loudly.

“The barn!” Louie exclaimed, voice strained with very real panic. “The barn by the well, that’s where I left them.” A true statement, actually.

Don Karnage withdrew his sword with a triumphant smile.

“Then perhaps I will get the glory,” said the pirate, sheathing his sword and heading for the door.

“That’s what you think!” Louie shouted, straining at the ropes. “You won’t even be able to get in!”

Karnage scoffed. “Why not?”

“The main door is stuck.” Louie glared at Karnage, telling the lie without flinching. “And you’re too big to fit in through the back.”

Huey wasn’t sure what the purpose of that lie was. The guy was already going to leave, so what was Louie up to?

Don Karnage seemed to consider the words before turning to grin towards the corner of the room, the one that Huey couldn’t see.

“You, bird,” Karnage addressed the corner, which Huey belatedly realized must have been hiding another person.

“The name is Beaks, actually. It’s really not that hard, even for you,” a voice said, seeming naturally disinterested and sarcastic. Huey immediately disliked it.

“You will come with me to capture the children,” the pirate said, like it was a noble and honorable quest. “You are small and weak, and can fit through the back door easily.”

“Uh, I don’t think so. I don’t do outside.”

“Ah, but DeSpell may give you treasures beyond your wildest dreams.”

Magica, thought Huey, mind suddenly filled with static. His heart beat faster just knowing that she was near. This whole thing – from the beginning until now – was her fault. She had kept so many secrets from him; nothing she’d ever told him had been the truth.

Dewey put his hand on Huey’s arm in comfort, and Huey refocused his attention.

Beaks was now in plain sight, a grey parrot who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. The guy had agreed to go, apparently, but was still dragging his feet.

“What about the kid?” Beaks asked, looking down at Louie without emotion.

“The guards outside the door will watch him,” Karnage said, reaching down to ruffle Louie’s hair. “It’s an easy job. He’s all tied up!”

With that, the two criminals walked to the wooden door across from the window. The door creaked as it opened, and slammed shut after letting through a jubilant Don Karnage and a grumbling Beaks. Louie smiled amusedly and sighed in relief, finally looking up to make eye contact with them.

Huey was floored. In five minutes flat, Louie had talked the only two people in the room into leaving him alone. He was more than a pickpocket, more than a thief. Louie was clever, though it probably helped that the people who’d been watching him were not exactly the brightest in the bunch; victims of their own ego.

“A little help?” Louie asked quietly. There were still guards outside the door, after all.

Beside him, Dewey let out a rush of air, and they both scrambled through the window as fast as was physically possible. Huey crashed into Louie at a barely restrained speed, wrapping his arms around his youngest brother in what he realized was their first hug. Dewey joined them in a slightly gentler way, and Louie just sat there in partially stunned silence. Huey briefly wondered why he wasn’t returning the hug, but then he remembered the rope. They should probably do something about that.

“Ow,” Louie said mildly, and they all chuckled quietly.

After tugging at the rope to no avail, Dewey sniffed and then stood back, drawing his sword and examining the ropes. Huey backed away and glanced worriedly at the door, unsure of how much time they had.

“I’m gonna cut you free.” Dewey spoke surprisingly softly as he stepped closer and brought the sharp edge of the sword down against the rope. He paused. “Stay still.”

Louie sat stiffly on the ground until Dewey was done cutting through a length of rope, and then he wiggled in place to help as Huey unwound it from around him. Once free, Louie immediately stretched out his arms and smoothed his messy hair with a single hand. Dewey smiled brightly and reached down to help him off the ground, but Louie hesitated, staring at Dewey’s hand with an odd expression. Then he reached up with his left hand – his non-dominant hand, Huey was sure – forcing Dewey to switch which hand he was offering.

That was weird, Huey thought, but there was no time to talk about it here, where they were still in too much danger.

With Louie finally on his feet, they darted back toward the window and climbed out into the grass and dirt and bushes. It was dark now, and they looked around frantically, having not made a plan beyond ‘get Louie out of there’. Dewey grabbed him and Louie by the hand and began tugging them towards a small patch of trees a short distance away.

Dewey released them as soon as they were hidden in the shadows, and Louie immediately cradled his wrist to his chest and made a small, muffled noise of pain.

“You’re hurt?” Huey asked, alarmed, and he frantically grabbed Louie’s shoulders to hold him in place as he examined him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Dewey came up next to Huey, and Louie winced.

“I haven’t exactly had much time,” Louie said, exasperated. “It’s just my wrist, it’s not that bad.”

Huey released his shoulders and gently took Louie’s wrist in hand.

“Sorry for grabbing it,” Dewey said with an undertone of guilt as Huey inspected the injury.

Louie just shrugged. “You didn’t know.”

“Can you move it?” Huey asked worriedly, concerned about the swelling he was beginning to see, and Louie hesitated before nodding.

“Yeah. Just kind of hurts is all.”

“Kind of?” Dewey was skeptical.

“It’s manageable.” Louie rolled his eyes and glanced behind them at the building he’d just escaped from. “We can’t do anything about it now, anyway. We have to get out of here.”

Huey nodded in agreement and reluctantly let go of Louie’s wrist. They didn’t have much time before the villains discovered that their captive was missing, and the farther away they were when that happened, the better.

“Wait, one more thing,” Dewey said suddenly, turning to Louie with apologetic eyes and a sheepish smile. “Huey and I shouldn’t have fought, and I’m— I’m sorry for saying what I said to you. I was wrong, I know you try.”

“He’s right,” Huey said, the sinking feeling of guilt back in his stomach. “It’s our fault you got captured. My fault, really. My idea was stupid anyway, I was just scared.”

Dewey elbowed him when he said ‘my fault’, but otherwise remained silent and still.

“You wanna talk about stupid ideas? I’m the one who left and got caught. I practically walked right into them!” Louie shook his head incredulously. “Can we just agree that we all lost our minds for a while there and move on?”

Dewey chuckled and Huey broke into a relieved grin.

“I wonder if part of being a triplet means that all of our brain cells just die at the exact same time,” Dewey said.

“Let’s just hope that they’ve revived themselves, because we really do need to find a way out of this place,” Louie said.

Huey peeked out from behind one of the trees and stared at the dark houses in the distance. There had to be at least eight henchpeople out looking for them, and they needed to go straight through the village if they wanted to make good time. The way to the hidden castle would best be accessed if they set out from the other side of town.

“Okay, we’re going straight through,” Huey said, straightening up, “but this time we stick together.”

“Sounds good to me,” Dewey said, grinning.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” said Louie.

“Born that way,” said Dewey.

Huey nodded once, and together they left the cover of the trees and ventured closer to the buildings.

“Stick close to the walls,” Louie whispered, and that’s what they did.

They reached the first house that marked the beginning of the main part of the village, and they peeked around the corner one by one. There was the building that Louie had been held in, and there were the two guards that had been left behind. One was dozing and leaning against the wall, and the other was staring off into the distance. Louie scoffed.

“Where do they find these people?” Louie withdrew back against the wall. “They’re all so painfully stupid.”

After a few seconds of waiting, Huey deemed that the coast was clear, and thus they began their most nerve-wracking quest yet: traversing a village filled with enemies, and quite possibly Magica DeSpell.
They actually made it quite some distance without any trouble, darting across roads and hiding in shadows, and Huey was just beginning to think that it would be easier than he thought when the inevitable happened. They turned a corner just as the Beagle Boys turned the one opposite them, and they stared at each other in shocked silence for all of two seconds.

“Stealth mode failed,” Dewey gasped out. “Time to run!”

They turned and bolted, angry shouting echoing off the stone walls of the houses and buildings on either side of them. Adrenaline buzzed through Huey’s veins, and his feet seemed to ache with every impact they had with the ground. He really was getting very fed up with running.

But still they ran, and Huey managed to guide them in the direction they needed to go.

“We’re halfway there!” Huey coughed, hoping that his brothers could hear him.

“Yeah, so are they!” Louie shouted, and Huey looked over his shoulder.

The Beagle Boys were still behind them, and didn’t show any signs of slowing down, much less stopping. Huey’s heart skipped a beat, and he pushed himself to go faster.

Dewey kicked over a basket of peaches as he ran, and they spilled over the road behind them. One of the beagles slipped and fell hard, causing a chain reaction that took the other two out with muffled angry shouts. Huey gave Dewey a shaky thumbs up.

Knowing that it wouldn’t take long for their pursuers to recover, Huey skidded to a halt at the next building and tried the door. And maybe crime and criminals had never been an issue in this village – it was now that they’d arrived – because the door swung open without difficulty.

Huey scrambled inside after holding it open for Dewey and Louie, and then he closed it frantically, pressing his back against it.

For a moment, the only sounds were the wheezing breaths that they were all taking, and Huey surveyed the room he’d brought them all into. Now that they were inside, he could tell that it was not, in fact, a store. At the other end of the room was another door that led outside. Around them, there were multiple sturdy tables and shelves, all covered in vials and jars and beakers full of liquid. There were cabinets on one wall that he suspected were filled with much of the same.

“It’s a lab,” Huey said in a hushed voice, face slack with shock.

Nostalgia hit him full force. The Lab back home had been his escape; it was where he’d been most a peace. This one was only a temporary shelter, but it still helped to clear his head.

“What do we do?” Louie asked from over by the back door, and Huey looked around, a crazy idea forming.

“You know, I’m a little sick of being the one’s who’re trapped.” Huey locked the door behind him and stepped towards the shelves of chemicals. “How about we change that?”

“Yes. Definitely yes,” said Dewey, “but how?”

Huey grinned as he searched the shelves, finding that most of the vials were labeled. He found one of the ones that he was looking for – laughing triumphantly – and then moved to rifle through the cabinets. It was difficult to see without light, but the full moon was shining through the window just enough to make it easier.

In the second cabinet, he found the other thing he was looking for, and he carried both vials back to a table in the middle of the room. He grabbed an empty beaker, set it down, held both of his ‘ingredients’ in his hands, and took a deep breath.

Two weeks and five days ago, he’d made a mistake. Now he was going to do it on purpose.

“Unlock that back door, that’s how we’ll get out.” Huey poured all of one solution into the beaker as Louie followed his instructions. “And unlock the other one, too. Get their attention.”

Dewey went to the front door, unlocked it, and then turned to face him.

“You sure?” Dewey asked, a quizzical look on his face.

“Yeah,” said Huey, a sense of giddiness settling in his chest. “I’m sure.”

Dewey swung open the door and leaned out, head tilted in the direction of the floundering beagles.

“Hey!” Dewey yelled, clearly having too much fun. “You’re almost as ugly as you are stupid!”

Then he slammed the door and ran for Louie, who was still standing at their exit route.

“You sure showed them,” Louie said dryly, and Dewey grinned unabashedly.

Quick as lightning, Huey dumped the contents of the other vial into the beaker, then ran to join the others, practically shoving them out the door. They got a few yards away before they heard the Beagle Boys clamoring into the lab behind them, and Huey tackled his brothers to the ground just as the world exploded.

Two weeks and five days ago – give or take a few hours – Huey had accidentally mixed two highly combustible substances together. There had only been a few drops of each, and that had been enough to cover the whole desk in flames.

This time, he’d poured in a whole vial of each, and now, as he looked behind them, he saw that the windows had blown out of the lab. Fire was bursting out of said windows and out from a brand-new hole in the roof, a few feet in the air. It was practically a beacon.

Huey had a horrifying moment of thinking that he’d just murdered people, but then he heard groaning and weak yelling from the other side of the ruined laboratory. He turned to check on his brothers.

“Oh my— holy— what even—” Dewey was being very vocal about his shock.

Louie was just sitting on the ground with his beak hanging open, the flames reflecting in his eyes and casting him in an orange glow.

Huey scrambled to his feet and tugged Louie up by his sleeve, grabbing a still babbling Dewey by the arm right after. He pushed them both into a jog down the street, continuing their journey towards freedom.

“Huey!” Dewey had apparently recovered enough to form complete sentences, and he sounded unspeakably excited. “How’d you do that?”

“I learned from my mistakes,” said Huey with a smile. “Maybe not the way that I should have, but I did learn.”

Dewey laughed incredulously and Louie shook his head like he was trying to get water out of his ears.

“We’re almost out,” Huey told them. “We just turn here and it’s a straight shot.”

They turned, and Huey’s words were proven correct. Past the end of the road was a wide-open field, a blanket of stars hanging over it.

It was a straight shot.

But there was someone in their way.

Chapter Text

Somewhere during all the quality time he’d spent with Huey and Louie over the past few weeks, he’d noticed that their collective luck was much like a seesaw, in that it was either really good, or really bad; up or down. It was like they were on one side of the seesaw and Magica and her goons were on the other, and they were simply trading luck back and forth until the speed at which it changed was almost dizzying.

For example, Louie getting captured had been bad, but the relatively easy escape had been good. Being chased through town by a small army of beagles had been bad, but Huey finding exactly what he needed in order to cause an explosion – it had been so cool – had been good.

So, yeah. Seesaw.

Dewey suspected that they were once again on the downswing of things, because they were so, so close to leaving this village and this whole horrific day behind, and right in front of them was Don Karnage, blocking their way and scowling and being the perfect physical manifestation of their bad luck.

Louie actually groaned aloud beside him, and Dewey felt the urge to do something similar, although maybe less restrained. He was tired, tired of all of this.

“You have made a fool out of Don Karnage!” The pirate shouted, drawing his sword with a flourish and pointing it accusingly in their direction. “You will pay.”

Dewey reflexively grabbed the hilt of his own sword, willing but not quite ready to use it.

“These villains have got to get some new material,” Louie remarked.

“They must’ve all read the same ‘How To Be Evil’ book,” Dewey replied, his eyes firmly fixed on the threat in front of them.

“He’s not gonna move,” said Huey worriedly.

“Not willingly, no.”

Dewey had spent years learning how to fight. Mostly, it had been with a sword, simply because that was what he was most interested in, so he’d found it easier to focus. It had been years since he’d begun training, but he was still a kid with years more to go, and a lot still to learn. He had never been in an actual real life-or-death fight before, unless he counted the one with Bouncer, which he tried not to. Bouncer hadn’t had a weapon anyway, much less a sword like Karnage.

And Don Karnage wasn’t Mrs. Beakley. The pirate would not hold back, would not go easy on him, although nothing about Dewey’s life recently had been easy; why start now? They were too close to the end to turn back now, too close to do anything but fight. Because he was done running.

Don Karnage wasn’t going to move? Dewey would make him.

He drew his sword in one smooth motion and held it out in front of him, exactly the same way Mrs. Beakley had taught him to back when he was eight and scared of monsters.

“Hey, Don Karnage, right?” Dewey called out, stepping closer with a cocky grin. “I’m Dewey. That’s Huey. Oh, and you know Louie.”

“Dewey, what are you doing?” Huey asked in a strained whisper.

“It’s like you said,” Dewey replied. “It’s time to turn the tables.”

“You’re missing some context—”

“Shh, I’m paraphrasing.”

Dewey turned to face the enemy, readying himself for the greatest test of skill he’d ever faced. But before he could even move, something – a small, round object – hit the ground in front of him and exploded into a cloud of dense white smoke.

Dewey immediately backpedaled, coughing and holding his weapon defensively.

“Watch where you throw those things, you’ll blind us both!” Karnage’s voice could be heard from the other side of the smokescreen, presumably yelling at someone.

Two pairs of arms caught Dewey as he stumbled out of the dissipating smoke, and he leaned back into his brothers as he surveyed the area. Don Karnage was standing in the same place he’d been before, waving his hands erratically to fan smoke away from his face and glaring at Beaks, who was standing on the sidelines looking extremely irritated and holding what looked like a handful of white pebbles. Dewey put two and two together and realized that the smoke had come from one of those things.

No way would he be able to fight Karnage with smoke in his face; the pellets would have to go.

“Okay, you guys take Beaks.” Dewey stood up and faced his brothers with a half-grin. “I’ll get Karnage.”

Louie huffed, but he wore a small smile. “This didn’t go so well last time, you know. Remember my plank of wood?”

“I’d like to think that we’ve grown a little since then.” At least, he hoped. Dewey turned towards the villains, but looked over his shoulder one more time. “And now we’ve got someone on our side that causes explosions.”

Huey cleared his throat. “That was more of a one-time thing, actually—”

“Go!”

Dewey ran straight at Karnage – who was still distracted and arguing with Beaks – and swung his sword decisively at his opponent’s sword arm. His main goal at the moment was to disarm him, because he really didn’t want to hurt anyone too badly. Not if he didn’t absolutely have to.

Karnage blocked Dewey’s swing with his own sword at the last second, turning and regarding him with malicious amusement.

“You believe that you, a child, can defeat the great Don Karnage?” The pirate smirked. “It will be your doom!”

That’s dramatic, Dewey thought, but he was afraid that he might be right. What fights had he really won, recently? Sure, he beat Webby every now and then, but what did that matter if he lost when it really counted? He hadn’t been able to defeat Bouncer when he’d come after him and Louie, and now here in front of him was someone who was apparently an experienced fighter. What chance did he have?

Somewhere vaguely to his right he heard the sounds of a scuffle. Beaks was being attacked – distracted, really – by Huey and Louie, who were calling out warnings to each other as they worked to subdue their target.

Dewey’s brothers hadn’t argued with him or questioned his plan, and they’d never once doubted his abilities. He owed it to them to try. He owed it to Mrs. Beakley, who’d taught him everything he knew. And he owed it to Webby, who had always, always believed in him, especially when he didn’t believe in himself.

There was always a chance, he realized, but you had to take one first.

“But a child did beat you, right?” Dewey repositioned his sword defensively with a smirk, referring to Louie’s easy trickery. “Or is it just battles of wit that you suck at?”

Don Karnage growled and leapt forward, swinging his weapon with deadly grace, and Dewey prepared himself for the fight of his life.

He ducked out of the way of the sword as it came toward him, moonlight reflecting off its blade, and the weapon sailed past him harmlessly. His opponent recovered quickly, blocking his retaliating swing. The resulting clash of metal on metal caused a ringing sound to echo dully off of the walls of the house around them. Dewey huffed and retreated a few paces, Karnage glaring and falling back into a ready position.

The persistent sound of chirping crickets and the distant crackling of fire was faint in between the heavy breaths of the warriors locked in furious battle. He paid no attention to the flickering lights of the stars above him, and he couldn’t care less about the cold night wind rustling leaves and grass. All that mattered was the fight, and getting himself and his brothers out alive.

Dewey narrowed his eyes, shifted his foot, and pushed forward.

(The grip on his weapon was strong.)

Time simultaneously sped up and slowed down as they fought. Dewey put all of his focus into blocking swings, and attacking if he felt it was safe. But his hands were sweaty, and he clutched his sword tightly. If he dropped it or fumbled with it, the fight would be over.

(His will was made of iron.)

He wouldn’t let the fight be over. Not until he won.

The tip of Karnage’s sword angrily grazed his left arm near his shoulder, and Dewey cried out at the blinding pain. He heard his brothers calling out to him worriedly, and he shouted back that he was fine; he didn’t want them near this battle. Dewey shoved the sharp pain coming from his shoulder to the back of his mind and focused on trying to find weaknesses in his opponents fighting style.

(He was a fighter.)

Style. Don Karnage did everything with style, or with a flourish. He was always performing, always making things more complicated than they were meant to be. It was impractical, and Dewey could use it to his advantage.

Now that he was looking specifically for that type of mistake, it didn’t take him long to find an opening. Dewey made a decisive swing that slashed the pirate shallowly across the hip, causing him to growl and stumble to the side. Dewey dodged the next move – one made out of anger – and stepped back to once again observe.

(He was brave.)

All that time ago in the training shed with Webby, she’d caught him off guard pretty easily by doing something that you wouldn’t expect from a sword fighter. Back then, he’d thought it was unfair, but now he saw its value. He couldn’t flip Don Karnage over his head like Webby had done to him, but maybe he could get him off his feet in another way, by relying on the power of shock and confusion.

Dewey grinned widely at his opponent, pulled his arm back, and sent his sword flying through the air. It sailed harmlessly past the pirate, but it was not meant to hit him; it was meant to distract him.

Don Karnage turned to watch the discarded weapon – possibly thinking that he’d been throwing it to someone else – and Dewey tackled him at the knees.

The pirate hit the ground hard, and his sword bounced out of his hand upon impact with the ground to land a few feet out of reach. Dewey had a moment of panic, having really not planned this far ahead, but then Louie called out to him.

“Dewey, catch!”

Dewey looked up just in time to see a dark object heading for him, and he caught it on instinct, even though his hands were trembling with adrenaline.

It was a frying pan.

Thinking quickly, Dewey held the frying pan high in the air – just as Karnage was sitting up – and he slammed it down with all his strength on the pirate’s head. Don Karnage collapsed like a puppet with cut strings, out like a light, flat on his back.

Huey and Louie came over to him, dragging a similarly dazed Beaks, and Dewey wondered what on earth he’d missed while he was busy fighting his own fight.

“Where did you find a frying pan?” Dewey asked incredulously, a bit lightheaded with relief.

“Well, there were no planks of wood available, so I had to improvise,” Louie said, dropping Beaks feet with a thud.

“I wish I’d thought to bring the rope we cut Louie out of,” Huey said, staring down at the two unconscious criminals with a furrowed brow. “We could’ve tied them up.”

“Oh, well,” said Dewey. “I don’t think they’ll be moving for a while anyway.”

Huey nodded, and Louie appeared next to Dewey, having retrieved his sword for him. Dewey took it back gratefully and sheathed it at his side with finality. He’d finally won a fight.

“I guess we have gotten better,” said Louie, still breathing heavily, but smiling. “Or at least good enough.”

“Miracle of all miracles.” Dewey’s voice was coated in amusement. “Louie orchestrated his own rescue, Huey blew up a building, and I defeated a pirate with a frying pan.”

Huey huffed a laugh. “Royalty, indeed.”

The three of them chuckled quietly, absolutely exhausted but feeling like winners. Dewey’s heart was soaring. Beakley and Webby would be proud, he thought.

“Okay,” said Huey, clapping his hands together gleefully. “Who’s ready to leave this place forever?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” said Dewey.

They started walking, still catching their breath, but didn’t get far before pain came roaring back. Now that the adrenaline of the fight was wearing off, the cut on his arm was throbbing. He suddenly had a lot more sympathy for Louie and his wrist.

He must have made some sort of pained nose, because Huey – who had to have some kind of sixth sense for injuries – turned back and gave him a look.

“Come on,” said Huey, and he dragged them toward a dark alley.

Once upon a time, Dewey had avoided dark alleys – well, sometimes – but now they were a place of safety. Leaning against a dirty and damp stone wall under the cover of night, on the run from tons of shady criminals, Dewey realized that he was the creepy dude that parents warned their kids about.

Louie stood guard as Huey inspected the cut with a stern and focused look on his face. He hummed once, then ripped a strip of fabric from the blanket in his bag and wrapped in tightly around the injury.

“It’s not too deep, but there’s no sense in losing blood if you don’t have to,” Huey said, hands twisting anxiously.

“I’d have to agree with you there,” said Dewey, carefully moving his arm to see what it felt like.

It was a little sore, and it hurt worse if he moved it too far up, but it was still attached to his body, and at this point, that’s all he could really ask for.

“Let’s get out of here,” Louie said, peeking around the corner to make sure the coast was clear.

Together they ran down the main road until they reached the end of the village, and they went straight into the fields beyond without stopping.

Now, supposedly, they were home free, and Dewey would like to think that it would be all downhill from here, but he had a feeling that their troubles were far from over.

Chapter Text

In the end, they hadn’t been in the village for any longer than two hours. It was such a small number, and it was incredibly misleading. How much could really happen in such an arguably short amount of time? The answer is ‘a lot’. Too much, if you asked Louie.

Time was funny that way. Just when you thought you had a handle on how it all worked, the rules changed. That was just how things were, he supposed. Every now and then the universe let you live a lifetime in the span of a second, either to your detriment or delight.

Either way, Louie wished that time would make up its mind, because he really needed a constant in his life. He hadn’t stayed in one place for very long since the day he’d been kidnapped. They were always going somewhere, and what he really wanted, more than anything, was to finally reach that somewhere and never go anywhere ever again.

“Not too long now,” said Huey, speaking softly as he led the way through the early morning light.

Louie simply hummed in response, fighting a yawn before realizing that he didn’t have to. His head felt heavy, and his eyes were dry; one of these days he’d have to get back on a semi-normal sleep schedule.

The sun just barely poked over the horizon as they walked through the forest. They’d entered into it about an hour ago, and it brought back memories of the last time they’d gone wandering through the woods. Their surroundings were a little different this time – a different species of tree, possibly – but the feeling was the same. They had a head start on the villains they’d left behind, at least, but for how long could they keep their lead?

It had been several hours since they walked out of that awful place, and Louie finally allowed himself to consider what they were headed for. They could find it soon. They could find it today. They could find nothing. At this point Louie was almost too tired to care. All he could do at this point was keep walking.

He could almost fall asleep this way, listening to Huey’s quiet footsteps as he consulted the map in his hands, feeling Dewey’s presence behind him and hearing the rocks skittering across the ground as he kicked them. It was calm. After so long worrying about being chased, they’d settled into the feeling and now it felt familiar. He might’ve been able to pretend that it wasn’t there at all, were it not for his throbbing wrist as a constant reminder.

Huey had stopped them as soon as there had been enough light to see by, and he’d wrapped Louie’s wrist with more strips of torn blanket. The black fabric made it feel more stable, but it still hurt, of course. He kept it still as much as he could, cradled against his stomach, and he noticed that Dewey didn’t move his left arm as much anymore on account of the cut. They all had bruises, and were certainly worse for wear than they’d like to be, but they were still alive and free.

Dewey groaned rather dramatically all of the sudden, and Louie blinked back into reality.

“Are we there yet?” Dewey whined, and Louie heard him dragging his feet.

“Yes,” Huey replied, deadpan and unamused. “We made it. It’s beautiful. Can you not tell?”

Louie snorted a laugh. The scenery had not changed at all in quite some time.

“Ha, ha.” Dewey’s voice was coated in sarcasm, but it changed into something more sincere. “I’m just feeling like I’ve reached the end of my rope, you know?”

Louie did know, but he had a lot of experience with that particular feeling, and he knew that the only way out was keep going.

“Time to free climb,” said Louie, glancing over his shoulder with a slightly teasing half-smile. “I don’t have enough energy to climb all the way back up to the top.”

Dewey blinked once, and then grinned softly. “Fair enough.”

Louie rolled his eyes good-naturedly and resumed staring at the back of Huey’s head.

“So, if we’re really not that far away from where we think the second castle is, then why has no on found it before?” Louie stumbled over a rock as he spoke, and Dewey kicked it as he passed. “It’s not that far from civilization.”

“I don’t know,” said Huey, slowing his pace as he thought. “Maybe it’s hidden? Like, really hidden.”

Maybe it’s not there. None of them said it, but it was a fear that they shared.

“What makes us think that we can find it, if no one else ever has?”

Dewey came up behind him a flicked him gently on the back of his head.

“Because we’re looking,” said Dewey, with a teasing grin, “and that already helps our chances.”

Count on Dewey to give a super simple answer that somehow actually worked. They were looking, and sometimes that was all it took.

They continued walking in silence for a few minutes, and then Dewey started up his quiet singing. It seemed like it was nearly impossible for him to be going anywhere and not sing about it, but it did help to fill the silence, so Louie mostly didn’t mind. He was even learning a few songs just by exposure.

Louie found himself walking on autopilot, which was something that tended to happen when there was no end in sight. Because of that, though, Louie bumped right into Huey when the latter stopped unexpectedly. His injured wrist was momentarily crushed between his stomach and Huey’s back, and he winced, managing to turn a yelp into a muffled groan.

“Why’d you stop?” Louie asked, resisting the urge to collapse on the ground in a heap. Now that they were no longer walking, he somehow felt more tired.

“Look,” Huey said, his hushed voice sounding slightly confused, and he pointed at something in the distance. “Do you see what I see?”

Louie turned and squinted over Huey’s shoulder, trying to spot something other than trees and bushes and dirt. Finally, he saw it.

“Is that… a shack?” Dewey asked, baffled.

“Let’s go check it out,” Louie said tiredly, because someone had to say it.

They walked carefully closer, crouching behind some bushes to survey the area, and Dewey’s hypothesis was proven to be true. It was a small wooden shack in relatively good condition, with moss growing near the bottom of the walls and a curtain hanging in place of a door. Not too far away from the front of the shack was a fire pit, though it was mostly ash, and farther still there was a pile of wood logs. A clothesline stretched from the roof of the shack to the branch of a nearby tree, and all that was hanging on it was a weird green hat and a dark blue jacket of some sort. It all suggested that someone must live there, but what kind of person would live in a shack in the forest away from any semblance of a society?

“You know, the lost castle is smaller than I thought it’d be,” Dewey said, humor in his tone.

“Welcome home, your highness,” said Louie.

“Much obliged.”

They stared in silence for another few seconds, not sure what they were looking for.

“Do you think someone lives here?” asked Huey, rolling up the map and sliding it into his backpack.

Louie nodded. “It’s too well kept to be abandoned.”

“We should go inside,” said Dewey, and he left before either of them could reply.

Huey and Louie shared an exasperated look before jogging after him and catching up just as he got to the shack. They stood in an awkward huddle just outside.

“Should…should we knock?” Huey asked nervously, wiping his hands on his vest.

“On what?” Louie gestured towards the hanging curtain. “There’s no door.”

“We could use the wall?”

“Who knocks on a wall?”

“People who don’t have access to doors.”

“What if a murderer lives here?” Louie crossed his arms. “We’ve made enough enemies.”

“That’s ridiculous. What are the odds it’s a murderer?”

“That’s the kind of thing I’d expect you to know.”

“It could be a very nice person.”

“I don’t think anyone who lives alone in the woods is mentally stable.”

“A-ha! How to you know that they’re alone? What if a family lives here?”

“Then we’d be outnumbered, and our odds of survival go way down.”

“Wha—”

A voice cut Huey off.

“No one’s home!” Dewey called from inside the shack, and he pulled back the curtain to peek out at them with a grin. “You can come in.”

Huey’s beak was still hanging open from getting cut off midsentence, and Louie simply stared as Dewey winked and ducked back inside.

“Well, that solves that,” said Louie, and he stepped through the doorway cautiously, Huey following close behind.

It was immediately apparent upon looking at the room that it was for one person only. There was a small mattress in one corner, and a stack of food and supplies in another, but it was the wall that made Louie do a double take. Dewey was already staring at it from his spot in the middle of the room, still and silent. He heard Huey’s sharp intake of breath from behind him, and Louie walked slowly closer.

The wall was absolutely covered in maps of all shapes and sizes and kinds. Many of them were marked with bright red ink, X’s covering either a single location, or in some cases, the entire map. Some were partially covered with other maps, where the ink looked newer. Small notes and random question marks were scattered across the papers, and it was all too much information for Louie to make sense of right then, but the whole wall gave off the general impression of someone who’d been searching for something for a very long time. That, or it was the worlds creepiest wallpaper.

A desk was sitting below the maps, similarly covered in papers and a few tattered books. Huey walked over and picked one up, flipping through it almost dazedly before looking up at them.

“It’s about the Kingdom and the war. The royal family.” Huey turned back to the books and shuffled through them quickly. “All of it is. The books, the papers, the maps. Everything.”

“Someone’s been looking for longer than we have,” Louie spoke quietly. “A lot longer.”

He had thought that they were alone in this quest, that – apart from maybe Magica – they were the only idiots chasing a conspiracy. Now he didn’t know what to think.

Huey pulled their own map out of his backpack to compare it to those on the wall.

“Well, if someone else found this place, then that’s good, right?” Dewey walked up to the wall and put his hand on the centermost map, the one with their current location marked. “We’ve gotta be doing something right. We’ve got to be close.”

“Maybe,” said Louie, and he suddenly wanted to get out of that shack more than anything. The red ink on the maps was beginning to remind him too much of blood.

“Are we done breaking and entering?” Louie asked, backing slowly towards the door. “Because we should leave before whoever lives here comes back.”

“We’re not breaking and entering,” Dewey said, but he turned away from the wall and followed him. “We didn’t break anything.”

“That doesn’t sound like us.”

“Hey, Huey’s the one we’ve gotta worry about! He sets things on fire!”

Huey scowled as he joined them at the door. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Nerp!”

Louie rolled his eyes as he reached for the curtain in the doorway. “Whatever, let’s get out of—”

He cut himself off with a scream – they all screamed, actually – because when the curtain was pulled back, there was someone standing on the other side. Louie was honestly sick and tired of jump scares. Would it kill the general public to remain in plain view at all times?

The duck in the doorway was scowling almost comically, wearing the funny hat and jacket from the clothesline, along with some sort of skirt-thing. He was short and wide, and he had a grey beard.

“I don’t get many visitors.” The ducks voice was oddly accented, and he spoke like he was suspicious. Which was fair, since they were standing in is house. “What business do children have all the way out here?”

“Our business is… our business,” Dewey answered evasively, and Louie would facepalm if he wasn’t so afraid.

The stranger’s eyes moved to stare at the map in Huey’s hands, and something like surprise flickered across his face.

“Are you sure you aren’t…looking for something?” The ducks voice was pleasant enough, but something about him still put Louie on edge.

Huye folded up the map in jerky movements, and the owner of the shack stepped through the doorway, forcing them to take a step back. The stranger was now blocking the only exit, and Louie was tense all over, ready to run or fight because he was trapped, trapped, trapped. He’d learned long ago to always have an exit strategy, and now he’d failed even that.

“So you’re the person who lives here?” Dewey ignored the stranger’s question.

“Only recently,” the duck said, sounding frustrated.

“What’s this obsession you have with maps?” Louie finally found his voice, though it was laced with doubt and suspicion.

“It’s a hobby!” The duck crossed his arms and scowled, but his eyes shifted to the side. “Can’t a guy have a hobby?”

In the awkward silence that followed, Louie narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, trying his best to act like he wasn’t terrified. Dewey shifted restlessly beside him, and he could hear the faint crinkling of the map in Huey’s tense hands.

“We’re looking for a castle,” Dewey blurted suddenly, and Huey and Louie’ heads snapped over to look at him incredulously.

“Dewey,” Louie hissed quietly, and Huey dragged a hand down his face in what could have been anxiety or exhaustion.

“Maybe he can help,” Dewey whispered back at them, eyes fixed on the duck in front of them.

“That I can, blue one,” the stranger said, with a tone of smug superiority. “That I can.”

Louie turned his guarded gaze to the duck in the doorway, observing and analyzing, as was his habit with most people he met. Maybe a bad habit sometimes, when it got out of hand, but still occasionally a useful one.

The duck was wearing strange clothes and spoke in an even stranger accent, as Louie had noticed before, and although something about him felt dangerous, he somehow also seemed almost…silly. Harmless, but in a way that could cause harm; not that that made any sense.

“Okay, well, I’m Dewey, actually.” Dewey held out his hand for the older duck to shake in an odd attempt at pretending that this was a normal introduction. “That’s Huey, and the grumpy one is Louie.”

Louie scowled and elbowed Dewey in the ribs. Why did they always let Dewey introduce them?

“And who are you?” Louie asked testily, unwilling to sit back and let Dewey lead the discussion.

“I’m Flintheart Glomgold,” the stranger said with an odd grin, like he thought they should be impressed.

Louie raised an eyebrow, and he could almost hear the figurative crickets that sounded in the silence.

Glomgold huffed and frowned.

“Glomgold?” the duck prompted, and still they said nothing. “I used to be the second richest duck in the world?”

“Second?” Huey asked, breaking out of his nervous silence for the sake of curiosity.

“Only second to one!” Glomgold exclaimed suddenly, though his voice had already been obnoxiously loud. “Old Scrooge McDuck never let me live it down. Always rubbing it in my face, but I’m the superior Scottish billionaire! I am—”

“You knew the king?” Louie cut off the ranting, focusing in on the one piece of useful information they’d been given.

“I know the king,” Glomgold corrected. “There’s no way Scrooge is actually dead, he’s practically immortal! That’s my theory, anyway.” He flapped a hand dismissively. “I’ve been looking for McDuck since he ran and hid all those years ago. There’s no way that the only way I become the richest duck in the world is because he forfeits his chance! I’ve been meaning to drag him out for a proper battle.”

“You’re the richest duck in the world?” Huey asked, voice flat.

“By default!”

“Then why are you living in a shack?” Dewey asked, a smirk appearing on his face.

Glomgold sputtered angrily, and Louie allowed himself a small smile.

“That’s none of your business.” The self-proclaimed Scottish billionaire crossed his arms and looked at them sideways. “How’d you find this place, anyways?”

Louie shared looks with Huey and Dewey, silently pleading with them to not give away their secrets, hoping that maybe triplet telepathy or something would come in handy. If they got the message, they ignored it, because in the next moment Dewey was reaching into his pocket with nervous but rock-solid determination, and he was pulling out his piece of the medallion as if he was ripping off a bandage. Louie gaped.

“It’s kind of a family matter,” Dewey said, holding his piece tightly in his hand and holding it where Glomgold could see. Huey sighed and tugged anxiously at the chain around his neck until his piece slipped out from under his vest.

Louie wanted to snap at them to hide them, wanted to tell them that valuable things were stolen, that people were willing to hurt you to take them, but he clenched his jaw and stayed quiet, worried about giving too much of himself away in front of this stranger.

Flintheart Glomgold didn’t seem to be the smartest or the brightest, but immediate understanding still made his face light up – or darken, he couldn’t be sure – as he stared hungrily at both visible medallion pieces.

“You’re the nephews?” Glomgold’s voice cut through the silence, intrigued.

Nephews? Was that what they were? There had been all of that ‘we’re royalty’ talk, but there had always been the question of how. Glomgold had just said it like it was nothing, had spoken it so nonchalantly that Louie almost felt stupid not having known.

“Yeah, we are,” said Dewey, apparently handling the new information better than he was. “Louie’s just shy about it.”

Louie turned and glared at Dewey. That was not it at all, he was just very cautious about telling random people that they could be part of an old royal family line. He was funny like that.

“What happened to ‘trust no one’? Anyone could be an enemy?” Louie whispered at Dewey heatedly, staring hard at him – and by extension Huey, who looked far less confident than the former. “We’ve got basically a whole army after us, he could be another scout!”

“He lives alone in the woods,” said Dewey waving a hand dismissively. “He’s fine.”

“Living in a shack like a serial killer somehow makes him more trustworthy?” Louie whispered viciously, glancing at Glomgold out of the corner of his eye. “We couldn’t tell Launchpad, but we can tell him? How does that make sense?”

“Louie, he— he knows things. Things that we don’t.” Dewey looked at him with sudden desperation, clearly pleading. “If you can’t trust him, can you trust me?”

Louie blinked against sudden unwelcome emotion and turned to look down at the floor in front of him, refusing to answer. He didn’t know. Could he? Didn’t he? He wasn’t sure what trust felt like.

“You can’t be them, anyway. It’s impossible,” Glomgold interrupted the awkward silence, leaning forward to inspect the medallion pieces.

“Why?” Huey’s voice was steady and focused, demanding an answer even as his hands shook. “Why is it impossible?”

“Because last I heard, you were all dead!” Glomgold yelled, seemingly frustrated at this turn of events, going on despite Louie feeling like his breath had been sucked out of him, like the world had turned upside down for the second time and still somehow wasn’t right side up. “The rumor was that the newborn nephews had been killed in the war!”

“Killed?” Dewey repeated in a daze.

It would explain why no one had ever looked for them, if they truly were the triplets, but this new information raised more questions than it answered. Because even though the rumors and Glomgold said differently, Louie’s heart was beating wildly in his chest, very much alive, just like Huey and Dewey were. What on earth had happened to them? How did they end up where they did? Why?

“Of course, I never met anyone who knew for sure,” Glomgold mused, unsympathetic to their wild emotional states, “and you do bear a resemblance…”

To who? Louie wanted to ask, but the words got stuck in his throat. He’d been telling lies since he could talk, mostly out of necessity, but he’d always had trouble being sincere. Laying the vulnerable parts of himself out for everyone to see never failed to make him want to hide, and he couldn’t hide from this, even if it would be easier.

“Is the castle here?” Huey asked, directing the conversation back to what they’d actually come to find out.

“Of course!” Glomgold spread his arms wide with a grin. “I finally found it, and I didn’t need any of your fancy gold heirlooms.”

“Just years’ worth of trial and error,” said Louie, who was finding great joy in riling the older duck up.

But beyond the quick comeback, Louie’s mind was racing. The castle existed, according to this guy. Seeing was believing, however, and he hadn’t seen anything yet.

“Well, do you want me to show you or not?” Glomgold asked, his accent growing stronger with his frustration.

“Yes,” Dewey said emphatically, finally fed up with the inaction.

“Follow me, then,” said Glomgold, but the way he said it made Louie shiver and tense. There was no way that this guy was sincere, no way he’d told them everything. “It’s a long walk.”

Louie groaned quietly; he really just wanted to rest.

“That’s okay,” said Huey, ever the peacemaker, though he sounded worn out. “We’re pretty good at walking.”

“We’ve had plenty of practice,” Louie grumbled, following Glomgold and the others outside the shack.

There was a brown sack just outside on the ground, and Glomgold yanked it up on his way by, slinging it over his shoulder and causing the contents – whatever they may be – to clatter together. Then he veered a little to the left, toward a noticeable trail beaten down by continued use; though not enough that the foliage had fully backed away from it, so they had to slap aside branches and step over plants as they walked. Louie had somehow ended up at the back of the group, possibly because he was the one most reluctant to follow the mysterious stranger.

“What else do you know?” Huey spoke from where he was trailing just behind Glomgold. “About the war and the royal family, I mean.”

“Scrooge and I were rivals, you could say.” Louie couldn’t be sure from this distance, but he thought he saw Glomgold smirk. “Old geezer was always trying to show me up – finding treasure before I did, taking all the glory and leaving me in second place!”

Louie absentmindedly wondered what it was like to harbor such a deep-rooted and petty grudge against someone.

“Our paths crossed constantly, and every time I saw him, those kids of his were right beside him. His niece and nephew, I think, but I don’t remember their names.”

Huey and Dewey were both silent, just as Louie was, drinking in as much information as they could, practically starved for it after being in the dark for so long.

“Somewhere around twelve years ago, the start of the war broke out. Scrooge had plenty of enemies willing to work together to take him down, but that didn’t mean it would be easy. Nothing with Scrooge involved ever was,” Glomgold muttered. “The fighting seemed very unorganized, maybe on purpose so that it was harder to plan for. I, of course, took no part in it.”

The way that last part was added seemed suspicious, but Louie let it slide for now, placating himself with the knowledge that he’d watch out for other red flags.

“There was a rumor that enemy forces were going to attack the castle, and in all the chaos, it was said that the niece and nephew had escaped with the three newborn children,” Glomgold continued, slapping a low-hanging branch out of the way angrily. “There was a big ‘final battle’ where most of both sides were either killed or injured, and after that the last thing I’d heard was that the escaped members of the royal family had all been found dead.”

Hearing it laid out like that made Louie feel very disconnected from reality, like he’d suddenly been thrown into the backseat of his brain and someone else was driving. He’d seen plenty of awful things in his relatively short life, but he’d never seen war; he’d never witnessed destruction on such a large scale. He couldn’t fathom it. The old castle – where much of the last fighting had taken place – had been reduced to rubble, or so he’d heard. And it scared him, because it was far too easy for things to crumble and disappear, far too easy for people to do the same.

“No one ever found Scrooge, and most people think he’s dead, but his enemies know him better than that. The man always has a backup plan,” Glomgold continued, in that rough, grating voice of his.

“Enemies?” Dewey’s eyebrows were furrowed, and Glomgold turned briefly to face him. “You think there are people who fought Scrooge in the war that are still alive and looking for the castle, too?”

“I know there are,” Glomgold replied, grimacing and turning back around to keep walking. “Scrooge McDuck only ever made enemies who were as stubborn as he was.”

“Did you know any of them?” Louie asked, narrowing his eyes at the back of the older duck’s head.

“I knew everyone,” Glomgold answered haughtily. “I, uh, kept up with current events, back then.”

It was all laid out in Louie’s head like a puzzle, the things they knew or had learned connected to each other and surrounded by empty spaces. He heard Huey’s voice in his head, telling him that Magica’s study was filled with books on the kingdom and the war and Scrooge McDuck. He heard Huey again, telling them that Magica had hidden the medallion piece from him for all his life, saying that Magica was never home, that Lena was always running ‘errands’ for her. New puzzle pieces clicked into place, having been there all along but only now making sense.

“So you know Magica DeSpell?” Louie asked, without mercy, and all three of the people in front of him whirled around to stare at him; two in confusion, one in shock and maybe fear.

“How do you know that name?” Glomgold demanded, his eyes snapping around the area they were in as if he were looking for the woman herself, like the mere mention of her name would summon her.

“She’s kinda the reason we’re here,” said Louie slowly.

He hugged his wrist to his chest, looked at Huey and Dewey, and wondered if he should thank her or push her over a cliff.

“She was my guardian,” Huey said, looking a bit paler with this new revelation of just how much Magica had been involved in their lives. “She had me kidnapped a few weeks ago. We— we think that she knew who I am. Um, royalty, and such.”

Flintheart Glomgold’s eyes finally settled on them, and it was like he was seeing them for the first time.

“Maybe you really are them,” Glomgold mused. The words were heavy, and still they managed to hang in the air.

“Louie and I were more of an accident,” Dewey cut in, turning to Louie with a grin, causing him to roll his eyes. “No one knows who we are, and I still think that’s pretty funny.”

Louie smirked despite himself. None of those villains actually knew who they were chasing, or exactly what they’d lost by losing them. Not even Magica DeSpell knew, but she’d only ever seen Huey, so that at least made sense.

“She’s got this whole brigade of criminals after us, so that’s been pretty annoying,” Louie added, kicking at a rock on the ground as they resumed walking.

Glomgold stiffened. “You’ve got an army chasing you and you led them to me?!”

“We lost them, I think,” Louie said, hoping it was true, “so don’t get your skirt in a twist.”

“It’s a kilt! It’s more Scottish than what McDuck wears, the fraud.”

Louie huffed and exchanged looks with Huey and Dewey. He was beginning to lose hope that he’d ever meet anyone who even came close to being ‘normal’.

They walked for longer than Louie would have liked, and it was almost noon when Glomgold told them that they were close. It finally caught up to Louie just what it was that they were heading for, and doubt and uncertainty crept back up on him. It had taken so long to get here, were they really that close to the end? And would they find what they were looking for, or would they find what they were dreading?

Looking in front of him, he noticed that Dewey had become more bouncy and restless, and that Huey was almost manically focused on where he placed his feet. Louie wasn’t the only one feeling nervous and overwhelmed.

“Here we are,” Glomgold announced suddenly, and they stepped rather abruptly out of the forest.

Glomgold moved to the side, and Louie stopped and stared.

There was 20 or 30 feet of mostly clear space laid out in from of them, an expanse of rock and small patches of grass, and then there was a huge canyon. The gap in the earth was too wide to be bridged by a fallen tree, was too wide for even three trees to cover the distance. On the other side of the canyon was what would be called an island, if they were in the ocean. It was a large column of land sticking up out of the canyon, slightly higher than the ground they were currently standing on. The ‘island’ was covered in fog, heavy fog, so dense that they couldn’t see anything beyond it. It almost looked like a cloud had descended from the sky just to rest there on the ground, blocking everything from view.

Louie turned his head in a daze, looking both left and right, and he saw much of the same thing. The canyon curved in both directions, suggesting that it formed a sort of barrier around the column of land that sat in the middle, hopelessly out of reach. Launchpad’s wish to fly suddenly seemed less ridiculous and more practical.

“My theory,” said Glomgold, oblivious to their shock, “is that the second castle is hidden on that island.”

“Wow,” Dewey said simply, the first of them to find his voice, and he sounded breathless.

Everything seemed so suddenly real, and Louie nearly stumbled with the force of it. It was like someone or something had slammed him into the present, and everything surrounding him was too tangible, too much.

Huey gripped Louie’s arm – it tingled, like it was waking up – and stared out at the distant fog, with such a far away gaze that Louie almost thought he might be able to see through it. But the fog, of course, was just as painfully real as everything else was.

“It’s like this everywhere?” Huey asked in a weak voice.

“All the way around,” said Glomgold, walking closer to the edge of the canyon. “And it doesn’t get any closer than this. No way across.”

Dewey was the first to start towards the cliff, and Louie followed without much thought. He stood a bit away from the edge, unwilling to risk the fall, and peered carefully down into the earth. The effect was dizzying. Louie could see down for a good while, the walls darkening as they went, but he couldn’t see the bottom. More fog was crawling up from the depths of whatever was at the bottom of the canyon, once again obscuring their view. If you fell, you wouldn’t see the ground before it hit you. You wouldn’t see anything.

Louie stumbled back away from the ledge and sat down heavily. It felt too dangerous to be near the canyon. With their track record, they’d most definitely find a way to fall in at some point. It was almost inevitable, but Louie had never believed in fate of destiny, so he put it out of his mind.

Huey backed away from the drop next, walking over and plopping down next to him on the ground.

“Now what?” Louie asked tiredly, hoping for a day when he’d never have to ask that question again.

Huey shrugged, his eyes fixed on where Dewey was still standing too close to the edge for comfort. “Not sure yet, but we’ll figure it out.”

Louie hummed, and a cloud passed lazily over the sun, casting the area in dimmer light and painting the distant island fog in shadows.

The castle could be right there. He could practically be looking at it, if there wasn’t fog in the way. Louie felt a great tug in his chest, as if his heart was on a leash, trying to pull him forwards. They were so close to solving the mystery, they had to be.

Dewey’s webbed feet slapped the ground as he came toward them. He sat in front of them on the uneven stone, cross-legged and rocking gently from side to side.

“Neither of you happen to have bridge building expertise, do you?” asked Dewey, and even he sounded exhausted.

Louie shook his head and leaned back on his good hand.

“Not even you?” Dewey looked at Huey with a small teasing smile.

Huey returned the smile and shook his head fondly. “Not even me.”

Dewey sighed and rested his chin in his hand.

“Yeah,” he said. “Me neither.”

They sat in silence for a while. Glomgold was pacing along the edge of the canyon in the distance, having forgotten about them for the time being, but Louie didn’t mind.

His wrist was still a near constant ache, but he’d dealt with similar injuries before, so he mostly tried to ignore it. He did wish that it hadn’t been his dominant hand that was injured, though.

“How’s your wrist?” Huey asked in concern, clearly having read his mind.

“It’s fine,” Louie said, holding it out to demonstrate that the wrapping was holding up.

He winced when pain shot up his arm from the movement, but allowed Huey to look at it as he tried to keep his arm from shaking.

“The swelling isn’t as bad as it was, at least.” Huey gently tucked it back against Louie’s stomach, then he turned to Dewey. “What about your arm?”

“Hmm?” Dewey’s eyes snapped up from where he’d been staring at Louie’s wrist. “Oh, it’s not that bad. It’s just kinda sore, and hurts if I move it too much.”

Huey huffed, obviously believing that Dewey was underselling it. “Can I look at it?”

“Sure.”

Huey carefully unwrapped the injury, wincing whenever Dewey did. After peeling off the last layer, he asked Dewey to take off his jacket, and then he poured some clean water over the healing cut. Dewey flinched then, drawing a sharp intake of breath, and Louie’s stomach was tied up in anxious knots.

“It needs to be kept clean,” Huey explained apologetically, and Dewey just nodded with his teeth clenched.

Huey rewrapped Dewey’s arm with a new strip of blanket, and Louie helped Dewey put his jacket back on, which was slightly humorous, being as they both only had one good arm.

“I could’ve done that, you know,” Huey said, sounding slightly amused but with an undercurrent of guilt.

As the only one without anything more than bumps and bruises, Huey must have been feeling bad about letting them get hurt. Louie knew that he’d felt responsible for everything, ever since the beginning when they barely knew each other, and he wished that Huey could see his own worth, wanted him to know that he didn’t have to do anything alone.

“You’ve done enough.” Louie spoke gently, putting his hand on Huey’s shoulder. “I know I said that Magica is the reason we’re here, and she is. I blame her for the bad parts of this whole thing. But we have you to thank for the good parts.”

Huey looked at him uncertainly, doubtfully, and Louie saw himself mirrored in his eyes.

“You’re the one who’s been reading maps, and you’re the one who knew what the medallions meant, and it was you who cracked the code and gave us a place to go,” Louie said, listing all the practical ways Huey had been useful, but he realized that there was more to it than that.

“You’re the one who told me that it was okay to be unsure, and you’re the one who gave me friendship, despite all the ways that I am.” Louie’s voice got softer as he spoke, and more certain.

“You never left me, you know.” Louie let out a short laugh, pretending that his eyes weren’t tearing up. “You never even tried, and I was sure that you both would. But you stayed.”

Louie looked at Huey, who was sniffling and wiping at his eyes, wearing a sad smile.

“Thank you,” Louie said, and Huey reached out to hug him.

Louie hadn’t received many hugs in his lifetime. In fact, the first one he really remembered was when Huey and Dewey had hugged him while he was tied up in Ma Beagle’s creepy hideout, and he hadn’t even been able to hug back. Now, though, he could, even though it was a bit clumsy and he was trying to keep his wrist still. It felt a little strange, and a little unnatural, but it also felt like… like coming home, especially when Dewey joined in and wrapped his arms around them both, smiling wide and unashamed.

They pulled back what could have been hours or minutes later, and Dewey grinned at him and poked him fondly on the beak.

“All heart,” said Dewey, in a soft voice, and Louie shook his head playfully.

“If we’re going to do this,” Huey said, smiling, “then you guys have been important to this trip, too.”

“You think so?” Dewey asked teasingly, but there was something vulnerable in his eyes.

“If you hadn’t jumped in to save Louie, then we wouldn’t have met, and if you hadn’t failed, then none of us would be here,” Huey said, and Dewey looked almost happy at the mention of his failure, at the acknowledgement that it had meant something good.

“And you push us to do things.” Louie joined in. “You believed in all of it when we couldn’t. When I couldn’t, and you didn’t give up on us. You’re the reason we even decided to look for this place.”

“Not to mention the Don Karnage sword fight thing, because that saved us all,” Huey said, with a smile of fond remembrance. “And you talked some sense into me when I wanted to stay behind and give myself up.”

“Yeah, while I ran away,” Louie added.

“Don’t act like you had no part in this,” Dewey admonished, looking suspiciously misty eyed, “because you did a lot. Like, a lot.”

Louie shook his head, feeling embarrassment creep in.

“If you hadn’t gotten in trouble with the Beagle Boys, then you and I wouldn’t be here, and if you hadn’t snatched the knife off of Ma Beagle then we’d still be stuck in the wagon!” Dewey exclaimed, gesturing dramatically to make his point.

“And if you weren’t so clumsy, we might have never found out about the medallion,” Huey said, a teasing grin on his face.

Louie glared halfheartedly, something warm blooming in his chest.

“Not to mention that you basically saved yourself after getting captured, because that was super cool,” said Dewey, nudging his shoulder.

“Okay, we get it!” Louie stood up and looked down at a smiling Huey and snickering Dewey. “We’re all important, we couldn’t have done it without each other, all that jazz.”

Louie helped both of them up off the ground, ignoring his slightly heated face.

“I’m so glad that we talked about this instead of how to cross the chasm of death,” Louie continued sarcastically, trying and failing to cover up how touched he was by the assurance of his value.

“It needed to be said.” Dewey rolled his eyes playfully. “And it’s not like we don’t have time. We’ll figure it out.”

As if to mock them, a twig snapped in the woods behind them, breaking under the weight of an intruder.

Chapter Text

Huey was whirled around facing the tree line before he fully formed the thought of doing so, reflexes having been sharpened to a fine point over the past few weeks. Well, reflexes or prey instinct, whichever you preferred.

His eyes strained as he stared unblinkingly into the woods, struggling to find something worth looking at. Louie was next to him on his right side – a bit behind him – and standing shoulder to shoulder with Dewey in such a way that both of their injured limbs were nearly pressed against each other. The three of them together presented a united front, and they had stood that way without thinking.

Glomgold was off in the distance somewhere – Huey could just barely see him out of the corner of his eye – and would be absolutely no help if something were to happen, which seemed to be more and more unlikely as the seconds dragged on.

Huey was almost ready to allow himself to relax, chalking it up to nerves and coincidence, when a great hulking shape burst forth from the shadows.

Louie flinched violently beside him, and there was no time to prepare, no time to think, before the figure tackled Dewey to the ground. Huey screamed out of sheer surprise, just barely hearing Dewey’s muffled sound of pain over the noise; the cut on his arm must’ve been moved too roughly. Well, he’d been tackled, so of course it had.

Huey barely had time to register that it was Bouncer pinning Dewey to the ground before two pairs of hands – he’d been too focused on Dewey and neglected his own surroundings – grabbed him and dragged him forcibly backwards; Bigtime and Burger, he was sure. He looked around wildly, spotting Dewey struggling madly despite the pain he must’ve been in, and he saw Falcon Graves quickly advancing on Louie who was standing and looking frantically between him and Dewey and not moving.

Huey opened his beak to warn Louie, fear already clogging his throat, but his captors yanked harshly on his arms and his words turned into a short, pained yell. Dewey’s head swiveled towards him in alarm, but Huey could only focus on Louie, who had also turned, giving Graves just enough time to grab him by the hood.

In less than five seconds, they’d been captured. All it had taken was strength in numbers and the element of surprise. Although, why would he be surprised, at this point? Why would anything be easy?

Huey struggled madly toward his brothers – either of them, both of them, just as long as he was closer – and Louie was trying to yank his hood out of Graves’ grip with his one good hand. Huey wanted to yell at him to just take it off, but he knew that Louie wouldn’t leave it – or them – behind. Not while the medallion piece was still in it, anyways.

Bouncer finally stood up, Dewey clutched in his grasp and wincing from the pressure that had to be on his injured arm. Huey scowled at the huge beagle holding his brother hostage, about to shout some choice words, but a horribly pained cry from Louie had his head snapping around and his blood running cold.

Falcon Graves had given up on holding Louie by the hood, and had instead grabbed his sprained wrist in a tight, unrelenting hold. Huey could see the tears in Louie’s eyes from where he was – could watch as he slowly sank to his knees under the pain – and anger burned hot in his chest.

Dewey was already screaming something, thrashing wildly in Bouncers hold and getting nowhere, and Huey followed aggressively in his footsteps, fighting the arms holding him back with everything he had.

“Stop it!” Huey screamed, voice breaking.

Finally, one of the arms around him slipped, and he yanked himself forward, lunging toward the monster hurting his little brother. And he threw himself forward with more weight than he had, with the weight of all the anger and fear that he was feeling, but it was hopeless. Frustrated tears pricked at his eyes as he realized that there was nothing he could do, and yet still he fought, because Dewey was still fighting and because Louie was still in trouble, and because both of them still needed his help.

“Now this is a surprise.”

A clear voice carried across the clearing-turned-battlefield, and Huey, despite himself, froze. Everyone did, actually, as Magica DeSpell stepped gracefully out of the woods, Ma Beagle close behind. Her black and purple dress stood out starkly against her green skin, and the yellow eyes that had creeped him out when he was younger terrified him now, but he steadily held her gaze anyway, unwilling to back down from the person who’d caused them so much trouble. He couldn’t say that he was surprised to see her; somewhere inside of him he had known that he would have to see her again.

The only noise around him now were the sounds of Louie’s strained breathing, Dewey’s sudden growl, and his own heart beating in his chest.

Magica strolled leisurely toward Huey, stepping past the other criminals and his brothers as if they meant nothing, and to her, they probably didn’t. She stopped in front of him, staring down without emotion as Huey glared weakly.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you fight quite so hard,” said Magica, and a small, condescending smirk tugged at the corner of her beak.

Huey hadn’t heard her voice in weeks, and he couldn’t say that he’d missed it.

“I’ve never had a reason to before,” Huey said, trying and failing to keep his voice steady.

“Who, them?” Magica straightened up and gave both Dewey and Louie a onceover. “They hardly seem worth it now, do they?”

“You’re wrong,” Huey bit out, hearing Dewey’s muffled protests off to the side.

“My dear,” said Magica, and she pat his head patronizingly, “I am never wrong.”

Huey exhaled shakily and looked past Magica to check on his brothers. Dewey was held firmly in the strong grip of Bouncer, both feet off the ground and a huge hand covering his beak; it was exactly how Huey had been held the first time he’d been kidnapped. On the left was Louie, standing with his eyes shut tightly, being held by one hand on his left arm and the other around his injured wrist. It would hurt him more to struggle, and Falcon Graves had figured that out immediately, especially having been the one who’d hurt him in the first place.

As he was looking, Louie’s eyes blinked open and met his blearily. Huey strained against the arms holding him back unconsciously, and he made a faint noise of frustration when they didn’t budge. One thing left to try, then.

“Then let them go,” Huey said, meeting Magica’s steely eyes, which were looking at him with something akin to curiosity. “If you say they’re not worth it, then that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Magica smiled thinly, in such a way that it could be mistaken for a twitch, and turned around to walk to the center of the small circle of captors and captives. Huey glanced at Dewey, only to see him looking back at him with an admonishing gaze, staring straight into his soul. Huey cringed.

“Oh, but you seem so attached,” Magica said, mock sympathy in her voice, and she reached a hand up smoothly to ruffle Dewey’s hair. “It would be a shame to separate you.”

Huey’s heart skipped a beat and dropped into his stomach. He felt nauseous. Had they really come this far only to fail? Had he led Dewey and Louie this far only to let them down?

“Why?” Huey’s voice cracked, utterly defeated. “What do you need me for? You’re the one who got rid of me, remember?”

“Well,” said Magica. “It was nothing personal.”

It never was.

His former guardian returned to the tree line and turned to face the remainder of her criminal posse, still holding them hostage.

“Tie them up. We’ll be staying here a while,” said Magica, gaze fixed behind them at the island and the swirling fog, and everyone leapt into action.

Ma Beagle produced a truly insane amount of rope from her bag of absolute horror, tossing it over to Bigtime, who had to let go of Huey’s arm to catch it. Burger gripped him harder to compensate, and Huey winced, knowing he’d have bruises on his shoulders later. Then he was being pushed forward, feet digging into the dirt and scraping across stone. If he was going down, he was going down fighting with dirty and bruised feet, and he was leaving evidence of a struggle so that no one could ever say he went quietly.

Bouncer met them in the middle, still carrying an extremely miffed Dewey, who was kicking his legs with all his might and only succeeding in being a minor nuisance. Huey met his eyes briefly, and saw his own panic and frustration reflected back at him. He wanted to comfort him, wanted to tell him that it would all be okay, but he also didn’t want to lie; he didn’t want to make promises he couldn’t keep.

A suppressed whine from Louie made him jerk his head frantically to the left, where Falcon Graves was coming towards them and tugging Louie along by his sprained wrist. Louie had his beak clenched shut in a way that looked painful, obviously trying to keep quiet. He was attempting to use his one free arm to pry the falcon’s hand off of him, but it wasn’t working. Nothing was working.

Bouncer yelped suddenly, yanking the hand that had been covering Dewey’s beak out and away from his body, shaking it off. Huey spotted a few dots of blood on the beagle’s fur, and came to the slow realization that Dewey had bitten him. His brother immediately began shouting.

“You— you sick, twisted monster!” Dewey glared venomously at Magica, at Falcon Graves, at everyone in his line of sight. “Let us go!”

Huey had never heard Dewey this angry. Maybe the barn had been a close second, but that had been more hurt than anger. Right then, Dewey only sounded furious.

“You can’t hurt me with words, child,” Magica drawled, leaning against a tree, and it was odd to see someone so evil looking so relaxed. “Hurling insults is merely an admittance of having nothing left to fight with.”

Bigtime and Burger forced Huey down to sit in the dirt, almost in sync with his sinking heart. Soon after, he felt Dewey’s back pressed against his, squirming wildly.

“Be still, or the wrist will be more than sprained,” said Graves, in a calm, cold voice.

Huey shivered, and Dewey froze, both of them sitting rigidly as Louie was pushed down beside them – his back to theirs, so they formed a kind of triangle – and then a coil of rope was wrapping around them, being pulled tighter and tighter as more was added. When their torsos were fastened together with no wiggle room, each of the Beagle Boys took separate pieces of rope to tie their legs together.

It spoke volumes about their newly acquired reputation that their captors were going to such lengths just to keep them in one place. Huey, Dewey, and Louie had learned a lot from their recent adventures, but so had their enemies. That was – sadly – how the world seemed to work. Even bad people learned from their mistakes, and they used that knowledge to do worse things than before.

Huey vaguely registered Glomgold stomping toward them in the distance, but he couldn’t care less, too focused on making sure his brothers were okay. The group of criminals had stepped aside to converse in whispers, so why not do the same?

“Are you guys alright?” Huey asked quietly, trying and failing to turn his head enough to see either of them clearly.

“Well, no.” Dewey grunted as he tried to shift positions. “I mean— yes, I’m fine, but no.”

Huey huffed a shaky laugh – everything about him was shaky – before leaning gently into Louie on his right side.

“How bad is your wrist?” Huey asked, and his fingers were twitching with the urge to check on it himself. He’d asked that same question not even ten minutes ago, and already everything had changed.

Louie took as deep a breath as was possible when surrounded by ropes before performing what might have been a shrug.

“Not any better, surprisingly,” Louie said, voice hoarse.

“At least Graves didn’t injure your sense of humor,” Dewey remarked, teasing, with a dangerous undercurrent of tension.

“Can you move it?” Huey asked, head ducked and eyes carefully trained on the cluster of villains off to the side.

Louie mumbled something, and Huey glanced toward him, forgetting that he wouldn’t be able to see him no matter how hard he tried.

“What?” Dewey asked.

“I don’t- I don't want to,” Louie repeated, much cleared that time, but weighed down with anxiety.

“Try?” Huey asked, and he wiggled his own hand and managed to bump it against Louie’s good one, offering either encouragement or a demonstration. “I just— we need to know how bad it is.”

A pause.

“Please?” Huey tried, and Louie sighed.

Louie’s shoulder tensed and his breath hitched, the very definition of uncomfortable. A moment passed.

“It’s pretty stiff, and it— it hurts, but I can move it,” Louie said, relief and pain clear in his voice. Huey wondered if the reason Louie hadn’t wanted to try and move it was out of fear, like he was afraid of knowing how bad it was. But he’d done it, and something loosened in Huey’s chest.

The three of them relaxed a bit, leaning into each other and trying to calm down enough to think rationally.

It was then that Glomgold arrived on the scene, scowling and stomping, neither calm nor rational.

“Magica DeSpell!” The Scottish duck waved his fist in the air and came to a stop a few feet away from the person he was addressing. “Still playing catch up after all these years?”

As soon as she laid eyes on Glomgold, Magica seemed to rotate quickly through all five stages of grief before her facial expression finally landed somewhere between surprise and annoyance.

“Glomgold,” said Magica simply, tiredly. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know.” Glomgold waved a hand. “Taxes.”

There was complete silence as everyone waited for something even remotely useful to be said, staring down Glomgold with little patience and zero tolerance. It was a terrible joke, in Huey’s opinion; there wasn’t even currently a government to collect taxes.

“Fine, fine,” Glomgold muttered. “I suppose I’m doing the same thing you’re doing, except my scheming didn’t involve children.”

“Don’t act so superior when we’re both standing in the exact same place,” Magica said, barely restrained anger coloring her tone. “Children or not, you’re no closer to Scrooge McDuck than I am. In fact, I’d say that I’m closer.”

Glomgold crossed his arms and glared up at her. “What makes you so sure?”

“I’ve got his nephew,” Magica said, an evil smirk on her face as she gestured towards Huey with great importance. “And when dear Scrooge realizes this, he will bend to my will. Nothing is more important to him than his family.”

Magica’s smug facial expression twisted into fury when Glomgold started laughing outright, doubled over and clutching his stomach. Huey leaned back, trying his best to shuffle away from such an obvious display of insanity.

“So they were right!” Glomgold straightened up and wiped a tear from his eye. “You really don’t know.”

Huey’s blood ran cold as he realized what it was that Glomgold was dancing around, the information he was holding over Magica’s head. The secrets they’d told him – rather foolishly – just because they had so desperately wanted to trust someone, wanted for things to be over. If Glomgold told Magica that they were all royalty, that they were the lost triplets or nephews or whatever, then they’d be in so much more danger than they were currently. Dewey and Louie would be in more danger, and that was what Huey had been trying to avoid this whole time.

“Okay, we might be in trouble,” Huey whispered, casting about for any means of escape he’d missed.

“What gave it away?” Louie asked sarcastically.

“For me personally,” said Dewey, “it was the rope.”

“Hey, Dewey,” Huey said suddenly, straightening up hopefully. “They let you keep your sword, right? Can you reach it?”

There was slight movement as Dewey shook his head, and the pit in Huey’s stomach grew bigger and heavier.

“They tied us too tight,” said Dewey, and it was obvious that he’d give anything to be able to help them out; it killed him that he couldn’t.

Huey returned his attention – reluctantly – to Glomgold, who was now dancing around Magica and triumphantly singing “I know something you don’t know. I know something you don’t know,” over and over again.

“Oh, for the love of— Shut it!” Ma Beagle exploded, stepping forward to shove Glomgold.

“What are you talking about?” Magica pushed her way in front of Ma Beagle to demand answers.

“I’ll tell you,” Glomgold hedged, rubbing his hands together, and Huey’s heart picked up from its already frantic pace. “But only if you let me in on whatever your plan is. Just like the good old days, right?”

Magica clenched her teeth and rolled her eyes skyward, a look Huey recognized as the calm before the storm.

“Fine,” said Magica, with a cool steadiness, “but you answer to me.”

“Sure, sure,” said Glomgold, looking anything but obedient.

And why had they ever trusted Glomgold? The duck had said outright that only Scrooge’s enemies were still looking for him, and since Glomgold himself had been looking, it wasn’t that difficult to guess the relationship. Huey had foolishly thought that they had been business rivals only, instead of whatever was going on here. It shouldn’t have been hard to be more cautious, except it was, because they’d wanted Glomgold to be trustworthy, so much so that they’d ignored all signs to the contrary. Well, Louie hadn’t, but Louie didn’t trust easily. Didn’t trust anyone, really.

Still Huey felt like he should’ve known, like he should have stopped Dewey before he laid all of their cards on the table. It was too late now, but he wasn’t going to give up. He would never give up on his brothers.

“We have to get out of here,” Dewey whispered urgently.

“How?” Louie asked, already sounding defeated.

“Huey?”

“I…” They counted on him for these things, for plans, but he’d run out of ideas. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Dewey said, and Huey knew he’d be patting his shoulder if they weren’t all tied up. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Together,” Louie added, and two weeks ago that was something that Louie never would have said.

Huey couldn’t help a small smile, even though the world was falling apart again, even though things seemed bleak, because with him were Dewey and Louie, and they carried with them a bond that couldn’t be broken the way the world could.

Glomgold came bounding up to them, ignoring the heated glares he was receiving from literally everyone, and he turned to grin maliciously at the group of villains following him.

“You’ve got Scrooge’s nephew, you say?” Magica inclined her head in a single nod, and Glomgold chuckled. “Only one?”

“Get to the point,” Magica said shortly.

“And the only reason you know that,” Glomgold continued, and he reached for Huey, pulling on the chain that held his medallion piece until it came out from beneath his vest, “is because of this.”

Huey jerked his head to the side, causing Glomgold to release the piece, and it fell back against Huey’s chest as he glowered at the duck in front of him.

Magica just stared in silence, very judgmentally, and Glomgold crossed over to Dewey.

“Don’t you dare,” Dewey snarled, but no one listened, and Glomgold reached into Dewey’s jacket pocket.

Dewey’s medallion piece had no chain attached to it, so Glomgold fully removed himself from them and held the piece up to show it to Magica, casually revealing their best kept secret as if it didn’t matter at all.

It mattered. It mattered more than anything else in the world, at that moment. The secret was out. Huey held his breath.

His former guardian reached out and snatched the gold piece out of Glomgold’s hand. She stared at it intensely for a good few seconds, her group of criminals gathering around her comically, and then she slowly raised her head toward them with a blank expression.

“The green one has one, too, but they didn’t show me where,” said Glomgold, grinning like a maniac, nowhere near as harmless as he’d seemed a few hours ago.

Huey met Magica’s eyes cautiously, and she didn’t even blink.

“You’ve been busy,” Magica told him, as if she had any right to say that to him, and the fear he once had for her vanished, replaced by the betrayal he was only just beginning to feel.

“Yeah, I’ve been busy. Busy running from your decisions, your people!” Huey shouted, scowling and leaning forward in his restraints. “Busy figuring out everything for myself because you never bothered to tell me!”

Huey paused, drawing strength from the warmth of his brothers against his back.

“Why?” Huey asked, practically hissing. “Why did you do any of it? How?”

Magica flipped Dewey’s medallion piece once in the air before catching it and holding it in a tight grip. She was still staring at him, and Huey had the vague thought that this was the most she’d ever looked at him, and the first time she’d ever seen him. She blinked once, slowly, before folded her hands behind her back and walking a few steps closer.

“12 years ago, the war ended,” said Magica. “Many people on both sides perished. Some of them I knew quite well.”

She paused, perhaps expecting questions, but for once in his life, Huey couldn’t imagine asking one.

“A few escaped, of course, such as myself and the people you see here, the people you harmed in the last village.” As if she had any moral high ground. “And on the other side of the war was Scrooge McDuck, who disappeared without a trace. There was his nephew, who my informants told me had escaped the castle weeks before the end of the war with his twin sister, and her newly hatched triplet children.”

Oh, thought Huey. My mother. He’d somehow just realized that he had to have had one, and here he was learning about her from Magica of all people, who had played a part in the war that had destroyed his life before it had even really started.

When he’d found out that Magica was having him kidnapped, he’d felt numb. Now, after all that had happened, and after the new strength he’d gained from friendship and brotherhood, he was angry, and hurt.

“Just a few days before Scrooge McDuck vanished into thin air, a group of soldiers found his family that had fled, and reportedly killed them all.” Magica placed no emotion in the words. She was reciting facts. “Except, just after I returned home, a caravan of traveling salesman came into town, and they brought you with them.”

“They claimed to have found you and two other babies hidden in a crate of produce,” Magica continued, “and said that they’d intended to care for them all, but that one baby had gotten sick and had to be left in a village to be cared for. The other one went missing, and they theorized that it had been stolen.”

Huey saw the entirety of his life laid out before his eyes, and realized all at once that he’d pretty much been born on the run. Running away from villains, away from the same people who were chasing him now.

“It seemed likely that both missing babies had died, and seeing as the medallion you wore around your neck told me who you were, I then had the sole heir to the throne in my grasp.” Magica’s gaze flicked down to the medallion piece that Huey was wearing as a necklace, resting on his chest. “I’ve been looking for Scrooge ever since, poring over history books and everything I could find on those blasted medallions.”

There had been times, when he was younger, where he saw Lena returning from errands with her arms full of books. She’d be gone for days, and she’d come back like that, and Huey had just always thought that she was an avid reader. He’d even attempted to make conversation with her about it, trying to find some common ground, but she’d always found a way to walk away.

Huey now realized that the books hadn’t been for her. She’d been getting them for Magica, who had spent his entire youth looking for the remains of the family she’d destroyed, ignoring the piece of it that lived in her house.

“After over a decade of finding nothing, I sold you to the highest bidder.” Huey felt something flare up inside him, indignant and defensive. Magica glanced over at the Beagle Boys and Ma Beagle. “But it seems that they couldn’t quite keep you contained, and I had to get involved.”

The most involved she’d ever been in his life, and it was because he’d escaped being basically sold like some kind of object. She’d thrown him away as soon as he’d outlived his use.

“So you accidentally found all three nephews, is what I’m hearing?” Huey asked sharply, knowing that she would hate it. Magica only ever did things on purpose, through meticulous planning, and this unforeseen circumstance had to irk her.

“Hey, that was us!” Bigtime exclaimed, and he had no issue with doing things on accident. He’d kidnapped Dewey and Louie because his pride was wounded, not because he’d had some sixth sense that told him they were important.

“All the better for me,” said Magica, with what could be a serene face if her eye wasn’t twitching, “because now the stakes for Scrooge are higher. He will have no choice but to concede.”

“What is it that you want from him?” asked Louie, all sharp edges, the same way he’d talked to them back when they were strangers.

“Nothing that concerns you.”

“I beg to differ,” said Dewey, clearly frustrated that he couldn’t see Magica as well as they could. “I’m very concerned.”

Magica stood and stared at them for too long, gaze bouncing between each of their faces as if trying to connect the dots. Looking for similarities, maybe, of which there were many. They were triplets, after all.

Finally, she handed Dewey’s medallion piece back to Glomgold – with a pointed look at Dewey – and turned away. The rest of the criminals around her obeyed the silent order, following her off to the side to converse in more hushed tones. Glomgold grinned at them, and Huey felt the sharpness of it deep in his chest. The older duck tucked Dewey’s medallion piece back into Dewey’s jacket pocket, and Huey felt him relax slightly.

“Sit tight,” said Glomgold, mockingly, and he walked off the join the group that obviously would rather he wasn’t there.

“Gotta love informative villain speeches,” Louie said, after a moment of silence, and Dewey snorted.

“Betcha she’s been planning that one. Practicing in the mirror and whatnot,” Dewey replied, shifting again in the ropes, trying to loosen them.

“I’d hate to be her mirror.”

Huey laughed breathlessly, mind scrambling to put all the new information neatly in folders, but everything seemed to be in disarray. Save it for later, he told himself. And that’s what he did.

Miraculously, they were really, really stuck this time, and it was several long uncomfortable hours before anything noteworthy happened. Graves and Magica had walked off in opposite directions just as the sun set, carrying torches to light their way, probably searching for some way across the ravine that kept them all from their goal.

Glomgold was standing near the edge of the cliff, next to what appeared to be the remains of a very, very old rope bridge. Huey had seen it, briefly, just two wooden poles stuck in the ground with a few frayed pieces of rope hanging down into the canyon. Nothing else was left, and Huey almost wondered what had broken the bridge, exactly, and if someone might have been unlucky enough to have been on it when it happened.

The Beagle Boys sat nearby around a campfire, eyes flickering over to them periodically to make sure that they hadn’t up and vanished like their apparent Uncle Scrooge. Ma Beagle had gone into the forest for an unknown reason and had yet to return.

The stars were bright, and the moon was full, so it was bright enough to see the movement when it happened.

There in the woods – a few yards behind the Beagle Boys – were several shadowy shapes moving about just inside. Huey’s breath hitched, and he nudged Louie, who might’ve actually been asleep, and Dewey, who most definitely had been.

Dewey’s snores cut off immediately, and Louie made a questioning sort of noise, to which Huey simply nodded his head in the direction of their new guests.

For a moment, everything was still and quiet, aside from the faint crackling of fire and the gentle wind in the trees.

Then Huey blinked, and the area was chaos.

The Beagle Boys never knew what hit them, but Dewey did.

Chapter Text

Dewey didn’t remember falling asleep, and he hadn’t planned on it, but at some point he’d become a little too familiar and comfortable with being a hostage, so sleep he did.

And he’d been dreaming, he remembered that much; a dream filled with soft colors and warm voices that he couldn’t quite recall. His mother had been in it, even though he’d never gotten a clear look at her face, and he didn’t know how he knew it was her. The feeling of family and safety had surrounded him so completely that it almost drowned him. It should’ve hurt, it seemed like, but instead it was the most wonderful feeling in the world. It kind of made him want to cry.

Then Huey nudged him out of sleep, and he woke up and saw the new crazy thing that was happening, like the universe had a whole lineup of crazy, impossible things just waiting to be deployed in their general direction.

Dewey opened his eyes, and suddenly doubted that he’d woken up at all. But the cut on his arm was stinging, and the ropes chafed, so he reluctantly accepted that he was back in the real world.

The thing was, the world had changed. His world had changed. For the longest time it had been just him and Webby and Ms. Beakley, and then suddenly they’d been gone, and it had been him and Huey and Louie. There hadn’t been much of an overlap between the two, or any sort of transition. It had happened in the way that things just do sometimes, too quick to process until it’s a memory you can review, or a moment to relive. Webby had met Louie for all of ten seconds, and she hadn’t even known his name.

So, long story short, there was his first world – the one with Beakley and Webby – and then there was his second, current world with Huey and Louie. And suddenly, without any sort of warning whatsoever – right in front of him – they were colliding rather violently.

It was bright enough to see, since the full moon was shining bright and unobscured – at least the universe let them witness the crazy events they encountered in glorious clarity – and Dewey still hardly believed his eyes. His past was clashing with his present, quite literally.

Webby was punching a guy in the face.

Webby was punching Bigtime in the face.

She was wearing a scowl, unlike any that Dewey had ever seen from her. Her pink dress was dirty, and leaves were tangled in her hair, and she was right there. Fighting his monsters for him.

Dewey’s incredulous gaze next landed on Mrs. Beakley, who had just flipped Bouncer over her head and slammed him to the ground. The Beagle laid there, groaning.

So focused was he on the sudden appearance of his family that it took him a minute to register that there were more people there.

Launchpad was standing at the tree line, seemingly ready to catch anyone who tried to flee, and he threw a rock harshly at Bigtime, nailing him in the head. The short beagle yelled and outrage and turned his attention to their former driver, making the mistake of putting his back to Webby, who kicked him solidly in the back of the knees and sent him tumbling to the ground.

The last Beagle Boy – Burger – was facing off with a girl that Dewey had never seen before. She was taller and older than Webby was, had short hair with a pink streak, and she was smirking maliciously at her opponent, eyes flashing angrily in the dark.

“Am I hallucinating?” Louie mumbled, to no one in particular.

“Only if I am,” said Huey, sounding far away and disconnected. Dewey nudged him best he could.

“Come on,” Dewey said, some sort of aching hope growing in his chest, causing him to break out in a beaming smile. “We’re not that crazy.”

“Yet,” Louie replied, automatically, and then he sort of froze in place. “Is— is that…?”

Dewey’s smile grew, because he knew who Louie had recognized. “Yep.”

Mrs. Beakley moved to take over fighting Bigtime for Webby, leaving Launchpad to deal with a stumbling Bouncer, and Webby turned her attention to him, complete relief shining through her eyes like a spotlight.

She ran towards them, hair blowing dramatically in the wind, as spirited as he’d last seen her. She stopped just short of tackling him, seeing as how it would’ve more than likely ended in disaster what with the rope tied tightly around them. Webby took one look, frowned, and drew her sword.

“First of all, I’m gonna cut you free,” said Webby, and it was so good to hear her voice, even though it was stern and kind of angry, “So try not to move. Secondly, I am going to kill you.”

“Get in line,” said Dewey, still wearing a stupid grin.

The corners of Webby’s beak turned upwards, probably through years of muscle memory that made her want to smile whenever he did, but then she shook her head in a helpless sort of way and readied her sword. It took a few careful slices, because the rope was thick and swords weren’t exactly made for cutting through it, but eventually enough of it was cut that Dewey and his brothers could help unwind themselves from it, and then untie their own legs.

As soon as Dewey was free – his limbs were tingling, and he could still feel the ropes against his skin even though they were gone – he launched himself into a standing position and threw his arms around Webby, who hugged him back with almost more vigor, and a lot more strength. Which made sense, because she probably hadn’t spent weeks starving and exhausted.

He blinked tears from his eyes, smiling so wide that it hurt, because he’d been so, so worried about them this whole time, and he could only imagine how they’d felt about him.

Then Webby was pulling back and grabbing the tops of his shoulders and shaking him back and forth, and Dewey could still only grin even though the cut on his arm was throbbing.

“I cannot believe you!” Webby exclaimed, and she was definitely crying, in a happy, overwhelmed sort of way. “You disappear in some shady village down a shady alley and you don’t come back? You gave me a heart attack!”

“I gave myself a heart attack, trust me,” Dewey replied, secretly glad that Webby hadn’t released her grip on him yet. He might collapse from the emotional weight that had just lifted off his shoulders.

Dewey turned to look behind him, seeing Huey helping Louie with the ropes around his legs, and then carefully helping him to his feet. Louie was immediately cradling his injured wrist to his stomach, shielding it as if someone was going to hurt it at any second. He had to be in absolute agony, at this point, since Falcon Graves had taken it upon himself to exploit the weakness that he’d caused in the first place and make it worse.

That guy was still around here somewhere, and Dewey was not letting him get that close, ever again. Magica was here, too, which meant he’d also have to keep an eye on Huey; Dewey was so done with these people who would hurt his brothers for their own gain, and who didn’t even care what horrible things they caused.

He didn’t realize that he was drifting closer to Huey and Louie until Webby had to let go of his shoulders, and then he grabbed her hand without looking to lead her over to them. A quick glance to the side proved that Beakley and the others were still fighting, but it looked like they had it well under control.

“—just try to keep it still, until we can make a sling or something—” Huey was saying as they walked up, in full mother hen mode once again. He cut himself off when Louie gestured their way, turning to face them, anxiety and tentative relief clear on his face.

“Hey guys,” said Dewey as he stopped right next to them, and he was grinning as though they weren’t standing just a few feet away from a midnight brawl. “This is Webby.”

Webby gave a short little wave next to him, looking a bit confused and nervous, and then something cleared in her eyes as she looked at Louie, doing a doubletake.

“Apple Boy?” Webby blurted, recognition lighting up her eyes, and Louie groaned.

Dewey let out a startled laugh, reaching out to nudge Louie’s shoulder as his brother facepalmed and Huey smiled a little.

“Yeah, you’re never living that one down,” Dewey laughed, and Louie glared at him with the eye that wasn’t covered by his hand.

“As long as I’m alive, I think I’m okay with that,” Louie replied, letting his hand drop as he stared tiredly and sheepishly at Webby.

“His name is Louie,” said Dewey, with a fond and teasing grin. “But feel free to call him that other thing.”

“Please don’t.”

Webby looked a little puzzled, but nonetheless amused – a little wondering, maybe – and then her eyes landed on Huey’s chest and nearly bugged out of her head. Dewey panicked for a short moment, jumping to the worst-case scenario that Huey was bleeding out or something, but then he looked over and saw Huey’s medallion piece still hanging there for everyone to see, and he understood.

“He—That’s not yours?” Webby looked at him for answers, and Dewey shook his head with a little half-smile. “He…has one too? What— How—”

“It’s a long story,” said Dewey, and the prospect of explaining everything was suddenly extremely daunting, and almost impossible considering that they didn’t even have all the answers. “A long story.”

Huey huffed a laugh, distracted by the Beagle Boys still fighting their rescuers, seeming pretty focused on one of the newcomers in particular, and then he turned away and held his hand out for Webby to shake.

“I’m Huey,” he said, with a little grin. “Nice to meet you.”

“Wait, so—” Webby backed up a step and bounced her gaze back and forth between the three of them. “Huey, Dewey, and Louie? That’s…”

Oh yeah, the rhyming. Dewey had nearly forgotten.

“Not as coincidental as you may think,” Huey said, and Louie snorted. Dewey rolled his eyes.

An enraged yell drew their attention back to the battle taking place a few feet away, and Dewey couldn’t help but be a bit happy that the Beagle Boys were finally getting a taste of their own medicine.

Bigtime was on the ground, now fully unconscious, having uttered his last war cry seconds before passing out. Bouncer was a few feet away, obviously dazed and stumbling, and Launchpad was just waiting nearby for him to lose the fight with gravity. The mystery girl had her back to a tree, seeming like she might be in trouble until she dodged a punch from Burger, causing his hand to collide rather violently and painfully with the tree behind her.

Bouncer finally fell to the ground, out cold, and Launchpad went to help subdue the last remaining Beagle Boys, which left Mrs. Beakley marching towards Dewey and Webby and two kids she’d never seen before. Dewey winced, sure he’d hear a lecture and a half before the night was over.

Mrs. Beakley stopped in front of him with a stern expression, and Dewey’s wince turned into sheepishness. He felt his brothers become tense behind him, even though there was nothing to be afraid of. But he understood that his guardian could be intimidating.

“Hey, so,” Dewey began, floundering a bit for something to say. “I may have wandered… a little bit.”

Something in the older ducks’ eyes softened, and then he was being pulled into a fierce hug. Dewey felt the tears flooding back as emotion welled up in his throat, and when Webby joined the hug soon after, he couldn’t be happier. He could never really be happy, if they weren’t there, and he was so full of relief that they were. He was tired of missing pieces.

“Lena?” Huey’s astonished voice rang out, and Dewey twisted around in the arms that held him, because he knew that name, from quiet nights in caves and wagons and forests, where they’d told each other things about themselves that they’d never told anyone. And that was before they even knew they were related.

Ever so carefully, he extracted himself from the arms of his adopted family and turned – still holding hands with Webby – to face his brother.

The mysterious girl from earlier was standing easily and casually in front of Huey, arms casually crossed across her chest, a half-smile on her face. Dewey glanced behind her and noticed Launchpad keeping an eye on the pile of unconscious beagles. LP caught his eye and waved, which Dewey happily returned.

“Hey, Red,” Lena greeted, and though her appearance would almost suggest that she didn’t care, her voice was unmistakably fond.

From what Huey had told them, him and Lena hadn’t been close in a long time, but circumstances being what they were, things had changed a bit. There was potential, there. There was hope. Huey only hesitated a second before hugging her.

Their hug was a lot less rambunctious and emotionally charged than Dewey’s had been with his own family, but it seemed to work for them, and if Dewey had learned anything since he met Huey and Louie, than it was that people showed emotions in different ways, and that everyone was so terribly different that it almost circled back around to being so completely the same.

“I can’t believe you followed me all the way out here,” Huey spoke in a wavering voice, pulling out of the hug with suspiciously wet eyes.

“Well I didn’t go to all the trouble of warning you just to sit back and let it happen,” Lena said, with a guarded sort of affection that reminded him of Louie.

Louie, he remembered suddenly, even though he’d never really forgotten, and couldn’t if he tried. Dewey didn’t have to look far to find him, standing off to the side with his right forearm plastered to his stomach and a faint frown on his face, looking for all the world like he’d just lost something important.

And Dewey heard a faint voice swimming somewhere in the back of his mind; a memory of all that time ago sitting trapped in the Beagle Boy’s wagon heading toward an uncertain fate with two boys who became his brothers. Back then they’d been little more than strangers, but Dewey had still cared in the way he always had, and since then the feeling had only grown – grown until it filled that hollow space in his chest that had been there for as long as he could remember, the ache that had gone away without much fanfare. It had been tearing him apart for far longer than he realized, and only in its absence did he notice just how bad it had been.

And there was Louie’s voice in his mind, bitter and broken and sharp, telling him that there was no one in the world who was going to come and save him.

Terribly, he’d been right, and there he was standing off to the side while all this hugging was going on, and it probably looked a lot like being abandoned.

Dewey decided, right then and there, that he was going to be the person who went after Louie. The one who would save him, and look for him for as long as it took to find him, until Louie could roll his eyes in that way of his that meant laughter and complain that Dewey was always following him too closely.

Somewhere in his heart, Dewey knew that that decision had been made already, and outwardly, as Huey pulled away from Lena to stand next to their little brother, Dewey knew that he had competition. He’d never been happier for it.

“Where’s Magica?” Lena asked, after they’d all settled back into each other’s orbits, and yeah, they should probably get down to business.

“She went that way not long ago,” said Huey, pointing to the left. “She’s looking for a way across. Graves went the other way, Ma Beagle went into the wood, and Glomgold…”

Huey trailed off, and Dewey looked towards the last place he’d seen the self-proclaimed Scottish billionaire, only to find an empty and barren stretch of land. Oh, well. Dewey couldn’t bring himself to care one way or the other about Glomgold, who had to have known that he didn’t stand a chance if he’d seen the fight break out. But if he’d run off to warn Magica, then they didn’t have much time.

“Never mind,” Huey said, sharing a look with Dewey, who shrugged, and Louie, who just frowned. “She’ll probably be back soon.”

“Let’s go, then,” said Webby, letting go of his hand to rub hers together and bounce in place nervously. “We don’t wanna be here when she gets back.”

Lena must have told Webby about Magica, he realized. Since they’d shown up together, they’d probably been traveling as a group for a while now, or long enough to get a vague sense of what they were dealing with.

But.

Mrs. Beakley agreed with Webby’s statement, and she started to give out orders and instructions. Dewey caught the barely hidden panic in his brothers’ eyes, and knew that he looked the same.

Everyone had turned toward the forest – even Launchpad came over from where he’d been watching the Beagle Boys – and they were all ready and eager to leave, willing to close this chapter and make their quick escape into the night, victorious and completely unaware that Dewey was only standing here in this place because he wanted to be.

“No,” said Dewey, firmly, and he was standing next to his brothers before he fully registered moving. “We can’t leave.”

The group near the woods turned to face them, and it was like the two worlds were separate again, like Dewey had chosen a side even though that wasn’t what was happening at all.

Across from him, Webby looked years older, and so did Mrs. Beakley. Maybe they all looked that way; maybe everyone did when they’d been nonstop stressed out for weeks. The weeks that felt like years, stretched out between them like the few feet that may as well have been miles, for all the distance Dewey felt.

He was gearing himself up for a longwinded explanation of just why they couldn’t leave – he had no clue what he was going to say – when a low chuckle sounded out from their right. Shivers raced up his spine, and he turned to look just a split-second after Louie did.

Once again, Magica and the rest of her gang were stepping out of the woods, having used it to sneak up on them. That forest was really becoming quite the blind spot.

Magica was at the front of the group, dark amusement sparkling in her eyes, staring right at Huey in such a way that made Dewey step a bit closer to him. Beside her was Ma Beagle, back from wherever she’d gone, and a smug Glomgold who was smirking at everyone present. Falcon Graves stood just at the edge of their little group of villains, wearing a blank facial expression.

Louie pressed closer to him on his other side, and Dewey’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. He tried his best to ignore it’s shaking, dead set on keeping his family safe. It was only when Webby spoke up that he remembered that this time, they weren’t alone. He’d fallen back into the mindset of a lone soldier much easier than he liked, but it wasn’t long ago that it has been a necessary state of mind.

“What do we do?” Webby asked steadily, coming up behind him. He did his best to shoot her a reassuring look, but was unsure if it worked.

“We’re gonna have to fight,” Dewey replied, backing up until he was right between Huey and Louie, slightly in front of them, and then he drew his sword.

Webby followed his lead, stepping up to stand next to him, a little shaky but with the kind of determination that moved mountains, and he’d never been happier to have her there. Mrs. Beakley got in a ready stance, a scary expression on her face, and Launchpad and Lena fell into place as well, completing their odd little group of people who’d just found something worth fighting for. Even if not all of them knew what it was just yet.

“Well, isn’t this sweet,” Magica said, but her voice was bitter. “It’s nearly enough to bore me to tears.”

Dewey’s eyes hardened, steely blue and almost glowing in the dark. Make a move, he thought. I dare you.

“And my own family.” Magica clucked her tongue, staring down Lena with a patronizing gaze. “I thought I raised you better.”

“You thought you raised me?” Lena shot back, eyes narrowed, taking two rage-filled steps forward. “You think I owe anything to you? After what you’ve done— what you’ve made me do?”

Lena turned back to glance at Huey, remorse clear in her expression, but there was only anger when she turned back to Magica.

“You’ve been nothing but selfish,” Lena snarled, “and you won’t hurt anyone else with your lies, I swear it.”

“Lena, dear, you should know better than to make promises that you can’t keep.” Magica smiled sharply. “You never did live up to expectation.”

“Yeah, well,” said Lena, rolling her eyes. “Neither did you, and the bar was low.”

Magica’s smile dropped from her face, and an unsettling blankness took over. “You—”

Her voice cut out with a shout of alarm as Mrs. Beakley took a flying leap at Falcon Graves, throwing all her weight into a punch that managed to both surprise and unbalance the composed criminal. Everyone surrounding the sudden violence let out various cries of surprise and/or anger. Even Dewey jumped, though he felt he should have seen it coming. Mrs. Beakley had always said that it was better to be unpredictable when fighting, so it made sense that she would make the first move, when no one was expecting it.

It didn’t take long after that for the clear stretch of land to become absolute chaos. Mrs. Beakley was still facing off with Graves, who’d recovered fairly quickly. Dewey blinked, and Launchpad was back over by the Beagle Boys, who had been quietly regaining consciousness and were now almost back on their feet. Lena had taken her shot at getting away from Magica – and who could blame her – by getting the attention of both Ma Beagle and Glomgold, and she made them chase her a few yards away to give herself some room to work.

Which left Dewey standing with his sword in hand, a brother on each side, Webby right in front of him, and Magica staring them down from where she hadn’t moved a muscle since the fighting began.

“What are we supposed to do?” Louie asked quietly, not taking his nervous eyes off of Magica. “Kill her?”

“Well, no.” Dewey shifted his footing a bit as Webby glanced back at him. “You didn’t happen to bring that frying pan, did you?”

“Pretty sure we left it back in the village with the pirate and the smoke bomb guy,” Louie said.

“That wasn’t very smart of us.”

“In our defense,” Huey interjected, “I think we were all hoping that our days of knocking people out were over.”

“If only,” said Dewey.

Magica took a slow step forward, and Webby backed up closer to their group.

“Hubert,” Magica said, and Huey winced. “Enough is enough. This won’t end well for you.” She paused to smile patronizingly. “I never lose a fight.”

“But you’re about to lose me,” Huey snapped, and Dewey took that as his cue to start swinging his sword.

Magica sure didn’t expect a child to actually attack her, and as Mrs. Beakley said, surprise was an advantage. But only for a second.

Dewey managed to put a good-sized tear in the skirt of her dress when she tried to move out of the way, and he ducked and spun under the arm that attempted to hit him in retaliation. Finding himself behind her now, Dewey kicked out at her knees to unbalance her. He missed her knee, since she was moving too much, but she stumbled from the force of the kick anyway.

Magica growled in frustration and took a swipe at him with her staff, somehow hitting his shoulder exactly where the cut was, and he tripped backwards with a pained yelp. He never hit the ground, though, because Huey was there to catch him. Webby was already taking his place in the fight, flipping over Magica’s attempts at hitting her with an ease that Dewey had always been a little jealous of. Well, jealous and proud, because that’s how siblings worked.

All around them, their new allies were fighting their apparent lifelong enemies, and Dewey couldn’t even begin to make sense of all the noise, so he did his best to filter most of it out.

“Your sister’s pretty cool,” Louie said casually, helping Dewey regain his footing.

“I know,” Dewey replied, grinning, and then he leapt back towards the fight, turning briefly to give a playful salute to his brothers. “But she could still use my help!”

Dewey slid in front of Webby just in time to block a blow that would have hit her, and he flashed a grin over his shoulder, to which she smiled back, amusement sparkling in her eyes.

“Miss me?” he asked her, pushing Magica back a few steps.

“I’ve been missing you for weeks, you jerk,” Webby replied, though lightheartedly.

Magica swung her staff at Dewey’s head, and he ducked down into a crouch on the ground, which gave Webby plenty of room to launch over him and counter the attack. Her sword grazed Magica’s cheek, and the older duck cried out furiously in the fiercest display of emotion he’d ever seen from her.

“Dewey!”

Dewey turned his head at Huey’s voice, trusting Webby to watch his back while he was distracted. Louie and Huey were in a fistfight with Burger, but Huey was frantically pointing towards the edge of the forest. Dewey followed Huey’s line of sight, and felt his heart sink.

Don Karnage had just burst out of the foliage, missing his hat, making the good-sized lump on his head more visible. The pirate’s eyes met Dewey’s and narrowed.

“Blue one!” Karnage exclaimed loudly, using his sword to point dramatically. “You will pay with your life.”

Dewey groaned. Would they ever catch a break?

“Who’s that?” Webby asked incredulously. “How many enemies could you have possibly made?”

“Too many,” Dewey answered, eyes trained on the pirate marching towards him angrily. “And that would be Don Karnage.” An enraged yell cut through the air. “He, uh, he does not like me.”

“That’s the pirate? The one you knocked unconscious?”

“With a frying pan.”

“Where’d you get a frying pan?”

“Hey, Louie’s the one who whacked someone with a bag of oranges!”

Webby laughed like she couldn’t help it, which seemed to enrage Magica, especially since she was being held at bay by a child.

“Not all of us have fancy sword training, you know,” Louie said, dodging a punch from Burger. “Sometimes you gotta use fruit.”

“Well, it certainly worked,” Huey remarked.

Don Karnage finally drew closer to Dewey, and the pirate didn’t hesitate to start swinging. It was exactly like before, except this time Dewey had the confidence that he could beat him. After all, now he had some backup.

Magica and Webby were still fighting ferociously off to the side as Dewey and Karnage traded blows fiercely, hardly daring to breathe in between movements. The night air was cold, but Dewey could barely feel it what with all the energy coursing through him.

“You will not best me again,” Don Karnage growled. “Reinforcements are on their way as we speak. You are all doomed.”

Dewey’s steps faltered, and the pirate managed to push him a few feet away, giving Dewey time to think. Reinforcements?

Oh.

The rest of Magica’s crew that she’d left behind in the village. Dewey didn’t know why they weren’t here now, or how they’d even find them, but if they managed to show up here, the battle would get a lot uglier. But how could he keep them away?

Dewey’s eyes drifted across the clearing as he backed up slowly out of the reach of Karnage, gaze skipping over all the separate fights taking place before landing on the lonely campfire the beagles had made. Bingo.

The sparse grass beneath his feet was dry, as had been the forest when they’d walked through it earlier. This area had seen quite the drought, recently, and there was maybe a reason why the fire had been built away from the trees. Dewey glanced back at Karnage, and smirked.

Not wasting a second more, Dewey turned and ran.

Karnage didn’t move for several seconds, too shocked at his sudden retreat, but then he was pursuing him with vigor. His brothers were looking at him – bewildered and worried – as he got closer, and Dewey did his best to shrug while running. He shoved his sword as gently as possible into Louie’s arms on his way past him.

“Hold him off!” Dewey called out, ignoring both Louie’s confused shout and the knot of terrible anxiety in his stomach – for now.

He ran full tilt for the campfire, weaving around Launchpad still battling Bigtime and Bouncer, and going straight through the fight between Graves and Ms. Beakley, praying he was short enough to have not gained much attention.

Coming to a screeching halt – finally at his destination and not daring to look back – he knelt by the fire, examining it, and then grabbed the non-burning end of a burning log. It was still hot, of course, and it burned his hand, but there would be a bigger price to pay if he didn’t stick with it.

Ignoring the clamoring behind him, Dewey held the log in both hands and darted for the trees. He took a deep breath, looking at the innocent bush in front of him, and said a silent apology to mother nature for what he was about to do.

The bush caught on fire nearly instantaneously, jumping into existence and growing stronger and brighter by the second. Dewey felt the warmth on his face, watched as new shadows danced on the ground, and kept going. He ran parallel to the forest, leaving a trail of fire burning ferociously behind him, spreading at a phenomenal rate. It was traveling up trees, further along the edge of the forest, and pushing deeper and deeper in. The clearing was now as brightly lit as if the sun was out, and Dewey hurled the log into the forest with finality. His work was done.

Everyone was now staring at the forest fire with no small degree of horror, bathed in an orange glow as the world burned around them, and Dewey stood just in front of it with the heat at his back, the cause of the destruction.

There would be no reinforcements.

Dewey quickly scanned the battleground, finding Huey now facing Burger alone, and everyone fighting pretty much the same people that they had been before. Except Louie was near the edge of the cliff, holding Dewey’s sword clumsily, Don Karnage advancing on him slowly.

It was like being back in that alley, hiding just around the corner, listening to a stranger try to talk himself out of trouble and wondering why his instincts were screaming at him to get out there and save the kid. Those instincts were louder now, and just because he understood them didn’t mean that they were easier to ignore. It didn’t mean that he wanted to.

So Dewey ran.

He was halfway there when Don Karnage said something that made Louie wince, and the pirate raised his sword. Dewey arrived just seconds before the blow could be dealt, and he wasted no time in slamming himself into Louie’s side and tackling him to the ground. It probably hurt his brother’s wrist, but Dewey was not going to be the idiot who pushed the person in danger out of the way and then just stood there and died, so to the ground they both went.

Louie’s wide eyes were the last image he could make sense of, because everything directly after that was a blur of color. Louie cried out in pain, and Dewey grunted, and several other people made various sounds of alarm, but he couldn’t look to see who they might be. The ground was hard, and then it was lumpy, and then it disappeared.

Momentum did a lot of good in the world, but it was also the reason Dewey and Louie went over the cliff.

Everything for a moment seemed to be deathly silent, and then Dewey inhaled sharply, and time and gravity caught up with them. Two voices rose above the rest, and he was finally able to recognize them as Huey and Webby’s, equally horrified and helpless as they called their names.

Dewey and Louie flailed for less than a second, and the feeling of falling barely got the chance to start before they jerked to a stop. Dewey coughed from the jarring sensation, pain in his shoulder as he looked around wildly to try and make sense of their situation.

Up above him was Louie, hanging onto an old rope – he recognized it as the remnants of the collapsed bridge Huey had pointed out earlier – with his good hand in a grip that looked painful. Dewey was holding on to Louie’s ankle with his right hand, having no memory of grabbing it but beyond glad that he did.

“Dewey!” Louie called in a strangled voice, almost like a statue above him, if statues swayed in the wind. “What was— What was that for?”

“What was— He was gonna kill you!” Dewey shot back, his voice strained.

“He could’ve killed you, too!”

Webby’s head briefly poked over the edge of the cliff above them, face dripping tears and wearing an expression of pure, raw fear. She let out what could have either been a laugh or a sob upon seeing them hanging a few feet down, and Dewey tried to smile, sure it came out as more of a terrified grimace. Webby spun around suddenly with an angry battle cry, surely picking up the fight with Don Karnage.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway. We’re both fine,” Dewey said in response to Louie, turning his attention back to his brother. Although ‘fine’ was a relative term.

“Doesn’t matter?”

Dewey winced at the hysterical quality to Louie’s voice. Hanging over a chasm didn’t exactly inspire sanity.

“Dewey, what—” Louie paused to groan in frustration and collect his thoughts, and then he started over.

“Dewey, you have a sword,” Louie said slowly, in a voice that was forcefully calm, “but you’re not a weapon.”

A few pebbles fell past them into the fog below, stirred up from the fighting up top.

“And you can jump in front of me all you want, but you’re not a shield, either,” Louie continued, letting out a shaky breath.

Angry yelling echoed strangely against the canyon walls.

“Then what do you want me to be?” Dewey asked, a little lost, trying his best to not look down.

“I just—” Louie twisted his torso and tilted his head towards him, making hesitant eye contact, looking worried in a million different ways.

“I just want you to be my brother,” Louie said softly.

Dewey blinked in surprise, overwhelmed by the sudden feeling that he and Louie were in the eye of a storm, the only calm for miles. Below them was darkness, and above them was fire and war, and they were suspended somewhere in the middle, beneath a clear sky.

Maybe Louie’s doubt hadn’t been entirely his fault; maybe some of the blame was Dewey’s. With the way he’d thrown himself out to save Louie right after their first meeting, and with the way he’d been guarding him and Huey ever since, and even with where they were right now, and why – maybe Dewey had been making himself out to be more of a bodyguard than a brother.

Somehow, Louie had still had a change of heart. His quiet acceptance – after all of his doubt – was like a breath of fresh air, and it was Dewey’s wish come true. Back at the lake with Launchpad and his brothers, he’d wished on a shooting star, and all he’d wanted in that moment was for Huey and Louie to really believe it, like he did. Now, many days and miles away, hanging suspended in the air, he got what he wanted.

“Okay,” said Dewey, heart full to bursting. “I can do that.”

Louie just grunted in response, arm shaking from where he was holding their combined weight. He couldn’t even use his other hand to stabilize them, since it had been thoroughly taken out of commission.

“Dewey! Louie!” Huey called out from above them, voice high-pitched and terrified. “Are you guys okay?”

Huey appeared near the edge, blinking down at them anxiously, looking seconds away from a breakdown.

“Yeah, Hue, we’re good.” Dewey flashed his best smile, trying to stay as still as possible so as not to unbalance them. “We’re just hangin’ out.”

Huey’s brow furrowed in concentration, and it looked like he might’ve tried to say something had Magica not chosen that moment to appear behind him.

“Watch out!” Dewey yelled in warning, accidentally causing a jolt that made Louie’s hand slip an inch or two down the rope.

Huey reluctantly turned away from them, standing up and seeming to engage in conversation with his former guardian. At least she wasn’t attacking him right that second.

Louie made a distressed noise, muffled through his tightly clenched teeth.

“I can’t hold on,” Louie warned him, voice strangled.

“I know, I know,” Dewey said breathlessly, wondering where the air went all of the sudden. “Just a little longer, I promise.”

More shouting echoed around them from those who were lucky enough to still be on solid ground. Dewey redirected his gaze upwards to look for Huey again, or anyone else who might be available to help them. He found Huey and Magica facing each other, a few feet between them, standing parallel to the canyon. The two of them were still conversing, but Dewey couldn’t hear a word of it.

As he was looking up, some vague article of clothing flew out over the canyon, like it had been thrown with great urgency, and whatever it was, it was on fire. Dewey blinked at it as it fell past them, resisting the urge to snicker at it for no reason. He followed it with his eyes…

Dewey finally looked down.

He was immediately lightheaded, but he watched the burning object as it fell through the fog, cutting through it in the way only light could. Down it fell as Dewey watched, and quite a ways down – though not as far as Dewey would’ve guessed – it extinguished. All at once. Suddenly. And before the light had gone out, it had almost looked like a reflection had come up to meet it. Almost like…

Dewey blinked, and let out an incredulous laugh, because maybe they’d been looking at this all wrong.

If they truly believed that the castle really was on that island, then maybe the canyon wasn’t a canyon at all.

Maybe it was a moat.

And that made things a lot simpler.

Chapter Text

Louie had been minding his own business, fist fighting one of the Beagle Boys with the help of Huey, when Dewey ran by and had the audacity to shove his very sharp weapon into Louie’s hands.

Now usually, his hands were capable, but not with a sword, and certainly not now that one of them was pretty much useless. So there he was, left holding a weapon that he had no training for in his nondominant hand, and he was expected to hold back an expert. Louie really hoped that Dewey had a good reason for leaving him with this.

Regardless of how much he was complaining on the inside, outwardly he simply side-stepped into the path of Don Karnage, as casual as he’d ever been, trying to pretend like he knew what he was doing.

“Hey! Remember me?” Louie called out, backing up a bit when it looked like the criminal might plow right through him without a care. Don Karnage stopped and fixed him with a glare, glancing between him and Dewey, who he guessed was still leaving them behind. Louie stared back at the pirate unflinchingly. ”Or did you block out the memory of the one who got away?”

Huey shot him a concerned glance, seemingly unhappy with his taunting of the enemy, but not able to do much about it for fear of getting knocked out by Burger. Louie kept his gaze trained on Karnage, shooting the pirate a carefully crafted smirk. He wasn’t much good with a sword, but he knew how to push people’s buttons.

Karnage growled wordlessly and swung his sword through the air towards him carelessly, as if swatting at a fly; he obviously didn’t believe him to be worth his time. Louie jerked himself down into a crouch – trying to ignore how the movement made his wrist throb – and retaliated with an awkward stabbing motion that no one would ever mistake as being ‘skillful’.

Predictably, the stab failed, and Louie decided that he’d have to do things his way.

Catch me if you can, Louie thought, and he rolled to the side and up into a standing position, taking off in the opposite direction than the one Dewey had gone in, nudging the pirate harshly on his way by. Don Karnage cursed at him, but followed after him with the singlemindedness that Louie was so fond of in criminals; it made them much easier to trick.

Louie came to a screeching halt a few feet away from where Lena was fighting, valiantly holding her own against Ma Beagle and Glomgold. Louie, already out of breath, spun to face Karnage, who pulled up short and attempted covering his obvious confusion with anger.

“So Magica’s your boss, right?” Louie asked, shifting his grip on the sword, holding it out in front of him in a way that was surely wrong.

Don Karnage didn’t bother to respond, leaping at Louie in an effort to unbalance him. Louie scrambled out of the way, stumbling over some dumb tiny rock, and Karnage just barely avoided colliding with Ma Beagle.

“Watch it!” the beagle snapped, then turned her attention back to Lena, who’d just shoved Glomgold to the ground.

“Anyway,” Louie said, like he hadn’t been rudely interrupted. Some semblance of a plan was coming together in his head. “When Magica, you know, rules the world and all, what are you gonna do?”

Louie took a few careful steps backwards, feeling mildly victorious when Karnage looked suspiciously thoughtful; furious, but thoughtful. Ma Beagle and Glomgold being close enough to hear him was also a plus, because he knew that they were listening, and it meant that he had more to work with. This, he could do.

“I mean, you’re probably good enough for some kind of second-in-command position,” Louie continued, shrugging, “but you’ve got some tough competition, what with Ma Beagle technically owning the rights to Huey—” ew, ew, ew, “and Glomgold having given Magica some valuable information. And you’re the one who let me escape, so… I wonder who gets given the most power here.”

Don Karnage slashed his sword near Louie’s legs, making it necessary to either jump back quickly or lose a few inches of height. Lena shot Louie an odd look, maybe some form of curiosity, and he simply gave a little half-smile in return.

“What have you really done to impress her?” Louie finished strong. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you’ll make an excellent janitor.”

Don Karnage let out an enraged yell, storming forward towards Louie like an angry bull, and Louie turned tail and ran, his heart in his throat.

It was immediately apparent that Dewey had been up to something after all, since the forest was now a burning inferno. Louie could feel the intense heat from several feet away, washing over him in waves, and he quickly changed direction so he wouldn’t be swallowed up by the flames.

He’s insane, Louie thought, but ultimately decided to give Dewey the benefit of the doubt that it was for good reason. That is, assuming that the fire had been set on purpose, because if anyone could manage causing absolute total destruction on accident, it was Dewey.

Louie continued running, Don Karnage on his heels, until Falcon Graves stumbled backwards into his path, having been shoved harshly by Mrs. Beakley. Louie stopped dead and made a sharp left turn, praying that maybe his pursuer hadn’t been so graceful. Looking behind him, that fragile hope died. Karnage was no farther away than he had been.

They came up on the canyon much quicker than Louie was anticipating, and it was almost unfair how fast the pirate had blocked him in against the edge, far too close to certain death for comfort. Near Louie were the two wooden poles sticking out of the ground, and the frayed ropes hanging into the abyss – the ruins of an old rope bridge. Louie spared a moment to wish that it was whole, because that really would’ve made things easier.

“You will die for the fool you’ve made of me!” Don Karnage shouted furiously, sword in hand, silhouetted by the forest fire raging behind him.

Louie winced, his heart racing and his lungs heaving as his mind worked desperately for a way out.

Don Karnage raised his sword.

Louie looked frantically to his right, starting to really panic now, seeing nothing but empty space and the wooden poles and newly burning trees. Then he turned to his left – halfway hoping that no one was paying attention to him and thus would not have to watch him die – and he just barely had time to meet Dewey’s eyes – narrowed and determined – before he barreled into him and tackled him to the ground.

They hit the stone hard, and Louie cried out from the impact, already knowing that he had new bruises forming; his whole body was basically one big bruise, now.

They rolled for maybe two seconds, Louie’s vision consisting mostly of blue fabric and the occasional glow of fire, and then the ground dropped out from under them, and Dewey let out some sort of strangled gasp, and he heard various other people shouting their names. Louie himself would’ve been screaming, except he couldn’t quite find the breath to do so.

Which might’ve been a good thing, because it allowed to focus more on the rope that he knew was hanging nearby.

Louie reached out with both hands, his inner monologue a jumble of pleas and internal screaming, and by some miracle he managed to grab hold of the rope; he just hoped that it wouldn’t break. Immediately, he had to let go with his right hand, because his wrist absolutely screamed at him when it had to do anything resembling its normal function. And now his good hand was suffering from rope burn, so that was just fantastic.

And there he was, hanging on with one hand, dangling over a chasm. Dewey had grabbed onto his ankle – thank god - and as soon as Louie managed to claw his way back to some sort of composure, he was chewing out his idiot brother for his latest stunt. Seriously, Dewey risked his life like it was his sworn duty, and Louie was sick and tired of the heart attacks that gave him.

“Then what do you want me to be?” Dewey asked him, like Louie’s opinion mattered.

And maybe it did.

Louie had thought that if he ever accepted Huey and Dewey as his brothers, it would be this big moment that changed him forever, or the sort of thing that shook the earth. But he was wrong. It was quiet, and gentle, and it kind of felt like waking up. That feeling that had been chasing him ever since he’d met Huey and Dewey – the one that he hadn’t been able to identify – didn’t actually have a proper name. It just felt like home. The only home Louie had ever had.

“I just—” Louie twisted himself around in order to look down at Dewey, because this was the kind of heartfelt declaration that required eye contact, he felt like. “I just want you to be my brother.”

Some mountains were moved slowly, but they were still mountains moved.

Dewey blinked up at him, the only thing close enough to be fully in focus, hanging above swirling fog and trusting Louie to keep them from falling.

“Okay,” said Dewey, something soft and warm growing in his eyes; something that Louie had never seen directed at him. “I can do that.”

And now that they were all emotionally connected and stuff, it would really suck to die. Louie’s hand was shaking, the tremors traveling throughout his body and growing stronger with every inch. Huey’s panicked voice sounded from above them, and Dewey said something back, but Louie could hardly concentrate on anything other than the rough texture of the rope beneath his failing grip.

Dewey jolted suddenly, shouting a warning to Huey, and Louie slipped just a few inches, feeling his heart pounding nearly out of his chest.

“I can’t hold on,” Louie said to Dewey – to anyone who was listening.

“I know, I know.” Dewey might’ve sounded reassuring, if he wasn’t wheezing quietly for air. “Just a little longer, I promise.”

A few seconds or minutes or hours passed, and then Dewey spoke up in a strange tone of voice that set alarm bells ringing in Louie’s head.

“Hey, Louie?” Dewey asked, getting his attention, and Louie hummed in response. “Let go.”

The suggestion almost startled him into doing just that, and he barked a hysterical laugh that was nowhere near as strong as he thought it’d be.

“What?” Louie asked weakly, opening eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed to look down at Dewey.

Dewey stared back intensely, unblinking in his determined gaze, and unwavering in his belief that things would work out okay.

“I have a plan,” Dewey said, and Louie was transported back in time.

Several weeks ago in a dirty back alley, Dewey had fought to save a stranger. ‘I have a plan,’ he’d said, like the words were both light as air and written in stone. ‘Do you trust me?’

It had been a stupid question, because Louie didn’t trust anyone; it was his number one rule that kept him alive. But then he’d met Dewey, who defied all rules like second nature, and he’d met Huey, who’d taken it upon himself to draft new ones when he wasn’t looking. Somehow, Louie thought that the trust between the three of them could be stronger than he thought was possible. Maybe it would hurt sometimes, because nothing was perfect, but it could be worth it. Broken glass and empty spaces aside, this would be worth it.

Dewey was still looking up at him patiently, like they had all the time in the world, and the unspoken question floated in the air between them.

“Louie?”

(‘Do you trust me?’)

“Okay,” said Louie, the words light as air and written in stone. “I trust you.”

And before he could talk himself out of it – before he could think too much – Louie let the rope slip through his fingers.

Chapter Text

It terrified Huey, how quickly bad things could happen. Things like death took place in an instant, in the space between one heartbeat and where the next one should have been. Many times, it happened too fast to stop it, too fast to do anything but stand by and watch.

Knowing that his brothers had gone over the edge of the cliff easily made the top three in his ever-growing list of traumatic events. In all honesty, it was right up there in the number one spot.

Because Huey had been watching, wide-eyed and horrified as Don Karnage had raised his weapon to hurt his little brother, and no amount of hope or luck was going to get him there in time to help. But then Dewey had been there, in between one beat of Huey’s racing heart and the next, plowing into Louie’s side and saving him like he’d tried to do all that time ago. They hit the ground and rolled.

Then Huey blinked, and they were gone.

Webby screamed, and someone else did, too; maybe him, but Huey hardly registered it over the ringing in his ears. He didn’t realize that he was sinking to the ground until his knees scraped against stone, and he had always been smart, but it took him forever just to remember how to breathe.

Not seeing it happen was somehow worse. Instead of a memory of his brothers disappearing from view, instead of having any kind of closure, all he had was an empty space. There was nothing. Huey stared and stared, the heavy feeling returning to his chest fast and hard, like nothing had changed, like Dewey and Louie had never been there in the first place—

Webby peeked over the edge, shaking like a leaf, and she sobbed in relief at whatever she saw. She looked over at him, even though she had no reason to, even though they’d only just met a few minutes ago; she looked at him like she already knew him, or like she maybe wanted to.

“They—they’re okay, they’re alive,” Webby told him, tears dripping down her face and something fragile in her eyes, yet something told him that she still had the power to tear down a stone wall with her bare hands.

Her expression twisted suddenly, into something angry and afraid, made even more intense by the light of the fire surrounding them and spreading at an alarmingly fast rate. She stood, grabbing Dewey’s sword from where it lay discarded on the ground, sheathed it, and held her own in front of her slowly. Don Karnage actually took a step back when Webby made eye contact with him. She yelled ferociously and charged.

Huey took longer than he would've liked getting to the edge of the cliff. His knees were wobbling, and he had to dodge multiple fights that were taking place all around him. Everything was loud and chaotic, but he paid them no attention; he could only focus on his destination, stumbling forward with manic determination.

He made it to the cliff - finally - and fell to his hands and knees at the edge, only remembering bits and pieces of how he got there, already calling his brother’s names.

And there they were, Louie hanging onto a frayed rope with his left hand and Dewey hanging onto Louie’s ankle, dangling over swirling fog and darkness.

Huey felt breath rush back into his lungs, heard new sounds filtering in through his ears, and finally felt like he was back in reality.

“Yeah, Hue, we’re good,” Dewey called up to him, answering a question that Huey hadn’t realized he’d asked. “We’re just hangin’ out.”

Puns hardly seemed appropriate in this situation, but it was as good a reassurance as any that Dewey hadn’t changed much in the few feet they’d fallen before catching themselves. His brother seemed to have a way of pretending like he wasn’t in mortal danger, even when it was very much the truth. Because Louie wouldn’t be able to hold on for much longer. Huey opened his beak to say as much, but then Dewey’s facial expression changed dramatically.

“Watch out!” Dewey yelled, and Huey spun around to see what new horror life had brought him.

Or an old horror, because Magica DeSpell was standing there calmly, like the world around them wasn’t burning, like her people weren’t fighting for their lives, like it didn’t matter that two kids might die.

And Huey was angry in a way that he wasn’t accustomed to, but was beginning to understand. Having people you loved meant that you’d do anything to keep them safe, and Huey was currently facing the biggest threat that his family had ever known.

He had inherited a bit of a temper, it seemed. From who, he didn’t know, and it hardly mattered right then. Hardly anything mattered, right then, apart from his brothers.

“Haven’t you done enough?” Huey snapped at her, glaring daggers and spitting fire.

“Not nearly,” Magica said simply, circling around to stand at the edge with him, so that they were standing with his brothers hanging down below almost right in between them. “Not until Scrooge McDuck is gone, and I am ruling in his place. Only then will I have done enough.”

Huey took a deep breath, smelling smoke, and tried to gather his racing thoughts. It was difficult, what with the fire and the fighting and his brothers two seconds away from a painful death, but he had to think. He had to think of something.

“You’re about to lose two of your bargaining chips,” Huey said, glancing down at his struggling younger brothers.

“I only ever needed one,” said Magica, tilting her head, “and you seem to be the least troublesome.”

If only she knew, thought Huey, being assaulted by visions of exploding laboratories and angry villains. The truth was, they could all cause their fair amount of trouble; Huey just had a talent for looking like he couldn’t. And he didn’t mind being underestimated, even if it stung coming from someone who should’ve taken care of him. Anyway, having the upper hand was always better if your opponent was convinced that you didn’t.

Before either fo them could attempt to continue the conversation, an object flew over Magica’s head, only avoiding hitting her by a few scant inches. Whatever it was had been on fire, moving too fast to really identify it, and it was still undecided as it disappeared over the edge of the cliff. Magica turned to holler at whoever had thrown the thing, and Huey leaned a little farther over the canyon, looking down.

The burning object was long gone, but Dewey seemed to be staring at where it had been. Louie had his eyes tightly closed and his chin tucked against his chest, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to his forehead. Huey’s heart skipped a beat. They were running out of time.

“Hubert,” Magica began, and Huey bristled at his full name being said in her voice. “All of this could stop if you agree to surrender.”

“You’re not a ruler, you’re a liar,” Huey said harshly, glancing at his former guardian, “and that’s all you’ll ever be. You won’t get what you want. You won’t win.”

“Ungrateful child,” Magica snapped. “Did you forget who’s house you’ve been living in your whole life?”

“How could I?" Huey shot back. "You reminded me every chance you got.”

Instead of listening to whatever Magica was saying in reply, Huey turned slightly to check on the rest of the battlefield, and it was no easier to make sense of it than it had been five minutes ago. In fact, it seemed that things had gotten a lot more complicated, somehow.

Ma Beagle and Glomgold were now fighting each other instead of Lena, who was leaning against a tree nearby, looking half confused and half impressed. Glomgold was missing his hat - which might’ve been what was thrown into the canyon earlier, since his head looked slightly singed - and the two criminals were shouting at each other. Huey couldn’t make out much of it, but it was something about who had the right to more power. The Beagle Boys were distracted by their mother’s shouting, and Launchpad was taking them out easily, now. Don Karnage was doing his best to fight off the barrage of attacks Webby was unloading on him, and Falcon Graves and Ma Beagle were still locked in intense battle.

It was chaos, and Huey thought that maybe Louie had had something to do with that. He’d seen his younger brother over by Ma Beagle and Glomgold earlier, and it wasn’t a stretch to think that Louie might’ve tried to get in their heads. Apparently, it was working.

Huey smiled a bit, and he looked back down at his brothers hanging beneath them, too antsy and restless to go long without checking on them. He needed to find a way to get them back up there, he had to get them back to where they were safe. Maybe if he really, really tried to pull them up, he could do it. If he just tried hard enough, maybe—

Dewey looked up and met his gaze, eyes alight with some new discovery, obviously trying to get his attention without Magica noticing. Huey blinked down at him, concerned and confused. Dewey raised the hand not hanging onto Louie and waved it, then pointed down into the swirling fog below them.

Huey must’ve appeared rightfully baffled, because Dewey pointed again, a little harsher. Then he changed course, made some sort of wavy motion with his free arm, and gestured between him and Louie and the chasm below them, miming falling and an explosion. Or, not an explosion – a splash. Huey’s eyes widened in alarm, and Dewey grinned.

His insane brother in blue turned his attention to Louie, who opened his eyes and looked at Dewey as he said something. Louie tensed all over, chest heaving once as if he was laughing, but Dewey’s face remained serious.

There was a moment where nothing happened.

Then Dewey and Louie shared one last exchange, and Louie let go, and they dropped like stones.

Dewey used the last few seconds of visibility to wink at Huey, and then both of his little brothers vanished into the fog.

Despite what Dewey had been trying to tell him, and despite the fact that he had seemed to have a plan, Huey still found himself struggling to breath, and he still felt like he’d been punched in the gut and the world had tilted on its axis.

Magica actually laughed when she saw what had happened, and Huey slowly looked up at her, a heat behind his eyes that had nothing to do with the fire around them.

“Don’t you love when gravity does your job for you?” Magica asked, smirking and haughty.

“Yes,” Huey answered, in a voice low and even and filled with resentment.

He tackled Magica at the knees, and they both went over the edge, shouting echoing behind them and wind rushing past his ears.

Huey trusted Dewey, who never would’ve had Louie let go if he thought it could hurt them. And Louie, despite everything, had believed in Dewey enough to place his life in his hands. That was all that Huey needed to know. It was enough to make his decision and never doubt it for a second, even while he was choking on terror and screaming on his way down.

The farthest that Huey had ever fallen was less than four feet. He’d been six years old, and Lena had been walking him to the library, and he’d tripped halfway down a set of stairs. He’d been fine, of course. He’d scraped his knees, and no one was going to kiss them better, but it was okay. Huey had been smart enough to know that kisses didn’t heal injuries. (He’d been childish enough to want it anyway.)

Magica was screeching a few feet below him as they plummeted, but Huey had quickly run out of the breath that was necessary to scream. He just fell, cold air ruffling his feathers on the way down, and he didn’t see the water until it was inches from his face.

Huey hit the water hard, lucky enough to go in vaguely feet first, and it was freezing. He actually couldn’t get his limbs to work for several painful seconds, and he panicked a bit because he really hadn’t taken much of a breath before being submerged. Then he hit the bottom, rocky and smooth, and he managed to shove enough energy into his stiff limbs to push himself off and upwards. The river was pretty shallow, all things considered, probably on account of the drought.

Huey broke through the surface of the water, coughing even though he hadn’t inhaled any of it. He couldn’t see a thing. Or at least, not at first, but he could hear Magica sputtering violently somewhere to his left. He blinked a few times, desperately trying to adjust his eyes, treading water all the while. After a few long seconds, his vision cleared up enough for him to make out a dark shape that looked like land, and he swam for it before his limbs could freeze in place and grow icicles.

The land-shaped thing did indeed turn out to be solid ground, but it came in the form of a very slippery rock that took multiple tries to climb onto. When he finally successfully made it on, he laid there on the cold surface, shivering all over and soaking wet, already looking for his brothers in the dim lighting. He looked up, and it was predictably foggy, but a faint warm glow could be seen, and distant sounds could be heard.

Before Huey could call out to his brothers, there were several splashing noises and multiple hacking coughs as the dark shape of Magica pulled herself up onto the dry-ish land. Huey pushed himself into a sitting position with shaking hands, eyes finally adjusted to the dark as he watched and waited.

“You fool,” Magica seethed, face turned in his general direction, narrowed eyes almost glowing.

Why was that every villain’s go-to insult? And ironically they almost always used it after being outsmarted.

“You disobedient, reckless, ungrateful child,” Magica continued, hands sliding on the rocky surface as she tried to sit upright.

She called him a child like it was an insult, like it was the only part of him that mattered and everything else was secondary to his age. People looked at children and automatically put them below them, and ignored them, and said that they were too young to know much of anything or too young to do anything important. But kids saw and heard everything, the perfectly unassuming spies, because no one gave them a second glance beyond wondering if they understood a word of whatever they were saying; maybe wondering if they understood anything at all.

“You won’t win,” Huey told her, standing up on shaky legs that were used to standing on uneven ground. “Our friends are going to defeat all of your allies up there, and you’re never going to ‘rule the world’, or get whatever other ridiculous, unrealistic things you want.”

“Don’t be so sure of yourself,” said Magica, and Huey scoffed, because he’d never been accused of that before. Quite the opposite, actually.

Magica finally found her footing, stumbling to her feet and meeting his eyes in the dark. Huey swept his gaze across his field of vision, still seeing no sign of Dewey and Louie, becoming more anxious by the second. A knot had been forming in his stomach since the moment they’d dropped out of sight.

“Alright,” Magica said suddenly, in a completely different tone of voice, her hands up placatingly. “Circumstances being what they are, I am willing to make a deal.”

“What deal?” Huey asked, suspicious and tired of guessing at the motives of others.

“As the eldest triplet, you are the next rightful heir to the throne.” His former guardian took one step forward, his voice steady and deceptively kind. “If you stop all this nonsense and join me, the rulership is yours. As long as you grant me a position of power alongside you.”

She really was hitting every cliché in the book with that ‘join me’ speech. There was no way that she was being genuine, and even if she was, Huey wasn’t interested.

“Hubert, my child,” Magica said, extending a hand towards him, and Huey shifted back a bit. “If you surrender now, you can come with me. You can come home.”

And Huey was done.

“I’ve been a lot of things, Aunt Magica,” Huey said, in a voice both wounded and strong, “but I’ve never been your child.”

Magica withdrew her hand, the air thick with tension and frozen in anticipation.

“I’ve been a lot of places, too, but I wouldn’t call any of them home.” Huey huffed a short breath, matching Magica’s steely gaze. “I won’t join you. I won’t be the captain of your sinking ship.”

Somewhere around them, the sound of dripping water echoed freely, and it was the only sound aside from ragged breathing and chattering teeth.

“Shocking that you’ve chosen now to grow a backbone,” Magica remarked angrily. “But it will do you no good. You’re alone down here.”

Huey faltered, his chest aching like he’d been hit. He had always been alone, for as long as he could remember. Lena had taken care of him for a short while, yes, but Magica had never allowed the girl to rest for long, and soon she’d been gone every waking hour doing whatever her Aunt asked of her. And that had left Huey, by himself in an empty house, making up imaginary friends and family so he didn’t feel so achingly lonely all the time. He’d hoped that it would make his chest feel lighter, wishing more than anything that one day he could stop feeling that crushing weight, but nothing ever worked, and eventually, he’d learned that the only person he could rely on to be there for him was himself.

“You’ve always been alone,” Magica repeated, smugness saturating her words.

She’d paid just enough attention to him to know how best to hurt him, it seemed. Huey was stuck. He couldn’t do anything, not by himself. Not like this.

“For someone who hates being wrong, you sure make a lot of mistakes," someone called out, and Huey smiled involuntarily at the sudden playful voice, tears stinging his eyes and breath evening out.

There was no mistaking who had spoken, and when Dewey stepped out of the shadows to his right, for the first time in Huey’s life, he felt like breathing wasn’t a chore. Dewey was soaking wet and swordless, and he still managed to look like a hero.

“He’s not alone,” Louie said, stepping up beside Dewey, casually confident in the way only he could pull off, and he grinned at him softly. “He’s our brother.”

And even though part of Louie must’ve been dying from saying something so cheesy, Huey knew that he meant it, and he couldn’t help the sappy smile that crossed his face. They were all on the same page now, finally accepting each other as family whether it was true or not. Huey wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

“You’re all weak,” Magica sneered, only caught off guard for a second.

Dewey and Louie carefully made their way over to him, soaking wet and shivering just like he was. Ready to face the threat together, like they’d been doing since they met. Huey ended up standing between them, and he grabbed the sleeves of both of them in a desperate grip, determined to stay grounded.

“Just like Scrooge McDuck and his bothersome family,” Magica continued, forming her words like weapons, razor sharp and meant to hurt. “Just like your mother, before I had her killed.”

Huey felt the instinctive lurching movement Dewey made, just barely able to hold himself back from flying towards Magica in defense of a family member he’d never known. He was shaking with restrained anger, and fear, and probably a million other things. Compared to Louie’s eerie stillness, it made for quite the sight.

“It was you,” Huey breathed, suspended somewhere between numbness and pure, blinding pain. “You— You were in charge of the army. You led the uprising.”

“Oh, I did, didn’t I?” Magica smoothed her dress, the very picture of indifference if it weren’t for the smirk on her face, or the wicked amusement in her voice. “Did I not mention it? What a shame.”

Huey should’ve known. Magica had told them that she’d been involved, but hadn’t said to what extent. He’d guessed that she’d been pretty high in rank, but hadn’t considered this. Although, it made sense that she had been in charge, because she still was, after all. You only had to look at the mismatched group of criminals currently brawling on the surface, the way they followed Magica’s orders without (much) complaint, and how they were all just a little bit afraid of her.

It had been Magica’s army against Scrooge’s army, and in the end, they’d almost destroyed each other.

“Murderer,” Dewey accused, low and angry, and if tones of voice could kill, he’d be a murderer, too.

“Oh, no dear. None of the blood is on my hands.” She spread her arms with a flourish, hands facing palms up, like a demonstration of her supposed innocence. “I only gave the order, and the dirty work was done for me.”

Huey’s stomach twisted into knots, and he thought he might be sick; he was certainly lightheaded enough.

“You’re a monster,” Louie rephrased, his anger like raging winds in the face of Dewey’s electrical storm.

“That, I can accept,” said Magica, taking another threatening step, looming over them with glowing yellow eyes. “Are you afraid of monsters? Children often are.”

“I used to be scared of you,” Huey began shakily, finally finding his voice. “I used to care what you thought of me, but it was a waste of time, wasn’t it? Because you never thought of me at all. You only saw me as a means to an end.”

Magica tilted her head, like she’d come across some pitiful sight. Huey barreled onward.

“You don’t scare me anymore, because now I know exactly who you are,” said Huey, “and people like you don’t win wars.”

At least, not when it was fair.

Wars were won with loyalty, and Magica didn’t know the meaning of the word. Huey was still scared of her, of course, but only because she had the power to hurt them, not because she was a mystery, or a wildcard, or something he couldn’t prepare for. He’d gathered all the data he’d ever need on Magica DeSpell, and she wasn’t worthy of that type of fear.

“Children are only afraid of monsters until the lights come on.” Huey narrowed his eyes and stared straight into Magica’s soul. “What are monsters afraid of?”

Magica didn’t seem to know what to do with the inquiry, defaulting back to glaring at them heatedly. Huey’s fingers were numb where he was clutching Dewey and Louie’s damp sleeves, but he didn’t make any move to warm them up, too involved in the standoff and wondering what came next when they’d all run out of moves to make.

“I have a guess,” Louie said suddenly, and Huey knew without looked that he was smirking.

“Go for it,” Dewey encouraged, not looking away from where he was meeting Magica’s glare head-on.

“Fear is fight or flight, right?” Louie asked, and Huey nodded curiously. “And just who has she been trying to fight, all this time?”

Huey grinned, suddenly understanding what Louie was getting at.

“You’re afraid of Scrooge McDuck,” said Huey, a firm statement rather than a question.

Dewey burst out laughing. It was somewhat hysterical, but laughter nonetheless. Louie joined in with an amused wheeze that sounded mildly painful.

Magica growled sharply. “You have no respect for—”

“Nope,” Dewey cut her off, still cackling.

Huey could pinpoint the exact moment where Magica snapped. Her fists shook and her eyes narrowed. She couldn’t have looked any angrier if there was steam coming out of her ears.

Huey took a stumbling step backwards just as Magica’s hand shot out, latching onto Dewey’s arm like a claw, digging into the cut that she’d found on complete accident. Dewey cried out in pain, and Louie yelled at the sudden action, but Huey stayed completely silent and hardened his resolve.

He released Louie’s sleeve and bent to pick up a good-sized, smooth rock in one motion. He hefted the stone over his shoulder, caught Magica’s eyes in the darkness, and swung his makeshift weapon with all of his might.

The stone collided heavily with the underside of her beak, not hard enough to do permanent damage, but enough to send her falling back into the water with an outraged scream. Her grip on Dewey’s arm slipped, and the triplets stumbled backward a bit from the release of pressure. Magica flailed in the water, and Huey searched his mind frantically for an idea of what to do next.

“That was just like Louie with the oranges,” Dewey remarked breathlessly, gingerly moving the arm Magica had let go of. “Except maybe even cooler.”

Louie scoffed, then yelped as he slipped on the uneven, slimy surface beneath them. Huey steadied him with a hand on his arm, and then started tugging him forwards into the darkness, towards where he thought he could see a bit of light that wasn’t coming from above.

“Come on,” Huey urged, blindly reached for Dewey’s hand and grabbing it tightly.

Like many of their adventures thus far, they only made it halfway before disaster struck. Magica’s legs were longer than theirs, and she was now running on pure anger and adrenaline, fighting like someone who had nothing left to lose.

She grabbed the back of Huey’s shirt and pulled, sending them all tumbling back onto their backs, rough rock scratching their skin as they protested loudly over Magica’s heavy breathing. The underside of her Beak was slightly cracked and bleeding.

“You’ll pay for that,” Magica seethed, dripping cold water all over the place.

“I haven’t already?” Huey snarked, because Dewey and Louie were definitely rubbing off on him.

Magica sneered, reaching behind her back and pulling a very sharp and fancy-looking dagger out from practically nowhere. She held it above them menacingly, and Huey tried scrambling to his knees in panic as Dewey and Louie made frantic cries of alarm. Maybe he’d been too hasty in saying that he wasn’t afraid of Magica anymore. She wouldn't actually kill them, would she? She needed them, she'd said it herself. She needed one of them, a traitorous voice whispered in the back of his mind, and his heart started beating even faster.

Magica raised her weapon higher, poised to strike, and then – in between one heartbeat and the next – she crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been cut. She slumped to the ground, unconscious, and the dagger clattered noisily to the stone before boucning into the water with a faint splash, gone as quickly as it had appeared.

Huey lay there with wide eyes, just breathing as his brain attempted to catch up and process the horrifying situation he'd just been part of, listening to Louie’s coughing and Dewey’s muttered ramblings.

There was the sudden sound of fabric being moved, and then the area was bathed in a cool blue glow. It wasn’t a ton of light, really, but it still made Huey squint a little, swiveling his head around to look for the source.

Someone cleared their throat, and Huey looked up, feeling more than a little dazed.

Standing above them was a dog, a little on the older side of age, wearing a suit and bowtie and staring down at them with an eyebrow raised.

“Um,” Huey said, feeling a little awkward. “Hello?”

Chapter Text

Dewey pushed himself up on one arm, his other one still throbbing from where Magica had aggravated his injury. The dim blue light made for a strange shimmering effect across the damp, rocky surface they were on. It felt wrong to notice how pretty it was in the aftermath of his latest near-death experience, but it was pretty, even with the ugly lump of unconscious Magica obscuring some of it.

Louie started coughing on the other side of Huey, and Dewey crawled over to smack his back between his shoulder blades. They’d had a tough time hitting the water, what with Louie’s abused wrist and Dewey’s sliced arm and the coldest water he had ever had the displeasure of touching. Dewey had come up spitting and wheezing, and then he’d had to dive back down to grab Louie by the hood and drag him up. He’d pulled his younger brother off the to side of the canyon, finding a pathway of stone by sheer luck. They had heard Magica and Huey splash down not too long later, and could only begin to look for them when they heard their voices, trying to find a way to their brother in the dark and cold.

Dewey’s head shot up when someone cleared their throat in a decidedly strained sort of way. Huey was sitting right in front of him, looking up at the newcomer. Dewey followed his gaze and saw that a dog was standing a few feet away, holding a glowing blue lantern and a long wooden rod. The rod had to have been the thing that took out Magica, and Dewey almost broke down and laughed because she’d come all this way and done a million terrible things only to be taken out by an old dog with a glorified stick.

Their rescuer was wearing some oddly fancy clothes, basically a suit and tie, and Dewey wondered why on earth someone at the bottom of a ravine would be dressed for a high-class dinner party. Then again, he’d never actually been to a ravine before. Maybe that was just how people dressed here. The dog had the expression of someone who was both hopelessly baffled and completely unimpressed. Dewey flashed a nervous smile, one hand still on Louie’s back.

“Um,” Huey said quietly. “Hi?”

The stranger’s eyes bounced between the three of them rapidly, like he was trying to connect invisible dots. Dewey was getting used to being looked at like a puzzle, but he did wish that it wasn’t so time consuming.

“Where did you come from?” The dog asked in a stern, level voice. “Why are you here?”

Dewey shared a nervous look with Huey, who had glanced back at him and Louie, probably looking for some help in answering the questions.

“We, uh, we came from up there,” said Dewey, pointing weakly towards the surface. “And we’re here to see Scrooge McDuck.”

The stranger narrowed his eyes and shifted the lantern, sending shadows dancing on the walls.

“You’re working for Magica DeSpell?” the dog asked, a cleverly concealed threat buried in the words.

“Against,” said Louie, sounding exhausted and hoarse. “We work against her. Not very successfully, but still.”

Dewey nodded enthusiastically, ignoring how it made his head spin.

“It’s true, we hate her,” Dewey said quickly, sensing that if they didn’t convince this guy of a few things, they wouldn’t be getting anywhere near Scrooge. “We’ve been running from her and the others for like, weeks.”

The dog blinked. “Others?”

“Falcon Graves,” said Louie.

“Don Karnage,” said Dewey.

“Glomgold,” said Huey.

Dewey and his brothers shared equally tired looks.

“The Beagle Boys,” they said in unison.

The dog nearly dropped his wooden rod in shock, his eyes widening in surprise before visibly gathered his wits and stared them down. “Who are you?”

There was an awkward silence as they all tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound completely insane. There was no telling whether or not this guy would believe them, and it was a lot to explain anyway. There was no protocol for falling down a deep dark hole and telling the first person you met that you were long lost royalty.

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Louie said eventually. “Who are you?”

The stranger’s lips thinned. “Duckworth.”

Huey nodded for some reason, probably because there wasn’t much else to be doing. This whole thing was painfully uncomfortable.

“Okay. Duckworth,” Huey began, pulling himself up to stand on shaky legs. “Can you take us to Scrooge McDuck?”

Duckworth furrowed his eyebrows at them, glancing down to Magica and back again, seemingly contemplating the whole situation. Something strange crept into his eyes as he looked at them, something simultaneously sad and skeptical; maybe even a little hopeful. He took a deep breath.

“You’re triplets,” Duckworth said simply, the words somewhere between a question and a statement.

Louie sighed softly, Dewey nodded, and Huey just stood still, devoid of the energy necessary to respond. Duckworth stared at them unblinkingly, then nodded slightly to himself, coming to some silent conclusion. 

Duckworth snapped his fingers sharply, and two figures detached from the shadows. They were wearing matching outfits and were holding identical spears, a bow and arrows slung across their backs. They were probably guards of some sort, and Dewey figured that they’d followed Duckworth down here and were operating under his guidance. It was weird, since Duckworth didn’t really seem like the guy who’d be in charge.

The guards knelt down on either side of Magica, each gripping an arm harshly as they picked her up and hauled her off to wherever they’d come from.

Dewey watched them go in silence, feeling uneasy for a hundred different reasons. Louie was tense beneath his hand, breathing shakily, and Huey just stared at Magica until she was out of view, until he was left staring at darkness.

Magica was gone, and it almost seemed anticlimactic.

Maybe it would’ve felt that way no matter what had happened. She was only a person, after all. It just seemed like after all the trouble and pain she’d caused, she would’ve left a bigger mark where she’d fallen, or made more noise as she was taken away. Instead she hung limply and silently between the guards, not half as big and scary as the things she’d put them through.

Huey was still gazing unblinkingly towards where Magica had disappeared to, an unreadable expression on his face. Dewey stood up – his body aching all over – and caught Huey’s attention with a gentle hand on his shoulder and a small, understanding smile. Huey smiled back, a little bit sad, and then he turned to face Duckworth.

“Come along then,” Duckworth said after a beat of silence, and he turned and started walking towards the side of the canyon.

Dewey pulled Louie to his feet, shoulder now aching as a consequence of hanging off the side of a cliff. Huey waited patiently – perfectly still – until they were all ready to go, and they shared nervous looks before following Duckworth towards the wall.

“We have friends up there, on— on the surface,” Dewey said with sudden urgency, the realization hitting him out of nowhere now that their own crisis was averted. “They might need help with all those people that we mentioned were chasing us.”

Duckworth stopped walking for only a moment, turning his head slightly so that Dewey could see his profile. His expression was unreadable.

“It’s being handled,” was all that Duckworth said before continuing in the dark, lantern held high in a steady hand.

Dewey had half a mind to be irritated, but he let it slide. If anyone could handle themselves, it was Webby and Mrs. Beakley. Dewey had faith that they’d be okay. He had hope.

The ground beneath them was still annoyingly slippery, so every step came with the risk of falling. It was difficult work, especially for those who weren’t in peak physical condition, and it required almost full concentration; their legs weren’t exactly the strongest or steadiest things to be standing on at the moment.

He didn’t notice the hole in the wall until they were stepping into it.

Dewey startled a bit when their footsteps started echoing, looking around in surprise at the passage they’d just entered. He hadn’t been able to see it in the dark, but it was a tunnel. A tunnel. He knew immediately that they were walking beneath the ‘island’ they’d seen earlier, and he smiled to himself tiredly. Guess they didn’t need a bridge to get across after all.

It didn’t take long to see a faint blue glow of light at the end of the tunnel, and Dewey tilted his head, confused. Where on earth were they going?

Maybe he could’ve figured it out if he wasn’t so stupidly exhausted, but in that moment he just felt like he was looking at a big jumble of things that in no way connected or made sense. He blindly followed Huey, who was blindly following Duckworth, and Louie was behind them all, sighing every now and then as if he really couldn’t help it.

This is just my life now, Dewey thought, and he couldn’t dredge up much emotion to go along with that statement. If there was nothing at the end of this tunnel, Dewey thought that he almost wouldn’t care, as long as there was solid ground to flop down onto and go peacefully into a coma or something. Dewey snorted quietly at that imagery; that was such a Louie thought to have.

Less than a minute later, Duckworth walked out of the tunnel without any preamble at all, like nothing special was going on, which turned out to be entirely and severely misleading. Dewey exited the tunnel and pretty much stopped breathing.

It was a huge cavern. The biggest hole in the ground that Dewey had ever seen. And it was beautiful.

The walls and ceiling were covered in tiny patches of glowing blue moss, dark rock peeking out from in between the clusters, and it was like looking at the stars, or standing in the center of the universe. The ground was taken up with pools of water in various sizes – also glowing a faint blue because of algae or plankton or something, Huey would know – and in between the pools were smooth stone pathways, lined with warm glowing orange lanterns hanging from metal posts. There were a few stalagmites – ha, and Mrs. Beakley said he wouldn’t remember that science lesson – sticking up from the ground in some places, reflecting the glow from all around them. Dewey was suddenly reminded of why blue was his favorite color.

He could hardly feel his heart beating. Either it had stopped completely, or it was going too fast to pick up on. Dewey stared past all the blue and bits of orange, directing his unblinking gaze and unwavering focus on his new favorite sight, and he would’ve broken down sobbing if he had the breath to do so.

Near the back of the cavern was a castle.

The castle.

Huey’s hand grabbed onto his sleeve tightly, a bit shaky, but Dewey could hardly judge; he was shaking all over.

The castle was smaller than he’d imagined it to be, but it was every bit as regal and official looking, even if it had bits of moss growing on parts of it. It had a wooden drawbridge laying across one of the larger pools in the cavern, and Dewey couldn’t see beyond it yet, but he was still in awe. He craned his neck upwards, spotting a single tower that was jutting up through the roof of the cave, the rest of it presumably being on the surface of the island above. A sort of lookout tower, maybe?

Dewey probably made some sort of emotional noise, and he looked to his brothers to share the moment with them. They were the only ones who would understand.

Huey was staring up at the ceiling, blue dots of light reflecting brilliantly in his watery eyes. Huey turned to meet his gaze, and suddenly they were grinning and crying and hugging. Huey pulled Louie in immediately, and they were all standing maybe a hundred feet underground having simultaneous emotional breakdowns, bathed in blue light and finally standing where they were meant to be.

Their shaky laughter was interrupted by a forceful cough, causing them all to startle apart, halfway expecting some sort of attack. But it was only Duckworth, who was standing a few feet ahead and looking back at them rather awkwardly, with a hint of both patience and sympathy. Dewey wondered what kind of impression they’d made on the guy, if he was having such mixed emotions.

“If you’d like to continue…” said Duckworth, leaving the sentence open-ended.

“Oh— um, sorry.” Huey sniffed and wiped at his face, flashing an uncertain smile at their mysterious new friend. “Please. We’ll follow.”

Duckworth huffed a breath and continued elegantly down the path, a line of dirty, wet, and shivering ducklings trailing behind him.

“Hey, Dewey?” Louie said next to him, getting his attention, and Dewey hummed happily in acknowledgment. “Do you remember when you said I looked like a tree?”

“Yeah?” Dewey replied, grinning at the memory. It seemed like it was forever ago.

Louie just smirked in response, mischievous eyes glinting in the lighting, and he pointed at something off to the side. Dewey turned to look, uncertain of what he might see, and Huey was giggling a second before Dewey burst out laughing.

It was one of the stalagmites, about his height and covered in the glowing blue moss. Dewey looked at it, and then down at his outfit; the light blue shirt with the dark blue jacket. Yeah, he matched the stalagmite pretty well.

“Wanna play hide and seek?” Dewey asked cheekily.

“I think we’ve done enough hiding for a lifetime,” Huey said, a hint of humor in his voice.

They were all still giggling, and it probably wasn’t that funny, but none of them could stop. Maybe the healing began after you’d gone insane. Maybe pointless laughter was a good thing, especially with the turns their lives had taken recently.

Duckworth spared only one glance at them before focusing his gaze forward, where it remained until they came upon the drawbridge. The wood of the bridge was in surprisingly good condition, given the water that surrounded it. It didn’t give at all beneath Dewey’s webbed feet as they crossed it, Duckworth nodding to the guards positioned on either side as they passed.

They entered into a small courtyard, empty except for a white stone fountain in the center, ironically devoid of water. Louie snorted as they strolled past it, and Dewey grinned teasingly at him.

Then they reached the front doors of the castle and new nerves flared to life, tying his stomach in knots and shoving his heart into his throat. Huey fidgeted on his right, and Louie went stock still on his left, wracked by the occasional shiver. Dewey exhaled loudly and clenched his jaw as the large doors opened slowly inwards, being pulled by two more guards. And what on earth were they guarding? How many people could even possibly find this place?

They walked into a large room, red carpet covering dark wood floors and more lanterns lining the walls. Shelves and other surfaces were covered with random knickknacks, and a wide staircase – the biggest that Dewey had ever seen – extended in front of them. Duckworth started up them without halting. Dewey shared slightly apprehensive glances with his brothers before they followed as one.

“I’ve never been anywhere this fancy,” Louie said quietly, looking around and seeming almost overwhelmed.

Dewey nodded. “I’ve seen some nice places before, but nothing like this.” Everything screamed quality.

Duckworth turned right at the top of the stairs and led them halfway down a long hallway before stopping in his tracks. Dewey pulled up short, and Duckworth gestured calmly to a soft-looking cushioned bench pushed against the wall.

“Sit there until I call for you,” said Duckworth. “Don’t move.”

He waited until all three of them were sitting before opening the nearest door and disappearing behind it. Dewey took a moment to just breathe.

After weeks of constant and terrifying action, all they had left to do was wait.

Chapter Text

There was a mirror hanging on the wall across from the bench they were sitting on, and Louie couldn’t stop staring at it. He’d only ever looked in a mirror a few times in his whole life. Since they usually cost money and required a house or something to place it in, he’d never had one.

Most of the time, Louie only ever saw himself in calm waters or dark windows, and he had no problem with it. It didn’t matter. Mirrors never ranked very high on his list of things he wished he had, and it was a sad list honestly, with things like family and food and a roof that didn’t leak written right at the top. How stupid would it be to wish he had a mirror? Especially when all he would see would be a skinny child whose only goal in life was to survive to the next day. In all honesty, Louie was almost scared of seeing himself, of seeing the lost look his eyes, of seeing a person who might not make it through the winter.

Looking in the mirror now, he hardly recognized himself. He was still wearing his damp clothes, torn in some places and smudged with dirt in others. His wrist continued to be a major issue, and it wasn’t any fun to look at. It only brought the pain back to the forefront of his mind, even more so when he noticed that it was still slightly swollen and looked more bruised than ever.

Other than his wrist, he was covered in various other injuries; all three of them were, actually. Scrapes and bruises littered their bodies, probably par for the course when you throw yourself into a canyon and slip and fall on sharp pointy rocks. There was a particularly visible scrape on his forehead above his right eye, and Louie raised a shaky hand up to touch it, unsure of where it had come from and just now feeling the sting. His shoulder protested at the movement, sore from the yanking motion of grabbing a rope midair. It didn’t seem to be dislocated or broken or anything, so Louie counted that as a tentative win.

Huey met his eyes in the mirror, offering a knowing, tired smile. A cut on his cheek had been bleeding earlier, but it had stopped at some point. Louie stared blankly back, breathing slowly.

The silence continued, only broken by the tapping of Dewey’s foot against the ground. Louie blinked at his reflection, and forgot to open his eyes again.

“What are we even going to say?” Huey asked quietly, staring at the plush red carpet on the floor.

Louie opened his eyes halfway, and after a moment of processing the question, he shrugged.

“We could start with ‘hi, sorry to drop in unannounced, we promise we’re not assassins’?” Dewey suggested, stopping the tapping of his foot in order to gently swing his legs. “I feel like it’s important that we make a good first impression.”

Louie snorted and leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I think that went out the window when we led every single enemy of the King right to his front door.”

“That wasn’t our fault, though,” Dewey said stubbornly.

“Still happened.”

There was a pause. A door opened and closed somewhere around the corner. Louie tensed automatically, skin crawling at the unfamiliar territory he’d been thrown into. He hadn’t been fully comfortable in a long time.

“What if he doesn’t believe us?” Huey asked.

“He will,” said Dewey, glancing at the door Duckworth had disappeared behind. “He has to.”

“Not really,” Louie said, feeling like he had to be the voice of reason. “He could just kick us out or throw us in jail.”

“Well, I convinced you, didn’t I?” Dewey shrugged and grinned, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“Maybe he’s more stubborn than I am.”

“Maybe,” Dewey allowed, “but now we’re a team. We can convince him together.”

“If I don’t pass out from exhaustion first,” Huey remarked, rubbing his eyes and blinking vigorously.

“And if he lets us live long enough,” Louie added.

Dewey rolled his eyes, and Louie stuck his tongue out at him. Huey sighed.

The door across from them opened, and they all jumped.

“You have five minutes,” Duckworth said somberly, waving them over.

Dewey stood first, unsurprisingly, but he also stumbled. Huey caught him by the arm and didn’t let go, because they both seemed to need steadying. Louie trailed in right behind them, trying to convince himself that he wasn’t hiding.

Duckworth left the room as soon as soon as they entered, closing the door behind him with a firm click.

The room they’d walked into was fairly large, with random knickknacks and sculptures and bowls of gold coins laying around. Louie’s hands had been twitching since they’d come into the castle, and it was only getting worse. Once upon a time, he would’ve stolen any number of these things, knowing that he needed it more. Now, though, there were more important things to deal with.

The floor was bare, no longer covered in carpet. Instead it was dark oak planks that seemed almost ancient, but still polished. The walls were a dull beige color, and there was a chandelier with lit candles hanging from the ceiling. A few lanterns sat around the room at regular intervals, lighting the space warmly.

A few feet in front of the far wall was a desk.

Behind the desk was a chair, turned to be facing away from them.

Behind the chair was a painting hanging on the wall, and Louie stopped and stared, distantly aware that his brothers had done the same.

It was a large painting, in a golden frame, and the wall around it was scuffed as if it had been taken down and put back up multiple times. In the painting was Scrooge McDuck – Louie vaguely recognized him – and two younger ducks. One was wearing a sailor’s hat and grinning nervously, and the other was beaming down at three babies sitting on a table in front of her. Three babies.

The one with the blue shirt was in the middle, blue eyes wide and sparkling in delight as he leaned backwards to reach his short arms up towards his mother, smiling widely, seeming like he was mid-giggle. The one in the red shirt was staring inquisitively at the room he was in, the urge to explore prominent in big brown eyes. He was only being held back by the duck in the sailor’s hat, with a gentle hand on his tiny shoulder. The one in the green shirt was holding some sort of stuffed toy, in such a tight grasp that it suggested he’d refused to let go of it. The babies chin was resting on top of the toy, and he was looking straight out of the painting with mischievous green eyes and a content grin.

Louie had traded one mirror for another. That was him, and that was Huey and Dewey. Dewey had their mother’s eyes. It had all been real.

Louie’s shaking hand fell on top of the clasp of his cloak, and it felt warmer than the rest of his body, somehow.

Without warning – which was the way most things happened to them – the chair turned around, and there was Scrooge McDuck, sitting and staring at them, his eyes tired and guarded.

Louie only had a moment to take in his appearance – registering the carefully concealed grief and surprise in his expression – before Dewey spoke up to say something that they most definitely had not approved as a group.

“You don’t look how I thought you’d look,” Dewey blurted, in such a way which made it clear he hadn’t thought much about it at all.

The corner of Scrooge’s beak ticked downwards, and Louie winced. Off to a great start, then.

“Who are you?” Scrooge spoke, and Louie blinked in surprise at the heavy accent. “Why are you here, and how did you find this place?”

Louie sensed that if they answered any one of those questions wrong, they’d never get a second chance to do it right. His heart sped up and his wrist throbbed. He winced and held it closer to his stomach, and if he wasn’t mistaken, Scrooge followed the movement with his eyes.

“It’s.. it’s not easily explained,” Huey said haltingly, taking a half step forward. “It’s a long story and we— we only have a few minutes.”

“Try,” Scrooge said in a neutral tone of voice, leaning his elbows on his desk and clasping his hands.

Everyone took a moment to breathe, the silence of the room almost deafening. There they were in the presence of the Lost King, and none of them knew what to say, or even how to start. Louie prided himself on being able to talk his way in or out of situations, but when it was real – when it was genuine – he had trouble with it. Probably because he didn’t have a lot of practice with dealing with people who had no ulterior motives. He didn’t have a lot of experience with family, either.

But he had to start somewhere, and here would do just fine.

“I’m Louie,” Louie spoke up, voice shaky and quiet but determined, and Huey and Dewey looked at him in shock.

He’d been the last one to offer his name, back in the Beagle Boys wagon. And he hadn’t offered it since then. Maybe now he was braver, or simply too tired to be afraid.

The King blinked at him, eyebrows drawn slightly downward, like he was thinking really hard about something. Louie was good at reading faces; he’d had to be, once upon a time.

“I’m here because I tried to break into the Beagle Boy’s wagon and got kidnapped. He—” Louie gestured to Dewey, “—is here because he tried to save me and got kidnapped, and Huey was there already, because Magica DeSpell sold him off to the Beagle Boys. Magica sold him to the Beagle Boys because he’s royalty.”

Huey and Dewey were still staring at him like he’d grown a second head, and Louie himself was feeling a little hysterical. But what did he have to lose?

Scrooge glared at them slightly, looking angry, and scared, and full of grief, even though to the average person he’d appear unimpressed, or just plain mad. Louie recognized the look; he’d worn it himself once or twice.

Eventually, Huey shook himself and returned his gaze to the former king.

“What he said,” said Huey, sounding slightly dazed, and maybe a little proud.

“We escaped the Beagle Boys and found out that we were triplets and possibly royalty,” said Dewey, jumping in and speaking fast, “and then we found a library and Huey did this cool thing with our meda—”

Scrooge McDuck slammed his fist on the desk, and Louie automatically fell back a few steps before he even registered moving. Huey stepped closer to him on instinct, and Dewey stayed rooted in place, beak snapping shut.

“You’ve outstayed your welcome,” Scrooge said, glaring at them with his hands shaking. Louie hadn’t felt welcomed in the first place, but whatever. “Guards!”

“No— Wait, I—” Dewey spun around to face the two guards that suddenly entered the room. “Stop! Just— just listen!”

Louie turned to look at Scrooge McDuck with desperate eyes, but the man was glaring over all of their heads, not even looking at them, almost like he couldn’t.

“It’s true!” Louie shouted, voice breaking. There had been a time when he didn’t believe it. There’d been a time when he was scared – terrified – of thinking that it was true, of even indulging it for a second. He was still afraid, and maybe he always would be, but now it was for different reasons. Now he knew it was worth it.

Scrooge McDuck was still grieving, that much was clear to see, and he didn’t want to believe what they were saying because it would leave him too vulnerable. It would hurt to have hope. It would hurt. Louie knew what that was like.

“I promise it’s true,” said Louie, who hated making promises, but this one he knew he could keep.

“Just wait a second, we have proof!” Dewey exclaimed loudly, rushing and stumbling over words that seemed to mean nothing to Scrooge.

Before Dewey could bust out the proof and save the day, the guards were upon them, and they probably didn’t mean to be so rough, but at that moment all three of them could be knocked over by a gust of wind. So when the poor unknowing guard grabbed Louie’s wrist, he couldn’t have known the chaos it would cause.

The grip wasn’t as forceful as Falcon Graves’ had been, but a little went a long way in this situation. Every other source of pain was suddenly numb as his brain devoted its undivided attention to his sprained – or maybe worse, at this point – wrist. Louie let out a strangled, half-muffled scream, his vision immediately going blurry. Part of him wanted to just give up and pass out and possibly stay asleep for the rest of his life, if this was what being awake was going to be like.

Then a blur of a small body slammed into the guard’s stomach, and the guy released Louie’s wrist as he stumbled back.

Louie tried to even out his breathing, once again cradling his inconveniently injured limb to his chest. To his surprise, Huey was the one who’d gone after the guard, and his oldest brother was now standing in front of him, looking furious. Dewey was being held back by the other guard, who looked out of her depth, but was succeeding in wrangling an angry and squirming Dewey.

The male guard recovered quickly, snatching Huey by the arm and Louie by the hood, dragging them towards the door as all three of them struggled and shouted.

Louie could physically feel his heart sinking into the floor, and he already felt the broken feeling returning to his chest. It hurt more than his wrist ever could.

Distantly, he realized that tears were running down each of their faces. They weren’t strong enough to resist the guards, or clever enough to convince Scrooge of the truth. They’d used up all they had just to get there, and there was nothing left of them to complete their mission. There was nothing left.

But something had to give.

Louie didn’t believe in fate or destiny, but he would be hard-pressed to write what happened next off as coincidence.

The clasp of his cloak swung open, and it was like déjà vu when the medallion piece tumbled out.

Chapter Text

One day, life would be easier – and that was maybe – but that day had not yet come about.

Huey’s elbow was aching from where he’d shoved it into the guard’s stomach, but he didn’t regret it at all. In fact, he wished he’d done it sooner, and with far more force. He wasn’t usually prone to violence, but he couldn’t stand seeing his brothers get hurt, and he became so unbelievably angry and upset whenever they did, which had been happening much too often recently. Huey knew that even after all this was over, he’d be stuck on the defensive for a while – just to be safe, just out of instinct.

If it was ever over, and if they were ever safe. It wasn’t looking too good, currently.

The male guard had one hand twisted into the fabric of Huey’s vest, and his other was gripping the hood of Louie’s cloak. There was quite a bit of noise in the room, mostly because of Dewey, who was alternating between begging Scrooge to listen and shouting at the guards to let them go. He might’ve been more convincing if the female guard didn’t have him slung over her shoulder like a sack of flour.

Huey was doing some yelling of his own, although he had no clue what he was saying. All he knew was that he was never going to go quietly again. The guards seemed to be both conflicted and annoyed at their persistence, and who could blame them, honestly.

Louie, however, was silent, and Huey turned to check on him.

His youngest brother was staring intensely at something on the floor a few feet away, his good hand fumbling for the clasp of his cloak – the clasp that was open. Huey followed Louie’s eyeline and realized what his brother was trying so desperately to get to.

The medallion piece.

Oh.

Huey’s eyes widened, hands subconsciously going to his chest where his own piece was concealed beneath his vest. Huey had forgotten, somehow, that they had proof. Dewey’s yelling suddenly made a lot more sense.

There was a triumphant noise as Louie finally freed himself from his cloak, and his brother stumbled forwards with his momentum, leaving the green fabric dangling in the startled guard’s hand. Louie went straight for the golden object on the floor, and Huey started violently wriggling out of his vest before the guard could react.

The vest came off quickly and smoothly – which was a miracle honestly, given their luck – and Huey felt his piece of the medallion fall back against his chest with a dull thud, fully visible for everyone to see.

Dewey fell silent, and Huey looked over just in time to watch him tumble face first towards the floor, having shifted his weight suddenly in a way the guard hadn’t expected. Huey’s breath caught, anticipating a horrible collision with the ground and a possible concussion, but Dewey landed gracefully on his hands and sprung onto his feet, only stumbling a little. He stood upright, shaking out his hands and grinning to himself for only a moment before turning and racing towards Huey.

The guards were right behind them, and could easily grab them again if they so desired, but they appeared to be at a loss. One of them was holding Huey’s vest and Louie’s cloak in opposite hands, standing there with a baffled look in his eyes.

Huey didn’t blame them for their confusion. The three of them together were a lot to handle, and they’d been dealing with people far more ruthless than two guards who couldn’t have seen much action in recent years. Compared to what they’d been through in the past few weeks, this was nothing.

Huey turned his attention to the King, his eyes blazing with determination and anger and the knowledge that no one was going to leave that room until they’d finished what they came to do. Dewey stood tall on his right, and Louie materialized calmly to his left, clutching his retrieved medallion piece in his good hand. The guards stood listlessly where they’d left them, and Huey put them out of his mind.

Scrooge McDuck was openly staring at the object hanging against Huey’s heart, halfway out of his chair, and the king had gone paler than anyone that Huey had ever seen. His hands were faintly trembling, and the man was hardly breathing. He looked like he’d seen a ghost, but if anyone could have been mistaken for a ghost, it would be the king himself. Everyone had thought him dead, after all.

“My name is Huey,” Huey said firmly, clearly, demanding to be seen and heard. “I’m your nephew, these are my brothers, and I can prove it.”

Huey reached up and grabbed the chain of his necklace, carefully pulling it over his head. No one else moved or made a sound. He walked forward purposefully, stopping when he got to the desk, less than three feet from where Scrooge was standing on the opposite side. He set his medallion piece down carefully on the wooden surface, and it was kind of like laying all of his cards on the table. There was nothing left to hide, no more map to follow, and nowhere else for them to go. Scrooge sank back down into his seat.

Dewey placed his piece on the desk next, with more vigor – clearly still reeling from the recent skirmish – and Louie set his down gently, like it was made of glass instead of gold. The noise it made as it settled against the wood was one of finality.

“I’m Dewey, by the way,” Dewey said lightly, the same way he’d introduced himself to them, all those weeks ago. “My favorite color is blue.”

Louie snorted softly, and Huey almost cracked a smile. Only Dewey.

“And I’m Louie,” his youngest brother said, casually leaning against the desk. “In case you forgot.”

Scrooge stood suddenly and violently, chair scraping roughly against the floor as it was shoved backwards. He braced both of his white-knuckled hands against the edge of the desk, staring the three of them down with some strange and desperate emotion building in his eyes.

“How—” The Kings voice escaped in a strangled whisper, breaking halfway through, and he didn’t finish what he was going to say.

Instead his gaze darted down to the medallion – all in pieces – on his desk. He reached out and lightly touched Dewey’s piece, barely making contact before withdrawing. He leaned back, but his eyes stayed trained on the golden objects on the desk, as if he was both examining them intensely and looking right through them, not really seeing them at all.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Scrooge said slowly, an ancient sort of grief weighing on every word. Huey felt it deep in his soul, in the same way he felt the heaviness.

“We know,” Louie said, a little awkwardly.

“Yeah,” Dewey added, humor twisting his words. “We’ve heard.”

The king inspected them with a distraught gaze before turning slowly to face the painting behind him, the painting of smiling people – of an intact family. A painting of what he’d lost; a picture of what he might be getting back.

Hope hurt to look at, sometimes, when you’ve gone so long without it. It was like light, in that way. You had to let your eyes adjust.

There was a long and weighty moment of silence, in which it felt like everything they’d worked for was hanging in the balance. Beside him, Louie shifted a little closer. Huey grabbed his hand.

“Your mother,” Scrooge began eventually, in a sad but thoughtful tone of voice, “never ceased to amaze me.”

Huey blinked at the sudden tears that sprung up in his eyes, swallowing hard against the persistent lump in his throat. Scrooge turned around to face them and smiled softly, hesitantly, unbearably fragile.

“It wouldn’t surprise me if she’d managed to save you. It shouldn’t surprise me,” Scrooge said, almost like he was talking to himself. “But it does. It seems too good to be the truth. So much time has passed.”

A shadow crossed the kings face, there and gone in the space of a second, in between one heartbeat and the next. Scrooge turned his gaze to Dewey, and he looked at him a little wonderingly, a little bit hopeful. The expression was slightly awkward on his face, having maybe not felt those feelings in a long time.

“You have her eyes,” said Scrooge, quietly, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to say it out loud.

And Dewey was definitely crying next to him, which made Huey realize that he was crying, too. Louie was still holding his hand, squeezing it tightly, and faint sniffling could be heard from him as well, quiet and honest.

“And all of you have her propensity for trouble,” Scrooge continued, a tentative sort of smile on his face as he looked at them with shining eyes. “Curse me kilts, have I missed trouble.”

Huey choked on a laughing sob, overwhelmed and tired and so, so happy.

The King glanced at the medallion pieces one last time, and then he made his way around the desk to kneel in front of them, like the gold and gems didn’t matter as much as they did.

“I…I’ve missed you,” Scrooge said, voice breaking but filled with unmistakable fondness.

Dewey crashed into their long-lost Uncle before he could even finish opening his arms, and Huey followed at only a slightly slower pace, Louie a few steps behind him. They fell together in a crying heap on the floor, limbs tangled and three of them covered in damp clothing from the ‘moat’, but Scrooge didn’t seem to mind.

They were deep underground and somewhere above them a forest was burning to ashes, but it was perfect.

Huey cried and cried and cried, and he’d never felt lighter.

Chapter Text

The last thing Dewey wanted to do was sleep, but after he saw Webby and the others safe in the entryway, and after a rather tearful reunion, he collapsed in the first bed he saw.

Scrooge himself had brought them to their room, which had apparently once been used for guests. There were two beds, but Huey and Dewey and Louie all piled onto the same one, too used to being right next to each other and still partially afraid that it was all a dream.

Louie smushed himself up against the wall, curled around his rewrapped wrist, courtesy of Huey. There’d been talk of sending for the castle physician, but everyone had been too overwhelmed and exhausted, surrounded by new people and halfway convinced they were still in danger. Louie specifically had looked particularly spooked at the mention of a physician, and so they’d only been checked briefly for life-threatening injuries before being sent to bed with the promise that they’d get a proper checkup in the morning. It was probably better that way, because the three boys were beyond exhausted.

Huey lay in the middle of the bed, and that left Dewey on the edge, facing the door reflexively, like he was guarding them.

Scrooge didn’t actually leave the room for quite a while, which was a little unsettling but not entirely unwelcome. The King sat on the empty bed across from them, and Dewey gazed at him with half lidded eyes and a sleepy smile. They hadn’t been able to explain everything, but it could wait until they were physically and mentally prepared to do so. It was a lot to unpack, really.

Eventually, Scrooge sighed softly and stood, startling Dewey, who’d just begun to drift off. The King smiled softly at him – like he was scared to but couldn’t help it – and he laid a gentle hand on Dewey’s head.

“Sleep well, lad,” was all the King – their uncle – said before padding quietly out of the room. He stopped at the doorway and looked back for a long moment – backlit by a flickering lantern hanging somewhere in the hallway – and then he was gone.

Dewey smiled to himself, feeling Huey’s elbow dig into his back and hearing Louie’s soft snores. The next time he blinked, he fell asleep.

They slept for a long while, and Dewey woke up multiple times before actually managing to stay that way. He was disoriented at first, too used to waking up in Launchpad’s wagon, but then the memories of the past few days hit him all at once, and he blinked slowly, automatically sitting up and turning to check on his brothers.

Huey’s arm was resting across Dewey’s lap, having slid off his stomach when he sat up, and Louie was still sleeping soundly with his head resting on Huey’s shoulder. A soft, fond smile, crept onto Dewey’s face, accompanied by unfamiliar tranquility.

They were finally safe. They’d all made it.

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” a voice broke the peaceful silence of the room, and Dewey jumped in surprise and whirled around, his heart giving a painful lurch before he realized who had spoken.

Webby was sitting on the other bed, a slightly apologetic look on her face, having most likely not intended to scare him. A burst of happiness surged and expanded in his chest, and he couldn’t help the grin the grew on his face, or the moisture that collected in his eyes. He was so unbelievably glad to have her there, to have his whole family safe.

He carefully extracted himself from his brothers and stood up – wobbling a bit – to go and sit by her. He pulled himself up on the bed to plop down beside her, wincing at the ache that was present basically everywhere in his body.

“Are you okay?” Webby asked him, painfully worried, her brow furrowed in concern. It reminded Dewey of a few days before he’d been kidnapped, standing outside the village inn rubbing at the pain in his chest as if that would’ve helped it to go away. Webby had asked him the same question then that she was asking now, and this time he had a different answer; a more truthful one.

“I am now,” Dewey replied quietly, grinning at Webby, mindful of his volume so as not to wake his sleeping brothers.

Webby looked a little doubtful, raising a single eyebrow as she looked him over.

“No offense,” she said, a mixture of concerned and amused, “but you look like you tumbled down a mountain.”

“I kind of did,” Dewey said, thinking of being washed down the mountain river. He could still hear the screaming, half excited and half fearful as it had been.

Webby shot him a questioning look, and Dewey laughed softly.

“That happened in week one,” Dewey explained. “Obviously we’ve upgraded to leaping off of cliffs, now.”

Dewey’s eyes fell to the palms of his hands, scraped up and bruised and a little burnt from the fire. Things had escalated very quickly after the kidnapping, and especially since their – first – escape. He took a moment to be very thankful that he and his brothers were alive.

“I…I thought you were dead,” Webby whispered suddenly, voice breaking and tears collecting in her eyes at an alarming rate. “Your friend— Huey? He tackled Magica over the edge and when I looked—”

She cut herself off, wrapping her arms around herself and closing her eyes tightly for a few seconds as she breathed shakily. A knot formed in Dewey’s stomach, twisting it in guilt, and he frowned faintly. Before he could say anything, Webby opened her eyes and looked at him in anguish.

“When I looked, you were gone. All of you were gone,” Webby continued, wiping at her eyes. “I thought— I thought I’d never see you again.”

Dewey sniffed and blinked fast, greatly affected – as he’d always been – by the emotions of his best friend, and he wished that it had been easier on her; on all of them.

He wasted no time in pulling her into a tight hug, burying his face into her shoulder and just breathing, breathing, breathing, because finally he had the time to do so. Webby hugged him back, clutching at his dirty jacket, and they were both trembling uncontrollably.

“I’m okay,” Dewey said sometime later, pulling back and taking hold of her hand, squeezing reassuringly. “I’m— I’m better than okay.”

“Yeah?” Webby asked, offering a tentative smile.

Dewey turned his head towards his brothers almost involuntarily. They still lay sleeping on the bed, Louie halfway on top of Huey, Huey’s arm wrapped loosely around his younger brother’s back. They looked peaceful, and Dewey’s chest – his heart – was full to bursting.

“Yeah,” Dewey answered, voice unmistakably fond, staring at the slow rise and fall of Huey and Louie’s chests, thankful for every breath they took.

With a little luck, and a lot of purposeful actions, maybe his brothers would finally get the lives that they deserved. It would be a difficult adjustment, for both of them – maybe even for all of them – but Dewey was going to be there every step of the way.

“So, uh— Who are they?” Webby asked suddenly, curiously, and when he sent her a confused look, she gestured to the sleeping boys across from them. “Lena told us a bit about Huey, and all, but who are they to you?”

Webby had always been surprisingly perceptive, when it came to him.

“What? I— Oh.” Dewey smiled a little sheepishly. “I guess you guys were never properly introduced, aside from names.”

“Well,” Webby said with a teasing grin, “a lot was going on at the time.”

Dewey giggled quietly with Webby, and he was so happy that things were okay between them. He didn’t know what he would do if they weren’t.

“The one in red is Huey, and the one in green is Louie, but, uh— I guess you knew that, ‘cause we already told you, and— You met Louie once before, with the apple incident—" Dewey realized that he was beginning rambling a bit, and he paused to chuckle, meeting Webby’s wondering gaze with a wide smile. “They’re my brothers.”

Webby’s eyes widened, then darted between him and Huey and Louie for a few seconds. Her beak was hanging open, and then she snapped it shut and regarded him somewhat suspiciously.

“Wait, you— You’re not joking?”

“No!” Dewey exclaimed, playfully offended. “We’re really brothers. Triplets, actually. Huey’s the oldest and Louie’s the youngest which makes me the middle child, but we were all born on the same day and we’re kind of long-lost royalty.”

Webby had a baffled look on her face, so Dewey continued his frenzied explanation.

“I mean—once we escaped the Beagle Boys’ wagon and made it onto the mountain and into the cave, we found out that we all had pieces of the same medallion and Huey told us that it meant we were members of the royal family. So that was kind of a shock, and then we made it off the mountain and out of the woods and hitched a ride with Timothy who took us to the nearest village so we could sit down and relax and talk and stuff. And we sat down in the library and did a bunch of research and then Huey remembered this super smart map-code-thing and we used our medallion to find the place where the secret castle might be and that’s why we’re here now, because we found it!”

Webby stared at him, visibly processing his rambling run-on sentences.

“You’re triplets, and you’re related to the King, who’s been in hiding since the war,” Webby recapped slowly, and Dewey nodded. “So you figured this out, and then went off on your own to find out if it was true?”

“I would’ve waited for you. I wanted to,” Dewey said immediately, feeling the need to explain himself even though Webby had sounded far from accusatory, “but Magica had her whole band of associates out looking for us and following us, and I just— We couldn’t ever stop moving.”

Webby squeezed his hand gently, comfortingly.

“I guess that explains the message you gave Violet,” she said with a small smile.

“So you did see her?” Webby nodded, and Dewey sighed in relief, his shoulders dropping. “I didn’t know how far behind you were, or if you even knew where to go.”

“We met Lena in the village you were taken from. She was looking for Huey, and after a bit of talking and stuff we thought that maybe you and him were together.” Dewey hummed to show that he was listening, and Webby continued. “We found the alley you were taken from, and we followed the trail until we couldn’t find it, and then we headed for the nearest village. When we asked around, the librarian told us she’d seen kids of your description, and after more investigation we found someone who’d seen the way you’d left the village.

“We did that for a while, mostly just guessing, and I was so scared that we were never going to find you,” Webby said, emotion creeping back into her voice. “And then we found Violet, who’d seen you for sure, and I was so relieved that you were alive, but I was also kind of angry that you weren’t there for me to hug.”

“I’m sorry,” Dewey said, utterly sincere but feeling like it wasn’t enough. “I didn’t—I didn’t want you to be worried, but I knew you would be, and I felt bad for doing that to you.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” said Webby gently, and then she flashed a wry smile. “And I don’t think you regret it that much anyway.” She sent a pointed look at his brothers.

“I regret the trouble I caused you and Mrs. B, but no, I don’t regret anything else.” Dewey smiled and shrugged. “Everything that happened led me here, to them, and I have to think that it was worth it. It is worth it.”

“I believe you,” Webby said simply, and then she gave him a stern look. “Just don’t do it again.”

“I’ll try my best,” Dewey laughed, and then he tilted his head and smirked, glancing over at the other bed. “And Louie? I know you’re awake.”

Webby’s eyebrows shot up as she followed Dewey’s gaze to the bed across from them, where Louie was shuffling into a sitting position against the wall, squinting at them. Dewey chuckled and let go of Webby’s hand, leaning forward with a grin.

“You stopped snoring a while ago, Lou. Who were you trying to fool?” Dewey asked teasingly, watching as Louie scrubbed his good hand down his face.

“Myself,” Louie groaned, wincing when he dropped his arm back into his lap. “Everything hurts.”

“Tell me about it,” said Dewey, his own shoulder throbbing in solidarity. “Does your shoulder hurt, too?”

“Among other things.”

“Is there a physician here?” Webby asked, looking between them with a concerned look on her face.

“Yeah, we’re under strict orders to see him today,” Dewey replied, almost looking forward to the visit, if it meant the pain would ease.

“After we’ve had a bath, according to Scrooge,” Louie grumbled.

“Can’t say I blame the guy. The last time we bathed was at that lake a few days ago.”

“Simpler times.”

Dewey huffed a laugh, and Louie snorted in response. Even the lake had hardly been simple. And yet he wouldn’t mind going back someday. Maybe they could wish on more shooting stars; it had seemed to work last time.

Louie’s stomach made a loud rumbling nose rather suddenly, and Dewey grinned at him teasingly. Louie sent him a weak glare, but then glanced down in surprise as Huey sat up blearily, head swiveling like he was taking stock of his surroundings.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” Dewey said, getting Huey’s fragile attention. “Welcome back.”

“Hm?” Huey yawned and stretched carefully, wincing several times. If nothing else, the pain was good for waking up faster. “What’re we doing?”

“I’m thinking we look for some breakfast, as Louie’s stomach suggested.”

“Breakfast?” Webby repeated, sounding amused.

“Yeah?” Dewey shifted to look at his friend, befuddled. “What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s halfway through that afternoon, that’s what’s wrong,” a new voice said from the doorway, and Dewey whipped around – ouch – to see Lena standing there with her arms crossed.

“Afternoon?” Huey asked tiredly, still partially asleep.

“Yep!” Webby hopped off the bed and bounded towards the door, stopping and turning back when she got to Lena. “You guys slept for like, ever.”

“We needed it,” said Louie, a touch defensively. “We kind of had a lot going on.”

“Understatement of they year,” Huey mumbled, sliding to the edge of the bed and stretching his legs experimentally.

“Understatement of the century,” Dewey said dramatically, flopping backwards and regretting it when his body complained, loudly and painfully.

“Everyone’s waiting in the dining room,” Lena informed them after a short silence. “They sent me to get you and bring you there.”

Dewey hummed in acknowledgement, hearing Huey’s feet hit the floor lightly and the shuffling of blankets as Louie moved to get up. Dewey let himself slide off the bed into a standing position, blinking as his body adjusted to being vertical. Then he was following the small group of children out the door and into the hallway, falling into step beside Webby, a few paces back from the others.

“How’d you get that cut?” Webby asked as they walked, pointing to the hastily made bandage on his upper arm.

“Sword fight,” Dewey responded, grinning almost maniacally.

“No way!” Webby gasped, eyes sparkling. “Did you win?”

“Yeah.”

Webby reached over to gently ruffle his hair, beaming at him proudly, and Dewey ducked his head and laughed.

“Told you that you could do it,” she said smugly, happily, and Dewey bumped his elbow into her arm.

“Thanks for believing in me,” Dewey said, soft and sincere.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” said Webby, grinning and nudging him back. “But you’re welcome.”

Dewey could smell the food before he could see it, and his stomach loudly complained that they weren’t going fast enough. He sped up without really thinking about it, catching up with Huey and Louie who were similarly inclined to go as quickly as possible.

They hadn’t eaten at all the day before, and their eating schedule before then had been rather irregular. Dewey knew that he’d lost weight, and he knew that Huey and Louie had as well. Of course, Louie had already been a little too skinny, even before they’d met, so it was harder to tell, with him; thinking about it for too long never failed to have Dewey’s stomach churning in worry and his heart doing some painful jumping in his chest.

Huey tripped over his own feet and almost faceplanted, but he caught himself on a small table against the wall. Louie nearly fell also, simply because he was startled by the noise that Huey made as he stumbled, and Dewey considered that maybe they should slow down.

“Woah, there,” Webby said, face twisted halfway between concerned and amused. “Where’s the fire?”

Huey straightened up, his face a little pink, and he laughed nervously.

“There isn’t one,” Louie replied, eyes focused down the hallway towards where the food smell was coming from. “Well, not anymore.”

“But that could change any second, with Huey around,” Dewey said lightheartedly, and Huey gaped at him.

“Me? You’re the one who sparked an uncontrollable forest fire!” Huey exclaimed, exasperated.

“And you blew up a building,” Dewey said with a wide grin, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Wanna call it even?”

Huey scowled at him, truly exasperated in the way only an older sibling could be, and Dewey only smiled wider.

“Wait a minute— You did what?” Lena asked incredulously, looking at Huey like she’d never seen him in quite the right light before.

Huey fidgeted a little, shrugged jerkily, and glared at Dewey with no real heat.

“That’s pretty cool,” said Lena, newfound respect and pride burning through guarded eyes.

Huey blinked slowly in surprise, then offered her a tentative smile. Dewey felt like he was witnessing a new beginning, a fragile hope.

“Okay, we get it,” Louie interrupted, continually inching down the hallway. “You both have an unhealthy obsession with fire. Can we eat now?”

“Unhealthy Obse— It’s called being heroic!” Dewey said with feeling, gesturing with his hand and wincing as a muscle in his shoulder twinged.

“Sure,” Louie said easily, fully distracted and walking away.

Dewey rolled his eyes, and everyone continued their journey towards wherever the food was. Lena pulled ahead quickly, being the one who actually knew where they were going – and they eventually came to a stop at a large set of doors at the end of the hall. Every door in the castle looked basically the same, dark oak with golden handles.

Murmuring could be heard coming from the other side of the door, and a faintly nervous energy settled over their group of wayward children, making them reluctant to enter.

In the end, the promise of food outweighed any desire to run and hide, and Webby pushed through them all to open the door with her familiar bravado.

The chattering cut off as soon as they walked into the room – a large room with a long and sturdy wooden table, stone floor, and a swinging door to the kitchen on the opposite side. Scrooge McDuck himself sat at the head of the table, Mrs. Beakley sitting stiffly in the chair to his left. They both looked up, and Scrooge appeared to be just as nervous as they were. His hands were clasped tightly on top of the table, and his eyes couldn’t seem to stay on any one of them for very long.

“Boys,” Scrooge said awkwardly, making a move like he thought he’d stand and then decided not to.

“…Hi,” said Huey, and they stood in an uncomfortable huddle just inside the door.

They stared vaguely in each other’s direction for a few long seconds, until Mrs. Beakley cleared her throat pointedly and Scrooge jumped, looking both annoyed and chastised. This was a man who’d become unused to social interaction, but apparently Mrs. Beakley wasn’t having it.

“Come and sit, then,” said Scrooge, all in one breath. “You must be hungry.”

“Starving,” said Dewey, who could think of nothing better to say.

Webby plopped down happily next to her granny, and Lena slipped past all of them to head into the kitchen, where Launchpad could be heard attempting to make enthusiastic conversation with the staff. Huey bravely took the seat to the right of Scrooge with a nervous smile, and Dewey sat between Huey and Louie.

Dewey made eye contact with Mrs. Beakley across from him, grinning a hesitant grin, feeling sheepish and guilty for all he’d put her through. She raised an eyebrow amusedly before breaking out in a helpless sort of smile, shaking her head slowly in a what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you sort of way. Dewey ducked his head and felt immense relief at being forgiven.

“So,” Huey said eventually, picking at a lose thread on his shirt, “we— I mean, you probably want to know how we got here.”

“Yes, lad, I do.” Scrooge’s shoulders slumped with something resembling sadness, but he smiled anyway. “But can wait until you’ve eaten, and your injuries are taken care of.”

“Okay.” Huey nodded absentmindedly, stealing a look at Dewey, who shrugged imperceptibly. “Okay.”

When the food came, it was rolled out on carts, and there was an overwhelming amount. It was a lot for Dewey, which meant that by Louie’s standards it was earth shattering; his eyes were wide, and his hands were twitching.

After that, there wasn’t much talking at all. Just three boys eating like it was their last meal, and three pairs of worried eyes watching them like they might fall apart.

Chapter Text

“How did you say that this happened?” The physician – he’d told them his name, but Louie had already forgotten it – asked him, and Louie sighed quietly.

Almost immediately after they’d finished eating what they could – and they couldn’t stomach much after weeks of so little – Scrooge had ushered them down to the medical room to get looked over. Their uncle had stood awkwardly to the side for a few minutes before telling them he’d send someone for them later, and then he’d fled the room. Louie didn’t blame him; he knew what it was like to feel suffocated by walls and uncomfortable situations.

The physician had taken one look at them huddled together in the middle of the room before sternly ordering them into a waiting tub of warm water. Louie had never actually been in warm water before, but he found that he liked it. It felt kind of like a long, continuous hug, and it was exactly the sort of thing that would’ve made him feel less lonely, back when he was alone.

Once they’d shed their clothes and climbed into the tub, the no-nonsense physician had practically shoved some sweet-smelling soap at them and told them to get on with it. They’d taken turns scrubbing at themselves vigorously, and the water had slowly turned foggy with dirt and grime and soap suds. Louie hadn’t realized just how dirty they’d been, but looking back, he supposed it made sense. Personal hygiene had hardly been a main priority those past few weeks.

They made it through bath time with minimal splashing and horseplay – although a good amount of water had still ended up on the floor – and then they’d been bundled in identical pale blue blankets and told to sit and wait while the physician set things up.

Louie could admit that he was nervous, looking around at all the medical instruments that he didn’t recognize and the locked cabinets against the walls. He’d never had a warm bath before, so he’d certainly never seen a physician. The closest thing to medical attention he’d ever received had been when he’d gotten horribly sick one winter, passed out in the middle of the street with a high fever, and awoken two days later in some stranger’s barn. The guy’s conscience apparently hadn’t allowed him to leave a sick child to die, but he’d seemed to be perfectly fine with watching that same child leave the next day on shaking legs, with the weight of the world on his shoulders and nothing to his name.

So Louie was nervous, but he was trying his best to hopeful, too. Maybe something could finally be done about his wrist and the near-constant pain emanating from it. Maybe Huey would stop trying to hide that limp of his. Maybe Dewey would stop looking like every breath hurt. Maybe it would all go okay.

After a few tense minutes of waiting, the physician had called him gently over to the table and had instructed him to climb onto it. Louie kept his brothers and the exit in his line of sight in an effort to calm his racing heart. It worked enough to keep him in place, but not enough for him to feel good about it. Huey and Dewey smiled at him reassuringly, the latter giving him a thumbs up.

The physician repeated his question.

“Someone grabbed it pretty roughly,” Louie answered, eyes trained on his vulnerable, hurt wrist resting in a stranger’s hands. “And he kind of— he held me up in the air by it. Shook me around.”

The older duck hummed, furrowing his brow and moving Louie’s wrist gently in each direction, causing him to wince at the dull throbbing pain. There was no mistaking that he was injured; his wrist was swollen and covered in what looked like bruises. Louie hated looking at it, but he couldn’t seem to stop.

“And then people kept grabbing him by it, and messing with it,” Huey piped up from his place sitting cross legged on the floor. His expression was openly concerned. “He didn’t have much time to rest it, and I didn’t know how to make it better.”

Huey deflated as he said that last part, and Dewey scowled from where he was half asleep next to him, no doubt about to open his beak and defend Huey from his own self-doubt. The physician – surprisingly – beat him to it.

“You did very well with the supplies available to you,” said the physician, grabbing at something on the table next to him and looking at Huey with something like respect. “There’s not much I would’ve done differently.”

Huey brightened, smiling shyly, both embarrassed and pleased. Dewey nodded to himself and ruffled Huey’s hair with the hand attached to the arm and shoulder that wasn’t in extreme pain.

The physician bound Louie’s wrist in some contraption that limited movement and stabilized it, and while it still hurt, it bothered him less.

“I’ll give you some medicine for the pain,” said the physician as he finished binding the injury, “but other than that, all you can do is rest it. It will be a few weeks before you can use it, and a few more before it goes back to normal completely.”

The guy must have seen the dismayed look on Louie’s face, because he smiled sympathetically and patted his shoulder.

“There is no way to know the exact amount of time that it will take to heal,” said the physician, “but it will heal, and I expect regular visits until then.”

The words were inspiring for reasons beyond the obvious. Louie knew that he had issues. His doubts and rough edges and broken glass hadn’t fully gone away, and maybe it never would; the memory of it certainly wouldn’t.

But, he could still heal. Slowly, maybe, but even slow healing was healing all the same. He wasn’t foolish enough to think that one day he might forget about the damage he used to carry with him, but he thought that maybe it wouldn’t take up as much space as it used to. There was always room for growth, and the more he grew, the smaller the damaged part of him would become.

“Alright,” the physician said eventually, after cleaning a few cuts and scrapes and examining his many bruises. “Who’s next?”

Huey quite literally shoved Dewey towards the examination table as Louie hopped down from it. Dewey huffed, but made his way over without complaint, brushing his shoulder against Louie’s as they passed each other.

Louie collapsed next to Huey against the wall, feeling drained, but better; clean and cared for. Huey carefully grabbed his good hand and held it gently between them, watching Dewey with observant eyes as the physician checked him over.

“How do you think the talk with Scrooge is going to go?” Huey asked quietly, and Louie cringed.

“I don’t know,” said Louie, “but it can’t be worse than the last one.”

“Don’t jinx it, he still has the power to throw us out,” Huey said nervously, reflexively squeezing Louie’s hand.

“I thought I was the pessimist.”

“You don’t have the sole claim on it,” Huey argued, laughter in his voice. “It’s not like it’s your personal character trait or something. You can share.”

“Only if you share your brain cells with me.”

“Bold of you to assume that I have more than one.”

Louie was too shocked to suppress his sudden laughter, and Huey grinned at him sideways. Across the room, Dewey was staring at them as if he couldn’t believe they had the audacity to have fun without him.

“Fine, we’ll share the brain cell, then,” Louie said lightly.

“Like a joint custody situation?” Huey sounded amused.

“Yeah. You get weekends.”

“Whatever you say, Louie,” said Huey, smiling.

Louie just grinned and settled back against the wall, enjoying the feeling of having nowhere to rush off to and nothing to run from.

Their clothes weren’t in the best condition, but they had nothing else to wear. Louie figured that there hadn’t been much reason to keep children’s clothes in a secret castle known only to a few, and he wasn’t going to complain about it. He’d feel weird without his hooded cloak anyway, like he’d be walking into battle without armor. Which he’d done multiple times over the past few weeks, but still; he needed something familiar to hold onto throughout all of the change, and thus he was wearing the same clothing he’d been wearing since the day he’d last left his little shed.

Dewey had been able to bring himself to part with his jacket and the leather thing that held his sword, and Huey had similarly ditched his vest for his red shirt. They looked smaller, somehow; they all did. Now that they didn’t have to be larger than life and two steps ahead, they could just be kids. Tired kids.

The physician pushed them gently out into the hallway, bandaged and clean and nervous about their next meeting with Scrooge McDuck. It wasn’t long before Duckworth appeared, walking briskly towards them and gesturing for them to follow without stopping.

Louie was slightly annoyed with the way they were being rushed about. They were all injured in various ways, and Huey had sustained a twisted ankle he was supposed to be careful with. So in the end, Duckworth was forced to slow his pace in order to accommodate them, and fortunately he didn’t seem to mind it.

They were led to a different room than the one they’d been to yesterday, though not too far from it. It was a large room with a big fireplace, three large windows, and several comfortable-looking couches and chairs. Through each window was a breathtaking view of the cavern, glowing blue points of light and all.

Louie was struck by how clean and sturdy everything in the room looked. It was overwhelming, and it had him on edge, though he knew it was stupid to be so nervous. He’d just never seen anything like it before, never been surrounded by things that weren’t easily broken. Everything about the room and its contents suggested that Louie didn’t belong there, that he was out of place with his cuts and bruises and rough edges.

Scrooge McDuck sat in a cushy red chair to the right of the fireplace, facing the matching red couch a few feet across from it. The King turned to face them when they entered, and the painful doubt that had been present in his expression before was gone. In its place were soft eyes and a smile as warm as the fire burning beside him. Louie’s heart jumped into his throat, and his breath hitched.

“Thank you, Duckworth,” said Scrooge kindly, his gaze flitting over their heads as he spoke to his friend. “That’ll be all.”

Duckworth nodded once, bowed shortly, and left them alone in the room. Louie watched him go with something like envy, but turned back around when Scrooge cleared his throat.

“You can sit there,” said Scrooge, gesturing to the couch with his cane, “and if you’re ready, you can tell me all about the trouble you’ve gotten into.”

Huey led the way to the couch, grinning nervously at Scrooge as they all sat down. Louie let out a shaky exhale, determined to calm himself enough to participate in the conversation. Dewey was practically vibrating in excitement, but it was warring with the tension in his shoulders; he was still halfway stuck in the role of ‘protector’. Louie leaned his shoulder against Dewey’s, figuring that it could help them both.

“What do you want to know?” Huey asked tentatively once they were all settled, sitting on the other side of Dewey.

“Whatever you’re willing to tell me,” Scrooge replied carefully, and there was no trace of deception. Louie was still getting used to the accent.

There was a pause.

“It’s a long story,” Louie warned, eyeing Scrooge suspiciously for any sort of frustration or impatience. “It might take a while.”

“I have the time, lad,” Scrooge said calmly, and he didn’t seem like a king, he seemed smaller. Just a tired man who’d once lost everything he loved.

Before meeting his brothers, Louie hadn’t talked much. Well, he did, but not for real. His words were always tools, or weapons, or a way to get himself out of a sticky situation. And for all the talking he did – only ever when he had to – he never said a word about himself, and he never spoke the truth. No one remaining in his village knew his name, preferring to come up with creative insults as he made off with their stale bread or threadbare blankets. A lot of the items he’d stolen had come straight from the trash, but then the people who’d thrown it out had seen that he wanted it and suddenly, so did they. It had never seemed to make sense.

So Louie didn’t have much experience in talking about himself, or sharing memories, or telling stories. For several years he hadn’t even heard his name spoken aloud. But for this, for the promise of family, he could try. Louie hesitantly met Scrooge’s patient eyes, and nodded.

“I think Huey should probably start,” Dewey said, glancing at his older brother. “Since he was the first to get snatched.”

Huey huffed a laugh at the wording, but he visibly gathered his courage and organized his thoughts.

“Ready?” Huey asked, needing one more confirmation.

Scrooge nodded, and they started at the beginning.

The tale they spun was only vaguely linear, seeing as how they kept jumping in and interrupting each other in order to add something or challenge if they were remembering correctly.

Huey had soldiered through his own part of the story, brow furrowed and fingers twitching as he relayed the events leading up to his capture like they were scientific facts. Dewey and Louie were less graceful, stumbling through a clumsy telling of their skirmish with the Beagle Boys and how they’d apparently been annoying enough that Big Time couldn’t leave them be.

Scrooge had looked at them oddly throughout their account of the fight, regarding Dewey and Louie’s reflexive nervous bickering with some sort of wistful, far away expression, like he was caught between the past and the present.

Phase one of the story ended with the three of them trapped in the wagon of criminals who had no idea who exactly they’d captured. Of course, they themselves hadn’t known at that point, so the Beagle Boys were given a reluctant pass.

They then went on to explain their daily routine as confused captives, unsure where they were going or why they’d been taken. It wasn’t difficult to recall the choking fear and suffocating uncertainty of those first few days; days they spent knowing nothing, and barely knowing each other. The memory made his voice shake, when he could force out enough words to be of any help to Huey and Dewey, who were doing better only marginally.

But Scrooge was patient, and he encouraged them to take their time, and he provided them with water and crackers while they talked. Louie couldn’t help but wait for the other shoe to drop, partly expecting to be suddenly accused of lying and dragged off to the dungeons, if such a place existed.

They talked about meeting Ma Beagle, about swiping the knife, about their escape and mad dash through the woods. They talked about how tired they’d been, how hungry and thirsty and hopeless they’d felt, and how they’d climbed a mountain anyway because sometimes there was nothing left to do. They talked about the cave, and how it’d been an accident to find out that they were all parts of the same whole, and how they hadn’t been sure what it meant, except that Huey had told them about something he’d read, and it seemed too good to be true; well, mostly Louie had thought so, but whatever.

On and on the story went, telling tales of libraries and puzzle solving and map reading, of food rationing and eavesdropping and realizing that they weren’t done running. They spoke of Launchpad with fond amusement, and touched briefly on every village they’d visited, eventually arriving at the one where it had all fallen apart and gone up in flames.

All of their enemies had been in one spot, most of which they’d never even met before. Huey and Dewey fought, Louie got caught, he got hurt, and he escaped. They’d been chased through the streets, they’d blown up a building, and with the help of both a sword and a frying pan, Dewey had taken out a pirate – which had sent them running through the woods a second time, eventually stumbling upon Glomgold’s sad shack of obsessive madness and telling him their story because they were tired and they wanted someone to know.

Then there’d been Magica and her allies, and there’d been ropes cutting into their arms, and there had been a daring rescue involving familiar faces. There had been fire, and then there’d been water, and there’d been Duckworth with a wooden stick to banish their greatest foe.

Which led them there, sitting parallel to a grand fireplace across from the long-lost king who was also maybe their great uncle. Louie had stolen an apple, only wanting a snack, and somehow that translated into becoming royalty. It was absurd. He couldn’t have made it up if he tried.

“So that’s pretty much most of what happened,” Dewey said, bravely meeting the king’s eyes and shrugging sheepishly. “I mean— It’s hard to remember everything, so it’s just, you know, the important stuff.”

Louie took a trembling sip of water in order to avoid the contemplative silence that followed the end of their longwinded explanation. Scrooge looked stricken, leaning forwards in his chair with his cane clutched in his hands like a lifeline. Louie fought the urge to pull his hood up on his head.

“You— you all came from different places?” Scrooge asked croakily, a hint of sorrow and confusion buried in his tone.

“We never met before we were captives,” Huey confirmed, “and we know that we were separated pretty early on.”

Scrooge turned to look into the fireplace, well-hidden anguish twisting his face slightly.

“Magica said that she found Huey as a baby, with traveling merchants,” Louie said, feeling like they should offer all that they knew. “She said he’d been the only one left, but that there’d been two others that they’d had to leave behind in two separate villages.”

The King turned to look at him, illuminated in an orange glow, and Louie thought that maybe he wasn’t the only one with rough edges and haunted eyes.

“I… I don’t know what happened,” Scrooge said, a tinge desperately, like it pained him to admit it. “She— Your mom left with you three and your uncle, and he was the only one who came back.”

Scrooge looked a little lost again, caught in the memory of a different time.

“Our uncle?” Huey asked tentatively, rewarded when Scrooge sighed and shook his head slightly, coming back to himself.

“Your mothers twin brother,” Scrooge told them, eyes filled with regret. “His name was— is Donald.”

“He’s… alive?” Dewey asked carefully.

“Yes, as far as I know.” Scrooge scraped a hand down his face and rubbed at his eyes. “He came back and told me that you were all gone, and then he left. He couldn’t bear to stay.”

No one knew what to say to that, and Louie took another sip of water.

“I’ll find him,” said Scrooge, burning with sudden determination as he looked them over. “He deserves to see you. To know you’re alive.”

There was a long silence in which everyone lost themselves in thought. Louie took slow breaths, trying to organize the information that they had, adding new pieces to the puzzle and taking note of which ones were still missing. Despite it all, they still didn’t know everything, and maybe they never would.

“Uncle Scrooge?” Dewey said tentatively, and everyone turned to look at him in surprise. Scrooge looked like he couldn’t decide whether to hug them or run away. “What— what happened? To our mom, I mean.”

Scrooge sighed, his eyes a little glassy, and smiled in a sad and resigned sort of way. Just looking at him made Louie feel fragile and wounded.

“I knew before you three were even hatched that there was a war coming. Magica’s hatred of me was no secret, and neither were her intentions,” Scrooge began, and the three boys listened with rapt attention. “I knew she was gathering an army, and with you three on the way, I became obsessed with trying to stop her.” Scrooge chuckled humorlessly. “Your Uncle Donald thought that I was wasting my time. He said that Magica was too smart to go down easily, and he thought that it would be better to wait, and not rush into things.

“Then the three of you hatched, and you were so soft, and— and innocent, and new to life.” Scrooge looked at each of them in turn, and Louie felt like none of those things. “I wanted to make the world a safe place for you. I wanted it more than anything, and I was reckless with my decisions.

“I sent a group of soldiers to where I’d heard Magica’s forces were, and I thought that we could get rid of them before they did any damage. Cut them off at the knees.  But I was wrong,” Scrooge continued, staring into the fire blankly. “She’d gathered more allies than I’d expected, and they caught or killed most of my soldiers, sending a few back to me with a warning: that she was coming for me and my family, and that no one would be spared her wrath.”

Scrooge paused and glanced at them, and Louie thought that he’d never seen someone look so defeated.

“You were two months old the last time I saw you, when I sent your mother and uncle away to keep you safe. All of Magica’s army showed up on my doorstep a week later, and only a few survived the resulting battle. Those who did survive disappeared, and a few days after the war ended, your uncle came back alone to tell me he’d lost you all.”

Louie rubbed at his eyes absentmindedly, a slow burning ache in his chest. Dewey sniffed quietly beside him, clutching at Huey’s sleeve.

“He couldn’t tell me what happened to your mom,” Scrooge said, voice breaking, “but he did say that he’d never found you three. We’d assumed you’d been taken and…disposed of. Donald stayed for a while, but when I said that I was moving here, he left. I haven’t seen him since.

“Your mother’s name was Della,” Scrooge told them, giving them a warm smile, as sad as it was nostalgic. “I suppose she found a way to save you. She was always clever, and smart, and brave. More so than me, most days.”

Scrooge stood up on shaky legs and crossed over to kneel in front of them, looking each of them in the eye.

“I see a lot of her in each of you,” Scrooge said quietly, resting a hand on Huey’s knee.

“That’s good, right?” Dewey asked hoarsely, blinking against the wetness in his eyes that Louie had already given up on controlling.

“Yes, lad,” Scrooge said fondly. “It’s very, very good.”

Louie wasn’t used to hugs. Mostly when people put their arms around him they were trying to keep him still, so it became that whenever it happened, his first instinct was to escape. He still wasn’t used to it, he could count the number of hugs he remembered receiving on one hand, but this was his family, and it was still a little uncomfortable, but there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

Scrooge hugged them all, gently and fiercely at the same time, and Louie latched on with his hands and his heart. Maybe he’d found people worth loving, after all.

Chapter Text

They were maybe a hundred feet underground, but Huey felt like he was on top of the world.

After weeks of basically being hunted, he’d ended up in a castle. It still shocked him every time he woke up, half expecting to be somewhere else. It was almost too good to be true, having a roof over their heads and a soft bed to sleep in and fresh food to eat. Consistent food, and plenty of it. Huey would never take it for granted again, especially with Louie’s wide eyes every time he was given his plate.

It had only been a few days since their arrival, mostly spent sleeping and eating and answering any questions Scrooge asked them. The king was a little awkward, and seemed unsure of how to act, but he was obviously trying, and Huey could think of no greater gift than that. He’d spoken more to Scrooge in less than a week than he’d spoken to Magica in his whole life. It was bizarre, but not unwelcome.

Soon enough, they were moved into a new room with a newly constructed triple bunk bed. Dewey had initially called the top bunk, but then he’d seen the blue sheets on the middle one and changed his mind. Louie had said that he didn’t feel like having to literally climb into bed, and so Huey ended up with the top bunk.

Also in their new room was a large dresser with six drawers, which was generous given that they had absolutely nothing to put in them. Louie had said as much, in that slightly sarcastic tone that he got when he was pretending not to care. Scrooge had waved it off, and the next day they’d been given brand new clothes crafted carefully by some talented member of the castle staff.

All of their old clothes were washed, mended, and returned to them as well. Louie wore his signature cloak religiously, even though he’d been given new ones. Huey didn’t blame him; he himself wore vests every day, although he’d branched out a bit with the colors. Ss long as part of him was red, he was content. Dewey had pretty much stayed the same, although he carried his sword around less and less each day.

Their room had a window, and dark curtains hung in front of it. The view was amazing, and Huey found himself staring out of it at night, thinking of when he used to do the same back when he lived with Magica. Things were different now, though; he wasn’t so lonely anymore. How could he be, with Dewey’s constant shifting and kicking in his sleep, and with Louie’s quiet snoring? It made him smile until his cheeks hurt, until his chest ached with overflowing happiness. He’d been getting the best sleep he’d ever gotten, recently, even with the occasional nightmare, and even when one or both of his brothers would show up in his bed at night. It was peaceful.

It was early morning one day about a week into their stay at the castle, and Huey ran into Lena on his way back from the bathroom. He hadn’t seen much of her, but that wasn’t exactly a new development. It was a big castle, just like the big empty house that they’d both grown up in, and it was easy to avoid each other even if they didn’t mean to.

Anyway, he actually did run into her, literally, and he nearly fell over. Not his proudest moment, and yet certainly not his most embarrassing, either.

“Lena!” Huey exclaimed in surprise, just barely managing to keep his feet under him. Lena’s expression landed somewhere between amused and distantly shocked.

“Long time, no see, huh?” She shifted to lean against the wall casually. “Been busy?”

“Oh, uh, not really? I mean, kind of, but also I sleep a lot,” Huey said quickly, mentally cursing his rambling and inability to translate thoughts into understandable speech.

Lena hummed a little awkwardly, and Huey laughed nervously.

“I don’t— I don’t think that I ever thanked you, for the whole ‘warning me of my kidnapping’ thing,” Huey said, when it became clear that she wasn’t going to say anything. “So thanks, even though I messed it all up. Even made it easier, probably.”

“It…wasn’t right for her to do that,” Lena said quietly, eyes shifting like she thought Magica might pop out at any moment. “You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t even know why you were so important, and I didn’t know how to tell you. Didn’t know if I should.”

“I don’t blame you for not telling me,” Huey assured her. “I’m not even sure what I would’ve done, if you did. Nothing good or reasonable, I’m guessing.”

Lena let out a soft laugh at that, tension subtly melting out of her shoulders.

“Magica has that effect, I guess,” Lena said, humor in her voice.

“Just— unreasonableness by proximity.”

“That must be why I’m so messed up.”

Huey blinked, taken aback by the slight self-deprecating tone and the smirk on her face. Huey had been lonely growing up, achingly so, but so had Lena, in a more tired and hopeless sort of way. She’d been worked to the bone for most of her life, and Magica cared no more for her than she had for Huey. They were only as good as what they could do for her. Nothing more than tools.

“It’ll wear off soon, now that she’s gone,” Huey said, softer than before, and Lena shrugged.

“Maybe,” she said, and she gave him a small, grateful smile.

Belatedly, something occurred to him.

“Where is Magica, anyway? What happened to her?” Huey asked, wondering how he hadn’t thought to ask before now.

“Guards caught her – which you knew – and they also got all the other idiots who’d been listening to her,” Lena told him, eyes sparkling with mischief. “They were taken to a prison, though I don’t know exactly where. And frankly, I don’t care, as long as they’re gone.”

“They really caught them all?”

“Yeah.” Lena paused, smirking vindictively. “They were carted away in wagons a few days ago.”

Huey couldn’t quite keep from smiling, the memories of his own captivity that he’d spent stuck in a wagon coming to the forefront of his mind. What a fitting punishment. He couldn’t wait to tell Dewey and Louie.

“Poetic justice,” Huey remarked, unapologetically satisfied.

Lena nodded, sudden fire in her eyes as she took in Huey’s bandaged and bruised body.

“I hope they rot,” Lena said harshly.

And Huey could hardly disagree.

A week later, they were allowed back out of the cavern for the first time since they’d arrived. They went with the accompaniment of Duckworth and Mrs. Beakley, of course, though they kept a respectful distance to give them some space.

Webby and Lena met up with them in the hallway, the former bouncing excitedly in place and the latter not quite managing to hide a smile. The adults regarded them fondly as they walked up several flights of stairs, chattering happily the whole way up.

They were in the tower, Huey realized, the one he’d seen that went past the ceiling of the cavern and broke through the surface. They went up for quite some time; old aches and pains had returned with vengeance by the time they reached the top. Louie had been groaning since the second flight, but Huey preferred to internalize his annoyance. Dewey talked with Webby the whole way up, his excitement never wavering.

They eventually reached a single lonely door at the top, and they tumbled through it hastily, tired of being surrounded by stone walls. Huey took a deep breath of the cool, fresh air, closing his eyes and relishing the faint wind he could feel drifting across his face.

When he opened his eyes, he knew immediately that they were on the island they’d seen all those days ago. Really, it was more of a column of land, and it was largely featureless beyond the very top of the tower that stuck out of the ground, and the sparse patches of moss and grass peeking up beneath rock and stone. Everything was covered in a thick layer of fog, so he couldn’t even see the edge of the island, which worried him. They’d done enough falling, in Huey’s humble opinion.

Duckworth walked past them all, a confidence in his stride that Huey tentatively placed his faith in. Dewey, unable to stand still for any longer, set off quickly after Duckworth, grabbing Huey’s arm to drag him along beside him. Huey pretended to be annoyed, but he could hardly fault Dewey for being excited. Louie’s soft laughter could be heard slightly behind them, and Huey felt a smile grow on his face without his consent.

Rather abruptly, a large shadow of a shape emerged from the fog in front of them, a huge rectangle extending high into the sky. Huey craned his neck to look at it, trying to guess at its purpose and failing. Duckworth called out to a guard standing near the shape, and as he got closer, he could see that the rectangle was made of solid wood and metal braces. Huey’s jaw dropped and he realized what its purpose was.

The guard moved closer to the wood and grabbed the handle of a crank, beginning to spin it steadily. The wood thing groaned, slowly beginning to tip away from them, towards the canyon beyond the edge of the cliff. Huey could only watch in awed silence as Dewey clutched at his arm and Webby squealed from somewhere on his right.

The bridge – because what else could it be – continued in its gentle descent until it sloped slightly downward, at which point it came to a stop with a jolt that Huey felt in the soles of his webbed feet. The figurative dust settled.

“Watch your step,” said the guard at the crank, stepping back and taking a seat at a nearby bench.

“Thank you, Benny,” Duckworth replied, stepping onto the wooden platform and waving the group of gaping children along. Mystified, they followed him.

It was nerve-wracking, walking over an abyss. Huey’s knees felt weak, hearing the occasional creak of wood. He wondered what caused bridges to collapse when they did, wondered if there was ever any sort of warning. He tried to push the negative thoughts out of his head, but it was difficult when for so long he’d always been waiting for the next bad thing to happen.

About halfway across, the fog cleared up enough that Huey could see the other side, and it was immediately apparent to anyone with eyesight that there had been a battle. If the marks of struggle scored into the earth weren’t enough, then the blackened remains of a once beautiful forest was plenty.

Huey stared, and for a moment he wondered how all his life choices had led him here, to this. Lena whistled lowly, and Huey blinked several times in quick succession. Dewey laughed sheepishly.

They arrived at the other side without issue, and Huey let out the breath he’d been holding, turning to look back the way they came. The bridge sloped upwards toward the island, fading into the fog as it went.

“Things would’ve been a lot easier,” Louie said, “if that had been there all along.”

“Agreed,” said Huey, as the bridge began to lift off the ground and return to its previous position.

“Oh, come on. Cliff jumping was way more exciting,” Dewey said with a grin, coming up between them and slinging an arm across each of their shoulders.

“Not when you get tackled off the edge by your brother,” Louie pointed out with a playful glare.

“I,” Dewey began importantly, letting go of Huey in order to poke at Louie’s forehead, “saved your life.”

“You gotta stop doing that.”

“Never,” Dewey said lightly, like a vow and a promise, and that was that.

After traipsing through ash and foliage for the better part of an hour, their little group finally arrived at the edge of the village. It was the same village they’d escaped from all those nights ago, and they were standing in pretty much the same spot where they’d left it behind.

Huey and his brothers stood in contemplative silence, taking in the familiar area. It was strange how places could stir up emotions with ease, and how simply looking at the place could bring back the echoes of the emotions they’d been feeling last time they were there.

They passed by the spot where Dewey had fought Don Karnage, and Huey shared a look with his brothers, one that was half amusement and half relief that it was all over. Dewey was slyly looking around for the frying pan, but it was nowhere to be found. Huey rolled his eyes at Dewey’s pout, patting him on the shoulder as he passed.

The village turned out to be a lot less scary during the day, and when no one was chasing after them. Residents and travelers alike wandered around on the streets, stopping at booths and stores and letting their children run around and play. It was nice, being surrounded by normal life, even if it was overwhelming at times. It was proof that the world wasn’t all chaos and life-threatening situations.

Somewhere around the center of the village they split up into two groups. Webby gasped at something she’d seen in the distance, grabbing Lena’s hand and dragging her off towards whatever it was. Mrs. Beakley sighed and followed them, sharing a look with Duckworth before she went.

Duckworth cleared his throat to get their attention, and the triplets turned as one to face him. The butler reached into his coat pocket and removed a small pouch, dropping it unceremoniously into Huey’s hands. The contents jingled together, and Huey had a feeling that he knew what it was.

“What’s this for?” Huey asked, shifting the pouch of coins into one hand as he looked up at Duckworth.

“Whatever you want,” Duckworth replied simply. “Your Uncle thought you might want to purchase something, and sent along the funds to do so.”

Dewey was smiling widely when Huey turned to look at him, nudging Louie excitedly with his elbow.

“Come on, come on!” Dewey grabbed each of them by the arm and tugged them along, much like Webby had done with Lena a minute before. “Let’s go look!”

Huey had to admit that it was fun to rush about without the fear of capture. It was still a little strange, because he’d learned to associate villages with the fear of discovery, but it was still good. It was freeing, knowing that they were there because they wanted to be, and that nothing was keeping them there or pushing them away. Duckworth trailed behind them at a respectful distance, mostly doing his own thing.

Without meaning to, they eventually arrived at the sight of Huey’s extreme act of vandalism. The lab was still standing, at least, but it had clearly been through an ordeal. The windows were blown out and partially melted, most of the doors and parts of the roof were charred beyond recognition. Huey suspected that the inside was worse, and a small bit of guilt twisted his stomach. It would’ve bothered him more, if it weren’t for the fact that Scrooge had promised to pay for the damages.

“This – is a historical monument,” Dewey said solemnly – dramatically – as they stood gazing at the wreckage.

“This is my legacy, huh?” Huey replied, a wry smile tugging at his beak.

“There are worse ways to be remembered, I think,” said Louie, “and I, for one, would rather that this happened than the alternative.”

“Fair point,” said Huey, and they moved on, leaving the ruins behind them.

It was a beautiful day, and for the first time in a long time, Huey allowed himself to enjoy it.

After leaving the burned lab behind, they went on a sort of sight-seeing tour, revisiting all of the places where something of note had happened to them. They stopped by the well that Louie had knocked Big Time into, and Dewey performed a rather exaggerated retelling of the event, getting so into character that Huey had to lurch forward and grab him before he threw himself down the well in a fit of theatrical passion. Louie stood back and laughed the whole time, offering no help.

Their next stop was the barn, and all three of them were assaulted by guilt and fear and exhaustion, though they each had their own reasons for feeling that way. They didn’t stay there for long, deciding to move on without speaking a word out loud. Duckworth seemed puzzled, but he didn’t ask any questions.

The last place they visited was the old building where Louie had been kept during his brief capture. They walked in through the front door, and it was almost odd to see the place empty of villains. Louie held his neatly wrapped wrist closer to his chest, and Dewey scowled at the small pile of smoke pellets that Beaks had left behind in the corner. Huey stood stiffly in the middle of the room beneath the single unlit lantern, staring at the window he and Dewey had looked through all those days ago.

“I hate this place,” said Louie vehemently, and Huey and Dewey immediately agreed.

They slammed the door behind them on their way out, and Huey felt the sudden urge to destroy that stupid building with his bare hands. It passed quickly, however, leaving him feeling a bit lost, and he was left with nothing to do but move on.

They eventually ended up back on the main road, surrounded by smiling people and street vendors selling food and supplies. In the distance, Huey could see Webby and Lena watching a juggler with rapt attention. Duckworth stopped to look at something that had caught his eye, waving Huey and his brothers onward, suggesting that they meet up with Mrs. Beakley and the girls.

They continued down the street at a casual pace, in no particular hurry.

“It’s kind of crazy, isn’t it?” Dewey asked suddenly, gazing wonderingly at the sky. “That we made it?”

“I still find it hard to believe,” said Louie, adjusting the collar of his cloak with his good hand. “I was prepared to die violently pretty much the second I got caught trying to break into that stupid wagon.”

“Could you imagine if you’d actually done it before the Beagle Boys got back?” Huey grinned at his brother, a spark in his eyes. “What even would you have done if you’d opened the doors and seen me?”

“Run, probably,” Louie said truthfully, smirking playfully. “And then you would’ve been free and none of this would’ve happened.”

Huey shook his head in false regret. “What a shame.”

“I’m glad that things went the way that they did,” Dewey chimed in, turning and walking slowly backwards so he could face them while he talked. “I think it happened how it was supposed to.”

“Fate and destiny?” Huey asked, a hint of a teasing tone in his voice.

“Maybe!”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t call it that,” Louie said, and Huey chuckled at the expected response.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Dewey said, but his eyes were fond. “What would you call it then? How else did we get here?”

Louie snorted. “I dunno. A miracle, maybe?”

Huey regarded his younger brothers with amusement, and was able to pinpoint the exact moment Louie realized that his response – a miracle – was exactly the type of thing that Dewey would latch on to. Louie’s eyes widened, and Dewey broke out into a wide, excited, exceedingly happy smile.

“A miracle it is, then,” said Dewey, as his expression melted into something softer.

They passed by a booth filled to the brim with fresh fruits, and Dewey snatched an apple on his way by, inspecting it with a wry grin before tossing it in Louie’s direction. Louie caught it with his good hand before it could hit the ground, glaring at Dewey even as a smile slid onto his face.

Huey laughed unabashedly – freely – as Dewey turned and bolted down the street, Louie hot on his heels, cloak billowing out dramatically behind him.

He shook his head in a longsuffering sort of way as he went to pay the vendor for the apple.

“Your brothers, I’d imagine?” the vendor – a middle-aged woman with a kind face – asked, tilting her head in Dewey and Louie’s direction.

“Yeah,” Huey replied, and he couldn’t keep the fondness out of his voice – the awe that it was true. “Sorry about them.”

“No worries, honey. I’ve got some siblings of my own.” She took his coins with a soft smile. “Keep them out of trouble, do you?”

“I try.”

“Not always an easy thing to do, is it?” the vendor asked, not seeming to expect an answer, and then she winked at him. “It’s worth it though, wouldn’t you say?”

Huey’s eyes were magnetically drawn down the street, where Dewey was ruffling Louie’s hair and Louie was swatting at his Dewey’s hand. They were both laughing, and Huey could faintly hear it over the noise of the village. His heart was beating loudly and steadily in his chest, finally fueled by something other than fear and aching.

“Yeah,” Huey answered quietly, and he thought that his very being must be overflowing out of him, with how happy he was. “They’re worth it.”

Huey thanked the vendor and pocketed the rest of the coins, turning to catch up to his brothers.

From a few yards away, Dewey caught his gaze and waved as Louie shot him a genuine, honest smile. Huey smiled back – because he couldn’t stop himself and didn’t want to – and like the pieces of a puzzle, or the three parts of a whole medallion, they came together again.