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It was a bit of a habit, he’ll admit.
But what could he say? He got thirsty quickly and would wake up in the middle of the night to get a glass. Beakley even started to leave one out just for him to fill up and put in the dishwasher when he was done.
Huey had talked non-stop about how it could disrupt Dewey’s sleeping schedule and even went as far as to compare it to Louie’s sleep schedule, which was awful and everyone knew it. But it wasn’t like anyone could do anything because taking any medication would cause the kid to sleep for over twelve hours, and that wasn’t healthy either.
So, Dewey did his normal thing. He quietly stepped down the ladder of their triple bunk (he would’ve flipped off of it like he does in the morning, but if Louie was asleep he didn’t want to run the risk of waking him up- Huey could easily fall back asleep- even if his brother was an insanely heavy sleeper when there wasn’t danger around).
Dewey tiptoed over to the door to the triplet’s room. The floor- and the room, actually- was a bit colder than normal. However, Dewey didn’t pay it too much mind. When he reached the door, he turned back and let his eyes fall on the two lumps above and below his bunk.
Huey was sleeping soundly, chest rising and falling steadily as the blanket covered everything beneath his neck. The two pillows he had were stacked on top of each other and his head placed on top of that. He was as perfect and tactical as he could be, even in his sleep.
Louie, on the other hand, was buried underneath his green duvet. Only a little bit of his white feathered head was visible from under the covers. His pillows were mostly unfluffed- the ones that were had been fluffed by Dewey while he was talking his brother’s ear off about the adventure the family had gone on. Louie had stayed home because he said that the night before he’d been on a late-night scheme with Goldie and was exhausted. The adults, of course, weren’t happy about it. Della was especially upset and after a mini-argument, Louie had walked off to his room and never came back out.
Dewey’s eyes softened a little at the lump in the green bed and briefly wondered if Louie had been crying again. It wasn’t a secret that Louie would oftentimes cry himself to sleep. At least, not between the brothers. Louie hated talking about his problems and the only ones that made him feel comfortable were his brothers and uncle, but Donald wasn’t here.
Dewey pretended like he didn’t know that Louie cried more now that Donald was gone. Not forever, of course, but still. It was hard with him gone all the time and with his new family. Louie never calls May and June Donald and Daisy’s kids but sometimes slips and calls them Scrooge’s instead. But Dewey isn’t blaming him. It’s hard to think of the four of them being a family. It’s hard when Donald says “his family of four” and isn’t talking about himself and the boys anymore. It’s hard when Webby calls May and June her sisters, which would in turn sort of make Donald her dad. But Scrooge is her dad…? It was confusing and Dewey would rather leave that stuff to the other kids. He wasn’t the one who overanalyzed stuff.
The blue brother sighed and pretended like a sharp feeling in his gut didn’t occur as he turned away from his siblings and left the room. The manor was so different at night. There was something nice about the dark and the quiet. It was a stark contrast to the chaos of the morning when some ancient relic comes to life and sends everyone running through the halls. Not that Dewey minded- it was usually the best part of his day. Though, he will admit that it’s a little annoying when it happens on a day the boys are just trying to relax after Louie has a bad day or Huey was exhausted from something Junior Woodchuck related.
They needed a break from time to time…
Dewey’s eyes flickered to a green vase.
…some more than others.
Dewey huffed. To be completely honest, he was worried. He wasn’t sure when he started feeling the constant need to fret over his brothers, specifically his younger one, but sometimes it was annoying. He’d be in the middle of finger painting or some little activity to preoccupy himself when the sudden urge to make sure his brothers were still nearby would strike.
He brought it up to Huey one day (Louie was asleep). Huey said that after everything with F.O.W.L., Dewey might’ve developed separation anxiety. Dewey wasn’t so sure about that, but he never told any of the adults so that he could get a proper diagnosis. Just the thought of sitting in a doctor’s office irked him. He hated how bland those rooms were and all the smells and all the people who were there for different reasons… bleh. Besides, his family could help him out with it if he really did have it, which once again, he was fairly certain he didn’t. He just… worried about his family a lot and hated being apart from his brothers. That was all.
The toughie shook away those thoughts. No point in thinking about it all this early in the morning. That was a problem for the Dewey that would be awake in a few hours, not the one wandering the halls at night.
Right now, he didn’t have to worry about Huey leaving the house of a Woodchuck meeting and being away from him. After everything, Dewey had completely forgotten about his older brother’s weekly meetings. Waking up to him being gone was not pleasant. For either brother, actually. Della had to hurriedly remind them of what their brother was doing. It barely soothed them, though. When Huey emerged through their shared room’s doorway, disheveled and out of breath from running up all the stairs after hearing how Dewey and Louie had reacted that morning, the boys had never been quicker to get into a mopey mess of apologies and to prepare for a movie night (well, evening).
Right now, he didn’t have to worry about Louie… well, Dewey wasn’t confident about it, but he was insanely suspicious. Once, Louie had sneaked off to the bathroom in the middle of the night. That wasn’t really weird, not to Dewey. But when Dewey realized he needed a drink, he felt an overwhelming urge to go to the bathroom. Not to use it, but to just see something. When he entered the little room, the sink was still wet and there was a roll of paper towels sitting on the counter. It was normal and Dewey was starting to think that he was paranoid until he noticed a tile out of place near the floor. After going on so many adventures, anything out of place was always something worth checking. And so he did. He ended up finding a boxcutter sitting in a little hidey place behind the tile. At the time, he dismissed the little spot of brown on the side of it as rust, but the more he thought about it…
Suffice to say, Dewey really hoped that he was wrong and that Louie just had some secret boxes that he was opening.
The boys had gone to the mall in St. Canard one day. Dewey found a soft cold shoulder sweater that Dewey knew that Louie would love. But the kid refused to try it on. Dewey was baffled as to why Louie refused that but blankly tried an ugly, oversized Christmas sweater that he ended up hating and knew he would hate.
After Louie had snuck off again another night, Dewey started to wonder if it was because the open holes in the sweater were too low and would show off his arms. It was then that he realized that he couldn’t remember the last time he saw Louie’s bare arms.
But it was probably nothing. He was being paranoid and worried for no reason.
Right?
Dewey blinked. Wait, why was he in front of the bathroom? Was it his subconscious?
He glanced down the hall. The kitchen was further down the hall, but…
Mentally groaning, Dewey pushed the bathroom door open and flicked on the light. The sink was dry and the paper towels were close to running out. He walked into the bathroom and looked into the trash can. He mindlessly reached into the bottom and grabbed at a crumpled paper towel. When he pulled it out, he was able to quickly identify the copious amount of red spots and trails on it. It made him sick. But… this wasn’t Louie’s. This was just… someone else’s. His little brother was not hurting himself. No way.
Dewey buried the bloody towel back into the trash and swiftly turned on his heel and crouched. His fingers dug into the square tile and pulled it off. The duckling reached in and pulled the stained boxcutter out. He regarded it for a moment before clutching it with both hands and bringing his clasped hands to his face, thumbs pressed against his forehead. He let out a shaky sigh as his eyebrows pushed together.
He wasn’t stupid. Not entirely. No, he knew. He knew that there were no secret boxes. There was no rust.
But if Dewey pretended like Louie wasn’t hurting himself, then he wasn’t. Because Dewey had yet to see the marks. As long as he doesn’t see them, then they don’t exist.
Dewey carefully placed the tool and the tile back into their places and moved at a quick pace to the kitchen. He just wanted to go to sleep. Maybe he’d be blessed and could fall asleep quickly so that he could forget about all the problems they were all facing. No one ever acknowledged the obvious issues, so they weren’t issues. They weren’t real.
Finally, the young duck found himself in the room that he’d intended to come to ten minutes ago.
Except… he wasn’t expecting his mother to be at the table with a lantern and a photo album.
Upon his arrival, the woman looked up, startled. “Oh, it’s just you.” She breathed, hand to her chest.
Dewey cocked his head. “Why are you up?” His voice was groggy and his throat hurt.
Della seemed to be caught off-guard for a moment. “I… oh, y’know. Today wasn’t that exciting…”
Dewey was not the best at reading people or spotting lies quickly. But that? That was definitely a lie. And Dewey knew exactly why she was up.
“You’re thinking about Louie.”
Della blanched. “N-No, I’m not,” she slowly spoke, “I just… I’m not tired.”
The tired wrinkles and slight bags under her eyes said otherwise.
“Sure,” he eventually shrugged. He moved to grab the usual glass that sat on the counter for him, but froze once he realized the glass was already full of cherry punch.
“Um,” Della coughed from behind him. “I thought you might’ve woken up thirsty again, so I went ahead…”
Dewey gripped the glass. “Thanks.” He mumbled, taking a sip and enjoying it as the liquid fell down his throat. He turned to look at his mother, who was now directing her attention to the book on the table. Curious, Dewey jumped into the seat next to his mother.
The photos were from when they were very young, maybe just turned four. The first one he noticed was one where Donald had pointed the camera while the boys were playing and Dewey had grabbed onto it. His blurry face was half the photo and the other half showed Louie face-down on the floor and Huey playing with twigs.
The one next to that were three separate photos of when the boys smiled when they were around the age of five. Huey’s open eyes were full of joy as he held a little badge Dewey and Louie had made for him that crudely said “best big brother”. Dewey’s picture showed his younger self with a missing tooth and his eyes were closed. A red mark was on his forehead and Dewey knew it was because he had run head-first into a wall on purpose. A babysitter of theirs (a not good one, Dewey remembered) had taken the photo and Dewey’s bright smile was the sole reason the photo was kept.
Louie’s was of him pressing his hands against his cheeks and sticking his tongue out. His eyes were closed like Dewey’s were, but that didn’t take away from the absolute mirth that was on his face.
Dewey found himself staring at that photo. He tried to think about when he’d last seen that face. Sure, Louie smiled and still got kind of excited over some things, but he never smiled like he did in the photo.
The boy’s grip on his glass softened, resulting in it slipping from his hand and crashing on the floor. The punch spilt everywhere and Dewey nearly fell off the chair because of the sound. Della had caught him by the arm, though, and got to work on cleaning it up.
“Sorry,” Dewey said.
“It’s fine, sweetie.” Della reassured her son. “You can get another one.”
A part of Dewey didn’t want to, but his throat begged to differ. Dewey hesitantly got up and- avoiding the glass- got another cup and opened the refrigerator. Many drinks were in there and Dewey suddenly wanted to combine all of them into one. He shuffled the drinks around, silently debating whether he wanted something sugary or just plain water.
Hey wait, didn’t Webby impulsively get those powder lemonade drinks? They had a lot of those back on the houseboat. It’d be a taste of nostalgia.
Quickly, Dewey filled his glass with water. He looked around the kitchen for the small tubes of powder, only slightly disappointed when he could only find a blue raspberry and a green apple tube. The triplets always loved to share a single drink of cherry, blue raspberry, and green apple. He dismissed the loss of cherry and ripped the tops off the blue and green powders.
“What’s that, bud?” Della came up behind him after putting the glass and used napkins in the trash.
“A blue raspberry and green apple lemonade mix!”
“Doncha think that’s too much sugar before bed?”
Dewey vigorously shook his head. “Nerp! I’ll be fine.”
Della just smiled at her son and gently touched his face. “How many times have you drunk this?”
The boy shrugged. “I’ve never had this particular drink. Usually, cherry’s in it too.”
Della’s face lit up. “Oh, it’s something you boys share!”
Dewey nodded. “Yerp!”
The woman’s smile widened. “Um, does that mean that Huey or Louie are awake?”
Dewey blinked. “Last I checked, they weren’t.”
Della visibly deflated. “Oh.”
The middle child looked curiously at her. “Why did you wanna know?”
“No… no reason.” Della fiddled with her hands. “I just wanted to know.”
Dewey eyed her suspiciously. He thought about when he first entered the room. “...did you want to talk to Louie?” It’d make sense. She seemed down all day…
At his words, Della exhaled out of her nose. “I thought Louie was supposed to be the sharp one.” She stated, her hands coming to her face.
“He is,” Dewey stated simply. “But you’re not exactly being subtle.”
Della shook her head. “I just… I talked to Scrooge and it made me realize that I wasn't fair to him earlier.”
“What do you mean?”
Della fell back onto the chair she had been in when Dewey arrived. “Louie… he has a relationship with Goldie. One that I never had but always wanted.”
Dewey next to her, being sure that his grip on his drink was strong this time.
“Goldie used to come around a lot. She’d joke about stealing me and Donald all the time but never actually followed through with it. We never went on a trip together or pulled a giant scheme or anything.” Della huffed. “But she does it with Louie and I just… I’ve seen when he gets back from those trips. He looks so… happy. He rarely ever looks like that around me and for the longest time I could never understand why. Until Scrooge sat me down today and talked to me.”
Dewey absentmindedly sipped his drink. “What’d he say?”
“He explained to me that me and him are like… balanced. We’re smart, tough, and sharp. We’re not necessarily better in one trait or the other. But you boys aren’t like that. You’re not balanced.” She looked at him. “You balance each other.”
Oh. So this is why Louie had compared the boys to an RPG a couple weeks ago.
“Huey’s smart, you’re tough, and Louie’s sharp. Sure, you all have some form of the other skills, but you excel in one.” She paused. “Scrooge told me that Goldie isn’t balanced and has an expert version of the skillset Louie has.”
And their morals. Sure, Louie had better morals, but he easily had the worst morals in the family. Well, besides Scrooge. No wonder Louie was able to get along with Scrooge better than Huey and Dewey ever could.
“And that made me realize that Louie… Louie is closer to Goldie than he is to me. He always has been.” Della’s voice began to shake. “It just makes me wonder if… if I’ve been a bad mother to him. I mean, the last time I talked to Goldie, she started mentioning things that he’s never uttered a sound about! He talks to her far more than he talks to me.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I started thinking about where I went wrong and I think… I think I’ve been messing up ever since I came back. I don’t know if I’ve ever done anything right by him. I can’t think of a single time me and him had a mother-son bonding time that wasn’t forced or an adventure where our lives were in danger.” Della turned to Dewey. “I can think of tons of times I spent time with you or Huey but not Louie. And I messed up today by getting upset at him having fun and I haven’t even apologized. I’ve never apologized for anything except for taking that rocket but he… all of you deserve so much more than that.”
The woman rubbed her eyes and sighed. “I am apologizing and talking to him first thing tomorrow. He deserves it after everything that's happened.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, that same feeling from earlier twisted in him. It was probably the sugar.
Noticing her son’s sick-ish expression, Della closed the photo album and patted his head. “You should probably stop drinking that and get to bed. It’s late.” She breathed. “Or early, depending on how you see it.”
Dewey smiled at the gesture. “Okay,” He softly responded. “But only if you go to sleep too.”
Della returned that smile. “Of course. I just gotta return this back to my old room.” She stood and pushed her chair in. “Oh, and, uh, what’s Louie’s favorite breakfast?”
Dewey took another sip of his drink. “Pancakes. Just plain ones with not too much or little syrup. Crazy, if you ask me. Chocolate ones with chocolate syrup and chocolate chips are the best!”
Della chuckled as Dewey’s best pancake claim. “I’ll see if I can make that tomorrow morning… goodnight, Dewey.”
“Night, Mom.”
They went their separate ways.
Dewey passed by the bathroom again. Everything in him felt heavy as he went by it. Every time he went in it he always felt horrible. He didn’t even need to look at the loose tile. He knew that it was in that room. He knew what happened at night.
But again, if he pretended as though it wasn’t real, then it wasn’t. Louie was physically fine.
Thinking about that boxcutter filled his soul with dread. He wanted so badly to destroy the thing and to scream at it for hurting his brother, even if it were just a mere tool that had no autonomy.
He subconsciously began to move faster. Maybe it was because it was dark. Maybe it was because he was needlessly worried again. Maybe he just wanted to go to sleep.
The duckling stumbled into the triplets bedroom, the scene only having shifted a little bit.
Huey had turned on his side, his back facing Dewey. Louie hadn’t moved.
Dewey’s eyes lingered over Louie. Maybe Louie was in a heavy sleep tonight? So if… if Dewey were to go over and lift up his sleeves…
No, no, he shouldn’t confirm anything. It was better to just pretend. There were no scars. He’d lift up those green sleeves, find nothing but healthy white feathers, and Louie would wake up and get upset because Dewey invaded his personal space and privacy. It was better to just keep the assumption that his brother was okay.
…
Dewey bit his beak, his eyes never leaving the form of his brother.
It was evident that his brother was hurting, no matter how much Dewey tried to deny it. There was a reason Louie refused to wear swim trunks opposed to a wetsuit, even though he complained about how it felt against his feathers. There was a reason he stuffed those paper towels at the bottom of the trash can and why there was a bloody boxcutter hidden away where most people wouldn’t find it. There was a reason his brother cried himself to sleep every night. There was a reason his brother declined to go on adventures. There was a reason Huey and Dewey worried about him. There was a reason why everyone worried about him.
Dewey breathed.
Webbed feet slowly approached the bottom bunk, each step becoming more and more shaky. He hoped and prayed that he’d find nothing, but no, he knew. He knew what he was going to find, he just didn’t know how bad it was going to be. And he couldn’t decide if he did or didn’t want to know.
He subconsciously put his lemonade mix onto the nightstand next to Louie’s bunk. Breath shallow, Dewey towered over his sleeping brother, hoping that he wouldn’t wake up and instinctively kick him in the gut. His hand slowly came out to make some sort of contact, but he found that he was shaking too much to do anything. Or maybe it was the cold. Dewey still didn’t know why it was abnormally cold in their room.
Dewey’s eyes traveled past Louie’s almost still form. All the stuffed animals that Louie still slept with were discarded and smooshed against the wall. None of their faces were visible. Dewey wondered if that was on purpose.
Focusing back on Louie, Dewey’s hand automatically started traveling towards the little part of his head that was poking out of the blankets. Before he knew it, he made contact with his head.
But it didn’t… feel right.
Firstly, Louie’s head was extremely cold, even with the cold air in the room. Secondly…
Why could Dewey press down on his head and have it collapse in on itself?
Brows furrowing, Dewey grabbed the green covers and lifted it up, hoping to find his brother safely sleeping.
But he didn’t find that.
Instead, there were three of the fluffed pillows lined up in a way that created a convincing person-sized lump.
There was no Louie. Louie was not there.
Dewey felt panic wash over him. This lump was the exact same one as when he left the room, and that had to be at least thirty minutes ago!
The bathroom had been empty and Dewey was in the kitchen the whole time. He would’ve noticed if his brother was in the living room. Louie would have no purpose in going anywhere else, at least, Dewey was pretty sure he wouldn’t. He hoped he wouldn’t.
Dewey stepped back, the duvet tightly gripped in his hand. His breathing quickened.
Where was his brother?!
He dropped the duvet and turned all the way around the room, studying every inch of the dark room, hoping to see his brother in the shadows, even if it was a little creepy. As long as he was okay, he’d be fine with it.
Dewey looked back to the bed, finally noticing something.
The window.
The window was open. That’s why it was so cold in their room. The window had been opened, probably even before Dewey first left the room.
Without thinking, Dewey rushed to the windowsill and stared down at the pavement that had to be at least one hundred feet down. He squinted his eyes, hoping that he didn’t see a white, green, and red splatter at the bottom.
His heart barely relaxed when he didn’t see anything. Because he still didn’t know where Louie was. But he wouldn’t deny that it felt good that he didn’t see anything down there.
Maybe Louie had holed himself up in a guest room? Or… or maybe he was with someone? Like… Goldie?
At the speed of light, Dewey retrieved his cellphone and shakily found Goldie’s contact. He had begged and begged for the woman’s number from Louie, just so that he had it. Eventually, Louie had conceded. And now he was extremely glad he kept bugging him for hours.
The phone rang only four times before a tired Goldie O’Gilt answered the phone.
“Why is the blue kid calling me?”
“Is Louie with you?” Dewey got to the point, ignoring how panicked he sounded.
Goldie was quiet for a moment. “...No. Why?” The sound of a bed creaked and Goldie’s voice was suddenly clearer.
“I… I can’t find him. I thought he was in bed, but it was just three pillows! He’s not in the bathroom or the kitchen or… or… I just don’t know where he is and it’s freaking me out! I thought that maybe he was with you like he was last night but…”
Goldie was silent.
“...Goldie?”
“...Louie wasn’t with me last night.”
“...What?” But Louie said that he was with her. He said that that was why he was so exhausted earlier that day. Did he lie about that? “He said he was with you!”
“I haven’t seen him since last month.”
But… but Louie had mentioned being with her once each week. Was Louie lying that entire time?
“Did you try the outside? Sharpie likes to go outside when he wants to think.”
The open window… there was an easy way to get to the rooftop from there and the boys would typically go up when they needed some time to themselves. He had to be up there. He just had to be.
“Kid?”
“I-I… you’re right. He… he’s gotta be up there. He has to…” He ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, what if he isn’t? What if-”
“Kid, quit talking to me and look on the roof. If he’s not there, go get Scrooge.” Despite her annoyed tone, he could tell that she was worried. Della had stated earlier that Louie had likely told Goldie things that he’s never told anyone else.
“R-Right.” Goldie hung up before Dewey could think further.
So… get on the roof and hope that Louie was up there. And if he wasn’t, go find Scrooge and get a search party and… and…
Dewey shook his head, another pain shooting through his middle that urged him to act. Goldie was right, he needed to go look now.
The duckling raced to the window and without too much thinking, grabbed at the rooftop. He nearly slipped, but he managed to catch himself. Be quick, not reckless. That was something his brothers constantly told him.
Dewey maneuvered his hands and feet until he finally found himself on the shingles of the manor. He looked over his shoulder and saw just how far the ground was. If one were to fall, they’d definitely get hurt if not killed.
Dewey carefully crawled up the side of the roof until he found the flat part. He’s still on his hands and knees and personally, he’d rather stay that way. It rained two nights ago and the roof was still just a little more slippery than normal. The blue-loving duck recalled the time he was eight and slipped off the edge of a shed roof top the boys were hanging around a few hours after it rained. It’d only been around six feet, but it was some of the most excruciating pain he’d ever felt. He couldn’t imagine falling over sixteen times that height.
The duckling shimmied across the roof, eyes glancing around in the hope that his little brother was up there somewhere. With every inch of the roof confirmed to not have his brother, Dewey felt his panic and worry rise even more.
Eventually, he reached one of the brick chimneys the manor had. There was no way that he could crawl around it, so he leaned against it and stood. His feathered hands firmly grasped the brick as he tried to find the other side of the chimney with his feet.
He remembered when he did something really similar during an adventure. There was a river with rushing water that the family had to traverse around. At the time, Dewey basked in the thrill of adventure. It’s amazing how doing the same thing under different conditions could be this scary.
Dewey got his body around the chimney and he breathed when he found that he was safe. The boy took a step back, something that in hindsight he probably shouldn’t have done considering where he was. But it was fine, so Dewey turned around.
And then he saw him.
A few feet away stood Louie, just inches away from the edge of the roof.
He wasn’t doing anything in particular, just standing as the wind picked up and gently blew his feathers and hoodie around.
It heavily unsettled Dewey. Knowing what he knew…
Dewey slowly began to approach the other duck. He was scared to make a single noise and he wasn’t sure why.
As he got closer, he could hear his little brother softly singing something to himself.
“Hold me now,” Louie’s voice was trembling. “I’m six feet from the edge and I’m thinking,”
That deep, twisting feeling made a sharp resurgence. His breath got caught in his throat and his heart dropped. What… what was Louie thinking about…?
“Maybe six feet ain’t so far down…”
To say that Dewey was terrified was an understatement. He was still at least fifteen feet away.
Louie hiccuped, but he continued with the song anyway. “Please come now, I think I’m falling,”
Dewey’s breath quickened. Louie’s voice began to break as his head tilted down to peer over the edge of where he was standing. At least one hundred feet, Dewey remembered.
“I’m h-holding on to all I think is safe.” Louie’s body shook and the boy thankfully took a step away from the edge.
But that did nothing to soothe the panic and fear running wildly throughout Dewey.
Because in the next moment, Louie had approached the edge again. He was shaking more than Dewey had ever seen him shake before.
Louie was just… admiring the ground from really high up. Yeah, that was it. He wasn’t thinking about… all of this wasn’t real. It was a dream. A really, really messed up lucid dream. One he’d wake up from any moment now.
He was ten feet away at this point.
“...I can do it,” Louie spoke to himself. “I can…” He breathed in, then out.
All of Dewey’s instincts were telling him to run forward or just let Louie know that he was there. His legs begged to move faster, but he was hesitating to move. It was like his entire being was confused on what to do.
Louie stepped closer. Only his heels remained on the rooftop.
“One…”
Do something.
“Two…”
DO SOMETHING.
Louie steeled himself. “Three.”
And just like that, Louie jumped.
And Dewey had never moved so fast in his life. He was pretty sure about that. Because one moment, he was watching his brother jump off of the roof from a moderate distance.
The next, he found himself on his stomach, half his body haphazardly hanging off the side of the roof and his feet digging into the rooftop to keep himself in place. His right hand was grabbing the edge of the roof, his knuckles feeling as though they were going to burst out of his skin from how tight his grip was.
Oh, and his left hand was desperately and firmly grabbing his little brother’s right wrist.
Louie looked up at the middle child, his eyes wide and tearful with fear clearly evident in his face.
But Dewey knew that the fear wasn’t from nearly falling to his death.
It was from getting caught.
And as Dewey’s dark blue eyes stared into Louie’s dull- they used to be beautiful and bright- green eyes, he knew that this wasn’t a dream.
This was a reality that he could no longer deny.
Dewey noticed how Louie made no movement to pull himself up, despite Dewey desperately trying to distribute his strength correctly and pull the both of them up. In fact, his hand wasn’t even closed around Dewey’s wrist. He just… hung there. Likely waiting for his brother to drop him and give him what he had worked himself up for.
…how long had he been up there, trying to gather up enough courage to jump…?
“L-Lou,” Dewey struggled to breathe properly as the wind blew harder than before. “Y-You’re gonna be alright. Just… just look at me, okay?”
Louie still wasn’t reacting. Tears still fell from his face, though.
“Take my hand. C’mon, y-you can d-do it. Just…” Dewey tugged again, but Louie still didn’t take his hand.
“Lou, please.” Dewey pulled again, but a little two hard. Because his feet slipped and he barely managed to lock them back into place before both of them went sliding off the roof.
But there was a brightside to that. Because when Dewey let out a panicked gasp when he slipped, Louie’s face finally shifted. He himself panicked for a moment before quickly grasping Dewey’s wrist and using his free left hand to grab the fringe of the roof.
Dewey felt a smile of complete relief break onto his face as he managed to fall back to his knees and pull Louie up with him. As soon as both of the boys were back onto the roof, Dewey wrapped his arms around his brother and gently scooted away from that horrid edge.
Louie’s face and front was buried in Dewey’s chest. Louie was limp in Dewey’s grasp, but the blue brother didn’t mind. All he cared about was that Louie was breathing and alive.
Dewey put his chin on top of Louie's head, trying to level out his own breathing. He never should’ve waited this long to help him. He shouldn’t have allowed his little brother’s nighttime habits to get this far. He never should’ve been silent about anything. He was an awful older brother.
“...you’re okay.” Dewey softly mumbled. “You’re okay.”
Louie didn’t reply, but Dewey could feel his tears soaking through his shirt as his eyes closed.
They sat there for a little while in silence, even as Louie finally lifted his arms up to hug back. His arms went under Dewey’s and lightly gripped onto his shoulders. Nothing about Louie in the moment was affirmative or desperate. It was the complete opposite of Dewey’s mannerisms.
“You’re okay,” Dewey repeated.
He didn’t expect to get a response back, but he did.
“I’m not,” Louie's voice was quiet and vulnerable and a little scratchy. Dewey hugged him a little tighter as a response. “I’m not okay.”
Dewey gently sighed. “I know,” He stroked Louie’s head. “I know.”
The next sounds to come out of Louie’s beak were strangled cries. His grip on Dewey’s shoulders became tighter and he curled in on himself.
Dewey let him cry.
“I…” Louie sobbed. “I-I…”
“Shh, shh…” Dewey hummed. “You don’t have to say anything.” The blue boy listened to the distant sounds of the city. Lights could be seen from St. Canard and the way they reflected in the water was enough to distract him from the broken sounds his brother made.
Eventually, Louie’s sobs died down and he was just hiccuping. Dewey returned his attention to the kid that was just barely less than an hour younger than him. He took his head off of Louie’s and looked down at him. In the same period of time, Louie fell back on his knees. Dewey’s hands slid down to meet Louie’s. His grip on the boy’s hands was tight. He’ll admit, he doesn’t trust Louie to not run off and accomplish what he initially intended to do. Not now, at least.
Louie’s head was down, the feathers under his eyes damp. His face was probably freezing due to the cold weather.
“How about we go inside?” Dewey offered.
Louie shook his head. “No.”
If it was easy to get him back indoors, he’d do it without Louie’s consent. But it was a tough thing to maneuver around the roof and back through the triplet’s room. Maybe they’d find an easier way in. Like the chimney, maybe? Scrooge didn’t typically light those.
The pair sat for a moment. “...I’m sorry, Lou.”
Louie’s head shot up. “...what?”
“I’m sorry.” Dewey repeated.
“...why…? You shouldn’t be the one apologizing.” He sounded so… defeated.
Dewey huffed. “No. I…” He collected himself. “Lou, none of us are dumb. We’ve all noticed that you’ve changed.”
Louie winced.
“You…” Dewey lifted his hands a bit so that they were firmly, but also lightly, grasping Louie’s forearms. “You hurt yourself.”
Louie’s hands tightened into fists. “That obvious, huh?”
“I don’t know if the others know.” Dewey replied. “You left that tile loose one night and… well, sometimes I look at that boxcutter and sometimes there’s more blood on it than there used to be. And the, um, the paper towels at the bottom of the trash can. And you never show your arms anymore.” He glanced up at his brother. Louie was staring intently at the roof between them. “Once you have one clue, it’s not that hard to figure out the rest, y’know?”
“Yeah…” Louie quietly sighed.
Dewey looked down at the green-clothed duckling’s sleeves. His right thumb rubbed at the fabric. “...can…” This was probably pushing boundaries. He wouldn’t be totally upset if Louie said no. “Can I… can I see them?”
Louie looked panicked at the request. “I…” He looked down at his own arms. His hands clenched and unclenched.
“You can say no.”
Louie blinked. His gaze intensified and he suddenly ripped his arms away from Dewey. Dewey, in turn, felt a burst of panic in his chest. He said the wrong thing. He said the wrong thing and Louie was going to jump again.
Dewey reached his arms out to stop his brother, but stopped himself once he realized what actually happened.
Now in front of him were not sleeves. Instead, he was being shown feathered arms that did not match his own. These arms weren’t just white and fluffy, they were also red and scarred. Feathers stuck out at odd angles and some were cut in half. They were messy, revealing thin cuts underneath that were all at different stages of healing. And there were many. Far more than he could count and probably more than that hidden under more feathers. But even then… there was more red than white.
Dewey almost vomited. Almost.
A shaky hand of his reached out to gently touch one of the scarred arms. His other hand lingered overhead, not being able to quite touch it.
“...you… you did all of this… to yourself?”
Louie looked off to the side. “I had to get rid of the pain somehow.”
But not like this. This was not the way to do it. Louie was the one who talked; why couldn’t he talk to them about this?
Did he not… trust them?
Dewey gingerly touched the marks, his eyes flickering up to see if any pain or discomfort reflected on Louie’s face. “How long have you been doing this?”
Louie opened his beak, but shut it soon after. He looked down towards the edge- not the one he attempted to jump off of- and at the shingles.
“Louie?”
“...I thought about it a lot.” The green brother admitted. “Around the time of… uh, well the first game night we had. It was just a brief thought.”
That long? He’s been suffering for this long?
“We were on an adventure and I got my arm stuck. When I tried to pull it out… it pulled on my feathers and I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was on my mind for days.” Louie trembled. “And the day before game night… I plucked.”
“Plucked?” Dewey echoed.
“Tore two feathers right off my wrist.” A thinly veiled smile appeared on the schemer’s face. “And I liked it. And that terrified me. Because what was up with that? Why did I enjoy hurting myself? It didn’t make sense.”
“Did you do it again?” Dewey pried. “The plucking, I mean.”
“...not directly after, no.” Louie hummed. “But I thought about it. I came close to it a lot, but… no, I didn’t pluck again until…” He bit his beak and glanced warily at Dewey.
“...What?”
“You’re not going to like the answer.”
There’s a lot he doesn’t like about this. “Hit me.”
Louie smiled, but there was no joy behind it. “The day after the Timephoon. That’s when I plucked.” He brought his free arm up to his face. “That’s also the first day I cut.”
And no one was home with him.
“I’m so-”
Louie's hand was clamped over Dewey’s mouth before he could get the words out. “Don’t even.”
Dewey kept his beak shut.
“It was just… hard. And I got overwhelmed. I plucked, but… it wasn’t enough. So, I went to the houseboat and found a boxcutter in the locked toolbox after I took a pick to the lock. Replaced it and Uncle Donald never realized. And I sat in the bathroom, holding the… the boxcutter over my arm. It was slow at first but all my anger, all my loneliness… everything just spilled over and-!” His sentence was cut off by a choked cry. He brought his hands to his face and Dewey wasted no time whatsoever in bringing the boy into a tight side-hug.
“Let it out,” Dewey whispered. That was a phrase that Huey always used.
“I-It got better aft-after the moonlanders b-b-but… then Uncle Donald l-left and…” Louie turned to bury his face in Dewey’s chest again. “I can’t d-do this. I c-can’t handle this. He l-left! He abandoned us for a n-new family! He doesn’t care- he- he…”
Dewey rested his head on Louie’s. “...that’s not true. Uncle Donald loves us. Don’t you remember that hug he gave you after we defeated F.O.W.L.?”
“That was b-before he replaced us!”
The blue brother began to think. He knew that Louie didn’t believe his own words- he knew him too well. “You don’t believe that.”
Louie was quiet.
“You know Uncle Donald loves us. He’s a family kind of guy.” Dewey put some distance between the two, one hand on Louie’s shoulder. Louie refused to raise his head, so Dewey used his other hand to pull Louie’s head up. “May and June…” Honestly, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t hold an ounce of bitterness about the whole thing. “They needed a home. And Uncle Donald was willing to give it. Just like he did to us when we needed it.”
“Shut up,” Louie said, but it wasn’t harsh.
“So, just because he’s gone now… that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love us. The only reason he didn’t get on the call last week was because their Internet was garbage and none of us wanted to hear his voice be modified by poor Wi-Fi.”
Louie cracked a genuine smile at the memory. After a brief silence, Louie turned and looked up at the sky. “Everything’s so different.”
“It is,” Dewey agreed, shifting himself so that he was side-by-side with his brother.
“It’s hard to cope with.”
“It is,” Dewey agreed again.
“I just… I needed a way out. A way to stop everything. Stop my thoughts. Stop my pain.” Louie breathed. “I’m not a good person. I don’t deserve any of you.”
“Stop talking like that,” Dewey put an arm around Louie. “We love you. If you tell everyone what you’re feeling, I know they’ll all drop anything else they're doing just to help you. We’re Ducks. We look out for each other. We’ll look out for you.”
“...you won’t always be there.”
“I was here tonight, wasn’t I?”
Louie stared at the stars. “A part of me wishes you weren’t.”
“Well, all of me is happy that I was.”
Silence.
Dewey watched his brother. They were facing the moon, so the light was mirrored in his eyes. For a moment, Dewey saw the light that had dimmed out long ago dance in his brother’s eyes. It was a light that he desperately wanted to see again.
Louie’s sleeves were still rolled up, all the cuts and marks visible. Dewey wanted to make those go away. He wanted to take the pain away. But he knew he couldn’t do that overnight. They had to work towards it. All of them.
A breeze went by, and Louie shivered. It was barely noticeable, but Dewey was on high-alert.
“Let’s go inside, okay? It’s cold out here and we should really go to sleep.”
Louie humorlessly snickered. “Since when were you the Mother Hen?”
“Since now. C’mon, we can watch trashy TV if you want. I’ll make sugar cookies.” He stuck his hand out.
Louie stared at the hand. Dewey could tell that he was debating with himself. He wished that he could get inside of his head and take all the bad thoughts out. Anything to make his little brother happy again.
The green-clothed duck looked away for a second, sighed, pulled his sleeves down, then took Dewey’s hand. “Okay, but don’t burn the kitchen down.” Dewey pulled him up to his feet and together, they carefully slid around the roof and slipped into the triplet’s bedroom. Dewey was sure to watch Louie carefully in case he had any ideas.
Dewey glanced up at the top bunk, seeing that Huey was still sleeping in peace. The duck had no idea what Dewey had prevented, and he’s probably going to be upset that he hadn’t been woken up. Oh well, Dewey didn’t want to stress Louie out more by getting more people involved right at that moment. In the morning they’d tell Huey. Dewey knows that Louie would be the most comfortable with that. It’d be another step towards recovery.
The duckling’s gaze fell down to the nightstand where his forgotten lemonade sat. A smile flickered on his beak and he skipped over to it. When he turned around, he saw that Louie was looking at him curiously. “What happened to the cherry?”
“There wasn’t any.” He swirled the drink around. “You want some?”
Louie shrugged. Dewey took that as a disguised “yes”.
The boys then slinked around the manor. There was something thrilling about wandering a manor at night when you weren’t supposed to. Sure, he did it earlier, but it was different with someone else. Especially when that other person was willing to cause just as much chaos as he was.
They’d done this routine before. As Louie made himself as comfortable as he could on the couch, Dewey opened up a closet and pulled out the softest comforter that they had- which was a faded turquoise. He dragged large pillows out of the closet too and threw one of them at Louie. The younger duck was not expecting the toss, so he promptly fell backwards. Dewey paused, gauging his brother’s reaction. To his surprise and relief, Louie began laughing to himself. It was quiet, almost inaudible, even, but Dewey still heard it. And it made him happy.
The middle child left the blanket and other pillow by the couch, leaving Louie to set it up while he baked the premade cookies. As he set the timer, he noticed the phone on the wall. Should he call Goldie? Let her know that Louie’s safe? Or… Dewey had an idea.
The duckling, though still stealthily, raced back to his room and grabbed his and Louie’s phones. When he made it back to the living room, he saw Louie having a small celebration over finding the remote.
He flipped over the couch, which briefly startled Louie, and handed the younger’s phone off. “Y’know,” Dewey began, “I called Goldie when I couldn’t find you.”
Louie blinked. “You were looking for me?”
Dewey leaned back. “Well, when you figure out that what you thought was your brother is actually just three pillows, you start to wonder where he actually is.” He could tell that Louie wanted to ask how he had even figured out that it was a sham, but the kid bit his tongue.
“Anyway, the point is, I called Goldie. And she said that she hadn’t seen you since last month.”
“...right.” Louie ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, those were, um… they were excuses.” He sheepishly rubbed his arm. “Tonight wasn’t the first time I was on that roof. It was just… just the first time I managed to talk myself into… actually doing it, y’know?”
Dewey was so happy that he woke up.
Louie shook his head. “What’d she say to you?”
The older brother played with his fingers. “She said that you liked to go outside to think. That’s when I figured you were on the roof since, well, the window was open.” He looked down at the green phone. “She sounded worried when I told her that I couldn’t find you. You should probably give her a call.”
Louie touched the screen of his phone. “Yeah, probably.”
Dewey watched as Louie found Goldie’s contact. The moment Louie put the phone to his ear- the second ring- Goldie’s had picked up.
“I- I…” Louie's beak twitched into the smallest of smiles. “I’m okay, Aunt Goldie.”
Hold on, “aunt”?! Oh, he has to pester him about that!
“Yeah, yeah… he found me.” The schemer glanced at Dewey before redirecting his attention to the turned off TV. “Oh… no, you don’t… oh… um, okay. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
So Goldie was coming by tomorrow?
“Ah, no,” It seemed the two started discussing something that Dewey wasn’t particularly interested in. Luckily, the scent of sugar cookies caught the duck’s attention. He left Louie on the couch to check on the sweets, just as the timer hit zero.
Dewey almost grabbed the hot cooking sheet with his hands, but he caught himself and put the oven mitts on. Silly. He waited a minute or so before shoveling all the cookies onto a large plate and went back to the living room, where Louie was no longer on the phone and instead had the remote in his hand, flipping through channels.
“You wanna watch The Bachelorette, Say Yes to the Dress, American Idol, Keeping Up with the Kardachundians, or something else?” Louie was already comfortably under the comforter, a pillow propped against the arm of the couch and him laying on it.
“Do you even need to ask? The Bachelorette, obviously.” He put the plate down, just in Louie’s reach.
“You’re right, why did I even ask?” Louie set the show and the two enjoyed each other’s company.
There was still an obvious tension in the air. Because despite the smiles, Louie was not okay. But… that was okay. Because they were going to work on it. And Louie was going to get better. He knows that each and every person in the family would get to the top of somewhere tall like the Empire State Building and shout just how much they love him. Donald would come back and reassure Louie- or, the boys in general, actually- about whether or not he still loved them. Which was an obvious “yes”, in Dewey’s humble opinion. They’d adjust to the change. They’ll look out for one another and make sure they’re safe.
For example…
An hour into the show, Louie had fallen asleep and Dewey was on the brink of it. But… there was one more thing he had to do.
Slipping off the couch, Dewey walked over to the dining room, figuring that it was far enough from the living room.
“...Duckworth?” The duckling softly called out. When he didn’t get a response, he tried calling the dog’s name a little louder.
This time, there was a response.
A faint blue glow appeared behind him and the duckling turned on his heel.
“What is it, Master Dewford?”
Dewey stood confidently. “Listen, I need you to keep an eye on Louie while we sleep. Make sure he doesn’t get up while I’m asleep. If he does, make sure he doesn't do anything… brash, okay?”
Duckworth raised an eyebrow, but nodded anyway. “Understood. Have a good sleep, Master Dewford.”
Dewey fought the words “you too” back down his throat.
The young duck returned to the living room. A fifth of the cookies were still left and the TV buzzed on, albeit more quiet than before. He studied Louie’s sleeping form and how his chest went up and down. That was a sign that his brother was alive.
Dewey gave a sigh of relief and climbed back under the comforter. He regarded Louie once more, before shifting and closing his eyes.
They’ll be fine as long as they have each other.
Yeah, everything will be just fine.