Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Louie Duck was tired.

It had started slowly. When they first moved into the huge mansion Louie would lay awake all night, staring up at the bunk above him. He told himself he just needed time to adjust. Back on the houseboat, their room had been small and the ceilings low. The triplets had shared a twin mattress on the bedroom floor. He’d never had a bed to himself before.

It was lonely, it was empty, it was unusual. Louie covered his bed in pillows and stuffed animals until he could drown himself underneath them, held one tight and told himself it was a brother. That didn’t work amazingly.

By the time exhaustion finally forced him under, sunlight was already peeking through the windows.

He would be lucky to get a few minutes of peace before Huey woke him up. He would drag himself downstairs, prodding disinterestedly at his breakfast, before eventually finding the couch and falling down into it. His body wouldn’t let him fall back asleep, but the headache would at least quiet to a dull buzz when he let himself stop thinking.

But the adventures kept going, and the family did not appreciate his ‘lazy’ attitude. He plastered a smile on his face when they looked, and his expression dropped again into a dull, resting expression when they turned away. Emoting gave him a headache. 

Louie followed along behind, trailing slowly after the group, barely able to keep his eyes open. He laughed it off when he walked straight into a wall. They all laughed it off when he stepped straight onto a weighted tile. 

He’d been zoned out, walking in his exhausted fugue, and didn’t look where he was stepping. His inattention almost cost Dewey his life. Dewey did not seem to notice, or care. He gave a whoop when the floor dropped out from below him. There were brittle spikes at the bottom of the pitfall, but they were made from wood rather than iron. That was the only thing that kept Dewey from being brutally impaled. As it was, the rotted wood crumbled on impact, leaving Dewey with little more than some nasty splinters and a sprained ankle. 

Dewey had the time of his life. Dewey wasn’t even mad about it. Dewey wouldn’t stop talking about it the entire way home. It was his ‘first death trap.’

Louie did not like the implication that there would be additional death traps.

When Louie closed his eyes that night, he didn’t see darkness. His brain decided it would be helpful to supply him with images of Dewey impaled on iron spikes. Louie stepping on a trap, and Dewey falling out of sight before he could process what was happening. If the spikes had been stronger, if the pit had been deeper. None of them reacted in time to stop Dewey from falling. It was pure luck that saved him.

Louie almost killed his brother.

Because he couldn’t sleep.

And what a stupid reason that would have been.

Louie crawled out of bed, opened the bedroom door as quietly as possible, and tiptoed down the hallway. He tiptoed all the way into Scrooge’s personal bathroom. He knew that what he was looking for wouldn’t be kept in the kids bathroom.

There was a stool on the floor which Louie carried over to the sink. Standing up, he cracked open the cabinet and peered inside. He was expecting dozens of old bottles with fading labels, a staple in any old person’s medicine cabinet. And Scrooge was old.

But he was disappointed. There were barely a handful of bottles, and very few of them were any kind of medicine. There was oil for his feathers, but no sleeping pills? Louie huffed out a quiet breath, irritated. “Come on old man, don’t you know what a medicine cabinet is for?” He grumbled.

That left one place where he knew he would find what he was looking for. But he also knew it would come with a price. He couldn’t sneak pills from Uncle Donald. He would have to explain himself.

Louie rolled his eyes and groaned as he shut the cabinet and put the stool back where he found it. He tiptoed out of the house, shoulders hunched, walking like a duck to the gallows. He didn’t want to explain himself to his Uncle. But it was better than getting his brothers killed.

Louie stood on the deck of the houseboat, hand hovering over the door handle. 

This was his home too. Or at least, it used to be. He wasn’t exactly sure where he stood with that now. He… believed he was still welcome here. Scratch that, he knew he was welcome. But he didn’t know if the rules had changed. 

For example… was there a rule against coming in at four in the morning? That had never been a rule before, but only because the boys would never have been outside the houseboat at four in the morning in the first place. There was no reason to make a rule. But that left Louie asking himself now; should he open the door and wake Uncle Donald? Would Donald be upset? Did he have to work tomorrow? Louie didn’t know when Donald worked anymore. He didn’t even know where he worked. He used to know these things. They used to talk about these things. They didn’t talk anymore.

Should he go back to the house and wait until morning?

No. He knew he would never talk to his uncle if he waited until the morning. He would conveniently forget, put it off, let it slide. Until the next night he couldn’t fall asleep, and guilt would keep him from waking Donald up that time as well. He would just keep forgetting, waiting, putting it off until later. Until his inattention cost someone their life.

The image of Dewey’s broken body at the bottom of a pit, iron rods sticking out of him at angry angles slick with blood made up Louie’s mind for him. He grabbed the door and swung it open, stepping inside before he could change his mind.

The lights were out. Donald’s loud garbled snores carried from his room. Louie knew he could easily slip in and out without Donald noticing. Uncle Donald was not a light sleeper, by any definition of the word. (And boy, did Louie envy him that). But he couldn’t steal from Donald. And he couldn’t lie to him about it. The thought of it made his stomach turn.

He snuck into Donald’s room, and saw his uncle laying there, fast asleep, limbs sprawled out at odd angles, hanging half-out of his hammock.

Louie crept up, and had a sudden change of heart. He didn’t want to wake him up. He could sneak back to the house now and Donald would be none the wiser. But Louie didn’t want that. He knew he needed to ask for help… he just didn’t want to wake his uncle.

Louie dragged a cardboard box full of junk across the floor, and used it to climb up into the hammock. It had been years since he or either of his brothers had spent the night in Donald’s room, but… at least this way Donald would know something was wrong in the morning, and force Louie to spill it.

Louie was making that conversation future-Louie’s problem, while still ensuring future-Louie didn’t chicken out. He gave himself a metaphorical pat on the back as he clambered awkwardly over the edge of the hammock, setting it swaying. 

Donald murmured disjointedly in his sleep as the hammock swayed, but didn’t come close to waking up. Louie curled up against his side, and felt Donald readjust seamlessly to accommodate him. Still sleeping, Donald’s wings wrapped snugly around his body, and Louie found himself trapped. 

To his surprise, it didn’t bother him as much as he expected. To his even greater surprise, he fell asleep shortly after.

Louie woke up that morning feeling… rested.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a full… how many hours of sleep did he get? 

“Good morning, sleepy head.” Came the amused greeting from Donald.

Louie opened his eyes and looked up. He was still in the hammock, and so was Donald. Donald was awake, and looked like he had been for a while. But he hadn’t gotten his morning coffee, which was unusual. He was just holding Louie, and watching him. Oh, weird. Did Donald just spend the whole morning watching him sleep? He had a dopey smile on his face, the kind he got when he reminisced about their childhood, so the answer was probably a solid yes.

Louie squirmed to escape and Donald reluctantly let him go.

“What’s up, kiddo?” Donald asked as Louie freed himself, struggled to climb out of the hammock, lost his balance, and fell face first to the floor. Donald’s hand caught him by the back of his sleepshirt inches before his bill met hardwood, and set him back on his feet. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” Louie said nonchalantly as Donald got out of bed, leading the duckling to the little kitchenette. Louie clambered up into his usual seat, kicking his webbed feet back and forth as he watched Donald putter around, making his coffee. It was so routine, so normal. And yet so alien to be the only duckling here.

“Nightmare?” Donald asked gently as he put toast down for his nephew. 

Louie kept kicking his feet. “Yes… no… I mean…”

Donald looked over at his youngest duckling, the one who was never at a loss of words, but was now stumbling over himself like he doesn’t know what he wants to say.

Louie bowed his head, looking embarrassed and almost ashamed. “Not really a nightmare. You have to be asleep for those. Just bad thoughts, mostly.”

Donald used all of his self control not to turn and look at the duckling. He couldn’t corner Louie, or he’d shut down and clam up. “What kind of bad thoughts?” He asked, straining to keep his voice light.

Louie hesitated. “I almost… I…” 

Donald’s hands froze. He had been reaching for the peanut butter from the top shelf - a special treat for Dewey and Louie that they didn’t get to indulge in often. Something he kept up high, out of reach, away from the kids in a locked cabinet, because the doctor said Huey’s minor allergy could become anaphylactic at a moment’s notice, even though it hadn’t yet. He didn’t grab the jar, or lower his hand, frozen in place. Worried any movement might shatter the moment. He waited.

“I almost got Dewey killed on our last adventure.” Louie blurted out all at once. And despite the horror of that statement, Donald’s first reaction was to relax. His muscles unfroze, and he gripped the peanut butter jar, bringing it down to the counter. 

“What happened?” Donald asked carefully, because that… that couldn’t be true. And if it was, he needed to have some strong words with Scrooge. He kept the boys away for ten years because he wanted them to be safe. And when he came back, Scrooge had promised they would be.

He heard a sniffle, and Donald’s resolve to remain distant dissolved. He turned on his heels, seeing Louie wiping at his face with his pyjama sleeves. His face had crumbled, and he looked completely overwhelmed.

Donald reacted without thinking. He pulled Louie into his wings and wrapped the duckling in a tight hug. Louie didn’t squirm or push him away. Louie crumpled into his arms, crying.

Louie had come here with a plan, but he was just… too tired. It overrode everything else. He felt like a cranky toddler, he wanted to be put down for a nap. He just wanted to sleep. He couldn’t stop the tears from falling as he sobbed into Donald’s feathers. He knew he’d have a lot of explaining to do, but gosh… this felt cathartic. 

It also made his face hurt.

After a few minutes, Louie got his breathing back under control, and wiped his face dry. He didn’t bother to feel embarrassed, it was Uncle Donald.

“I’m so tired Unca Donald…” he admitted miserably, mumbling into Donald’s feathers so he didn’t have to look at his face. “I just… can’t sleep. I tried, I promise. I’m not up on my phone all night. My mind just doesn’t want to stop!” He garbled out all at once. “I’m so tired, I just want to sleep.” He begged, as if Donald could magically solve his problems now that he’d said them out loud. “I just wanted- I thought- I remembered you got that medicine when you  couldn’t sleep, a few years ago. And that stuff knocks you right out. I… could I use some of that? Uncle Donald? Please?”

Donald’s grip tightened on the duckling and his eyes went wide. “Louie! You didn’t take any, did you?” He asked sharply.

Louie flinched and shrank in on himself. “N-no… I didn’t touch it. I just thought- I hoped-”

Donald loosened his grip again and stroked Louie’s back gently. “Louie, that medicine is for grownups. It is way too strong for you. Promise me you won’t ever touch it?”

Louie deflated, utterly defeated. Donald wouldn’t let him get away without promising. And once he did, he couldn’t break it. “... Yeah. Fine.” He mumbled miserably. “I won’t touch it.”

Donald sighed. “Good. Now… I can see about getting you an appointment with the doctor, for your own medicine. They have to pick that out for you, to make sure it works. You can’t just take other people’s medicine, no matter what, okay Louie? You understand?”

Louie had been too tired lately to understand anything. He felt like he was lost in a fog. His normally sharp mind had been trudging through molasses and it was getting harder and harder to care. 

He thought he understood the gist of it. Don’t take other people’s medicine, bad things might happen. “Mmhm… sure, Uncle Donald.” He agreed, voice oddly monotone. He wasn’t angry, he wasn't even annoyed. He was just too tired to emote. He was struggling enough to get the words out at all.

The front door flew open with a bang.

“Uncle Donald!” Huey. “Louie is gone! Oh. Nevermind.”

Dewey stood behind him, wide eyed and disheveled, still in his pyjamas. “Found him.” he announced, unhelpfully.

Black smoke rose from the toaster, and the smoke alarm went off.

Chapter Text

“Insomnia?” Dewey frowned, turning the word over in his mouth, sounding doubtful.

Huey nodded fervently, flipping open his guidebook and turning it around to show Dewey. “Yes, Dewey, insomnia. It’s a serious condition! It’s when you have trouble falling or staying asleep-”

“I know that! But there’s no way Louie has that. He literally sleeps all day, he’s like a cat.”

Louie, laying on the couch beside his brothers, rolled his eyes. “No. I lay around all day, I don’t sleep. There’s a difference.”

Dewey rolled his eyes right back, overexaggerating the expression. “Well, Louie , maybe that’s why you can’t sleep at night! You’re not going to be tired if you don’t tire yourself out!” He bounced on the couch. “You could go rollerblading with me! Or cycling. Or we could jump off the roof of the houseboat into the pool-”

Louie rolled his eyes again and pushed Dewey, off-balancing him just enough to send the duckling tumbling off the couch.

“Ow! Hey!” Dewey scowled as he rubbed his elbow. “I’m just trying to be helpful!”

“I am tired, Dewford.” Louie grumbled. “Like, literally all the time . That’s the problem. That’s why I’m laying around. Trying to do anything else just gives me a headache.”

“You give me a headache.” Dewey said, but there was no heat behind it. It was just automatic banter. There was an opening, and he took it.

Huey interjected, trying to retake control of the situation. “It’s like a never ending cycle once it starts.” He explained, shoving his book back into his brothers’ faces as if he expected them to read it. “Anything can start it, really. Anxiety, stress, caffeine, unfamiliar sleep environment-”

Louie laughed out loud, a startled sound that bubbled out of him. He clamped his bill shut afterwards, looking surprised. He blushed slightly. The reaction even startled himself. “Sorry, it’s just… yeah. Anxiety? Stress? Caffeine? Did they draw a picture of me in there, too?”

Huey hesitated, frowning. “No…?”

“It was a joke, Hue.” Louie gestured for Huey to keep reading.

Huey nodded slowly, still a little confused by the joke, but kept going. “Um, yes, it can start simple, but the longer it goes unaddressed the more it compounds itself! Like, look. Maybe Louie had a bad night sleeping because he was anxious, or had too much Pep! before bed, and so he stays up way too late and barely sleeps. Well, that will disrupt his sleep schedule and make it harder to fall asleep. Then, he’s going to start associating his bedroom with frustration and wakefulness instead of relaxation and rest. It’s a negative feedback loop, and now when he goes to bed he’s just going to be thinking about how much he wants to sleep, and being annoyed that he can’t. And the more tired his brain gets, the worse his anxiety and stress become - and did you know that if you don’t get enough sleep, you can start to experience neurological effects? Sleep plays a crucial role in pain modulation and perception. Sleep deprivation can affect the central nervous system's processing of pain signals, potentially amplifying the perception of pain-”

“Okay Huey. That’s enough.” Louie reached over and shut the book, leaving Huey blinking in confusion. 

“But I-”

“I know you’re just trying to help. But your facts are meaningless to me. I literally retained none of that. And Dewey is…” Louie gestured to Dewey who had, at some point during Huey’s monologue, sprawled on the floor where Louie had dumped him and was now drawing on construction paper with crayons. 

Huey’s face fell.

“Keep your facts where they’ll be the most useful. In your head.” Louie said gently. “You be the fact guy. I’ll be the sleepy guy. Dewey can be the… Dewey guy.”

Huey held his guidebook closely. “I… want to help.” He said, plaintive. 

Louie made grabby hands at his brother, and Huey reluctantly tucked the guidebook back in his hat and flopped on top of Louie as demanded. 

Huey fell asleep despite not even being tired. Snuggled on top of his brother, with Louie’s hand absently running through his feathers. The warmth and familiarity send him off into afternoon snooze-land. Dewey coloured until he got bored, and then ran off to find Webby. 

And Louie stared blankly at the television, stroking Huey’s head, trying to ignore the dull buzz in the back of his head and the static at the edges of his vision, and the growing headache that never seemed to go away.

Time blurred for Louie. Minutes and hours tended to pass in a haze, without him being fully aware of the passage of time, or the movement of people around him. Maybe he was aware when it happened, but his mind was just too tired to create memories so it all slipped away from him. Or maybe he wasn’t aware at all. He couldn’t be sure.

All he knew was that one minute, the TV was buzzing and Huey was snuggling on his chest. And then, the room was empty. The TV was still playing but the volume had been lowered, his brothers were gone, and a blanket was draped over him. He would almost believe he had fallen asleep, except he didn’t feel rested. His brain felt thick and hot and soggy. His eyelids drooped, and his mouth was dry but he lacked the energy to get himself a glass of water, or even a can of Pep! His limbs felt like lead. He was awake, mentally. But physically, all he could do was lay there. It was like being trapped in a body too heavy to move.

He wasn’t sure if the family had been planning an adventure that day. If they did go, they didn't bring him along. The day passed him by, time washing off of him just like water off his feathers. Nothing seemed to stick. He was just floating, unaffected. That left him alone to wonder where his brothers were. Wondering if they were in an ancient cavern under a towering mountain, or traversing a cursed temple with a deadly maze… the walls moving and rearranging, cutting them off from each other. He imagined them trudging through a humid swamp on an unknown continent, creatures lurking in the water ready to snatch up little ducklings and grind them to dust in their spinning rows of sharp teeth.

The television blurred into a nonsensical kaleidoscope of sound and colour. It didn’t drown out his thoughts, but it blended with them until he was watching an incomprehensible jumble, Randy and Johnny offering his brothers as a ritual sacrifice to appease the gods of velvet and chenille. 

The front door opened, and the family poured in, and Louie found himself groaning at the onslaught of noise. Dewey was bouncing on his heels, trying to describe the ancient catacombs. He told Louie about the twisting tangle of pathways. He said it was a good thing Louie didn’t come, because he would have become hopelessly lost, and trapped in the catacombs forever, another vengeful spirit lost within its walls. He gestured wildly as he told Louie it was also a good thing he stayed home, because there was no treasure. Just a lot of dead bodies.

Louie was inclined to agree. It didn’t sound like his idea of a good time.

He dragged himself to the dinner table, and sat through a normal meal. He managed to eat a bit more than last time, because he wasn’t expected to follow the conversation. He stared down at his plate, and his eyes drifted closed without him even realizing. He ate slowly, letting the conversation ebb and swell around him, blurring into white noise. It washed over him without reaching him. 

“Is he sleeping?” Dewey whispered in confusion. 

“No…” Louie mumbled. 

By the time he dragged his feet up to bed, the pain in his head had become a static roar, like a waterfall. His eyes ached. He wanted to lay down and never get up again. He wanted to close his eyes. He wanted the static to go away.

Huey hovered, but Louie changed into his pyjamas without help. He brushed his teeth without help. He was tired, he wasn’t an invalid. He was just tired. Uncle Donald raised the three of them on way less sleep than this. Louie could handle it. He was tempted to snap at Huey, tell him to back off, but he bit his tongue.

He had been feeling real short tempered lately. 

He opened his new bottle of prescription medication and took his first sleeping pill as he climbed into bed. He stared at the top of the bunk, convinced it wasn’t going to work. But then his anxieties, his swirling thoughts, dissipated like mist. His racing mind stilled - his normally vivid worst case scenarios were mixing together into meaningless shapes. He couldn’t follow a train of thought from beginning to end. It was alarming at first, almost frightening. But his mind relaxed, his body relaxed, and he was too tired to be alarmed by the lack of coherency. Every thought and emotion drifted away as his eyes slid shut, and within minutes he was deeply asleep.

Dewey poked his cheek, only to be slapped away by Huey. 

“Stop that! You’ll wake him up!” Huey squeaked. 

Dewey shrugged, leaning over the edge of his bed and staring down at Louie. “I’ve just never seen anyone fall asleep that fast before.” He giggled.

Louie woke up with his brothers the next morning. The static was gone. The roar was a whisper. He felt groggy, disoriented, and so, so relieved.

He stretched, not wanting to move ever again.

But the smell of pancakes wafted up into the bedroom, and for once it was enough to tempt him out of bed. He got up with his brothers, they got dressed together, they went downstairs together. He even managed to follow their conversation. 

He was wearing a grin when he got to the table, and ate with enthusiasm.

It worked. One pill, every night before bed, and Louie was a new duck. 

Louie managed to go on adventures again. His vision cleared, and he was able to see the angles. He was sharp enough to keep both eyes open and glued to his brothers. Nobody got hurt. His laugh came back, then his wit. Then his sarcasm. He let Dewey lure him out of the house to the swimming pool. No, he was not going to jump off the roof of the houseboat, but Louie found a giant inflatable donut and planted himself in it, with a cherry Pep! in one hand and sunglasses perched on his bill. The sunlight reflecting off the water didn’t drive a spike through his skull, and his brothers’ laughter didn't grate on his nerves. 

He breathed.

He was Louie again, and he was okay.

To be perfectly honest, Louie had always thought Dewey would be the first Duck brother to be medicated. He didn’t know why he thought that, or why he felt so guilty for thinking it. There was nothing wrong with Dewey.

(Although, as Huey frequently insisted, there was also nothing wrong with taking medication.)

He might have been embarrassed at first, but it quickly became normal. Louie took medicine now. It was a part of his nightly routine. Nobody said anything about it. Nobody made a big deal of it, so neither did he. He got the sleep he needed, he felt better. It became their new normal. The anxiety was still there, but he was able to sleep through it. 

He still had nightmares about Toth-Ra. He was terrified to sleep after Moorshire. The way his pills made his mind cloud and vision fade to black felt too much like turning to stone. He tossed and turned, and woke in a panic. But he woke up. Waking up meant he was alive. Having nightmares meant he was actually sleeping.

Until Castle McDuck. It was funny, because he thought it was fear keeping him up at night. Fear, anxiety, stress. Nightmares about his brother being swallowed by a money shark or buried in an avalanche. Toth-Ra’s voice telling him to die, he dreamed of being left behind, buried, killed. He dreamed of crashing out of the sky again and again, the plane burning with them in it.

He never thought that anger and hurt could be so much worse. 

He had finally gotten used to the nightmares, the images, the visions of death and pain and loss. He hated them, but he got used to them. 

He wasn’t expecting betrayal. He wasn’t expecting to be so angry , so confused. So frustrated. 

He didn’t have images in his mind anymore. Just feelings. Dozens of feelings, one stacked on top of the other, eating away at him. He laid in his bunk, eyes wide open, stomach churning and heart aching, simmering in hurt, betrayal, fear of abandonment. 

He wasn’t like his family. He knew he was the odd one out. But he did everything he could to mask that. He did his best to fit in. And he knew that even if Uncle Scrooge didn’t love him, Uncle Donald always would. He knew his brothers had his back. Even if he was a lazy, manipulative, selfish coward. Even if he knew he was the weakest link in the chain, he knew that his brothers were there to pick up his slack.

They were the Duck boys. They didn’t keep things from each other. They didn’t have favourites. They didn’t leave each other behind.

Louie wiped tears from his eyes. They burned more than usual. He was used to crying, but he’d never cried from anger before.

(Was he even really angry? Or was the anger just there so he could ignore the hurt?)

Dewey didn’t trust him. He didn’t trust Huey either. And Dewey had always been closer to Huey than to Louie. Dewey appreciated Huey’s enthusiasm, his thirst for knowledge, his eagerness to impress. They shared a need for validation that resulted in them spending a lot more time together. They both cared more about adventure. They both cared more about each other.

And if Dewey was willing to forget about Huey, then everything Louie thought he knew didn’t make sense anymore. All of his certainties were uncertain. The only things he could count on in the world were his brothers and Uncle Donald. 

And he couldn’t count on his brothers. (That wasn’t fair to Huey. Huey hadn’t done anything to him. Huey had been hurt just as badly). But Louie didn’t care about what was fair.

Louie saw the angles. Louie saw people. Louie didn’t miss things this big. But he had. He had missed all of it. And from Dewey, of all people. The most transparent Duck brother. Louie was mad at himself for being a naive idiot, for trusting blindly just because they were brothers.

He was angry at Dewey for betraying that trust.

And he was questioning everything . He had known he could trust Dewey 100%. He had been wrong about that. He was equally convinced he could trust Huey and Donald 100%. But he had been wrong about Dewey. He had been wrong about Dewey, and he could be wrong about them too.

(He didn’t want to be wrong about Donald. The idea of Donald not wanting him, not loving him, not trusting him. Leaving him behind. Betraying him. Abandoning them just like mom did. Lying to him just like Dewey did. It broke his heart, it scared him. It hurt . It hurt so bad , and he couldn’t tell himself it wasn’t true. He couldn’t tell himself it would never happen. If it happened once, it could happen again. If Dewey could betray him, anyone could).

Louie listened to his brother's snores above him, and his anger spiked. He seethed, he hurt, his heart broke quietly, and his fear shifted into resentment. Dewey made him feel this way. Dewey did this to him, and then just slept through it.

His mind was racing too fast, too loud, too violently. His heart ached and burned and ripped in half while his stomach rolled over. It was all too much. Louie took a second pill, hours after the first. It didn’t work, so he took a third.

Finally, his mind settled. Finally, the feelings faded, and left him in a murky sense of confused displeasure. He was angry, and achingly sad, and utterly alone. And he fell asleep.

The cycle resumed. Pills. Sleep. Wake up groggy and tired because he took too many or too few. Adjust his dose. Go to the doctor.

The doctor wanted him to go to therapy. Said the insomnia was only a symptom of something bigger. Said the pills were only a stopgap.

The pills were cheap. Therapy wasn't. Louie didn’t need that. He didn’t have anxiety. He didn't. Louie lashed out more. He saw the looks his family gave him. He saw the looks Scrooge gave him. He was disappointing them, frustrating them. He was becoming a problem child. 

He was losing his touch.

Louie was a manipulator. An actor. He needed to put his masks back on. He buried the emotions deep, and didn't look at them. Didn’t think about them. Didn’t think about what they meant. He adapted. He got used to the anger and the hurt.

Until Dewey almost got himself killed for the truth about their mom, and the truth tore their family apart all over again.

They were back on the houseboat. Three ducklings piled together on a thin twin mattress on the floor. The boat was tossed in the waves of the marina. It was as hauntingly familiar as it was unfamiliar, all at once.

Dewey tossed and turned. 

Louie wondered what his nightmares were about. Louie hated being angry at Dewey. He hated being angry at either of his brothers, but Dewey gave him far more reason to be angry than Huey ever did.

Louie hated being angry, but the anger helped to drown out the fear.

It didn’t matter how much he resented his brother. It didn’t matter what Dewey said or did.

Nothing had ever made Louie feel the way he did when he watched Dewey climb out the window onto the wing of the plane, thousands of feet in the air, and walk away from them. No amount of fear he had ever felt before could compare to the sick pounding of his heart as he screamed for Dewey to come back, as he felt the plane rock and tilt and list, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were all going to die. That Dewey was going to die, and he was going to watch it happen.

He was angry at his brother. He was hurt by his brother. But he did not want him dead.

He rolled over and zipped open his backpack, sitting on the floor propped against the mattress. He took another pill. It didn’t work. He laid awake, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t sleep. All he could see was Dewey, climbing out the window and onto the fuselage of the plane. His own voice echoing in his ears as he screamed for Dewey to come back inside, begging him. Squeezing his eyes shut as Huey pressed himself against the window to watch.

He had been crying. He had been completely, utterly sure that he was about to watch his brother die. And all he could do was scream and cry and plead with Dewey to turn around and come back. All he had were his words, and Dewey didn’t listen. Dewey never listened.

Unable to bear the weight of his thoughts any longer, Louie found himself quietly slipping out of the cramped sleeping area. He tiptoed to the deck, wrapping a blanket around himself against the cool night breeze. The moon's soft glow reflected on the water, casting a serene ambiance over him, in stark contrast with his tumultuous feelings.

The door to the deck creaked a second time behind him, and he looked over his shoulder with wide eyes. It was only Huey. His shoulders relaxed. He didn’t think he could handle talking to Uncle Donald right now, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to Dewey.

But Huey… he could handle Huey right now.

Huey walked over and sat down beside him. He didn’t say anything at first. They sat shoulder to shoulder, looking out over the water. Louie slowly unwrapped himself from the blanket, reaching a wing around Huey’s shoulder and draping the blanket over his back. They huddled together beneath it, letting the waves rock the boat, breathing in the illusion of calm.

"You can talk about it, you know," Huey finally broke the silence.

Louie glanced at him, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and relief. Frustration and fear. "I know. But... I don't even know where to start."

Huey nodded, understanding the sentiment all too well. "You're worried about Dewey."

Louie sighed, his gaze fixed on the moonlit waves. “I’m angry at him.”

Huey didn’t respond at first, and Louie regretted his words. He shouldn’t have said that. “I am too.” Huey whispered quietly, looking confused. “I don’t want to be. But I am.”

Louie looked out over the water. He didn’t want to see the facial expression that went with Huey’s timid, scared voice. If he saw Huey hurting like that, it would only make him angrier at Dewey. And he was so tired of being angry. “We've always been reckless, but this... this was different. It was like he was chasing something more than just adventure. He’s become really obsessed with this… it isn’t even about mom anymore. Mom is gone. He isn’t going to bring her back. But he could have died , just to… just because… just. He's willing to risk everything just to feel closer to something he can never get back.” Louie trailed off, choking on his words as a sob built in his chest.

He hunched over, crying quietly as Huey wrapped his arms around him. Huey didn’t say anything. He couldn’t defend Dewey, and he couldn't comfort Louie. Everything was broken and Huey didn’t know how to fix it.

“It’s like he cares about mom more than us.” Louie whispered into Huey’s feathers. “Mom is gone , but we're still here. Why aren't we enough for him?"

Chapter Text

In the dimly lit room of the Duck family houseboat, the night's stillness was interrupted only by Louie's restless tossing and turning. The weight of exhaustion bore down on him, a relentless burden that had plagued him for nights on end. Insomnia had become his constant companion, a shadow that loomed over him, stealing away the precious gift of sleep.

Louie's fingers clenched and unclenched the prescription bottle on his nightstand. The label bore his name and the promise of restful nights, but lately, his pills had lost their effectiveness. His face was etched with weariness, his eyes heavy and bloodshot from countless sleepless hours. Pain lanced through the back of his skull, a ringing in his ears. 

It had been a week since they left the mansion. A week since Dewey nearly killed himself with that insane stunt on the Sunchaser. And still refused to apologize. Dewey harbored such an intense anger towards their Uncle Scrooge, but he was completely blind to his own faults.

The funny thing… The funny thing (it wasn’t funny. It was horribly, horrifically ironic, but it wasn’t funny ) was that Louie didn’t blame Uncle Scrooge for what happened to their mom. He had, at first. In the heat of the moment, that was easier. But the longer he had to let it sink in, the harder it was to stay angry. How could he, when he grew up alongside Dewey? Everything about the Spear of Selene… it all made Louie think of what had happened on the Sunchaser that day.

Kneeling on the floor, tears on his face, screaming for his brother to come back. Begging him to turn around, to give up on this insane self appointed quest, to stop scaring him. Dewey didn’t listen. If Dewey had fallen, it wouldn’t have been anyone’s fault but his own.

There was only one person to blame for the death of Della Duck, and that was Della herself.

Louie could never say as much in front of his brothers. Huey was already broken enough from all of this. And he didn’t have any desire to get into a fistfight with Dewey.

But still, it was true. Della Duck had a family. She had a brother, her Uncle Scrooge, and three unhatched children. She walked away from all of that because it wasn’t enough. She got herself killed for cheap thrills, for the call to adventure. To be a part of something grander.

And Dewey was following in her footsteps. He was so damned determined to be a part of something bigger, something greater than himself, that he was getting lost in it. The itch for something more. 

He turned his back on Huey, Louie, Webby, Scrooge… all of them. They had all been there, calling him back, and they hadn’t been enough.

Della abandoned her family for something bigger and better, and Dewey was going to do the same. It got her killed. It would get him killed soon enough too, if he didn’t stop.

Frustration churned within him, a storm of helplessness and fatigue that raged against his attempts to find respite. He stared at the orange bottle in his hand, the solution to his torment tantalizingly close. The thought took root in his mind, driven by the desperation that gnawed at his resolve. "More pills," he murmured to himself, the words a dry whisper in the darkness.

At that moment, Louie's reasoning abandoned him. He wasn’t a stupid duck. But he was a tired duck. He was a scared duck. He was tormented by anxiety all night, every night. The only angles he could see now were the ones where everything went wrong. His waking nightmares grew more harsh and vivid, the static in his vision was contant, the ringing in his ears growing to drown everything else out.

Louie was so, so tired. Tired of being angry. Tired of being scared all the time. He just wanted to sleep . He wanted to sleep, and wake up back on the houseboat, nine years old, when his family still made sense. Wake up back in the Manor, before Dewey started keeping secrets and things got weird between them.

He didn’t care when he woke up. He just wanted things to stop being so complicated. 

The pills were the key to sleep. One had worked, until it hadn’t. Two had worked, for a bit. More pills meant more sleep. That was how they worked. With a shaky breath, he twisted open the bottle's cap, pills spilling into his palm.

Without hesitation, he swallowed them down, a sense of relief washed over him as he lay back on his bed, the soft mattress cradling his weary body. He closed his eyes, waiting for the darkness to overtake the static, for silence to overtake the noise.

Seconds turned to minutes and a hush settled over the room. Louie's breaths grew shallow, his consciousness ebbing away like a receding tide. The pills worked their magic quickly, pulling him into a world of dreams where his restless mind could find a temporary escape. He drifted on the cusp of slumber, teetering on the edge of oblivion.

He just wanted to stop feeling . He just wanted to breathe .

Louie's sleep deepened as the night wore on, his breathing growing softer and slower with each passing moment. The light of morning slowly crested the horizon, casting a gentle glow across the room. Louie's chest rose and fell in a rhythmic cadence, his young body locked in the embrace of chemically induced sleep.

The dawn's light crept further, casting a warm illumination on Louie's peaceful form. Yet, beneath the veil of tranquility, a dangerous shift was occurring. Louie's breathing became almost imperceptible, a whisper of life that hung in the air. The line between sleep and something more perilous blurred.

Huey was always the earliest riser in the houseboat, and he stretched his legs and wings wide as gentle morning sunlight crawled across the room. Dewey gave an irritated grunt as Huey crawled over him to get out of bed. The air was hushed, the world outside just beginning to stir. As the golden rays danced across his face, Huey noticed Louie for the first time.

Huey's brow furrowed as he took in the sight before him. Louie lay still, his breathing faint and labored. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what , but something felt severely wrong with the scene. Louie normally slept curled in a tight ball, and gave garbled, squeaky snores. (Louie snored like Uncle Donald). There was none of that today. Louie’s body was limp and relaxed, his breathing so silent that for a heart stopping second, Huey wasn’t even sure he was breathing. The lines of worry etched deep grooves into Huey's forehead. Without hesitation, he moved to Louie's side, trying to shake him awake.

"Louie, wake up," Huey urged gently, his voice tinged with a mix of worry and frustration. Louie stirred, his eyelids fluttering as he blinked up at his older brother. But his gaze was unfocused, his eyes vacant as he struggled to comprehend his surroundings.

"Dewey! Dewey, wake up!” Huey hissed, voice pitching high with anxiety as he continued to shake Louie. “Dewey, you need to go get Uncle Donald!” He insisted

Dewey rolled over with a groan, pulling a pillow over his head to try and muffle the noise Huey was making. 

Huey ripped it off of him with a frustrated shout. “Something is wrong with Louie!” He shouted, and Dewey finally reacted.

Sitting up slowly, scrubbing at his eyes, Dewey looked over at his elder and younger triplet, frowning. “What do you mean…?” He grumbled tiredly.

“He's not responding properly," Huey said, his voice tinged with panic as he tried to get through to Louie. "Louie, can you hear me? Do you know where you are?"

Louie's response was a slow, confused mumble. "Huh? Wha...?" His words were disjointed, his voice carrying the weight of his disorientation. He struggled to sit up, his movements sluggish as if he was swimming through a sea of thick molasses.

"What did you do, Louie?" Dewey's voice held a mix of concern and frustration as he glanced around the room, his eyes landing on the empty pill bottle lying on the nightstand. He picked it up, his heart sinking as he realized the gravity of the situation. "Did you take all of these?"

Louie's eyes drifted to the bottle, his gaze unfocused as he tried to make sense of the question. He frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Pills... yeah, sleep," he mumbled, his voice a barely audible whisper.

Huey's heart sank as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

"Dewey, call 911, and go get Uncle Donald." Huey's voice was steady despite the fear that gripped his heart. Dewey nodded, his fingers trembling slightly as he dialed the emergency number. As Dewey provided the necessary information to the dispatcher, Huey's gaze never left Louie's struggling form.

"Louie, stay with us," Huey urged, his voice soft but urgent. He held onto his brother's hand, his touch a lifeline as he tried to keep Louie engaged. "You're not alone, okay? We're here with you."

Louie's eyes met Huey's, their depths clouded with confusion and exhaustion. He nodded weakly, his movements unsteady as he struggled to remain conscious. The room seemed to spin around him, his mind a jumble of fragmented thoughts.

Dewey finished the call, his voice quivering as he hung up the phone. "They're on their way," he said, his words tinged with confusion and fear.

Huey's gaze darted around the room, his mind racing with the need to take action. He knew he had to keep Louie awake, to stave off the danger that lurked in the depths of unconsciousness. "Louie, I need you to stay awake. Can you tell me your name? Do you know what day it is?"

Louie's responses were slow and halting, his voice thick with fatigue. "Louie... today... day?"

Huey's heart ached, but he pressed on, his voice unwavering. "That's right, Louie. You're Louie Duck, and it's morning. We're here with you, and help is coming."

As they waited for the paramedics to arrive, Huey's mind raced, his training and instincts taking over. He knew he had to keep Louie awake and alert, but Louie’s chin kept tipping downwards, his eyes slipping shut no matter how many questions Huey asked him.

Dewey sat beside him, eyes locked on his little brother’s disoriented form, too terrified to move. He didn’t want to get Uncle Donald. He was too scared that Louie would be gone when he came back.

Donald woke to the sound of sirens on the air, screaming up to the boat slip. He stumbled out of his room to the sight of Dewey throwing the door open for paramedics.

Chapter Text

Time blurred as Louie found himself being whisked away from the familiar confines of his room. The paramedics' urgent voices and the blaring sirens were a dissonant symphony that echoed through his foggy mind. He caught fleeting glimpses of worried faces – Huey and Dewey – their eyes wide with fear as they hovered over him.

Everything moved in a whirlwind. Everything felt sped up, but in slow motion. The world was a blur of flashing lights and frantic voices. Louie's body felt heavy, disconnected from his thoughts as he was placed onto a stretcher. The journey to the hospital was hazy, his consciousness ebbing and flowing like the tides.

Once inside the hospital, Louie's world seemed to narrow. He was surrounded by a flurry of activity – masked faces, medical equipment, and urgent instructions. The cold sterility of the hospital contrasted starkly with the warmth of his bed at home. He saw his brothers and Uncle Donald when he closed his eyes. He couldn’t tell if they were real or not. He reached out to touch them, but his arm wouldn’t move. 

He was stone and feather. Too heavy to move, and yet floating away from himself. Leaden, and untethered.

Louie was wheeled into a bright room, the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights making his head throb. His vision swam as doctors and nurses moved around him. They spoke in hushed tones, their words a symphony of medical jargon that was beyond his grasp.

A doctor approached, her voice calm as she explained the procedure that was about to take place. Louie's stomach twisted with unease as he listened to her words. They were going to pump his stomach – a term that sounded both foreign and terrifying.

The doctor's words became a distant murmur as Louie was prepped for the procedure. A tube was inserted down his throat, a sensation that made him gag and squirm. He felt a mixture of discomfort and vulnerability, his body at the mercy of these strangers who were trying to save him.

As the procedure began, Louie's consciousness wavered. He fought the urge to cough and retch, choking on the tube. He blinked once and felt the room spin. There was pressure in his stomach, a sharp pain, and he felt like he was going to be sick. He whimpered as his vision swam. 

He wanted Uncle Donald.

When Louie finally stirred, it was as if he was emerging from a dense fog. His senses slowly came to life, a constant dull throb in the back of his head. He felt groggy and disoriented, as if his mind was trying to piece together the fragments of a shattered dream.

He couldn’t remember what he dreamed about.

The room around him was unfamiliar – sterile white walls and beeping machines. Tubes and wires were attached to his body, a web of life-saving measures that made him feel like a puppet with its strings tangled. A hospital. He closed his eyes, moaning quietly. He’d had his fair share of hospital visits - but never as the patient.

He was used to sitting in hospital waiting rooms while Huey saw a string of therapists. He was used to sitting beside a hospital bed as Dewey showed off his new cast. 

He’d managed to avoid landing himself in one until now.

Louie's gaze flickered to the figure beside him – a nurse adjusting a bag of clear liquid that dripped into his arm.

"Hey there, Louie. You're awake," the nurse said with a gentle smile, her voice a soothing balm.

Louie's throat felt dry and scratchy as he croaked out a response. "Where...?"

"You're in the hospital, sweetie," the nurse replied, her voice warm and reassuring. "You're going to be okay."

He knew that . But where was his family? Had he been hurt on their last adventure? Had they been hurt?

Louie's brow furrowed as he struggled to remember. Flashes danced at the edges of his mind – the pills, the darkness, the confusion. They didn’t go on an adventure. They hadn’t since they’d left the manor and gone back to the houseboat… He swallowed hard, his fear mounting as questions swirled in his mind.

"What... happened?" Louie managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper.

The nurse's gaze softened as she explained, her words a lifeline that slowly pieced together the puzzle. "You took too many sleeping pills, Louie. But you're safe now. You're here, and we're taking care of you."

Louie's heart raced as he absorbed the information. His actions had led him here. Why on earth had he thought that was a good idea? His eyes darted around the room, searching for a familiar face. "Where's Uncle Donald? Where are my brothers?"

The nurse's smile was sympathetic. "They're waiting for you in the lobby, Louie. They were really worried about you."

Louie's chest tightened with a mixture of relief and longing. He wanted to see his brothers, to feel their presence and know that he wasn't alone. His confusion and fear were a weight that pressed down on him, and he yearned for the comfort of their familiar voices.

"I... I want to see them," Louie said, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

The nurse nodded understandingly. "Of course. Let me go get them for you."

In the sterile and impersonal hospital lobby, Huey and Dewey found themselves alone, their anxiety and worry etched onto their faces.

Dewey fidgeted in his seat, his fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh. His eyes were clouded with fear, his mind racing. He couldn’t stop seeing the paramedics loading Louie up on a stretcher and taking him away. Huey and Dewey had both stood in shell shocked silence. Too scared to speak up, to ask to ride in the ambulance. Too scared to ask if he would be okay. They hadn’t seen him since.

Dewey’s hands shook in his lap. He couldn’t process what was happening. He still didn’t understand what had happened. In the very back of his mind was a tiny piece of him that knew that might have been the last time he’d see his brother. The larger part of his mind was doing everything it could to shut those thoughts out, to ignore them, because they couldn’t be true. It was impossible.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Louie being wheeled away, and the heavy ambulance doors slamming shut. 

He had been moving on autopilot ever since. He remembered Donald shuffling him and Huey into the back of the car. He remembered Huey’s hand gripping his on the car ride here, following behind the ambulance. He remembered flashes of light against the darkness and the wet pavement. Rain on the windshield. It was nearly 6am, and there had been a light drizzle.

He remembered it all, but none of it felt real. It didn’t feel like it had happened to him. Dewey was dreaming. He was floating and nothing was real.

He was in a hard plastic seat, and the fluorescent lights were buzzing. 

"Huey, do you think he's going to be okay?"

Huey's gaze was distant, his thoughts a whirlwind of doubt and apprehension. He wanted to offer reassurance, to promise that everything would be fine, but the truth gnawed at him like a relentless itch. "I... I hope so."

Dewey's brows furrowed, anger mingling with his fear. That wasn’t a reassurance. His hands tightened into little fists, and released. Again and again. Tighten, release. He wanted his sugar ball, but that was at home in his backpack. He shook his head. “No, he’s going to be okay.”

Huey's jaw tightened, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. He hesitated, glancing sidelong at Dewey, choosing his words one at a time. "Dewey, I... I can't help but wonder if Louie took all those pills on purpose."

Dewey's eyes widened, his fear giving way to disbelief. "What? No way, Huey. Louie's not stupid. He wouldn't do that."

Huey's gaze dropped to his hands, his fingers intertwining as he wrestled with his thoughts. "I know it's hard to believe, Dewey. But you’re right; Louie's not stupid. He must have known that taking all those pills was dangerous."

Dewey shook his head vehemently, his voice rising in frustration. "You're wrong, Huey. Louie wouldn't hurt himself like that. Why would he?"

Huey's voice wavered as he attempted to articulate the unspoken fears that had been haunting his mind. "I don't know, Dewey. Things have been… bad, lately. Everything is falling apart. Maybe... maybe he's been struggling more than we realized. Maybe he thought... he thought this was the only way out."

Dewey's face contorted with anger, his voice sharp as he lashed out. "No, Huey! You're wrong! Louie wouldn't do that. We would have noticed if he was feeling like that. We're his brothers!"

Huey's voice was soft but resolute as he met Dewey's gaze. "Dewey, I know it's hard to think about. But we need to be prepared for the possibility. We need to be there for Louie, no matter what."

Dewey's fists clenched, his anger giving way to a stubborn resolve. "I can't believe you're saying this, Huey. You're wrong. Louie wouldn't do something like that. We're going to see him, and he's going to be okay."

Huey's shoulders sagged, the weight of the conversation heavy upon him. He nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor as he contemplated the chasm between their beliefs. He didn’t want to fight with Dewey. Not now. "I hope you're right, Dewey."

Dewey's chest heaved with frustration, his eyes brimming with tears that he refused to shed. "You're just being... being paranoid, Huey. Louie's tough. He wouldn't give up like that."

Huey's voice trembled as he lifted his gaze to meet Dewey's, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'm scared, Dewey. Scared that we missed something, that we didn't see how much he was hurting."

Dewey's anger wavered, the fire in his eyes dimming as he took in Huey's vulnerability. "Huey..."

Huey's voice cracked as he spoke, his words a fragile confession of his deepest fears. "I can't help but wonder. What if he was feeling so low, and we... we didn't notice?"

Dewey's shoulders slumped, his anger replaced by a mixture of sorrow and disbelief. "No... no, Huey. Louie wouldn't… He wouldn’t do that." Dewey’s voice cracked as he forced the words past his throat.

Huey's voice was barely above a whisper as he continued, the truth heavy on his tongue. "But maybe he did."

Dewey's own voice was hushed as he struggled to comprehend. "But why? Why wouldn't he...?" His voice trembled, a mixture of anger and anguish in his tone. "I... I don't want to believe that. I don't want to think that Louie could feel that way. And I don't want to think that we didn't notice."

Huey's hand reached out and took Dewey’s, squeezing it tight. Taking as much comfort as he was offering. "Dewey, I don't want to believe it either. But we have to be prepared to face the truth, whatever it may be."

Dewey's gaze dropped, his fists slowly unclenching as he fought against his own stubborn disbelief. "Fine... I'll accept it as a possibility, but that doesn't mean I believe it."

Huey nodded, a solemn understanding passing between them. "That's all I'm asking, Dewey. We need to be there for Louie, no matter what he's going through."

Dewey's shoulders slumped, his anger dissipating like a fading storm. He scrubbed tears from his face, voice breaking. "I know, Huey. I just... I don't want to lose my little brother."

Huey's grip on Dewey's hand tightened, their bond a lifeline in the face of uncertainty. "We won't lose him, Dewey. He’s going to be okay, the doctors will help him, and then we’ll talk to him, and make sure he knows how much we love him."

As their eyes met, a shared understanding passed between them. Their fears and doubts were powerful, but their love for Louie was stronger. 

Just as their voices began to soften, the nurse's presence interrupted their moment. She smiled kindly at the two boys, her voice gentle as she informed them, "You can go see your brother now. He's awake and asking for you." She paused, glancing around. “Where is your Uncle?” 

Relief flooded their expressions, the tension that had gripped the air dissipating like a storm retreating into the distance. “He’s okay!?” Dewey demanded, leaping out of his seat, not processing the second half of her sentence. 

Huey did however, and glanced at his lap nervously. “He… went outside to cool down.” He answered evasively, not wanting to admit to the nurse that Donald punched the wall so hard he broke the ceramic tiles, or that he hurried outside to hide his bleeding knuckles so he didn’t scare Huey and Dewey even more.

The nurse nodded in understanding. “You go ahead then, and I’ll send him after you when he comes back in.”

The hospital room door swung open, and Huey and Dewey entered cautiously, their eyes fixed on the figure sitting up in the hospital bed. The bed was already small, but it still seemed to swamp Louie’s tiny body. He was practically lost in the folds of the oversized hospital gown. Everything about the scene made him look smaller and younger. Louie looked tired but awake, his gaze locking onto his brothers with a mixture of relief and gratitude.

The room was filled with a charged silence for a moment, each brother taking in the sight of the others. Then, in an instant, the tension broke, and they rushed towards him, crowding the side of the bed. Tears welled up in their eyes as they enveloped Louie in a tight hug.

"Louie! You're okay!" Dewey choked out, his voice choked with emotion.

Huey's grip on his younger brother tightened, his voice thick with tears. "We were so worried, Louie."

Louie's own eyes glistened with tears as he held onto his brothers. "I'm sorry, guys. I didn't mean to scare you."

Dewey pulled back slightly, his hands on Louie's shoulders as he gave him a watery smile. "We're just glad you're okay, Louie."

Huey nodded in agreement, his voice catching in his throat. "Yeah, we were so scared we might lose you."

Louie's gaze shifted between his brothers, his heart heavy with the weight of their worry. "I didn't mean to... I just wanted to sleep. I've been so tired."

Huey's voice was gentle as he settled beside Louie, biting his lower bill. Not wanting ask, but knowing he needed to. "Louie, why did you take all those pills?"

Louie's gaze dropped to his hands, his fingers fidgeting nervously. He took a deep breath, his voice trembling as he spoke. "I know it was stupid, Huey. I... I just wanted to sleep. Lately, my insomnia has been so bad, and I thought if I took more pills, I'd finally be able to rest."

Dewey frowned, his voice soft as he asked, "But Louie, you know that taking too many pills can be dangerous, right?"

Louie nodded, his voice filled with regret. "Yeah, I know. Normally, I would never do something like that. But I was so tired, and I wasn't thinking straight. I just wanted to go to sleep."

Huey's concern was evident in his eyes as he leaned in closer, his voice gentle and probing. "Louie, are you sure this wasn't... you know, intentional?"

Louie's eyes widened. "What? No, Huey! I promise, I'm not sad or depressed or anything like that. I wasn't trying to hurt myself! I was just desperate for sleep."

Dewey's relief was palpable as he let out a shaky breath. "Thank goodness, Louie."

Huey's shoulders sagged, his heart heavy with a mixture of emotions. "Louie, we were so scared. We thought..."

Louie’s hands shook as he gripped Huey and Dewey’s tightly, one in each of his own. “You - you really thought…?”

Tears welled up in Huey's eyes as he shook his head. "I’m sorry, I just - I didn’t know what else to think! You’ve been so sad, and angry, and upset lately. And you… you took the whole bottle Louie! What else could I think?”

Dewey remained silent. He hadn’t believed it. He hadn’t. But he hadn’t believed any of this was real. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about it. He didn’t know what he would have thought when the fog lifted.

As Louie turned Huey’s words over in his mind, a heavy realization settled over him. He could have died – his actions had brought him to the edge. He was lucky his brothers had woken up and called the ambulance in time. If they hadn’t.... His mind raced, imagining the alternate reality where the doctors hadn't been able to save him. He shuddered at the thought of the pain his brothers would have endured, the guilt and heartache they would have carried with them for the rest of their lives.

His voice trembled as he pulled away slightly from the embrace, his gaze shifting between Huey and Dewey. "Guys, I... If the doctors hadn't been able to save me..."

Huey's eyes widened, horrified by the thought. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "Louie, don’t think about that."

But Louie couldn’t stop thinking about it. "You would have thought... you would have thought I did this on purpose. And I wouldn’t have been here to tell you you were wrong.” His voice shook. That didn’t happen. That wasn’t what had happened. But he had come so close. 

Dewey's expression shifted from relief to a profound sadness, his voice gentle as he reached out to Louie. "Louie, we would have never blamed you."

Tears welled up in Louie's eyes, his voice shaking as he continued. "That's what scares me the most, guys. The thought that you would blame yourselves for something that wasn't even true. I almost did that to you." Louie's heart ached as he looked into their earnest eyes, his voice filled with an urgency that couldn't be contained. "I need you guys to understand. I need you to know how much I rely on you, how much you mean to me. I would never hurt myself intentionally, but even if I did, it wouldn't be your fault. Never."

Dewey's eyes glistened with tears as he reached out, his voice soft and sincere. "Louie, we're here for you. We love you, and we'll always be by your side."

Amidst their tearful exchange, Louie's voice trembled as he whispered a confession that had been on his mind. "Guys, the only time I would ever consider… that... would be if I had already lost both of you. If I was the only one left."

Huey's eyes widened in shock as he stared at his littlest brother in deeply uncomfortable horror. "Louie, why would you even think something like that?"

Louie met their gaze, his voice a mix of sincerity and vulnerability. "Because you two are my world. I wouldn't want to live in a world where I had lost you both. But that's not what this was. I want to be here with you, with both of you."

Dewey's voice was filled with emotion as he responded, his eyes locked onto Louie's. "Louie, we're not going anywhere. Duck Boys forever, right?"

Louie nodded, but then… he squeezed his eyes shut and a loud, violent sob ripped itself up out of his chest. “But that isn’t true, is it, Dewey? You left me and Huey behind. We’re not enough for you, are we?”

Dewey blinked owlishly, uncomprehending. “What… Louie, what…? What are you talking about!? Of course you are!”

“Mom.” Louie said, voice cracking, fresh tears pouring down his cheeks. “She left, and she died, and she’s gone. And you almost did the same thing. You left us, Dewey! You left and you wouldn’t come back. You walked away from us, and you could have died, and if you’d fallen it would have been your fault.”

Chapter Text

When the door swung open, this was what Donald saw;

Huey sitting in a plastic chair, eyes wide, his hands slapped tightly over his mouth. He looked like he was going to be sick.

Dewey was on the bed beside Louie, bill hanging open, eyes blown wide. Dewey's eyes had always been a window to his soul, and right now they were flashing with confusion, indignation, shock. Guilt, anger, pain, and grief. He looked like he wanted to shout, but he sat in absolute silence.

Louie’s chest was heaving and his face was flushed red, like he’d been running and overexerted himself. His shoulders were hunched and he stared down at his lap, not looking at either of his brothers. He was crying. There was an IV in his arm, and he was completely enveloped in his hospital gown. It was a soft blue, and he didn’t look like Louie in it.

Donald cleared his throat, and three pairs of eyes swung around to look at him. Three emotionally charged expressions. Three pairs of eyes were watering, and Donald crossed the room in two swift steps, lifting Huey from the chair in one wing, and wrapping Dewey and Louie in the other. 

Dewey was the first to crumble. Dewey buried his face in Donald’s feathers and let loose loud, violent sobs. Huey didn't take long to follow after that. Louie was the only one crying quietly. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to stop. But with Dewey and Huey already crying, it was a hopeless endeavor.

"Boys…" Donald breathed softly. "It's okay. You're going to be okay."

Dewey shook his head forcefully, pulling himself free. He stared at Donald, eyes burning. "It's my fault." He cried. "Louie almost died because of me!"

The claim echoed in Donald's head reminding him of the time Louie sought him out on the houseboat - months ago now - claiming he almost killed Dewey.

Donald had a feeling this was equally untrue. But the boys were eleven now, and had a lot of volatile emotions.

“That isn’t what I said!” Louie shouted back, frustrated. But then his throat burned from the shouting and he doubled over, coughing. Huey inched closer and rubbed his back.

It made Dewey cry even harder. “I kept mom a secret, and Huey and Louie got so mad at me, and I felt awful and I promised I’d never do anything like that again because I made Louie cry and I hated it so I tried to do better! I did! We all worked together, no more secrets! But then we almost lost the last clue we had, the only thing that would tell us anything about mom, and I had to get it back! So I climbed out the window and Huey and Louie and Scrooge and everyone were yelling at me, but I didn’t listen because I just wanted to know what happened to mom. And Louie was crying again but I didn’t even care. He’s right. He’s right Uncle Donald, he was crying and I didn’t even care! And now he’s mad again and everyone probably hates me, and they’d be right to, and I’m just like mom and I always thought that would be a good thing but it isn’t! ”

“I don’t hate you!” Louie shouted. His face was screwed up in anger, his hands balled into fists, even as he yelled; “I don’t hate you! I’m not mad at you! I’m scared! I need you and I’m scared you’re going to leave just like mom did, because you don’t love me as much as I love you, and I don’t want to lose you!”

Dewey was wheezing and crying, smearing tears and snot into Donald’s feathers as he babbled incoherently, half of his words lost to complete incoherency as his voice pitched up and down like a boat tossed on the open ocean. Louie’s face was flushed as he shouted back.

Huey stared at Donald helplessly as he rubbed Louie’s back, begging his uncle for some kind of intervention.

Donald took a deep breath.

“Boys, boys . Hold on. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.” And the irony of Donald saying that was lost on all of them in the moment. “I think it’s time the three of you explain what happened on the trip to Monocrow.” He said carefully.

The three boys all fell silent, looking down at the sheets. Louie rubbed his throat, and Dewey hugged himself tightly.

Huey sighed as it fell to him. “It started before that…” He admitted quietly. “Dewey was… trying to find out what happened to mom.”

Donald presses his hands to his temples. It wasn’t a mystery. They could have asked him. They had never asked him. He never talked about her when they were younger, true, but… he assumed they would ask when they were older. He never even realized Dewey had questions.

“I found a whole secret room in Scrooge’s archives…” Dewey mumbled quietly. “And I was going to show Huey and Louie, I really was, but then there was this letter… and I was still going to show them… but then Webby said… she said it sounded like mom had betrayed you. She - we thought… mom might have been a… bad person… and I didn’t want to say anything. So I kept it a secret-”

And slowly, reluctantly, the boys stumbled through the story. Ithaquack and the Sphere of Selene, Castle McDuck and being chased by a vicious guard dog. Donald was already gripping the handrails of his chair in a white knuckled grip long before they began to unravel the tale of their trip to Monacrow. 

But the story stuttered to an uncomfortable silence and each boy stopped talking, looking at each other across the hospital bed. They still hadn’t told him how they solved the mystery. What happened between then and them storming back into the houseboat, ‘we know about the Spear of Selene’, and demanding to move back to the marina.

What happened?

Dewey, who had already been leaning against Donald with one wing wrapped around him, clambered silently up into his uncle’s lap. He was quiet and subdued, radiating an aura of guilt and shame. Donald pulled him close, waiting as Dewey took a few deep breaths and a few false starts.

Dewey and Huey stumbled through it together, and for the very first time, Donald learned about Dewey’s stunt on the Sunchaser. He gripped the duckling tightly, as though afraid he would disappear, as though he was living the story as it happened. “Dewey!” Donald gasped when the tale was over. “What were you thinking?”

Louie didn’t say a word the entire time they spoke, but Donald wasn’t blind to the silent tears rolling down his cheeks.

Dewey buried his face in Donald’s chest, unable to look at his uncle or his brothers. Dewey had felt bad before at Castle McDuck. At the time, he’d thought that was the worst he’d ever felt (true), and the worst a person could feel (false). He was now realizing the latter thought was false, because he felt even worse now. Sitting on the end of Louie’s hospital bed, with his little brother crying, his uncle scolding him, and Huey looking on in silent disapproval. Disappointment.

Dewey never really pieced it together before now, just how much his actions could hurt the people around him.

“I’m sorry.” He cried into Donald’s shirt. “I’m sorry, I just-” He cut himself off, sucking in deep, desperate breaths. He was crying so hard he was suffocating, unable to inhale through the onslaught of wheezing sobs, and Donald reluctantly realized that a scolding was not going to help this situation.

What was done was done, and what all three kids needed right now was comfort. 

“Why?” Donald asked gently. “Why didn’t you ask me?”

Dewey blinked up at him with glassy eyes, not seeming to comprehend the question. “Buh?”

“Why didn’t you ask me about your mom?”

The room was thick with silence. 

“I… You never talked about her before.” Dewey mumbled. “And then Scrooge never talked about her. And all of her stuff was hidden away in the archives. There was a whole secret room. And I’m pretty sure he killed a mailman?” Dewey added uncertainly, to the confused exclamations of his family. “Webby said bad things happen to people who ask about Della Duck. And she was right. It was like she just didn’t exist. Like someone was trying to erase her!”

Donald groaned. “I didn’t know.” He admitted. “I didn’t know Scrooge had hidden her away like that.” He sighed. “I guess after ten years…” He rubbed his temples and scooched closer to the head of the bed, gathering all three nephews close in his wings. “This is my fault too. I should have talked about her more. It’s hard for me, but she’s your mom. And,” he grimaced, “she wouldn’t have wanted to be buried like this. I think being forgotten would have been her worst nightmare. She would have wanted us to tell her story. I don’t have a good reason. I guess I was waiting til you were older. I guess I thought you would ask, once you were ready. I didn’t realize I made it seem like you couldn’t. If we're going to blame people, this is my fault too. I should have told you boys about her years ago.”

All three kids clung to him, crying. 

“Would you have told us? Really?” Dewey demanded. "If we asked where she was, what happened? You would have told us?”

Donald grimaced, but nodded. “I would have told you what I knew. You deserved to know a lot sooner.”

To everyone’s surprise, Dewey gave a wordless shout of frustration. “It was all pointless then! I messed everything up, twice , and it wasn’t even a real mystery! I could have- I just wanted to- augh! I just wanted answers.”

“No answers are worth your life, Dewey.” Louie's voice spoke up quietly from the head of the bed.

Dewey’s voice was quiet and brittle. “I know that. I just… I didn’t think I was hurting anybody. I didn’t think I’d get hurt. I knew I wouldn’t fall. I wanted answers, and I thought that was the only way to get them. I knew I could do it.”

Donald took a deep breath. “Della thought she could do anything.” He said quietly, rubbing Dewey’s back. “She thought she was invincible. Everyone is, Dewey, until the day they’re not.” Donald took a deep breath. “Dewey, you’re a lot like your mom. You’re so much like her it's scary, sometimes. Her best and worst traits both exist in you. But you’re not her, Dewey. You’re your own person. And as long as you’re still here, you have a chance to learn from your mistakes. Something that Della didn’t like to do. That applies to all three of you - you’re all still here, together. You can learn from your mistakes, overcome them, and come out better for it.”

Dewey sat in Donald’s lap, looking at his brothers - one in a blue hospital gown - and realized something. He was just like his mom, and that wasn't a good thing.

Louie was allowed to go home early the following morning. All said and done, he was in the hospital for just over 24 hours. 

And boy, had things been awkward.

Dewey and Louie weren’t talking. 

The problem was, they weren’t mad at each other. Dewey was sorry, and Louie accepted his apology. Louie was angry and scared, and Dewey had accepted responsibility for the things he’d done wrong. But at the root, Dewey still felt guilty, apology or no. And Louie still felt scared. One tearful heart-to-heart wasn’t going to change that.

Neither of them knew how to address it, so they avoided it.

Huey knew something would need to change the first night back. He sat up in his bunk listening to Louie toss and turn and knew his littlest brother wasn’t sleeping. He rolled over the side of the bed and clung to the ladder - as he scaled it downwards he passed Dewey and saw his middle brother wide awake and on his phone. He dropped onto the floor and climbed onto Louie’s bed. “Louie?”

Louie groaned and grumbled, sitting up slowly and rubbing at his eyes. “Ugh, what?” He mumbled.

“I think we should talk-”

“Nooo.” Louie moaned. “Come on, we already did that. Everyone’s sorry and everything’s fine, right? It’s fine, I’m fine. Let me sleep.”

“But you’re not sleeping.”

“Yeah, because you’re in my bed talking to me.”

“You weren’t sleeping before that.”

“Yeah, because I have insomnia!”

“And you didn’t take your meds tonight.”

A beat of silence. Louie’s face darkened. “...Yeah. I didn’t want to. I don’t… want to anymore.”

Huey sighed. There was a thump as Dewey swung down from above and landed on Louie’s duvet.

“Louie, you know how you worry about me? About us? Well, we’re also worried about you.” Dewey pointed out. “This whole thing started because of your insomnia, and your insomnia started because of your anxiety, and your anxiety-”

“Started because of you.” Louie grumbled, and immediately regretted it. He was just trying to get them to leave alone, but he didn’t need to jab like that. One look at Dewey showed him it was a mistake. Dewey had stopped talking and was looking down at the sheets again. “Not you specifically.” Louie backtracked. “I mean, you guys . All of you. Going on deadly adventures. It’s too much. I’m burned out. They freak me out! But I couldn’t stay behind, because then I’d be worried about something happening to you while I wasn’t there. It’s just… too much. It’s too much.” Louie’s voice cracked slightly. 

Huey frowned, resting a hand on Louie’s knee. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I did! I do, all the time! Nobody listens to me! I’m teased for being a scaredy duck or scolded for being lazy. If I try to get out of adventures, I’m ‘making excuses.’ If I can’t keep up on them, then I’m ‘not taking them seriously.’ It’s a no-win situation! No matter what I do, I’m miserable, and getting in trouble for it! I’m just a joke! I lose.”

Huey and Dewey exchanged a wide eyed look with each other.

“You’re not a joke, Louie. You-”

“Just stop, Dewey. You don’t get it. You’re everyone’s favourite. You’re just like Webby, and mom, and Uncle Scrooge. You’re fearless. You’re an adventurer. You’re everything they want us to be. And I’m not. I’m just not. I keep trying to change, but I can’t. I can’t change the fact that I’m scared every time we leave the house, or that I hate deathtraps, or that I’m sick of almost dying. I can’t, okay?”

“Louie, I think you should… really think about that therapy the doctor suggested.” Huey.

“I don’t need therapy!” Louie snapped defensively. “I’m fine!”

Huey shrank in on himself, looking suddenly unsure. “I never said you weren’t…” He mumbled. “It’s just… it really helped me, you know? Family is great and all, but… we’re family. We can’t solve your problems when half the time we are your problem. Sometimes you need somebody else to talk to.”

“And we’re just kids.” Dewey pointed out. He was still looking down at the bed, fidgeting with the blanket as he spoke. “Like, we love you Louie, but we’re just kids. I don’t know how to help you. If I did, I would. And I also don’t know how to stop being me. I know it scares you, the way that I am. But I don’t know how to stop being that.”

“I don’t want you to stop.” Louie interjected. “Asking you to stop liking danger is the same as asking me to start liking it. I can’t change you, and you can’t change yourself even if you wanted to. And I don’t want you to. Your craziness is what makes you Dewey. I just… I wish we had more space for each other. More places for both of us.”

“We do!” Huey jumped in suddenly. “Like Funzo’s, or the pump track, or the beach. The playground, and our kayak! We’ve just been doing so many death-defying adventures, I think we forgot about our old ones. The adventures we went on growing up. We all loved those.”

Louie nodded slowly, wrapping his wings around himself. “Yeah.. I know it wasn’t all good, but I miss the way things were before. When it was just us and Uncle Donald, we all felt a lot closer. Is it weird that I miss you guys? We still share a room, but I miss you. It doesn’t make sense.”

“It does make sense!” Huey insisted softly. “It’s like we’re all being pulled in different directions. Before, we only had one direction to go in, so of course we were always together. But now… Dewey has the chance to travel the world and go on death defying adventures in ancient ruins. Of course he’s going to do it. And I spend a lot of time in the lab now because I finally met people who speak my language. Like, you two are my brothers, but you don’t understand all my science thoughts. It’s nice to have people who do. But I would never want to replace you with them. We’re… expanding our horizons.”

Louie sighed, pulling his covers up to his chin. “You guys are.” He pointed out. “Dewey has Webby and Uncle Scrooge and Launchpad. You have your Woodchucks and your nerd friends. I don’t fit in anywhere, with anybody. People don’t like me. Heck, the two of you are my only friends, and I guess Webby, but you only like me because I’m your brother. You have to admit, if we weren’t triplets, you’d probably never hang out with me either. I just… don’t know where I fit in to all this.”

Huey and Dewey exchanged a look, both of them struggling to articulate words. Neither of them knowing what to say. 

Finally, Huey settled on a pained expression and repeated; “Louie, this is some really deep stuff. I really think you should talk to someone… like, professional, about it.”

Louie rolled his eyes. “Ugh, if you don’t want to talk to me, just say so.”

Huey set his hands on his hips and turned a stern look on Louie. “Lou, that’s not what I’m saying. I could talk to you all night. And I will. I’m not going anywhere, and neither is Dewey. We’ll always be here for you. But there are some skills that could really help. Skills that they can teach you-”

“I’m not joining your DBT cult, Huey!” Louie insisted, causing Huey to glare at him.

“It’s not a cult!”

“Hmm… okay, Mr. Radical Acceptance.” Louie said, making air quotes around the words. And okay, yes, maybe Huey had repeated the phrase a little too often, a little too serenely, when he first learned it. But it wasn’t his fault if it was effective! If it could help him reduce his anxious meltdowns and angry outbursts, then he was certain it could help Louie too. But Louie had been teasing him about his therapy for nearly as long as he’d been going.

“Come on Louie! It’s helpful! You could at least go through my workbook.”

Louie hummed, tilting his head. He glanced over at Huey’s thick DBT binder with a feather to his chin. “Hm… Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

Huey threw his arms in the air with a cheer. “Yes! I can help y-”

A loud crack of thunder interrupted him and rocked the boat backwards.

“Uh, guys? You might want to see this.” Dewey called from the window, his wide eyes cast in a purple and red glow.

Huey and Louie leapt from the bed and pressed their faces to the glass, looking at the tower of light rising from Killmotor Hill.

“Ugh, it’s always something.” Louie muttered.