Archive of Our Own

Huey could feel the second the adrenaline began to work. He moved swiftly, and remained in control; Uncle Donald had always said he was the most graceful of the boys, something to do with how he had slowly and quietly become the strongest over the years. He'd never really understood it until recently. Louie moved with a sort of slick and serpentine grace, in the same way that Webby was light and fierce as a diving hawk, but Huey had a stalking strength. That was what Mom would add, anyway, although she was often fond of being overly-complimentary to her kids. 

But there wasn't time for that, now, because there were things to be done. 

Huey's book was shut, and his blankets thrown aside with purpose, and as he glided down the ladder he could feel not only his heart beating in his ribcage, but every burst of blood that brought precision from his chest all the way out to his fingertips. He was oddly aware of everything – the feel of his socks on the hardwood, should he put shoes on? and the touch of the doorknob, metal and not quite as cool as you might expect. His feet carried him down the stairs like the quick pitter-pattering of piano keys. 

He made his guarded way to the kitchen door; he did not want to see what was happening, he was not sure he could handle it, but his legs moved anyway. He was rescued from having to face things head-on by Uncle Scrooge, who, phone tucked between his ear and shoulder, seemed to melt slightly with relief when he saw Huey, a reaction the latter was not quite used to. 

“Lad, I need you to wait out front for the paramedics so you can show them the way through the house.” He gripped the door frame tightly with one hand. “I need to get everything ready, here.” And he went on urgently feeding the mansion's address into the phone as if it wasn't the most infamous building in the city. 

Behind him, Huey could see Mom and Uncle Donald on the linoleum. Mom was obstructed by her twin, kneeling at her side, and Huey turned away and painstakingly forced himself to take a deep breath. Then he was off, making his way through the house quickly, deftly tucking in a chair here and there where it might get in the way and opening relevant doors as he went and wishing Mrs. Beakley was here and not taking that long weekend to herself like she'd planned for so long because perhaps the house would be in better order, then, like what if that rug wasn't laid smooth because she hadn't tidied it since Wednesday and a paramedic tripped on it and then there was a sick woman to deal with and an injured person, too, and the ensuing chaos meant that they couldn't get Mom to the hospital in time–

There was no time for speculation, only for breathing and acting. And Huey was not going to freak out, even though a part of him felt all of about four years old, because he was thirteen and the oldest and these things mattered. He was thirteen, born only minutes before Dewey, but he'd adopted his role as big brother years and years ago and wouldn't be giving it up anytime soon because the boys and Webby needed him. He was reaching the front door, now, and he'd sensed more than seen the other kids creeping about in the periphery, but they hadn't interfered because they were afraid. Huey could feel without seeing that he had his mission face on, after all, and heaven help anyone who disrupted him when he was on a mission. 

He stood on the front porch and waited, retreating further into himself and the hard mask that had fallen over him. The sirens started up below in the city not long after that. He moved onto the grass. The sky was turning red at the edges, which usually signified his favorite time of day. He very carefully climbed onto the fountain, sure to support his back with his core and keep his feet a careful six inches apart, because it would not do to have him fall off and complicate things further (the sirens rose and fell like waves). 

He wished he had the JWG, but it had been left in the bedroom, and he was forced to settle for twisting the hem of his shirt back and forth in his hands. He was very proud of himself for all the things he was not thinking about as he watched and waited for the ambulance. He did not want to do this. He wasn't sure if he was strong enough; could his mind stay far enough from everything to handle it right, what was he supposed to say when they came and would he have to come with them and see–

He heard the front door open, and turned to see Uncle Scrooge hovering at the foot of the porch. Huey climbed off the fountain and moved to stand at his right shoulder two steps above and behind where he stood, frozen and waiting. He hadn't bothered to close the door behind him; generally if one of the kids had left it wide open, he'd have complained about letting the warm air out in the cool spring evening and wrecking the heating bill (the sirens sang like the creatures their uncle had warned them about on the way to Scotland) but they hadn't, it was Scrooge that did it this time. 

“It sounds like they're getting further away,” he said, turning to look up at Huey. 

Huey was surprised by that current of panic in his voice. His Uncle Scrooge was not supposed to sound like that. 

“They're not,” Huey said soothingly. He didn't feel it. He felt empty and was thankful because empty was easier to control, but he made his voice sound gentle and purposeful and soft. Scrooge needed someone to support him, and it had to be Huey, because there was no one else. 

The fear in those eyes was something Huey wasn't really familiar with, and something about that cold and young and despairing look overwhelmed him. “The sirens are getting further away, Huey, I can't–”

“It's the Doppler Effect,” Huey promised. He didn't know if this was true. His voice was very warm and safe and if he tried really hard he could convince himself that inside of him was warm and safe, too. He was not thinking about Mom. He was not thinking about Uncle Donald in the kitchen holding her hand. He was not thinking about anybody hurt and very very sick lying on the cool tile. Webby and Louie were hovering on the other side of the doorframe. “It means they're getting very close.” Huey was pretty sure this was true. He couldn't remember (the sirens roared like thunder.) He didn't have the Guidebook and even if he had he wasn't sure he'd have the clarity of mind to be able to even read the table of contents. “Do- Do you need anything from me anymore?”

Scrooge looked at him as though he'd forgotten he was there, like he was just now remembering. “I– no. I can wait for them.”

Huey would have said thank you if his throat worked. It didn't. He went inside and moved to close the door behind him, then thought better of it. If he sat down or stood still without purpose for one more second, he was going to lose himself, so he went to the music room and got out his cello. Dewey followed him. Huey could hear the fire truck and ambulance turning off their sirens, and he turned his head away from the doorway as he rosined up his bow so he wouldn't have to look at anyone when they came past. If he leaned just slightly he could see the reflection of the front yard through the window in the long mirror Beakley had put in here so Webby could perfect her balance. This position was good enough for him. 

(The sirens were silent, but they rung in his ears.)

“I think there's enough rosin on that bow for five dance companies, probably,” Dewey said nervously. He was hovering. Everybody was hovering today. 

“Oh.” Huey tried to put the rosin on the stand. His hand shook, knocking the stand upside down on its column. The rosin hit the hardwood and cracked into several large pieces. Huey ignored the rosin and the disrupted stand and played a scale, then broke into a quiet rendition of Ashokan Farewell. Dewey picked up the murdered rosin. Webby and Louie came in to escape the paramedics, who were moving through the house, not too slow but not anywhere near too fast which would have had Huey sighing in relief if he weren't in the middle of a very lovely run that required focus. 

“What are they going to do?” Webby asked. In the mirror, he could see Louie pressing his arm into her side behind the chair. Their faces were both splotchy and red; his was dry now, hers wasn't. 

“They'll take her to the doctor, I guess.” Huey didn't need to read the sheet music; his hands had played this so many times he could have done it in his sleep. “Everything is going to be okay, guys.” He wished he knew if this was at all true. He did not want to be saying things that weren't guaranteed; if he were the one in need of comfort, he would want someone to gently and clearly explain the genuine possibilities to him. 

His vibrato was a little out of control, and he reined it back in. 

But he wasn't the one in need of comfort, here: His job was to comfort, and the others needed to hear that Mom was just fine, even if it wasn't true and she was very ill and perhaps everything could change on them in a second and they would be too far away to do anything or even know until it was too late. 

His hands were too tense for proper fluidity, and he shook out his fingers in between phrases to loosen them up. 

He finished Ashokan, but his mind was void of anything else. He played randomly, snatches of folk tunes that spiraled into out-of-tune renditions of worn hymns the second-to-last babysitter had played on her piano all those years ago. Webby and Dewey disappeared to watch out the front door, and Louie sat next to the chair and leaned his head against his brother. Huey twisted so he was in less danger of stabbing him with the bow and continued on playing anything his mind could summon. 

Paramedics buzzed about the lawn. 

Huey's bow slipped and hit the A string just below the bridge with a shrieking noise. 

He set his bow and kept playing. 

“I'm scared, Huey,” Louie admitted halfway through Abide With Me, ‘Tis Eventide, played by ear and with only a few wrong notes. Louie's voice was fragile and very small. “Is Mom gonna–”

“They're going to take care of her,” Huey said firmly, and then winced at the hardness of his own voice. He stopped playing, twirling the bow around his finger. He'd neglected his endpin strap in his initial haste to have an instrument in his hands, and his legs ached from squeezing the cello a little too tight with his knees to compensate. He tried, with more gingerness this time, “They've already been here for almost five minutes-” he thought so, anyway, it was hard to tell, because time was moving very strangely and the last ten minutes had lasted years as far as he was concerned, “-and they're taking their time. If it was… If it was really bad, they'd be moving quickly, but they haven't, which means there's time to take care of things, which is a good sign.” He couldn't make himself call anything what it was. 

As if summoned, Donald poked his head into the room, and a drop of stress melted off him when he spotted the two boys. “I'm riding with her, and Scrooge and Launchpad are going to follow us to the hospital,” he said, juggling a comically long phone charger and a book and a pair of his pajama pants and Mom's favorite sweater. Huey set down the cello gently on its side (Webby had named his Charles on his behalf, and hers had been named Charlotte) and caught the charger for Donald, wrapping it carefully around his hand and putting it on top of the pile. 

“Thank you,” Uncle Donald said. 

“Do I need to call people and tell them?” Huey asked. “Mrs. Beakley, maybe?”

Donald hesitated, thinking, then said, “No, I'll do it.”

It hit Huey then how little he understood of what was happening. There had been no time to prepare; one moment he'd been in his room studying and everything was normal and the next had been Uncle Scrooge needs your help because he's calling an ambulance for Aunt Della because she's really sick in a small and choking voice through the bedroom door.  He didn't know what was happening or what precisely was wrong with Mom or how bad it was, and he was too afraid to ask especially since he didn't think he could even force those words out his throat anyway, and there was nothing he could do to make everything alright and he wanted to scream. 

He didn't scream. He had to stay in that careful and in-control and calm place. He was calm, miraculously. He was calm which was good (he couldn't feel his fingers right now) because his siblings were wrecked and panicked but he was here to help them. This had always been his gift, he thought as Donald pressed his cheek into Huey's hair and told them to take care of each other, a sentiment that felt like it was specifically meant for him more than the others. 

Then Donald was out the door, and the four of them stood pressed against the windows watching the firemen dawdle and the nurses put their last touches on their vehicle. Huey could only look once he knew Mom and Donald were safe inside and out of sight. To fill the silence, he observed still how this was a good sign ( they're being very careful and know exactly what needs to be done and they're taking her to a very good hospital that specializes in these sorts of things ) and everything really was alright he promised and so on so on so on. 

“Are you sure?” Webby asked, her eyes brimming over again. 

“Yeah, Webs,” he said, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She tucked her wet face into his neck. The boys had shot up in the last couple years (thanks to the Duck genes and with absolutely no help from their grandmother's side) and Huey was the tallest by one-point-three centimeters, much to the dismay of his brothers, but while the three of them were giving Scrooge a run for his money already, Webby hadn't fit five foot yet. This made her perfect baby sister height as far as he was concerned. Her hair was auburn around the edges from the setting sun. “Everything's going to be okay. Promise.” 

He was pretty sure he was telling the truth, now, fairly certain he meant it. And Huey was good at this. He could be very gentle and comforting. The others needed a rock, right now, and that had to be him because there was no one else – and the ambulance and the fire truck were gone in a cacophony while the sky burned down behind them. 

Uncle Scrooge came down the stairs a moment later, his old carpet bag in his hand, hat and shoes and spats not quite pristine but present enough. Outside were the telltale sounds of Launchpad’s presence as the limo was pulled around to the front and the bumper crunched against the fountain. Huey took his arms back from Webby and ducked into the kitchen on a hunch; sure enough, Scrooge had left his cane in there. 

“You'll need this,” Huey told him as he handed it over in the foyer. 

“Oh, thank you, lad, you're a lifesaver.” He could feel as their hands met that Scrooge was still jittery and afraid, but it wasn't so bad as it had been on the lawn. To his surprise, Scrooge pulled him into an awkward hug, his hands still full but his arms free. Webby and Louie and Dewey came and hugged him back, too. It only lasted a moment, because then Uncle Scrooge had to pull away and readjust his grip on the bag that he'd barely had time to put anything in, and then he was looking Huey in the eyes (which he hated, but forced himself to bear, for Scrooge's sake) and saying “Take care of your siblings” and he was gone. 

Huey, in a rare moment, did not want to take care of his siblings. Now that everything was over and the house was half-empty, he wanted to crawl into his room under his weighted blanket (scarlet and safe) and hold his book close to his chest (well-worn, solid as it was) and maybe if he were feeling very wild he would cry long and hard. He wanted to cry now, actually. 

His siblings looked at him. He wasn't sure he could do this, especially not by himself – yes, Dewey, Louie, and Webby would always be there to support him, but they were looking to him, now, like he a) knew what the hell to do next and b) was anything except what he actually was, which was a scared little boy with a sick mother who wanted to be by himself somewhere soft and dark to process everything that should not have been happening but was anyway. 

But Uncle Scrooge trusted him. It was a trust he'd earned. Mom and Donald trusted him to take the lead, too, and he didn't want to let them down. 

Louie saved him. “Let’s turn something on in the TV room,” he said. “I don’t want to stand here anymore.” 

They went to the family room. Louie ambushed the remote before anyone else could get to it, so Huey knew he was probably going to be fine. While he and Dewey wrestled over the TV and Webby cheered them on, Huey sat on the floor against the wall with his knees pulled up to his chest. He wanted to get his book, but it was all the way upstairs, and if he moved he wasn’t going to be able to force himself back down. He didn’t want to leave them alone, so the book was a noble sacrifice and he stayed. 

The others liked to be all together. They found solace in numbers. Huey wanted to hide so badly his chest ached. 

Donald sent him updates – he didn’t know why he was the one getting them; probably Huey could be trusted most to spread the information effectively. “Uncle Donald says Mom’s doing better than they thought,” he said to the room. He left out “She can remember what year AND day it is now so that’s exciting” because he thought that information might scare the crowd a little more than it was intended to. It scared him more than it was intended to. Thanks, Uncle Donald, he thought miserably. 

About this time he was beginning to come down from the adrenaline, and it was giving him aches. He was all jittery and tense all over, and it was frustrating him. He pulled his shirt over his knees. 

Huey couldn’t stop thinking about the way Scrooge had looked at him in the front yard. Mom having a medical emergency, he could deal with. Webby crying, he could deal with. Ambulances and sirens, he could deal with. But the look on Uncle Scrooge’s face – desperate, terrified, scratched raw and vulnerable and young and completely lost – was seared into his mind. 

He’d had to refocus Uncle Scrooge. Scrooge was an adult and his uncle and supposed to keep him safe and tell him everything was going to be okay. But no one had been there to do that for Scrooge, so it’d had to be Huey setting aside the scared and small parts of himself to pretend that things were alright. 

It was unsettling, realizing that half those times as a little kid when he’d thought that Uncle Donald was really making the monsters go away, Donald had been terrified of them, too. 

He still wanted somebody to come sit with him. Everything felt panicked and lonely with half the house gone and no real adults. Donald was necessary and Scrooge and Launchpad had to be at the hospital because where else could they be? Even Beakley, stern and cool as she was, would have been a comfort to him now, but she was probably best employed keeping Uncle Scrooge from needlessly worrying himself into the ground. 

And that was good. The kids could take care of themselves, and they had Huey. Uncle Scrooge needed her. 

He wondered if that was what Scrooge had looked like when the Sunchaser had been caught in the sky and Dewey had vanished out the window. It was strange to think it had been years since then. He wondered if that was what Scrooge’s face had looked like when Mom was lost. 

The doorbell rang, and Huey jumped. “I’ll get it,” he said, so that Dewey, Louie, and Webby wouldn’t have to pause whatever movie they’d just turned on (he hadn’t realized how far he’d retreated into himself – but he hadn’t even noticed what was playing). 

It was the Sabrewing sisters. Violet had a package of cookies and Lena had her hands shoved with typical sullenness in the pockets of the jacket she was wearing over her sweater. Huey waved to Ty gratefully as the minivan pulled out of the driveway. The sky was giving up its last streaks of pink as a dark velvet overtook it, the first few stars peeking out in the east. 

“Everybody’s watching TV,” Huey explained as he led the girls into the foyer. He could hear Webby, Dewey, and Louie giggling through the door. 

“Excellent,” Violet said. She seemed a little out of sorts, like she wasn’t sure what to say in this situation. She gave Huey a nod and headed for the family room. He moved to follow her, but Lena said, “Wait!”

He spun. 

“I need a glass of water,” she said. 

“You know where the water is,” Huey told her. It came out harsher than he meant it to but he was too stretched out in the brain area to police his tone. 

“I need you to come with me.” 

He tried not to sigh audibly and led her to the kitchen. She leaned against the counter and watched him pull a glass down for her through her bangs. 

He set it down in front of her. “Do you need me to fill it up for you, too, or can you figure out how to use the sink?” Mean, said the little regulatory voice in his head. 

“I think I can manage.” Her gaze bore into him as she filled the glass. “How are you?” Lena asked. 

He startled at this question. “I'm fine.”

“Try again.” Lena had a very good Big Sister Voice. He did not think she was aware of this. 

“Well. We've had a very scary evening,” he said quietly, 

She snorted. “Understatement of the century, hello.” 

“Everything’s okay, though,” Huey said. “Mom’s going to be fine. Donald said they might be home before we wake up in the morning.” 

“Yeah, but everything wasn’t fine at one point.” Lena leaned against the counter. She hadn’t touched the water. “You’re handling it okay, but now that things are calming down, you’re kind of a wreck.” He wished Lena’s heavy, dark eyes would stop burning into him. “You should be, anyway. It’s kind of freaking me out that you’re not.”  

Huey ran his finger along the grout of the counter. Making eye contact was impossible, and it was a relief to not even look in her direction. “We’re doing okay now.” It wasn’t technically arguing back. “Webby was pretty upset, and Dewey and Louie were pretty scared, but–”

“I’m not talking about them , idiot, I’m talking about you .” Lena leaned forward. “This has been hard for you, too.”

It had. It had been so, so hard. Huey wanted to cry. He hated all of this and wanted his mom to come home and one of his uncles told hold him in his lap until he felt safe. 

His phone buzzed. 

Uncle Donald: We're mostly waiting for tests now 

Uncle Donald: They don't want your mom looking at screens because they don't want to wear her brain out but launchpad snuck us his phone and she's watching star trek on it when tne nurses aren't looking. Shes only allowed to have one person with her back here so Scrooge is stuck out there in the lobby probably making all the nurses want to quit 

Huey laughed. Scrooge was notoriously horrible at hospitals. He was also very bad with amusement parks. He did not believe in things like waiting in lines, or waiting, or being told what to do. 

Huey: I hope beakley gets there soon

He wished Beakley were here. Or Mom. Or Uncle Donald. Or anybody. 

“What's that look for?” Lena asked. 

“What look?”

Lena sighed. “You're one of the most expressive people I've ever met, but you can't even tell when you're making faces. You were all giggly for a second and then you got sad again.”

“I'm not sad.”

“Well, maybe you should be, dummy!”

“What good would that do?” he retorted. “It would just make it harder for us to deal with this.”

“Red.” Lena put her hands on his shoulders. “You're done doing things. There's nothing to deal with .” 

“My brothers–”

“Are gonna be fine,” Lena promised. “Webby's gonna be fine. How's your mom?”

“She's doing better,” he said. “But everybody's still feeling overwhelmed.”

“Why is that your problem?”

Huey opened his mouth. Closed it. Lena, having hit eighteen by now, was still taller than him, and though she was done growing sometimes he felt she looked sort of stretched out like shadows at the end of a long day. She was getting surprisingly emotionally intelligent, considering she'd spent fifteen years in and out of shadow lingo with someone who assured her at every turn that her existence was conditional. 

“Because no one else could do it,” he said. “Nobody was going to calm them down, or explain what was happening, or tell them they were going to be okay. There weren't any adults, so I had to be the adult.”

“That's stupid. You shouldn't have to be the adult.”

All this did was make him feel a weird sort of anger. “I know I shouldn't! That's the whole point! That's why it was so hard! But sometimes that's just how it is.”

“Fine. That's how it was. And now it's over, so you can stop.” She watched him carefully. “You're taking such good care of everyone, Huey. Who's gonna take care of you , though?”

“I…” He didn't know. “Me. That's my job.”

“Find somebody else to do it for a little. You need a break. Or at least stop taking care of everybody else for a bit.”

Huey was thinking a million thoughts about how he didn't want to make somebody else do that, and how he wasn't really worth all that stress. He was also thinking he was worn to the bone. I can't keep doing this , he thought, not for the first time that day. “Can…” He swallowed and met her eyes. It felt bizarre and contrived and he couldn’t think of a more natural way to say it, but he said the words anyway, because once he had, he wouldn’t have to do it again. “Can you help me right now? With taking care of me, I mean.”

Her eyes widened for a second. Then her expression softened, and she grinned. “Yeah, little man. I can help you out a bit.”

He hugged her. He was weird about hugging; he knew it and she knew it and he knew she did. But this was okay. 

“Thanks,” he said quietly. 

She put a hand on the back of his neck, the way his mother always did. He wondered if she knew. “Anytime, Red.”

“What am I supposed to do now?”

“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “you can do whatever you want. But as Acting Huey Babysitter, I think you should go take a nice shower and maybe cry a little. I'm gonna order a pizza, and your uncle Moneybags is going to pay me back for it.”

The shower was nice. He cried so hard he thought he would break, although the whole time he felt like he was sitting back in his mind and watching with detached disapproval as he gasped in a sort of semi-Child's Pose under a spray of scalding water, but then he got out and dried off and felt like he'd been restitched together. By the time he was human again and almost presentable, dinner had arrived. Lena had pulled out all the stops on her order – stuffed crust, every imaginable topping, not one but two dessert pizzas because “it's just been one of those days”, and an entire gallon of vanilla ice cream – and Huey knew she wasn't leaving this house until every cent was reimbursed, no matter what it took to get there. That was fine by him. They were a sleepover house first and foremost. 

Scrooge came home sometime after everyone had fallen asleep in Webby’s room. Everybody else, anyway, because Huey had been too nervous to sleep when there was somebody to wait up for. When he heard Scrooge coming, he slipped out of his sleeping bag and tiptoed over his brothers with quiet feet to meet him in the hall. Uncle Scrooge looked tired, he thought, but he looked like he was gonna be okay. This was good, because Huey did not think he could pretend to be a wit calmer than he actually was at this point. 

Uncle Scrooge was surprised to see him up so late, and he mustled his hair as best as he could through his cap and scolded him lightly for willingly staying up past his bedtime for the first time in his life, and banished him back to the room to get some sleep. Huey could hear him humming softly to himself as he swung his cane all the way down the hall. 

When he woke up the next morning – a full hour later than Lena, who’d been the other late sleeper, and three full hours past his normal wake-up time, had somebody turned his alarm off? – Mom and Uncle Donald were home. Donald wasn’t tired of fussing over her quite yet, and she’d finally kicked him out of her room; Huey passed him on the way down the hall, and Donald patted him on the shoulder absently as he went. 

Huey paused. “Uncle Donald?”  

Uncle Donald turned. Huey wondered how many hours it had been since he’d rested. “Yeah?” 

“Get some sleep,” Huey told him. 

Donald smiled tiredly. 

Mom was half-reclined on half a million pillows in her bed with the curtains half drawn and her eyes half shut. They lit up when she saw Huey, though. “Hey, baby,” she said as he swung himself onto her bed to sit next to her. “How ya doin’?”

Huey thought about it for a minute. “Okay,” he said. “Better than last night.” 

Mom lifted the blankets so he could burrow under them next to her. “Sorry for scaring you like that.” 

“‘S okay.” He pressed into her side, and everything about her felt warm and safe. 

“You taking care of yourself?” 

“Trying. Mom, I wasn’t the one in the emergency room.” 

“I know,” she laughed softly. “But I know how you are. Take it easy today.” 

“I’ll try.” 

“No trying. Do it,” she threatened. 

“I will, I will! You first.” 

“No, you first.” 

“No, you.” He giggled, staring at the ceiling. “Can I stay here for a little?” 

Mom shrugged. “I’m not going to be much fun. I’m just going to sit and brainstorm all the ways I’m going to abuse the power of the sickbed for the next couple days until I fall asleep.” 

“That’s okay.” 

She rolled over to look at him. “We’ve got a pretty cool family,” she said sleepily. 

Huey thought about the way he’d had to blink the hall-light out of his eyes to adjust back to the darkness of Webby’s bedroom. In the process, he’d caught Lena’s eyes glinting at him watchfully. 

He wasn’t going to say anything. But once he was cozy in his blankets with Webby’s ceiling stars imprinting themselves on the backs of his eyes, he whispered, “Hey, Lena?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you come over?” 

He heard her shifting. “Webby texted us to tell us what happened. She kinda tells us everything.” 

“Oh.” 

“That’s not why I came over, though. Louie texted Violet.”

Huey had not been expecting that in the least. “What?”

“He was worried about you,” Lena whispered, “idiot. He and Dewey thought Violet might be able to help you calm down since you’re her friend, maybe using her Junior Woodchuck Magicks or something.” 

Huey snorted at the idea of Violet Sabrewing being calm enough to help him relax from such a crisis. “I love Violet, but that’s not– she couldn’t– no.” 

“That’s what I said. But I thought we’d come over and sit with you guys anyway. That’s what my dads always say to do when things get bad, y’know? Bring food and just be there. That’s kinda all you can do for people.” 

Huey had thought about this. “And maybe talk some sense into them, if they need it.” 

He’d almost been able to hear Lena rolling her eyes. “Yeah. Violet broke out the Oreos and I did a number on you. Now get some sleep, Red.” 

Now he turned his gaze from his mother’s ceiling to look back at her. She was already asleep. He smiled at her. 

“Yeah,” Huey whispered, “our family’s pretty awesome sometimes.” 

He slipped out of bed, tucked her in, and wandered away in search of his breakfast, the mid-morning sun casting golden beams across the rich hardwood floors.