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5 days and 12 hours he’s been off the island.
4 days and 8 hours he's been back home.
And something is wrong, still.
The world is safe. His kids are safe. His sister is alive.
Donald bolts out of his hammock and walks onto the dock.
He hears the chlorinated pool water, driven by wind, splash against the boat.
He is home. He takes a deep breath and-
salt water.
The pool is salt water, it's salt water and he’s still on the island it was all fake oh god he’s hallucinating mickey mickey mickey hey don mickey della where have you been-
He stumbles back.
Look to the stars.
He looks up.
Donald feels bile rise in his throat.
Are those the same stars that mocked him every night?
They can't be.
They're so beautiful, those can't be the ones that looked him in the eyes and said remember that cold rock and hot atmosphere. Remember the chill of the gold, remember the warmth of the sand. You are alone. You came to us and you left just as fast. Aren't you lonely?
The smell of salt water is still in the air. The wooden panels he swears have a grit to them he didn't feel before.
Footsteps startle him.
“Donald?” Della’s voice is tired. She had been sleeping in the boat while he was gone and while she had given him back his hammock, she decided to take the boys’ bedroom. “Donald.”
“Hi, Della.” His voice is weak.
“What-” She coughs, wet from grogginess.
“What are you doing?”
“Pilates.”
“At 2am?”
“Gotta start early?”
“Your ass looks fine. You don't need to do pilates at 2 in the morning.” Donald scrunched his beak, anger bubbling.
“Don't talk about my ass!”
“Don't lie to me!” Her voice comes out louder than intended, she winces. “Sorry.”
“...I’m sorry, too.” Donald stands up, wobbly. “I’ll head back to bed.”
“...unless you wanna talk?” He looks at Della, his sister, and sees a familiar sight. One of her arms opened wide- metaphorically and literally- to ask him to open his heart wide. To cry on her shoulder.
Sensitive child he was, it was far from an uncommon thing. And she was his sister, so he returned the favor when he could.
“I smell the ocean.”
“Is that bad?”
“It’s the worst thing in the world.” He sniffles. Salt. He swore he could feel his sinuses clearing. “It means…”
She lets him pause.
“I can’t- I can't know…I’m here.” He scratches his head. “I mean, I always have that feeling now but-but at least when there aren't signs…” I can pretend.
Della walks up to him. “I’m so damn cold all the time. I always- I always feel that chill.”
Donald recalls his short time spent on the moon, the chill that seeped into his bones before the heat of adrenaline could kick back in.
“I feel my leg. I see them. Turbo, Rebel, Jet. Not the boys. You and Uncle Scrooge.” She blinks. “I thought they'd go away. They didn't. I’m so scared I’ll slip up one day.”
“Scrooge has to be the hardest. He doesn't change.” She nods.
“But I know I’m back. Even if my brain is still trying to make sense of it, I know I'm back. And you're back and I could cry knowing I’m gonna get to see your ugly mug for the rest of my life.” Donald smiles.
“I can’t…I can't believe it yet.”
“I know.”
“I just want to be back.” Donald's voice cracks and it breaks something already weak and soft in Della.
“I know.” She grabs onto him, her lifeboat, her brother. Their cracks and scars- they match, in a sick, horrible way. She didn't want this for him.
She didn't want this for anyone. She remembers nights where she saw just beyond the horizon, silhouettes of her boys. Dancing in the sunlight, beyond her reach.
She remembers waking up and hearing Scrooge’s voice. She nearly tore the room apart looking for the source.
Della, come now, lass. I’m here. Don't you wanna leave?
She dreamed of Donald and his Christmas sweater.
The stump still hurts. She knows this is a pretty common phenomenon, but experiencing it alone and cold made her mind warp. The only thing she had was hope and confidence and belief. Something fate was sure to test.
Sometimes she doubted she was actually back. The dreams of a dying woman on a barren rock. It rocked her, how little in control of her own mind she was.
“I know you didn't mean to land there.” Della twists her mouth. She feels hot shame rush over her.
“We thought you were still on the cruise. They- they said there were no phones or any contact with the outside world on it.”
“Huey said all his postcards got sent back. Dewey and Webby apparently thought I was missing but-but- Scrooge got my call. Apparently.”
Della doesn’t recall that day, not well enough. “He said you called- you’d be back in a month. Couldn't understand anything else.”
Something nasty unravels in Donald’s chest. He wants to spit out venom- irrational claims he hadn’t allowed himself to face properly. Glad I was gone, the unwanted twin, never the favorite. No one ever needed me. I’m nothing. “I thought…maybe…you guys wouldn’t even bother looking for me.” She thinks of the familiar jovial voice Donald somehow perfectly mimicked. I told you your family-
“Why would…” She takes a breath. “Can I tell you something?”
Donald looks almost offended but nods. “I thought…maybe…you’d all be better off without me. I was reckless, carefree, and impulsive. I didn't listen to you when I should have. I didn't listen to anyone. So much for no one can stop Della Duck. I got stopped for a decade. Then I got back and I was so convinced I had been replaced.”
“I heard you weren't Launchpad’s biggest fan.”
“Yeah.” Della squirms in her seat. She can feel guilty later.
For now, her brother needs her.
“Why did you think that?”
“I thought you all didn't need me anymore. Better off without my bad luck and you- you were the missing piece. I was the replacement. No one really needed or even...even wanted me around.” The feelings that have been brewing since childhood sound ridiculous spoken out loud, but it doesn't ease them.
“...to be honest, I wanna scream at you. Of course I didn't replace you- I couldn't. Don't be stupid. The kids need you, Scrooge needs you. And to be very selfish, I need you. I've felt like half a set without you.”
“I’m not the Donald you knew. I’m so- I’m so fucked up. I don't have the dreams or aspirations I did.”
“You could be the moocher Scrooge pretends you are and I’d still want you around.”
“...You could be the most insane, reckless person in the world and I’d still want you around.” Della stiffens and pretends there aren't tears in her eyes. She mutters something she can’t remember and hugs him, pulling them both to the ground.
“Remember when we went to Japan? To find the lost sword of Amaterasu?” Della speaks up.
“...yeah.”
“While we were there I begged to go to Tokyo. Scrooge couldn't- he couldn't stand it.”
“He made us go to Tsushima Island instead. Some damn ghost story.”
“And because we’d-” Della puts on a silly Scottish accent. One they knew was inaccurate, growing up with their very Scottish mother in their house, but one they knew tickled their uncle. He, despite his pride, enjoyed their little mockery. “-get some actual culture. None of that blasted tourist stuff. We went to that, uh, pottery place.”
“Kintsugi.”
“Yeah, that!” She lets it hang in the air for a second. Waiting for the realization to hit him. It doesn't- not in his state. “That's…that's us. I think.”
Donald looks at the stars. Shifted from the place they hung in the sky during that month. “That's us.”