Chapter Text
The mansion was too quiet.
Holly sat at the long dining table long after dinner had ended, fingers wrapped around a mug that had long since gone cold. Across from her, two chairs sat empty. still pulled out slightly, like someone had just gotten up and would be right back.
They never came back.
Her reflection trembled in the surface of her coffee as her grip tightened.
She swallowed and finally spoke, voice low, almost as if she was confessing something to the empty room.
“It was all perfect. We had everything we’d ever wanted..stability, our family, our mom, each other…”
Her voice faltered. A humorless breath slipped out.
“…yet that wasn’t enough.”
Her eyes drifted to Dewey’s old seat. She could almost hear him laughing, feet kicked up on the table as he told a obviously fake story about himself, Louie was on his phone next to him and he just rolled his eyes and made a snarky comment, which resulted in dewey putting him in a headlock, Laughing.
For a second—just a second—she saw them there.
Louie winked at her. Dewey grinned.
Then the chairs were empty again.
Holly blinked hard, jaw tightening.
“5 years,” she muttered, rubbing her temples. “No..s-seven. Seven years, fourteen days.”
Not that counting helped.
Every lead went nowhere. Every theory collapsed. Every search ended with the same hollow answer:
Nothing.
Her foot bounced under the table, restless energy she couldn’t burn off. She’d checked ports, flight logs, pirate sightings, crime reports, underground auctions, anything that might connect to Louie’s scams or Dewey’s recklessness.
Nothing.
Webby’s voice echoed in her memory: They’re out there. We just have to keep looking.
Holly wanted to believe that.
But doubt was creeping in now, slipping through every crack in her thoughts.
What if—
Her breath hitched.
What if they weren’t out there anymore?
The thought made her chest tighten so fast she stood abruptly, chair screeching across marble.
“No.” She shook her head hard, pacing now. “They’re fine. They’re fine. They have to be.”
Her reflection caught in a window as she passed—messy hair, dark circles under her eyes, maps and notes stuffed into her hoodie pocket.
She looked older.
Tired.
Haunted.
A corpse of the fun young child she used to be.
From somewhere down the hallway, she thought she heard Dewey call her name.
Huey spun around.
The corridor was empty.
Silence pressed in again.
Her shoulders slowly slumped, exhaustion creeping back in.
“…I’m going to find you,” she whispered into the quiet mansion. “Both of you.”
Her hands curled into fists.
“Even if it kills me.”
And somewhere deep down, beneath determination and logic and hope, something cracked just a little more.
Dewey’s opening
The sky split open beneath them as the Cloudmaw corsair drifted through the upper atmosphere, its enormous purple hull casting a shadow across the clouds below. Lightning scars ran along its metal belly, patched and repatched from years of sky battles, and its engines hummed like a sleeping beast waiting to wake.
He has changed the planes name, the old one had to many bad memories of don karnage and his abuse.
Dewey leaned against the hangar railing, wind tugging at his hair as crew members scrambled below, loading boarding craft.
Seven years in the sky, and the view still stole his breath.
Somewhere ahead, barely visible between cloudbanks, their target plane cruised along peacefully. Merchant class. Heavy cargo. No escorts.
Easy prey.
A siren wailed once—long and low.
Pirates flooded the hangar, sprinting toward their small strike planes. Every one of them was painted in wild colors, patched together with stolen parts and questionable engineering decisions.
Peg Legged Meg stomped onto a loading ramp, wooden leg echoing against the metal deck.
“Mount up, you storm-soggy disasters!” she barked. “And someone find Mad-Eye Mango before he straps fireworks to the engines again!”
A pirate sprinted past carrying a crate labeled Definitely Not Explosives.
“No promises!” someone shouted.
Dewey hopped into one of the boarding craft beside a pirate named Three-Toed Terry, who was tuning a guitar with alarming seriousness.
“You ready, Blue?” Terry asked.
Dewey smirked. “Always.”
Engines roared to life.
One by one, the pirate craft launched from the plane, shooting into open sky like a swarm of angry hornets.
Wind howled past as they dove toward the unsuspecting merchant plane.
Then Terry struck the first chord.
And the singing began.
Voices rose over the roar of engines as pirate ships circled their prey, swooping around the merchant craft in tightening loops.
Deep, rough voices filled the air.
Oh the clouds turn red when the Corsair flies,
And the sky starts singin’ with frightened cries,
Lock your doors and say goodbye,
The Cloudmaw’s come to dine!
The merchant ship’s crew panicked, scrambling across their decks as alarms blared. The pirate craft kept circling, singing louder, closer.
Engines howl and shadows grow,
Nowhere left for you to go,
Storm above and doom below,
You’re runnin’ outta time!
Dewey sang with them, laughter in his voice as adrenaline surged.
This part never got old.
Above them, the massive belly of the cloudmaw corsair split open.
The sky pirate flagship descended through the clouds, engines roaring, hull wide enough to swallow buildings.
The merchant ship tried to veer away.
Too late.
The pirate craft peeled off at the last moment, streaking clear as the Corsair engulfed the smaller plane whole, pulling it into its cavernous hangar bay.
The shanty ended in victorious cheers.
Dewey whooped as his craft looped back toward the opening hangar.
And for a second—
A memory surfaced.
Running through mansion halls.
Louie laughing.
Huey shouting for them to slow down.
Webby tackling all three of them at once.
Family.
His grin faltered.
Seven years.
Did they still look for him?
Did they think he was gone for good?
His ship slammed down into the hangar, jolting him back to reality as pirates poured out, already storming toward the captured vessel.
Peg Legged Meg marched past, grinning. “You boarding or daydreaming, kid?”
Dewey blinked, forcing the familiar cocky smile back into place.
“Boarding.”
He jumped from the craft and sprinted with the others toward the prize.
Because the noise, the chaos, the sky—
It was easier than thinking about what he’d left behind.
And if he ever stopped flying…
He wasn’t sure where he’d land.
Louies opening
Crystal chandeliers scattered gold light across the ballroom as laughter, music, and quiet deal-making blended into one smooth hum of wealth and power.
Louie fit right in.
Tailored black suit, silk pocket square, hair slicked back just enough to look effortless. A glass of champagne rested loosely in one hand while the other sat comfortably at the waist of the mansion’s owner, A glamorous socialite whose smile hid the fact that half the people in this room owed her money, favors, or silence.
Around them, crime bosses, investors, smugglers, and politicians mingled without shame. Money erased lines between legal and illegal.
Louie laughed easily at something a nearby mobster said, nodding along as if he cared deeply about offshore accounts.
All while the woman against his side leaned closer, voice silky.
“You’re new in our circle,” she purred. “And yet everyone already seems to know you.”
Louie smiled down at her, charm sliding effortlessly into place.
“Well,” he said smoothly, “I make memorable first impressions.”
Her laugh was delighted, hand sliding up his arm.
Louie felt absolutely nothing.
She was beautiful, confident, powerful.
And completely not his type.
But she owned the mansion.
And clipped to the side of her glittering dress, half-hidden beneath folds of silk..
The vault keycard.
Ten minutes.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice.
“You know,” he murmured, “hosting a party like this… dangerous crowd.”
She smirked. “Danger’s good for business.”
“Danger’s good for excitement.”
As she laughed, Louie’s fingers brushed the clip.
The card slipped cleanly into his palm.
He kept talking, never breaking rhythm, and casually let his hand fall behind him just as Goldie walked past with the mansion’s head of security wrapped around her arm.
The card vanished from his hand without either of them looking at each other.
Professional.
Five minutes later, alarms exploded through the mansion.
Guests screamed. Security rushed past.
Louie slipped into the chaos, weaving through panicked elites toward the service corridors just as Goldie burst through a side door.
“Time to go, Sharpie!”
They sprinted for the rear exit—
—and the door slammed open ahead of them.
Armed guards.
Goldie skidded to a stop, dragging Louie behind cover as gunfire erupted.
Glass shattered. Walls splintered.
Louie’s pulse thundered as they ducked behind an overturned catering cart.
“Tell me you have a backup plan,” he hissed.
Goldie checked the hallway behind them.
Locked down.
No exit.
“Working on it.”
The guards advanced.
Louie peeked out, calculating angles, timing—
A gunshot cracked.
Pain exploded through his arm, knocking him flat.
For a second he didn’t even understand what happened.
Then heat spread down his sleeve.
Blood.
“Oh, that’s bad,” he wheezed.
Goldie grabbed his wrist, dragging him behind cover as bullets shredded the cart.
“Sharpie, Just hold on!”
“I’m fine,” Louie lied through clenched teeth.
He was not fine.
Footsteps closed in.
They were trapped.
Goldie’s eyes darted, then locked onto something behind them.
A laundry chute.
She smirked.
“Hope you like dramatic exits.”
Before Louie could protest, she shoved the chute door open and pushed him inside.
He barely caught himself before tumbling down the dark metal shaft, pain ripping through his arm as he fell.
He crashed into a pile of sheets in the basement laundry room moments later. Goldie landed beside him seconds later.
Shouting erupted upstairs.
“Move!” she snapped, hauling him up.
They staggered through service corridors, burst out into a rain-soaked alley, and disappeared into the maze of city streets before security even realized where they’d gone.
~★~
Hours later.
A cheap rented hotel. Flickering lights. Thin walls.
Louie hissed through his teeth as Goldie poured disinfectant over the gunshot wound in the cramped bathroom.
“Stop moving,” she snapped.
“I’m not moving!”
“You’re squirming.”
“Because you’re pouring liquid fire into my arm!”
His ruined suit jacket lay on the tile floor, shirt peeled halfway off and stained with blood.
Goldie worked quickly, hands steady as she cleaned and bandaged the wound.
Only when she reached for fresh gauze did she pause.
Her eyes flicked over his torso.
Old scars, pale and thin, crossed his sides and arms—older than the life he lived now. Marks from years before con jobs and shootouts and survival fights added their own rough lines across his skin.
Battle scars layered over older wounds.
Goldie didn’t comment.
Just finished wrapping the bandage and taped it down firmly.
“There,” she muttered. “You’ll live.”
Louie sagged back against the sink, exhausted.
They couldn’t go to a hospital. Couldn’t explain a gunshot wound without explaining the heist, the guards, the running.
Silence stretched.
Rain tapped softly against the window.
Goldie finally crossed her arms. “You almost got yourself killed tonight, lyn.”
Louie forced a weak grin. “But I didn’t.”
She shook her head, setting a hand on his own shoulder giving it a quick squeeze before leaving the bathroom.
Louie stared at his reflection in the mirror.
Older. Sharper. Harder.
Nothing like the kid who’d run away seven years ago.
For a brief moment, memories surfaced—Huey worrying, Dewey laughing, home feeling safe.
He pushed it down.
This was his life now.
Danger, money, escape.
He shut off the bathroom light and followed Goldie back into the dim hotel room.
Tomorrow, there’d be another job.
Another city.
Another close call.
And the past would stay exactly where he left it.
Behind him