Chapter Text
The sunrise gleamed bronze red with pale yellow and orange clouds over its rising horizon at Killmotor Hill. The blissful sun rose with a beaming gold as bright as Scrooge’s money bin, and the rays of sunlight poured into the window of Louie Duck’s bedroom.
The young duck was sprawled in his bed, just coming out of the tranquility of sleep when a pair of longer arms wrapped around his middle and pulled him closer.
“Morning Alfie,” Louie greeted drowsily as the taller duck clung to him from behind, beak buried in his shoulder as his long draconic tail looped around his leg.
“Buongiorno altezza.” Came the soft reply.
Louie turned his head over his shoulder to see the horns poking out of his feathered bangs, the glint of fangs in the early morning light and Louie felt his cheeks flush at the sight of them.
“Alfie. Treasure. Your horns are showing.” He muttered softly, but Alfie just clung closer.
“Too comfy…” He mumbled, and Louie rolled his eyes affectionately.
“You’re always too comfy afterwards. We’ve got to get out of bed eventually.” Louie said, trying to hide the smile tugging at his beak and failing miserably.
“Counterpoint: No.” Alfie replied, his eyes opening, showing the golden irises with black triangles and a sly smile on his same golden beak. His dragon tail crept up Louie’s leg, and Louie huffed softly.
“We have an adventure with Scrooge today. And I don’t know about you, but your evil stepmom’s castle definitely has some valuable treasure.” Louie reminded him, sliding out of Alfie’s arms and grabbing his green robe from its spot hanging on the foot of his bed.
Alfie stretched, his chest feathers fluffing up as he felt the arch of his back against the headboard. His ponytail was out, his feathers brushing his shoulders and his bangs falling in his face more than normal. His eyes fell on Louie as the shorter duck slid into his green slippers and tied his robe closed.
“Booooo…” Alfie said sarcastically, and Louie rolled his eyes as he threw Alfie’s own hoodie at his face.
“Get dressed Treasure and meet me downstairs for breakfast, if your legs still work.” Louie said amused as he opened the door.
Louie paused in the doorway just long enough to flash him a smirk over his shoulder.
Alfie blinked once.
Then twice.
“…rude,” he declared.
Louie snorted and disappeared into the hallway before the nearest pillow could be launched at his head.
A second later, said pillow sailed through the open doorway anyway.
“THAT WAS A THREAT, MALCOM DUCK!”
“And yet you missed!” Louie called back.
“I WAS DISTRACTED!”
“By what?”
“The emotional devastation of being abandoned after cuddling!”
Louie laughed under his breath as he headed down the hall, the sound warm and easy in the quiet morning light. Behind him he could hear movement — dramatic groaning, the thud of feet hitting the floor, and what sounded suspiciously like Alfie walking directly into a dresser.
“…ow.”
“You okay in there?”
“No,” Alfie answered immediately. “I’ve perished.”
“Tragic.”
“Tell my sister she still owes me twenty dollars.”
Louie rolled his eyes fondly as he descended the stairs into the manor kitchen.
Oh this is perfect because Louie walking from soft romantic morning banter directly into McDuck Manor Kitchen Chaos™ is exactly the tonal whiplash this chapter needs.
Also the character designs help so much because the contrast is hilarious:
Louie looks like he absolutely knows he is charming and intends to weaponize it.
Dewey looks like he has never once had a good idea but has had several legendary ideas.
Lena looks like she’s been awake for six hours, has already judged everyone, and is spiritually holding the entire household together by force.
Faye is so Disney Princess-coded it is ridiculous. Like, yes, of course Dewey saw her in a dream and went, “I must follow the plot hook immediately.”
Alfie’s draconequus form is also so good because it makes his normal dramatic clinginess even funnier. He has ancient magical creature energy and still fully walks into a dresser because Louie left the room.
Here’s the continuation vibe:
⸻
Louie entered the manor kitchen and immediately stopped.
He had survived curses.
He had survived ancient traps.
He had survived Scrooge McDuck deciding that “a wee detour” meant breaking into an active volcano before lunch.
And somehow, the kitchen still made him consider turning around and going back upstairs.
Huey was standing on a chair with a clipboard in one hand and a stack of color-coded expedition forms in the other, looking like the tiny general of a very underpaid army.
Dewey was on the counter.
That alone was enough to make Louie suspicious.
Webby was sitting at the table with three knives, a grappling hook, and what looked like a glitter-covered smoke bomb laid out in front of her in neat little rows.
Violet was beside her, calmly labeling each item with masking tape.
Lena was at the far end of the kitchen, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, and looking like she had already vetoed several life choices before Louie had even arrived.
Faye stood in front of her with an open satchel, looking deeply apologetic while Lena removed item after item from it.
“No,” Lena said, pulling out a small glass bottle filled with pink sparkling liquid.
Faye winced. “That one is for emergencies.”
“No,” Lena repeated, placing it on the counter.
“It turns frogs into temporary footmen.”
“Absolutely no.”
“It only lasts three hours.”
“Faye.”
“It is very useful in formal situations.”
“We are going to your evil stepmother’s castle, not hosting a royal dinner party.”
Dewey gasped from the counter. “Wait, are we sure? Because I packed my formal adventure jacket.”
Huey didn’t look up from his clipboard. “You do not have a formal adventure jacket.”
“I have a jacket that becomes formal if I say it with confidence.”
“That is not how clothing works.”
“That is how Dewey works.”
Louie leaned against the doorway, still wearing his robe, and took in the scene with the exhausted patience of someone who had been raised by this family and therefore had no one to blame but himself.
“Morning,” he said.
Every head turned toward him.
Dewey grinned.
“Oh, look who finally decided to rejoin society.”
Louie blinked slowly. “You are standing on a kitchen counter holding what appears to be a crossbow made of spoons.”
Dewey looked down at the object in his hands.
Then back up.
“It’s called innovation.”
“It’s called banned,” Lena said immediately.
Dewey pointed at her. “You don’t even know what it does.”
“It has spoons.”
“Exactly. Nonlethal.”
“It has three springs, a butter knife, and one of Webby’s glitter bombs duct-taped to the handle.”
“Mostly nonlethal.”
Webby raised a hand cheerfully. “Technically, glitter can be psychologically lethal.”
Violet nodded. “Especially if inhaled or discovered in one’s laundry weeks later.”
Huey scribbled something on his clipboard. “Adding glitter-related hazard clause.”
Dewey threw both hands up. “Oh, come on! My last idea gave us Faye!”
Lena’s eyes slid toward him with the slow, dangerous patience of someone who had been waiting all morning for exactly that sentence.
“Technically,” she said, “your last idea involved sneaking out of the manor because you thought Faye was pretty in your dreams and then discovering she was, in fact, a Disney Princess.”
Faye made a tiny sound into her hands.
Webby’s eyes sparkled. “That was very romantic.”
Huey cleared his throat. “It was also reckless, poorly planned, legally questionable, magically unsupervised, and emotionally motivated.”
Dewey pointed at Huey. “And successful.”
“That is not the same thing as smart.”
“It is in theater.”
Louie walked to the coffee pot.
“Dewey,” he said, pouring himself a cup, “I say this as someone who deeply respects profitable chaos.”
“Aww.”
“Never start a sentence with ‘my last idea’ when Lena is in the room.”
Lena nodded once. “Thank you.”
“Unless,” Louie continued, taking a sip, “you are prepared to flee.”
Dewey’s expression turned thoughtful.
Lena’s eyes narrowed.
“Do not make him consider it.”
From the hallway came a thump.
Then a second thump.
Then a low, dramatic groan.
Everyone paused.
Louie didn’t even turn around.
“He’s alive.”
Another groan followed, this one louder and somehow more offended.
Della leaned into the kitchen from the opposite doorway, mug in hand, hair still messy from sleep. “Is that the dragon kid?”
“Draconequus,” Huey corrected automatically.
“Is the draconequus kid okay?”
From upstairs, Alfie’s voice echoed faintly.
“I HAVE BEEN BETRAYED BY FURNITURE!”
Dewey put one hand over his heart. “Mood.”
Louie took another sip of coffee. “He’s fine.”
A moment later, Alfie appeared in the doorway wearing his hoodie inside out, his ponytail half-tied, one horn still visible through his bangs, and his expression set in the grave seriousness of a man who had suffered great personal injustice before breakfast.
He pointed at Louie.
“You abandoned me.”
Louie didn’t look up from his cup. “You survived.”
“Barely.”
“You walked into a dresser.”
“The dresser attacked me.”
Lena stared at him.
Alfie stared back.
Then he slowly tugged his hood farther over his head, hiding the horn.
“Good morning, Lena.”
“Morning, Alfonso.”
Dewey slapped the counter. “See? That’s why my spoon-crossbow is necessary. Furniture can attack at any time.”
“No,” said Lena, Huey, Louie, and Violet at once.
Webby raised her hand.
“I would like to hear the furniture-attack defense.”
“Thank you, Webby.”
Lena turned toward her. “Pink.”
Webby lowered her hand. “Retracted.”
Faye gently tugged her satchel away from Lena before Lena could confiscate anything else.
“I promise I only packed essentials.”
Lena looked at the satchel.
The satchel twitched.
Lena looked back at Faye.
Faye smiled nervously.
Louie lowered his mug. “Did your bag just move?”
“No,” Faye said too quickly.
Violet adjusted her glasses. “It did appear to shift approximately three inches to the left.”
Dewey gasped. “She packed a forest creature!”
“It followed me,” Faye whispered.
Lena closed her eyes.
Faye clasped her hands. “It looked hungry.”
Louie slowly smiled.
“Oh, I like her.”
Lena pointed at him without opening her eyes. “Do not encourage her.”
Alfie slid into the chair beside Louie and immediately rested his chin on Louie’s shoulder like continuing the upstairs argument was now his full-time job.
“She’s always been like this,” Alfie said. “Once, she brought home a cursed swan because it looked lonely.”
Faye frowned. “He was lonely.”
“He tried to marry a chandelier.”
“He was confused.”
“He bit me.”
“You startled him.”
Louie looked at Alfie. “Your family is weird.”
Alfie smiled sweetly. “You live here.”
Louie opened his mouth.
Paused.
Then nodded.
“Fair.”
At the head of the kitchen, Scrooge McDuck finally entered with the energy of a man who had been awake since dawn and considered that a moral virtue.
“All right, troops!” he barked. “We leave in twenty minutes! Mizrabel’s castle will not loot itself!”
Faye looked faintly pained.
Scrooge caught himself.
“Investigate,” he corrected.
Louie smiled into his coffee.
Scrooge pointed at him. “And then possibly loot, depending on legal ownership and curse density.”
Huey raised his clipboard. “I have prepared a fourteen-point castle safety checklist.”
Dewey raised the spoon-crossbow.
“I have prepared vibes.”
Lena snatched the spoon-crossbow out of his hands without looking.
Dewey stared at his empty hands.
“My vibes!”
“Your vibes were armed.”
“They were confident.”
“They were duct-taped to glitter.”
Webby leaned toward Violet and whispered, “This is going to be such a good adventure.”
Violet nodded solemnly.
“Statistically, yes. Emotionally, concerning.”
Louie glanced around the kitchen — at Scrooge already arguing with Huey over whether “curse density” was a measurable category, at Dewey mourning his confiscated invention, at Webby vibrating with excitement, at Lena trying to inspect Faye’s suspiciously moving satchel, at Alfie still draped against him like he had been personally wronged by the concept of morning.
And despite himself, Louie smiled.
Life after happily ever after, apparently, still involved breakfast, bad ideas, and breaking into cursed castles.
Honestly?
He could work with that.