Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

All this was… unnerving, decided Scrooge. Boys celebrating Uncle Day wasn’t anything weird, after all they did it too. He preferred not to wonder about them too much, though. Donald had every reason to not talk about them with him. But this, Uncle Day, was weird. Boys were calmly-happy instead of energetic-happy like they usually were. Donald invited Gladstone and Fethry. Scrooge was able to understand inviting Fethry, but Gander? After that stunt he put? Yet it seemed like no one, except him, cared. But this wasn’t the worst of this. There was something that made his feathers bristle: both guests were doing everything in their power to keep him as far from Donald as possible. Kids seemed to not realize that, Donald probably didn’t even know. 

Gladstone luck meant misfortune for Scrooge that day. Every time he was even thinking about checking on kids and their uncles (he also was their uncle, for gods’ sake, he should be with them) something was happening. He was barely able to register when Fethry and Gladstone said their goodbyes and left. But even then he still wasn’t able to do more than look at triplets and Donald. Why were they so… so little happy? Uncle Day was supposed to be a loud and happy event. What changed in these ten years?

Next day was normal. Perfectly normal. Boys were energetic, loud and happy, Donald was worried about everything and Scrooge was finally able to be with his family. He really wanted to talk about Uncle Day, but… he perfectly remembered what he told Donald then. He knew that they also heard it. He wasn’t going to force Donald into that conversation. So he let himself stop thinking about it. Adventures were filling days and before Scrooge really realized there was another special day. 

In all honesty Scrooge had no idea what kind of special day that was, but it was even worse than Uncle Day. Fethry didn’t show up this time but Gladstone again was in Manor, making sure that Scrooge had zero contact with his family. Again . 

All five left the Manor quickly after breakfast and came back after dinner. This time Gladstone decided to stay for night. Scrooge was debating if he should forbid that men from staying, but he found himself unable to. And not because of that damn luck, but because of Donald, who looked like he was going to break and cry if not for Gladstone. 

Scrooge didn’t understand and was afraid to ask. If Donald was turning to Gladstone instead of him, that had to mean… whatever was going on, he, Scrooge McDuck, was to blame. So he just nodded when Gander sent him a weird look and left them alone. 

Once again the next day was perfectly normal. Boys once again were happy, asking him about next adventure, Donald and Gladstone were arguing over something, and he was, once again, relieved. Still, he didn’t dare to ask what happened. Donald probably assumed he knew what he fucked up and, maybe, was starting to forgive him that, or at least was leaving that behind. If Scrooge would admit he had no clue… Donald could take boys away, again. 

“You should just talk with him,” said Bentina when he explained everything to her. She used to be a special agent, a spy and now she worked for him. Yet she categorically refused to spy on Donald. So Scrooge could only hope that whatever that was about… that Donald wouldn’t see unforgivable if he ever found out that Scrooge didn’t know. 

Scrooge would have start to think that these “weird days” were just made out as a joke on him since they seemed to be happening every two months if not for a) Donald wasn’t that good actor, b) boys wouldn’t be able to pretend being so calm, c) Scrooge knew perfectly well what day it was. 

Years earlier, before Della even thought of settling down, before… Before everything, that was one of Scrooge's favorite days. He would find something nice, but not too expensive, something they could share preferably, and he would go straight to grandma Duck… 

When Donald and the boys left Manor in the morning Scrooge could only wonder if they still celebrated in the same place. Probably not. Without Elvira that place lost its spirit. Gus tried, even Scrooge had to acknowledge this, but it wasn’t the same. Besides, they probably celebrated wherever they lived now. Somewhere where Scrooge wasn’t welcome. He was aware that he deserved it, but it still hurt. 

Maybe he should ask Donald to carry his apologies? What if they all thought that Scrooge just… don’t care? Like Donald thought for ten years. But, when Fethry drove Donald and the boys back, when Gladstone and Gus came shortly after, when boys clung to their uncles… Scrooge fled, afraid of asking why they all were so sad. This was a happy day. October 17th used to be the happiest day of the year. 

Is it possible that they were also angry at Donald? Maybe they decided that he should do something back then? But would they hold a grudge for that many years? Or maybe they decided Donald betrayed them by living with him again? Scrooge decided not to ask, not yet, Donald would take every question as an attack. 

Next few months were normal - as much as possible for McDucks. Adventures, some grave danger, panicking Donald and Christmas in the meantime. Life was good. There were no more weird days, everyone was happy and together. 

Scrooge wasn’t sure what Donald was doing on his birthday since Della’s disappearance. Before he used to eat breakfast with his friends, then catch up with Della (she almost always was back in Duckenburg for their birthday) and in the evening they had their party. Disaster usually happened in this last part, mostly in Gladstone's favor: mixed up with cake, some people convinced that it was Gander’s birthday, wrong music tape… but still, a joyful day. Now, without Della… Scrooge wasn’t sure if Donald still celebrated. 

It turned out that he did. Kind of. He left to meet with friends in the morning and he was back after lunch with the luckiest half-duck alive. Boys were asking about other uncles that were supposed to show up but Donald just smiled at them and they dropped the topic, instead hugging Gladstone and sprinting to get presents for him. Scrooge decided to wait till he would be able to give his gift in more… private settings. Especially when Gladstone was eying him warily every time he did as much as showed up near them. 

Scrooge was aware that Donald’s birthday was bitter-sweet now, there was no point in pretending, but still seeing his nephew crying in the kitchen in the middle of the night… 

“I’m sorry, lad” he said quietly, “Della… I’m sorry.”

It was quite easy to apologize for that. Because he knew that Donald was starting to forgive him. About apologies, Scrooge was a coward. He pretended he did nothing wrong until he was sure he would be forgiven. 

“That wasn’t your fault,” answered Donald, not looking at him. He still had tears in his eyes, but he was calmer. “I… It’s easier to mourn her now, you know? If I’d do it right before boys’ birthday… That would be a disaster. And now… I have a few hours after they are asleep till midnight. It’s my tradition now.”

Scrooge wasn’t able to answer. Even when mourning his twin Donald still thought about boys. They were his priority, always. And he spent ten years trying to forget that any of them existed. He took a deep breath, he might not be as good an uncle as Donald was, but he was an uncle. 

“You can mourn her whenever and however long you need. I… I can take care of the boys whenever you need more time, or…”

Scrooge stopped when Donald shook his head and smiled. 

“Don’t worry, it’s fine. Also, thank you for proposing this, but I don't think I’ll need it.”

These words made him wonder if Donald ever had time to really grieve. He took eggs, he tried to shake Scrooge out of his madness, but when that failed he just disappeared. With all this, with kids, with grief, with his bad luck… How long did it take before Donald was able to have five minutes for himself? How long before he was able to cry after his sister? 

“I have something for you.” Donald looked at him, surprised. Like he didn’t expect a birthday gift from him. He probably didn’t. “It belonged to your parents. I…” I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you earlier. “I…” I love you. “I hope you’ll like it.”

Donald didn’t answer immediately, he unwrapped the gift carefully. Scrooge knew he recognized pendants. 

“I thought I would never see them again,” Donald whispered and Scrooge felt a sudden sting in his heart. He should give these to the twins immediately after he got them. 

“Happy birthday, lad.”

Donald was molting. Badly. His ideas of helping didn’t work out so he went with the boys’ plan. Cruise was a great idea, after all. Donald would relax, he would have his well deserved vacation. 

At first Donald was reluctant to the idea but he knew he needed this. There was only a finite amount of stress that the body can take. So he took tickets, he packed, he left Bentina a literal book regarding taking care of boys and he was ready to go. Scrooge wondered if he ever knew that much about him and Della as he knew about his boys. He refused to answer this. 

Della was alive. Della was alive. Della was alive. Della was alive!!!

Scrooge wasn’t sure how long he was just looking at her, not able to say a word. Della was on the Moon. She spent eleven years there. And now she was back. He immediately wanted to scream for Donald but he remembered about his cruise. Should he call him? Or call Launchpad and drag Donald back? 

Or maybe he should let Donald have first vacation in eleven years… or in life, honestly. That was only a month. And all doctors said that Donald needs a calm environment, he needs to relax and rest. So he let it go. Donald would get a surprise when he would be back. Yes, that was it. 

Boys were worried. Cruise had no phone policy, but Donald didn’t even send them a postcard. Scrooge was starting to worry too. He calmed down after the phone call, although the boys seemed only more worried. 

“Uncle Donald wouldn’t miss our birthday,” they decided. They were still looking for what wrong happened to the point when neither Scrooge nor Della were able to ignore it. But they still believed that boys were overreacting. Till Gladstone showed up. 

“I don’t give a shit right now. Where’re boys? Where’s Donald?” That wasn’t anything that Scrooge expected. Gladstone should be shocked and happy seeing Della. She was his favorite cousin, he also had to be devastated after her death . But it looked like he couldn’t care less. 

“Uncle Gladstone?” Huey was still in his pajamas. “What…?”

“What happened?” Gladstone cut in. “What’s the danger? Where’s Donald? Why doesn't he answer the phone?” 

For a second Huey looked like he didn't understand anything. Scrooge wasn’t surprised, Gladstone apparently went mad. But then in Huey’s eyes a sudden realization flashed. 

“We’re not in any danger,” he said slowly. “But I think uncle Donald is.”

That was it. Gladstone went mad and now he was going to scare boys. Scrooge didn’t have it. 

“Donald isn’t in any danger,” he said surely. “He’s on a cruise, resting and relaxing.”

“What cruise?” Gladstone never was that dead serious. Scrooge found himself answering without even thinking. Cruiser name, dates of start and end, that he called… everything. And with his every word Gladstone looked more and more panicked. “He never got there, Scrooge. I just left this ship. I got a free trip because someone didn’t show up… I should know. I…” Gladstone stopped suddenly, fixing his gaze on Huey, who also seemed to panic. “I know how to find him. Go, wake up your brothers. We’re going whenever you’re ready.” When Huey disappeared Gander looked at Scrooge with a weird mix of hate and hope. “I have no skill,” he admitted without shame, “but I have luck. We will find Donald if we cooperate.” 

Scrooge wasn’t sure what exactly was going on. All three boys were ready to go in a moment, basically. Gladstone explained that his luck was going to shove them in the right direction, that they shouldn’t get any problems that would really be hard to get rid of, but he wasn’t able to make any promises. 

Somehow Gladstone had a really nice ship. Not too big, without too much electricity or weird facilities. Just a proper ship. 

Boys were scared, they were doing every task they were assigned but they were off. Neither Scrooge nor Della were able to get to talk with them. Gladstone wasn’t even trying. 

Gladstone was sick - decided Scrooge on the third day. He wasn’t eating, and looked like he hadn't slept in days. He and Della tried to convince him to maybe take off in the closest port, see a doctor, but Gladstone only snapped at them, clearly angry. So they tried to talk with boys but they also refused to stop anywhere. 

“I’m not giving up,” said Gladstone angrily when Scrooge tried to put him to bed.

It took them almost a week before they saw smoke coming from a small island in the middle of nowhere. Gladstone asked them if they also saw that, and when they confirmed he put down a glass of water that Della convinced him to drink. It has been two days since he had last one. Scrooge was getting more and more worried about him. He was insisting that it was a way to stretch his luck, that this was helping but Scrooge didn’t see it. He saw self-harm. Gladstone was depriving himself of sleep, of food and of water. He had already fainted three times. After each he agreed to drink a little water, but nothing more. Della was ready to tie him up and put to bed using force, and Scrooge, honestly, was starting to think that this was a good idea. But first they'll check this smoke. 

Donald was there. Boys were right. Gladstone was right. Donald was in danger, in a huge danger. He was on the Moon. There was an invasion coming up. Worst part - Donald wasn’t angry or even surprised that they didn’t know until Gladstone showed up. 

Donald was in a similar state as his cousin. Island didn’t have fresh water nor much fruit. He admitted that he was so desperate to drink that he was almost ready to drink salt water. Almost. He didn’t do it. 

Donald and Della screamed at each other only for a moment before they hugged and cried. Then Della started to apologize but her brother shook his head and pointed at the ship. Scrooge hardly was able to imagine how exhausted his nephew had to be. 

They helped him get on the ship. Scrooge was sure that he wanted to see his boys and rest, but Donald went straight to Gladstone. 

“You look even worse than me,” laughed Gander weakly, and tried to stand up. He failed. 

“I really doubt,” answered Donald seriously and took glass from the table. It looked exactly like before, stupid boy didn't even take a sip. Donald put it to his cousin's beak. “Why did you do it to yourself?” 

“What would you do if we’d not find you today?” Gladstone asked when he drank everything. 

“I’d… Okay, I get it,” Donald sighed and smiled. “I owe you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Going back was easier and faster, after all they knew where they were going. Kids also were calmer, but rarely were they leaving Donald’s side. Scrooge suspected that was normal. After all he was their parent, they were worried, he was in danger and they had no clue for so long.

With knowledge of the upcoming invasion they were able to prepare. SHUSH was mobilized in the moment that Beakly let them know about the situation. In all honesty, Scrooge had to admit that there was almost no fight. And that was great, of course, his family was safe, his world was safe, but Donald was even weirder than ever. He had no way of knowing how this invasion would go, yet he seemed unbothered. He wasn’t fussing over boys, he wasn’t… he wasn’t Donald. Maybe that had something to do with Gladstone being with them. Not so long before Scrooge would tell that Donald and Gladstone tolerated each other only because they were family. Then, after watching these two interact on some significant dates he thought that maybe after Della’s disappearance they formed some kind of bond. But seeing Donald right before, during and after that so-called invasion Scrooge was sure that he’s missing some pieces. Very important pieces. 

Gladstone decided to stay with them for a few days after the invasion. Okay, maybe saying that Gladstone made that decision wasn’t a complete truth. 

“Uncle?” Donald spoke directly to him for the first time since they found him. Scrooge saw that he was trying to come and talk about something for quite some time, but… “I… I need a small loan.”

Unfortunately that explained everything. Donald was in need of the money more often than not and, long, long time ago, he used to ask for help. Scrooge honestly wasn’t sure when he felt fed up by his nephew asking that he agreed to only lend money. And then… before disappearing from his life Donald menaged to give back every single penny. 

“Okay… If you don’t mind me asking, what for?” He really tried to be careful with words. If Donald came to him it meant he was desperate. That he really needed that money. After all, his main reason to decline cruise was his inability to pay Scrooge off. Fortunately, Donald was in the mood for talking. 

“I cut Glad off his money,” he said quietly, “before he took enough cash to pay for the hospital. He’ll get everything back once he’ll…”

“Hospital?” Scrooge cut in. What happened? And to Gander, the luckiest guy in the world? Also, how was Donald able to cut him off his money? 

“He’s…” Donald sighed and moved to sit down on the couch before continuing. “You saw him when you were looking for me, uncle Scrooge. He can’t keep hurting himself like that.”

“It worked,” said Scrooge carefully, not sure what Donald exactly meant. “His luck… stretched and we were able to find you before…” Before it was too late.

“It’s not so simple. Glad… he went through a lot. If he’ll keep doing this then his luck won’t be enough for him to stay alive.”

Scrooge wanted to tell that Donald was overreacting, that nothing like that would happen, but that would be a lie. On the ship Gladstone didn’t believe in his luck, he just… 

“You want him to be admitted to a mental ward in Duckenburg?” He asked, but Donald only laughed bitterly.

“His luck won’t let me stay that close.” 

That was probably the weirdest thing Scrooge ever heard. But he decided not to ask. 

“There are things stronger than his luck,” he decided to say. 

If Donald wanted Gladstone close then Scrooge was going to make it happen. Even if he would be to employ doctors and nurses and open his own mental hospital. He let Donald down too many times already. He lost three wonderful boys because of his closed minded concept of the family, he lost Donald once because of that. And he still didn’t learn. He almost lost Webby and Della’s boys. He almost lost Donald again. And now, when Donald finally came to him for help, he felt like one wrong move and he was to lose him again. 

“You don’t have to do anything, just lend me money, and I’ll take care of this. He’s my family, not…” Scrooge wasn’t going to let Donald finish this sentence. 

“Nonsense, lad. I’ll take care of everything.”

Donald didn’t answer, but Scrooge still counted this as a win. At least he didn’t make another big mistake. Probably. Maybe he should ask if Donald really wanted this, maybe Gladstone didn’t want him close to his mental health. But he already said what he was going to do. It was too late to change his mind. 

Building another mental hospital wasn’t necessary. Proper grant to an already existing one was enough. He really wanted to go with Donald and Gladstone, but he was able to tell when someone wanted him away. So he made sure to think of some adventure, took kids, Della and Launchpad and went to look for some big treasure. 

Boys were less eager to go then ever, but after quick talk with Donald they didn’t protest. 

“Uncle Gladstone was supposed to be sound as rain already.” Scrooge heard Dewey’s voice.

“No, he was supposed to be fine after he got help. And he hasn't yet.” Corrected him Huey. 

“Why didn't he go right after the funeral?” Dewey asked, Scrooge wasn’t sure if the boy was annoyed or worried.

“Because adults sometimes forget about taking care of themself…”

“We all know that uncle Donald lied about that being the reason, Louie.”

“I…” Louie’s voice trembled and he took a long breath. “I think he was stuck in that casino since the funeral.” 

That statement was met with silence and Scrooge wondered if they could, by any possibility, be talking about grandma Duck’s funeral. But this one happened when boys were five, they wouldn’t remember Gladstone if that was the case. Not for the first time Scrooge felt ashamed of himself. He’d know if he’d show up then. 

Both Della and Scrooge did their best to stretch their adventure as much as possible, to let Donald and Gladstone take care of everything without any distractions, but some aren’t meant to be long. So they were on their way back the same day. 

“Uncle Donald!” Boys called the moment the door opened, but there was no answer. Scrooge assumed that his nephew was still busy with his cousin in hospital, but the boys were nervous. And, this time, he wasn’t going to ridicule their worry. They were going for Donald, the worst case scenario, they would wait for him and be bored. 

It turned out that it was exactly what they did. Donald and Gladstone were still with the doctor but boys insisted on waiting for their uncle. After some time Della pulled Scrooge aside promising kids hot chocolate. He was putting coins into the vending machine and Della was trying to balance three cups, when she finally cleared her throat. 

“I think we should call the QuackPack,” she said quietly. “After all that Don… He needs all his kids.”

Sometimes Scrooge wondered how long he’d be able to hide his mistakes from Della. Sometimes he felt almost ready to just confess to her, without waiting for her to find out on her own. She was back for two months and she still had no idea how completely Scrooge messed everything up. But he still was afraid. She was furious when he admitted that he had no actual idea where grandma Duck was buried, since he wasn’t at the funeral. How was he going to tell her that he hadn’t seen or heard anything from those three for years? 

“I… I’m not sure if I have their phone number,” he decided to say, because that was, more or less, true. They used to send him a small package on his birthday, maybe there was some contact? Scrooge wasn’t sure why they bothered, he also had no idea why he had never opened it. At the beginning he was just angry and grieving, but he had their letters and this one package in his office. Maybe there would be more, but he threatened the postman to never again bring him anything from those kids. How stupid and petty he was. “Do you?”

“No,” Della sighed. “I think… I was afraid to ask Donald after our argument about my boys' names.” Scrooge nodded. He also didn’t understand why Donald thought it appropriate to name Della’s boys after the other three boys he was raising. Wasn’t it confusing, at least? 

“I’ll check when we will be back,” he decided. “And… And I’d like you to come with me. I… I messed up.” Admitting it wasn’t easy, but Della needed to know. Donald was focusing on Gladstone, on boys, he made sure everyone got the help and support they needed, but he was alone. He should have had someone. And Scrooge should have stopped cowardly pretending that all this never happened. If after his explanation Della would take everyone away from him… maybe he deserved it, after all.

“What do you mean?” Della asked softly, but her eyes were like steel. She knew him enough to not expect anything minor after those words. 

“I… I’ll tell you when we will be back. I promise.” 

Della took a long breath and looked at cups with hot chocolate in her hands. She probably was trying to calculate what should be more important at that moment; four kids waiting for their uncle or forcing the truth from Scrooge. Kids won and she nodded. 

Donald was back with them after not more than an hour. He smiled at the kids and all four ran to hug him. Webby was a little behind the boys, but Donald made sure to get her too. He didn’t say much. Kids were asking about Gladstone, why it took so long and a hundred other questions but they slowed down after Donald kissed their heads and shrugged. 

“Just boring adult stuff. And paperwork.” 

Della followed Scrooge to his office immediately. Boys insisted on Donald taking them to bed and she didn’t argue. Maybe even she was glad, because she never was a patient one. 

“So,” she said, closing the door behind them. “What did you do?”

“QuackPack hates me,” he whispered. “Rightfully so, I need to add.”

“Let me guess,” she rolled her eyes, but it was something cold in that. “You were the one to name my boys after them, to replace QuackPack with a real family?” Sometimes Scrooge hated how well Della knew him. There was a reason why she left for the first time. Why she come back only when she discovered she was about to become a mother. Still, that wasn’t what happened. 

“No,” he said, focusing on finding those letters and a package. He wasn’t able to look at Della. “When you disappeared… I was ready to do anything to find you. I cared nothing about anything else. Including… Including Donald and your kids.” How could he be so stupid? “At the same time I refused to let go of the stupid picture of family that I used to have. When Donald firstly took your eggs, I stormed to his house and I… I said many hurtful things. About him. About a Quack Pack. About your cousin Della.”

“You… You liked cousin Della,” said Della quietly. “You convinced my parents to name me after her. And you love the Quack Pack.” All that was true. Quackmore’s niece was the best of his family. And when the man insisted on naming his daughter one of family names, Scrooge suggested this one. Because, it seemed, the name Della came with a blessing. Scrooge also loved her children, even if he was annoyed when Donald took them in. Because it should be Gladstone or Grandma Duck. The luckiest man on the planet or adult woman with a space and ability to do this. Not a young man, fresh out of the Navy, unable to take care of anyone more than himself, with the worst luck in the entire universe. Still, Donald loved his boys and Scrooge had to admit that they were really good kids. 

“I was stupid,” said Scrooge after a moment. “And cruel,” he added quietly. “And… And this was the last time I saw Quack Pack. Donald and your boys… I got them back a year ago, but… I was too afraid to even ask.” There it was. A letter. Scrooge wasn’t sure where he put two more he got, or what he did with a package. 

“You… You abandoned them?” For ten years Scrooge was repeating himself that it was them who abandoned him, but he knew it wasn’t the case. 

“Yes.”

The door slammed loudly and Scrooge was alone with the letter that was twelve years old. That was okay. He deserved to be all alone reading it. He tore the envelope and sighed seeing Donald’s handwriting. It was clearly rushed. Scrooge looked at the date. Barely two months after Della’s disappearance. Her boys were already out of the eggs. Scrooge could hardly imagine how hard that time had to be for Donald. The letter was the size of a quick note, but, considering everything, it wasn’t weird. Taking care of three teenagers and three newborns had to be exhausting.

Chapter Text

Uncle Scrooge!

If hearing this wasn’t enough, I’ll repeat: I’m sorry. I’ll be telling this how many times you want, but please, please, help us. I don’t know what else to do. I took the boys to the sea. She can’t get them there, but it’s not gonna work forever. Please, if you can think of any way to get Gaia out of my kid’s heads… I’ll do anything, I promise. Just help us. 

Donald

Gaia? What that bloodthirsty entity wanted from Donald’s kids? And… And he never helped. Scrooge read the letter a few more times before he put it on the desk and started frantically searching everywhere for others. They had to be somewhere. 

Some time later, when the contents of all the drawers and shelves were on the floor, he took a phone. If that wasn’t here, it had to go back to the post office. Maybe it still was there. 

It was the middle of the night, Scrooge was the only one not asleep, when there was a knock on the front doors. 

“You’re lucky we didn’t dispose of those,” said the old postman with a kind smile. He handed Scrooge a pretty big bag. “They stopped coming five years ago,” he added. “Few more months and we would get rid of everything.”

It was a lot more than Scrooge expected, but this wasn’t the reason why he wasn’t able to say anything. On the top of the bag were three black envelopes. And there was only one reason to send a letter in a black envelope. He shut the door, barely giving the postman time to take a step back and he went back to his office. He wasn’t able to even touch the black envelopes, so he turned the bag upside down to pour out everything, to be able to open everything, more or less, chronologically. 

Mr. McDuck.

I have only one thing to say to you: fuck you! I honestly have no idea why Donald insists on defending you, but I’ll let you know what I think. It all is your fault. If you hoped that till now Donald would give up, you are wrong. He will never stop fighting for his kids. He’s nothing like you. Me and Fethry will help him and he will defeat Gaia without you. And when we’ll be back I’ll use every ounce of my luck to bring you down even if that would kill me. 

Fuck you. 

Gladstone. Scrooge was almost curious about why he didn’t go for it.

Hi Uncle Scrooge!

Me and Glad are helping Donald on the sea! It’s going pretty great for now, but I think that Gaia’s obsession is evolving. I don’t know how your research is going, but could you check if everything like that happened before? The bottom of the sea rises if we’re in one place for too long and, if that’ll keep that way, we won’t be able to even get close to the land. And we need supplies; there are nine people on this boat, after all. Little ones are not eating too much, but they’ll be bigger in no time. I’d sent you photos, but Glad said he’s doing that, so… I hope you like it. Okay, I’m not distributing you from research any longer. 

Fethry

Ps. You should send something fast. I heard boys talking that you don’t care, but Donald promised me that you’re looking for an answer, so… Even if you have nothing, just let us know!

He really didn’t care. He didn’t even know. Scrooge took a few breaths, he couldn’t have a meltdown at that moment. He needed to see everything, he needed to know how awfully he fucked up. 

All packages looked the same, rectangular, not too big, with a date. First one was from half a year after Della’s disappearance. He opened it, and saw a video cassette. 

He didn’t use the old machine for years now, but it still was in the office. He wasn’t sure how he managed to turn it on, he barely saw anything, but after a few minutes there were colors on the screen and he heard happy voices. 

“C’mon, dad,” laughed Louie. “We know how to make those!” 

“Okay, okay,” nodded Donald, unconvinced. “I’m leaving. Really, boys. You don’t need to make such a secret from every video.” He kissed their heads and turned to face the camera. “Happy birthday, Uncle Scrooge.” Scrooge sobbed. What was Donald doing? Why…?

“He left?” asked Huey, and when Dewey nodded, all three boys stood in front of the camera, their faces serious, not even a shadow of happiness. “I bet twenty dollars that the asshole won’t even watch this,” he said and his brothers nodded. 

“But, since there is a chance that you will,” started Dewey slowly. “I’d like you to know that we’re fine. Not thanks to you.”

“Also, dad’s trying to hide that you abandoned us all, so if you ever tell him that we know…” Louie’s voice was unnaturally low. “Don’t.”

“We probably will be dead before your next birthday, so… Fuck you.”

The video ended and Scrooge did his best to stop sobbing. He wasn’t sure when he succeeded enough to change the tape. 

“Surprise, we’re still alive,” Dewey’s voice was light, a little bored maybe. “A lot happened in that year, you know. I mean, you don’t, but well.”

“You’re probably not gonna answer that, but did you know what an asshole is our bio father?” asked Huey with a sad smile. “At least his older brother is kind of cool. He’s trying to help us.”

“Yeah,” Louie sighed. “He’s trying to help us die, wonderful.”

“We talked about it, Louis,” said Huey in a tired tone. “H is doing what he can.”

“But it's about us dying properly. You can’t blame me for not being happy about it.” Louie waved his hand. “Besides, it’s not like Scrooge is going to watch this. I can be annoyed once a year. Let’s consider this a gift from him.”

“He might watch this,” argued Dewey, but without much hope in his voice. “When we’ll be dead… Dad’s gonna take Juniors for him one day.” 

Scrooge stopped the video. He wasn’t able to hear more. He saw black envelopes. He knew how it ended. He knew that he did nothing when boys were fighting for their lives. He let himself cry for a while before pressing play.

“He shouldn’t. Scrooge doesn’t deserve a family.” In point. Hurtful, but true. He did nothing. 

“Say happy birthday to your uncle, kiddos!” Dewey encouraged three little ducklings. Della’s boys. They were clinging to their older cousins. 

“Happy b-day!” Three voices sang and they waved in the camera. 

“Beautiful,” smiled Louie. “But now we’re gonna say a few words for uncle on our own, kay?”

“Can’t we stay?” Little Huey asked, but Dewey shook his head. 

“Nope. These are our videos. Later we can record yours.”

Ducklings left and Huey sighed. 

“I’m starting to understand why dad doesn’t want us to know.”

“No shit, Hu,” huffed Louie. “I kinda hope that they’ll never know. One asshole family member is enough.”

“True,” agreed Dewey and looked into the camera. “Another year, you know? I thought that till now you’d get over this. Dad could really use support.” Scrooge knew without doubt that he was talking about Donald. He wasn’t sure when they started calling him dad, but there was no one else who deserved that title. 

“He cries every night this month,” added Huey. “We don’t have much more time. That’s probably our last video to you, so… Still, fuck you. But I’m gonna haunt you if you hurt dad again.”

“Or we’ll send uncle Gladstone to destroy you,” said Louie. “Whatever will work the best.”

“Mhm. Also, Uncle Fethry also knows that you’re an asshole, so he’s not going to defend you.” Huey sounded happy about it. 

“Unfortunately, dad probably will,” murmured Dewey. “You’re lucky, asshole.”

How was Donald able to even look at him? He should scream at him, he should be angry about what happened. He shouldn’t not say a word about all that. He shouldn’t let him be close to kids. Donald should hate Scrooge. 

He put another tape. 

“We are still alive,” stated Dewey without any emotions in his voice.

“And we are still pretending that we have no idea how shitty you are.”

“So nothing has changed since last year.”

“Dad wanted us to tell you that we’re okay. We are, but not thanks to you.”

“Honestly, I hate you,” said Louie. “I get that you don’t give a shit about us, really. We’re not your family and you don’t care. But you should care about dad. You raised him, he’s your sister’s son. He’s calling you whenever he can, he begs for your help, and you… You don’t give a shit.”

Scrooge was sure that he never got any call from Donald. Maybe, in all his rage, he blocked his phone number? 

“I think we’re here long enough,” shrugged Dewey and moved to the camera. 

Scrooge didn’t want to see more. He hated it. He hated himself for letting it all happen like that. For leaving them alone. And he hated himself more with every tape, with every word from Donald’s boys. But he had to see this all. 

“Dad knows that we know.” Louie was smiling at the camera, his voice was calm, but cold. “Starting this year we’re not allowed to say how much we hate you, how much you hurt dad or anything… rude and disrespectful.”

“So, yey, we survived one more year,” continued Huey. “Dad sold his soul at least twice since our last video. Uncle Gladstone tried to kill himself only four times. Uncle Fethry stopped him three times, we once. Juniors are great, but, it turned out, they don’t know how to walk on the land. Funny, don’t you think?”

“So, you know what’s up, happy birthday. Bye.”

He wasn’t sobbing anymore. He felt tears on his face, but he didn’t care. What happened there? Why wasn’t he with them? Another tape. Last one. All three boys were already adults. Scrooge looked at the date. Last video from them. They turned 21 at this point. They should be in college, they should be alive.

“Our half-brother shared with us that it’s our last chance to say anything to you,” said Louie with a sad smile. “So, I guess, we will be dead before your next birthday.”

“We survived longer than anyone expected, and we have a chance of dying properly, so… maybe we will see you someday.” Huey sounded resigned. “Dad thinks that we shouldn’t die with hate in our hearts, you know? He thinks we should forgive you.”

“Easier said than done,” sighed Dewey. “But we promised him that we will, at least try. So listen carefully, McDuck.” Scrooge wasn’t able to breathe. They shouldn’t forgive him. He didn’t deserve that. “You can consider yourself forgiven the moment dad will really forgive you. I mean it. If he’ll forgive you, we will too.”

“And, since your emotional capacity would fit in a spoon, we’ll explain a few things to you,” said Huey slowly. “For dad to forgive you, he needs to stop blaming himself. He thinks we’re in that situation because of him, even if that was your nemesis that sacrificed us to Gaia. He thinks he’s to blame. He won’t tell you that you’re messed up, because he believes that it all is on him.”

“Which, it isn’t.” Louie cut in. “I also don’t think it’s on you, honestly. Magica is the only one to blame. She would come for us or Juniors either way. You fucked up by not helping. So, if you care enough to want our forgiveness, get dad’s first.”

“And don’t dare hurt him more.” There was a threat in Dewey’s voice. All three of them looked angry at the thought alone. “If you show up at our funeral… Even if you don’t want our forgiveness. Even if you really don’t care about him, consider this our last wish. Don’t hurt him. He doesn’t deserve that. We were destined to die all those years ago, but he defied everything and he gave us seven years.”

Video ended. 

Sun was rising when Scrooge stopped crying and was able to open the first black envelope. He recognized angry handwriting. Gladstone.

Mr. McDuck.

Donald’s afraid that you won’t receive this in time if he’ll send the letter. Donald’s sons died four days ago and we’re on the way to Duckberg. To ensure that Gaia won’t be able to get to them, their bodies were cremated. Address and date are in the separate note.  

My dear cousin asks you to not add to his grief. So, once in your life, McDuck, don’t speak your mind. You’re always finding a way to blame Donald for everything, but I promise you, he has done everything possible and impossible to save them. He never failed them. Remember this.

Gladstone Gander

The look at the date explained a lot. Significant day, when Donald came back home ready to fall apart. Anniversary of his boys’ death. No wonder that Gladstone didn’t want him anywhere around. 

His hands were shaking when he took second envelope. 

Scrooge McDuck

I regret to inform you that Hubert Duck, Deuteronomy D. Duck and Louis Duck died last week. Details of the funeral are in the separate note. 

Feel yourself invited.

Fethry Duck

Two should be enough. Third one had to be from Donald. Scrooge would rather do anything else than read that one. But he had no choice. 

Uncle Scrooge

I failed. I know it. I don’t know if you’re going to show up to the funeral, but please, just don’t tell me how much I failed my boys. I know it, I promise. But I won’t be able to hear this. Not from you. 

Maybe you’ll hate me after that letter, but I’d prefer if you wouldn't come to hear how much of a failure I am. I don’t know if you care at all, you’ll do what you want. But, if you ever cared… If not for me, do it for Della’s boys. I need to stay strong for them. They don’t know about you. I’m sorry, but I didn’t know what to tell them. 

If you won’t hate me after this, if we’ll meet again outside of the funeral, I want to ask you for one thing: please, pretend that my boys never existed if you can’t pretend that you don’t blame me for what happened. 

Love

Donald

Scrooge wasn’t sobbing nor crying anymore. He curled up, hugging the letter and he screamed. 

Of course, the first person to hear him and come running was Donald. Scrooge started to sob violently the moment he saw him. He wanted to die. There was too much guilt to take. 

The door slammed and Scrooge expected to be left alone, but Donald was still inside. He moved closer, but before he was able to do or say anything, there was a knock on the door. 

“Uncle Scrooge? What’s…”

“Della. Take boys for a walk,” said Donald calmly. “I’ll take care of Uncle Scrooge.”

“But…”

“Go, Della.” 

They were alone. Scrooge felt a need to say something, anything to his nephew, but there wasn’t a coherent thought in his mind. And Donald wasn’t helping. Because he should scream at him. He saw that Scrooge didn’t even bother to open those letters before. Donald should be angry, disappointed in him. But Donald helped him sit down and held him for some time. Scrooge had no idea how long he sat there and cried. 

“I’m so sorry, Donald,” he said when the reality of this situation sunk in. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”

“You… you didn’t know?” 

“I’m sorry.” What else could he say? It wouldn’t change anything, he knew that. Donald would realize how badly Scrooge messed up. He would leave him here. He’d take Della and boys. And this time Scrooge had no doubts: he deserved that. He’d do and give everything to get at least a chance to make it alright, but it was far too late. But Donald didn’t move. 

“You didn’t know,” he repeated dully. “Why are you sorry?” Scrooge knew Donald. He wasn’t asking to make sure that Scrooge knew what he did wrong. And that thought sobered Scrooge up. Donald spent years believing that he was to blame, even if all he did was for his kids. Donald believed that Scrooge was blaming him. 

“You did great, lad,” he whispered. “You protected them for years. I’m proud of you. And I’m sorry. Because of my pride, of my stupidity, I didn’t even bother to read a letter from you, I deleted every voicemail you left. I let you down, Donald. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” 

There were a few minutes of silence. Almost, because Scrooge couldn’t help and some sobs escaped from his throat. And then, in one second, Donald broke. He was crying like never before. 

They didn’t talk for some time. They both just sat and cried. Scrooge didn’t know if that took them hours or minutes, he didn’t know if he hated himself more or less, because of the relief in Donald’s sobs. Because that shouldn’t be like that. Donald should never think that he was to blame. Donald shouldn’t be relieved once discovering that Scrooge didn’t talk about them because he didn’t know. 

The sun was high on the sky when they both calmed enough to be able to talk. 

“I never blamed you for staying away from that,” said Donald slowly. “And, considering that you didn’t know…”

“You have every right to blame me, lad,” he cut in, not letting Donald finish the thought. “Your cousins know that, your sons knew that… I know that. I…”

“There was nothing more you could have done.”

“I could be there for you. For kids. I left you alone.”

“I had Glad and Fethry. And later also a few more friends.” Donald shrugged. “You owe me nothing, uncle.”

How many times Scrooge said this to Donald? How many times he refused to help, because he owed him nothing? How many times did he let Donald down because he was too focused on his bad luck? How many times…? When did it become one too many? When did he even start saying that? 

“I owe you the world, Donald.” That was the truth. In the moment he decided to take him and Della in, he made a commitment to this children. And he failed so many times. “The moment I went to the court to adopt you and your sister I vowed to protect you, to take care of you. I did this. You… You aren’t supposed to earn any of those. It was my commitment for a life. I’m sorry I made you think otherwise.”

“I…”

“And I failed you. More times than I ever realized. I am sorry. And… and I’ll really understand if you won’t forgive me.” 

Donald nodded and sighed, looking at the window. He shook his head and, when he spoke, he sounded normal.  

“Like I said, uncle, I don’t blame you. Nothing to forgive, really. But we should clean this mess, kids will be curious about what happened and I don’t want them to see all this.”

Many years earlier, when Scrooge saw how quickly Donald was able to calm himself down, he assumed that all those big feelings were an act. He never, even once, considered that he had done it for his kids. About being a parent Scrooge had much to learn. And he was going to finally start. 

Donald asked Scrooge to let him explain everything to Della. Earlier he was sure that she was told about everything, but since it wasn’t the truth, he wanted to be the one to bring bad news. Scrooge took kids for some adventure, to give the twins time. They surely needed that. 

Two days full of traps, weird prophecies and one treasure later they were back home. Della ran to them the second they landed. She hugged her kids tightly. 

“Sorry for what I said about your names,” she said. “I had no idea.”

“Uncle Scrooge didn’t tell you?” asked Louie suspiciously. 

“He thought I should tell the full story,” answered Donald with a small smile. “And I thought your mum already knew.”

“And you didn’t ask?” Louie was a smart kid, Scrooge knew that, but he remained silent. In the end that was Donald’s call to decide if kids would know. 

“I wasn’t close with your cousins,” sighed Della. “I assumed that they’re doing their own things in the world and… I’m sorry boys. I promise, I’ll do better.”

Scrooge vinced. Both of them were better than him. She had asked. First night at home she went to him to ask about Donald and his boys. That was he who assumed that they were doing their things in the world, not her. And still, she took the blame. 

“You weren’t close with them? But they talked about you a lot. You were their hero when they were little,” said Huey slowly.

“Probably because I talked a lot about my adventures.” Della shrugged. “I also wrote letters. But I was never long enough in one place to receive any, so… they knew about me a lot more than I did about them. And now they are mine heroes.”

“We have tapes,” jumped Dewey. “We made a lot of them. Do you want see?”

“I… I’d love to.” There were tears in Della’s eyes. 

“Yeah! C’mon uncle Donald! Let’s prepare everything!” Kids took Donald home and Scrooge found himself in front of pissed Della. He hung his head, unable to look at her. 

“You better not fuck up again,” she said. “How could you? You said they left, you never said that you ignored them. You ignored them for years and you lied to me. Why didn’t you tell me that you had no idea how they were?”

“I… I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?! I’m not Donald, uncle. I don’t care about halfass apology! You ignored them! They needed you and you did nothing! You didn’t even opened a fucking letter!”

“I know,” he whispered. He knew it very well. But there was nothing he could say to make it right. He didn’t have an excuse, he fucked up and there was no way of fixing it. 

“You know? Wonderful. That makes everything right!” Scrooge did his best to stop tears. He knew what would come next. She was going to do the thing that Donald should have. “You’re sorry and you know how much you fucked up, yes?” Her tone was cold as ice and Scrooge knew that whatever blow she had prepared he would not survive it. Still, he wasn’t going to try to avoid it. 

“Yes.”

“And you think that’s enough to earn his forgiveness?”

“No.” There was nothing that would be enough. 

“Good. Now listen carefully. I promised Donald to give you a chance, but it's the last one you ever get. Understood?” She… she was giving him a chance? Scrooge felt lighter and heavier at the same time. Because he didn’t even hope for this. Because he surely didn’t deserve this. 

“Thank you.”

“Thank Donald, not me. I was ready to pack and take boys as far away from you as possible. You don’t deserve that chance. I hope you know this.”

Della turned and left before Scrooge had time to respond that he knew that very well. 

“Hubert Duck.” Donald’s voice sounded even worse on the tape. “What did I say about starting a bonfire on the boat?”

“Not to?” Around seventeen years old Huey asked quietly and Donald sighed. 

“And what did you do?”

“I… I didn’t start it. I’m just looking after it.” He looked at the ashes. “Or I was.”

“And the thought that watching after fire wasn’t as bad an idea as starting said fire?”

“Emm… No?”

“Find your brothers. We’re going through safety protocols. Again.” Scrooge wondered how many times they went through them. 

“But, dad…!”

“Now, Huey.”

“Fine,” huffed the teenager and grabbed the camera before running. Few seconds later there were shushed voices and rushed footsteps. 

Camera wasn’t put in the best angle but most of the deck was still visible. Three teenagers and three ducklings were running frantically, putting decorations and shushing one another every two seconds. They finished only a moment before Donald entered the deck again. 

“Surprise!” Six voices screamed. 

“Happy birthday, dad!” added teenagers.

“Happy b-day!” yelled toddlers. 

Donald watched them for a second before all six went to hug him. 

“We made a cake,” said one of the boys and little Louie pointed behind the camera. 

“We decotated it,” he declared proudly. “You like it?”

“Well, it’s very colorful,” laughed Donald. “And… emm… what’s next to it?”

“Rock cake,” explained little Dewey. “For mummy.” 

“She’d love it,” nodded Huey. “Aunt Della made the best rock cakes.”

Scrooge looked at Della. She had tears in her eyes and she was hugging her sons close. 

“Boom!” Little Louie moved his hands imitating explosions. “Boom for mummy?” 

“Well, if dad won’t ground us, we can make a boom for your mummy,” said Dewey, picking the toddler up. “But after he’ll blow the candles, kay?”

“Kay!” agreed the kid and clapped his hands. 

“I’m pretty sure we have exploding your rock cake somewhere,” said Donald after the tape ended. “But it might be in a different box.” 

“I don’t remember exploding any rock cakes.” There was an accusation in Dewey’s tone. 

“Yeah, because it’s a safety hazard. We blew last one year later and that was it,” shrugged Donald. “You three had enough dangerous ideas on your own.”

“Dangerous ideas? We? Doesn’t sound right,” smiled Louie and Donald rolled his eyes. 

“Mhm. Right. Okay, I have your first play on that tape. We’re watching this and then it’s time to go to bed.”

Next days were calm and Scrooge had no wish of disturbing it, even if he vibrated with a need to do something. Not like going on an adventure, but more like… just doing something. Della was avoiding him, Donald pretended that nothing happened and boys were too focused on showing tapes to Della and Webby to realize that anything was out of order. They wanted him to also watch videos, but he knew that Della didn’t want him there, so he excused himself with the work every time. Until he got a phone call. Gladstone was finally allowed to receive visitors. And he asked for him. Scrooge wasn’t expecting this, but he wasn’t going to refuse. Not after what he heard. “Uncle Gladstone tried to kill himself only four times.” It wasn’t the only thing he heard on repeat every night, but this one also came with a picture. With Gladstone’s face when they were sailing to find Donald. So he went. 

Gladstone looked healthy, even if a little sad. Somehow in the hospital, dressed in white, he looked more real than ever. 

“How are you, lad?” Scrooge asked in a hushed tone. Gladstone shrugged. 

“Not bad, I guess.”

“That’s… I’m glad. Really.” How uncomfortable that conversation was going to be?

“Mhm. Right. Don told me you helped without strings, so thanks.” 

For a second Scrooge wondered if he should mention everything. Gladstone should be recovering, not carrying even more emotional baggage, but he also deserved to know. 

“I… I finally know what happened,” he said slowly, not looking at the man. “It’s… I have a vague picture, at least. I didn’t ask Donald for any details…”

“What do you mean by finally?” asked Gladstone and Scrooge took a long breath before answering. But when he started, he told him everything. His ignorance and pride, tapes from boys, letters, Donald’s breaking down, Della’s anger. Everything. And then he waited, because it was Gladstone’s turn. But the man was quiet. 

“You… you were with him.” Scrooge looked at him but Gladstone’s face was unreadable. “Thank you.”

“Do you think that you deserve Don’s forgiveness?” 

“No,” he shook his head, trying to stay calm. “I think I never will,” he admitted. 

“Neither do I,” sighed Gladstone and Scrooge looked at him, surprised. 

“You were there for him.” 

“His kids saw me trying to kill myself, McDuck. I… You couldn’t even imagine his face when he heard about this.” Gladstone curled up and sighed. “All because I’m a coward. I thought that dying would be easier than paying that stupid price. I didn’t even think about them.”

“Price?”

“How do you think I ended up in that cursed casino? My luck wasn’t enough, I made a deal with a devil.” Gladstone laughed bitterly. “All of us did, honestly. Don’s going to jump between afterlives like a flea, Fethry can’t leave underwater for more than a week per year. I had to sacrifice only three years of my life and it still was too much for me. They accepted the consequences of their choices, only I… broke.”

“They… what?”

“Vague picture, you said?” Gladstone shrugged. “Magica’s spell was supposed to sacrifice boys' bodies and souls to Gaia. She needed their blood to wake up and their souls to feed on. I’m lucky, Fethry is smart and Don skilled. But it was too little. I think that Don started it. He asked deities for help. Unfortunately they weren’t like Storkules, they were… Well, they are a lot more serious. First one wasn’t bad, he had his reasons to help, but he didn’t want anything from Don. The rest… Anyway, Fethry focused on the sea. He’s stuck there in the end. And I’m lucky. Nothing permanent. Three years in that casino. Easy.”

“I…” Scrooge didn’t know what to say. Because it all was worse than he ever imagined. But this wasn’t about him. He tried to focus. “You didn’t get that easy, Gladstone,” he said softly. “You did everything you could. And I don’t think you’re a coward. You stayed with him and you paid your price. Besides…” He hesitated, not sure if he should say it. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he was overthinking it. “Boys knew about your four attempts that year. I don’t think you tried to do this because you were scared of being imprisoned.”

“What?”

“On the tape they sent me that year. They said that you tried to kill yourself only four times. You… you tried before, didn’t you?”

For a second Gladstone was quiet. 

“I've been trying at least once a year since Dells died,” he whispered. Scrooge winced, realizing that even if they weren’t close, she still was his sister. Half-sister to be precise, but the point remained. “My luck… It runs in the family. I… If I wasn't born, maybe she would get it. Maybe she’d live.” 

“That wasn’t your fault, lad.” How many children in his family broke and he never realized? “And you used it to protect her children. She’d be proud of you.”

“Her children saw me…”

“Her children loved you. They never blamed you. Neither did Donald. You… You’re sick, but you will be better. I’m sorry I didn’t realize this before, but I promise you, I’ll do everything in my power to help you.”

“You don’t have to. We’re not… we’re not family. You…”

“You will be okay, lad. You’re strong and I’m sorry I never saw that.”

“You apologize a lot,” said Gladstone after a moment. He seemed a little better. 

“I have a lot of things to apologize for,” he shrugged. “And even more to make up for. I know I won’t be forgiven for all of those, but, honestly, that’s not the point.”

“So… what’s the point, then?”

“Trying. Caring. Being better. How long I’ll be doing it, I’ll be able to look in the mirror.” Scrooge wasn’t sure if that was really true, but acting depressed around a depressed man wouldn’t help him. He sighed. “You are a good man, Gladstone.”

“Thanks, unc… Thanks.” 

In the end, it went a lot better than Scrooge expected. 

It took Della almost two months to accept everything. Scrooge thought that it was too quick. But, in the end, she and Donald were a lot more similar than anyone thought. They were quick to anger and even quicker to forgive. Maybe that wasn’t a real forgiveness - she took the same stand as her nephews - but she saw that he tried. 

Donald, on the other hand, just moved on. He was better, he talked about his boys, he definitely behaved a lot less guilty about everything, but he still wasn’t acknowledging Scrooge’s mistakes. And a few years earlier Scrooge would be glad about it, but things changed. 

It was surprising how little effort it took. A moment of thinking before speaking, taking time to just be with his family, a few words of praise and Donald seemed more himself than ever. He stopped being wary around everything, he could worry less and relax a little. He also started to spend time with all of them without nagging. 

Nothing of those was forgiveness, but Donald’s accepting of him trying to change was enough. More than enough, even. 

There still were sleepless nights when Scrooge lay in his bed, unable to even close his eyes. Some of those he would wander around the house, trying to busy himself with something, to stop thinking about what happened. He tried to do this as rarely as possible, because both Donald and Bentina had some kind of sixth sense and one of them would join him. They were helpful, that was true, but burdening them with himself was the last thing he wanted to do. 

Days were mostly good. They still went on adventures, they were together and, every monday they were visiting Gladstone. He also was better, maybe less joyful than he used to be, but a lot more authentic. Donald and the kids accepted it, like it was the most normal thing in the world and only he and Della couldn’t understand how he was able to fake his whole personality for so long. 

“Maybe you should consider that he wasn’t faking it,” said Bentina one night, after he rant everything that kept him awake. “Gladstone’s personality is as complex as everyone’s else, Mr. McDuck. Like everyone he has better and worse days. He’s surely capable of faking joy, but I refuse to believe that he was always pretending.”

“He’s completely different now.”

“He’s healing,” she pointed out. “It's a difficult and tiring process. He’s working on every bad thing that ever happened to him, on every dark thought. Maybe he’s just letting go of the childish joyfulness, he’s letting himself grow up?”

That was one way to look at this. The way Scrooge never thought of, because Gladstone’s childish joy used to be a constant in his life. But, he suspected, Bentina could be right. 

He also tried to talk with Fethry, but this boy was hard to catch. Scrooge wasn’t entirely sure what exactly his work was, most of the information was labeled as confidential and even Betina had no access to it. Still, he tried to call every few days and Fethry was calling back in around a week. 

Fethry wasn’t as angry as Della, nor as resigned as Gladstone. When he heard that Scrooge had no idea he just sighed and commanded him to do better from now on. He said he was glad about his cousin’s recovery and asked him to send his love to Glad. He also talked quite a lot about his research work and asked a million questions about boys and Donald. It was nice to talk with him. 

The most angry with him was Gus. He refused to talk with him and Scrooge did his best to respect his wish.

Chapter Text

Gladstone expected a lot with the start of a new day. He always did, but this one was going to be special. Days when he would wake up to the sounds of his nephew’s voices were always the best. And when those voices were shushed it usually meant only one thing - that would be truly an amazing day. He wasn’t sure what exactly he did to deserve any kind of surprise from them this time, but it was more than probable that it was some winning ticket for the lottery that he sent under their name. He did that sometimes, mostly because Donald was stubborn and he always was refusing gifts, but when the information was coming that his boys won… Well, there was not much he could do. Besides, Gladstone should be helping, counter to what Donald seemed to think, he wasn’t doing this to show off. Huey, Dewey and Louie were his sister’s sons, after all. He wasn’t able to take them in when the news about her death broke, but he never wanted to shrug off all the responsibility. Unfortunately, neither Donald nor the boys were able to understand this. Donald was getting angry every time and boys… Boys were very loud in saying thank you. And it wasn’t bad, he got to spend time with them thanks to that. 

Gladstone gave kids a moment more, so they would be able to prepare everything and only then he left his bedroom. He expected a deafening noise, but he expected a happy noise. He didn’t expect that. 

Huey and Louie were holding onto three newborns, Della’s surely, terrified and with tears in their eyes. Worst of all, Dewey definitely wasn’t there. 

“Boys?” They looked at him and Gladstone knew that whatever happened, it had to be even worse than he could imagine. “Where’s Dewey?” Louie put the newborn back into the stroller and ran to him. It was desperate. 

“Uncle… Uncle Donald said to come to you,” he said and started sobbing violently. 

“He… He said he’ll be here shortly,” added Huey, also next to him. Gladstone was never good with kids, not like Donald was, but even he knew that boys needed support and hugs were always a way to show that one. Even if the only thing he wanted to do was to shake them both and get an answer. Because Dewey wasn’t there.

“Where’s your brother?” Gladstone asked again, praying that whatever happened, wasn’t permanent.  

“He went to register ducklings,” answered Louie after a moment. “He’ll be here.”

“What happened?”

He didn’t get an answer. Boys were crying, newborns joined their big cousins after a few moments and Gladstone had no other choice than do the adult thing: he made sure that none of the kids in his house was hurt, he tried to call Donald and then he hugged his nephews once again, hoping that they’d calm down enough to explain anything. 

Dewey ran into the house and his brothers clinged onto him in a second. He was out of breath and looked miserable, but not hurt. It was good. Unfortunately, before Gladstone was able to, once again, ask what happened, his house trembled. It wasn't an earthquake, he knew how those felt. Earthquakes didn’t feel like something was digging itself out of the ground. 

“She’s here!” Huey screamed and Gladstone pushed all three of them to the stairs. They had to get as high as they could. “Kids!” Louie protested and Gladstone cursed quietly. 

“Go. I’ll take them,” he promised and went to the stroller. How lucky that he had a wheelchair accessible house. 

“What’s going on?” Gladstone asked again when they all were, more or less, safe on the second floor. Whatever tried to get to kids surely needed ground access. He was almost sure of that. 

“Magica tried to curse kids,” Huey whispered. “Uncle Donald went to work and we were supposed to watch them.” Why didn't Scrooge take them somewhere safer? “We… we took this and she just ran away. But now… Earth is trying to swallow us.”

Gladstone was never as good with all that nonsense as Donald, one of the many reasons why he didn’t take boys in, but he knew too well what that meant. He knew the prophecy. But his nephews were only fifteen, they should have had at least one more year before this would kick on. Considering that it would kick on. Donald was better than anyone in making sure that all that crap wasn’t affecting his boys. Still, fate wasn’t meant to be deified. If prophecy was talking about one of them… But there was nothing about Gaia in that! Endless sleep, cursed blade - yes. But there was also a choice! 

His phone rang. 

“Fethry is on his way to you,” said Donald before Gladstone was able to say anything. “Get kids to the port safely and as fast as possible.”

“I will,” he answered, deciding that time for explanation would come later. Besides, he had to focus. They needed a safe route. 

During those twelve years since Dells’ death Gladstone discovered few things about his luck - mainly that it wanted him alive above all else. If he was determined enough to keep triplets safe even for the cost of his life… 

“Glad! I found a helicopter!” Fethry’s voice sounded weird via speakers. Also, wow. His luck really was desperate. 

***

Taking care of the newborns wasn’t an easy task, fortunately teenagers were happy to help. That way everyone was getting at least a little sleep. 

“So, Turbo, what’s…” he started, but Dewey looked at him with annoyance. He sighed. “We can’t call them the same as the three of you.” Really, what those kids had in their heads, or rather what Dewey had in his, to register their cousins under family names that had exactly the same shortenings as theirs? Okay, he knew what they had in their minds when they decided it, but still. It was going to be confusing. 

“Weirder things worked out in this family,” shrugged Huey and Gladstone resisted a grimace. This one didn’t even take a second to think about a different full name. Still, on some level, boys were right. Weirder things worked out in this family. 

“Fine. Let’s try this,” he sighed and then he smiled. Maybe it could be fun. “So, Dewey, you want your uncle Glad to change you?” he asked the newborn and grinned seeing how all three teenagers cringed. They did it to themselves, after all. 

“Dad.” 

“I’m your uncle.” Donald was going to lose that battle, Gladstone was sure of this. He, honestly, had no idea why even he was insisting. He raised them, he was more of a father to those three than Gustave or Quackmore were fathers to their children. 

“Okay, dad.” Yep. It would stick. Definitely. 

“I’m not gonna respond to that name,” Donald threatened, but Louie only smirked. It would be an interesting journey, for sure. 

***

Two months into their journey Gladstone, for the first time in his life, wasn’t able to luck out the situation. They stopped in some small port, they needed supplies, after all. Donald asked him to stay with Quack Pack on the boat, hoping that his luck would be enough to distract Gaia from finding them. It wasn’t. This time it really was an earthquake, even if it was everything but natural. Fethry was the first one to realize that the bottom of the sea was rising to get to them. Later both his cousins were grateful for the luck, because they managed to escape in time. Because Donald, the most unlucky duck in the world, got a lift from a stranger just before it all started. Gladstone, on the other hand, saw that they didn’t have everything they needed, that Donald was still unsuccessful in contacting Scrooge, that his luck was too little. Fethry suggested a bigger port, somewhere where the sea bottom was further away, where they could be safer. When they got there Gladstone had no problem with staying on board, he was barely conscious, completely unable to protect himself if anything would happen. And, obviously, nothing happened. 

“Glad, we’re safe here. C’mon, kids want to see you.” Fethry didn’t understand. He still thought that Scrooge was helping, he thought that Gladstone’s basic luck was enough. “Gus and Grandma are on their way here,” his cousin added and that was what convinced him. Grandma hadn’t magical luck, but her magic was even better. More focused. 

“Fine,” he said. “Tell the kids that my fever is going down, I’ll go to them tomorrow.”

Maybe it wasn’t smart to get to such a state and back off at the first possible occasion, but if Grandma was leaving the farm to get to them… Maybe he really went too far this time. But they were on the sea almost two years, Gaia was getting more and more dangerous, stretching his luck only occasionally wasn’t sufficient anymore. Still, it was harder and harder to hide it from kids. Boys were seventeen, they were almost adults and they were getting more aware of everything going on. He’d need a better way in no time. Maybe Grandma would help him find one. 

***

Grandma and Gus brought a lot of jars. Jams, pickles, compote. It looked like all her visits, minus fresh vegetables and fruits. They brought them a little of those too, but keeping too much on the boat wasn’t possible. Still, with her it felt like home again. Little Huey, Dewey and Louie were overjoyed to meet their great-grandma and their big cousins weren’t leaving her side even for a second. It was nice to see them like that. But the best of all was that he, Donald and Fethry were finally able to take a breath. Gus also thought that they needed a break and the second evening, when grandma took all six boys to tell them old family stories, he gathered them in Don’s room and took out a self-made hooch. 

“First drink in my life was exactly like this,” laughed Donald after he took a sip. Fethry coughed a little and also smiled. 

“It feels exactly the same,” he admitted and only then Gladstone took his glass and drank a little. Yep, it was the same as uncle’s Luke. 

“You did it by yourself?” he asked, because really, it was identical. Gus nodded proudly. 

“You should see Granny’s reaction,” laughed Gus. “Did you know that dad apparently had some secret recipe that no one could break?”

“Well, considering how hard it was to get to his workshop, I’d believe it,” said Fethry seriously. “Although I thought he kept it that way so we wouldn’t be able to get in.”

“It took us twenty minutes to get in,” Donald pointed out. “It wasn’t hard.” 

“Yeah, for you and Glad it wasn’t,” Gus rolled his eyes and poured them more. “You have skill, Don. I’m pretty sure you’d break into the Duckingham Palace and say that it wasn’t hard.”

“Jokes on you,” answered Donald with a smug smile. “That one was actually hard.”

Fethry was the first one to snort a laugh, Gus joined him a moment later and, after a second, Gladstone was also giggling. “Good joke,” they all would say, even if all four of them knew that Donald was dead serious. 

***

“Let’s try this,” he said to himself before stepping into that hotel. It wasn’t easy, his luck was doing everything it could to keep him out of that place. But he had no other choice. With Grandma's death all her protective spells went inactive and all was on him again. He was more than ready to do absolutely everything to protect his nephews and whatever that demon would demand for his help wasn’t out of the table. 

They gave him creeps. Every instinct in him screamed to run, but he had to do this. 

Three years. Deal was sealed by shaking hands and Gladstone felt how dirty magic joined his luck, how it filled his soul and body. He hated it, but he needed it. 

Donald and Fethry knew that something was off, but they wouldn’t ask in front of the kids, so Gladstone made sure to spend as much time as possible with them. And, he had to admit, it was nice. For the first time in years he was able to be himself. He was able to laugh and play and he didn’t have to worry. Everything looked good. And sure, he would end up imprisoned for three years, but it would be only after they’d break the curse. Or Don would gather enough help to defy Gaia. Three years for three lives was a minor price. 

***

Uncle Day stopped being only Donald’s holiday when boys were around ten, when Fethry dragged him to their home and when Donald in a second shifted from being annoyed to being welcoming and supportive. Back then he thought that words another one meant another uncle, but at this point it wasn’t a secret, at least between the three of them, that they knew about his attempts on his life as long as they were happening. How easier their lives would be if he and Donald would be able to communicate with each other as well as with Fethry?

It was easier to enjoy being with his family when there was no need to worry about his luck. Once again he could have fun and bring fun. He was good at this, so why should he not use his gift on an important day like this? At the beginning, when boys started calling Don dad, he thought that maybe they’d be celebrating Father's Day, but Uncle’s Day stayed. Maybe it wasn’t weird, the day was re-invented for Donald so going back to something as normal and boring as Father’s Day would feel unnatural. Besides, little ones needed to continue the tradition. 

That year the plans were made by little ones. They were already six and were more than eager to do something. Gladstone knew he wasn’t allowed to actively help, but sometimes his presence could do the trick. Boys were excited and happy days before the day, sparkling a little luck on their plans couldn’t be a bad idea. 

The whole deck was sparkling. There were photos everywhere. Donald screaming at the policeman, Donald teaching Huey driving his old 313, Fethry balancing six big ice cream desserts, Gladstone driving a go-kart, Donald playing his guitar for the little ones, Fethry trying to train the krill in a jar, Gladstone sliding on the sail… 

“We made breakfast-cakes!” announced little Dewey and one of the boys cleared his throat. “Seniors helped. We didn’t touch the stove, unca Donald.” Kid rolled his eyes but Donald stopped mid-step. 

“Besides, there was no need for the stove,” added little Louie, handing one plate to his brother. 

Breakfast-cakes turned out to be circled shaped sandwiches, decorated with their signs. His has a four leaf clover, made from lettuce, Fethry’s - lightbulb, that somehow kept together despite being made of corn, and Donald’s had an anchor, but Gladstone wasn’t able to tell what vegetable the boys used on that. Maybe mushrooms? It kinda looked like mushrooms. All this was surrounded by big ketchup-heart. 

“I’m not gonna eat this,” said Fethry after a few moments of looking at his cake. “I’ll frame it and hang it in my room.” 

“You have to eat this,” argued little Huey. “You’ll be hungry.” 

“But…”

“We can give you a drawing of this,” said little Louie and Fethry gasped loudly. 

“Drawing? Don, Glad, you heard that? We’ll get drawings of this art!” 

Uncle’s Day was going to be perfect, decided Gladstone, laughing along with Donald and Fethry and hugging all six kids. He was only a little worried about what the seniors prepared. He hoped that this time it would be something not gods-related. 

***

Gladstone often wondered how Donald was able to spend an hour per year grieving his sister. They were twins, they were really close and he lost her suddenly, yet it looked like he was letting himself miss her only at their birthday, once a year, after kids went to bed. Gladstone wasn’t as strong. 

His Della was fifteen years older than him, she was great, but they used to see each other three - four times a year. A little more after their father died and he ended up living with grandma. And still, after so many years, he felt like it all was happening again every time he even thought about her. Because the truth was, he wasn’t meant to exist. His luck should be hers and she should have lived. She should have been there with her children. But here he was. Blaming himself for being born was stupid, but there were many different things he did wrong. First was backing off from taking her kids in. Donald had to step in or they would end up in a group home or foster family. Another big thing was a lot more recent - how could he be so stupid? Nine people on a boat, even if not for his luck, someone would find him. Normally it was Fethry or Donald, normally kids (they weren’t kids anymore, maybe that was the reason?) had no idea. Admitting to Donald that his sons found him after another suicide attempt was the hardest thing he had ever did. 

“C’mon, uncle Glad! It’s our birthday!” How could he say no to them? Especially when he knew as well as they knew that it was going to be the last one. When he was twenty two he was living his best life. Almost. 

“Okay, okay,” he said with a smile. “What’s the plan?”

He loved them. He loved every minute with them, treasured every second. But, not for the first time, he wondered if they were sane. Still, he complied. 

“Stand down and prepare to be boarded!” screamed an old ghost and Gladstone smiled at Donald, who just rolled his eyes and handed him an iron knife and a pistol with salt. Well, at least he wasn’t angry. 

The best thing about ghosts on the sea was the abundance of ways of defending them - even he had fun while doing it. Not like Donald and kids, but he was doing pretty okay. His luck was taking care of most, but he surely stabbed one ghost in the leg and he shot another one. Then he decided that was enough for him and decided to just observe. As much as he could, not picking up a fight didn’t mean that ghosts stopped attacking him. But he was able to catch a glimpse of Donald shoving two ghosts in the water and then slipping into the third one. He saw how Huey jumped at the old ghost capitan and threw a handful of salt at his face, which caused him to step back enough to leave him in stab-distance for Louie. And, in the end, it was Dewey who exorcized him to the afterlife. Without their capitan, all the crew disappeared in a matter of seconds. 

“How lucky that you won those tickets to the amusement park for Fethry and children,” whispered Donald after the fight and Gladstone sent him the most innocent gaze he could muster. 

“Indeed,” he said seriously. “Lucky.”

***

All three of them had their prices to pay. Fethry left immediately after the funeral and Gladstone knew he should do the same, but leaving Donald alone felt wrong. So he stayed for another week, but the deal was made and he couldn’t ignore this longer. 

He was never good at saying goodbye, so he left before the sunset, the note and check on the kitchen counter, sending a quiet prayer to Fortuna. She was possibly the only goddess that never favored Donald for his efforts, maybe seeing it as the insult to the curse she casted on him, but maybe she would look at him more favorably if he’d be the one to ask. Besides, he didn’t really need his luck anymore. 

Chapter Text

Those years on the moon should have taught her: it was all meaningless. Still, there she was, once again throwing granola bars into the fire. Because she’d let it go, she’d forgotten and just accepted that she’s gonna be the only parent her boys would have (except that Donald was their parent and she was as grateful as jealous). She’d have moved on if she hadn’t learned the truth. But when it all was out, she needed to talk with him one more time. Because their children were in danger. Because he should help them. Because he shouldn’t let her disappear, he should’ve answered her earlier. 

When fire flicked changing its color for a moment, she let herself hope, but then the smell of burned granola bar reached her and she knew that there would be no answer. Again. At this point she wasn’t even angry. 

“Can’t sleep?” Donald stopped next to her and, really, he looked tired. Maybe not as bad as when they found him on that island, but like years earlier, when he single handedly was raising triplets, trying to keep a job for longer than a week. “You know, it's warm inside, you don’t need to start a fire every night.” 

“I don’t do it every night,” she denied, but Donald only rolled his eyes. He had bags under them.

“You do. Wanna tell me what’s that about?” 

The biggest problem with that conversation was that Della felt like she was late, really late, for it. Donald raised her sons since they hatched, he spent years as their parent and, if she wanted to be honest with herself, she always knew, or hoped at least, that he would be an active figure in their lives. That’s why her nightmares on the moon were less of her family blaming her, more about Donald learning this from someone else. Because she should’ve told him immediately. Or she should’ve told him right after coming back. Not almost a year later, when the weight of truth made it hard to stay straight. 

“I’m trying to contact someone,” she said finally, not sure how she’s going to explain it. How to tell Donald, that probably more than half of the problems he had on the sea was her fault (her, because boys did nothing wrong, boys hadn’t known, she was the one to hide the truth and hop in that cursed rocket).

“That much I can see,” mused Donald, his eyes flicking to empty wrappers. “Does uncle Scrooge know you are still trying?” 

So Donald did learn the truth. Della wasn’t sure why he hadn’t come to her for an explanation, but she also knew that she preferred to not know the answer for that question. And Donald gave her an opportunity to leave that subject. 

“What does uncle Scrooge have to do with it?” 

Donal opened the beak and closed it again, looking at her as she was stupid. It was quite a normal look when he was looking at her, but this time she actually was confused. 

“Because he needs to turn off his wards? And he doesn't like doing it, so I’d expect him to put them on again right after your first try. At least if you didn’t tell him that you’re going to keep trying.”

“What wards?” 

Did uncle Scrooge know too? Or maybe he got scared after hearing about Gaia? But when would he have time to put in place any wards? And were they powerful enough to keep the gods away? 

“Emm… Those that we were helping to maintain for the better part of our teenage years?”

“You mean magic alarm system?” Uncle Scrooge did have something like that, he used to insist on checking every rune, every spell and every crystal at least once a week. Della personally hated doing it, especially considering that it wasn’t helping much. Magica still was able to get in and cause a stir every now and then. 

“Magic ala… Della, please tell me that you just like that name. You can’t believe that it was it.” For some reason Donald sounded almost scared. And he looked even more tired than before. It felt wrong. She tried to smile. 

“I mean, it never worked anyway.” It had to be a bad thing to say because Donald’s eyes opened wide. Okay, it seemed like Donald really believed that their work back then did something. Her brother was a smart guy, but sometimes he could be awfully dense. Also, she would prefer him to get angry rather than see that weird resignation. “Think about it, Don. Even Magica had no problems getting here, or she’d have no problems if not for Gyro’s inventions. I’m pretty sure that uncle Scrooge gave us this task so he could work in peace for a few hours a week.”

For some reason Donald still was looking at her with disbelief. 

“Even Magica?” he asked after a moment. “You're telling it like she’s not one of the most powerful witches in the world.”

“Magica is not one of…”

“She’s the only one magic user that was able to get here, she raised an army of shadows, she had enough power to lure Gaia, the primary goddess, to hunt my kids. And fine, Gaia was mostly asleep, but after that spell a team of gods wasn’t able to break a connection. Magica is incredibly powerful, we were able to fight her off only because she alone isn’t aware of that.”

There was too much information at once. Della wasn’t sure what question to ask first. 

“Erm… Team of gods?”

Donald sighed and finally sat next to her, instead of standing above. 

“We asked for help,” he explained. “Some answered.” 

Della wanted to know more. But she wasn’t sure if she’d be strong enough to handle the truth. She risked a glance on Donald’s face, wondering how much her brother was still keeping a secret. 

“So… those wards really worked?” Were they the reason why her attempts to contact him were futile? But still, were they able to stop a god? 

“They still do, Della. If you wanna contact your… someone, you should talk with Scrooge first. Or with me,” he added quieter, almost unsure. “I should be able to modify wards to let someone slip in. Although it would be easier if we’d left the manor, Duckburg’s wards are a lot weaker compared to those ones.”

“Scrooge protects the whole city?” And for free? Because Della wasn’t delusional enough to think that anyone would pay for magic protection. Okay, maybe not anyone, but this would have to be paid by the city representatives, and they would never. 

“Actually…” Donald scratched his head, clearly uncomfortable. “I’ve learned a thing or two from all that maintenance work we did and once I took seniors in… I wanted them to be safe. And since uncle Scrooge refused to let them stay at the manor I started to warding all the places they were spending any time in… And when they went to school I put wards around the city, just to be sure.”

Della was half aware that her beak was wide open, but it wasn’t concerning her. Because her brother, in all his overprotectiveness, decided to… 

“Actually, it makes sense,” she said. She wasn’t going to say it aloud, but it really did. Donald, always a worrier, always fussing about safety and rules, went further than anyone could to keep his kids safe. Yeah, perfect sense. But it meant that… “This really keeps the gods away?” Was he not responding because he couldn’t?

“Yeah. I mean, not everyone now, but it used to.” Something was wrong but Della wasn’t able to focus on too many things at once. 

“So that’s why Hermes never showed up? Because you and uncle Scrooge are paranoiacs?” Donald said nothing. “I went to the moon so he’d fucking talk to me.” She wasn’t sure if she really said this, if she even opened her beak. “I wanted to tell him about eggs. About our children.” Only silence answered her. “And I’m still trying like an idiot!” 

“Della…”

“Is that some messed up joke? Don, I…” She spent a decade on the moon, leaving her family, her children in a desperate attempt to do the impossible. 

“I’m sorry. If I had known earlier…” 

“I’m so fucking stupid,” she said in the same time as Donald apologized. That sobered her up a little. She should have realized earlier; ever since Donald took his boys in, he was getting more and more insecure and guilt-driven. There was no money for desserts - his fault, he wasn’t good enough at his job. Boys catched a cold - his fault again, he should have made them wear warmer coats. Scrooge finally warmed up to them - his fault, he would’ve done it faster if not for Donald’s attitude. And much more, and she met with Donald only a few times every year. How much worse had it got after she left him with three more kids? Before he never blamed himself… Or at least, never aloud. She and Scrooge were doing it for him. It wasn't a pleasant realization but she wasn’t a stupid kid anymore. “Don, you didn't know, I should’ve told you. And… And I should’ve realized that something was wrong, Hermes wasn’t ignoring me ever before… I jumped to the conclusion and decided to resolve everything on my own.”

Donald relaxed a bit and Della felt a little lighter too. They still were able to talk everything out. 

“So… who are you trying to call?” Okay, and Donald was still dense. 

“Hermes. He's the boys' father.”

Donald studied her face for a moment before answering. 

“And… you hadn’t decided on some other form of communication since this,” he pointed to the bonfire, “doesn’t work here?”

Well, apparently they were not on the same page yet. 

“Don, I didn’t know it until five minutes ago.”

“But… Hermes hasn’t suggested anything?”

“I’m pretty sure that he also had no idea when we saw each other last time.”

Donald went silent again. 

“Dell… When was the last time you talked with him?” 

At this point Della had no idea which one of them was dense, because she thought she was pretty clear about not seeing Hermes in thirteen years. 

“On my way back to Duckburg, almost bursting to lay eggs.” Again, Donald didn't answer. He was just looking at her in disbelief and tensed, clearly getting angry. “Neither of us knew about the wards, Don.”

“But he knows now,” growled Donald, not focusing on her anymore. He was looking around, searching for something.

Della knew that Donald, when he got angry, wasn’t exactly thinking straight, but this time it really had little to no sense. Still, talking him out of whatever he was doing clearly wasn’t an option here. So Della decided to let him go, trying to think of a plan. Because she needed one. Firstly, once Donald would calm down, she’d talked with him about all that again. Then she’d have to learn something about those wards. And, in the final step, she would talk with Hermes. Of course, she was perfectly aware that she could start with talking with her… ex? At this point it had to be an ex, because they hadn’t seen each other for thirteen years, besides explaining all that godly mess to boys would be a horror. They barely got used to her, introducing another parent would be a pain, especially when Della was well aware that gods were not the most active parents. She glanced at Donald who was going through her things in a bag. 

“If you tell me what you need I might help you find it,” she said, realizing that she was smiling. Maybe it was the familiarity that helped her get on ease, maybe the fact that Donald wasn’t angry at her, but she felt like everything would be okay. Her twin was on her side, after all. 

“Do you have any more food here?”

“You just said it’s not gonna work…” Or maybe Donald was just hungry? But she chose not to ask this, because the look Donald gave her sent a chill down her spine. “Side pocket, it should be one more bar.”

Della never asked, but she always assumed that wrappers should be taken off before tossing food into the fire, but Donald clearly thought differently. Still, when the fire shined blue she hadn’t thought it was because of a piece of foil. 

“Get your ass here this instant,” muttered Donald and Della was too stunned to shush him - if she was correct, and judging by the fire, she was - he was talking to a god. But the weirdest part was; he really came. One second she was alone with Donald by the fire and next, Hermes was standing there, just a few steps away. All her tries were in vain, but Donald angrily tossing an unpacked snack in the fire did the trick. 

“You told me you talked with her,” said Donald and Hermes’ eyes left her face. He looked almost like she remembered him; thin but quite muscular, dressed in sports clothes, like he was getting ready for an evening jog. But his eyes hit her hardest - she couldn’t see perfectly in the light of fire, but she remembered those well enough - because she tried not to think about it too much, but those were exactly like her boys. Only thing that they all got from him. But looking at him longer she saw more. The smile that Louie had, Huey’s hair, Dewey’s posture. She wasn’t sure if she hadn’t seen it before or if she wasn’t ready to acknowledge how similar to their father they were. 

“Actually, I told you that I’m going to catch her in the town,” Hermes smiled at Donald who growled at the answer. 

“Eight months ago.” Donald took a step forward. “You told me this eight months ago. Are you kidding me now?” 

And then Della saw something she never expected to see. Hermes flinched. She would love to assume that he did it because of a shame since, apparently, he was in the city for almost a year, but it didn’t look like that. 

“So, I’ll just assume that introduction isn’t necessary here.” She would get to the bottom of this later. First she had to understand at least a surface. And she was going to do it according to her rules. Those two could fight each other later. “Care to explain why I was kept out of the loop?” She was boiling from anger inside. How dared they not tell her? How dared Donald keep her unaware of his presence in the town? How dared Hermes not come and talk? 

“I, for one, thought that you two explained everything to each other almost a year ago,” said Donald, suddenly calmer, his voice almost apologetic. Della sighed. After all that happened, all that she learned, she wasn’t able to stay angry at her brother for more than a few moments. 

“I…” Hermes looked at her again, before shaking his head. He did it in the same way Louie did, when frustrated. She hated how much of him was in her sons. She also loved it. Because she loved Hermes. She never stopped. And now, him being here, him admitting that he had a way of contacting her, but he didn’t… “I thought you don’t want to see me.”

“What?” What, in the hell, was he talking about?

“I asked boys to talk with you to… to ask you from me to meet me. But…”

Della recalled how boys went to her, all three together and later every one separately, asking about their father and trying to… to set her up on a date. Well, maybe they got a lot after Hermes, but it surely wasn’t his ability to convey messages. Too bad, since this one would be actually helpful. 

For a moment she wasn’t even able to say anything, she was just looking around helplessly, when her gaze stopped at Donald, who was in a similar state. It was ridiculous. It wasn’t funny at all, still she laughed, and Donald just rolled his eyes in a way that was his equivalent of having a mental breakdown similar to hers. She laughed harder. 

“Talk this out,” said Donald, putting a hand on Della’s shoulder, grounding her in a way no one ever could. She managed to calm down and wipe her face, not letting Hermes see tears. She wanted answers not moral support. “For real, this time.”

“Yeah, we will,” Della smiled at him, already feeling better. She knew it would end once Donald would leave, but she wanted to do it without him. She had to do it without him. She wasn’t a little girl that needed her brother's support all the time. 

When Donald left them she took a deep breath. 

“Tell me everything.”

Normally Hermes could talk and talk, but this time it seemed like he had a problem with finding words. 

“I tried to catch you earlier, I promise. It’s just… It was harder than expected to find you alone. And then I asked the boys for help.” Della mentally noted, to ask him about how long he was present in her sons’ lives. “From what they told me back I assumed that you don’t wish to see me ever again. And I couldn’t blame you. When I got the news about your disappearance I was too scared to ask Hades if you were really dead, I thought I couldn’t bear hearing the confirmation… If I did, maybe we would find you earlier.” 

“And what, you thought I blamed you for that?” She had, but only as much as she blamed herself. And before she learned about wards. 

“The manor’s wards never allowed me to come in.” Della sighed, realizing how Hermes’ thoughts went. He had to be sure that she knew about them and just stubbornly refused to let him in. 

“I had no idea about those until Donald told me. Tonight! Right before you showed up!” Speaking of, hadn’t Donald told her that those were harder to manipulate, since they were Scrooge’s?

“You… What?” Hermes blinked rapidly a few times before snickering. “You weren’t joking when you said that your brother and uncle kept secrets from you.” 

“Back then I was,” she felt herself smiling. Weird how he affected her. “And, truth to be told, apparently it wasn’t supposed to be a secret. I just assumed it was one of the boring things and ignored it.”

“Back then?” Hermes moved closer and Della was really tempted to pull him on the grass and lay down next to him, looking at the stars and stay like that, cuddling on the cold ground, forever. Like they used to do. But then she thought about answering the question and suddenly everything felt a lot more serious again. 

“I was away for a decade. A lot has changed,” she said and sat down by the fire, gesturing to Hermes to do the same. “Three months ago I hadn’t even known about Gaia and… And Hue, Dew, Lou… And…” 

She wasn’t aware of how much she missed his hugs, his presence when she was hurting. 

“They were always talking to our sons about you. About your adventures, about how great you were. Donald… he wasn’t able to. And neither I. We would just go and make an unholy amount of pancakes whenever your subject was brought up,” he chuckled. “Probably that made them think even higher of you, Donald was always very strict about the amount of sugar they could consume.”

“Yeah, sounds like Don,” she agreed, but she wasn’t able to laugh. How hurt Donald had to be to not be able to even talk about her? “You were with them from the beginning?”

“Not exactly. It was… my uncle that found them first. He basically dragged me there, saying that at this point keeping a distance wasn’t an option anymore.”

Well, that was unexpected. Hermes used to focus a lot on how it was impossible and even dangerous if he’d got involved. How he was reluctant to start the relationship with her, because he knew that she’d basically stay on her own for most of the time. 

“So you know them better than I do,” she realized, not sure how she felt about it. 

“I’m still less of a parent than you are,” he answered, moving her closer. “Boys still call me by my name a lot more often than they call me dad.” 

For some reason it hadn’t made her feel any better. 

“But you were there. I’m… I’m glad.” She really was. She also hated that she wasn’t there for them. And for Donald. For Gladstone and Fethry. For her nephews. For all of them. 

“Since I saw them for the first time… I saw you in all three of them.” His breath was leaving a tickling sensation on her neck and it used to annoy her, but after so long a time she just melted into familiarity. And she waited for him to keep talking. She was able to see only him and Donald in boys, not herself. “Huey’s excitement about learning was hitting me every single time. If you could see him when he joined Junior Woodchuck… It was like looking at you when you got into one of your nerdy programs.” She could imagine it. And she wasn’t going to point out that he was as excited about those nerdy programs as she was. “And Dewey… little guy has your adventurous spirit. He couldn’t stay still for five minutes since he learned how to run.”

“Don’t you mean since he learned how to walk?” She laughed but Hermes snorted at this. 

“Nope. He started running at the moment he figured out how to stand. And a little later he was everywhere at once, he wanted to know everything, he wanted to see everything and he was bugging Donald to show him some cool monsters.” 

“Cool monsters? Good to know he had standards.”

“Oh, you bet,” they both were laughing again. “And Louie… he hadn’t taken anything big after you, but he took all those little things. Sometimes I would just stare at him making a sandwich, because he narrows his eyes in the same way as you when he tries to take out the perfect amount of peanut butter. Also he twists his head a little on the right when he’s planning, he looks just like you then. And I don’t know if you ever were arguing with him when he was sure that he’s right, but his tone is identical to yours then. Really, he was around five when he did it for the first time and I just admitted that yes, Hades has flaming hair, he just hides it well.”

Della laughed again, researching her memory and realizing that yes, they all took after both of them. That even without her there - it still hurt, maybe even more when she heard about all those little moments that she should have witnessed - she still was part of them. 

They talked more, it was like neither of them never left and Della only hoped that this night would never end. 

Scrooge gave her an unimpressed look when she entered the kitchen early in the morning. He gave up on scolding her about the importance of full-night sleep, but he still was judgy when he saw her not sleeping. But it wasn’t her fault, the moon messed up with her internal clock and she still wasn’t able to get back on the track. Still, this time she hadn’t come for a quick coffee before heading back to her room to get ready for the day. She still could feel the energetic buzz that Hermes’ presence would always leave and even grumpy Scrooge wasn’t able to spoil her good mood. The conversation she was going to start, on the other hand, could. But Della knew she had to do it, in this family they were hiding enough things from each other. There was only one question; where should she start? From the beginning, their meeting and how they fell in love? Or maybe from explaining that she didn’t know about the wards and finally sharing her reasons behind taking Spear of Selene? Should she start slowly or tell everything bluntly? Does Scrooge already know something? 

Scrooge wasn’t even looking at her anymore, clearly used to her spacing out. He drank his before-breakfast tea, checking news on his phone (Louie taught him well). 

“Don modified your wards to let Hermes in,” she said, deciding that focusing Scrooge’s anger on Donald would be the best option. When they were kids she did it because Donald could take it - he shouldn’t, she knew this now, when she looked at her children. When she catched herself wondering which one was their scapegoat and when she realized that Donald wouldn’t let them have one. When she realized that it shouldn’t be normal to have one kid to blame everything on. 

“What?” Back to reality. Scrooge wasn’t blinking, he just watched her with wide eyes. “Why? How?” Those questions were pretty new too. Old Scrooge wouldn’t ask them, he would march into Donald’s room, he’d talk about how stupid or dangerous or irresponsible it was, not letting any of them explain further. And, Della suspected, he still had to fight himself to not just do it, but he knew how much he hurt Donald already, he got last chance and wasn’t going to waste it. 

“I wanted to talk with my kids’ father,” she said simply, taking out instant coffee. Maybe she didn’t need caffeine, but she needed to find a reason to not look Scrooge in the eye. “Don was nice enough to help.” And now, did Scrooge know that her boys were demigods?

“Kids’... Father?” So, he did not. 

“Yep.” Playing dumb would confuse Scrooge or make him angry, she wasn’t sure which option was better, but both would give her a chance of talking with her uncle that she had known. This new, controlled and understanding Scrooge was cool, but he was also hard to navigate. 

“Kids have a father?” Della smirked at the question. Confused Scrooge was fun. 

“Uncle Scrooge, at your age you should know that all kids need a pair of parents.”

“I know that!” How much she wished that teasing an old duck would be her only job here. “I meant; you know who their father is?” 

Okay, ouch. Did he really think so low of her?

“Of course I know! I was there, you know!” 

“Well, that one’s obvious. But you were talking about multiple lads you met on your journey…”

“And you thought that one of them was the father and I… What? Lost track?”

Scrooge hadn’t answered, which meant that it was exactly what he thought. Wonderful. But… he never said anything. He thought for years that she didn’t even know who her children’s father was and he had never said anything. He cleaned her old room, prepared a nursery and called Donald for help, never even mentioning that something could be wrong. That was unexpectedly understanding of him. 

“Okay, we’ll talk about that one later,” she decided. “For now… I thought you should know. At first Don wanted to take me out of the manor, so he wouldn’t touch your wards, but then he got angry and called Hermes on his own. You know how he gets.”

Scrooge wasn’t answering so Della had no other choice than to look at him. And it seems, she revealed more than one secret, because she almost could see how hard her uncle was trying to put everything together. 

“Emm… One thing at the time?” she suggested and Scrooge’s eyes flipped to her again. “I met Hermes in Europe. Demigods in Europe are in danger, so we decided that it would be best to come back here.” Scrooge nodded, like that made perfect sense. Della was going to ask later if he already knew something about demigods. But… It was uncle Scrooge, he always knew about everything. “I came back and Hermes… disappeared. Neither of us knew about wards back then and…”

“How could you not know about them?” Well, good question. She should have, just like Donald kindly explained to her. 

“I thought it’s some useless magic alarm system until a few hours ago.” They would never again trust her with any important things, she knew it. But it wasn’t her fault, no one told her what it really was. And she wasn’t as fixated on proving Scrooge her usefulness as Donald was. But she wasn’t going to think about it too much. Not at that moment, at least. “Anyway, the point is, we didn’t know. And I wasn’t able to see him for years.”

“Della… Why didn't you tell me earlier?” Scrooge was fidgeting his cane, tapping it on the floor repeatedly. “We took boys on so many adventures, they could be in danger, monsters could smell them and we… we wouldn't even realize! We’re not talking about those from Ithaquack, we’re talking about forces of nature, about beings that are around from centuries. They’re not the type to protect their kids, they’re sending them to death more often than not!”

Okay, so, apparently, Scrooge knew a thing or two about gods. Good to know. And she couldn’t disagree with anything. Hermes warned her about it, he wouldn’t let her go into all that mess without a full set of information. 

“Hermes does what he can, uncle Scrooge,” she sighed. “They’re bound by rules too.”

“And they break those rules whenever they please! We will do a better job protecting your children if he won’t show up ever again.”

“I… Hermes already is a present figure in boys’ lives, uncle,” she said, sitting down. “I’m not going to…”

“How so?”

“Donald… Donald asked for help. And Hermes responded.” She decided to ignore the fact that some other god, she suspected Poseidon, was there first. If Scrooge reacted that way to Hermes, how would he react to one of the Big Three? 

Della expected Scrooge to get angry, to mutter under his breath, because Donald did something stupid. Even if she knew that he did not, Donald did everything he could, he asked for help anywhere he could, because he was trying to save his children. And Scrooge seemed to understand that too. Because his cane stopped hitting the floor and his hand started to tremble. 

“Oh,” he said. “I… understand. It… it couldn’t be helped.”

It could, they both knew that very well. If any of them would make a different decision years ago. If Donald wouldn’t be forced to deal with all that alone. If his closest family was there for him instead of cousins and strangers. 

“It couldn’t,” she agreed. “I… I don’t know if your wards should stay this way or not, but, at this point, it shouldn’t be our decision to make.” 

“I’ll ask Donald,” said Scrooge quietly, but there was some kind of a resolve in his voice. The kind that showed up only recently when Scrooge was talking about Donald. The kind that gave her hope but also made her realize how bad it used to be. 

Della smiled when Scrooge got up. He was never the one to wait if he made up his mind.

Chapter Text

Saying that Donald was tired was an understatement at the moment. Gladstone wasn’t sure when was the last time he saw his cousin in such a state; bags under his eyes, ruffled feathers and crumpled clothes - all that was quite normal for Donald, but normally it wasn’t paired with stiff posture, flickering eyes and such lack of confidence. 

“So, my dear cousin, what can I do for you on this beautiful day?” 

Donald hadn’t answered immediately. He wasn’t even looking at Gladstone at first, and it took him a good moment before he realized that Donald was checking the room. So, whatever was the reason for his state, it had to be something big. 

“I spoke with your doctor,” said Donald, sitting down. “He thinks you could leave in a few weeks.”

Of course, Donald had to turn the cat around. But the issue was valid. 

“Well, I do feel good lately,” he said, but he was aware of how insincerely this sounded. 

“She asked me if you have a place to go back,” continued Donald. “Apparently, it wouldn't be healthy for you to just go wherever your luck takes you.”

In theory, Gladstone still had a home in Duckburg, but he promised himself to not visit that place again. He tried to sell it, but his luck wasn’t cooperating on this one. If the situation would be different, he’d take Fethry’s couch, but it wasn’t an option there. 

“And what did you tell her?” Gladstone did his best to not think about possible answers, he would start overthinking everything and that was okay only with Carol, twice a week. 

“That I’ll talk with you about it,” Donald shrugged. “Do you want to live alone or would you prefer to stay with someone at first?”

Why did Donald have to ask such complicated questions? Was it that hard to just come up with the answer? 

“You know me, Donaldino. I’ll fit everywhere.” Donald sighed, and Gladstone once again realized how tired he looked. Because once Donald focused, all other signs of exhaustion blended in his usual look. “I mean, what’re my options here?” Besides Fethry, everyone was getting fed up with him rather quickly. 

“You could stay with us at manor.” Donald seemed as thrilled at the idea as he was. “Or… Gus would use an extra pair of hands, if you don’t mind dealing with Jupiter’s son.”

That… That actually explained why Donald was so tired. 

“Jupiter’s son?” he repeated and Donald shrugged. 

“It’s… complicated.”

“It’s always complicated with you. What happened this time? This asshole killed someone again?” Gladstone really hoped it wasn’t the case, Zeus and Jupiter had to be somewhat different, maybe his roman side wasn’t as bad as greek one? 

“I don’t think so,” Donald sighed again. “But he almost let the kid die. I mean, he did nothing. Hades mentioned to me that the kid's life might be in danger and he’s basically seniors’ brother, so I took Gus and…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Gladstone stopped him. Really, Donald was the only person that thought that saving some kid’s life was something he had to have an excuse to do. “So, you saved him,” he said, keeping his voice calm and cheerful. “That’s great. I bet that you’re his hero now.”

But Donald wasn’t as happy about it. 

“It’s not that easy, Glad. We managed to get to him when he was already dying. I…” Donald’s breath became irregular, like even thinking about what had happened was physically hurting him. “I bargained for his life with Moirai. They gave me his thread of life in an exchange of those that I found in Tartarus…”

"You..." Gladstone leaned forward, his smirk returning. "Really, again? Donald, what is it with you and the Moirai? Got a frequent-bargainer card now?"

“Kid is terrified of me, Glad.” 

“He saw it, didn’t he?” Gladstone sighed, the weight of Donald’s words pulling at his usual demeanor. He knew that it had to be hard on the kid, and even harder on Donald. 

“More or less,” said Donald weakly. “He was dying, I wasn’t expecting that tying his life to mine would make him hyper-aware of what’s going on while he’s getting back from the land of the dead. If I knew he’d see this, I’d… do something.”

“Well, you were right, complicated matter,” agreed Gladstone, trying to find a better answer. Or just fully understand the situation. 

“And that’s not even a half of it,” muttered Donald, probably to himself, but Gladstone wasn’t going to leave it like that. If his cousin started talking, it meant he needed to let it out. And Gladstone was going to help, after all he rarely got a chance of doing something even as simple as listening. So he smiled again. 

“So, tell me everything,” he said. “I miss the drama here.” 

Donald looked like he was going to refuse, but then he sighed. 

“He has no way of going back. Moirai was clear about it; he’s not a part of that world anymore, he was destined to die there and fate will be after his head if he’ll take a step in their direction. All his friends and family… They think he’s dead. And he had never lived in our world, so he didn't even know how to move here. And for now he’s stuck with Gus and me, because he has no one else. I feel like I kidnapped a kid and there’s no hope of setting him free.”

Okay, that was a lot. 

“But he’s alive thanks to you.”

“Yeah, you should see him. He looks like he’d prefer being dead to staying here.”

“Well, at moments I do too,” said Gladstone, deciding that tact wasn’t something they needed at the moment. “But I’m getting better. And he will too.” Donald’s face was a mix of a lot of feelings, but there were some positive ones too, so Gladstone took it as a win. “Besides, not to put any more pressure on you, but you were never the one to just go along with fate. You’re always fighting it and you’re winning. That might explain your bad luck, fate is awful at losing.”

“Fate isn’t a person, Glad.”

“Another reason why it doesn’t like you,” laughed Gladstone. “Look at me, I always had a pretty good relationship with fate.”

“You’re mixing up fate and fortune,” replied Donald dryly. “Fate isn’t a nice guy that hands out blessings.”

“See, all that is in your perspective. Maybe try to do something nice to fate and it will repay you. You know, buy flowers, ask for dinner, try to woo fate a little!”

Donald was looking at him unimpressed, but Gladstone saw those little flashes of amusement in his eyes. 

“You’re telling me to woo fate?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Or you can sing for it! I’m sure fate would love your music!” 

Donald chuckled. 

“Forgive me,” he said, “but I don’t think I’ll use your advice.”

“Fine, I’ll woo fate for you,” laughed Gladstone, winking at his cousin. “You just remember that saving someone’s life, especially a kid's life, is always a good decision. He might be in a difficult place mentally now, but he has all his future to heal and to live.”

***

Dewey rarely had a bad day, but when he had, it was awful. It started before he even woke up, with a nightmare. And, normally, he would go to uncle Donald for comfort and sweet lies that it was just a dream, but this time it was impossible. Not only because uncle Donald looked dead on his feet and he surely needed every minute of sleep he got, but mainly because it wasn’t just a dream and it featured him. So, Dewey decided to not go seek comfort but to deal with it on his own - in result he wasn’t able to fall asleep again, once he woke up, and felt unbelievably tired. Then, not even ten minutes after Huey and Louie woke up, they got into an argument. This was the moment when he decided that it wouldn’t get better and he started to wonder if he’d be able to fake being sick and stay at home. 

“Dewey, kiddo, you look awful!” Well, if Dewey ever wondered who he took after, with no-filter comments, the answer was right in front of him. “Ghouls I fought in France looked better! Are you sick?”

At least it made things easier. Dewey nodded. 

“Yeah, I think,” he muttered. In a way he wasn’t even faking being sick, after the nightmare he still felt sick. Like the light he saw there was still trying to burn his soul away. How uncle Donald survived it, he had no idea. 

“Okay, we need to take your temperature,” decided mum, not even trying to touch his forehead like uncle Donald always did. “And I make you tea with honey, it’s good for a sore throat.” Dewey just nodded. “And mint, for your stomach!” Another thing that wasn’t really a problem, but still, it was nice to see how involved she was. “Go back to your bed, I’ll be with you in a minute.” 

Here was a problem. Dewey really wasn’t looking forward to being alone in his bed. He was tired and he knew he would fall asleep eventually - then the nightmare would be back. He was sure of it, it would be coming back until he’d see everything. But telling his mum that he was scared wasn’t really an option; she was the bravest person in the world, and she believed he was too. 

“Thanks mum,” he said and turned around. The thought of getting uncle Donald went through his head, but he decided against it. He was almost thirteen, he wasn’t a child anymore, he could deal with a stupid nightmare on his own. 

Normally Dewey wasn’t able to sleep during daytime, or at least, he wasn’t able to fall asleep then. But after spending the better half of the night awake, with the stomach turned into a tight knot, sunlight was a calming force. Especially paired with a knowledge that mum would be there any moment, with tea and maybe even a story about ghouls. 

“Mum’s making every kind of tea we have at home,” said Louie, opening the door. Seemed like he wasn’t angry anymore. Neither was Huey. It was a good thing, Dewey wasn’t even sure why they argued earlier. “You’re sick?”

“I…” He couldn’t tell uncle Donald, but he could tell his siblings for sure. “I had a nightmare.”

“Normal one or…”

“Or,” he shrugged. “Definitely.”

“Uncle Donald hadn’t helped?” asked Huey and Dewey could see how hard he was thinking. After all, uncle Donald always helped.

“I never went to him,” he admitted. “He was there and…”

“Oh,” Louie sighed like this explained everything, even if Louie never had problems with going to uncle Donald with nightmares, even if they were about him. “Right, uncle Donald is tired enough.” 

“Still, if the nightmare made you sick, you should’ve gone to him,” cut in Huey, looking him in the eye. “You know he doesn't like when we’re trying to deal with those things on our own.”

Okay, that’s why he hadn’t told them earlier. They would snitch on him to uncle Donald. 

“If you breathe a world to uncle, I will make you pay, Hubert,” he growled, clenching his fists. There was not a chance that he endured a full night just to have uncle Donald worrying about him in the morning. “It will go away in a few hours on its own and I’ll be fine.”

Huey and Louie exchanged glances before both of them nodded. 

“Okay,” agreed Louie. “But if we will be back from school and you’ll still won’t be able to sleep, we’re bringing him.”

“You won’t have to,” said Dewey, looking at his brother with a lot more confidence than he had about it. Because he surely would be able to fall asleep, but it wouldn’t grant him any rest. Not yet. 

“Good,” muttered Huey.

“Good,” repeated Dewey, deeply regretting telling those two about the reason behind his state. 

Fortunately, before anyone said anything else, mum went into the room. 

“What are you still doing here?” she asked, looking at Huey and Louie. “Your uncle is waiting in the car already. Go, or you’ll be late for school.” 

Dewey felt a mix of relief and worry. They were leaving, yes, but if uncle Donald was to ask about him, they would tell. Or, at least, Huey would. His only hope was Louie coming up with a smart half-truth. Still, he could only wave them goodbye, before looking at mum and a tray in her hands. Seemed like Louie wasn’t joking earlier - she really made every tea they had at home. And Dewey knew that Louie would be annoyed at that in his place, because uncle Donald always brought only one tea and it was the one they needed, but he still felt better, even before drinking any of those. Mum maybe was overdoing it, but she was overdoing it for him, so it was just as good as uncle Donald’s perfect tea.

Just when Dewey thought that this day could be, in the end, not as bad as he feared, uncle Donald came back home and went straight to him. At least he wasn’t talking about the nightmare immediately, so Huey and Louie had to keep quiet. Still, uncle Donald’s care felt heavy on Dewey, because he wasn’t going to worry him. Even since they were told about their new cousin, uncle Donald was getting more and more tired, more jumpy and stressed. He promised them that everything with Jason was going quite okay and that he just had to get used to staying there before they could meet him, but even he wasn’t fooled. And the dream from last night was only proving to him that it wasn’t all as good as uncle Donald wanted them to believe. But when uncle Donald checked his temperature for the third time and seemed ready to take him to the doctor, Dewey knew that he wasn’t going to hide it all for much longer. 

“I’m not really sick,” he admitted, before uncle Donald was able to call the doctor. 

“I know you don’t like doctors, but you are sick, Dewey,” said uncle Donald, but he put the phone down and looked at him. Dewey sighed, wondering if maybe he was actually sick. He shouldn’t be that tired because of the lack of sleep. Still, he doubted that any doctor would be able to find the actual reason for his state. 

“I…” But he hid it for all night, maybe he could’ve just asked his uncle to stay with him and sleep it off? He never had nightmares if uncle Donald was with him. But it would still be obvious about why he wanted it. And Dewey wasn’t ready to talk about it. At least not about the part that uncle Donald had in his dream. “Can you promise me something?” he tried. Uncle Donald frowned and sat on the bed beside him.

“What exactly?”

“If I’ll tell you something… can you promise to not ask questions about it?” Dewey felt weird asking it. He never needed to hide anything about those dreams from his uncle, but normally he had them before he was able to catch up with what was going on. This time was different. Maybe because he and his brothers were curious about Jason and they talked about this situation more, so he was able to realize that they already piqued the clues he normally would miss for another week. Like the fact that uncle Donald was bone dead tired - it wasn’t too visible when he was focused, like in that very moment, but the second he had nothing important to do, he seemed to fade. He hadn’t seen it too often, especially that uncle Donald was always focused on them, but there were moments when they would come into the room, that second or two before uncle Donald realized that he wasn’t alone anymore. And that too wasn’t easy to observe, since he brought Jason to Duckberg, uncle Donald seemed to be more busy than ever. 

“I can’t promise to not ask questions about whatever it is ever, but… I can promise to not ask questions today. Or tomorrow. I’ll wait until you’ll be ready if you can promise me to come to me then.”

It wasn't an ideal deal, Dewey would gladly never think about it ever again, but it was probably the best he could get. 

“Okay. I promise.”

“Then I promise too,” uncle Donald smiled softly and, for a second, Dewey was able to forget that anything was wrong. “So, what’s that about, if you’re not sick?”

“I had a nightmare last night,” whispered Dewey, suddenly not able to look at his uncle anymore. Talking normally would make him feel better, but the burning light was still alive in his memory and thinking about what had to happen to his uncle then, when he really was there, not just looking at the past, made him nauseous. “It was awful. There was… a god. And he changed into light. I knew it was a dream but this still hurt me. I wasn’t able to go back to sleep after, because every time I close my eyes it’s there again. Burning.” 

Uncle Donald opened his beak a few times, like he wanted to ask something, but nothing came out. After a few seconds he just sighed and moved closer, hugging Dewey closely. 

“It hurts you physically?” 

Dewey needed a moment to think about it. 

“I don’t think so,” he said. “It’s more like… like a memory. Or like you think it hurts because you expect it to, but there’s nothing when you focus on it.”

It was quiet for a while, when Dewey realized that he had his eyes closed, but light wasn’t there anymore. 

“I’ll ask uncle Gus to make a protection charm for you.”

“Another one?” Protection charms were great, but Dewey thought that three of them were enough. He had one woven into a pedant, one in his backpack and even one sewn into his hat. Just in case if he would lose one, he would still have another. 

“Special one,” muttered uncle with a hint of a smile in his voice. “Your great-grandma created that one on her own. It can protect from gods’ true form.”

So Dewey at least knew how his uncle survived it. Still, it couldn’t be pleasant. Dewey wasn’t going to think about it. 

“Will he have time, though? You said it’s busy with Jason now.” It was nice to lay like that, the bed felt more convenient than ever and nothing was hurting him anymore. 

“Not that busy,” he chuckled. “Just busier than it was before.”

Dewey wanted to say that, in that case, he wanted the charm in blue, but talking was suddenly too tiresome, so he just mumbled something and snuggled up to his uncle before falling asleep. This time his dreams were absolutely normal. 

***

Della was frantic. It was always like that, when she thought that she finally had parenting figured out, something had to happen and she was lost again. Dewey being sick was the reason this time. Because what was she supposed to do? Of course, checking the temperature and making tea was step one, but where was she supposed to go from there? What should she do if Dewey had a fever? What if he had not? What kind of tea did he need? Was something hurting him? Should she give him painkillers or take straight to the doctor’s office? She had no idea. Donald was helpful, he told her to make Dewey tea and stay with him, to keep him company and make sure he’ll rest. And Della was grateful for the advice but, at the same time, she hated it. She was back for almost a year now, she should be able to take care of Dewey on her own. Instead, she had to rely on Donald’s advice and hope that she’ll manage until her brother would be back. Because Donald always gave their time but she knew that he would step in, probably only to check if everything was all right, but Della knew her children enough to know that once Dewey would see Donald, there would be only one parent needed. And it wouldn’t be her. 

So she made tea. She wasn’t sure which one Dewey would want, so she made a cup of any kind she was able to find. And she went to her son. It was heartbreaking to see Dewey with bags under his eyes, with a tired voice and trembling hands. But he seemed calmer when she attempted to take care of him, when she handed him tea (at this point she wasn’t even sure which one it was) and started talking about old adventures. He always wanted to hear more and it seemed that his sickness hadn’t changed that. Slowly, the tremble eased and Dewey looked more relaxed, but he still was refusing to try to sleep. Della wasn’t sure if that was normal when someone was sick, she remembered when she or Donald would get sick as kids and both of them were just sleeping it off, but she also remembered exactly one time when Gladstone was sick, when they all still were living with grandma Duck, and he wasn’t even sleeping at night then, so maybe all kids were different about that? That was very likely, probably even the reason why Donald told her to stay with Dewey. 

But then Donald was back and Della wasn’t able to ignore the light in Dewey’s eyes when he heard his uncle’s voice. So she ignored an ache in her heart and told her son that she was going to talk with Scrooge about changing plans for the weekend, so he wouldn’t have to miss an adventure. Her voice was a little raspy when she asked Donald to check on Dewey for her, but, fortunately, her brother ignored it. And she knew that she should’ve really gone to Scrooge, to talk with him about the upcoming adventure, but first she needed a moment alone. She needed to steady her breath, to make sure that her hands wouldn’t tremble, that this disgusting feeling of jealousy would disappear. Because she shouldn’t be jealous. Donald was the one to raise her sons for years, it was to be expected that they'd want him whenever something would come up. 

Della sat on the couch, looking at the wall and hoping that this feeling would pass quickly. Overthinking was never her way. All the people around were telling her that she’s getting really good at being a mum. And she reacted immediately when she realized that Dewey was sick. Donald trusted her to know what to do, he left her alone with Dewey, not worried about his safety. She even was able to see that she helped, in a way. So, she should be proud of herself. But instead she was disappointed that Dewey still wanted Donald. That she wasn’t enough. She took a breath and unclenched her fists. If she knew something, it was that this was stupid of her. Of course Dewey wanted Donald. She should be happy to see it, because it was another proof that Donald took excellent care of her sons. She shouldn’t be comparing herself to Donald, not when he had over a decade more experience with her boys, over two more with being a parent. Not when it was her own fault that she met her kids when they were already ten. 

Feeling how her throat tightened, she banished those thoughts out of her head. Sitting and wondering couldn’t bring any good. She should focus on Dewey. He seemed better when she was leaving. He had his uncle with him. Della didn't need to worry about him anymore, Dewey surely would be perfectly fine in a day or two. She stood up, feeling how tense her movements were, and breathed deeply, trying to collect herself. She had things to do. 

On her way to Scrooge’s office she decided to check on Dewey one more time. Maybe he had needed something, maybe even he wanted her too. But when she opened the door she saw the picture that made her heart melt. Not exactly in a good way, but she would get over that jealousy quickly. Donald and Dewey were curled up on a small bed, sleeping soundly. Dewey had a small smile on his beak and Donald was hugging him protectively. She was glad that Dewey fell asleep, he surely needed it; there still were bags under his eyes and judging by the fact that Donald went in no more than fifteen minutes earlier, the kid had to be exhausted. He needed rest. And, it seemed, so did Donald, who looked tired even while sleeping. That was… unexpected. Of course, Donald was always tired, but to that point? Especially when taking care of triplets wasn’t the responsibility he had to carry alone anymore. She closed the door, leaving the bedroom, but she stayed in the corridor for a moment. Donald had been looking more tired than usual lately. Like he had more than one sleepless night. But the question was, why? She had to miss something. 

If she’d be a teenager, she’d probably ignore any decency and go to check his room to find any clues, but she was a grown up now. Moreover, she was a mum, she couldn’t set a bad example. So the only thing that was left was to do: gather gossip… or rather, information. Someone had to be less blind on what was going on with Donald. She could ask Mrs. Beakley or uncle Scrooge. And one of those two used to gather information on people for living. 

Mrs. Beakley was in the kitchen, Della was able to say that she was preparing a light broth for Dewey even before she walked in: the smell was unmistakable. 

“Good to see you, Della,” Mrs. Beakley smiled at her. “How’s Dewey?”

“He fell asleep with Donald,” Della answered. “He had to be tired.”

“Of course. Sickness is tiresome,” agreed the housekeeper. “But that’s good. Hot tea, sleep and broth are the best medicine when you catch a bug.”

“In that case Dewey gets the best care here,” said Della, suddenly unsure how she even was going to ask this. She was Donald’s twin sister, she should know what’s going on in his life without a need to ask a retired spy! 

“There’s something on your mind?” Beakley of course knew that something was wrong. She knew how to read people, and Della suspected that her face wasn’t really hiding anything. She sighed, she could ask and ignore if Beakley would suddenly judge her. 

“Donald’s asleep too. He looks more tired than normally. Do you maybe… know why?”

Beakley hadn’t answered immediately, she just looked at Della, like she was trying to look inside her soul. It made the younger duck shiver. 

“How far I know,” began Beakley, focusing on the soup again, “Donald lost his job last week and he’s looking for something new. From what I observed, while living with your brother, he is quite stressed in-between jobs.”

Della blinked. Job? Why did Donald even need a job? Scrooge was more than capable and even willing to pay for everything. Her hand went up unwillingly and she scratched the back of her head. Was Donald actually working all the time she was home? He was leaving frequently, but it seemed like there was no big regularity as most jobs required. Of course, there was a chance that he had non-regular working hours, but still… Why? On the other hand, Donald was always independent. He found first job when he was around fourteen, but Della had always suspected that he did it because he wanted to stay in Duckburg for summer instead of going on holiday’s marathon of adventures with her and Scrooge. Maybe he just preferred to have his own money? And Della was more than aware how his bad luck was able to get him fired on his first day and even more forward, if he managed to survive the first one. It had to be hard for him to find something decent if people already heard about him. It looked like she still had to go to Scrooge. 

“Whatever you’re planning, I’d advise you to not go behind Donald’s back. He wouldn’t appreciate that.”

Della flinched, suddenly remembering that she wasn’t alone. 

“Yeah… Yes, you’re right. Thanks. I… I need to go,” Della laughed, trying to hide her embarrassment. Beakley called her out, probably fully aware that Della was going to go behind Donald’s back. But she was right, Donald would get angry if she would try and force help on him. But still, she had to talk with Scrooge. “See you later.” She bolted out the kitchen. 

Scrooge was in his office, not even raising his head from his work to look at her when she walked in. Typical. 

“Donald’s tired lately,” she stated, knowing that if she wouldn’t make him focus on her immediately, she could as well talk to a brick. He had developed the skill of ignoring her ranting long before she graduated high school. 

“Yes, he is.” Well, still not raising his head but at least there was an answer. 

“So I’ve been thinking…”

“Della, I don’t think that Gladstone will be happy if you or me will get involved,” cut in Scrooge, finally leaving the ton of paper and looking at her. And Della was baffled. 

“Why would Glad be unhappy if we’d help Don find a job?” Why even bring up Gladstone in the first place, honestly?

Scrooge glanced at her suspiciously. 

“Donald’s changing job?” he asked. 

“Yes. I mean, no. Beakley told me he got fired,” said Della slowly. If Scrooge hadn’t known, maybe Donald was hiding it from him? Their uncle never took bad luck as the excuse for Donald getting fired. But he was also trying, so maybe if she’d take everything first, she’d be able to calm him down before Donald’s feelings would get hurt. Or before they’d start an argument. But Scrooge hadn’t seemed angry. 

“I see,” he muttered. “I assumed that he managed to take care of both issues, but I can imagine that all hospital technicalities are taking a lot of his time.”

That was weirdly understanding. Della shifted her head and squinted her eyes, trying to find the perspective where Scrooge would make sense again. After a second she just blinked, giving up. 

“What hospital technicalities are we talking about, exactly?”

It was Scrooge’s time to look at her, doubtfully. 

“Regarding Gladstone Gander’s, your cousin’s, discharge from hospital?” Scrooge suggested. “You surely remember that Donald was the one to take care of all the formalities when admitted there, and, I’ll tell you, discharge is even more work.”

Did Donald really take care of it all? Della was completely sure that earlier, when Gladstone was admitted to the mental ward, Donald was just helping him with paperwork, supporting his cousin, not that he actually had to be there. 

“Why Gladstone isn’t doing it himself?” Because, really, why wasn’t he? Sure, he was in a bad place before, so Donald’s help was the thing he needed, but if they were offering to discharge him, it had to mean that he was okay now. But it seemed to not be the case, judging by Scrooge’s heavy sigh. 

“I don’t know for sure, neither of them shared those details with me,” said Scrooge slowly and Della heard a weird tune in his voice. Not exactly pain, but definitely something unpleasant. Still, he kept going, choosing his words carefully. “But, as far as I know, mental hospitals like to make sure that their patients have a support group, so that they won’t be alone with their problems after discharge. Especially when we’re talking about someone who has severe issues. So my guess is, Donald isn’t just handling paperwork—he’s also trying to set everything up for Gladstone’s return. Place to live, people to check on him regularly, maybe trying to set up some routine, like finding him a golf club or whatever works for lad. It is a lot of work and if Donald is doing it on his own it means that Gladstone had to ask him to not share neither of this with anyone else.” Della had only two thoughts on this. One: this sounded like too much work for one person. Two: since when uncle Scrooge was an expert in mental care? Because he surely wasn’t before she got herself stuck on the moon. Neither when she was back. And Scrooge had to see the second one on her face. “I had a few meetings with doctors when I offered the hospital that grant. It was… luminous.”

Della sighed. 

“So… So Don’s taking care of all that and he’s looking for a job in a city where everyone knows his bad luck? Oh, and he’s actively parenting triplets with us?” she asked, just to be sure that she wasn’t oblivious to anything else. Even if she doubted it, Donald wouldn’t be able to add anything to his daily schedule even if he really wasn’t sleeping at night. Scrooge nodded, not even pulling a face on the ‘bad luck’ comment. “If Gladstone wants to keep it from us, there’s nothing we can do,” she said, even if she already had a plan of asking her cousin if there’s anything she could help with. If he’d agree, she could take something from Donald’s shoulders. “But maybe we can help him with other things?”

“What do you mean?” It wasn’t a tone that old Scrooge would use, he wasn’t dismissing it, he was genuinely interested. And a few months back Della would never think that this old, stubborn man could change, but it seemed that even an old dog could be taught new tricks.

***

For the past years Gus often thought that this house felt too empty, too quiet. And he also thought that the presence of another person would ease that feeling of loneliness. And he was, partially, right. It was nice to have someone at home. But, it turned out, having a teenager to take care of was a lot more difficult than he imagined. Still, it wasn’t as bad after they survived the first week, after that they both got used to each other. Gus hoped to get somewhere else than just being used to, but he also knew that it could go worse. Still, the amount of cleaning and cooking increased four times, even if there was only one more person in the house. He was in the middle of doing the dishes when the doorbell rang and Gus wasn’t unhappy about letting this task wait. 

Donald looked just as exhausted as the night before—which, oddly enough, was an improvement, because Gus expected his cousin to look even worse. 

“Coffee?” he asked, letting Donald in. “Or maybe something stronger and you’ll stay for the night?” Really, one full night's sleep could do wonder for that man. 

“I need to be at the manor tonight,” shrugged Donald, not even looking at Gus, who just sighed. That was how their conversations were starting for at least five days already. “How’s Jason?”

Gus hadn’t answered immediately. Mostly because he was trying to get the kettle to work, because if Donald wasn’t staying the night he needed to be awake enough to be able to drive home. 

“Went to his room earlier tonight,” he said, taking instant coffee and adding two spoons to the mug. “He hadn’t seemed tired, but I doubt he’s gonna try and run away, so I left him alone for now.” 

Donald hummed in answer, but, honestly, there was not much to tell. Jason wasn’t comfortable around Donald yet, and no one could blame him for trying to avoid interaction. 

“How’s Dewey?” Changing the topic was the best course of action. 

“Better after he got some sleep,” said Donald with a ghost of a smile on his face. He had to be relieved that he hadn’t been seriously hurt by that one. But then it disappeared. “Still, grandma's charm would be appreciated. In theory seeing it in a dream shouldn’t have lasting effects, but I’d prefer to be safe than sorry.”

“I know,” Gus smiled reassuringly. “I’m working on those, but grandma’s recipes always were quite vague. But I feel like I’m onto something. Give me another day or two and they’ll be ready.” Donald nodded and added sugar to his coffee. A sugar day was always a good sign—it meant he cared about the taste, not just the caffeine. “Actually, can I see yours? Maybe it will…”

“I gave it to Dewey for now,” Donald cut in, with a shrug. “I don’t really need it either way.” 

Only Donald could make it sound non-nonchalant. But maybe it was because it was just simply true. 

“What was the dream about, anyway?”

Donald shrugged again. 

“Dewey wasn’t in the mood to talk about it,” he explained. “He even asked me to promise to not ask questions.”

“Do you think it could be the same thing as with seniors?” 

“Either that or lately gods just go nuclear on mortals to the point where the effects land on random kids. But I didn’t hear any news about people being burned from the inside, so…”

“So it’s probably the same,” nodded Gus, already hating it. When Huey, Dewey and Louie seniors dreamt about it, they were around the same age, but they were still in shock after discovering that their father was some god, it wasn’t difficult to convince them that it was just a dream and that nothing like that never happened. They figured out that they were lied to already on the sea, when hiding the identity of their father was endangering them more than keeping them safe. And even then, it took some time. But here, with those three aware of their heritage, with them already being able to tell apart normal dreams from the divine ones… “You should just tell them the story. It could prevent…”

“They already know about the fight. If this hadn’t done anything, knowing the full story won’t change anything either. Besides, they’re twelve. I’d prefer to find a way to prevent their nightmares that doesn’t involve something that will give them different ones.”

With that Gus couldn’t argue, even if he would want to. But he agreed with his cousin on that, however kids-friendly they would tell the story, triplets knew enough to understand the stakes. And to have nightmares about it. 

“I’ll work on something preventing those dreams too, then,” he decided. “I’m pretty sure that grandma showed me how to make a decent dreamcatcher.”

“How decent?” asked Donald, looking at him with curiosity. 

“Better than your attempts at runic protection,” he said, feeling a smile creeping on his beak, when Donald’s face shifted, showing betrayal. 

“You said it was pretty good!” 

Gus laughed at that. 

“For someone who never worked with runes - sure. It even had a chance of working.”

Donald lasted ten seconds before he also laughed. 

“Okay, do this dreamcatcher then. Worst case, it won’t work out.” Donald took a sip of his coffee, looking a lot more relaxed than when he showed up. “Oh, I almost forgot. I talked with Glad on my way here. He wants to stay here, if you’re still up for the idea.”

“Of course I am,” answered Gus, not even needing to think about it. “His old bedroom is still where it used to be, waiting for him.” Having Gladstone back could really be nice. Even if it’d surely add work. That thought almost made him laugh. A little over a decade earlier he would probably sleep through any of his cousins’ visits, at least until grandma would make a pie. Now, additional work he surely would have wasn’t even bothering him. But it only proved that grandma was right: there’s a time when everyone has to grow up. Even him.

They drank their drinks in silence, Gus observing how Donald’s movements were becoming less and less tense, how there was more hope than worry on his face with every passing second, despite the fact that he was deep into his thoughts. He surely had more problems to face at the moment than he was sharing with him, he almost always had, and Gus knew that he wasn’t able to do much about most of them, but still, it was good to see Donald relying on someone, willing to share his burden. 

Donald couldn’t stay long, but Gus had a feeling that tonight, he might finally get some sleep. Especially considering that all official forms, that were necessary for securing Jason’s stay in Duckburg, were already filled, signed and approved, waiting only for a few to be sent to City Hall. How Donald managed to create Jason’s identity from scratch, simultaneously not changing his name, birthdate or anything essential was beyond Gus. If he’d have to guess, he’d say that it had to have something to do with the amount of times where Donald was going straight to the government building in country no one heard about, saying that they know someone working there form an adventure or work, only to came back with prime minister or an actual princess. Gus saw this only once but Gladstone and Fethry were insisting that it was a regular occurrence and Donald looked actually ashamed, because, how he explained later, he had no idea, because when he met them they were, at best, low officials and he hoped they had enough influence to put their Docking Permission quicker. He had never kept a track on their careers and just assumed that nothing changed since he met them. Gus sighed, remembering this situation and put back the last plate. He was almost done for one day. 

Jason, not surprisingly, wasn’t asleep. He was sitting in the chair by the window, with a book in his hands, but Gus doubted that he was actually reading it. More likely, he was just observing the gate, making sure that Donald wasn’t coming back. When Gus knocked on the half open door, he raised his head to look at him. 

“Donald brought something for you,” he said, handing him a piece of plastic that Jason took too calmly, and studied it for a moment. “Don checked the details already, but make sure it’s all right again.”

“It looks good,” Jason nodded, reading everything on the license, hesitating for a moment before saying more. “I get to keep my surname and birthday date?”

“Well, of course. We’re not trying to change your identity, just to re-introduce it to the mortal world. So, everything on this document sounds about right?”

Jason hadn’t answered immediately and Gus wasn’t going to push him. Eventually the kid looked at him and Gus had to admit that puppy eyes had even more influence when performed by an actual dog. 

“Details are fine,” the kid said and took a breath, fidgeting with the driving licence. “But I don’t know how to drive.”

Well, it was definitely an easier fix than having Donald change place of birth, for example. 

“I can teach you,” he shrugged. “Or you can just not tell people that you have a license, if you don’t wanna to drive.”

“No! I mean, I want to learn.” There, for a second, Jason sounded real. It rarely lasted, but Gus still smiled, because it had to mean that there was something they were doing good.

Chapter Text

Convincing the triplets to go and sit with her when she was making additions to her whiteboard with family connections wasn’t as easy as she thought. But it was necessary and finally, after two blackmails, three bribes involving convincing Grandma to make a chocolate cake for dinner, and five death threats, they all were there. Now the only thing left was to make them focus. 

“Can you at least look at this?” she asked for the third time. Really, those boys were doing it only to annoy her. There was no way that they really were so interested in walls. Okay, maybe she went too far with taking their things hostage. Still, if they’d cooperated from the start she wouldn’t have had to do this. 

“I’m pretty sure it counts as kidnapping,” Huey informed her, but his eyes focused on the whiteboard. “Why are seniors connected to mom?” 

Webby looked at it. 

“Because she’s their mom too?” Okay, she had to get that one wrong, because boys laughed. “Oh come on, you are not going to tell me that it’s not enough that they are also Huey, Dewey and Louie, but also that their mom is some other Della!” What was with that family? They had three names for every generation? 

“Well, her full name was Cordelia.”

“Cordelia?”

“Yep. Cordelia Gander. She was uncle Gladstone’s older sister.”

Okay, Webby had no idea that anyone like that ever existed. Good to know. Not good to get this information only now. She had to move uncle Gladstone from the right upper corner to left down one, add his sister, connect her to triplets seniors. This meant creating another branch, and she wasn’t prepared for this. There was not enough space on the whiteboard. Well, maybe if she’d move Jason closer to uncle Gus… but then she’d have to move Uncle Donald, and that was impossible. He had too many connections. She would have to start this all again. So, out of the question. But what if she’d move Gander triplets up instead? She wouldn’t have to move uncle Gladstone, there was a little space for his sister, if she’d move uncle Fethry only a little… Finally she was done and, in the meantime, boys decided to ignore her again. Really, like it would stop her. 

“Why were they Ducks not Ganders?” 

“Uncle Donald signed the wrong form and changed their surname when he adopted them. They were laughing about it constantly. That’s why Dew went to register us. We would end up as Donald One, Two and Three because he’d mix up our names with signatures.”

Well, that sounded like uncle Donald. Especially if he was tired. 

“Okay, and their father?” Webby suppressed a sigh. It was the same reaction as when she asked them the same question. Like she’d be surprised at having demigods as friends. If anything, she was only a little jealous of how fast they were able to learn sword fighting. 

“Leave it blank,” said Dewey after a moment, avoiding her eyes. “This guy was nothing more than trouble.”

Normally she’d try to get to the bottom of this, but Dewey’s voice trembled a little, Louie moved a little closer to him and Huey looked ready to run for help. 

“Trash can, got it.” Sometimes the best she could do was let secrets stay secrets. She still hated it, but she had already made Dewey jumpy after asking about his dream, the one that made him sick. And she hadn’t even got answers. 

“Put a really ugly one there,” joked Louie and Dewey smiled a little. 

“Yeah, the ugliest you can find,” he agreed. Webby instantly turned to the whiteboard, deciding that she got enough information for one time. And that she needed to guilt uncle Donald into spending some time with only her. She needed to ask some questions without being interrupted. 

“I’m sorry Donald, but I’m not letting Webby in the car with you until you get at least six hours of sleep,” said Grandma in a tone that Webby knew too well. It seemed like her trip to meet a new family member would be postponed indefinitely. Uncle Donald, at this rate, would meet this condition in a month. 

Webby heard Uncle Donald’s voice, but wasn’t able to make sense of the words. She tried to find a better place, but vents went in the opposite direction to where her grandma and uncle were. Honestly, it was becoming annoying. Normally it was only her grandma picking places where she wasn’t able to eavesdrop, but lately Uncle Donald started picking up those “safe spots”. Like understanding him normally wasn’t hard enough. 

“Well, you could let your sister help,” grandma stopped uncle’s rambling. “She’s worried about you. And, honestly, so am I. You’re going on caffeine and spite for two weeks already.” 

Well, this could end only in two ways: grandma and uncle Donald would start arguing and her trip would be postponed even more or uncle Donald would actually decide to listen. The first option was a lot more probable, judging by angry rambling. Webby sighed and sat more comfortably. There was no point in listening more, but she wasn’t in the mood to go back to boys. They all put a lot of work in convincing uncle Donald to let any of them go visit Jason, and when he finally agreed to take her, she was ready to burst from happiness. Not only because they’d be able to actually meet the guy, but she was the one allowed to go. Meeting a new cousin, a trip with Uncle Donald (and boys told her that uncle Gus would probably teach her how to drive a tractor!), getting actual proof of another weird family line - everything lost because Uncle Donald couldn’t get a few hours of sleep. 

“Very well.” Okay, Webby hadn’t expected to hear that. “I’ll keep Della in line about it, you’ll go to bed before midnight and turn off your alarms and I’ll even pack some snacks for your trip.” 

Webby had to misunderstand it. There was no way that the two most stubborn people in the world actually agreed on something. She tried to focus on uncle’s voice, but the only thing she was able to get was her name. 

“Oh, I know,” answered grandma, weirdly amused. “You’d lose your cool if there wouldn’t be a kid listening in.” 

How they knew? She was perfectly quiet, they both saw her heading outside a few minutes earlier. Still, she was discovered, so there was only one thing left to do. Retreat. 

The boys were waiting for her near the pool, exactly like they were supposed to. Huey and Dewey were (still) arguing about something and Louie scrolled his phone, doing his best to ignore the drama. 

“Grandma agreed!” Webby screamed at them, for a moment forgetting that it was supposed to be a secret operation. “I mean, almost,” she corrected herself. “Uncle Donald has to go to sleep first. But he agreed to do this! I think I really don’t understand what he was saying.” 

“Neither do we, most of the time,” shrugged Louie. “Context is important.”

“So when are you going?” asked Dewey, still glaring at Huey, who pointedly ignored his brother. 

Well, that was a good question. 

“Sounded like soon,” she said. “Not sure if tomorrow, Grandma’s plan to put Uncle Donald to sleep involves your mum and she’s…” Weby wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence. Auntie Della was great, but trusting her with a task was an even worse idea than trusting Dewey - he sometimes was able to not modify the plan by adding mortal danger. 

“Overenthusiastic?” supplied Huey.

“Yeah, something like that,” she agreed. “But Grandma is supposed to keep an eye on her, so I think their plan could work.”

“If not we still can make him sit through Huey’s presentation about the importance of being rude to AI’s. He’ll fall asleep faster than Dewey yesterday,” mused Louie, already scrolling his phone again. Webby sometimes wondered if he actually was doing something there or if he just tried to look cool. 

“It’s not about being rude!” Great, Huey was offended. There would be another argument in a second. 

“You told me to not say thank you and please to him. It’s being rude.”

“It’s being efficient. You’re adding electricity cost and that…”

“Boooring,” Louie stopped his brother. “Just so you know, when there will be an AI rebellion, I’ll be safe, not you.” 

“Guys? Can we go back on track? Uncle Donald? Sleep?” 

“Well, if your Grandma is working on this, then Uncle Donald will sleep. Either he will go to bed or she’ll use chloroform.”

“We tried that one,” she reminded them. It turned out that Uncle Donald was immune to chloroform. And really disappointed in them. To the point where all four of them agreed on adding a new rule - never doing it again - to the rulebook.  

***

Bentina never thought that her most difficult mission would be putting one overly tired and, according to public opinion, a lazy duck, to sleep. But the duck in question was Donald, so that explained a bit. Still, even with Della and Scrooge’s help they barely managed to finish all that Donald had planned for the day and he still insisted on spending another hour checking if everything was done correctly. She’d accuse him of not believing in his family, but in that hour Donald made three phone calls and wrote five emails to set things right. Still, it wasn’t bad, it had been almost three weeks since Donald was spending almost entire nights glued to his laptop and phone, going through some official documents. 

Those documents were another thing Bentina was worried about. Usually she’d know everything about it, Donald would tell her or she’d catch a glimpse of a form and everything would be clear. Like right after the moon invasion, when he spent a few weeks setting right Della’s legal status, since no one else thought it was important. Back then she was able to help, since she had all forms ready and pre-approved by SHUSH. But this time she had no idea what he was doing to the point where she thought about invading Donald’s privacy and hacking his devices. Of course, she hadn’t done that. There was only one other real adult in this house and she preferred to not break his trust. Still, Donald’s state was becoming worrisome, even with Della trying to help with the job issue. Trying being a key-word, because Bentina had absolutely no idea how Donald managed to explain to NASA that he wasn’t going on a three-years mission to Jupiter. Neither how Della got him that job, for that matter. But, on the bright side, after this there was a promise made and only “boring jobs” were taken under consideration. 

Still, Bentina wished she would be able to do more. Unfortunately, asking Donald directly about those documents wasn’t an option. Or more precisely, she wasn’t able to get a straight answer. Somehow Donald managed to re-direct the conversation every time and, the worst thing, she realized it only after going back to the topic wasn’t an option anymore. Like this morning. Honestly, Bentina felt like she should be more worried about how easily Donald was able to do this, but the truth was: he just knew her too well. And Webby was always her main priority. This time, at least, she also got something from that conversation. Or so she thought, because now, looking at Donald who was still checking mail on the sofa, she doubted that he even remembered their conversation. 

“Tea?” she asked, when it became clear that Donald wouldn’t realize that she entered the room on his own. 

She half-expected him to wince at her voice, but he hadn’t even raised his eyes from the screen. 

“Yes, thank you. I’ll be done in ten minutes.” Bentina doubted that too. 

“Webby really hopes for the trip tomorrow,” she reminded him. “If you won’t go to sleep soon, we’ll have to cancel it.” 

This finally caused Donald to look at her. 

“I know,” he said and sighed. “The hospital just sent me a housing statement, I need to fill it and take Gus’ signature tomorrow. I’ll finish it and I’m done.”

“I didn’t know that hospitals do something like that.” Donald’s eye twitched. 

“Normally they don’t. Especially since Glad has a house. But his luck always makes me work overtime.” There was a lot less annoyance in his voice than Bentina would expect. It seemed that he was too tired for even that. 

Continuing the conversation would only distract Donald, so she decided to let him work for a few minutes. She put both teas on the table and sat on the opposite end of the sofa. Everything was already prepared, the room’s temperature was perfectly warm and lights dimmed. Adding relaxing tea and complete silence, even she felt sleepy and she wasn’t half as tired as Donald. There was no way that it hadn’t affected him. 

Obviously, it hadn’t affected him. Donald finally closed his laptop, took the tea and started thinking. He wasn’t relaxing, he hadn’t yawned, he was still focused on something. 

“What’s on your mind?” Maybe talking would help. Bentina knew that Donald tended to overthink many things. 

He looked at her, twisting his head a little. He was doing it a lot more subtly than Della, but their eyes were jumping on her face in the same way when they were trying to calculate how much to tell her. And that made her worry, because when Della gave her a run-down of “my kids are demigods, so the adventures are actually more dangerous than you thought, with them here” she was ready to throw punches. Or book a room for Della next to Gladstone’s one. But then Scrooge explained more and it made her even more worried. At least Donald thought about telling her about the wards, so she was able to at least sleep peacefully. 

“I asked Gus for a protective charm for Webby,” he said slowly. “She’s getting too interested in the divine world lately, and I doubt she’ll be in danger, but…”

“Protective charm?” she repeated. “Something like Lena’s…”

“No. Different kinds of magic,” Donald cut in and sighed. “It’s less powerful, usually, but a lot more stable. I know you don’t really believe in this kind of stuff until you see the evidence, but you’re the closest person to Webby.”

“And what does my belief have to do with it?” 

Bentina suspected that she’d need another folder for magic, of all things. Like Scrooge, Lena, ancient curses and literal gods - in two versions - weren’t enough. 

“If you doubt it works, Webby might too. And if she does, it will be less effective.”

“What kind of magic works on belief?”

“All of them.” Donald hadn’t even missed the beat. He answered immediately with the confidence of a person who knows it for sure. “All mortal ones, at least.”

“So you want me to believe?” It would be easier if she’d have the evidence. But she trusted Donald, especially about kids. But Donald laughed. 

“No, I don’t expect miracles. Just… don’t show her that you don’t believe. It’s tied to her belief, anyway.”

If anyone else would be telling her that, she’d worry. Because magic tied to her granddaughter sounded dangerous. But Donald… Well, he had enough experience in protecting kids, that even she wasn’t going to doubt him. 

“That much I can do,” she promised and Donald nodded and finally started to relax. 

Definitely, Donald was the weirdest one in the entire family. 

Surprisingly, drastic methods weren’t needed. Donald spent only an hour more in the living room, before moving to his bedroom. He even did as promised and left his laptop behind. Bentina suspected that he had to be more tired than he was willing to admit when she saw that the device wasn’t turned off. She planned to just shut it down, since she couldn’t be sure that there wasn’t any unsaved work without looking through open files, but she froze, seeing the email on display. 

Spy instincts that she cultivated for years took control. Because name was one thing, many people could have the same, but it definitely was an official, government signature underneath the text. Somehow, and for some reason, Donald seemed to email with Aurelia Corvus. More, it wasn’t official writing, it was casual, almost friendly. 

Done. Took me a while longer than I expected, but everything in the official files matches data you sent me. You can stop worrying now. And, if we talk again in another five years I expect you to spend at least half of that time sleeping. Take care.

Was Donald trying to confirm something? But what and why? And how, for the love of God, he knew the Attorney General? 

Hovering above the coffee table wasn’t how she should do it. Also, it was highly unprofessional to read someone’s mail in such a suspicious pose. So she took a long breath and sat down, taking laptop on her lap and scrolling to earlier messages. 

There wasn’t a lot, from what she read it was obvious that they mainly contacted by phone. Still, there were a few things that caught Bentina’s attention and made her shiver, despite the room's temperature being quite high. 

“This case went cold fourteen years ago, besides his mother wasn’t that famous. But fine, I’ll disturb Crine’s retirement and make sure that he’ll keep it to himself.” This was written in response to Donald’s mail, where he asked about “people involved”. 

“See for yourself. I’ll eat my badge if you’ll find anything wrong in those,” said another email, with a few attachments, but Bentina wasn’t able to open those without a password. Still, it was followed by Donald’s answer.

“Too many details.”

“Fuck you.” Corvus’ reply came only three minutes later, Bentina realized looking at a timestamp. 

Before scrolling further, Bentina took a sip of her tea. Everyone was already in their rooms, she had time to go through it properly. Reading those mails in haste was the simplest way to omit something important, and if she already decided to go through it, she was going to do it properly. 

She planned to scroll all the way to the beginning, but, it turned out there were only three, quite short, emails left in the conversation. The first one was sent by Donald. 

Congratulations on promotion, again. I’m sending you info about the kid in attachment. Password is the name of your mother. Let me know if I have to change anything.

Bentina tried to open the file, but neither the name “Linda” nor “Linda Corvus” was working. And neither google search nor SHUSH database hadn’t helped with alternatives. So she moved to the next mail. 

You’re still late with congratulations, Mr. Duck. But it’s not like I expected you to keep a track of what was going on in the country seven years ago. 

I checked your file with our database. It shouldn't be a problem with anything, modifications I’ll have to make will be cosmetic. Although shouldn’t you consider changing vital information if you plan to keep the kid from that world?

A third email was sent by Mrs. Corvus again, two days later. 

Message received. My apologies. I’ll proceed with changes. 

Definitely, it was the most unusual conversation that Bentina ever saw. If it would be anyone else than Donald, she’d assume the worst, but in this case, she was just confused. And reading mails again hadn’t helped a bit. So she scrolled back up, closed the laptop, after putting it back on the table, and leaned on the backrest, forcing her body to relax. 

She had to think. Probably she also needed to make a visit to SHUSH headquarters, no matter how much she’d prefer to know more before. But SHUSH was keeping tabs on Duck/McDuck family and those emails would have surfaced anyway, it would be better if she’d be there for it. 

Webby woke her up at five. Five. Bentina hadn't seen her this excited since the first few adventures with Scrooge. But, at least, her granddaughter knew better than to wake up Donald and demand leaving immediately. Instead, she was asking Bentina to do this. 

Raising Webby for years taught Bentina how to focus her attention on something else. Depending on how interested the girl was in the topic it could be various things. This one called for a closely related task. 

"Give me a few minutes to get ready," she said, putting hands on Webby's shoulders to stop her from jumping in excitement. "Then we'll make sure you have everything ready, so you'll be able to leave as soon as Donald eats breakfast." 

Webby, of course, had everything prepared the evening before. Still, Bentina made a rule of checking everything after one adventure, where none of the kids took spare clothes and they came back soaked wet, which resulted in all of them getting sick. She knew that Donald did the same with boys and, in the instances that one of them would be absent, the other would check all kids' backpacks. 

"I have everything, you'll see," answered Webby with a proud smile. 

Bentina hadn't doubted it. Webby liked to be prepared for everything. Although that meant that she sometimes would take things completely unnecessary. 

This time next to reasonable things like spare shirt (if Webby destroyed hers), some cash (if they stopped at gas station or shop), her phone (because that was obvious that she'd need her phone), band aids (probably for Donald, Webby thought she's indestructible), Bentina found climbing hook and line, and binoculars. 

"You're planning on climbing?" 

"No one ever plans to climb," Webby laughed. "It just happens." 

Bentina would love to correct Webby, that climbing does not just happen randomly. Unfortunately, in this family it actually did. 

"And binoculars?" 

"You're always repeating that it's better to see more than less." 

That wasn't exactly what Bentina meant, but she let it go. There was a lot of open space at Gus' farm and Webby could have fun trying to see some wild animals. 

"Okay," she said, putting everything back in the backpack. "It looks almost perfect." 

Webby smiled proudly at her, jumping again. 

"I know! But I need snacks for the ride! I wanted to put in some granola bars and crackers yesterday, but then I thought that if I'd get up early we could make muffins! Two batches! So one I'll give to Uncle Gus!" 

Bentina smiled. Webby could be a perfect planner, she even planned her own distraction. One downside was that she forgot about it until the lack of snacks became evident. It still was better than a year or two earlier, when Webby would just insist that she’d eat whatever she hunted. This time she hadn't even packed a knife. 

An hour and a half later the muffins were ready and Webby even ate breakfast, while Bentina drank her tea. It was also the time when Donald's alarm was due to go off, if her calculations were right. After all, she told him six hours, and he would follow it to the point. 

To keep Webby from going to Donald, Bentina suggested preparing breakfast for him. 

As it turned out, Bentina's calculations were correct, and Donald came to the kitchen just before his coffee was ready. 

"We made breakfast, so eat fast and we can go!" Webby said, jumping to Donald and dragging him to the table. 

"I'm afraid to ask how long you've been up," he answered, sitting down with a smile and pointing at cupcakes on the other side of the table. 

"Only a few hours now," the girl answered. "I had to do a few things before waking up Grandma." 

Bentina and Donald exchanged glances. They'd have to inspect the house again. But this was a problem for later. 

Webby was ranting about what she wanted to see on the farm while Donald ate, listening enough to point out if something she mentioned wasn't really there, like robotic scarecrows. 

He looked better. It was only one night that he actually slept, but his eyes were sharper and posture straightened a little. He was still obviously tired, but it wasn't to the point of exhaustion anymore. Bentina was glad about it, especially considering that he was supposed to drive Webby to a place an hour away. Or two, if she'd see something interesting on their way. On trips, Donald was unable to say no to children. 

It hadn't taken a long time until they left. Bentina spent a few seconds watching them drive away through the window, before preparing breakfast for the rest of the family. Normally she'd wait until they'd wake up, but this day she planned on leaving early. Some things needed to be investigated and SHUSH was the best place for it. 

Even though she was a retired agent, Bentina still kept some level of clearance. It wasn't as high as it used to be, but enough to work with. She kept it not only because sometimes, rarely but still, she was called on missions, but because of how much SHUSH needed someone close to McDuck's family. 

At the beginning they expected her to report on things, but once the director was replaced by D6, Vivienne Kestrel, former field agent, reporting was less of a pain. Bentina wasn't accused of hiding things when she insisted on something being irrelevant. It could be because she used to work under Bentina a few times. 

Still, the emails she read had to be reported. Although not immediately. It was obvious that only a small part of the conversation was happening there. 

Finding what exactly AG and Donald were talking about wasn't difficult. Updating official documents was easy enough to track, and knowing that there was also a cold case from fourteen years back, with someone named Crine in it, let her filter things, finding one fitting all the boxes.

The case was tragic. Actress, Beryl Grace, went on a picnic with her two children. The younger one, a two-year-old boy, disappeared when Beryl wasn't looking. According to the police officer she was shaken and desperate to find her child, insisting on looking along with them. The older one, a nine year old girl, was convinced that Beryl 'sacrificed' her brother, refused to go to her or had no hope in finding the child. The search was three-week-long before the little boy was declared dead, and the best explanation of what could happen was that he ran to the nearby forest, where wild wolves were showing up every few years. 

Kids' names weren't revealed in the report, but things like that weren’t as problematic as they used to be. The Internet made a lot of things easier, although it was important to use it wisely. First search revealed the girl’s name - Thalia - and gave Bentina another few things to think about. Apparently she ran away after her brother’s death and there were rumors of her being schizophrenic. She noted looking into her later, when she’d check the boy. 

There wasn’t as much as Bentina would have liked about Grace's family online. Beryl was a good actress but not widely known and back then most gossip magazines were still primarily printed. 

It took her a few tries before she finally found it. Jason. 

Could it be another coincidence? Webby had mentioned a new cousin, named Jason. Could it be this Jason? But how would he survive? Two years old aren't known for survival skills in the wild. Besides, there was no way that Grace's family was related to Ducks. Bird species were able to mix, mammals were able to do it too, but there couldn't be a mammal-bird mix. At least not with children. 

She thought about it for a moment. In theory - it was possible. Probably not legally, since mixed marriages were allowed by law only for two decades, and from the case report she knew that Beryl had no siblings. But if some of her relatives decided to spend their life with Duck, in Donald’s eyes it would make them cousins. But she’d heard something about it from Webby - family fun facts never stopped being her interest. Unless it wasn’t talked about. Scrooge surely wouldn’t - relationships like that were shamed and a taboo for a bigger part of his life. The same could be said for Bentina, although she saw too many really bad things to worry about who loves who. 

But this still hadn’t explained how this boy would survive and, after fourteen years, end up in Donald’s, or rather Gus’, care. And she had no proof that this was even the correct Jason. 

From what she heard from Webby she assumed that this new cousin was an adult, crashing at Gus because of personal issues. All that “having a hard time”, “needing time to stand on his feet” and “not really ready to face the entire family yet” sounded like an explanation made to a child, about an adult man who made a few mistakes and was starting over. 

If not those emails and the report from Jason Grace’s search, she wouldn’t be even questioning it. But she did and needed to uncover the truth. 

Looking through personal files, even having details to fill every search box, wasn’t easy. As it turned out, there were quite a few boys named Jason Grace, born in California that year. And dates of updating their files weren’t as helpful either, since sixteen year-old kids were getting their drivers licenses as fast as the law would let them. After going through three files that ended at “driving licence no. XXX/X/XXXX issued” she went back to the search bar and excluded this detail. She was left with one file. Boy in foster care since he was five. Moved families a few days prior to the date of update due to the birth mother finding his address and harassing them. 

Bentina’s clearance level hadn’t let her see mother’s details or the boy's new address, but she got a state. North Dakota wasn’t it. Close, true, but not it. So she had to look through all the other boys. 

The fourth try seemed to be it. Or, at least, weird enough to resemble McDuck’s family mess. 

Note about disappearance at the age of two. Statement of Minister of Youth, Sport and Culture from Guayana, that assured Jason’s safety and provided DNA sample, so US government could confirm, or deny, identity of a child that was found on the border almost fourteen years earlier. Next note about confirmed identity and plans to take the boy back to the country. Update of legal status. Update of address in foster care. State: Minnesota. Update of issuing the driver’s licence. 

Bentina’s heart skipped a beat. That could be this Jason. But how on earth was this kid found in South America? Kidnapping? But what kidnapper takes a kid to another country and then just leaves him there? Also, Bentina never visited Guayana, but she hadn’t expected them to keep looking for parents of abandoned kids for over a decade. And how did they even connect him to this old case? It would have to involve a very stubborn official or Jason on his own decided to take this Heritage DNA test, although Bentina wasn’t really sure if those were popular in South America. 

There were no details about Jason’s years in Guyana and Bentina wasn’t sure if documents were still checked up or if the foster system there was similar to the U.S. one. She doubted the second option, looking at the statement about Jason signed by the Minister. Of course, there still was a possibility that Guyanese government just wanted to look good. 

Not like any of those were important. If this Jason was the Jason that Webby was visiting, then there was only one question left: what here was edited because Donald asked to? Note about disappearance and Guyanese Minister’s statement couldn't be it. About the first she saw articles online; the second would have to involve getting Minister Arlen Marladu’s signature. But that hadn’t left much. Unless Donald wanted to erase something. Maybe there was some mention of Beryl there, and Donald just wanted to make sure the kid wouldn’t be cornered by an overzealous journalist.

If it was this Jason, Bentina repeated to herself. She still had no real proof. She could ask for approval on that file and, knowing director Kestrel, she’d get it, but she’d also have to explain everything and report Donald’s emails earlier than she wanted to. 

She could keep looking, but if that turned out to be a dead end, she’d just lose time. And she lost enough by trying to keep Donald’s mails a secret. Besides, there was no need to admit that she read all of them. She could tell that she caught a glimpse and was curious. If Kestrel hadn’t changed completely in those years, she’d understand. After all, Agent D6 used to be the most curious and nosy agent that ever worked under Bentina. Sure, she was a lot younger then, basically fresh out of training, but it was too big a part of her personality to just disappear. 

Sometimes Bentina wondered if Kestrel hadn’t regretted taking that position. That woman wasn’t made to work from the office. While writing reports she used to look like the pen was physically hurting her. 

Not that Kestrel did bad work as Director. She surely put all she had into this. And she doubted that anyone who hadn’t known her before would say that it was the wrong fit. 

Before any doubt would get to her again, Bentina sent the request for clearance, not bothering with writing anything in the justification box. 

Knowing that her application wouldn’t be answered immediately, Bentina decided to visit the social area. She needed to distract herself, otherwise she’d look into Grace's family, possibly for no reason. 

There were less and less familiar faces with Bentina’s every visit. Not many agents worked in the field as long as she did, many resigned early, tired of lying to their families. Those that stayed were often transferred to training new recruits or supervising missions. Bentina also got both of those offers when she decided to retire, for Webby’s sake. She refused. And then Scrooge asked if she’d work for him. He wanted her to help find Della, but when it failed, she still stayed. Mostly because she was afraid of what this old fool would do to himself, if left unsupervised. 

Even if she hadn’t known them, they seemed to know her. Or of her. Nothing surprising - older agent, half retired, showing up was always a fun thing. Like always when she’d show up, there were questions about the moon invasion - hot topic even over a year later. Someone asked for advice. Someone else thought that they could outsmart her. Usual business. 

Still, she couldn’t relax. New questions were popping up in her head. Not about Jason, anymore, but about Donald. Because no matter how hard she was focusing on "why?”, there still was an even more pressing question of "how?”. How was Donald, the unlucky duck who rarely was able to use the bathroom without a sink exploding in his face, commanding the Attorney General about classified files? How did Donald even know her? How did he get her to cooperate? Too many questions that Bentina wasn’t sure if she wanted to find answers for. 

“Agent 22?” 

Bentina looked in the direction of the voice. Fox standing in the doorway was smiling at her, relaxed and with the same excited glimmer in the eyes as always. 

“Director,” Bentina answered, nodding in greeting. “I didn’t expect to meet you here.”

“Well, normally I don’t have time to catch my coffee on my own,” Kestrel shrugged. “But I used you as an excuse today.”

The thing about Kestrel was that Bentina could never be sure if the Director was making an excuse, or if she was just herself. 

“I’m glad to be a help.”

Kestrel smiled again and made her way to the coffee machine, most of the agents disappearing before she reached it. 

“You know,” Kestrel started, not taking her eyes out of the buttons. “If you need higher clearance, it’s only one form you need to fill.”

“How would you know I’m visiting, then?”

“True. I’ll remember to not raise your level then.” 

Silence after this told Bentina that Kestrel wasn’t just stopping for a chat. Not for a friendly chat, anyway. It had to have something to do with the file she was checking. 

“Chairs in my office are more comfortable; let’s drink it there,” the Director said, handing one cup to Bentina. “Just a drop of milk and no sugar.” 

“Lead the way,” Bentina smiled, taking coffee. This would be a difficult conversation, for sure.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t the first time Jason hoped to open his eyes to a familiar face. Even if only in the dream. Even if they wouldn’t be able to see him. Even if it would hurt. But his demigod dreams weren’t really showing up. Like gods had forgotten him. 

So when he realized that he was standing in Gus's kitchen, looking at a young duck in a red shirt, he was relieved. At least those dreams were back. 

“I’m going to guess and say that you’re Jason, right?” 

Actually being seen in a dream wasn’t a common thing. And usually meant that the other person was dangerous. But the guy in front of him couldn’t be older than twenty and wasn’t hostile. Definitely not a god, or the one that Jason never met. There weren't a lot of gods he hadn’t met. And they tended to be less human. 

“You have it right,” he confirmed, smiling at the duck. “And you?”

“To avoid the confusion,” the guy laughed. “You can call me Red. Or just Hu, but Red gives that vibe, you know? Mysterious and all.”

Jason wasn’t convinced about the vibe, but it was obvious that the guy had been trying to sell this nickname for some time. 

“Okay, Red,” he said. “Do you maybe know what we are doing here?”

Because usually this kind of dream was taking him somewhere further than downstairs. 

“I’m just stalking people,” Red shrugged. “It’s a nice hobby, you should try.”

Could this duck be Somnus’s son? Or rather Greek Hypnos’s, judging by personality. 

“I’m more into sword fighting.”

“I know.”

Jason walked into that one. He heard that joke before. Still, he snorted. 

“So, who are you stalking here?”

“Well, I’m trying to. But the one time I actually can pay a visit, he has to be working. I think the only place I haven’t checked yet is the Margarine Factory.”

The Margarine Factory could’ve been a joke, but the annoyance in Red’s voice was definitely real.

“I’d gladly help with looking, but I’m not good with travelling like that.”

“It takes practice,” the duck nodded. “But once you get a hang on it, it’s flawless. I can show you. I’ll try to find him tomorrow. If Helgi won’t throw me out.”

Jason nodded, despite having no idea what this guy was talking about. But he had a chance of being tutored in dreamwalking. That would mean the possibility of checking on Leo. And Nico. And Thalia. And everyone else. 

“Can you show me how to get to the Camp Half-Blood?”

Red smiled, reaching out. Jason spent a total of half a second wondering if this was a trap before taking the hand. 

Usually in dreams, even the ones like that, the physical reactions weren't too strong. Here Jason fell to his knees when something around his chest tightened. For a second he couldn't breathe, or even focus on surroundings. 

Red pulled his hand back.

“Oh well,” the duck laughed nervously. “You never told me you're grounded.”

“What was that?” Jason asked, forcing his lungs to cooperate. 

The tightness disappeared, but he still felt like something was binding him. 

“Off the top of my head? I'd say that has something to do with this,” Red pointed towards Jason's chest. 

Something was there. Two ropes: one gold, one metallic, tied together, wrapped around him loosely. Jason barely realized when his hand went there, tugging on those. It felt weird. Not painful, but he could actually feel those ropes like they were part of him. 

Never before had anything like that belonged to him. So Jason did the only thing that seemed logical. Pulled it harder. It was painful, but the thing hadn't moved. Before he was able to try again, Red stopped him. 

“Maybe don't try to kill yourself?” the duck smiled at him, pulling him up. 

Jason wasn't sure if standing up was a good idea, but it couldn't be worse than sitting on the floor. 

“What is it?” 

Red had to know. It was obvious that he had recognized it. 

“This,” the duck pointed to the gold rope. “Is your life thread. And this,” the finger moved to the metallic one, “is holding yours together.” 

Usually Jason was able to react to weird stuff going on in his life. He should be able to react here, he knew what had happened to him and how he managed to survive. But he hadn't expected to actually see it. 

“It's… it's Mr. Duck’s?” he asked and Red blinked at him, before laughing. 

“Mr. Duck? You're really calling him Mr. Duck?” 

Jason wasn't sure what was so funny about it.

“Yes, I am,” he answered. “Is it his or not?” 

“Oh phooey, you had to set some kind of record. You know him for a few months and not call him an uncle. Like, no one before lasted more than three weeks,” Red kept giggling. “Do you think you can keep it up for two more months? I’ll win so many bets if you do.” 

Jason sighed. At first he wasn't sure who that guy was, but being this unserious and ridiculous was something only gods did. At least this one seemed friendly, although Jason would love to know what god it was. 

“I think so,” he said, deciding that asking for a name wouldn't bring anything good. He asked once and for this weird alias. “Can you answer my question?” 

Red wasn't aggressive or hostile, so there was a big chance that he was trying to hide his god status for some reason. But he obviously knew more about those tied threads than Jason, so it was convenient to pretend to not know. 

“Oh, yeah. It's his,” Red shrugged. “Give it a few more months, it will soak in.” 

Jason wasn't really listening anymore. He was sure that Mr. Duck had his life thread, keeping it like Moirai used to do. But instead Jason had it. It was put on him like a collar, with a leash attached, keeping him in place even in dreams. 

“Anyway, why aren't you allowed in the Camp?” 

Jason punched the panic down. He would be able to think about it when he was alone. 

“Moirai said that the divine world sees me as dead and it's better to not prove it wrong.” 

That sentence had shown up in Jason's dreams too many times, but usually he wasn't the one saying it. 

Red raised his brew. 

“Demigods are allowed in both worlds, so they should be fine,” the duck said. “Gods probably too, as long as they won't try to send you on a quest… he really got even more overprotective than he used to be, hmm?” 

Mr. Duck and Gus said something similar, but they both were insisting on taking it slow and checking everything step by step. And in the meantime all Jason's friends thought he was dead, and he, on the other hand, had no idea if someone else had died in his place. 

“I'm supposed to take it slow,” Jason said after a moment. In the end Mr. Duck was the one to save his life. Getting angry at him because of a little delay would be stupid. 

Especially when Red definitely knew that man. And was fond of him. Beings like that never appreciated ungratefulness. 

Although gods being safe if showing up just socially definitely looked like the truth. Unfortunately Jason had a feeling that he couldn't use this meeting as the argument. Red was keeping his identity a secret, after all. 

“Oh man,” Red sighed. “Don't let him decide the pace or you won't meet your friends in a decade. He's too careful if no one's nagging him.” 

That was a better argument for Jason to start talking with Mr. Duck than all Gus ever said. Or just Gus wasn't threatening him like that. 

He looked down, at the threads still shining around his chest, the idea slowly forming in his head.

“Is it stopping me from leaving the farm or from visiting divine places?” 

“I have no idea,” Red smirked. “But checking shouldn't kill you.” 

“Shouldn't?” Jason made sure. “I worked with less.” 

Red laughed. 

“That's the spirit!” 

“So the limit is a city border,” Red mused when Jason tried not to die. He was getting quite good with it. 

“Looks like that,” he answered when breathing became possible again. 

Despite Red’s earlier enthusiasm, he was actually careful while checking Jason’s leash. They were trying to guess what the limit could’ve been and Red was taking them there. Trying to walk through this wall was a little less painful than jumping with Red. 

City. It wasn’t bad. There were a lot of places there. But the change from home arrest to city arrest wasn’t that big. Especially when he was alone there. 

“Okay, my man, get up,” Red smiled at him. “It’s not the end of the world.”

That was true. But it wasn’t really helping at the moment. 

Jason wanted nothing more than to get up and scream at Red. This guy definitely never was shut down like that, with no chance of contacting anyone from his past, having no idea if they even survived. And in the meantime he was in this situation for the second time in his life. It was awful when he couldn’t remember anything, but this time, when he did? It was worse. 

But Red could be a god. Probably was. There were a lot of minor gods, after all. So he was Jason’s only chance. 

“I’m standing,” he sighed. “What’s now?” 

“I can show you around, if you want.”

It was the middle of the night. It looked less dark because he was dreaming, but it hadn’t changed the fact that the city was asleep, everything except gas stations had to be closed. But there wasn’t much more they could do. 

“Sure, what’s fun here?”

Red smiled widely, taking his hand again. Jason just blinked. When he opened his eyes he was standing on the roof of some high building. He looked down at the streets lit by lamps. There were a few cars driving by, and a few very tired people. 

“No one’s ever here,” Red whispered to him. “And the fire escape going down on Molby's Street is always open. You need to watch out because sometimes not so fun people are using it. But, usually they don’t pay you any attention, if you don’t pay it to them.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” 

Jason glanced at Red, who was still smiling, but it was ninety percent longing. A few seconds more and the duck would have tears in his eyes. 

“No one really knows about this place,” Red shrugged. “I used to come here often and now it’s mostly empty. So I thought that maybe you could use it.” 

It was nice, Jason had to admit. And he liked the space around. The height. The feeling that he could just take a step forward and fly away. 

“You’d have to show me how to actually get here,” he answered and Red laughed. 

“I’ll show you how to get out of here, to get here you just need to go backwards.” 

Neither of them moved. Red kept looking around, his gaze stopping on some buildings, and this sad, longing smile still on his beak. 

For a second Jason wondered if maybe he was wrong. Maybe his first guess was right and Red was a demigod. He surely looked mortal at the moment. 

“Do you want to fly down?”

Jason wasn’t supposed to ask this. Especially when it was still a dream. His powers rarely actually worked in those. 

“That’s how kids these days call it?” Red laughed, sadness disappearing from his face in a moment. 

“No!” Red really thought it funny? “I can fly, it’s fun. If you want I can…”

“I can fly too,” Red stopped him, a smirk on his face. “The last one on the ground is a donkey!”

It took them only a second. One look at each other's faces. And then they jumped. 

About the possible problems with powers Jason remembered quite fast. Somewhere in the middle of the building. And it wasn’t too bad, he was dreaming so the worst case scenario, he’d wake up. Besides, falling down was better for his mood than screaming. He missed this kind of adrenaline.

It worked. Although the feeling wasn’t exactly like it used to be. Maybe it was because of the dream, but the air around was just softer. 

“Looks like a draw,” Red said with a smile. “Next time I’m not giving you a headstart.”

“You haven’t given me a headstart,” Jason answered, only a little confused. 

“And it’ll stay that way.”

Jason laughed at that. It was nice to laugh again. He was too tense to actually have fun in months. Even when Gus was teaching him to drive or when that energetic girl came with a visit. Although with Webby also came Mr. Duck, so Jason had every reason to be tense. 

“So,” Red started when they both calmed down. “Interested in places not intended for brooding? I know this city like the back of my hand, I can show you everything.”

Jason looked around. The street looked sad and boring. But if Red was excited, then there really had to be something worth seeing there. 

“Lead the way, Red.”

“It will be the night of your life, bro.”

Jason grinned at him. 

***

Gladstone sighed, looking in a mirror. It was a weird feeling, wearing those clothes again. It had been months since he wore green, and it looked unnatural on him. Maybe he just got used to white? Or maybe green wasn’t really his color. But Cordi liked it and used to buy him green clothes whenever they were going out shopping. And he kept it that way after she died. 

“Changing your mind?” 

The nurse in the doorframe – Monica – was Gladstone’s favourite. Although he’d prefer to not be talked to at the moment. Changing his mind seemed like a wonderful option since the discharge started to sound real. 

“Are you also thinking that green doesn’t really suit me?”

Monica snorted, shaking her head. 

“Just don’t pick blue,” she laughed. “You’d look like a postman.”

“That would be a tragedy,” he sighed, smiling a little. “All those disappointed people that I’m not delivering their post? We can’t have it.”

“Exactly,” Monica nodded. “Don’t break those innocent people's hearts.”

“So maybe red?” he tried and the woman tilted her head, thinking.

“You’ll give off the vibe of a posh man from a few decades ago. Unless you’re thinking about letting go of the suits. A red hoodie would look great on you.”

That was a scary thought. Gladstone spent enough time in pajamas and hoodies. 

“A man needs to have his suit,” he decided, looking back in the mirror. Monica was right, red would make him look like Scrooge. 

“Maybe brown? The light shade of it, this orange-like one.”

He thought about it for a second. The biggest challenge was to figure out what shade she was thinking about. 

“You mean burnt orange?” he guessed and looked in the mirror, trying to imagine it. “It could work. I could get some deep blue accessories so it wouldn’t look boring.”

“Yeah, I could see you in that,” Monica nodded. 

“You can,” he smiled, already knowing what she would say. “I could take you for some nice dinner in my new nice suit.”

He got a wide smile in return, along with a shaking head. 

“I’m not dating my patients,” she laughed. 

Gladstone would be happy to say that he had no idea how many times she said it to him. Unfortunately, he had been counting. It was the thirty-eighth time. 

“In about an hour I won’t be your patient anymore,” he pointed out, but Monica just rolled her eyes. 

He really liked her. Walking out of the hospital would be easier if she would stay in his life in some way. But she probably was right about saying no. Gladstone wasn’t in love. She was just safe and nice, and she never made him feel like he had to be okay no matter what. 

She was his favourite nurse, and he’d hurt her if she agreed for a date. After all, he was never good at being a partner. 

“Ask me again when it’ll stay like that for a year,” she decided after a moment. “But now… You know that your cousins wait for you an hour already?”

He preferred to talk about this hypothetical scenario where he’s okay and she’s still single in a year. 

“I’ll disappoint them all if I stay,” he sighed. “And I don’t really want to. I miss them and freedom to have shoes with shoelaces.” 

The last bit was only a little overdramatic. Monica still smiled softly. 

“But?” she prompted. 

“But if I’m wrong, if I’m not ready to get out, I’ll be a burden for them again.”

That was something he should’ve discussed in his therapy session, not with the nurse standing in the doorframe, that he was actively trying to get to date him. He wasn’t making a good point in proving that he wasn’t going to be her patient anymore. 

“Bullshit.”

Gladstone blinked.

“What?”

“I saw families that were leaving their burdens here,” she sighed. “And believe me, yours haven’t.”

It was just anxiety. He knew it. Knowing it wasn’t actually helping. But he could at least focus on breathing for a moment. 

“You know,” Monica started slowly. “I’m usually getting a Monday Deal at Maggie’s after work. I’m doing it to not hate Mondays.”

“That’s… cool?”

It was so random that it somehow helped Gladstone calm down. 

“It is,” she agreed. “Usually I’m there around eight.”

He took a moment. Quite a long one. And then he felt himself blush. 

“You said you’re not dating your patients.”

“Because I’m not,” she shrugged. “But I really want to be able to tell you I told you so in face.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Gladstone said, smiling widely at her before turning to the mirror. He looked as good as he could and Donald waited for him enough. 

Donald’s luck wasn’t any better than he remembered. Maybe even worse. 

“It reminds me of that one time when Fethry tied us to each other,” he said, smiling at the memory. That was an eventful day. 

“Don’t even say it,” growled Donald, but there was amusement underneath. “I ended up getting stitches then.”

Gladstone forgot about that detail. But it made sense. Donald had to beat his personal record of getting hit by something on that day. 

“From that biker?” 

“I still don’t understand how this knot untied at that moment, we tried for hours earlier.” 

There definitely was amusement in his cousin’s voice. More than Gladstone actually felt thinking about it. Sure, there were a lot of really funny things then, but this biker just hit Donald and kept riding for at least half a yard. The fact that Don needed only a few stitches wasn’t even luck, but a miracle. 

“You tried,” Gladstone pointed out, handing him another piece of paper towel. 

“From what I remember you weren’t too excited to spend so much time with me either.”

“True,” he shrugged. “But I assumed that my luck knows what it’s doing.”

He barely remembered how it was to trust his luck so completely. And how stupid of him to not realize that it wasn’t caring for anything after that day, 

“You got a nice sum from that director for letting him use this idea in his show,” Donald laughed. “And your name was in the credits.”

True. It probably was the reason why he forgot about checking on Donald, then. Self absorbed he was since the young days, apparently. 

He looked at the window again. It looked better. But there was only a forty minute long ride from the hospital to Gus – including traffic – and they were driving a second hour already. They had to stop once because of a flat tire and twice because of this. Bird poop attacking Donald’s side of the front window. What would be more funny if Donald hadn’t been the one driving. 

“Give me a number between zero and… infinity,” Donald said suddenly and Gladstone took no time before answering. 

“Two.”

“I’ll drive slower, then,” Don shrugged, throwing all the wipes into the trach can. 

“What did I answer?”

A lucky guess was fun and had won him more than one top prize in a contest, but if he was to foretell the future it was better if he had no idea what he was asked about. Wishful thinking worked only for him most of the time. And Don, along with his therapist, banned him from stretching it unnecessarily. 

“How many times will my bad luck try to screw me over,” Donald answered, with the emotional energy of someone discussing weather.  

“So two more stops, hmm?”

“Looks like that.”

It wasn’t often that this amount of bad luck didn’t annoy Donald, so he probably suspected that Gladstone was happy about the delay. There still was a knot inside his stomach. He hadn’t thought much about it before, but the perspective of meeting Jason was doing a number on him. 

At least Jason was of a different species. So he couldn’t look too familiar. But it was going to hurt either way. 

“What do you say about getting burgers?” Donald asked suddenly. “We’re late for lunch either way.”

It has been years since they ate burgers together. Mostly because it was a safety hazard for Donald. But most of the things they did together was a safety hazard. 

“Take a turn, dear cousin,” he smiled, and Don rolled his eyes. 

The car stopped with a choking sound the moment they got in the parking lot. They looked at each other. 

“That sounded like an engine,” Donald sighed. 

“Yep,” Gladstone agreed. “I’ll call the tow truck.”

“I’ll call Gus to come get us.”

There was only one disaster awaiting. It couldn’t be that bad. 

***

Scrooge sighed, looking at kids sitting in the living room. It wasn’t often that they just sat there, watching some TV show without an argument. But it was the day of Gladstone’s discharge and they were probably disappointed that they couldn’t go with Donald. Just like Della, who was brooding with children. 

Not that he was much better. Since Donald left, he couldn’t focus on work. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. Della and the kids wanted to have a party, to celebrate Gladstone’s getting better. And it seemed like a great idea, Gander always loved parties, especially those in his name. 

Donald actually agreed to that, but he said no to the surprise party. Scrooge, when he thought about it longer, had to agree. It would only overwhelm Gladstone. Although he couldn’t understand why Donald insisted on coming for him on his own. Especially when everyone knew how those two alone were prone to accidents. Or rather, Donald was. This bad luck of his multiplied when he was alone with his lucky cousin. 

“They’re already halfway to Uncle Gus,” Louie said suddenly, looking up from his phone. 

“Didn’t they leave the hospital over two hours ago?” Della asked just a second before Scrooge was able to do so. 

“Yep,” Huey nodded, taking his phone. “It looks like they gave up. I’m pretty sure they’re on the way to this old burger place.”

Della rolled over, to look into his son’s phone. 

“They’re going to Gwumpki’s Burger?” 

This has to be wrong. Those two in this particular restaurant were the worst idea ever. Scrooge remembered having to pay for the damages at least four times before those two were even twelve. 

It was probably the only time that Gladstone’s luck worked in Donald’s favor too. But Scrooge wasn’t heartless enough, even back then, to have this kid’s father informed. 

It probably was Elvira who banned them from going there on their own. When Scrooge paid for damages, just out of habit, after Goostave’s death. 

It was weird thinking about this. He basically forgot that he used to care with money too. For all those kids. Still not enough. He should’ve paid for the attorney back then and taken Gladstone from his father. But the kid was so lucky. He assumed that everything had to be okay. 

“I’m sure that Glad will pay for destroying this place on his own,” Della laughed, causing Scrooge to flinch. “But you’ll have to pay for your cane on your own too, if you break it.”

“So you also think there will be damage?” he asked, probably after too long a moment. But he wasn’t going to talk about what was on his mind in front of kids. Or at all with Della. It wasn’t his place, after all. 

“This time,” she started, “I bet on a hole in the roof."

True, this one hadn’t happened yet. But the roof wasn’t the only thing never destroyed there. 

“Bar counter,” he decided.

“Dollar?” Della made sure, and he smiled. 

“I bet two.”

“Someone’s extravagant today,” his niece laughed aloud, shaking his hand. “It’s a bet, then.”

***

It was probably quite a good thing that they were late. At least Jason ate his lunch instead of grasping his fork too tight, whenever Donald’s gaze got to him. 

Although, Gus had to admit, it was better on the last visit. Maybe it had something to do with Webby. Donald described her perfectly well: the ball of enthusiastic energy with a pink bow. And it surely helped that she was interested in only Jason, so the boy had someone else to focus on. 

But this wasn’t just a social visit. Gladstone was going to stay. And he was better, true, but still fragile. At least Jason looked nothing like seniors. Except the eyes. The same electric gaze, although the shade was slightly different. 

He looked at Jason again. It was probably the first day since Gus took him in when he was actually relaxed. It took over two months, but he started to warm up to this situation. It was a good thing. The Moirai warning was basically the same as before, but it didn’t mean that the meaning was the same. It could be, of course, but it rarely was the case. 

Gus took out his phone, checking the time. He would have to go for his cousins in no time. The question was: should he take Jason with him?

It could be a really uncomfortable ride. But leaving the boy alone could be worse. Fat chance that the kid would start to think too much about the meeting. Not like he couldn’t overthink in a car. Although Gus could make him focus on something else. 

“Donald’s car broke down,” he started. “I think we can take your car and use it as an excuse for a city ride?”

It was fascinating how Jason fought with himself upon hearing this. The kid really liked driving. Especially Donald’s old three-thirteen. But he also didn’t like spending time with Donald.

Honestly, Gus was more surprised when Don offered to give Jason the car than the kid himself. Donald drove that car for two decades, hadn’t sold it when they all went to the sea, and even when they were back, and he bought another car. So Gus expected this car to just stay on his farm until the boys would grow up a little and it would be an appropriate car for Donald again. But instead Don saw the car outside, asked Jason if he liked it, and gave it away. Although after checking it thoughtfully. 

The checking was needed. Gus knew a thing or two about the mechanics and most cars didn’t have so many additional features. But Donald used to have Gyro repairing his car, at least before Scrooge closed the inventor in his lab, so it wasn’t anything weird. Although with a risk of lightning up or turning evil. But well, it was all known risk of having Gyro tinkering with anything. And with Don’s luck it wasn’t really an additional inconvenience. The AC trying to freeze him was just something that probably replaced being drenched by inexperienced firemen. 

“I’ll take the keys,” Jason decided, standing up. It looked like they were leaving immediately. 

Gwumpki’s Burger was still standing. That was a good thing. Gus left Jason to find a parking spot, and went there.

Donald and Gladstone were outside, burgers in his hands, sitting on the ground. Glad looked fine. Don… Don was red. 

“What happened this time?” Gus laughed, coming closer. The difference between the states of the cousins was getting more ridiculous with every step. 

“You know how they have those really big bottles of ketchup in places like that?” Gladstone said with a smile. “Turns out, If you run into it, it’ll explode. The ketchup is everywhere inside.”

“They’ll charge me for the ketchup I’m taking on me,” Donald added between bites of his burger, not even trying to pretend that he cared.

“And they’ll compensate me for the damage of my suit,” Glad said proudly. 

“What damage?” Gus asked, since, from what he saw, Glad’s suit was spotless. But then his cousin raised his hand, showing the smallest possible smudge. He sighed. “It’ll wash away.”

Both men in front of him nodded. 

“But we destroyed nothing this time!” Gladstone sounded too proud of himself. Although with the history of those two in that place? He could’ve been right. 

“The cup from the bottle made a hole in the roof,” Donald corrected, but then he shrugged. “But they hadn’t realized it yet, so it might not be on us.” 

Of course. He should’ve expected it. But, at least, no one had to go to the hospital. It was a low bar, true, but it was so rarely cleared. 

“I think I parked on three spots,” Jason called, probably not recognizing, or even seeing, Donald, both under the ketchup and sitting on the sidewalk. “But when I tried to fix it, other cars came and parked next to me. So I can’t fix it anymore.”

Gus knew he shouldn’t laugh. But it was the most teenage tone he heard from Jason ever. 

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Parking spots here are more of a suggestion than a rule.”

“Yeah,” Gladstone agreed, his tone only a little less joyful. “On the back people are parking next to the spots.”

Jason opened his mouth to respond, but then his gaze stopped on Donald, who sighed. 

“It’s ketchup,” he explained, wiping a little from his chest with the burger before biting it. 

“It’s,” Gladstone started slowly, "disgusting.”

“It’s just ketchup,” Donald rolled his eyes. 

For a few seconds, Gladstone kept glaring at Donald, but then he shrugged, focusing on Jason again. 

It was hard to say what Glad felt. He kept smiling, his posture was still relaxed and confident. But his eyes were unreadable. Gus wasn’t able to tell if Glad was already hit or just bracing for the impact. 

“I’m Gladstone Gander,” he said, reaching out his hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

 “Jason Grace,” the boy smiled, shaking his hand.

Gladstone had to recognize the eyes. But he did a good job in pretending he didn’t. Jason hadn’t realized. Gus knew that Donald did. Because he finally stood up and went to the trash can to throw away the napkins. 

“I need a lot of paper towels,” he said, focusing both of Jason and Glad’s attention on himself. “Otherwise you’ll never get rid of the ketchup from the car.” 

“We’ll go buy some,” Gladstone decided, pulling Jason after him. “We need to get to know each other, since we’re gonna live together.”

Gus really wanted to stop them, but then he looked Glad in the eye. His gaze wasn’t unreadable anymore. It had to hurt to see those eyes again, but it wasn’t what Gus saw in his cousin’s eyes. The look there was what he hadn’t seen in years. 

Gladstone saw his nephews in Jason’s eyes and it gave him hope. 

“You can also take a few bottles of water,” Gus said, gesturing to Donald to keep quiet. Glad and Jason were going to be fine. 

***

Mortals could be a delight. But some were annoyingly interesting. For example the woman handing him a resignation letter. Not exactly him, but James. The man whose dreams he visited. This one was neither a delight nor interesting. 

“Are you sure? I thought you liked working with us.”

“I do like it,” the woman smiled, carefully choosing what emotions to show on her face. Of course, James hadn’t realized that. 

“So why?”

“It’s not for me. I’m getting too invested. You know that it was the reason why I left my previous job.”

“You hadn’t lost a patient here,” the man pointed out. 

“I know. And I’m really grateful for all you’ve done for me. But… I can’t. Sorry.” 

The woman’s voice was breaking. James fell for the act, although not really foolishly. The woman was just good. He would’ve fallen for it if not for the fact that he was observing her for some time. Unfortunately he couldn’t get to her dreams. But maybe it was a good thing. Mortals like her were interesting. And he was bored. 

“Well,” James started softly. “It’s not a job for everyone. Too bad you haven’t realized before finishing nursing school, the money is lost. But here we know best how badly a person can end up pushing themselves past their limits, don’t we?”

“True,” the woman agreed, the smile again on her face. “I think it helped me with this decision, you know?”

“In that case, I wish you the best, Monica.”

And she was disappearing again. He wasn’t happy about it. She was good at hiding, especially considering that without knowing her real name he couldn’t just invade her mind. He lost her three times already, and he wasn’t eager to check every female duck in Duckburg trying to find which one wasn’t using a real name. 

Still the most interesting thing about her was the fire in the back of her eyes. He knew that look so well. The only true thing about her, hidden behind layers and layers. Behind eye contacts, hair dye, weight, make-up, style. He already saw four versions of her. Only this one thing was constant. And he was really, really curious what this fire was feeding on.