Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Donald had never heard anything more piercing. 

By now the boys had to have been exhausted from eighteen hours of sporadic crying and screaming, punctuated by a projectile of some kind being hurled at their uncle. It could be a toy, a fistful of food, or - 

Well, it could be any number of things.

He’d expected as much once Della was gone, but still found himself pitifully unprepared for it. 

His parenting books were filled with notes on how to deal with the noise, the mess, and the crawling precariously close to an outlet he’d forgotten to babyproof, but for some reason he hadn’t considered the challenge of handling all of those variables coming from three different sources all at once.

If Huey couldn’t see his uncle or his brothers, he cried for fear that they’d disappeared altogether, so Donald would pick him up to comfort him. 

If Dewey saw one of his brothers being held or fed, he cried for the same attention. 

Louie was mostly alright when he dozed off, but when he woke up and realized he was still in the drafty, brightly-lit outside world instead of his familiar egg, oh boy, did he cry.

They were all wide awake that night.

As thoroughly exasperated as Donald was, he couldn’t blame them. They were scared, lonely, confused, with no clue how to navigate their new world. Aside from being blood relatives, that was the first thing they all had in common with each other.

He tried every picture book in the houseboat. Goldilocks and the Three Bears, The Little Red Hen, Twenty-Minute Meals.

Okay, so the cookbook wasn’t going to capture their imagination. A bedtime story was not in order that night. Donald leaned his head against the arm of his chair in front of the crib and sighed. From that angle he noticed Huey staring out the window - still crying, but looking out as if he was searching for something. Maybe he was just curious about what was outside, but Donald couldn’t shake the possibility that a part of them knew more about their family than they could possibly understand now.

He took a deep breath.

Look to the stars, my darling baby boys…

He squeezed his eyes shut, anticipating even higher screeches from them in response to his voice. But the noise started to dissipate. They still babbled and cried a bit, but when he opened one eye he saw them staring up at him curiously.

Life is strange and vast

Filled with wonders and joys

The crying finally gave way to contented cooing.

Face each new sun with eyes clear and true

Huey’s eyelids started to flutter. Dewey smiled, and Louie nuzzled his face into his brother’s side.

Unafraid of the unknown,

Because I’ll face it all with you.

He didn’t know if it was the simple fact that lullabies are soothing to babies, or if they recognized the melody from before they hatched. Maybe through their uncle’s already unintelligible voice and the language they had yet to grasp, they’d somehow heard their mother’s words. Whatever the reason, it worked. With one last little babble from Dewey, the boys finally fell asleep. 

Donald stepped out onto the deck and looked up. He wondered if the boys could feel the empty space the same way he did. For a moment, he entertained the notion that Della could hear him from somewhere and was taking comfort in her brother’s tiny success. It tore away at him to know that she wasn’t there to see the children she’d already loved so much.

But he could love them enough for a family of fifty.

Chapter Text

Scrooge wouldn’t be happy. 

It didn’t matter. F.O.W.L. might have forgotten this girl in their escape, but Bentina wouldn’t dare rule out the possibility that they’d go looking for her anyway. Nor would she assume her own skill was enough to keep her safe. She could take her chances when it was only her life on the line. This was a child who couldn’t make that kind of call.

She tried to formulate an explanation in the moments between ringing the doorbell and seeing Scrooge on the other side. 

“I was -”

She didn’t get anything else out before he smiled, opened the door wider, and beckoned them in. Without a word, he started to lead them up the stairs.

Bentina sighed. “I suppose you’re wondering where she came from.”

“It’s no concern of mine,” he said, careful to keep his voice down while the baby slept in her arms. “When Director Twenty-Two comes to your house with a wee bairn, she’s clearly got a good reason.”

She looked down in her arms. The aforementioned bairn shifted her head closer, but didn’t wake. 

“There are three floors’ worth of spare rooms,” he said as he led them to a door in the middle of the hallway on the second floor. “You can pick whichever two you like, but this one’s fixed up already.” He pushed the door open with his cane, as if he didn’t want to touch it himself.

Inside, puzzlingly, was a nursery. It was messy, but fully-furnished. She looked down to see Scrooge with the same bitter scowl he’d worn in the split second before seeing the baby on his doorstep. She stepped into the room and gently lay the baby in the large white crib in the middle of the floor. Looking up, she saw a crooked photo on the wall - Scrooge with his niece and nephew, standing behind three eggs.

She sighed. “I heard what happened. I’m sorry.”

“What should you be sorry for?” he said, rolling his eyes. “Clearly it was all my fault.”

Shoved into a corner of the room under the framed photo was a collection of photos, papers, and artifacts haphazardly thrown into a pile that stood out among the dust and old newspapers strewn across the floor.

“The mansion is understaffed as of late,” said Scrooge. “I can take you on as a housekeeper, a secretary, demon-snake exterminator…”

“I thought you were finished with adventuring.”

“That hasn’t stopped them getting into the house,” he said. “My income isn’t as disposable as it normally is, but I can -”

“I’ll work for room and board,” said Bentina, straightening her posture. “For myself and my granddaughter.” She walked over to the wall and started picking up the loose papers on the floor. “If the rest of the house is like this, I’ll do just fine as a h-”

“Don’t touch those,” Scrooge snapped.

“Very well,” she said. “Then shall I move the crib to another room, or is your trash heap meant to be kept in the nursery?”

“That trash heap,” he said, and finally entered the room to shoo her away from it. “Is none of your concern, Twenty-Two.” 

“‘Mrs. Beakley’ will do just fine,” she said flatly. “I’m not an agent anymore, remember? And anyway, I can’t properly maintain a household that you won’t allow me to clean.” She went back to consolidating the paraphernalia by size, but stopped when she saw a note addressed to him. 

“Give me that,” he said, and yanked it from her hand. 

“I’d hate to intrude on a family matter -”

“There’re no more to intrude on.”

“Right. That explains why you’ve shoved aside everything you have left of Della.”

“Let me make myself perfectly clear, Mrs. Beakley,” he said through gritted teeth. “That name will not be spoken in this house.” He pointed the end of his cane at her.

She stood up. “Her children might like to see all of this one day.”

“Then their Uncle Donald should have brought it with him! They all made their choices, and I’ve made mine.”

“Scrooge, I don’t understand why you -”

“Of course you don’t understand,” he yelled. “You’ve never lost -”

His eyes widened as the baby started fussing behind him. Beakley glared at him for a moment before going to calm her.

Scrooge cast his eyes down. “She’s your granddaughter, you said?”

“Yes,” Beakley said as she tried to soothe her.

He started to show some remnant of the smile he’d given them when they’d arrived.  “Has she got a name?”

“Webbigail.”

“Do we call her ‘Gail’ for short?”

“Her mother always thought ‘Webby’ would sound better,” she said. “But really it’ll be up to her.”

Webby quieted down, and Beakley put her back in the crib.

“I suggest you remove anything that you don’t want touched,” she said, keeping her back to him. “I’ll go and get settled for the night and start work in the morning. You can brief me on any more ground rules then. Goodnight, Scrooge.” She walked out of the room without a backward look.

When she came in the next morning to feed and change Webby, the room was pristine, and there was nothing on the walls.

Chapter Text

One bit at a time. That’s all it would take. It didn’t matter that she technically wasn’t supposed to use kitchen scissors, or that she hadn’t even run a towel through her freshly-washed hair. It didn’t matter that the long, wet hair clinging to the sides of her face and soaking through her tee shirt made her look like the little ghost girl from that horror movie she’d forced Donald to watch in high school.

It didn’t matter how long it would take, how hard it would be to keep her focus. She needed it gone. So Della stared herself down in the mirror and made the first cut. 

Her hands shook so much that only an inch or so came off of the very ends. It was probably pretty choppy, but she didn’t look down. Her reflection seemed to shift, just slightly. If someone had asked, she couldn’t describe what the change was. It was somewhere around her browbone that was a little off.

“You look different,” she said.

“I mean, it’s been awhile.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

She wasn't sure at what point her breathing had sped up.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Stop it!”

It didn’t even register that she’d shouted until she heard footsteps coming down the hallway outside the bathroom. Her head whipped away from the mirror and she clapped her hands over her mouth.

Please don’t notice, please be wearing headphones, please just be some weird animal one of the kids brought in -

“Della?”

A weird British animal one of the kids brought in.

Mrs. Beakley cracked the door open and peered in.

Della sighed. “Hey, Mrs. B.”

“Hello,” she said, stepping inside cautiously. “Is everything alright in here?”

“Hm?”

Beakley narrowed her eyes.

“Oh! Yeah, no, everything’s fine.” She scrambled to her feet and slipped on the sizable puddle of water she’d left. She caught herself on the sink and started wringing out her hair. Beakley hopefully wouldn’t clock the way she stared directly at the drain, or at least wouldn’t think anything of it.

Beakley picked up the open pair of scissors off the floor. “Have these been washed?”

Della stood up and held her palm against the side of her face to block the mirror. “Are - are you supposed to wash scissors?”

Beakley sighed and closed them before taking two towels off of the rack on the wall. She handed one to Della and draped the other over the mirror.

“Dry the floor,” she said. “I’ll be back.” 

Della wiped up as much as she could until the towel was soaked through, then hung it over the edge of the bathtub. With her reflection out of sight, she pulled her bangs in front of her eyes and held the hair between two of her fingers at different points until Beakley returned with a smaller, funny-looking pair of scissors and a handful of hair clips.

“How short do you want it?”

Della sighed. “I don’t care. I just want this gone.” She pulled at the ends of her hair, squeezing a bit more water onto the floor.

“Very well,” said Beakley as she knelt down and gathered up most of Della’s hair in her fist.

Della's eyes widened for a brief moment as Beakley methodically started to cut from the bottom of her hand.

Oh. Alright.

Della rubbed her arm and looked down at her lap. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?” 

“Face forward,” said Beakley. “I doubt anyone in the house is asleep. There’s been a lot of excitement.”

Della did as she was told. “Well, I put the boys to bed a few hours ago,” she said with a smirk. “They should be out by now.”

“Hopefully,” Beakley said as she finished cutting the first section of hair and separated the rest into a top and bottom layer. “But it’s hard to make a child go to sleep, even at their age.” She twisted the top layer, secured it to the top of Della’s head with a few clips, and started to trim the bottom.

Della shrugged. “Call it beginner’s luck.” She looked back as best she could while keeping her head in the same position. “When did you learn how to cut hair?”

“I’ve been cutting Webby’s hair since she was two years old.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Della. “Your granddaughter! She’s a sweet kid.”

“She is,” Beakley said with a nod as she let down the top layer of hair and started evening all of it out. “Your boys are, too. Most of the time.”

“Sure they are! Look who they grew up around. I mean, not that Scrooge is the biggest softie, but we could always tell when we brought it out of him. I’m guessing Donald and the kids took care of that while I was gone.”

Beakley didn’t respond.

“You know, you were kind of a legend to me when I was a kid,” said Della as Beakley trimmed her bangs to proportion. Della mimicked a movie trailer announcer. “All elusive, calculating, kicking butt, saving the world.”

“How is this length?” Beakley asked, flipping Della’s hair over her shoulders so she could see. 

Della’s eyes widened. “That’s...wow. Yeah, that’s perfect.”

“Good,” said Beakley, and set her tools aside. She took a brush and dustpan from the corner and started to clean up.

“Don’t get me wrong, you still totally kick butt. I just never thought of you as a housekeeper. Or a hairdresser, or a grandma. I never even knew you had -” She looked over and saw Beakley frown and shut her eyes for a moment.

“We’ve both missed quite a lot, dear,” she said, sweeping up the hair on the floor as if they’d said nothing of importance.

“...I’m sorry,” said Della.

“No need to be. It’s just what’s been handed to us.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“You should try to rest,” said Beakley, emptying the dustpan into the trash and collecting the wet towel from the tub. “If you need more privacy while you acclimate, you might try your brother’s houseboat.”

“No,” Della said sharply, though she instantly regretted it and forced a laugh. “No, I-I’m plenty acclimated, don’t you worry.”

“If you say so,” Beakley said. She gathered up the scissors and hair clips and started on her way. 

“Mrs. B?”

Beakley looked back over her shoulder just as she was going out the door.

Della combed her fingers through her hair and smiled. “Thank you.”

Beakley smiled softly back and gave a nod. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night.”

Once Beakley was gone, Della stood up and took a breath. The house was full of family, and in this room, it was only her.

Chapter Text

Lena’s little hideaway was impressive, as little hideaways go. All the same...

“This is not safe.” Ty stood by the steps with his arms crossed, positively fuming. “Your aunt let you live here by yourself?” 

“She was never the protective type,” said Lena flatly.

“I like the blacklight,” Indy said with a smile before taking a journal out of his satchel.

“Webbigail tried to persuade her to stay at McDuck Manor,” said Violet. 

“Yeah, this beats living full-time in the world’s biggest hotspot for magical craziness.” Lena pulled an old magazine from under her bed and lied down to start reading. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Nope,” said Ty. “Absolutely not.” 

Lena looked up at him with a brow raised.

“Indy,” he called to his husband, who was busy scribbling notes.

“Hm?”

“Are we just gonna let her stay here?”

Indy looked between him and Lena. “Oh, no,” he said. “Honey, no. I thought we were clear on the drive over; you can’t be all on your own.”

“You should stay with us,” said Ty. “At least for the time being.”

Lena sat up and rolled her eyes. “I’m a corporeal being of magic,” she said. “I survived months in the Shadow Realm. This is nothing.”

“Lena,” said Violet, and sat next to her on the bed. “I know we aren’t particularly well-acquainted yet, but I, too, fear for your wellbeing in this environment.”

Lena crossed her arms and looked away.

“It would certainly put Webby’s mind at ease to know you were somewhere more secure.”

Lena went quiet for a moment, then dragged her hands down her face and groaned. “Fine. Since you guys are so morbidly curious, I'll stay until you get sick of me.” She glanced over at Indy, who closed his book and put it back in his satchel.

“Here,” he said, opening the bag toward her. “Pack anything you need.”

Lena took her other magazines from the pile under her bed and threw them in the bag carelessly. Indy fixed it as best he could and put his journal in next to them. Ty unplugged Lena’s mini fridge and lava lamp before searching the room for anything else that was plugged in. 

“We can come back for the bigger stuff later,” he said. “There’s more room in Indy’s car.”

“Excellent,” said Violet. “I’ll update Webbigail.”

“Alright,” Lena said anxiously. She crossed her arms, closing in on herself, and looked back over her shoulder as they started to leave.

Her diary was lying open on the floor by her vanity.

“Wait!”

She ran to grab it, and Indy took it from her and put it in his satchel before she could protest. She sighed and followed the other three up the stairs.

Violet didn’t have her phone on speaker, but Webby screamed plenty loud enough.

“You’re gonna be like sisters!” she squealed. 

Lena looked out the window at the sun going down and pretended she hadn’t heard. Ty had spent most of the drive stewing, but she could see him start to smile. She held her sleeping bag under her arm and she and Violet said goodbye to Webby as they pulled into the driveway. 

“So,” Lena said once they were in the front hall. “I’ll take the couch?”

Ty and Indy both opened their mouths to answer, but Violet beat them to it.

“We’ll share my bedroom,” she said. “Think of it as a sleepover.”

Ty smiled and tousled her hair. “Your dad and I’ll go figure out dinner.”

Indy reached into his satchel and gave Lena back her magazines and diary. “What’s to figure out?” he said. “It’s a sleepover; that means pizza!” He looked back and winked at the girls as he followed Ty into the kitchen.

Lena stayed at the table awhile after dinner. Violet had already started getting ready for bed, and Ty and Indy were probably off doing housework or answering emails or whatever normal adults did in the evening. 

Ty, for his part, had just finished loading the dishwasher when he passed by the dining room and noticed Lena sitting and staring at the table.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

Lena jumped in her seat. “Oh! Uh, yeah, everything’s fine.” She forced a smile, but she could tell she wasn’t totally selling it. “Just...wanted some quiet.”

“Alright,” he said. “Well, if you need anything -”

“Do you guys think I’m real?”

She hadn’t planned on saying that. But it wasn’t something she could very well backpedal on.

“Like, a real person? I mean, I wasn’t born; I’m made out of weird shadow magic. I’ve gotten older, I’ve made it this far, but I don’t know if I’m supposed to hold.”

Ty furrowed his brow and took a seat across from her.

“I just feel like I’m not...stable,” she said, throwing her hands up and slumping down in her seat. “Like I could collapse any second, and I -” She groaned and put a hand over her eyes. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. Forget it.”

Ty took a breath. “I don’t know how ‘weird shadow magic’ works,” he said. “That’s more my husband’s department.”

Lena scoffed. “Must’ve been a real educational day for him.”

“And neither of us can possibly know what it’s like to be you. But what you just described to me is how almost every person alive feels all the time.”

Lena took her hand off of her face.

“Just look at me,” he continued, an amused smile forming on his face. “Every time I think I’m used to this town, harpies crash through my window and try to steal my photo albums, or my car gets hit by one of Zeus’ stray lightning bolts, or I go to pick up my daughter from a sleepover and come home with a second one!” He cleared his throat. “A foster daughter, anyway.”

She looked up at him curiously.

“It’s not easy,” he said. “But it’s normal.”

She sat up straight.

“Vi likes to turn in early most nights,” said Ty. “But Indy and I were gonna watch a movie in a bit, if you want to join us?”

“Nah,” she said. “I’m probably gonna go to bed soon, too.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said as he stood up. “Sleep tight.”

That’s a dumb saying, she thought, but oddly didn’t want to tell him so.

On her way to Violet’s dresser to borrow a pajama shirt, Lena tripped over something in the dark and yelped as she fell to the floor and landed on her arm.

“Apologies,” said Violet, who she could now see lying in a sleeping bag. “I inferred that you’re more comfortable having your own space, and I thought you might like to have the bed to yourself, it being your first night here.”

“Cool,” Lena grunted, rubbing her arm. “Thanks.”

She changed into an oversized t-shirt and lied down in the middle of the bed. Her diary was in the little bookshelf in Violet’s headboard, and, knowing she wasn’t falling asleep anytime soon, Lena pulled it out and grabbed a pen from the nightstand to doodle.

She looked for the first blank page and found something she didn’t remember writing:

HARPIES:

• AGGRESSIVE
• STEAL PRIZED POSSESSIONS -- HOW DO THEY KNOW WHICH ONES?
• REPAIR AND/OR REPLACE WEDDING CHINA, TELL TY HARPIES TRIED TO GET IT AND YOU DEFINITELY DIDN’T BREAK IT DURING THE MOVE

This wasn’t hers.

She jumped out of bed in a panic, realized Violet was already asleep and tiptoed around her to open the door. 

Indy was on the other side, one hand on the doorknob, the other holding a book.

“Hey, sweetie,” he whispered. “I wasn’t sure if you were still up. I think this is yours.” 

He handed her the diary, and she gave him his journal, still open to the same page.

“I noticed it wasn’t my handwriting,” he said. “I didn’t actually read anything in it, I promise.”

“I kinda read some of yours,” she confessed. “Got some good stuff on freaky sentient shadows?”

Indy flipped to the last marked page and held it out to show her. “This is all I got so far.”

• HALLOWEENY
• LOTS OF PURPLE OR MAYBE THAT’S JUST THE BLACKLIGHT
• PROBABLY BOTH
• SKULLS
• DARK COLORS, NEED WINDOWS

Lena smirked. “Is it the list of codewords you’re gonna use to wake up your sleeper agents?”

“It’s some things I noticed about your old place,” said Indy. “I thought this might help us make you more comfortable here. If you girls don’t want to share long-term, we’re gonna try and redo a spare room for you.” He nodded toward Violet’s bed.

Lena’s face softened.

“We can figure all that out in the morning,” he said. “Goodnight.” He started down the hall, and Lena closed the door.

She looked down and noticed her rescuer and gracious host shifting uncomfortably in her sleep. 

Infinitely thankful that it was dark and there was no one awake to see the tears in her eyes, Lena stretched out a hand in Violet’s direction. It started to glow, and she levitated Violet off of the floor and onto one side of the bed. She settled into the other side, and within a few minutes they were both fast asleep.

Chapter Text

Miraculously, almost no one was exhausted from fending off an alien invasion.

“Yeah, it’s probably past my bedtime.”

More accurately, Louie and Donald were exhausted and everyone else was still riding an adrenaline rush that was liable to crash at any moment.

“It’s only six o’clock,” said Webby.

“Bedtime,” said Louie. Donald leaned against the wall behind him and dozed off.

Della came after him and held the door open for the others. “I know you kids heard plenty of stories about the original team,” she said as they all finished shuffling in. “But there’s nothing like seeing it for yourself, huh?” She threw an arm around Donald’s shoulder and startled him awake.

“I like the one where Donald grew fifty feet tall and joined the circus,” said Webby.

“Was that before, during, or after his grunge phase?” Dewey asked.

“During,” said Della. “His grunge phase lasted halfway through college.”

“What were Mom’s big embarrassing phases?” Dewey said to Donald, who was struggling to keep his eyes open. He jumped up onto his back and pointed in his face. “As her brother, you’re blood-bound to tell anyone who asks.”

Della took him off of Donald and set him on the floor. “Come on,” she said. “You know about the bedazzled jean jacket I wore all through eighth grade.”

“Nn-ooo,” said Dewey as Donald collapsed next to him. “But that’s not embarrassing, it just means you have taste.”

Della raised her eyebrows. “Oh. Well, you must’ve heard about that summer I tried to get into motorcycling.”

Louie shrugged. “Don’t know that one,” he said with a yawn. “You’ll just have to tell us all about it in the morning.” He started up the stairs toward his room, but stopped and curled up on the first landing instead. He hummed softly. “G’night.”

Della nudged Donald awake with her foot. “Don, you can’t honestly expect me to believe you never told any embarrassing stories about me this whole time?”

Donald stood up and stretched. “Did you want me to?”

Scrooge chuckled. “If it’s humiliating childhood memories you want, I can certainly dig into my arsenal.”

Webby gasped and jumped in place. “I’ll get the scrapbook!” She took off running up the stairs, careful to step over a snoring Louie.

“Agh. Webbigail!” Scrooge yelled and gestured toward Donald and Della. “I meant about these two!” He cursed under his breath but made no effort to stop her.

Everyone still awake was gathered in the TV room late that night. Donald sat in an armchair and rested his head in his hand. Huey and Della played Legends of LegendQuest and frequently yelled at the screen, keeping him awake. Webby and Dewey sat on the floor in front of the coffee table looking at photos of Scrooge in his teenage years.

“Wait, there were emo kids in medieval times?” said Dewey, focusing on a picture of Scrooge frowning with his bangs covering one eye.

A very aged and very irritated Scrooge snatched up the book and slammed it shut.

“I think,” he said bitterly. “It’s time you kids went to bed.”

Della looked down at her phone. “Yeesh,” she said, and turned off the game. “Yeah, you guys have had a big day. You need your rest.”

“Aw,” Huey groaned. “But I was just about to destroy that swarm of robot-beetles!”

Della kissed his forehead. “And you’ll be all the more prepared for battle after a full night’s sleep.” She tousled Dewey’s hair as the kids all got up to leave. 

“Goodnight,” the three of them said.

Della called after them. “Make sure your brother gets to the actual bed, alright?”

She saw Donald slumped down in his chair with his neck bent forward at an awkward angle and stood up to nudge him awake.

“I take it this is where Louie gets his sleeping habits?”

Donald sighed.

“Come on, Don,” she said cheerfully. “We’ve got some catching up to do.”

“Lass,” Scrooge said with a yawn. “You didn’t sleep the first night you got back, you didn’t sleep the night Huey had a cold, and none of us slept last night. Can you catch up tomorrow?”

“I’ll sleep later,” she said. “We missed out on too much.” Donald started to doze off again, so she pinched his shoulder.

“Fine,” said Donald, and finally stood up. “Fine, I’m awake.”

Scrooge sat down on the couch and smirked.

Della grinned. “You’re in for a treat, my friend. My Moon stories went over pret-ty well with everybody else. What do you wanna know?”

“Um,” said Donald. “What do you miss about it?”

“Well, everyone I met there who doesn’t want my family dead lives here now, so...nothing? Penny’s house was nice, though.”

Donald furrowed his brow. “Are you and Penumbra -”

“Next question!”

He looked over Della’s shoulder and Scrooge nodded silently at him. 

He thought for a moment, then frowned and said, “Why did you go?”

Della’s face fell.

Scrooge’s eyes widened. “Donald -”

“No,” she said. “No, it’s okay. You...you both deserve an explanation.”

She leaned back against the coffee table and sighed. “Look, I never wanted to leave anybody behind. I found out about the Spear, I got excited, and I thought I’d try it out. That’s all it was. I’m sorry.”

Donald scowled. “That’s it?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” said Della, growing irritated. “What else do you want me to say?”

“That I didn’t lose my sister because of a whim!”

“What, would you rather believe I did it on purpose?”

They had already escalated to yelling in each other’s faces.

“I should’ve known,” said Donald. 

“Yeah, you should’ve.”

“This is exactly why I didn’t want you two to build it in the first place.”

”And I’m gonna spend the rest of my life paying for it. You know that! What other explanation could possibly make this better?”

Scrooge stuck his cane in between them and shouted, “Kids, that’s enough.”

Louie’s voice cut into their mature, healthy discussion.

“Oh, we are not doing this again.”

The adults in the room all froze and looked at him in the doorway.

He entered and stood between the three of them. “Let’s go with the abridged version, shall we?”

He gestured to Scrooge. “It’s Scrooge’s fault for building the Spear of Selene. Wait, no -” 

To Della. “It’s Mom’s fault for taking the Spear of Selene. Ah - wait, that’s not right either. No, it’s Uncle Donald’s fault for avoiding Scrooge for ten years.”

Donald and Scrooge grit their teeth as Della gaped at the two of them.

Louie went on, “I’m sure it’s somehow Duckworth’s fault, too! Why not?” He heaved an exasperated sigh, but softened when he saw the look on Della’s face.

“Mom? A-are you okay?”

Della blinked. “I’m fine, honey.” She knelt down and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m just...dealing with the surprises.”

Louie shook his head. “Oh, no. No, Mom, I didn’t mean to -”

“It’s okay,” she said. “Go to bed. Don’t worry about us.”

He looked warily between the three of them before making his way upstairs.

Della looked down and waited for his footsteps to fade. Everyone was silent. She took a breath and looked up at Donald.

“You left?”

Scrooge and Donald glanced sideways at each other. She spoke calmly, but there was a graveness in her voice. 

“Okay, now it makes perfect sense why you’d wanna believe I abandoned my family on purpose. Because that’s what you did.” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “What, did you see me make the biggest mistake of my life and think you might as well do it, too?”

Donald sighed. “Della, I didn’t want -”

“Didn’t want what?” She threw her arms up. “Want my kids to know the rest of their family? Didn’t they ask why they never saw him?”

Scrooge looked away. “They, uh...They didn’t know.”

She looked at Scrooge, then back at Donald. “They didn’t know they were related to him?!” She turned toward Scrooge. “Did you even try to reach out?”

“Lass,” he said. “It’s in the past. We’ve come to our senses already.” He offered a warm smile.

“That’s great,” she said with the same bile in her voice. “Really, I’m thrilled that you two made nice. But I am just now processing this.”

He frowned and cast his eyes downward.

“See, for some reason it never occurred to me that my brother would hide entire relatives from my kids. Or that my uncle wouldn’t even bother with them if that happened.”

She looked at Donald and huffed. “What’d they know about me, just that I wasn’t there?”

He folded his arms and looked down.

Her eyes widened, tears starting to form. “Left a bigger mess than I thought. Must be a record for me.”

She turned her back to them and walked out.

If she’d had her way, she would’ve stayed locked up in the houseboat’s spare room all night. But crying tends to dehydrate a person, so she had to get up and go to the kitchen, where she found Scrooge sitting in the breakfast nook looking through a more recent photo album.

“Thought you’d be here,” he said. “We looked all over the house.”

She opened a can of Pep from the fridge. “So where’s Donald?”

“I think he’s still lost in the west wing. He’ll figure it out eventually.” He turned the book around on the table and pushed it toward the edge so she could see some of the boys’ old school pictures.

Begrudgingly, she sat down across from him to get a better look. Huey’s was a normal, posed portrait. Dewey was winking and shooting finger guns. Louie was looking away from the camera and pouting.

“He was quite bashful at that age,” said Scrooge. “So I’ve heard.”

She silently flipped through a few more pages.

Scrooge cleared his throat. “You know, I once refused to speak to your mum for a month because she got gum in my hair and we had to cut my bangs.”

“You didn’t know the peanut butter trick?”

“We weren’t about to waste perfectly good peanut butter to salvage a bit of hair!”

Della set the book down and crossed her arms. “And did you ever refuse to speak to her for ten years when you were both adults?”

“No,” he said. “But if she’d gotten Matilda lost in space, I might have.”

She propped up her elbows on the table and put her head in her hands. “When I was gone, I wanted to think everything was fine down here. I knew you guys hit a rough patch, but...” 

She sighed. “Maybe I just didn’t want to imagine my kids growing up without you around.”

“They were yours,” said Scrooge. “They reminded me too much of you.”

She put her arms down. 

He smiled. “It took me some time to realize that was a good thing. We’ve rather grown on each other since then. And look at you! Been back hardly a month and they’ve taken to you just the same.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So how long before everyone stopped pretending I never existed?”

“They got it out of us,” Donald cut in. “They’re your kids, remember?”

Della looked over her shoulder to see him standing on the stairs. He smiled softly, and she smirked back before standing up to meet him. 

She put an arm across his shoulder and pulled him to her side. “We’re a bunch of stubborn old palookas, aren’t we?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘old’,” said Scrooge.

Della rolled her eyes. From here, she could tell that the light coming from the mansion was a bit brighter than usual for that time of night. When she turned around, she saw the light on in the boys’ bedroom window and started up the stairs.

“Where ya off to now?” Scrooge called after her.

“Gotta check on my kids,” she said.

She opened the door to Dewey modeling her old jean jacket over his pajamas in the mirror. The “DD” emblazoned on the back was missing a fair amount of rhinestones, but still legible.

“How’d you find that?”

“Dew-termination,” he said without looking away from his reflection.

“He emptied out seventeen boxes in the attic,” said Huey, seated upright in the top bunk reading a book.

Louie lied in the bottom bunk with his eyes open, facing the wall. Della sat at the edge of the bed and stroked his hair.

“You know it actually is past your bedtime now,” she said.

“Couldn’t sleep,” said Louie. He sat up and hugged his knees. “Mom, I’m sorry. I thought you knew. I didn’t wanna start -”

“Hey, hey,” she said softly. She scooted closer and put an arm around him. “It’s okay. We’re the adults here. We gotta deal with this stuff. And we dealt with it.”

Louie sniffed and looked away from her.

“Hey, how ‘bout a bedtime story?”

She stood up, took the jacket off of Dewey, and hung it up in the closet. “Everybody huddle in,” she said, and sat back down on the bottom bunk. 

Dewey sat next to her right away, and Huey closed his book and climbed down as she began.

“So, our dad was in the hospital - it’s not important why - and Mom sent us to stay with Uncle Scrooge…”

Chapter Text

Launchpad and Fenton sat across from each other in a corner of Darkwing Tower. Fenton sat upright in an armchair. Launchpad leaned forward and looked worriedly at Drake, who paced back and forth in front of the other two.

There was cause for celebration tonight, sure. F.O.W.L. was defeated, and they’d all emerged mostly unscathed. 

That did little to brighten the conversation. 

“You said the plans were recovered, right?” said Drake.

“Mr. McDuck is keeping them locked in the Bin,” said Fenton. “I don’t see a way we could convince him to start the project up again.”

“He knows it’s the only way to get Waddlemeyer back!”

“Solego’s Circuit almost killed his family tonight. Let’s face it; we’ve all seen a lot more risk than reward with it.”

Launchpad raised an eyebrow and looked at Fenton hopefully. “Can’t you fix it in your VR-cloud-thingy?”

“We’ve tried. We can rebuild the Ramrod, but there’s no way to keep it stable with that much data input. It can’t scan more than a few million realities before it breaks down again. Waddlemeyer could be in any of an infinite number of them.”

Drake frowned, leaned down toward Fenton and raised a finger. “Who’s to say he’s not in the first one it scans?”

“I’ll keep testing it in the GizmoCloud,” he said. “Maybe we can find a way to make it work. But from everything we know now, it would be next to impossible.” His phone buzzed, and he sighed. “I have to get home. Mama’s interrogating Gandra and trying to make it sound like a normal conversation, and she’s not good at it.” He stood up, put his dufflebag over his shoulder and pointed between the other two. “Don’t tell Mama I said that.”

Drake closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. 

Fenton looked away. “I’m sorry.” He turned and left the tower. 

Once he was gone, Drake looked up at the windowsill that Gosalyn had claimed as her “room”. She rested her head against the wall and draped an arm across her raised knees. 

Launchpad followed his gaze. “Someone should check on her,” he said with a yawn.

“I will,” said Drake. “It’s been a big day, though. Probably best to leave the heavy stuff for tomorrow.” He looked toward Launchpad, who had managed to fall asleep within a few seconds. He deserved it.

He climbed up the loft to the window where Gosalyn sat on top of her makeshift bed and looked out at the city. She spoke before he even stepped off the ladder.

“You don’t have to break the news to me,” she said. “I know we’re not getting him back.”

Drake sat across from her on the windowsill. The glass was cold. She didn’t seem to notice. “I’m sorry, Gos.”

She turned in his direction and held her knees up to her chest. She put her head in her arms and looked down.

“Are you gonna be okay?”

“I dunno,” she muttered.

“That was some real hero stuff today,” said Drake. “You should be proud of yourself.”

She threw her arms out. “It’s not fair! Everybody else got their family back and went home. The day is saved, and everyone gets to celebrate, and I’m stuck having to deal with the fact that I’m never gonna see him again!”

She groaned. “I know I’m not being fair, either. It’s not their fault. It’s just how I feel.” 

She finally looked up to face him, and he saw the tears that had been rolling down her face. Her eyes pled with him to find something to say, anything that could make it the slightest bit better.

He sighed. “You’re right. It’s not fair. You deserve to have your family with you.” He looked out at the skyline and set his jaw. “Believe me, if there was any way for me to fix this, I would.”

“You did everything you could,” she said, resigned. “That’s more than I got from most people.”

“Anything I can do now?”

“Can you just…” She wiped more tears from her eyes and sniffed. “Can you stay here for a little bit?”

Drake managed a smile and nodded.

Gosalyn took a deep breath and put her forehead to her knees. Drake could just make out her singing quietly to herself. He’d heard her hum the same song at night when there was no other noise in the tower, but he’d never heard the words.

Close your eyes, little girl blue

Inside of you lies a rainbow

Yellow, blue

Red, blue, purple too

Blue, purple and green, then the yellow

She peeked out and saw him smirk.

“Grandpa used to sing it to me,” she said timidly. “I was little; I needed to learn my colors.”

“No, no,” said Drake. “It’s cute.”

“It always calmed me down. I’ve been singing it a lot since I lost him, and since Bulba...ugh!” She flopped back onto the messy pile of blankets and crossed her arms.

Drake started singing, hoping against hope to keep her from spinning out again. Ideally, to keep her from ever having to think about Bulba again, but that was a wishful thought if ever there was one.

Rest your head, little girl blue

Come paint your dreams on your pillow

I’ll be near to chase away fear

So sleep now and dream till tomorrow

She looked up at him and furrowed her brow. She looked a lot of things. Like she wanted to say she was too old to be sung to, but she couldn’t somehow. Like there was a part of her that welcomed it. Mostly, she looked surprised.

“What was that?” 

Drake shrugged. “I’m an actor,” he said. “I improvised.”

He continued:

I’ll be near to chase away fear

So sleep now and dream till tomorrow

She rolled her eyes and nestled into the blankets. They would have to do some laundry in the morning. For now, though, her eyes drifted shut as she turned away from Drake in a failed attempt to hide her contented smile. 

He got down from the windowsill as she pulled the covers over her face. He watched her breath start to steady before he climbed back down to the lower level.

He frowned again as he turned and headed for the armchair to sit with his failure. Of course, another failure that he had to face was his failure to look down on his way there. He tripped over Launchpad’s leg, landing face-first on the floor and prompting Launchpad to jump up from the couch and take a defensive position. 

“Who’s there?!”

“Just me,” Drake grunted from below. 

Launchpad took his arm and helped him up. Drake brushed himself off and sat down in his chair. 

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s okay now,” said Drake. “Doesn’t mean she’ll be okay in the morning. Or the next day. Or the day after that.” He slumped down and sighed. “I’m supposed to be a hero, and I couldn’t even help this one kid.” 

“‘Course you helped her,” said Launchpad, sitting back down on the couch. “You believed her. You stuck up for her. She’d be out there all on her own if it wasn’t for you.”

“I couldn’t do what she needed,” said Drake. “It’s over. I told her we could get her family back, and then I left her with nothing.”

Launchpad frowned. “You’re not nothing, DW.”

Drake furrowed his brow and blinked. He looked up at Gosalyn sleeping by the window. Finally, he sat up and leaned toward Launchpad.

“LP,” he said. “Let me run something by you.”

Gosalyn held onto the front of the sidecar and grinned as the Ratcatcher skidded through the tower window and landed inside. She laughed triumphantly and threw her helmet over her shoulder, neglecting to notice Drake taking the impact behind her.

“Watch the ribs, kid,” he said, holding one side of his chest. 

She either didn’t hear him or was too worked up to acknowledge it. “Oh, man, did you see me? I knocked out, like, thirty minimoles, and I didn’t lose one bolt!”

Drake untied his mask and took off his hat. “Smart maneuver,” he said. “Don’t know why I didn’t think to flash the brights at them.” He turned off the bike, and the headlights went out.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Maybe ‘cause you never turn them on?”

“I don’t want to blind the oncoming lane. How do you even know how they work? You’re a few years off from driver’s ed.”

“Grandpa used to let me drive around the parking lot at our apartment building,” she said.

Some days had been worse than others over the last few weeks, but tonight she didn’t start to spiral at the mention of him. That was a good sign. 

“Wait until I tell Launchpad,” she said, keeping her same upbeat tone. “We were major league impressive back there.”

Drake chuckled. “Yeah, he’ll be sorry he missed it.”

“Alright, the city probably won’t be at risk of collapsing a second time tonight,” said Gosalyn, stretching out her arms. “I’m gonna head up to my room.” She started for the ladder.

Drake set his hat on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Hey, um - about that.”

She turned back with a puzzled look on her face. Drake sat down and patted the spot next to him.

“I wanna talk to you about something,” he said.

She tentatively sat on the other side of the couch.

“Gos, you’re a smart kid,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “Tough, too. You know that.”

“Nice pep talk,” Gosalyn scoffed. “What’s your point?”

He sighed and put his arm down. “I know you can look out for yourself,” he said solemnly. “But the fact is, you shouldn’t have to.”

Her face fell.

“You’re still a kid. Your life can’t be nonstop crimefighting. You need something more stable, and -”

“I get it,” she said curtly.

“Wh - what do you get?”

“You tried to help me get my grandpa back, and it didn’t shake out. He’s not coming back. There’s no reason for me to keep hanging around here.” 

“Gosalyn, that’s not what I meant.”

She spoke bitterly. “I’m not some poor little orphan who needs to be taken in by a kindhearted stranger, okay? If you want me out, I can take care of myself.” Her voice cracked, and she strained to keep her tears from coming.

Drake pulled a set of papers out from under the couch cushion he was sitting on and handed them to her. He set his jaw as she looked over them.

ORDER OF ADOPTION

Gosalyn’s eyes widened, and the tears started to fall out. 

“Are you serious?”

“Launchpad’s been helping me look for a house,” he said. “This’ll still be base of operations, but it’s not really fit for a kid to live in.”

She stared at the form in silence, save for a hitched breath.

“Gos,” Drake said gently. “If you don’t like the idea -”

She clutched the papers in one hand and threw her arms around his stomach. She buried her face in his shirt and sobbed.

He patted her on the back. “Do - do you like the idea?”

“Mhm,” she said, muffled by the fabric.

Drake breathed out through his nose and smiled.

“Me too, kid.”

Chapter Text

For once, the night after one of their majorly consequential life-or-death adventures, the family opted to rest. Their collective adrenaline wore off rather quickly when they returned to the mansion, and once May and June had picked a place to sleep, everyone else followed suit. Most of the kids fell asleep pretty quickly. It was only Webby who tossed and turned in her bed, kicking the blankets and thumping her head on the pillow with every adjustment. She knew she wasn’t likely to get any sleep, but she needed her bed. She needed her same old room, her walrus stuffed animal, her walls covered in conspiracy theories and pictures of her with her friends, with the boys, with Granny, with Scrooge…

Her place in all of this felt more complicated now than when she could only be called the housekeeper’s granddaughter or the great-nephews’ best friend. 

She had stopped being April the moment Granny took her out of that incubator. She had become Webby when she was four years old and found she liked the sound of it better than “Webbigail.” She had never been a Beakley, and she wasn’t really a Vanderquack, but did that make her a McDuck by default? One week ago she would have been exuberant at the idea, but tonight it left her restless and confused.

Confused enough that she leapt into a fighting position on the bed when she heard a knock at her door.

Della’s muffled voice came from the hallway. “Everything okay in there, kiddo?”

Webby sat cross-legged on the bed and sighed. “More or less.”

Della slowly cracked the door open. “I heard impact noises. Thought maybe the giant rats got in again.”

She hugged her stuffed animal. “Just me.”

Della’s eyes softened as she walked in and sat on the floor by the bed. “Pretty exciting day, huh?”

“Educational, too.”

“Yeah, nothing like a good earth-shaking revelation to cap off a McDuck family adventure.”

Webby looked down. 

Della rubbed the back of her neck. “But we’re never really ready for those.”

“Scrooge says nothing has to change if I don’t want it to,” said Webby. “I can call him ‘Dad,’ or ‘Uncle Scrooge,’ and he loves me the same either way.”

“Of course he does,” Della said with a smile. “This family’s never been normal. Why start now?”

“I guess I always thought I earned my place here. What does it mean if I was made from Scrooge’s DNA this whole time?”

Della crossed her arms over her knees. “You don’t earn your way into a family. You have a place here because you’re you.”

“But how can I be me if I’m a copy of somebody else?”

Della scoffed, “Try being a twin.”

“Gra – I mean, Mrs. Beakley – I don’t know if I’m even family to her anymore.”

“What?”

“She didn’t even come to say goodnight tonight. She always did before. Every night, no matter what. And as soon as I knew the truth, she was ready to just…leave. I know I was mad at her before, but…” She started to cry. 

“Hey, hey,” Della said, and put a hand on Webby’s shoulder. “If I know Mrs. B, that’s not what she really wanted.”

Webby wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “Then why did she –”

Della took a deep breath. “You said you were mad, right? Maybe she thought she’d messed up so bad that she’d lost you.” She frowned and looked down for a moment, then looked Webby in the eye. “But you mean everything to her. I know it.”

Webby sniffed. “She did save me.”

Della nodded. “She chose you. She loves you just because you’re here. That’s what family does.”

She lied down facing Della and hugged the walrus. “I think I know who my family is,” she said. “I just don’t know what this all makes me.”

“You know,” said Della. “Before the boys hatched, I had no idea what they were gonna be like. I didn’t even know what they looked like until a year ago. All I knew was that I’d do anything for them. And now I get to be here to help them figure out the rest.”

Webby furrowed her brow.

“Mrs. B knew you deserved a chance to choose something for yourself. Sure, you came from Scrooge’s DNA, but there’s no one else like you.”

Webby cracked a smile and jumped out of bed when she heard the vacuum start from downstairs.

“So,” said Della as she watched her go for the door. “What’s this all make you?”

She looked back and narrowed her eyes. “I’m Webby.”

Beakley had given up on sleeping and started cleaning. If she couldn’t still her mind, she could busy her hands. Webby seemed to have forgiven her, or at least be willing to forgive her eventually. If the family could ever really trust her again, only time would tell. She would simply have to accept that. So she vacuumed the floors in the foyer. Less work for tomorrow, when she would have to start making up for everything. Every lie, manipulation, every assurance that that sweet little girl could trust her.

She could never make up for any of it.

She turned off the vacuum and rubbed her temple, then turned when she heard soft footsteps behind her.

Webby tapped her fingers together nervously. “You didn’t say goodnight.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought you might –”

“I’m still Webby.”

Beakley knelt down to her level. “Of course you are. You’re whatever you want to be. You can be sure of that.”

“I know things are gonna be different now,” she said. “But do you think –” She wiped away a tear, and Beakley could tell it wasn’t the first time tonight.

“Do you think you could still be Granny?”

She smiled and held out her arms. Webby ran to her and hugged her tighter than ever. Beakley gently stroked her hair.

“Whatever you need, dear.”

Chapter Text

Scrooge’s eyes snapped open. He stood up out of bed and threw on his old robe. Perhaps there was no great danger, but something was wrong, and he knew he wouldn’t get back to sleep until it was dealt with. 

He passed by the boys’ room – they were all fast asleep, or pretending to be. 

He passed by Webby’s room – she was fast asleep, and through the glow of the stickers on her ceiling he saw Beakley gently stroking her hair. 

He passed by Della’s room – she was awake.

He might have expected that. 

She sat on the floor in front of the window, her elbow on the sill and her head in her hand.

He slowly creaked the door open to give fair warning. She didn’t react.

“We’ve been over this, lass,” he said. “You need to rest.”

“I tried,” said Della. “It’s not gonna happen for me tonight.” 

She hadn’t changed into pajamas, or removed her prosthetic. Her sheets were still folded on top of the bed from the last laundry day.

“A bit like it didn’t happen last night?”

“That doesn’t count. It was Donald’s last night home. We had to –”

He raised an eyebrow. “Make up for lost time?”

Della’s head finally whipped around. Scrooge crossed the room and stood by the window overlooking the empty pool. 

“I dinnae think there’s such a thing.”

She pulled herself up and sat on the windowsill.

“You could spend the rest of your life trying to ‘make up’ for all the time you were gone,” said Scrooge. “And you’d never feel it was enough.”

Della scoffed. “So what, I just give up?”

His eyes shifted from the pool to her reflection in the glass: translucent, faded, not all there. 

In that reflection she was twenty-five, calling his name through a crackling comm system from the Spear, terrified. 

On that screen she had been ten, rolling around his office on an antique globe, not seeming to care when it broke under her weight.

He blinked and looked at her standing next to him, thirty-six, a bit sullen, staring out the window with heavy bags under her eyes.

“Lost time is lost. You use the time you have.” 

She dragged her hands over her face and groaned. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do since I got back!” 

“Well you won’t do it by runnin’ yourself into the ground.”

“Look, today wasn’t the easiest, alright?” She let out a manic laugh and her eyes widened. “I know this is gonna be good for Donald, I know it was stupid to think everything would just stay the same while I was gone, but my life stopped for ten years. How am I supposed to feel about everything changing the second I get back?”

A few tears burned the back of Scrooge’s eyes, but a fond smile formed on his face in spite of them.

“It’ll sting, lass,” he said. “It stung when I left Glasgow –”

“Here we go,” Della muttered.

“I was alone. Still a kid, too. My parents and my sisters, they at least had each other.” 

He sighed. “We never felt it more than when you were gone. But it fades enough for ya to keep on. I still go back to Scotland, you came back from the dead – now that’s one thing even I haven’t tried.” He smirked and nudged her with his elbow.

She rolled her eyes. “See, that’s the kind of wisdom you only get when you reach triple digits.”

“It’s the wisdom you get when you have a little girl running through your house studying your every move and making a myth out of you.” 

“Come on, Webby doesn’t mythologize that much…” She furrowed her brow. “...Lately.”

“I was talking about the other one.”

She sniffed. “Alright, ya saccharine old softie, I get the idea.”

He reached out for a hug and her head plopped onto his shoulder.

“Ah, Della darlin’,” he said softly, and patted her on the back. “It’ll fade.”

He pulled away after a moment and straightened up. “Anyway, you cannae reach your triple digits operating only on caffeine and denial. I believe step one is to make up the bed.” He took out the fitted sheet from the pile on top of the mattress and started tucking in one corner. 

Della wiped a tear with the heel of her hand, then crossed the room and stretched out the sheet to tuck in the other side, at which point Scrooge’s corner flew out from under the mattress. She blinked at the rumpled sheet on the bare bed, promptly flopped down on her right side and began to snore in the little linen nest.

Scrooge shrugged. She might have a crick in her neck come morning, but it would have to do. He turned to leave and caught sight of a small form standing at the door in a blue onesie. 

“Ach, lad, not you too,” Scrooge said in a hushed voice.

Dewey rubbed his half-lidded eyes and shuffled into the room. “Mom needs a blanket,” he mumbled as he climbed onto Della’s bed.

“We tried to –”

Dewey had draped himself over his mother’s sleeping form before Scrooge could get another word in. 

“S’me. I’m the blanket.”

Della put a hand on the top of his head, but didn’t wake.

Dewey, much as he loved to stand out, was not the only one with this idea. Huey quickly followed, silent enough that Scrooge didn’t even notice him until he climbed up and started to loosen the scarf still around Della’s neck.

“Choking hazard,” he said. He set the scarf aside and took a blanket from the edge of the bed to lay over the three of them before curling up at Della’s back and closing his eyes. 

Louie entered almost on cue, and Scrooge gestured for him to join the rest. Louie paused for a beat, then flipped the switch that turned on the ceiling fan. Only then did Scrooge realize how uncomfortably silent the room was without it, save the snoring. 

Louie crawled under the blanket and lied down facing Della. 

Scrooge approached as quietly as he could, pulled up a corner of the blanket, released the lock on Della’s leg and set it on the bench at the foot of the bed. He put the blanket back in position and grinned at the pile underneath it. 

This would do just fine.