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Chapter Text

The Curse of Krampus!: A Christmas Paraducks
By Rowena Zahnrei

Chapter 1: The Day Before The Night Before Christmas

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas, my true love sent to me:
Twelve days of Christmas
Eleven planes a-flying
Ten days of Christmas
Eight days of Christmas
Oops – forgot the Ninth day
Seven Samurai
Six comes after Seven
Lots of Christmas days!

Huey Duck raised his rolling pin in high-pitched song, sprinkling the kitchen counter and his red baseball cap with flecks of flour off the gingerbread dough he'd been flattening. Reaching for Mrs. Beakley's festive tin of Christmas cookie cutters, he fished out a snowman, a bell, a snowflake, and a Christmas tree, but hesitated when he found a Santa Claus-shaped cutter.

"Eh, why not," the tween said, cheerily adding Santa and a reindeer shape to the pile.

"Brave move," a voice quipped behind him, nearly startling the young duck off his stool. "Then again, Uncle Scrooge did make up with the guy last year. I'm sure he won't mind biting Santa's head off."

"Louie!" Huey eagerly greeted his brother. "You're just in time to help me—"

"Don't get excited," Louie said, slouching his way to the fridge with his hands in the pockets of his green hoodie. "I just popped in for a Pep."

Huey frowned, watching Louie open a Pep can and pour the florescent purple fizz into his open beak.

"Well, what about Dewey?" he asked of their fellow triplet, his eyes turning nostalgic under his cap as he cast his mind back to a Christmas long past. "Remember, before we moved into Uncle Scrooge's mansion? That time Dewey insisted blue was a more Christmassy color than red or green? He decorated the houseboat's entire kitchen with blue cookie icing, and when Uncle Donald—"

"Nerp." Louie swiveled on his heel, his sloshy Pep can aimed pointedly toward the exit and a couple back-ups poking out of his pockets. "Dewey's busy with Dewey stuff. And I gotta get back to the tube. It's the rebooted Ottoman Empire Christmas Reunion Special, and Johnny, Randy and their dad are—"

"Whatever!" Huey exclaimed, flinging out his arms. "Go, watch your dumb show. But tell Dewey, I do want to talk with you both. I have a plan to make this Christmas really special for everyone…aaaand he's gone…"

Huey stared at the still-swinging kitchen door, gritting his teeth as he slowly lowered his hands.

"Fine," he muttered, taking in a sharp breath and releasing it as he worked to shake off his frustration. "I don't need them for this. I just…need a little music," he sang, his voice growing louder as he tried to recapture his earlier excitement. "I need a little laughter! Need a bit more flour, so I can roll this faster!"

Chuckling a little, Huey set his rolling pin aside and started arranging the cutters on the ginger and cinnamon-scented dough. "There we go. The Junior Woodchuck Guidebook's recipe for gingerbread cookies promises Christmas cheer in every bite! And when Dewey and Louie see my plans for our Christmas Breakfast Surprise, I know they'll want to pitch in! It'll be the three of us working together, just like we used to. After all…"

Huey arranged his cookies on a parchment-lined baking tray, laying out the festive shapes in rows of three. He shoved them in the hot oven, set the timer, then crouched low to watch them bake through the little glass window, a smile slowly spreading over his face.

"…good things always come in threes."

*******

"What do you mean, you want us to wake up at 6 a.m.!" Louie exclaimed, breaking eye-contact with his phone long enough to launch a crumpled ball of paper at Huey's whiteboard diagram: ULTIMATE PLAN FOR A PERFECT FAMILY CHRISTMAS!

"Not cool, bro," Dewey agreed from his middle-bunk perch. "Let Mrs. B. cook Christmas breakfast. It's, like, literally her job. This Dewd needs his rest."

Louie cringed hard at 'Dewd.' "Eerg," he winced. "No, don't do that. No."

Huey stood defensively in front of his work.

"Guys, come on," he coaxed. "Where's your Christmas spirit? Don't you remember when we were little, and we wished it could be Christmas every da—"

"Yipe!" Dewey yelped.

"Uh, uh, stop right there!" Louie leaped up from the braided rug and pushed Huey aside, erasing half his whiteboard plans before the red-clad duck fully realized what was happening.

"Hey! What do you think you're—"

"Look, Huey," Dewey said, jumping down from his bunk to keep Huey from shoving Louie away from the board. "I know what you're thinking, and you're not gonna rope us in. Not this time. Now, calm down and hear us out, OK?"

"Yeah, we made that boneheaded wish," Louie acknowledged, replacing the eraser and pushing the empty whiteboard firmly against the wall. "That conniving Christmas star granted it, too."

"And it was a nightmare!" Dewey exclaimed, grabbing hold of Huey's shirt. "Reliving the same day – the same Christmas! – week after week, month after month—until we totally lost count! We'll probably never know how long we spent trapped in that awful repeating time loop!"

"Years? Decades, maybe?" Louie groaned and cradled his head. "Seriously, the three of us could technically be older than Uncle Scrooge!"

"Glurg!" Dewey shuddered at the thought. "That's the kind of timey-wimey stuff that really breaks my brain."

"Come on. I'm sure it wasn't that long," Huey said, pulling away from his brothers' grasp. "Besides, I'm not talking about the repeat days. I'm talking about the last day. The one that broke the loop."

He pulled a photo album from their precariously overloaded shelf and flipped to an image of the triplets and their Uncle Donald gathered by the piano at the old Bear Mountain cabin. The warm memories it triggered made Huey's heart swell so much, it nearly choked him.

"The perfect Christmas."

Holding up the photo, he confronted his brothers. "That Christmas happened because we worked together to make it happen. All I'm asking is we do it again. Here, at the mansion. I know, if the three of us put our heads together, we can make this the best Christmas, not just for us, but for the whole family!"

"Huey, Huey…" Louie shook his head. "If that monstrosity of a temporal anomaly taught us anything, it's that it's no good trying to go back and relive what's past." He gestured to the photo. "Those ducklings there… That's not who we are anymore."

"Louie's right," Dewey said. "That was us back when our greatest adventure was a snowball fight against Unca' Donald."

"We're real adventurers now," Louie agreed. "Our dreams are bigger, and so are we."

"What are you saying?" Huey asked, deeply unsettled to realize he and his fellow triplets really weren't on the same page.

"I'm saying, cookies are fine," Louie said, "but cash – that's the gift that keeps on giving! Take a look at this." He held out his phone to Huey, who frowned in confusion.

"A plastic statue of GizmoDuck?"

"They're not 'statues.' They're limited edition collectable figurines!" Louie exclaimed. "And it's not just GizmoDuck. They've got Darkwing, Megavolt – even Launchpad and Uncle Scrooge!"

"And the point is…?" Huey prodded.

"Resale, brother!" Louie exclaimed. "Look at the prices on these babies! They might be thirty/forty bucks now, but in a few months I'll be able to sell them on e-Auk-tion for, like, ten times that!"

Huey scoffed. "Seriously? You think someone would buy a plastic statuette of Uncle Scrooge for three hundred simoleons?"

"At least!" Louie affirmed, shoving an e-Auk-tion listing in his brother's face. "This one came out last year, and it's listed at almost five hundred! And this one, from the old Darkwing TV show, is worth over two thousand!"

"That's nothing," Dewey snorted, busily tapping at his own phone. "The early Darkwing comics can go for millions! I heard Drake Mallard's got the whole run – not that he'll ever sell 'em. Still, talk about a nest-egg…"

"It's the perfect scheme," Louie said gleefully. "I get the figurines for Christmas - for free! - then turn around and make a fortune off the things online! Now that's a merry Christmas!"

"Nah," Dewey said, "it's the sweet networking opportunities that make a holiday truly great! Between Uncle Scrooge and Uncle Donald's girlfriend Daisy, I've got an inside ticket to practically every major party from here through New Year's! So: like, subscribe, and watch my social media following skyrocket!" He laughed with wicked delight. "Oh yeah, that is how I 'Dewey' it!"

"Ugh." Huey shook his head. "You're missing the point entirely!"

"Nerp," Dewey said dismissively. "We get it."

"Yerp," Louie agreed. "Family. Togetherness. Ho ho ho."

"And a cartridge of printer ink!" the pair sang, capping off Launchpad's version of 'The Twelve Days of Christmas.'

Huey scowled and stormed out of the room, slamming the door on his brothers' laughter.

"If you really did 'get it', you'd be helping me," he growled as he stomped down the stairs. "Not selfishly skulking around the internet scheming for fame and fortune."

"What was that, Huey, dear?" the housekeeper, Mrs. Beakley, asked as he finished his descent, busily pouring mixed Christmas nuts into bowls set around the mansion's great hall. Her young ward Webbigail trailed after her, tapping at a few nuts and cracking them seemingly at random, then piling the shells by the towering Christmas tree.

"Nothing, Mrs. B.," Huey lied glumly, and squinted curiously at Webby. "What are you doing?"

"You never know," Webby said, in her cryptic way. "A walnut shell could contain a coded message, a tiny treasure map – even a magic ring!"

"Sure, why not," Huey said, and flopped hard onto the nearest couch. "Hey, Webby… You still believe in the Christmas spirit, don't you?"

"Of course I do!" the girl exclaimed. "In fact, I just got the greatest Christmas wish I could ask for!"

"Yeah?" Huey asked, starting to brighten.

"You bet!" Webby cheered. "Uncle Scrooge told me: we're going to spend Christmas at McDuck Castle. In Scotland! Isn't it wonderful? It'll be my first time going to our ancestral home as an actual blood-relative of Clan McDuck!"

"Because you're Scrooge's clone," Huey realized.

"Because I'm Scrooge's…yeah!" Webby laughed. "Scrooge's parents already know, and they've promised to answer all my questions! Isn't it exciting!"

"Actually, this is the first I'm hearing about this," Huey said, sitting up straight even though he felt like his soul was sinking. "I thought we were spending Christmas here, at the mansion."

"Oh, you are!" Webby told him. "You and your brothers, anyway. Donald's planning a trip to Bear Mountain with Daisy and my clones, May and June. And, Launchpad will be celebrating the holidays with his friends Drake and Gosalyn in St. Canard – after he's done flying me and Scrooge to Scotland."

"Wait…what are you telling me?" Huey said, his voice coming out sounding oddly tight. "Everyone's leaving? Right before Christmas?"

"Your mom will be here," Webby said. "She got a gig flying at Molly and Kit's Christmas air show! Aw, don't look like that." She tilted her head, trying to capture Huey's frozen stare with her smile. "I'm sure Christmas at the air show will be lots of fun!"

Huey's attempt at a careless laugh was more like a strangled cough.

It couldn't be true, what Webby was saying. Christmas without Scrooge… That was bad enough. But a Christmas without his Uncle Donald! Huey couldn't wrap his mind around it.

Sure, Donald had seemed a little distant since the triplets' mom – Donald's twin sister, Della – had returned to the family after being marooned on the moon for a decade. OK, so he'd taken Daisy, May and June on a trip around South and Central America in his houseboat while Huey and his brothers stayed at the mansion with Scrooge and their mother. But, Uncle Donald had been the triplets' sole guardian for ten years. Before moving to McDuck Manor, the four of them had barely spent a day apart. And Christmas…

That was special. That was theirs. How could he… How could any of them…!

"Excuse me," Huey managed to whisper, groping blindly for the coffee table as he struggled to climb to his feet. "I need…"

"Hey, Huey," Webby called after him as he lurched across the carpet toward the door to the corridor that led to Scrooge's office. "You OK?"

"Peachy!" Huey strained through his teeth as he grappled with the door handle. Bursting his way through, he shouted, "Merry Christmas!" and slammed the door behind him.

To Be Continued...

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Huey Listens In

Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do
I'm half-crazy, all for the love of you…

A hoarse, nasal tune wafted from the banistered landing above the carpeted corridor.

"Yipe!" Huey dove for cover behind a convenient suit of armor – just in time to miss being seen by his uncle, Donald Duck, singing cheerily to himself as he pranced down the narrow flight of steps to the hallway.

…We'll have such a stylish marriage
'Cause you're the gal I cherish
Wak wak! Quack quack! Wak wak! Quack quack!
And a sportscar that's built for two!

Turning the sharp corner, Donald rapped on the door to Scrooge's office, straightened his sailor hat, and marched in with a merry "Hiya, Uncle Scrooge! I came for the keys!" – leaving the heavy wooden door to swing shut behind him.

"Keys? Ah, right! You're taking Daisy and the wee lasses to my Bear Mountain cabin for Christm-mmm-mmm..." Scrooge McDuck's accented voice faded to muffled mumbles as the door clicked shut.

"Oh no!" Huey gasped. "Webby was right! Uncle Donald really isn't going to be here for Christmas!"

Checking to make sure he was alone in the hall, the anxious young duck scampered across the carpet to listen and watch through the keyhole.

"…and here's your rent for the week we'll be staying there. In advance," Donald was lisping, slapping a fat, festive envelope on his uncle's daunting desk. "It includes the cost of the window that broke the last time we were at the cabin with the boys. Merry Christmas, Uncle Scrooge!"

"Why, nephew – I wasn't expecting…!" More touched than he liked to show, the old business-duck greedily locked the envelope in a drawer and sniffled, brusquely wiping his eyes. "Be sure to thank Daisy for the thoughtful—"

"Wha—! Hey," Donald bristled. "This trip is my treat! I'm payin' for the cabin, the gas, the eats – the whole shebang!"

"Are you, now?" Scrooge raised a skeptical eyebrow over his tiny, round spectacles. "You and what money?"

"Believe it or not," Donald said, proudly drawing himself up. "I have a job! A really good one."

At the keyhole, Huey blinked in surprise. "Uncle Donald found a new job? But..."

"Och, lad, not again!" Scrooge's beak tightened with dread. "Please tell me this isn't like that honey farm nonsense – or that nutbutter fiasco you pushed me to invest in!"

"Hey! Not fair!" Donald protested defensively. "How was I supposed to know a blasted bear would ruin my beehives! And my nutbutter stand was goin' great, until a couple of nut-crazy chipmunks got in the works and stole my—"

"Humph! Chipmunks, indeed," Scrooge scoffed. "And who was left to pay for all that damage to the building, the equipment, the—"

"No no no no no! Stop, stop!" Donald squawked, flapping and jumping in frustration. "You don't understand! That's ancient history. Now, I'm making travel videos. For McDuck Studios! I'm a filmmaker!"

"What? Since when? Why haven't I heard about this?" Scrooge demanded.

"Or me…" Huey whispered anxiously to himself, flipping up his hat's brim so he could press his head closer to the keyhole.

"Because…" Donald clenched his fists and his beak, far too piqued by his uncle's doubtful glare to keep his secret inside. "Because I wanted to make sure it was a success before I said anything, OK!" he exclaimed. "Plus, I've been saving up for something. Something so important, I…" He sighed and kicked at the desk's leg. "Aw, phooey. It's out now. You might as well know the whole story."

Scrooge frowned. "I'm listening," he drawled, steepling his fingers as he leaned back in his chair. Donald hopped onto his uncle's polished desk, allowing his webbed feet to swing.

Huey silently adjusted his position against the door.

"It started back when I was boating through Brazil with Daisy, May and June," Donald said, warm nostalgia softening his thick, glottal rasp. "It was so beautiful there, and our trip got even better when my good pals José Carioca and Panchito Pistoles showed up to surprise us!"

"Eerg…" Scrooge winced. "This isn't another scheme to get me to back that so-called band of yours, 'The Three Caballeros'?"

"Gimme a break!" Donald scowled, jumping off the desk to pace the elegant rug. "Ugh! I shoulda known you'd be like this! All you think about is money. You never listen to me!"

"Well, maybe if you stopped squawking and got to the point—!"

"I will!" Donald exclaimed, raising his arms. "I was saying – my pals showed up and pretty soon we were singing and dancing…! We were The Three Caballeros, together again! Daisy thought it would be fun to set us up in front of this big green blanket – like a green screen in the movies. She recorded our song with her fancy high-def camcorder, and we used her computer to edit it into a music video. We went all out, adding all sorts of crazy backgrounds and wild effects! Completely cuckoo bananas." He chuckled. "It was all for laughs, but May and June uploaded our video to the internet and, by the next day, the crazy thing had gone viral! We found out how viral when I got a call from McDuck Studios."

"Wait…" Scrooge sat up. "You're saying, they called you?"

"That's right," Donald confirmed with a nod. "A producer there saw our video and remembered those workplace safety films Mickey, Goofy and I used to make back in the old days. She asked if I wanted to be part of their new Digital Studio, I said 'you betcha,' and they've been payin' me and my pals to make videos ever since! We have this whole internet series now about music and travel, with its own channel and merch and all that social media stuff Dewey and Louie are into."

"Dewey and Louie? Do they know about all this?" Huey squeaked in distress, straining even harder to hear through the door. "Am I the only one who hasn't heard?"

"José and Panchito are the hosts," his uncle was explaining to Scrooge when Huey tuned back in. "They do most of the talking. All three of us provide the music, and there's even been talk of compiling our best videos into a movie or two, presented by The Three Caballeros!"

Donald jumped back onto the desk with renewed gusto. "So, this is where my big secret comes in," he said, digging into the pocket of his sailor suit. "See, I've just about stowed away enough money to make a down payment on a house."

Crouched at the keyhole, Huey felt a whole new sickening jolt, and it wasn't a static shock. "Wait, what?"

Scrooge blinked in disbelief. "A house?" he repeated. "You? My own shiftless nephew, investing in real estate?"

"Why not?" Donald snapped back. "May and June could have their own rooms and Daisy…well… If all goes well at the cabin, I was thinking…maybe…I might… Here, look!"

Blushing bright pink beneath his feathers, the suddenly self-conscious duck thrust his fist across the desk, opening his fingers to reveal a small, elegant box. He flicked it open with his thumb, and Scrooge leaned in close, straightening his specs on his beak.

"Why, Donald…!" he gasped. "Is that…?"

"Is that…?" Huey gulped behind the door.

"Uh huh!" Donald nodded, his flushed face practically glowing with nervous excitement. "I was kinda sorta planning to ask her on New Year's Eve. What do you think, Uncle Scrooge? Should I go for it? Am I doing the right thing?"

"Ohmigod, ohmigod!" Huey turned from the keyhole and slid his back down the richly paneled wall, clutching his chest to keep himself from hyperventilating. "Ohmigod, ohmigod! Uncle Donald's getting married… And he's moving away? But…but what about us? Our family?"

Twisting his hat's brim toward the back, Huey risked another peek, pressing even closer to the door than before. Inside the office, Scrooge stood with his hands on Donald's shoulders, staring at the younger duck as if a veil between them had suddenly been lifted.

"Well, bless me bagpipes," he said with uncustomary fondness, his accented voice close to cracking. "Honestly, lad, I couldn't be prouder. I know how hard it's been, these past years. The anxiety and anger…sorrowing the loss of your dear sister…protecting her boys for so long…"

"With no financial help from you," Donald noted, his eyes taking on a defiant gleam. "The boys and I proved we could get by on our own, without a thought to your precious money. Meanwhile, you never sent so much as a birthday card!"

"Waste of good paper, those overpriced cards," Scrooge muttered. "Barely a glance, then into the bin! But that's beside the point."

He reached out to take Donald's arm, his expression sincere.

"What I'm trying to say is you're a good man, Donald, and you deserve to be happy. Your sister's safely home. The boys you raised are fine young lads. It's time for you to dust off those dreams you shelved and get your own future back on track. After all, fami—"

"I know!" Donald cut in, still defensive. "I'm the one who keeps telling you! Family is the greatest adventure, and the greatest treasure, we could hope for."

Scrooge smiled slightly, giving an acknowledging nod. "Quite right," he said. "Your idea of treasure has always been a far sight different from mine. It's only recently I've begun to realize how very wise that view can be."

Donald blinked and cocked his head, taken genuinely off guard. "Wait... Did you just say you think I'm right?"

"Aye. I admit, I didn't before. I dismissed your words as sentimental humbug, and worse. But since you and the boys have been living here, I like to think this ol' loner's learned a thing or two. And now..."

Looking directly at his befuddled nephew, Scrooge said, "Whatever Daisy's answer, Don, I want you to know I admire you. You're taking a leap I never dared make. Just as you did when you stepped up to make a home for Della's boys. You embraced that daunting responsibility without hesitation, while I dug in and wallowed here. You're the one who made us a family. And now, you've done the same for Webby's clones. That takes more than bravery, nephew. It takes the kind of love I've only known…since I've known you."

Scrooge reached out a hand and Donald clasped it, his wide eyes welling up until he had to swallow, hard.

"Thanks, Unc," he rasped. On impulse, he embraced the older duck, the two of them squeezing each other close. They stayed that way for a long moment. Then, Donald sniffed and cleared his throat.

"You know," he said, "Cousin Gladstone always tells me, if I just keep playing, my rotten luck will have to turn around someday. As much as I hate to admit it, I'm starting to think that happy-go-lucky good-for-nuthin' may be right. With Della back with her boys and Daisy and the girls by my side, I feel like my best dreams are finally coming true! Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!" he cheered. "It's sure to be a wonderful Christmas!"

"Yeah. Without us..." Out in the corridor, Huey pressed his hand to the wall and rose limply to his feet, his whole world seeming to grow cold around him.

"I can't believe it's happening…" the young duck said numbly, feeling oddly hollow as he fixed his hat and trudged up the narrow stairs. "Uncle Donald doesn't need us anymore…"

To Be Continued...

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Tough Cookies

"Oh, you're overreacting," Louie said with a dismissive wave of his game controller. "Uncle Donald would never abandon his family. And that's us."

"I'm with Louie on this," Dewey said, his focus more on the video game he and Louie were playing than Huey's mounting anxieties. "If Uncle Donald does marry Daisy, that'll just add one more to the Duck clan! Besides, Daisy's great! And not just because she's a fantastic networking contact."

"Though, that is a definite perk!" Louie jabbed at his controller, launching at least a dozen laser missiles at the looming enemy spaceship on the screen. "Ha ha!" he crowed as the ship exploded. "Yeah! 'Aunt Daisy.' I like the sound of that."

Huey shook his head. "It doesn't bother you that our uncle won't be with us for Christmas?" he pressed. "Either of our uncles? For the first time in our lives?"

"They'll be with us for New Year's," Dewey pointed out, leaning slightly to the left as he swerved his own spaceship around an oncoming asteroid.

"So that's it?" Huey jumped up from the couch, planting his hands on his hips. "You don't care at all that Scrooge'll be in Scotland and Uncle Donald's gonna be up on Bear Mountain with the snow and the sleds and the skating pond, while we have to spend Christmas alone at some air show?"

"What 'alone'?" Dewey said. "We'll be with Mom and Kit!"

"Who'll be up in the AIR," Huey spelled out. "SHOW-ing off!"

"You just don't like it 'cause it's different," Louie said flatly, his eyes fixed on the flashing screen. "You always freak out when there's a change in your routine."

"That's not true!" Huey protested, albeit a little doubtfully. "And even if it is, Christmas isn't a routine. It's a family tradition!"

"And traditions change," Louie said. "Families grow. Someday, it might even be us spending Christmas apart to be with the girls we love."

"You take that back!" Huey gasped, clutching his hat with his hands.

"It's just a day, Hu," Dewey said, blasting an orbiting satellite into cinders. "You're the one making a big deal out of it."

"Just a—!" Huey's beak dropped open, then curled into a snarl. "So, it's me, then," he said angrily. "All I want is to share a warm, happy Christmas with the family I love, and I'm the one overreacting when it all falls apart!"

"Yeah," Louie said.

"Pretty much," Dewey agreed.

"Fine!" Huey snapped, blinking back the sting of sudden tears. "Just play your game! I'll find a way to fix this on my own!"

"Yep, uh huh," Louie said distractedly, ducking his more maneuverable ship under a moon-orbiting minefield while leaving the clunkier enemy ship to ram straight into it. "Hey, since you're up, mind grabbing me a Pep?"

Huey turned away, breathing hard through his nostrils to keep himself from either exploding or breaking down. Leaving his brothers on the couch, he strode stiffly into the hallway, his throat too tight to allow him to speak.

"Aw, don't be mad," Dewey called after him.

But Huey wasn't mad. The sadness welling inside him felt more like abandonment…or betrayal.

*******

Fighting to keep his emotions in check, Huey made his way back toward the kitchen, a last-ditch hope beginning to form in his head.

"No one's left yet," he said to himself. "There might still be time to fix this. If I go around to everyone and offer them one of my homemade Christmas cookies, it might be enough to spark their Christmas spirit! I can tell them how I feel, how much they all mean to me, and—"

He pushed the kitchen door open onto a bright and bustling scene, only to back out in alarm when May whizzed by, brandishing a wooden rolling pin. Stepping in more cautiously, he exclaimed, "What is going on here?"

"Eep!" June squeaked to a sudden stop, only just managing to avoid dusting them both with her open bag of flour. "Sorry, Huey! Didn't see you there!"

"We're baking Christmas cookies for our trip to Bear Mountain! Want to help?" May invited, holding up the cutters Huey had been using only a short time ago. At the kitchen's center island, Daisy was measuring sugar and butter into a bowl while Donald reached high up a shelf for another big bag of flour. All four of them wore festively patterned Christmas aprons and bright, happy smiles.

"Well, I…" Huey hesitated, badly flustered by the unexpected activity all around him.

"Aunt Daisy says we can eat them with hot chocolate and marshmallows," June said excitedly.

May bobbed up and down on her webbed feet, just as excited as her sister. "In front of a roaring fire!"

"After we set up our Christmas tree!" June exclaimed, clasping her hands together.

"You're certainly welcome to join in, Huey," Daisy told him with a smile. "This is the girls' first real Christmas, away from those awful F.O.W.L. labs."

"And as part of our family!" Donald added, merrily mixing the butter and sugar Daisy had measured.

"That's right!" Daisy cheered, giving Donald an affectionate peck on the cheek. "And we're all doing our very best to make it special!"

Donald blushed happily, returning to his mixing with joyous vigor.

Huey stared at his uncle, his own roiling feelings in too much of a whirl to actually be felt.

"Well, uh, great," Huey managed. "I'm glad you're having fun. But really, I only came in to fetch my Christmas cookies. So, if I could just have those…?"

"Oh." May covered her beak with her hands. "Oh, June…"

"Oh my, were those supposed to be saved?" June asked, turning her anxious gaze to a plate of gingerbread scraps and crumbs by the sink.

Huey's beak fell open, even as his heart plummeted toward the subbasement. "My cookies…"

"Honestly, Huey, we didn't know," May told him.

"We'd never had real, home-baked Christmas cookies before," June said.

"And those spicy cinnamon-y ones were so delicious," May added. "We just had to know how they were made!"

"That's why Aunt Daisy and Uncle Donald offered to find us a recipe for their favorite holiday cookies!" June exclaimed.

"And since we'd already tried gingerbread—"

"Well, I guess it was your gingerbread," June said apologetically.

"We decided to make these cut-out sugar cookies!"

"Our first batch of dough is chilling in the freezer." June pointed.

"You can help us roll it out!" May offered, holding the rolling pin out to him as if it were an olive branch.

Huey started to reach for it, but found himself distracted by his uncle Donald's struggle at the kitchen island. The substance in his mixing bowl seemed oddly stretchy – more like silly putty than cookie dough.

"That can't be right," Daisy said, reaching for the bag her boyfriend had pulled off the shelf. "Donald, are you sure that was flour you— Oh no!"

"What?" Donald asked, fighting to pull his mixing spoon from the springy, stretchy gloop. "What is it?"

Daisy squinted at the bag. "My goodness! It's some kind of putty mix. For quick kitchen fixes," she read.

"Uh oh," Donald winced, grunting and straining against the stretchy force of the mixture. "Mrs. B. must keep that stuff on the shelf in case of emergencies."

"Let me try," Daisy said, reaching for the thoroughly engulfed mixing spoon. "Maybe we can still salvage the bowl!"

With the two of them yanking, the rubbery substance lurched from the bowl with an odd, sucking slurp to bounce rapidly between the ceiling and floor like a madly dribbling basketball.

May and June burst into delighted giggles at the sight. Although they were far more startled, and far less pleased, both Donald and Daisy quickly caught on to the humor of the situation. Sharing a bemused look, they joined the girls by the counter, adding to their laughter as they each placed a warm hand on the girls' shoulders.

Only Huey stood alone, the rolling pin clutched in his hand. He turned his eyes from the bouncing putty to his uncle Donald. From the bouncing putty to Daisy, May, and June. From the bouncing putty to the four of them laughing…while his own plate of Christmas cookies sat neglected by the sink, no longer an expression of his love but a sad scattering of bits and crumbles…

THWACK!

Huey's rolling pin connected with the putty like a wooden baseball bat, sending the substance careening wildly around the room. Dishes shattered, pans clattered—!

"DUCK!" Donald shouted, shielding Daisy's head as he pulled the frozen May and June to the floor.

Scrabbling over the polished tiles, Donald grabbed a massive silver serving platter from a lower cabinet and held it up like a shield. Using it to deflect the madly bouncing menace, he seized a fistful of Huey's red shirt and dragged the wide-eyed young duck out of harm's way, following closely as Daisy herded the frightened girls out into the hall.

"Is everyone OK?" Donald asked, his eyes full of concern as he watched Daisy comfort the trembling May and June. From the other side of the kitchen door, the sound of clatters, clanks, and smashes seemed to be gradually slowing.

"We're sorry," May squeaked, her eyes brimming with tears.

"We didn't mean to freeze like that," June added with a sniffle. "It's just…"

"Our cookies…" May choked, the pair of them burying their faces in Daisy's flour-streaked apron.

Donald's worried expression stormed over at the sight. Turning slowly, he fixed his burning glare on Huey.

"You," he pointed dangerously. "Come with me."

*******

Donald marched his sullen nephew to the main foyer, his hands planted angrily on his hips.

"Well?" he demanded. "What's the big idea?"

"I didn't do anything to their stupid cookies!" Huey snapped, kicking at the carpet. "Their dough's still in the freezer, safe and sound. Even if it wasn't, making Christmas cookies was my idea! I got there first, and they—"

"They weren't the ones who turned the kitchen into a putty pinball machine!" Donald retorted. "We all could have been hurt!"

Huey clenched his fists and turned his head away, trembling from top to tail. Donald narrowed his eyes, his irritation with the young duck starting to shift to concern.

"What's the matter, Huey?" he asked, crouching closer to his nephew's eye level. "This kind of behavior isn't like you."

Huey wanted to cry. He wanted to run into his uncle's arms, to feel himself wrapped up in the warmth of Donald's favorite Christmas sweater, and tell the older duck everything he'd been feeling. But, as much as he yearned for that safe, secure hug, another part of him balked at the thought of acting so childish…

…and instead of moving closer, Huey found himself backing away.

"How would you know," he said coldly. "We've barely seen each other, like, this whole year!"

"Aw, we've seen each other plenty! Besides, aren't you excited to spend this Christmas with your mom? Your Uncle Scrooge and I thought—"

"Wait…" Huey tilted his head, just slightly. "Is that why you and Uncle Scrooge are leaving? Because of Mom? What did she say?" he demanded. "What's really going on here?"

Donald raised his hands. "I shouldn't say anything," he said. "I don't want to ruin the surprise! But, Della's been planning a special Christmas for you boys. Just you and her. It's something she's been dreaming about for a long time – pretty much all the time she was stuck on the moon. Uncle Scrooge and I figured it was the least we could do to get out of the way for a few days and let you four have this time together as a family."

Huey shook his head. "But that's all wrong," he exclaimed. "You're our family, Uncle Donald! You and Uncle Scrooge and Launchpad and Webby and Mrs. B. and…and…"

"And Della," Donald said, his rough, rasping voice surprisingly gentle as he knelt down and wrapped a warm arm around his nephew's tense shoulders. "Hey, I know it's a big adjustment, Huey. There's been a lot of changes these past few years. One of the best is your mom's back with us, safe and sound! And she wants a special Christmas with her boys. So, think you can do that for her?"

"I…"

"She just wants a few days with you. Then, we'll all be together again at New Year's!"

"Humph," Huey snorted and pulled away, muttering, "Not if you're moving to a new house."

"Wak!" Donald stood in surprise. "How do you know about that? I didn't tell anyone but Uncle Scrooge!"

"Why does it matter?" Huey shot back. "You're moving away!"

"Not for a long time, yet," Donald told him. "And even then, I'll still be close by. We'll see each other all the time!"

"But it won't be the same!" Huey cried. "Don't you see? It used to be, we were all on the same page. But now you're leaving to be with Daisy and the clones, and Dewey and Louie are doing their own thing and…and I…"

"That's how it is with families. Even triplets – and twins, like me and Della," Donald told him. "You get older, develop interests of your own. You know, pretty soon, you boys will be finding girlfriends, joining after school clubs, and—"

"Stop!" Huey exclaimed. "Stop! I don't want to think about that! I just – I just want Christmas to be the way it used to be. Don't you remember that Christmas on Bear Mountain? When Dewey and Louie and I built you a sled and we all sang carols and…"

"Huey, of course I remember," Donald said. "That was a wonderful Christmas. But you can make this Christmas just as great."

Huey narrowed his eyes. "At an air show?"

Donald narrowed his eyes right back. "The 'where' doesn't matter," he said. "It's the 'who' that counts. Do it for your mother."

"But, Uncle Donald—"

"For your mother," Donald repeated firmly, and held out a hand.

Huey kept his arms crossed, his feelings still sloshing like a slushie on a tilt-o-whirl. But his uncle wasn't a duck to back down.

"Promise me, kiddo," he insisted.

Huey squeezed his eyes shut and sighed, then finally shook his uncle's hand.

"I'll try," Huey allowed. "But—"

"That's a promise," Donald told him, giving his hand a meaningful squeeze. "And I'm trusting you to keep it."

Huey winced, though not from the pressure of the handshake. "OK, OK!" he exclaimed and yanked his hand away. "Man, I hate it when you say stuff like that."

Donald snickered and gave his nephew a proud pat on the back. "Doin' for others," he said. "That's the real Christmas spirit. I know if anyone can rally your brothers to give your mom her perfect Christmas, it's you."

Huey groaned and ran a hand over his face. "Whatever…"

Donald laughed. "Wow. You remind me so much of me sometimes, it's scary!" Lifting his beak, he sniffed the air, smiling broadly when the scent of baking sugar cookies wafted past his nostrils. "Seems Daisy's got things back on track! I gotta get back to the girls." He paused by the doorway and looked his nephew straight in the eye. "I love ya, Huey. Don't forget that."

"…I love you too…" Huey echoed, his voice barely above a whisper as he watched his uncle march away, cheerily whistling "Crazy Over Daisy."

Slowly, Huey turned his gaze to the Christmas tree, its twinkling lights and elegant decorations leaving him empty and cold. Shuffling to the window, he saw Launchpad in the driveway, hauling luggage for Scrooge and Webby's flight to Scotland. Nearby, Donald's little red car sported a playful, glitter-splashed sign on its rear window, probably put there by May and June: Bear Mountain or Bust!

The dam burst before Huey realized he was crying. He sniffled hard, clenching his fists until his fingers cut into his palms, but it didn't stop the tears from falling.

"This isn't right," he croaked. "If you love me, why is everyone leaving me behind?"

"Or, are they...?" A sudden thought sent Huey racing back to the room he shared with his brothers. Reaching under his hat, he pulled the letter he'd written to Santa out from among the pages of his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook, then started digging through the drawers of his brothers' desks until he found—

"Ha! I knew it!" he crowed in triumph as he flicked open the envelopes and pulled out the folded papers tucked inside. "They did write letters to Santa this year! Just like I did!"

Hugging the letters to his chest, he breathed a hearty sigh of relief, then unfolded them and flattened them out on the desk. "OK, so maybe things aren't changing as much as I thought. As long as the three of us are still on the same page, Christmas at the air show just might…be…"

He frowned, glancing down at the letters, then peering in more closely. "…OK…? Wait, what is this…? 'Dear Uncle Scrooge," he read. "'Santa's a nice guy, but you have the bucks so, this year, I want a—" Huey gasped and backed away.

"I can't believe this. They both wrote to Uncle Scrooge!"

With great delicacy, Huey lifted his own letter to Santa. But something had changed behind his eyes.

His breathing quickened, his face grew hot. Flinging open the window, Huey tore his and his brothers' letters to shreds, then tossed them into the chilly December wind.

"I don't care!" he shouted after the fluttery bits. "Uncle Scrooge was right to call Christmas a sham! Christmas doesn't happen if we don't make it happen! I was so stupid to believe... To think a few dumb cookies could change things!"

A startling spate of thunder and lightning crackled through the clear, blue sky, making Huey jump and pull the window shut.

"Woah, Huey," Louie's voice joked from behind him, causing the young duck to jump again. "Sounds like someone out there was listening!"

Dewey brushed past his brothers to climb into his middle-bunk, his eyes never leaving his phone. "Sheesh, Hubert, overreacting much?" he said. "So, we wrote to Scrooge instead of Santa. It's not like we're little kids anymore."

"You think I don't know that!" Huey exclaimed, his outburst so unexpectedly raw even Dewey sat up. "I'm the oldest, remember? And you two are not leaving me behind!"

Pushing past Louie, Huey stormed out of the room and slammed the door. Dewey flopped back onto his pillow, already tapping at his phone as he asked, "What do you think he meant by that?"

Louie shrugged, slouching toward the lower bunk while tapping distractedly at his own phone. "I don't know. Just weird Huey stuff," he said. "It'll blow over."

To Be Continued…

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Holiday Plans

Huey mashed the buzzer with his fist. The tall, gleaming gate to McDuck Manor swung open and he marched through, taking the downhill trail to the bus stop at the sidewalk's end.

The young duck's feelings were still a violent, swirling whirl. But as he stormed past the high stone wall separating his great-uncle's verdant estate from Duckburg's noisy urban bustle, his more rational, puzzle-planning mind began to focus on the conundrum before him.

"Uncle Donald wants me to make this a special Christmas for my mom," he mused as he marched. "But it's literally impossible to have a special Christmas if no one's gonna be here! So, the real question is: how can I keep the whole family together when even my brothers don't understand how— Oof!"

"Whoa-what— Huey!"

Della Duck had dropped her packages on impact. Now, she grabbed Huey's wrist to keep him from tumbling the same way. Skillfully, she used her own weight to yank her startled son back to his feet, her artificial leg's metallic ankle making sparks against the sloping sidewalk.

"Sorry, kiddo! Guess I didn't see you there!"

Huey pulled away from his mother's grip and snatched his red hat and Junior Woodchuck Guidebook up from the concrete, where they'd fallen on impact.

Far from taking the hint, Della moved in even closer, grasping Huey's shoulder to dust off his shirt and tail feathers.

"Whoop! Got some gravel right there…"

"Mom!" Huey protested, mortified that she would treat him like this out in the open, in front of all the passing cars…!

"Aw, you're fine," she asserted, then faced him with one of her broad, oblivious grins. "So, what are you doing out here all by yourself? Wait, don't tell me, I bet you—"

Huey lowered his eyes and turned away. He felt himself seething, breathing fast and clenching and unclenching his fists as his mother's voice faded into the sounds of traffic from the busy street behind them.

How could she stand there, talking and smiling, when she was the one responsible for breaking the family apart at Christmas? How could she make his uncles leave, shatter and rearrange all their holiday plans, without even talking to him about it!

Not that she'd ever cared how he felt, running off in a stolen ship and crash-landing on the moon before he and his brothers had so much as hatched!

It didn't help that, while stranded on the moon, Della had apparently picked up the habit of blurting out whatever came into her head. Now she was back, it seemed she'd kept that habit, while totally forgetting that other people had voices and opinions too!

"…so," she was saying when the angry young duck tuned back in, "since it's the last shopping day before Christmas, I thought I'd leave the airfield early and see if there might be any eleventh-hour gifts I could pick out for you boys!"

Huey scowled and shook his head. All the years he'd imagined what his mother might be like, impulsive, flighty, and irresponsible had not been the core traits he'd had in mind. Even her Christmas shopping was last-minute!

The bus pulled out of traffic and opened its doors. Huey glanced from the impatient driver back to his mother, his posture straight and his expression a careful blank.

"We're not little children, Mom," he informed her as he pulled out his bus pass. "Anything practical will be fine."

"Practical, eh?"

Della's eyes narrowed slightly, watching him climb stiffly up the bus step to find a seat.

"Yeah." She smirked, and snorted through her beak. "That kid's been spending waaay too much time around his Uncle Scrooge…"

*****

Sneaking into McDuck Labs wasn't much of a challenge for an experienced adventure-duck. It wasn't exactly a breach of his Junior Woodchuck oath of honesty either, Huey fought to convince himself…even as he hid his face behind a tray he'd picked up from the open back of a catering truck. After all, the whole place did belong to his great-uncle, and he and his brothers had trailed Scrooge there many times. Willingly and, at times – particularly in Louie's case – unwillingly.

Inside the vast building's gleaming glass and steel atrium, a big holiday party seemed underway. Researchers and technicians, administrators and interns mingled and laughed over mini pretzel-reindeer and marshmallow-snowmen cupcakes, lukewarm cocoa, and tiny sandwiches, catching each other up on their projects, their families, and their holiday plans.

Huey set his tray of veggies and dip on a fold-out table, then ducked under the table's festive red-and-gold paper tablecloth. He crawled a short way to a curving silver ramp to the upper level then rolled, unseen, under the metal banister and across the ramp's no-slip surface to crouch among a small forest of potted plants. Seeing the security desk deserted, Huey bent low and dashed past the monitors through the swinging door to the emergency stairs.

"OK," he huffed, pressing his back against the stairwell's cold concrete bricks as he took a moment to calm down, collect his thoughts, and catch his breath. "So far, so good. Now…which floor is Gyro's new lab…?"

Gyro Gearloose headed the Research and Development Department at McDuck Enterprises. When Huey first met him, the brilliant inventor had come off as abrasive, dismissive, and offputtingly arrogant.

But since reuniting with his android creation B.O.Y.D. and discovering – with Huey's help – that the child-robot wasn't actually the maniacal malfunctioning murder-bot Gyro had feared he'd become, the grumpy genius had seemed notably more upbeat. He'd lowered his shields enough to warmly embrace his android 'son.' And the more B.O.Y.D. showed himself to be the self-aware, self-determining, independent-minded child the once-idealistic scientist had dreamed he could be, Gyro's new attitude toward his creations, and his assistants, had transformed his research lab from a cold and stressful environment to a community that encouraged creativity, individuality, and personal growth.

Huey had considered B.O.Y.D. one of his best friends from the moment they first met. The pair tended to think alike, sharing a love of study, honest research, and precision. Under normal circumstances, the young duck would probably have rushed up the stairs to see if he could get the android boy's input on his problems, and sketch out a plan together.

Only, these circumstances weren't normal.

And Huey already had a plan.

*****

"Well, colleague," Gyro was saying as Huey edged his way along the wall outside the scientist's office. The heavy door stood wide open and, just beyond, a vast transparent aluminum window revealed the cavernous state-of-the-art research lab. The lab's lights were off for the holiday break, and the red emergency bulbs gave the complex equipment and robotic arms a somewhat eerie 'mad-science' aura. "Any big plans for the holidays?"

"Absolutely, Dr. Gearloose," Gyro's assistant Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera answered brightly. "My fiancée Gandra and I have a special VR dinner experience all planned out as a gift for my Mama. It's set in the world of her favorite soap opera!"

"Well, enjoy it," Gyro said, and Huey heard him snap off a few of the office lights.

The rectangle of light stretching out the door to the corridor dimmed, and Huey dashed across the tiled hall to huddle in a maintenance closet. The artificially-perfumed stench of cleaning chemicals and disinfectant burned his sinuses, but he could still hear the departing scientists as they finished packing up their gear and closed the office door.

"What about you, Dr. Gearloose?" Fenton was asking. "Going anywhere special?"

"Oh, no, no. B.O.Y.D. and I are planning a cozy Christmas at home. A cake shaped like a Yule Log, cinnamon-spiced hot chocolate…" He chuckled warmly. "He's so excited to spend his first real Christmas with me and Lil Bulb. As a family, he says! I think that's special enough, don't you?"

"Be sure to take a lot of pictures," Fenton said happily. "Did you hear back from Manny?"

"A text, yeah. He's spending the break in Vegas with Gladstone. They wanted to see Feathery's new aquarium…"

Gyro's voice faded, and Huey heard the whirring motor of the elevator taking them to the ground floor.

Huey opened the door a slender crack, then cautiously widened it, peering out into the dim, shadowy corridor. Apart from the soft whirr of the ventilation system, the entire floor seemed eerily silent.

"Ha! Perfect…"

Reaching into his pocket, the young duck clutched the thumb drive he'd snatched from his Uncle Scrooge's office before leaving the mansion.

A thumb drive the resourceful Junior Woodchuck had carefully dusted to reveal Scrooge's thumbprint…which he'd transferred onto a small square sheet of transparent acetate with a piece of tape…

Slinking past Gyro's locked office, Huey used his own thumb to hold the little plastic sheet up to the scanner by the main lab's sliding door. After a tense moment, the red panel flickered green and the door slid open to the sound of a mechanical female voice: "Welcome, Mr. McDuck."

"Tee hee!" Huey crowed gleefully behind his hand.

Clever and sneaky as they could be, he felt sure his brothers would never have thought of this. Or been as successful. Not with their lazy attitudes, and lack of attention to detail and written instructions—

Well, he frowned and thought again. Maybe Louie. But he'd probably sneak in here for some selfish reason...

Pocketing the thumbprint, Huey strode through the door past the creepy red-lit equipment to the far corner of the lab. The wall there looked like solid metal. But Huey knew he'd seen a door there.

A garage-like door to a secret storage bay where Gyro stowed his more 'impulsive' – even 'dangerous' – inventions…

There was no convenient scanner there, so Huey held Scrooge's thumbprint to the wall, sliding it up and down, side to side, until—

CLICK – WHOOOOSHHH!

The door slid up and Huey stepped in. He pulled a small light from under his hat and clipped it to the brim, peering around the cluttered space until he spotted—

"Gyro's Time Tub! Yes!" He triumphantly pumped his fist. "I knew he couldn't dismantle an invention this fantastic!"

Skirting and jumping over less compelling clutter, Huey leaped into the bathtub-looking device and aimed his light at the controls—

Only to gasp and shield his eyes against a blinding light – a blaring klaxon!

"Wak! Oh no!" he cried. "I must have tripped an alarm!"

To Be Continued...