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Once, while Dewey was still an egg, he died.
It had been an accident, but one not far from a different tragedy. Della Duck was gone, and Donald had cut himself off from one of his last living family members. Her children were now orphans, but Donald refused to allow them to grow up alone.
Then he dropped one.
It had been on a- stupid, childish- dare. His friends had thought it would be cool, and Donald had been certain he could do it. But he hadn’t, couldn’t, and Dewey before he was Dewey was dead. Three seconds later he wasn’t, but no one really noticed that.
Donald was too busy clutching the egg to his chest, murmuring soft apologies and please-be-okay as Jose rushed to call a doctor. They missed the rush of cold air, the soft fingertips brush against Donald’s shoulder as the dark figure moved out of the room.
Dewey had died- should have stayed dead- but he’d survived.
Dewey liked Storkules though, in all fairness he didn’t really know the guy. When they’d (he) crashed the Sunchaser that one time he hadn’t really been around much. Then again when Louie recruited him to be a part of his new company that he didn’t get to be included in.
(It’s nothing personal, Dewey. Louie needs to do his own things too.)
But he seemed protective enough of his brothers and Webby and could make Uncle Donald smile in a rare soft sort of way. It wasn’t hard after that to decide rather or not he liked him, but there was something about him. About the way his eyes turned to Dewey and became sharp, looking almost inside of Dewey in his search for something.
So Dewey liked Storkules well enough, but he soon found himself avoiding the guy. Easier said than done, he soon discovered as the guy seemed almost everywhere. Which should have been impossible but when Storkules wasn’t in their shared room helping Louie with his company than he was in Uncle Donald’s houseboat or Uncle Scrooge’s study or the front yard.
“I thought you’d be all over this guy,” Launchpad noted thoughtfully, “He did know your mother after all.”
The reminder of Della stung- a spike through Dewey’s heart- but he forced a strained smile to his face and was already beginning to reassure Launchpad that it was okay. That he hadn’t overstepped his boundaries, and that Dewey wasn’t angry at him.
“Dewey,” Launchpad said at about the same time Dewey reassured, “I’m fine. It’s fine.”
Launchpad’s mouth shut with a soft clack as he continued to squint suspiciously in Dewey’s direction. It was the same observant gaze Storkules always narrowed on him, and it made Dewey feel vulnerable and exposed. So he covered it up with his voice, meaningless words stringed together in one mindless stream.
“It’s just nobody ever talks about Mom, and that’s okay. I mean, I know what happened to her. She left us, and that was her decision. Not to mention Uncle Donald dropped his whole life for us, and this guy makes Uncle Donald happy in a way he never was. And does that make me a bad person for wishing he’d just hurry up and go back home…?”
He trailed off when Launchpad wrapped his arms securely around his small frame, squeezing reassuringly. Dewey melted into the touch, burying his face in his friend’s shoulder and relishing in the safety that was in the knowledge that Launchpad would never let anything bad happen to him. Even after he’d gotten eaten by magic gold shark Launchpad was willing to rip it all apart to at least avenge him.
Then Launchpad was pulling away and Dewey sobered his expression the best he could. Launchpad’s face was soft and worried and Dewey could see how much it physically pained him at not being able to do more for Dewey.
“I guess I’m being a bit silly, huh?” Dewey tried, chuckle dry and foreign to his ears.
And a whole lot of selfish, Huey’s voice chimed in.
Dewey closed his eyes, pushed it back. He’d deal with that later. Figured he was allowed to be selfish as long as it was internal, and he’d just finished resolving himself to living with that when there was a booming knock on Launchpad’s door followed by Storkules’s thundering voice.
“Friend pilot! We are in need of your flying expertise!”
Launchpad blinked at the words before he turned to Dewey. Asking permission. Making sure that Dewey was okay and Dewey so very badly wanted to reach out and ask Launchpad to not be home. To stay in with him and watch reruns of Darkwing Duck.
But he didn’t because Launchpad would. As much as he loved Dewey’s family- loved Dewey’s brothers- he loved Dewey a little bit more. Would move the world if Dewey requested as much.
So Dewey swallowed past the lump in his throat as he gestured for him to answer the door. Launchpad grinned, relieved Dewey hadn’t asked him to turn them away, as he moved away to answer the door and revealing Storkules in all his glory, fist reared back like he was going to try knocking again.
There was a brief moment of pause as realization bled in those friendly eyes before Storkules was drawing Launchpad in a tight hug and calling him ‘friend pilot.’ It made Dewey’s chest constrict as his blood warmed.
He wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t. He was just preparing for what he knew was coming.
While Storkules tried smothering a laughing Launchpad with his chest Dewey caught sight of his brothers and Webby squeeze themselves inside. Webby offered him a bright smile, was aware of all the late nights Dewey pulled with Launchpad talking about nothing. Huey gave him a quizzical expression but didn’t press.
Louie walked over to him, looking around nervously. It occurred to Dewey that neither of his brothers have been to Launchpad’s place and were probably taken off-guard by just how modest it was. Not to mention they showed up unannounced and as much as Louie liked pushing people for things it always made him feel queasy when it was in regards of his family.
“It’s alright,” Dewey reassured as he scooted to give Louie space on the couch, “He’s happy to have you all here- even happier to help.”
Louie took the proffered seat gratefully, quick to slip next to something familiar.
He was still tense though, as he turned towards Dewey and asked, “Are you happy? You’ve been looking a little… unwelcomed lately. Is it because I said you’d make a poor employee because there’s always room for you in Louie Inc.”
Dewey shushed him before he could begin babbling, reaching out to set what he hoped to be a comforting hand against his brother’s arm as he shrugged and lied, “I’m fine. Just not used to all this free time.”
Louie squinted, but Dewey beamed and knew his brother would believe it. As clever as Louie is, as aware as he seems to be about everything- Dewey can always trick him into believing whatever he wanted him to. Huey probably could as well, if he wasn’t so bad at lying. Now was no different.
Louie nodded, turned away and didn’t brush Dewey off him. Not that it mattered as that was about the time Storkules turned from Launchpad and caught sight of him. His smile was still stretched across his face, but it wavered the slightest bit. Eyes turned bright and on guard like Dewey was dangerous.
Even so he started towards him with a loud, “Little Dewey!” and he’d probably been lectured heavily at remembering Dewey’s name and not calling him the third one or the blue one because Louie had been right. He had been moodier than usual, though not for the reasons they seem to believe.
And Dewey appreciated the attempt but the moment Storkules reached down to draw him up in a hug it was like all the color in the world was drained, leaving only a monochrome stain behind. Everything around them slowed down as the warmth went with the color and when Dewey blinked he saw a dark figure standing in the corner.
He was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed and long black overcoat practically touching the ground. A black top hat obscured his face but at Dewey’s look he lifted his head to lock eyes with him. Only his eyes were black slits surrounded by yellow and his feathers were as dark as the night sky.
Dewey opened his mouth to ask who he was, what he was wanted but the guy pressed a finger against his mouth in a shushing motion and all words died in the back of Dewey’s throat. Then Storkules let him go, jumping back like he was burned, and the world resumed its motion.
“-are you okay?” Huey’s worried voice demanded as hands clawed at his arms.
Dewey blinked, realized everyone was staring at him in shock. He looked around, caught all of their gazes, before he focused back at the corner he saw the man only to realize he was gone.
“Dewey?” Webby asked.
Dewey stepped away, feeling crowded and cold and Storkules was still staring at him like he couldn’t figure out what made Dewey different from his brothers. He folded his arms around himself, squeezing as tightly as he could.
“I’m fine,” Dewey said, “I’m going to go so you guys can discuss whatever secret business you have here.”
Then he was gone, hurrying out from the room. Away from Storkules. Away from that man. It didn’t matter as long as it was away.
And the further he got the easier it was to breathe, ringing fading from his ears just in time for him to catch Storkules’ confused voice ask, “Was it something I said?”
Dewey didn’t go back to the mansion.
He should have. Huey probably called Uncle Donald to tell him something was wrong with him, Launchpad calling Uncle Scrooge and they meant well and wanted to be sure Dewey got back safely but Dewey couldn’t. Not yet.
He ended up at the marina, sitting on a bench with his legs curled to his chest as he stared out at the choppy waters as a storm crept ever closer. A pretty bad one from the way the water churned, and he knew he should go ahead and seek shelter but he didn’t. He sat there and stared out at the dark water willing whatever had wound its way around his heart to free him.
And Dewey wasn’t sure when he’d been lulled to sleep nor was he aware of what awoken him: his phone or the rain pattering against his face. He was no longer cold- not in the same sense at least- and his chest felt looser. He rubbed against it, phantom pains making him drowsy once more.
He pushed past that as he turned towards his phone not really surprised to find 6 missed calls from Huey, 2 from Louie, and 12 from Uncle Donald as well as plenty of ‘are you alive?’ and ‘where are you?’ and ‘please be cautious, there’s a storm’ texts from his family.
His phone beeped indicating a low battery, fat raindrops continuing to splash against his screen. He went ahead and sent ‘I’m fine, fell asleep’ texts to his brothers before he dialed his uncle. Uncle Donald picked up on the second ring.
“Dewey?” and a stab of guilt twisted inside Dewey’s gut at the sound of his uncle’s voice: anxious and taut like was expecting a sorry for your loss message or perhaps a ransom demand.
“I’m sorry,” Dewey apologized quickly even as his phone buzzed in his ear indicating Huey and Louie were not attempting to blow his phone up.
“Don’t apologize Dewey,” Uncle Donald said quickly, voice melting into relief he must have been depriving himself of earlier.
Dewey had a sudden strong urge to jump in the middle of the road as he realized he’d needlessly worried everyone yet again because of his selfishness. And, worse, everyone seemed so eager to reassure him when they should be reprimanding him. Yelling at him for running off by himself and falling asleep. Being rude to Storkules. Lying about Mom.
He stopped, realized Uncle Donald had been talking this whole time. The cold had returned, icy tendrils grabbing at his arms like fingers trying to grab onto him. To take hold and never let go.
“Dewey?” the small voice of his uncle asked, buzzing inside Dewey’s skull.
Then there was a flash of light as a car swerved out of the road to strike him on the sidewalk. He lost his phone as he rolled up the windshield, shards of broken glass cutting his skin and the rain making the wounds sting and he was almost certain he’d died before he hit the ground. The car zooming off in the night- drunk or scared or an idiot- leaving him behind like a cliché scene in a bad movie.
It probably didn’t help that it had been raining the second time Dewey died; his phone cracked and useless several feet away as the world slowed back down into that cold grey landscape. He sat up as the figure in the dark overcoat bent next to him.
“Hello little one,” he greeted, voice soft and not unkind.
Dewey shrank backwards anyways even as the other man fixed him with a sincere smile. Like they were old buddies who hadn’t seen each other in a long time. He seemed to respect Dewey’s desire for distance, keeping his hands to himself as he continued to wait and stare.
“Who are you?” Dewey demanded and even though he was scared and dead his voice came out strong.
The man removed his top hat, set it at his side and said, “My name is Hades, and it’s a pleasure to finally officially meet you.”
“He isn’t picking up,” Louie announced for the twelfth time as he removed his phone from his ear to narrow a hard stare at Huey.
Despite the edge in his tone he looked scared- terrified- and Huey wished he could offer something real in comfort. The truth was that he wasn’t sure what was going on, the storm having trapped them at Launchpad’s and Huey knew- had known it before Dewey scrambled outside- that allowing Dewey to leave on his own in his current state was a mistake.
Yet he had done nothing to stop it. Had let his little brother rush away like he’d seen a ghost under some ruse of allowing them to return to Louie Incorporated business. Like he wasn’t allowed to be a part of it. Like they hadn’t gone on his goofy TV show because Louie felt guilty at excluding Dewey.
Now Dewey was missing- wasn’t answering his phone- and all they had to go on was a text that promised he was alive. That he’d fallen asleep on a bench by the marina even though he’s been lectured plenty of times to not sleep in public places. That it was dangerous.
Huey’s phone chimed and he answered with a soft, “Anything?”
“He called,” Uncle Donald reassured but his voice wasn’t loose from relief, and it made something tighten further inside Huey’s chest.
“And?” Huey prodded, holding his phone out to allow Louie to press himself against it, eager for something positive.
“I’m not sure,” Uncle Donald admitted gravely, “His phone died.”
Which would explain why he wasn’t answering.
“Listen, I need you boys to stay where it’s safe,” Uncle Donald continued which had been why they hadn’t been allowed to go out and search for Dewey with the other three, “I know you’re worried about your brother, so am I, but I need to know you two are safe.”
“Of course Uncle Donald,” they reassured together, even though it was killing them both to not being allowed to do something productive.
“Good,” Uncle Donald sighed, “I love you both. So much.”
“We love you too Uncle Donald,” and then Uncle Donald hung up to find their missing piece.
Louie moved away, kicking a stray can of Pep in a rare show of helpless anger. Huey jumped at the sound of aluminum banging against drywall. Louie barely noticed, drawing his hood over his head and shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Louie,” Huey tried, fear and worry and guilt gnawing at his insides.
“Save the lectures for Dewey,” Louie grumbled bitterly, and Huey got it.
They were born together, stayed together during grade school and nobody had seemed to want them around. They went on adventures together, and it wasn’t until recently that they started branching out to explore their own interests. Now the thought they could potentially be downgraded to a pair was something that sent something electric down the spine.
But Dewey was Dewey. He wasn’t as sensitive as Louie or fragile as Huey. A little storm was nothing new and shouldn’t be enough to slow him down, which meant whatever was keeping him was serious. Probably has been serious for some time.
Someone knocked on the door, soft and uncertain. A single bang that was easily drowned out by the water beating against the roof and walls but it seemed to echo around their small space all the same.
Louie stopped, turned to stare at Huey. Huey didn’t freeze, didn’t have time to freeze because his little brother was still missing, and someone who clearly wasn’t Launchpad or Storkules was knocking on Launchpad’s door.
Dewey didn’t get a second chance to knock, Huey having flung it open the moment he registered what the sound had been. They both froze and looked at one another, taking the other in. Dewey looked similar to a beaten rat someone then tried to drown.
His forehead and cheek wwere smudged with blood and gravel, water dripping off his clothes and feathers. The sleeve of his shirt was torn, pieces of glass sparkling amongst the fabric like ice but Dewey looked to be in one piece. He was alive, at least, so that was something.
Huey felt something catch in his chest, weight pushing him sideways as Louie shoved his way into Dewey. It was much like that time Huey had gone camping with the Junior Woodchucks for almost a month, and when he returned his brothers were so overjoyed at seeing him that they’d practically tackled him. Except this time it had only been a couple of hours, and Dewey had been bleeding. Was probably still bleeding.
Louie hadn’t seemed to notice the blood as he contoured his body around Dewey, who’d caught him easily and didn’t wince in pain. Just gave a low amused chuckle that sounded far too wet as he buried his face in the croak of Louie’s shoulder and neck.
“Come inside,” Huey said, herding them out of the rain.
Louie didn’t move, probably squeezed Dewey all the tighter like he was afraid Huey was going to pry him away. Dewey didn’t make any inclination that he minded as he moved them both over the threshold and upon closer inspection Huey could see the discoloration of Dewey’s wrist.
“What in the world happened to you?” Huey demanded as he led his brothers down on the couch.
Louie sniffled, started to pry himself free from Dewey. Dewey let him but looked sadder. Huey ignored the almost parental feeling to coddle Dewey from overcoming him as he bent down beside his brothers in a poor attempt to get a look at Dewey’s wounds.
It was just pass the blood and dirt and rainwater there was nothing except unblemished skin. Dewey didn’t even act like Huey’s touch hurt him as he stared back with the calm expression he wears whenever he’s hiding something.
“Would you believe me if I said I fell?” Dewey asked.
It wasn’t cynical or sarcastic or biting. He sounded tired. Huey must have glared because Dewey gave a low chuckle.
“Thought so,” he agreed, dipping his head back as Huey moved on to his arms, “The truth is just as bizarre.”
“Dewey,” Louie chided from his spot pressed against Dewey’s side, phone in his hands no doubt informing everyone that Dewey was alive and with them back at Launchpad’s.
Dewey rolled his head so he was facing Louie, and Huey couldn’t see Dewey’s expression but he saw the way Louie’s face grew soft. It was then Huey realized Dewey wasn’t even shivering, barely acknowledged his prodding fingers.
“You need to change from your wet clothes,” Huey commanded bossily, already rolling Dewey’s shirt over his head.
Dewey let him, seemingly too tired to fight him on this. Louie rushed off to find a clean-ish towel, scampering over the couch and into the other room. Dewey’s head dropped backwards so he could stare at him upside down.
“Dewey,” Huey said, again.
“I know Huey,” Dewey reassured, “I know.”
But whatever Dewey was going to add to that was drowned out by the sound of the others returning in a mass frenzy. Louie returned, pile of towels stacked in his arms, as he hissed at them to be quiet and to not touch him because they still weren’t sure where his wounds were. Only the longer Huey searched his brother the less certain he was that there was any wounds.
“I don’t think I’m bleeding,” Dewey offered, evidently reading his mind as the others slowly filtered into the room.
Launchpad was first- pupils blown and wild with the terror of something bad happening to Dewey- and he didn’t reach out to grasp him in a bone crushing hug (thank goodness) as he settled for hovering nervously. Dewey met his gaze with a soft smile of his own.
Webby was next, shuffling to Launchpad’s side and stopping. She kept twisting her hands in front herself, nervously, as her eyes drank in the sight of Dewey alive and whole. Something Huey understands perhaps far too well. Dewey gave her a warm smile as well.
Then Storkules entered, fidgety in the way they all were after Dewey seemingly disappeared, and something in Dewey’s eyes changed. He suddenly looked uncertain, shrinking in on himself in an attempt to make himself smaller. Huey even glanced back, expecting to see someone threatening, but it was just Storkules’ expression- a hard glint Huey can’t remember seeing there before.
It made Huey frown, and when he caught Louie’s gaze he realized his brother had seen it as well. And it made Louie just as uncomfortable as it did himself.
“Hey Strokules, can you help me in here?” Louie asked- strong indication that, though they weren’t sure why, they needed to separate the two.
Storkules nodded and, after he disappeared in the other room, Dewey visibly relaxed. Huey continued wiping mud and blood and glass off him, trying to not let his mind wander. Trying to not wonder what could have happened to warrant so much, though he couldn’t find any source.
“You going to tell me what happened?” Huey whispered, keeping his voice soft and delicate.
Dewey’s sleepy gaze focused back on him, and he looked ancient. Far older than Huey remembers ever seeing him before. But his next words were enough to provide Huey plenty of nightmares for the days to come.
“I got hit by a car.”
Huey froze, felt the others behind him tense as well. Dewey either didn’t notice or didn’t care as his body continued to droop.
“Dewey?” but Dewey didn’t answer as his eyes finally slid shut and his muscles went limp as he slouched over.
Huey caught him easily, tapping at his cheeks nervously. Dewey groaned softly, trying to pull back. To get the sleep his body so obviously craved.
“Dewey, I need you to stay awake for me buddy,” Huey urged, “What do you mean you got hit by a car?”
“I was on the sidewalk,” Dewey promised, “I was being good.”
“I’m sure you were,” Huey reassured gently, “What happened after?”
Dewey shrugged lazily as he explained, “They drove off.”
Huey’s grip tightened instinctively, picturing his brother (his little brother!) lying on the sidewalk hurt and alone, and the person who hurt him speed off. Dewey winced, and Huey lightened his hold with a hushed apology.
“I’m okay,” Dewey promised, “Really.”
Huey pressed their foreheads together as he inhaled in the scent of his brother. He smelt of rain and dirt and copper, but he was alive. And he was whole. And he was there.
“Okay,” Huey breathed, and that was that.
Uncle Donald wanted him to go to the hospital and, honestly, Dewey figured he probably should have. After Huey had wiped him off and got him in the bath, the worst of it was gone by the time their uncles showed up- soaking and panicked. Uncle Donald was quick to close the distance between them, engulfing him in a tight hug.
Louie had taken Uncle Scrooge to the side to inform him that Dewey’s phone was smashed. Or at least Dewey thinks that’s what happened because when they returned Scrooge had promised to get Dewey a new one, which was equal parts sweet and odd. Then Uncle Scrooge had scooped him up to his chest and held him for a long time.
Dewey sank into his warmth- still trying to shake off the cold feeling that’s followed him ever since his meeting with Hades. Then it disappeared, leaving him back in the cold.
Louie- who Dewey hadn’t notice disappear but had now returned- threw one of his hoodies at him. Dewey figured Uncle Donald had brought them spare clothes, which meant they were probably spending the night at Launchpad’s. Not that Dewey was opposed to the thought- in no mood to go back outside in the rain and literal cold- but Launchpad’s place was small and there was a lot of them.
And now Louie was throwing his hoodie at him. One of his most prized possessions, and Louie had just chucked it at his face.
At Dewey’s blank expression Louie just shoved his hands in his pocket, shrugged and offered, “You looked cold.”
Dewey beamed gratefully as he slipped it over his head. Louie’s scent hidden beneath layers of laundry detergent and flowery soap brought a weird comfort and offered a nice distraction from his turning thoughts.
He’d been dead- for the second time in his life, apparently- and now he was surrounded by his friends and family. Everyone pressed near him as if they were afraid he’d disappear any moment- as if they knew- and the bath and hoodie had helped but he was still so cold.
“Dewey you should go to the hospital,” Uncle Donald told him after the others shuffled sort of out of the room but not quite.
Dewey shoved his hands in Louie’s pocket, mirroring the gesture he’s seen his brother do a thousand times, and didn’t protest. Uncle Donald set his hand on the top of his head, and his smile was as soft as his touch.
“I’m okay,” Dewey said.
“I know,” Uncle Donald replied, “and I’m glad that you are.”
Dewey swallowed and nodded. He was glad no one had pressed him for more details as he hadn’t yet decided on what to tell them. Especially considering when he thought back on it and knew it sounded crazy.
Uncle Donald lead him back into Launchpad’s living room, where Launchpad and Webby were huddled on the couch whispering to each other and looking far too worried about something for the two of the most laidback people Dewey knows. He edged his way towards them, Uncle Donald watching him carefully but didn’t follow.
“Hey guys,” Dewey tried, both of them jumping like they hadn’t noticed his approach. Maybe they hadn’t.
Launchpad was the first to recover, swooping Dewey up in his arms and squeezing him like his life depended on it. Dewey let out a startled laugh as he melted into the embrace, reassuring him that he was really okay and that he was sorry for worrying everyone.
Which he was sorry for.
Launchpad set him back down, giving Webby the perfect opportunity to tackle him in her own hug and it was Launchpad’s turn to reassure Dewey. That this whole mess wasn’t his fault, and that they were all relieved he was okay.
They’ll learn eventually- Dewey knew- but that could wait. Now he just wanted to sleep, safe in the company of his family. And sandwiched between his two brothers and under the thoughtful expression of his uncles he knew he’d wake to see the morning but that didn’t stop Hades’ promise from echoing inside his head.
You belong to me.
Hades seemed tall but that could just because Dewey was so small. Young and fragile, he’d said, but even so have outlived his time.
“What do you mean?” Dewey had asked, bending upwards so he could stare into the dark slivers.
“You, my dear boy, have the most peculiar habit of not being able to die,” Hades explained.
Dewey squinted, glared as he glanced downwards at the spot he lay. Hades followed his gaze and- like he could read his mind- gave a soft knowing expression.
“You’ll feel it soon,” Hades promised, “like a rubber band snapping back into place, but it’ll leave you feeling cold for the next couple of days. Maybe a bit lethargic.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure,” Hades confessed setting his hat back on his head, “Something is keeping you from me.”
Dewey fiddled with his sleeve as he asked, “So I can’t die?”
Hades made a face- one Dewey couldn’t quite figure out- as he replied, “Everyone must die my dear boy. One way or another- you belong to me.”
Dewey bolted upright, gasping. He was still cold even surrounded by the warmth of his brothers and figured it had nothing to do with the temperature. He slipped from their makeshift bed and made his way to Launchpad’s kitchen, where Storkules was standing.
He kept shuffling around like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself. When their eyes met it was like Storkules knew something was wrong and couldn’t quite figure out what it was. And he was scared to think about it for too long- his brothers not threatening but certainly disapproving.
His brothers were asleep- the stress of the day draining them. Dewey didn’t feel much like sleeping and he felt almost sick, so he crossed his arms and stared at Storkules defiantly.
“Young Dewford,” Storkules greeted, shuffling always moving- something Dewey could relate to.
Not tonight though. Everything inside Dewey was quiet so he replied with a nod and moved to get something to drink. Storkules kept his distance, almost like he knew he was cursed. Knew that there was something fundamentally wrong with Dewey.
“Can’t sleep?” Storkules tried.
Dewey shrugged and admitted, “Bad dreams.”
Storkules straightened, eyes remaining on Dewey. They were dark and knowing, and Dewey turned from their intent gaze.
“You look different than before,” Storkules continued, “Darker.”
Dewey froze, stiffened. Storkules must have realized that what he had said was wrong, but Dewey was quicker. He ducked out of the room and almost into Uncle Donald.
“Is everything okay?” Uncle Donald asked, eyes knowing and bright with his concern.
“Yeah, Uncle Donald,” Dewey said like a liar.
Uncle Donald squinted at him, not quite believing but then Dewey pushed past him to go settle back down next to his brothers. They were quick to curl back around him, a protective shield, but Dewey didn’t go to sleep. He just laid there, staring up at the ceiling as he tried not to think about Hades.
The doctor had thought his heart sounded funny. Like it kept trying to restart itself and at the stark expressions of Dewey’s family he quickly corrected.
“It’s probably nothing major. Keep him on antibiotics the next couple of weeks and he should be just fine.”
Dewey knew he wouldn’t, that medicine wasn’t going to shake the thing chasing him, but everyone else had looked relieved so he didn’t push. He just sat there, swinging his legs and wondered how much longer until Hades found a way to finally claim him.
The question came several days after the incident at Launchpad’s. Dewey had sort of hoped everyone had gotten over the worst of it, and though the chill had yet to leave him it was muted. As long as Dewey distracted himself with something- anything- it was fine.
He was fine. He was handling.
Then Storkules cornered him.
“Have I done something to offend you?”
Dewey had been in the kitchen, hungry and not wanting to bother Mrs. Beakley while she was cleaning. He hadn’t anticipated anybody seeking him out, having finally convinced Louie to resume Louie Incorporated. Louie had glared at him the first couple of times he brought it up, but Dewey could be tenacious when he wanted.
“You know you’re more than welcome to join us,” Louie had invited but Dewey gave him a gentle smile and shook his head.
Louie had sighed but relented, leaving Dewey to himself. And, honestly, Dewey hadn’t really anticipated anybody seeking him out.
He jumped and tumbled off the chair he was balancing on. Storkules was quick to catch him and even gave him a broad smile. Trying to make up for whatever wrong he’s done to him, causing a stab of guilt inside Dewey’s gut.
“I- no. It’s not like that,” Dewey promised as he attempted to wiggle free, “I thought Louie had an employee meeting.”
Storkules let him go, leaning back on his heels as he continued staring at him. He looked sad, like he wanted to fix whatever wrong he did.
Dewey crossed his arms in a defensive gesture, puffing himself up even as he tried, “I’m sorry.”
“No. You shouldn’t be sorry,” Storkules reassured, a kindred soul always trying to please and it isn’t his fault that when Dewey looks at him he sees his uncle.
Dewey huffed, hoped Louie wasn’t the reason Storkules wasn’t in the meeting because that would mean Dewey was the reason Storkules wasn’t in the meeting. And it wasn’t really his fault but how could Dewey explain that without terrifying his already on edge family?
“I- did Louie tell you you couldn’t come?” Dewey changed the subject and the expression that flickered across his face told Dewey all he needed to know, “Do you want me to talk to him?”
He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d tell his brother, but he’d get him to understand that the thing going on inside Dewey wasn’t Storkules’ fault. It wasn’t Louie’s fault either. It wasn’t really anybody’s fault- at least not someone easy to blame.
“No I- he’s worried I’ve done something to you,” Storkules explained, “I’ve never seen him act protective before.”
Dewey has- have been on both the receiving end of Louie’s protective ire and the thing Louie feels the need he has to protect. It wasn’t as prominent as Huey’s could be, but it was there and just as dangerous.
“You’re fine,” Dewey promised, “It’s more of a-”
Something dark chuckled in his ear as the voice from his nightmares finished, “Family thing?”
Storkules leapt upright, body going tense as he exclaimed, “Uncle!”
Fingers grasped the back of Dewey’s neck and an electric jolt went through Dewey as the color bled from the world. Hades grinned at him before flickering his gaze towards Storkules, and something dark took over his features. Dewey shivered- felt like he’s been doing that a lot lately.
“Nephew,” Hades greeted rising to his full height and next to Storkules he didn’t look so massive.
Storkules didn’t seem to notice, eyes flickering towards Dewey before he growled, “You can’t have him, uncle. I won’t let you.”
Hades chuckled dryly as he reassured, “Relax. I’m not here to take him- at least not yet. I’m here to speak with you. Or, rather, your father.”
Storkules gave a dumb blink- body taut- as he asked, “Why?”
Hades glanced down at Dewey before explaining, “He’s cursed this child with eternal life. I need him to remove it.”
“So you can take him,” Storkules finished, voice dull and when he looked at Dewey it was like he was gazing down at a stranger.
Hades dipped his head, not the least bit remorseful; Storkules returned to himself and said, “No.”
Hades hummed disagreeably, unimpressed. Dark eyes flickered down towards Dewey, and Dewey knew that he couldn’t die but that didn’t bring him any sort of comfort. Not with both their intent gazes now baring down at him.
“Why would Zeus curse me?” Dewey asked. Change of subject.
“To irk Uncle no doubt,” Storkules told him, voice gentle and kind and it was the first time he looked at him and not try and figure out why Dewey was different because now he knew- Dewey was cursed.
Impatience flickered through Hades’ eyes as he corrected, “It was an attack on Scrooge and Donald, and he hadn’t cared which child he cursed. It just happened to have been Dewey.”
At the mention of Uncle Donald Storkules gave an uncertain expression as he asked, “Friend Donald? How is this affecting him?”
“Dewey is sick, and he isn’t going to get any better. Soon he will get so bad his body will quit, and there will be nothing any of them can do to alleviate his pain. The greatest suffering a parent can go through,” Hades explained.
Ice dropped inside Dewey’s gut. Not at the threat of something so bad happening to him, but the affect it would have on his family. Them always suffering on his behalf.
“I’ll fix it,” Storkules claimed, “and you won’t take him.”
Hades frowned, losing patience and snapped, “You don’t get it nephew! Dewey already belongs to me, and if I don’t get him soon then someone will take his place! Is that what you want nephew?”
Storkules bristled under the promise, but Dewey saw and he understood. Hades didn’t get to choose who lived and who died- he just took them. An innocent person dying in Dewey’s place wasn’t a threat. It was a fear Hades was trying to avoid.
Zeus really was a jerk.
Storkules didn’t seem to see that, thinking more with his emotions than anything else and he snapped, “You will not take anyone Uncle.”
Hades’ eyes flickered down towards him, and he must have seen that Dewey understood because the anger drained from his features. His eyes went back to being calm and cold and stoic. A professional who hated what he did.
“I will,” Hades promised, color dripping back into the world; smudging Hades’ form and blurring him out from existence.
Storkules growled even as Hades faded from Dewey’s world. Dewey blinked up at him because the recoloring of the world hadn’t stopped. It just kept blurring together, crumpling into a single ball. Dewey blinked, opened his mouth to say something- a warning, a question, it didn’t matter.
Nothing came out and when all the colors filled in with one another they turned black. An ugly black, the kind one sees when they gaze down a darkened alleyway and knew something dangerous was lurking at the end of it.
Dewey tipped over.
When he woke it was to shouting. He blinked, recognizing the bottom of his bed easily enough and Louie’s sheets were always the softest as he was picker at what he slept in. Uncle Scrooge had been a little hesitant at first, but at Uncle Donald’s Look he’d complied at spending the extra coin for Louie.
It hadn’t really been anything Dewey’s thought about before. Most of the time his sheets ended up on the floor anyways, but now- with everything sitting deathly still inside him for the first time since he was born- he could have happily curled underneath the comfort of the covers and laid there forever.
Except his brothers were yelling and from the sounds of it it was directed at Storkules who, still, hadn’t done anything wrong. He rolled over and made a pathetic sound of protest. Everyone froze and Webby, who’d been the closest, reached out to grab onto his hand.
“Dewey?” she asked, voice small and thoughtful and so very close to being terrified.
“I-” he coughed, “I’m fine.”
Webby squeezed his hand. Huey abandoned Louie’s side to come press himself against Webby’s. Louie remained where he stood, planted in between Dewey and Storkules, who looked equal parts annoyed and contrite.
“Louie,” Dewey called, meeting Storkules’ eyes and hoping he saw it as an apology for ever making his brothers doubt him.
Louie turned, face flipping from protective ire to the worried little brother that needed someone to hold him and promise that everything was going to be okay. Dewey gestured for him, and Louie took the invitation. He buried himself in Dewey’s chest, moving far quicker than any of them had anticipated. Louie had broken Webby’s grasp on him in his rush and instead of berating him on it he just folded his arms around Louie’s back.
Louie had always needed physical comfort more than either Huey or Dewey had. It was like he needed something to latch onto- a beat or warmth or some form of life. Dewey buried himself in his brother, relishing in the thought that he was still alive to offer that.
Then a dark thought crawled inside Dewey’s brain and he pushed Louie away, feeling sick. Louie blinked in surprise- never being rejected before.
“Is everything okay Dewey?” Louie asked, needing Dewey to tell him yes, everything was fine.
“No,” Dewey told him honestly, “I have a serious problem and would like to hire Louie Incorporated to fix it.”
They sat him down, like a client, and Huey got him a cup of water. That might have been an older brother thing though. Louie had asked (demanded) for Storkules to leave, and he had without another word. He had meet Dewey’s gaze on his way out, a promise there somewhere Dewey didn’t want to ponder, which prompted Louie to slam the door in his face.
Webby remained ever at Dewey’s side, having draped a blanket over Dewey’s shoulders. Like a shock blanket or something you give someone in need of warmth and comfort. Dewey sank into it, mulling over what he knew he had to do. They were protecting him, and he hadn’t even told them from what yet.
“Are you this thorough with all your clients?” Dewey teased because the mood was still tense and everybody looked stressed.
“You’re not a client,” Louie told him, “You’re my brother, and you can come to me and ask for things. You don’t have to hire me.”
“You don’t even know what’s wrong,” Dewey reminded them.
“Dewey you-”
“No. Listen. It’s dangerous. I- I’m cursed,” Dewey interrupted his brother because they deserve to know and he can’t stop them from trying to help but he wanted them far from this disaster.
The other three looked unimpressed. Dewey had anticipated that as it wasn’t the first time he’d made such an accusation. This time he knew he was cursed, some part of him probably having felt it back then as well.
“I-” Dewey started again slowly, carefully, “Before we were born Zeus had decided to hurt Uncle Scrooge, but Uncle Scrooge was too smart and clever and tough for him. He needed a weaker target. Something small and fragile. Something that wouldn’t fight back.”
Webby’s face drained of color, but his brothers still looked stubbornly in denial. Either they didn’t believe him or didn’t want to believe him. Dewey figured it was a mixture of the two.
“Then Della got pregnant with triplets, and it hadn’t mattered which of us he cursed only that one of us was. So he did and it was me.”
“Oh Dewey,” Webby sobbed, forgetting herself and drawing him in a hug.
Dewey melted in her touch. Huey came from behind, sandwiching Dewey in the middle where it was secure and safe, where nothing could touch him. Hades couldn’t touch him, though Dewey knew he very well could if he wanted.
Except he couldn’t and someone was going to get hurt in his place. Dewey didn’t know who or where or when only that he had to do something to stop it.
So he wiggled away, shook his head and said, “The curse is making me sick. Really sick and it’s only going to get worst.”
This time it was Huey’s face who lost color. He swallowed, hands gripping onto Dewey’s shoulders as the other night no doubt flashed through his vision. And for a moment Dewey had thought that Huey’s figured it out- that he was cursed with the inability to die.
But then Huey said, “You’re still recovering from the other night. You can’t afford to get any sicker.”
He could, actually, but he didn’t tell them that. At the reminder of that night Webby’s grip tightened, desperate to hold him but afraid of hurting him, and Dewey risked a glance towards Louie. Louie’s eyes were wide, pupils dilated. He was freaking out internally- going over every detail Dewey had given as he tried desperately to piece them together.
Except Dewey had left some of the key points out because he knew that if he told them then they wouldn’t help. It was why he’d said nothing when they’d kicked Storkules out because Storkules meant well but he wouldn’t keep it secret.
Louie’s brain seemed to stall to a stop, restarted and mulled over the details once more. He was looking for holes, things Dewey left out and since Dewey left several crucial things out it was important to distract his brother before he caught on.
“Yeah,” Dewey agreed, turning large doe eyes up at Huey.
Huey drew him in another hug, burying his face in the puff of Dewey’s hair. He made a soft sound, something very close to a sob, and Dewey leant into his chest. His own was tight, squeezing in reminder, and he very badly wanted to rub at it but was too scared at further frightening his family.
So he ignored it, pulled away, met Louie’s serious gaze, and said, “I want to hire Louie Incorporated to help me figure out how to break the curse.”
“You don’t- I don’t- Louie Incorporated isn’t-” Louie fumbled and Dewey knew it mustn’t be easy being told your brother was dying and that he wanted to use your company to help him fix it- especially with how much family meant to Louie.
Here in Louie Incorporated family is the greatest employees. Louie’s voice echoed inside Dewey’s skull and he shut his eyes to block out the voice. Except Dewey. He’d make a terrible employee.
Dewey hadn’t argued then and perhaps that was part of the problem. If he’d fought- given Louie a reason to think otherwise- then Louie wouldn’t feel the need to refute him, but some traitorous voice must have reminded Louie of Dewey’s self-worth issues and ever since he was trying to make it up to him. Remind him that he is loved, and that he’s fine the way he is.
“What Louie means is that you could have asked us as family,” Webby chimed in, “Not as a client or anything.”
Dewey smiled at her and admitted, “I know, but I’d like to support you guys any way I can. And I don’t have much money, but I can give you what I’ve got.”
Huey’s hand found his shoulder, squeezed. Webby’s fingers continued to crinkle the blanket draped around him Dewey kept his gaze locked onto Louie, whose face had gone blank in that way it did whenever he’s scanning the field. Playing the options and figuring out the best play. It was the thing Uncle Scrooge said would make him such a great businessman.
And Louie loved money but that hadn’t been why Dewey offered to pay. At the start everything was a bit rocky for Louie Incorporated. He couldn’t find a problem, then he couldn’t find a proper solution and in the middle of all that he didn’t know what to do with the income they received. He couldn’t pay his employees- didn’t think of what he needed to do once he solved the Harpies problem.
But Dewey believed in Louie and wanted to help. Wanted to prove to Louie that his newfound dream was worth chasing.
“I don’t want your money,” Louie snapped, and perhaps the sickness was messing with Dewey’s thoughts because Louie looked almost offended, “I’ve never asked you for money before. Why would you even begin to think-?”
Dewey closed the distance, shaking off the blanket and Huey and Webby’s hands so he could enclose his brother in a tight hug. Louie’s voice cut off, and he didn’t go to hug Dewey back.
So Dewey squeezed and whispered, “I didn’t mean it like that Lou. I just want to see you succeed.”
Louie still didn’t bring his arms around Dewey. He just sat limply in Dewey’s hug, either in shock or still mad at him. Dewey hoped that Louie wasn’t still angry at him because if they succeed then Louie will never forgive himself.
Then, finally, Louie mumbled, “I just want you to be okay.”
Dewey’s heart squeezed- nothing to do with his illness- as Hades’ face flickered in his vision. Dewey wanted to free his family from this burden Zeus inflicted on them but with it came another problem. Dewey has outlived his life- had given everyone a chance to gain a reason to miss him and he really didn’t want them mourning him.
Dewey held Louie tighter, didn’t promise that he would because he knew he wasn’t and he knew the others didn’t miss that detail. Thankfully, no one called him out on it. Louie pulled away and his eyes were wet when he blinked up at Dewey.
“You’re going to be okay Dewey,” Louie promised, “I’m going to help you, and if you want to pay me so bad then just be okay.”
Dewey tipped his head and really didn’t want to lie to his family and yet he heard himself say, “Sure Lou,” all the same.
Dewey’s heart stops two days later. Huey, Louie and Webby were off researching, leaving Dewey behind as he’d woken up and didn’t think he could move. So he’d feigned sleep and hoped they wouldn’t notice.
“Let him sleep,” Huey’s voice had said when they’d gone to ask if he wanted to join them.
Louie had paused, probably looking at Dewey’s frame and trying to figure out if he was still breathing. Dewey kept his breathing deep- not because he wanted to deceive his brothers but because his body has gone completely rigid. Everything locked up and didn’t seem to be loosening anytime soon.
So he laid there, breathing easier when Louie said, “Yeah. Okay,” the door clicking on their way out.
It couldn’t have been much longer when the door opened again, Uncle Donald’s hand folding over his forehead. Dewey blinked up at him, earning him a warm smile.
“How’re you feeling kiddo?” his uncle asked.
“Cold,” Dewey replied honestly, “and tired.”
Uncle Donald’s thumb rubbed soft circles on his forehead as he continued to stare down at him. He was thinking, and Dewey wasn’t sure he wanted to know what he was thinking about.
“I’m sure,” Uncle Donald continued in that soft soothing tone of his, “Storkules told me about Hades. You should have said something.”
“It isn’t your fault,” Dewey hurried, “It’s not anybody’s fault. Please tell me you understand that.”
“Dewey-” Uncle Donald started with that look that everybody has been giving him lately, and it jolted something buried deep inside him.
“No-” Dewey protested, scrambling upright.
A mistake, as it turned out.
Pain shot through Dewey’s chest, vision going dark just as Uncle Donald caught him with a sharp cry of his name. He woke in the hospital, tied to three machines that all beeped at different intervals. When he was younger he would have been concerned about the bills this would have accumulated. Now, with Uncle Scrooge propped at the end of his bed, he didn’t let his mind wander to those dark corners just yet.
Uncle Scrooge gave him a gentle expression as he greeted, “Welcome back lad. You gave us all quite a scare.”
Dewey didn’t have to ask what had happened. His chest was heavy, weighing everything inside him down. He’d moved too quickly, body quit under him and if it hadn’t been for his curse then that would have been it. Then again, if it hadn’t been for his curse then he wouldn’t have been sick at all.
“I’m sorry,” Dewey apologized.
Uncle Scrooge gave a deep sigh- looking ancient- as Dewey’s head began to roll against the pillow. He was fading again, but from the way the colors were draining from the world it had nothing to do with the weariness clinging to every part of him nor the illness that’s burrowed its way under his skin- rot under bark on a tree.
Whatever Uncle Scrooge was going to say in reply- whatever encouragement- froze with him. Beside him Hades sat, hat in his hands and slitted gaze staring Dewey down. He looked different. Almost angry.
Dewey didn’t move. The sound of his heart thumping mutely in the back of his skull. La blub. La blub. La blub.
“Three times now,” Hades told him in a soft tone, “Three lives you’ve taken. Three lives I must now take in your place.”
“No,” Dewey sobbed, “Please don’t. Not because of me.”
Hades shook his head, remorseful, as he replied simply, “That’s not how the world works Dewey. Everything has order, and you’ve disrupted it.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Dewey promised, “and I’m trying to fix it. I just I need more time. Then you can take me. Please.”
“I can’t,” Hades snapped, wrath clouding his expression for the first time since Dewey’s met him as he rose from his bed to bare down on him in all his icy rage.
Dewey didn’t shrink away. Didn’t have the strength, though he did flinch at Hades’ next words.
“Do you want to know the three lives I’ve been notified to take?” Hades demanded, “Hubert Duck. Llywellyn Duck. And Webbigail Vanderquack.”
And Dewey hadn’t thought that this situation could get any worse. He’d dreaded dying, sure, but losing his brothers and Webby because of something like this? Unthinkable. In that panic, he found his strength.
“No!” he screamed, scrambling from the bed.
La blub. La blub. La blub.
“You shouldn’t move kid, else you take another life,” Hades warned, face cold and unforgiving.
“No. Please,” Dewey sobbed pathetically, “Please. Me. Take me. It’s supposed to be me so do it.”
Hades raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Dewey didn’t bother wiping the tears streaming down his face- not when all he could think about was how his family was going to die because of him and this stupid curse. His heart bouncing around in his skull. La blub. La blub. La blub.
“You’ll just bounce back and another person will lose a life. Is that what you want young Dewford Duck?”
“No I won’t,” Dewey protested, then more firmly, “I won’t.”
“They’ll mourn you,” Hades promised, “They’ll curse you. They’ll hate me.”
“But they’ll be alive,” Dewey said.
Hades crossed his arms and reminded him, “That’s a bit selfish of you.”
“It’s my curse though, right. My life that deserves to be taken. Please. I don’t want anybody to die because of me.”
Dewey was begging. The noise of his heart filling up the small space. La blub. La blub. La blub. And Hades continued to stare down at him with that same apathetic expression doctors gave dying patients.
Then, “Alright.”
Hades reached out and though Dewey had been expecting it his hold was like ice. It crawled along his skin, ants biting into the soft of his flesh, and everything inside him was humming with an intensity he’s never felt before.
La blub. La blub. La blub.
His vision blurred and darkened as the color returned. He was lying back in the bed, Uncle Scrooge still looking at him. Voice speaking in a soft tone, promising him of something that will now never come.
La blub. La blub. La blub.
“Uncle Scrooge,” Dewey croaked because he wanted one person- just one- to understand. To not hate him, but the change of his voice only seemed to bring a new wave of panic underneath Uncle Scrooge’s gaze.
He rose to his feet, calling for help even as he took hold of Dewey’s hand and commanded, “Hold on laddie. Just a little longer now.”
Dewey shook his head, tears streaming down his features freely now, as he muttered, “I’m sorry Uncle Scrooge. I’m so sorry.”
La blub. La blub. La blub.
Uncle Scrooge’s grip on his hand tightened.
“Dewey? No lad. You have to hang on. A little longer you have to hang on.”
Dewey’s hand went limp, head tipping over as everything faded away.
La blub. La blub. La-
Dewey fell limp, body growing cold. The machines beside him fell silent, and his uncle jumped to his feet. Desperate to revive the boy as panic began to eat his insides.
Hades was grateful the children had been ushered out in the pretense of finding food. Dewey had been stable then, but they had still looked lost and scared and it was clear Dewey meant the world to them and if they’d known the truth- knew what was waiting for him at the end of this quest then they would have fought harder at saving him.
Now it was too late. Dewey had gone without the slightest bit of protest, waiting for him on the other side in the hope that it worked. That Hades was pacified and would leave his brothers and the girl alone.
Hades knelt in front of Scrooge, who had moved to desperately trying to revive Dewey’s heart as he screamed for help and he was a strong man. An unshakable force but this was different. This was one of his children- someone he swore to do anything for- dying and staying dead.
“I know my words don’t mean much to you,” Hades said, “but I am very sorry that this has had to happen, and maybe with time you will understand why.”
Then he was gone, leaving a flurry of nurses and doctors in his wake.
Dewey blinked and was sitting in a small room. The walls bathed in a deep green, fire burning across the room. It smelt of spice and for the first time in days Dewey wasn’t cold.
“Comfortable?” Hades’ smooth voice asked- a lot less emotional then before.
“I’m fine,” Dewey promised, “My family?”
“Are safe,” Hades reassured, “They’re being informed at the moment, and they are not going to take it well.”
Dewey felt guilt eat his insides as he bowed his head in shame and admitted, “I know.”
A hand touched his shoulder and when he looked up it was to Hades’ serious expression, “You are not to blame child. This was a great wrong performed on you many years ago.”
Dewey sniffled, “I don’t want anybody else to hurt because of me.”
“And no one will,” Hades swore, “Least of all not yourself. Now sleep child. Sleep and wake.”
Dewey blinked, and the world was shifted. Tilted on its axis as dark figures moved above him. Fluttering around like hummingbirds in the spring trying to meet a daily quota only they know of. Behind them was the sound of crying. Louie’s. Maybe Huey and Webby though their tears seemed to be more subdued.
Dewey inhaled sharply, chest tight.
“We got him back!” a voice above him shouted.
Dewey closed his eyes and wept.
Dewey woke on the fifth day of being admitted in the hospital- five days since he died. Uncle Donald was snoring on the other side of the bed, Huey having dozed off beside him. Louie remained faithfully awake.
In truth he hadn’t been getting much sleep- images of Dewey still and pale and gone running rampant in his imagination- but Dewey was alive now. He needed to focus on that and only that and at the initial exclamation that Dewey was back with the living he’d felt relief.
Then that relief turned to fear as Dewey remained ever out of their reach. Right there, small in the adult hospital bed. Unmoving and still and Louie never liked thinking of Dewey as fragile but he looked breakable amongst the white sheets. Something they were all going to have to lose all over again.
Louie fired Storkules from Louie Incorportated after Dewey’s heart had stopped the first time- when Uncle Donald had rushed him to the hospital- because Storkules had known what Dewey’s curse really was. Had known that in breaking it Dewey would die.
Except they hadn’t broken it, and Dewey kept breathing.
“Confusing, isn’t it?”
Louie’s head snapped upright, looking for the mysterious voice and instead finding Dewey’s glazed expression squinting back at him.
“Dewey,” Louie breathed, scrambling from the uncomfortable hospital chair in a rush to strangle his brother in a hug.
Uncle Donald caught him, turned to his brother and checked, “Are you feeling alright Dewey?”
Dewey’s eyes remained on Louie- like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing- as he promised, “I’m fine. How are you guys?”
Uncle Donald released a breath he’s been holding for the past five days as he set Louie back in his chair and said, “Happy that you’re alive.”
Not okay because they are legions from okay. But alive and now awake. Two checkmarks in their favor. Louie danced in his chair. Overcome with the need to touch his brother, ensure that all this was real. That Dewey was okay despite being the furthest from okay he could ever have been.
Tears welled in the corners of Dewey’s eyes, making him look smaller and younger and more fragile, as he sobbed, “I’m glad you’re all okay.”
Because of course Dewey’s been worried about them. Death had probably threatened them to get Dewey to comply, and Louie hated that he got. He’d do anything for them as well, would do anything to keep Dewey with them.
But it was hard to think straight with Dewey crying on the bed. The exhaustion of carrying the blunt of this weight to himself finally wearing him down, and Louie didn’t want to see his brother break. Was tired of watching Dewey break.
“It’s okay Dewey,” Louie reassured, “Everyone is okay. Focus on yourself.”
Dewey nodded. Smiled for real for the first time in weeks and Louie really missed that smile.
Dewey had been dead a total of three minutes- a dangerous prospect. That meant three minutes his brain was deprived of oxygen, teetering on the edge of permanent damage. After another week in the hospital and hundreds of expensive tests Uncle Scrooge didn’t turn his beak up at it was concluded Dewey had avoided anything everlasting.
Lucky, they’d called it.
Dewey thought that was understating it a bit.
The letter came addressed to Louie Incorporated exactly seven days after Dewey was cleared from the hospital. Even still Dewey didn’t do much except sleep and when he wasn’t sleeping he was with someone else. Everybody dangling to every word Dewey said without complaint, and Dewey didn’t even seem to notice. Compelled by an unseen force to spend as much time with them as they did with him.
Dying must’ve been a scary thing and, apparently, Dewey’s faced it four times. The thought made Louie’s stomach sour, but this was a different sensation then when they’d discovered Dewey’s secret quest to find out what happened to their mother. She was already gone, and it hurt Dewey hadn’t come to them.
It’d hurt a whole lot worst when Dewey had died, and after losing someone it was hard to find any anger towards them.
Dewey seemed a lot closer to himself now though, bouncing from person to person in an attempt to alleviate their fears of Dewey disappearing. Fading from existence before their eyes. Again. And even though Louie knew Dewey was reeling from this whole experience he was still ready to make everybody else better, and the world would have really been worst off without Dewey in it.
So when it came to Louie’s turn- a mere week after Dewey’s release- they’d sat on the couch and watched marathons of whatever crappy show was on. Dewey didn’t seem to mind, barely watching the thing.
“You know,” he started carefully, “you shouldn’t have fired Storkules. He hadn’t known.”
Louie crossed his arms in a pout. He didn’t want to talk about Storkules at the moment. He didn’t want to talk about much of anything save for how Dewey felt.
“He had though,” Louie reminded him, no real heat in his words.
Dewey rolled his eyes and concluded, “Okay. Yes. Technically Storkules knew the broad arrangement of my curse, but he couldn’t have known the full of it, and he’d wanted to help. I was just quicker.”
At dying went unsaid.
“And, besides, he’s a good employee. Better than I ever could have been,” Dewey joked, trying to keep the tone light.
Louie balled his hands together.
“He’s not you though,” Louie said, “and when you’d died I’d- Dewey, what did you expect us to do after that?”
Dewey blinked, shrugged. A lie.
He’d wanted them to move on. To not mourn him because the idiot was under the impression they were better off without him. Louie could kill something at the thought.
“I’m real sorry, Lou.”
Louie huffed, wrapping his arms around himself and concluded, “Please don’t be sorry. Just- it’s not your fault.”
“It’s not Storkules’ either,” Dewey reminded, prodding him with his toe.
Louie glared. Dewey stared back, smiling softly because he knows- the prick- Louie would do anything for him.
“Okay,” Louie relented, “Fine. He can have his job back. You happy?”
Dewey hugged his neck, coming from nowhere. Louie only hesitated a second before mirroring the gesture. Sinking in Dewey’s warmth, relishing in the life beating beneath his skin.
Lucky, they’d called it. Dewey had been lucky, and yet Louie’s the one who felt like he hit the metaphorical luck goldmine.
Then they’d pulled apart, and that night Louie found the letter on his pillow. The handwriting a neat cursive. Near perfect. The contents were simple yet enough to send Louie’s world screeching to another stop.
I’m sorry for what had happened. Please tell young Dewford that I do not wish to see him for some time now.
Louie flipped it over, looking for the punchline. The gag or joke or something. Anything except the cobra sitting on the page.
“What’re you have there Lou?” Huey’s voice asked.
Louie turned to him, and Huey looked miles better than he had in that hospital. If Louie hadn’t known him then he would have been able to convince himself that the past couple of days didn’t even phase his eldest brother in the slightest.
He did know Huey, though and he knew what this was going to do to him. It was much the same of what was currently happening to Louie.
Huey took the letter from his hold, read the words once. Twice. Five times before he met Louie’s gaze once more.
“Where?” he demanded; Louie could only stare at him blankly.
“Are you two okay?” Dewey’s voice asked suddenly, sneaking up on them, and he yawned and smiled and it was so weird.
For years it was like nothing could touch them- touch Dewey no matter how careless or reckless he became. Now all Louie could think was how easy it had been for death to claim him, and they’d all been right there ready to fight but it hadn’t been enough. Death still won. Death always wins.
“Whoa Lou. You’re looking a little green there,” Dewey hurried, ignoring the letter in favor of making sure Louie was okay.
Louie wobbled as Dewey guided him on the bed. He was still smiling, gentle and warm, and Louie never wanted that to go away.
“Louie?”
Louie reached up and yanked Dewey to him. He might have been crying but couldn’t be certain. The world had blurred out of focus- narrowing in on Dewey alive and whole and mostly fine with pinpoint accuracy.
And, impossibly, Dewey got it.
He didn’t need a letter or words for him to understand because, as dense as Dewey could be, when it came to them he always got it. Always understood.
“It’s okay now,” Dewey promised- really promised this time, “It’s over.”
The three of them ended up spending the night on Louie’s bed, squished around the others in an attempt to find room that wasn’t there. They were getting too big to share a single bed, but that didn’t seem to matter. They were with each other. That was all that ever really mattered to them.
The letter ended up in the trash, forgotten by morning.