Stars had started coming out against the deepening blue of the late evening sky. The images of constellations were easy to pick out with the low amount of light pollution. Unfortunately, it was that same lack of light that was hindering their progress. Plus, Louie was exhausted. Between the lack of sleep, the walking, and the death defying trip down a cliff, he was beginning to wonder if they would ever find the tower Huey had seen.
They were another stumble away from stopping for the night, when they finally found the structure. It wasn't much; four metal poles stretching upwards to connect a series of power lines. What was so fantastically breathtaking about them, however, was the single line that ran down to a small cabin with a single bulb lit over the front entrance. It beckoned them forward and they happily complied, knocking furiously at the wooden door.
"I don't think anyone's home." Louie finally offered after their call went unanswered. They tried the knob and found it locked, but after some close inspection and a search for the right tools, Louie had it swinging open.
"That's right!" Huey exclaimed. "We were in such a hurry before, I forgot to ask where you learned to pick locks.
Louie simply grinned at his brothers. It was a secret he and Uncle Scrooge had been toying with. One never knew when a treasure chest might need some encouragement. Now felt as good a time as any to fill his brothers in. "I asked Uncle Scrooge to teach me. You know… for treasure purposes."
The others shook their heads, grins plastered on their face as they stepped inside. The house was filled with the odds and ends one would expect in the living area. A sofa, coffee tables, television, and shelves of knickknacks and photos made the room seem homey and only served to make them long for their own home.
"See if you guys can find an address, some mail or something." Huey instructed, Louie taking off towards what looked like a kitchen. "I'll find the phone and call Uncle Donald."
Louie felt the pinpricks of moisture form at the corners of his eyes at the mention of their uncle. He was letting everything catch up to him even before they could contact the duck who had raised them and he understood how dangerous that could be. They weren't safe yet. They just had the resources to finally talk to their family.
The kitchen was a cluttered array of pots and pans, groceries strewn about as if someone hadn't felt like putting them away. And a stack of what he was looking for rested just next to a box of cereal. Louie quickly stepped over and grabbed the top envelope, reading the address. He checked a few others just to confirm they were the same before heading back to the living room.
He stopped dead in his tracks in the doorway, his eyes locked on the name above the address.
"Uncle Donald!" Huey's excited cry alerted the others that their uncle had answered. "We're okay. We found a house- yes, we're- Louie's hurt, but I think he'll be alright." His eyes found Louie, still standing with the letter in his hand. "Hang on, we're trying to find an address. Louie?"
He couldn't find his voice fast enough, resorting to waving Dewey over as he rushed to Huey's side. "Look who lives here." The words came out a hushed whisper.
They both read the name, their eyes going wide. Huey hesitated a second before giving their uncle the address. "Hurry, this place belongs to Ma Beagle."
As if the mere mentioning of the matriarch's name could summon her children, the trio heard the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway. The eldest alerted their uncle to the new development before hanging up. Hiding seemed the most logical option at the moment, but where? Louie knew how to find small places to tuck himself into, a skill gained from playing hide-and-seek on a houseboat, but that came from years of living on it. They'd just come into this house. Everything seemed too open, too readily checked by the cabins usual inhabitants.
There was no more time to think as he grabbed his brother's hands, wincing at the pull in his left side as they ran back into the kitchen. He was correct in remembering a back door, but his eyes were set on the pantry. If the food left on the counters was any indicator, these guys wouldn't be opening the door any time soon.
Louie was grateful for his brothers' willingness to follow his plan, scrambling under the lower shelf as Dewey closed the door.
He suddenly hated the space as Huey found his sleeve, gripping the material like a lifeline in the dark. It was like being in those boxes again, the only difference being they were together this time. Another arm wrapped around his shoulders as Dewey found a spot on his other side, the three of them trying to be a small as possible. They just needed to stay safe until their uncles got there.
OoOoOoO
Donald couldn't sit still as the car sped over the mountain roads, Beakley following the instructions that would lead them to the boys. They'd spent the day following the falcon until he could show them the river where he'd lost the kids. After that, they'd set out on their own trek, looking for the most likely places the boys could have gotten out. He refused to think they hadn't. He'd received the call on their way back to the car and had answered solely on reflex, not expecting the excited voice on the other end.
He let his eyes fall closed, trying to calm the anxiety of knowing where his boys were and the understanding that they were not out of danger. Images flashed through his mind, little ducklings crawling through the houseboat, desperate to explore their home. Donald had practically stood on his head to ensure nothing would happen to them. Yet, here he was, tracking them down to the home of the family that had taken them. Had hurt them. Huey's warning that Louie had been injured still blared in his mind and anger flared.
A hand caught his arm and he turned to face his uncle, a determined look on the older duck's face. "Save that for when we get there, lad."
Donald glanced down at his hands and realized they were clenched tight, fists shaking with the rage that had taken over. In the recesses of his mind, he knew the reason to calm down. He needed to conserve his energy for the villains, but for the life of him he couldn't. His imagination was driving through every possibility of what could have happened to the youngest duck.
"You'll be of no use to them if you burn out too soon. Deep breaths." Scrooge soothed, his own voice tight with underlying anger.
Complying with the instruction, Donald took in a steadying breath and let it out. With each intake, his head began to clear. "Sorry."
"Nae, you've every right." The elder duck turned back to watch the road. "Just remember to save some for the rest of us." Donald caught the sharp smile and knew they would be bringing his boys home if it was the last thing they did.
OoOoOoO
The pantry was cramped and smelled of mildew and rotten onions, but Dewey found the darkness comforting as feet shuffled over the living room floor. They could hear deep voices, angry as they moved through the room.
"Seven hours and you still can't find them. Unbelievable!" The voice belonged to a male, the accent familiar, but he couldn't place it. It wasn't Graves, though. That voice was burned into his memory.
"I told you." A small squeak fell from Louie's mouth at the falcon's response. "That river could have taken them miles from where they fell in. They're either lost or dead and I seriously suspect the latter."
Good. Let him think they're dead. It just meant they'll stop looking and all he and his brothers would have to do is wait for their uncles.
The first voice rose with anger. "Well, for your sake, we better find them! Kidnappin' and murder are pretty serious charges!"
"Is that a threat?" Graves' voice was low with warning.
Silence followed, broken only by the slow movement of feet. It was hard to tell how many were in the room, but whoever it was suggesting Graves would go down for their abduction must be pretty intimidating. The thought of getting caught and having to fight anyone bigger than the falcon seemed impossible a task.
And with dread growing in his gut, he realized that's what his uncles would be running into. Could they handle the villains?
Another voice broke the silence, deeper than the others. "Let's calm down. We got some of Scrooge's money. Maybe we call it quits and try something else?"
"Can it, Bouncer." The first voice growled and Dewey realized why he recognized it. Of course, it was the Beagle Boys. That was a plus in their favor. Uncle Scrooge had been dealing with them for years. Graves was the one to worry about now.
Before anything else could happen, they heard the scrape of tires digging through the dirt as a vehicle came to a stop. The middle child's heart beat so loud he thought the group outside might hear it, but his fears were shoved away as the criminals in the living room focused on the new arrivals.
"Is that-" Bigtime sounded shocked. "How did they find this place?"
Beside him, Louie pulled both brothers closer and he could feel the relief radiating from the youngest. Dewey felt the smile draw across his face at the confirmation that help had arrived.
"I'm out. No point getting money from the duck if he finds out his kids are gone." Graves' footsteps entered the kitchen, clicking over the linoleum as he made his way towards the rear exit. The trio held their breath, expecting any sound they made to be picked up by the bird. What happened, sent them clamping their hands over their beaks to keep from screaming.
The pantry door opened. For a second, it was as if time simply stopped, the boys willing themselves to melt into the shadows. Something shifted above as Graves rummaged through the storage space. Why couldn't he have just left! Dewey's mind was screaming. A second later, when a duffle bag hit the floor, he realized the hitman was collecting the rest of his payment, stacks of cash poking out of the unzipped bag.
The door began to close again, the three holding their breath, lungs aching for the latch to snap. It didn't. Instead, the door stopped, slowly opening with an eerie creak of unused hinges.
"Well, would you look at that." Dewey wanted to scream, wanted to do anything that would have stopped the large hand from reaching in and grabbing hold of green fabric. Instead, he launched himself at the arm clinging to it as Graves dragged him and Louie from their hiding spot. Kicking out blindly, he was rewarded with a huff of annoyance as his foot connected with the falcon's gut.
"Let go!" He heard Huey's angered cry as his brother jumped forward, tackling the larger form's leg and sending them crashing to the floor. A loud clattering sounded from the front of the house, but Dewey was too busy trying to pry the fingers away from Louie's shirt. He stopped as he felt Graves' other hand grab his arm, yanking him away from his brother.
Louie's eyes were wide, hands scrambling at the fist, pain evident in his face as Graves stood, pushing him against the floor. Dewey felt sick as the grip on his arm tightened and he was swung in an arc, landing against Huey as he got to his feet. The two of them crumpled into a pile against the wall, spots dancing across the middle duck's eyes with the impact.
"The three of you are nothing but trouble." Graves growled, tucking Louie under his arm before bending to pick up the bag of money. "One of you should be more than enough."
As the implication of the larger bird's words began to sink in, the kitchen door to the outside burst open, slamming into the wall. Dewey could just make out the webbed feet and black sailor shirt before Graves spun.
"Get away from my boys!" Donald spat, charging forward and leaping into the startled falcon's chest. The two brothers scrambled out of the way, the bird crashing to the floor with their uncle standing on top of him. Louie had been sent flying, letting out a pained cry as he landed. They were by his side the moment they found their footing, covering him as they waited for the fight to begin.
But it didn't. Instead, they felt gentle hands rest on their heads and quickly turned to see Uncle Donald bending over them. Behind him, Graves lay motionless, a hole in the drywall where the back of his head had connected.
Dewey felt hot tears well up and tumble down his cheeks as he fell forward wrapping his arms around their uncle, realizing the crisis was over. He was aware of Huey doing the same next to him.
"Beakley's got that lot taken care of." Scrooge's voice sounded from the entryway to the living room. "Oh, good! Ye found them."
Dewey heard the shuffle of feet and a low, garbled curse as he suspected his great-uncle passed the downed falcon. There was the light brush of fingers over the feathers on his head before the elder duck's attention moved to Louie.
"Easy, lad." Dewey watched as Scrooge gently rolled his brother onto his back, taking note of his brother's face, eyes tight against the pain induced by the fall. "Can ye tell me what hurts?"
An eyelid peeled back, a tear falling free as he sucked in a shuddering breath. Instead of speaking, his right hand crossed over his chest, touching his left arm with shaking fingers.
Uncle Scrooge nodded, taking the left hand and slowly laying it over Louie's stomach, the right hand holding the arm in place. "Hold this here. It's goin' to hurt, but I'll try to be gentle, alright?"
Dewey watched the hesitant nod, his brother letting out a sob as he was lifted into the older duck's arms. They were out of the cabin and on their way to the closest hospital within minutes, Beakley happy to push the speed limits for the family. He kept his eyes glued to his brother, now sleeping against their great-uncle and felt Donald pull him closer. They were finally safe, but he couldn't relax. Not until they were home.
A hand found his from the other side of their uncle and he turned to see Huey's tired gaze, a gentle smile on his face as he fought the urge to fall asleep. Dewey gave the hand a reassuring squeeze, the burden in his heart lifting slightly. He settled into his uncle's side and let his mind drift, his eyes slowly drooping closed as the drone of the car lulled him to sleep.
OoOoOoO
Epilogue
Louie's arm itched. Really, seriously itched and the movie he was watching did little to distract him from that fact. He let out a frustrated groan, pulling the attention of his brothers and Webby sitting next to him. They offered a sympathetic smile before turning back to the screen.
"Need anything?" Huey had been the first to ask whenever it seemed Louie was in distress. It was his way of keeping his brother safe after he'd come out of surgery with the cast covering his broken arm. Too bad he couldn't actually remove it for another four weeks.
"A hacksaw." He answered dryly before adding, "But I'll settle for another can of Pep."
Huey grinned, shaking his head as he jumped off the couch and headed to the kitchen. Beside him, Dewey grabbed one of the lopsided pillows and gently wedged it back under the cast. That seemed to lessen the twitch, helping him relax further into the cushions. A moment later, the sharp sound of the can opening alerted him to his brother's return, Huey handing him the freshly opened can before climbing back up, wedging himself between Webby and his little brother.
Louie hid a content smile with a sip of the soda, returning his attention to the movie. Even though it had already been a few weeks since their ordeal, he still found his brothers' presence comforting. Even Webby's overwhelming attachment to the trio was welcomed. This was his family and no matter what happened, they would keep each other safe.
Louie wouldn't trade it for all the gold in the world.
OoOoOoO
The movie's menu was playing on repeat when Donald entered the room to find his nephews. He turned off the television before stepping back to regard the group on the couch.
It wasn't necessarily a large sofa, images of his boys sprawled across it popping to the front of his mind. They liked their space, but looking at them now, one wouldn't know it. Dewey had a stack of pillows resting on his lap, propping Louie's scribbled-on cast in as comfortable a position as possible. The youngest duck's head lay on his middle brother's shoulder, both letting out soft snores. Huey was pressed against Louie's right side, a blanket covering them and Webby had curled up next to the eldest, her grappling gun tucked neatly under a pillow.
"Hard to think we almost lost them." The whispered words sounded next to Donald as his uncle entered the room, his cane sending a soft tap on the floor as he stopped to regard the young ducks on the couch.
"It shouldn't have happened." Donald knew this was an old conversation, but he couldn't help the anger and guilt that came with knowing he couldn't protect them. Not all the time, anyway.
For his part, Scrooge didn't bristle at the dig. Instead, he sighed and produced a folded page. "I might've looked into that." Donald took the paper and opened it. Gyro's handwriting was the first thing he noticed, turning his gut slightly. The next, he saw the outline of a capsule, the words 'Subcutaneous Tracking Device' printed over it. "Nothing's functional yet, but I thought the idea warranted some research."
"A lot of research." The younger duck emphasized. The idea seemed to fit his needs, but he didn't like the idea of putting something in his boys if it could cause any kind of harm.
"I'll keep ye updated." Scrooge grinned, all too familiar with his scientist's reputation. "For now, we'll do our best."
The older ducks gave the small pile on the couch one last look before leaving them to their nap, content in the knowledge that they were home and safe.
OooooOOOOooooO
All done! Really hope you all have enjoyed this story! I've grown to love Falcon Graves as a dark villain! He can just be so intensely menacing when I need him to be!
Also, love the boys and how much they care about each other! I want more of that in the show!
Thanks so much to everyone who has left comments and kudos! I really appreciate the support! Hope to continue writing for this fandom!
Love yall!