I was inspired to write this story, specifically this chapter, by an awesome story called Time Flies (Back) When You're (Not) Having Fun by Akozu Heiwa. Everyone should read it, I love it so much.

I once again failed in writing Scrooge and Webby, but I have the solution for that, too! If you're looking for some good characterization of Scrooge and Webby and Duckworth you've got to check out The Phantom of McDuck Manor by Lena de Strange, which is a brand new super fluffy story with a surprising, delicious ounce of angst.

I genuinely think this chapter is sadder than the first one, maybe I'm wrong. I'm working really hard to make these chapters and these deaths different. So far I've planned out seven chapters for this story, but I'll explain that more next chapter.

Enjoy!

Chapter 2- Dewey

You never expect it to happen, and when it does you're crippled by wondering why. You can't help thinking that you should have done something, should have caught him when he fell. Della was still in shock, still in terrible, painful denial, even though she'd been the one to agree.

They had been on an adventure, scaling new heights as a family, searching for treasure, of course. That had been her first mistake, she'd agreed to let the kids go, even though she knew it would be dangerous. She'd never thought it would be too much. Everyone had wanted a break except for Dewey. Dewey had begged her to go on ahead and she'd agreed. Dewey had gotten his break anyway, every bone in his body. When the landslide started, her excitable, adventurous middle son had gotten swept up in it. He alone had gone on ahead, so he alone was crushed by the rubble and the snow. He was still alive when they got him out, alive but unresponsive when the emergency helicopter arrived. Alive but slowly shutting down when they got him to the hospital. Alive but gone when the doctors told Della that he would never wake up. Alive but not when they asked her if she wanted to take him off life support. And she agreed.

She was still sitting in the hospital waiting room long after the time of death, she hadn't cried yet but her spirit was broken. His last words rang in her mind. She'd said he could go on ahead and he'd looked back, for just a second, calling out, "Thanks, mom!"

She'd just pulled the plug, she'd just ended his life, "Thanks, mom!"

There was no way she could go home that night. Not to face what remained when this was all her fault. All her fault for agreeing. She kept picturing his body, crushed and mangled by nature.

"Thanks, mom!"

Donald had been angry at first. He'd gone home with Huey and Louie, attempting to comfort them and convince them that everything would be okay. Louie was still crying, quieter than when he'd started. Huey couldn't stop fiddling with his hat, muttering apologies for something that he wasn't remotely at fault for. When Della had called, not crying but sounding painfully close, to explain her decision, Donald had been righteously angry. Just for a few seconds, he was overcome with anger. It shouldn't have been her choice to make, it should have been Dewey's. But the longer he thought about it the more he understood that this was the choice that Dewey would have made. Della had been forced to see the life crushed out of her little boy. Forced to hear that a machine was the only thing keeping him alive. And someone as vibrant and full of life as Dewey wouldn't want their life to be lived by a machine. There was silence on both ends of the phone call before Donald hung up. His heart broke with a truth too hard to bear.

"Is Dewey okay?" Louie asked. Donald could barely keep himself from breaking down as he glanced at his youngest nephew.

"Everything is going to be okay," Donald said quietly, holding his boys close while Huey continued to whisper apologies. Donald repeated the lie until they were in bed, then he left to find his sister.

The waiting room seemed very dark to both of them. It was actually well lit with fluorescents and far from being quiet and empty, but Donald and Della sat in solitary silence. Occasionally, one of them would glance at the other. For about an hour they just sat in silence, like they were waiting for the doctor to come out and say that they'd been wrong about Dewey. Or perhaps they were just waiting to have the strength to talk to each other. Donald didn't know how to express his grief, his anger, or his forgiveness. Della didn't know how to express her guilt, her pain, or her delusions. Finally, Donald landed on something he could say without a lump forming in his throat.

"They need you at home."

"Have you told them yet?" Did they know that she'd killed him?

"I couldn't do it."

"Then we'll do it together," Della said, her voice cracking from shame. They walked out of the waiting room, silence so close and so easy to hold. Donald had a lot he wanted to say but the words vanished on his tongue. Della wanted to explain how sorry she was but her brain and her mouth were disconnected. More than anything, she wanted to cry. She hadn't cried yet.

"The boys are in bed," Donald said as they got in his car, "We'll tell them tomorrow."

But the boys were not in bed when Della and Donald made it back to the house. Huey and Louie had perched by the door, half asleep and clinging to each other. In their hearts, they had grieved the loss of their brother already because in their hearts they knew. But when the door opened, Louie startled awake, staring up at Donald and Della expectantly, waiting for good news.

"Is Dewey going to be okay?" Huey asked, holding onto his brother to keep them both from falling. They needed to hear that everything was going to be okay. Della lowered herself to meet them in a hug that they readily fell into. She held them close for as long as she could until she had to tell them the truth.

"Dewey didn't make it, I'm so sorry…"

"No, you're lying, Uncle Donald said that he'd be okay!" Louie struggled against the embrace.

"Louie," Donald said gently, "I'm so sorry. We're not lying to you right now."

"Then you were lying before," Huey inferred, "when you said he'd be okay and when you said it wasn't my fault!" Denial, anger, and sadness mixed and melted, bubbling like lava about to explode. Both boys had pulled away now, not even reaching for each other.

"Huey, it wasn't your fault, baby… I know you feel so grown up all the time and carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, but sometimes things happen," Della said gently, reaching for him. Huey took a step back.

"No, there has to be someone to blame," Huey insisted. Della opened her mouth.

"Della, don't. It's too soon," Donald warned, but nothing could stop Della Duck.

"If you need someone to blame, Huey, blame me. Dewey would have lived the rest of his life in a coma but I chose to take him off life support.

Tears stung Louie's eyes, "No…"

"I'm sorry," Della said quietly, reaching to hold them. Louie jerked away.

"No, no, no no! Don't touch me!"

"You killed him!" Huey accused, blame falling off of his shoulders and latching onto her. Della's heart broke at the words she already felt and she glanced away.

"Don't talk to your mother like that," Donald defended her, though he knew how Huey was feeling, "She had to make an incredibly hard choice tonight. We're all mourning, Huey."

"If it was such a hard choice then she shouldn't have made it tonight! People do dumb stuff when they're emotionally over-stimulated!" In the midst of the shouting match, none of them saw Louie leave. Della was the first to notice.

"Where's Louie?!" She spun frantically, searching for her little boy.

"Where is he?! She'd been holding off a breakdown all evening, now it burst forth. They tore the house apart, searching before they moved outside.

Huey was furious, his burning temper keeping him warm as they headed into the chilly night. They had killed Dewey. They had killed Dewey and driven Louie away. Huey felt so angry and so unbelievably alone.

Della had started to cry. Sobs entered her screams as she called out for her son, "Louie, please! Louie, I'm so sorry! Please come home!"

Donald's worry outweighed his compassion, "Shut up!" He hissed at his sister, "Listen. We should be able to hear him." They went quiet for a few minutes, wandering through Scrooge's property. It became more like a labyrinth as they moved in the dark, listening for Louie.

"What if he's gone?" Della finally ventured. Donald refused to answer.

Huey did not, "If Louie disappears, so will I." He could hardly imagine being one of two. If he was alone he wouldn't make it.

"We're going to find Louie," Donald snapped, and they pushed forward in silence.

Donald had been right about being able to hear Louie when they got close. Louie lay, curled up on his side in the dirt, sobbing into his hood. Louie basically only put his hood up when he was at his lowest points. Della, Donald, and Huey exchanged a look, trying to decide which one of them was the best ambassador to reach Louie. Finally, Huey stepped forward, falling down on his knees next to Louie and putting a hand on his shoulder. Louie felt cold.

"Louie?" Huey's voice failed as he whispered, all the things he could have said feeling wrong in this time and space. So he could have said feeling wrong in this space and time. So he just doubled over and joined his brother in sobs. They clung to each other, not noticing Della and Donald approach.

"Boys, you don't have to forgive me just yet, you can take all the time you need to grieve, alone or together. But I need you to know that we care about both of you, we love you, and we're always going to take care of you," Della said, her eyes red from her own sobs. She offered her arms but understood if they weren't ready to trust her again.

"I don't know that you won't let me fall," Louie said quietly. Della's heart ached.

"As long as I am able, I won't let go." Della wanted to smother them in love and protection, giving them space after causing Dewey's death would be incredibly hard.

Louie glanced at his brother, still trembling and warm from hurt and anger. Then, leaving his brother, he walked over to her in silence, not stating forgiveness or trust, simply tired and cold and able to recognize that they all had lost Dewey. He rested his head against her and she hugged him.

"I'm so sorry, Louie."

"I've heard enough apologies tonight. Apologies won't bring Dewey back," Louie looked down at his feet, then over at Huey. He held out his hand to his older brother, "But that's okay because Dewey wouldn't have wanted death without dying."

Huey gravitated towards his brother, grabbing on to Louie's hand. He didn't look at Della. He couldn't yet. But there was some truth to Louie's words. Dewey would rather live on in their memories than live the rest of his life in a mechanical coffin. It just didn't make that an easier pill to swallow. Forgiveness could come later, healing could come later. Right now they would just go home and keep Dewey alive the way he would have agreed to.