Louie marched into the garage of the mansion and up to his motorcycle he jammed his hands inside his black leather jacket pocket and got out the keys. He jammed them into the ignition and swung his legs across the set.

He was about to kick up the stand and roar the engine to life when he heard someone clear their throat loudly at the doorway making him freeze and cock his head to one side.

"Where do you think you are going, young man?" Uncle Donald asked, he narrowed his eyes at his youngest nephew and crossed his arms.

"Out." Was all Louie replied as he kicked the engine to life.

Donald hated the fact that Uncle Scrooge had bought him the bike for his sixteenth birthday. It was like a death trap to him and the only reason he allowed Louie to keep it was because Louie had sworn no more family shattering schemes.

Though Donald wasn't there when Della had grounded him for using Gyro's time tub for a get rich quick scheme

Della had filled him in afterwards and since then all had been as calm as it could get from Louie. But Donald worried for him, he knew his nephew well enough to know when something is bothering him and that meant trouble wasn't far off in Donald's eyes for Louie.

Louie had never been the one to talk about his feelings, only act upon them and though its true that actions speak louder then words Donald was a bit afraid that Louie was slowly spiralling down a dark rabbit whole into another reality all together with this recent events of his brother showing up and after he departed them on such a sour note.

"Does this have anything to do with Dewey?" Donald question.

"It's always been about him" Louie replied darkly.

Donald couldn't really blame Huey or Louie for being angry with Dewey. Donald wasn't too happy with the blue clad duckling himself and often wondered where he had gone wrong with that one. If anyone would spiral out the way Dewey is he would have thought Louie would be the first to act out.

Donald's stomach twisted with quilt at the thought. He had thought he had raised all three of them better. He sighed when he saw that Louie didn't have his helment on and grabbed it from nearby.

He walked up to Louie and held it out to him. Louie blinked in surpise at the gesture but didn't complain about having to wear it as it was one of the rules for getting to keep the bike.

"Be back by ten." He tells Louie.

"Yeah, yeah." Louie replied and rolled his eyes and was about to push off when Donald grabbed the handle bars making the bike's tires squeal a bit as the engine continued to act alive.

Louie's head turned sharply at his uncle and though Donald couldn't see his eyes under the dark sunviser of the helment he knew his nephew was glaring at him. But he ignored it and forced the words out that had been bulding up inside him since the day they were born.

"Stay safe."

"Always do, Uncle Donald." Louie replied in a soft tone.

Donald Duck closed his eyes and slowly let go of the handle bars. He didn't open them until he heard the tires squealing as Louie shot out of the opened garage door like a bullet from a gun no hesitating to hit anyone or anything in its path...

That thought made Donald shudder. He hadn't always been the one to think dark stuff like that of his nephews, but times had changed, things were so different now...

He took a deep breath and whispered into the darkness as he watched the small dot that was Louie get further and further away from him.

"Please, come back home safely."

He felt a lump form in his throat as he thought of Dewey before adding -.

"All of you."

Dewey slowly backed away from the figure in front of him. He had known who the voice had belonged to the moment it spoke and the way he said his name.

It sent shivers down his spine and then his heart skipped a beat when his fear was confirmed.

"Jenkins." Dewey growled. "What do you want?" He asked with a snarl.

Timothy just snickerd at him.

The way Timothy just stood there staring at him not saying a word made Dewey uneasy.

"I just thought you ought to know..." Timothy finally began then stopped.

Dewey stared at him and waited. He had a feeling that Timothy was stalling him but didn't have a clue why. Louie would have figured him out right then and there better then Dewey ever could, and Dewey felt a stab of guilt at the thought of his baby brother. The words he said to him echoed in his ears.

"I knew it! I knew we couldn't trust him again!"

Dewey's left eye twitched as his brothers words continued to scream in his ears.

"It was I who wanted to see you rot in jail, Dewey!"

"Who is he?"

"I can't tell you."

"Then we're done."

Dewey blinked then looked back at Timothy who was still standing a few feet away still with that stupid smirk on his face.

Dewey rolled his eyes. He was fed up with waiting on him to finish what he was going to say.

Why did he even bother?

Dewey threw his arms up in irritation then turned away away from him. He was about to start running when -.

"I know who killed Agent 22." He said.

Dewey whirled back around and narrowed his eyes at him.

"What?" He asked, not yet processing his arch nemesis's words at first. Then when they did finally sunk in Dewey's face grew dark and he asked in a calm and collective voice. "How do you know who killed Agent 22?"

Dewey didn't dare say Mrs. Beakly's real name while discussing her agent one.

Protocol 101 : Never revel your true agent name to anyone who you wouldn't trust with you life.

Dewey differently didn't trust Timothy with his.

"Because I now work for S.H.U.S.H." Timothy answered him as if it were obvious.

Dewey blinked in surprise.

"Really?" He asked.

"Really. Dewford, and I know all about you and dear Webbigail." He told him.

Dewey glared at him.

"And what, may I ask what you think you know about me and Webby?" Dewey asked.

"That she was ordered to kill you, and you were ordered by F.O.W.L to kill her." Timothy answered.

"How'd you -." Dewey asked, anger rising in his voice.

His arms that had fallen by his side just minutes before felt suddely frozen in place, but , at least he was still able to clinch his hands into fists.

"S.H.U.S.H agent now, remember? Top field agent sure does have its privileges and that means information that's classified from other agents."

Dewey snorted.

"Top field agent?" He asked. "How long did that take? A month? A year?"

"Three weeks." Timothy answerd.

Dewey gaped at him.

Three weeks?

Three weeks?

Even with Mrs. Beakly she had told them it had taken her months, years even to get to where she had been.

How could Timothy be top ranked as her in just three weeks?

Timothy stared at Dewey's stunned face then he snorted which suddenly turned into uncontrollable laughter that made Dewey's fingers dig even dipper into his palms as he continued to glare at him.

He waited impatiently for him to finish with his little laughing fit and when he finally did he wiped a tear from his eye and inhaled deeply before speaking again.

"Yes. Dear Dewford and I have also been assingned my first top agent mission just this morning." He told him.

"What mission is that, Timothy?" Dewey asked in a tired voice.

So this was it.

This was the whole reason why Timothy stopped him, to tell him personally about this mission he had been givien and taunting him had never been enough for Timothy.

He loathed Dewey, and Dewey loathed him.

"Must be some mission to be telling me, a F.O.W.L agent, about." Dewey snickered but it slowly faded from his face when he noticed the sly smile slowly begin to form on Timothy's chubby pig-like face and the gleam in his hazel brown eyes.

"Oh, it is, Dewford. It is." He agreed.

Silence then because Dewey knew what Timothy was waiting for he asked,

"What is this mission of yours. Jenkins?"

"If dear, sweet, Webbigail -." He began.

A low growl escaped from Dewey's throat. He didn't like how he kept mentioning Webby's name. It rubbed him the wrong way.

"Can't preform the task set for her by the orginization, then," He continued and walked up rather swiflty to Dewey so close that their noses touched.

"I will." He finished.

Dewey felt the blood drain from his face, he felt dizzy and blinked hard as tiny dots started to form in front of his eyes. He inhaled sharply and suddenly found it hard for him to breath.

Dewey knew Timothy almost as well as he knew himself. He heard the unspoken rest of the sentence that Timothy knew Dewey had read.

I won't hesitate to do the same to Webbigail.

All because of HIM!

Questions swarmed in his mind then.

Could Timothy be the traitor?

If he was, then why mention the fact that he knew who killed Mrs. Beakly to him? He's just be incriminating himself to him.

Dewey shooked his head.

No.

He can't be the killer. It wouldn't be that simple, that easy.

Not with Dewey's luck.

Timothy chuckeled with amusement and slowly lifted his hand to Dewey's cheek and patted it softly making Dewey flinch.

"Be good, Dewford. I look foward to our next encounter." He said and his hand fell to his side.

Dewey opened his mouth. He wanted to ask Timothy who had killed Mrs. Beakly, but no sound came out.

He felt numb as he watched his arch nemesis walk away whistling a merry tune. After Timothy was long gone and the first few drops of rain fell on the top of his head that was when he fell to his knees, buried his head in his hands and started to cry.