Dewey was keeping a secret.
Again.
This time, it wasn't some shocking revelation regarding his missing mother. He wished it were that extraordinary.
He'd take anything extraordinary over what he was feeling right now.
It had been weeks since the battle against Magica had ended. From that time on, Uncle Scrooge and Donald had been much more willing to impart their tales about their and Della's early adventures. He and his siblings had eagerly soaked up every second of it.
No matter how many stories were told, they couldn't balance out the nightmares the kids had.
Louie, during the first few days after the battle, had woken up multiple times in tears and gasping for breath. The dream was always the same: that his shadow had come to life again and was strangling him, as it had when they were attacked on the Bin's stairwell. It wasn't hard to deduce how he flinched and backed up against a wall whenever he saw his shadow behind him. Louie had been keeping himself in literal darkness much more often, still keeping regular contact with the rest of the family, but he avoided all the brightly lit rooms. That worried Dewey more than anything.
What's more, Dewey noted, the nightmares appeared to be contagious.
Huey had a different reaction entirely from Louie. He insisted he was fine with sleeping on the floor of their room now instead of in the top bunk. From what Dewey could tell, Huey didn't have any nightmares, but Dewey glimpsed a visible twitch as Huey refrained from looking out from the Sunchaser's windows or any high structure they were standing on. If he looked below, even for a second, his breathing would increase and he'd shut his eyes until he managed to calm himself down. It was as though he was reliving the moment when the Bin's diving board exploded.
As a matter of fact, all four siblings declined from visiting the Bin when Scrooge made the offer. He accepted their refusal with a sad, understanding smile and, thankfully, didn't make the offer again.
Webby was trying to be cheerful, but they could all see through it. Her speech had been replaced by melancholy instead of its usual bubbly nature and she, more often than not, twisted her friendship bracelet in her hands. The few people she spoke to these past few weeks were either Mrs. Beakley, Donald or Dewey himself. Whenever Scrooge came into a room, she quickly exited, making up excuses that nobody bought but didn't question. She was the most bold of the four of them, but now she avoided everyone's gaze, not that they failed to notice the tears trailing down her cheeks. During those instances, the boys were careful to omit Lena's name.
Dewey's heart was heavy for all of them, including himself. They were all traumatized in some way, but none of them were talking about it.
There would be no further episodes of Dewey Dew-Night, he promised himself, not until he felt better. He could only guess when that might be.
He spent the past few weeks feigning sleep when it claimed Huey and Louie. He chose to spend the time wandering around the mansion instead. Occasionally he'd stumble into one of the guest bedrooms or to Webby's loft, where he knew she was being equally restless. Wherever he went, he always ended up in the same position: weeping quietly with crossed arms into his knees.
He didn't want to sleep. He was exhausted, but sleeping meant tossing and turning. Sleeping meant waking up in a cold sweat. Sleeping meant recurring nightmares and troubling memories that he just did not want to deal with.
He didn't want to see himself and his siblings attacked by their shadows on the stairs and in Scrooge's office.
He didn't want to almost fall to his death from the broken diving board.
He didn't want to be rammed into Webby, knowing that their doom was coming in a streak of purple light.
He didn't want to see Lena obliterated into nothingness by Magica time and time again, while he and Webby sat in bruised and paralyzed fear.
He didn't want Webby and himself to be consumed by the rage and grief that followed Lena's demise.
He didn't want Magica targeting him and almost killing him, for the third time, while he had the dime in his possession.
Most of all, he didn't want to be afraid.
But he couldn't change it. Because all of it had already happened.
So tonight, instead of wandering the mansion or stopping by Webby's room, he decided to make his way over to the houseboat. It was chilly outside, but he was thankful for the cloud cover hiding his shadow. He didn't know what time of night it was, but he noticed the lights inside were shining brightly.
Uncle Donald wasn't usually awake this late, so he was either working on some last minute repairs or…
He had a visitor.
He peeked inside, and as soon as he saw the bracelet, he knew.
"Dewey?" he heard two voices overlap.
"What are you doing here?" Donald asked.
"I…" Dewey almost said. Webby hiccuped. He looked over at her and she grinned unsteadily, before looking down at her bracelet. "You know, just grabbing a midnight snack, thought I'd take a swim in the pool…" It was a terrible lie. He trailed off at Donald's raised eyebrow and said lamely, "I couldn't sleep."
Donald looked from him to Webby and back. "The shadow battle?" he inquired in his usual rasp.
Dewey gripped his right arm tightly. "Yeah," he said. "I've been having nightmares, Uncle Donald. I'm tired beyond anything, but if I sleep…" he trailed off again.
Donald nodded in understanding.
"You're not alone there, Dewey. I keep seeing Lena being destroyed," Webby said, a tremor in her voice. "No matter how hard I try to stop Magica in my dreams, I can never...never get to her in time..." She started crying, shaking in her seat, "She saved us, but I couldn't save her...I couldn't save her...I couldn't save her..." Dewey's heart wrenched at Webby's litany and he immediately gripped her in a tight hug. She matched his grip, sobbing into his shoulder. "Will we ever be okay?" she managed to whisper.
"Yes, you will," Donald argued. They turned to him, startled by his proximity. "Webby, if it wasn't for you, Beakley and Launchpad, the boys and I would have already been in Cape Suzette and Scrooge would still be stuck in the dime. Your guilt trip was exactly what we needed. We're the McDuck family. We survived Magica de Spell and her army, and we will get through this, too. Now come on, I'll give you both something to help you sleep."
"Pills?" Webby asked.
"No drugs. Just an herbal supplement called melatonin. It helps with my insomnia." He grabbed a plastic jar from the cupboard.
Dewey wasn't even aware that his uncle had his own problems sleeping. He felt worse now that he knew. Had the nightmares been more contagious than he realized?
His guilt must have been showing, because his uncle looked at him and said, "You had no way to know about that, Dewey." He paused, then continued, "I haven't slept well ever since Della...left. But right now you need this more than I do." He shook the jar and gave what looked like gummies to each of them.
"This is melawhatsit?"
Donald rolled his eyes. "Melatonin. Yes, it's gummy form. If it helps me, it should help you too. Just remember to chew it, not swallow it."
He and Webby each popped it in their beaks, chewing as recommended, then they gagged slightly. Webby gave Donald another shaky grin. "It's definitely an acquired taste," she stated.
"You'll get used to it eventually. If not, your grandmother and I will work on setting up a regular dose of sleep aids for the four of you. I know Huey and Louie have also had bad dreams lately."
"You knew?" Dewey asked, then yawned.
Donald simply raised another eyebrow. "It's hardly been a secret, Dewey. Besides, I'm your uncle. I don't have to get paid to be observant in watching over my kids. It's time both of you got some sleep. You can share the bed tonight, and tomorrow we'll talk more about this." He picked them up and carried them to the triplet's old room. Webby's eyes were starting to droop as Donald laid them down. "Goodnight, kiddos."
He turned off the hallway light as Dewey and Webby chorused, "Goodnight, Uncle Donald."
The door shut, leaving them in, thankfully, complete darkness.
Dewey was starting to feel the effects of the melatonin in his system, but he was still coherent enough to feel Webby's hand reach him in the dark. "We might not be alright now, Dewey, but we will be."
He was silent for a few moments, before asking in a small voice, "Do you really think so?"
Webby grinned. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it when she responded, "I have to trust that we will."
He was comfortable now to surrender to the night, as long as she was by his side.
With chamomile tea in hand, Donald took a sip. His usual cup had nothing more than a sprinkle of lemon and a dash of sugar, which left him content enough. He didn't drink tea very often, but in moments such as this it helped to calm him down.
The kids were too young to be dealing with this.
Sure, Louie now had sciaphobia and Huey was acrophobic, but Webby and Dewey's fears were more definitive; it wasn't easy to see someone dying right in front of you. All four of them had one thing in common, and Donald felt helpless in the wake of the symptoms they exhibited. They all had post-traumatic stress.
He had a certainty of what he should do, but the question of how the kids would react was something else entirely.
"How are they doing?"
It shouldn't have surprised him that Scrooge would be nearby; it was his kitchen after all. "It isn't good, Scrooge. I'm sure they're all showing symptoms of PTSD." Donald lowered his eyes. "I'm about ready to arrange a therapist for them, if Mrs. Beakley will allow it for Webby. I've got a feeling it'll continue to get worse if it's not treated, and there's only so much support I can give."
"You've given the boys plenty, and Webby has already come to see you as a father figure. You're a much better role model than I am. Lord knows that I'm terrible at it, in spite of all I've done to keep them safe."
Donald blinked in surprise at Scrooge's honesty.
"Ach, don't look at me like that. You remember when Hortense sent you and Della to me. Took me a bloody year to get your names right." He sighed over Donald's raspy chuckle. "The boys may have forgiven me to some degree, but I know Webby hasn't. It was my stubbornness that cost her her friend."
"You know that isn't true..."
"Isn't it? You saw how the mansion looked after you returned. I wasn't taking care of myself at all, deluged in pizza boxes. Magica used my fragile ego against me, just like she used that poor girl to further her revenge. You didn't see how Magica absorbed Lena into her shadow. I'd never felt more horrified or furious with anyone than at that moment."
"It was not your fault," Donald stressed. "I was wrong to blame you for the Spear of Selene. You may have built the ship, but you didn't force Della to fly it, and you didn't predict that a cosmic storm would happen."
"No, I didn't, but Webbigail was right in telling me that I shouldn't have had it built in the first place. I was backed into a corner, and when that happened, I lashed out at her when she didn't deserve it. I need to apologize to her tomorrow."
"I'm very glad to hear it," a new voice exclaimed. Mrs. Beakley entered the kitchen, straight-faced as ever. "When you consider said apology is now weeks overdue."
"Eavesdropping, are ye?" Scrooge asked wryly.
"Trademark of a good spy." She sat and turned to Donald. "We've all made mistakes in the past ten years, especially in isolating the children and, though I have my reasons against it, I think you may be right about assigning them a therapist. Whether we can find one with the right expertise is another matter."
"After the Shadow War, I think there'd be a lot more doctors willing to listen," said Donald.
"We'll work out the details later," Scrooge said, stretching and leaning on his cane once more. "I'm off to get some more sleep in the meantime. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Mr. McDuck."
"Goodnight, Uncle Scrooge."
He made his exit, clapping Donald on the shoulder as he did. Beakley, after making herself some tea, stated, "You do realize that this will take some time for them to recover?"
"We can be patient." Donald grinned. "I'm sure we'll get through it like we always do. After all, we're the McDuck family. And we don't back down."
Beakley smiled tiredly. "Very well. Here's to not backing down."
They raised their mugs in toast, and Donald counted that as the first victory in their new struggle.
Endnotes: It's been over six years since I've written or published anything on this site. Given how much time I've put into watching this show and uncovering its facets, it inspired me to continue. Also, since the outbreak of COVID-19 this past year, I've been in a downward spiral and have just begun to kick my depression to the curb. I've started writing again and found it to be very helpful. I won't go into too much detail on my personal issues, but I'm hoping to continue on writing, and also refining my writing style. I do hope you, the reader, will enjoy this story and please send any feedback you think I might improve on in the future. Thank you.