The journey back was uneventfull. After a bit of debating Gus and Abner took Mickey to the hospital in the rust-bucket, Goofy going with him. Donald wanted to go as well, but Goofy insisted he could handle it and pointed out that Donald might want to get back for the boys.

Another spark of anger took hold of me and I was about to snap that Donald didn't NEED to look after the boys as, you know, I'M BACK and eveything but Goofy looked at me and added, smoothly. "And Uncle Scrooge as well, of course. Just go and check on your family, Don, I've got this." And then gave a cheery wave before disapearing into the back of the rustbucket with Mickey.

Gus gave us a little wave and a small 'Honk!' then, with expert navigation, drove the rustbucket out the same hole it had created about 45 minutes ago.

So we took Mickey's car back to the manor - which, as Donald pointed out multiples times, is technically illegal - but as Gladstone pointed out. "Donald, we're not going to be stopped with me driving are we? Not shut up and get in because I'm tired."

"YOU'RE TIRED!?"

"Would the pair of you shut up and get in the freakin' car, I want to see my boys!" I screamed at them.

So, not gonna lie, the journey back was quite tense. Especially when Gladstone - And I can only assume he did this to prove a point - SPED past a police station and, get this: not one of the squad followed us.

"If that was me I'd have the ENTIRE fleet after me." Donald muttered under his breath to me.

"Shut up." I hissed back. "We both know you wouldn't be speeding in the first place."

Anyway, we made it back in one piece only to be greeted at the door by Mrs Beakley who looked...exhausted and had a lovely claw mark on the side of her face that seemed to go...quite deep.

"Granny!" Webby ran forward and hugged her tightly. "What happened?"

"Oh, just a little fight with an old enemy of mine." Mrs B said, airily, like that narrows it down. Then she looked at me and Donald and added. "I'm sorry to have to tell you, but Louie's been taken to hospital."

"What!? Why!?" Me and Donald said, at the same time.

So it was then that Mrs B explained how they'd all been attacked, which is where I learned what had happend to them. Apart from Mrs B, no idea what happened to her. Webby tried to get her to tell us but she kept saying no, and then the minute Webby yawned took the opportunity to whisk her and the boys of to bed saying they'd had a 'tireing day'. Which to be fair they had.

It was then that I told them about the girl and how she rescued us and how I didn't know who she was. Donald cleared his throat and was like: "About that Della..." And filled us on on PBJ's little rant about how she was fuffilling her dads legacy, blah, blah, blah...

"Wha' ah doon't geet." Scrooge said, suprisingly calmly. "Is wha' was the point of all this? Ah mean, I understand that they kidnapped Della because she found out the buzzards were payin' more to themselves than to the rest of the emplyees - which ah am plannin' to fix by the way." He added, as a bit of an afterthought. "Ah'll back-pay em all by however long their pay was cut. How long was that?"

"A year and a half?"

Scrooge closed his eyes and seemed to be having some sort of stroke as he mentally calculated the amount that came to. After a few seconds his death grip on the table lessened and he said, through gritted teeth. "Thas fine. Leave it wi' me."

"Oh, by the way." I said, suddenly getting a thought. Rare, I know, but anyway. "When I was looking through your filing cabinet I noticed Launchpad doesn't seem to be being paid...?"

"Ah AM payin' him!" Scrooge snapped, slamming his cane on the table with enough force to make us all jump. "Ah pay him personally out of mah oon pocket!"

I held my hands up defensivly. "Alright, I was just asking!"

"Hold on!" Feathry said, rummaging in his backpack. "Hold on!"

We waited for a few seconds, then Gladstone asked. "Feathry, what the hell are you doing?"

"I just need to add that sentence to the book of things I NEVER thought I'd hear Uncle Scrooge say!"

Writing it down it wasn't really that funny. But it was enough at the time to dissolve the tension and make us all laugh.

"I wouldn't have thought their was much to laugh about." Auntie Beakley's said, in her 'I-think-you-are-all-complete-idiots' way. "Considering poor Louie's in hospital and the rest of the children are traumatised."

"Ah think traumatised is a bit stroong ah word, Beakley." Scrooge said, waving his cane at her. "It's charector building!"

Beakley narrowed her eyes and looked at the glass of wine Scrooge was currently grasping in his other hand. "I think the lot of you had better get to bed." She said, steadily. "Gladstone and Feathry I think you had better spend the night as well."

I have to say, Scrooge did not look at all thrilled to have two more of his nephews in his manner, but took one look at Beakleys face and [sensibly] decided it was a good idea not to argue with her.

So after a quick phone call to Goofy to check Mickey was alright - he was - we headed to bed.

When I got to my room though I was surprised by Dewey who was sitting on my bed waiting for me.

"Are you alright, sweetie?" I asked.

Dewey wrung his hands nervously and asked, in a strange high-pitched voice. "Do you think Louie will be alright, mom?"

"Of course!" I said, immediatly. "It's Louie. And it's only a broken arm. It'll fix itself in about 6 weeks."

"I know but..." Dewey wrung his hands again and looked out the window. "Do you think he's alright? At the hosptital? He's not...scared or anything?"

I considered. "Maybe he is." I said, carefully, sitting next to my son. "Do you get...vibes he's scared?"

"...A little."

I understood. I used to get that occasionally, normally when Donald was very stressed or very scared. Occasionally it's just a feeling that something isn't RIGHT, which is what i suspected was happening now. Because one would hope your son isn't stressed or scared at an hospital where he's meant to be being taken care off.

After talking it over a little more Dewey eventually phoned Louie - officially to tell him what happend with us - and discovered that Louie was fine, just a little nervous.

"It's weird." He was saying. "There's a kid here that snores a lot. Like, a lot. It's driving me CRAZY, I can't get to sleep. And my arm is killing me."

"Well." Dewey said. "Unfortunaly , bro, I can't help you with the arm. But as for the sleeping, Moms here. Do you want her to sing that song to you?"

I tell you what, my heart just about stopped. I didn't even realise Dewey remembered that, but apprently he did.

Louie thought for a moment - probably wondering how much his mother singing to him would ruin his 'street cred' but then decided it was alright. So I sang the moon lullbay to him and , althought it didn't send him to sleep, it calmed him down enough for him to try and get to sleep.

So, after hanging up on Louie, I hugged Dewey, told him I loved him and then shoved him of to bed. Just as a loving mother should.

I hope it's what a loving mother would do anyway.

Eh, I'll check with Donald tomorow. Now, I'm exhausted. Night diary!