Emeraldcity39: You know it! :))
Flenners fanfics: She does, but the story is separated into "past" and "present". So, in the past, she's in love with Max Goof. hope that clears up the confusion :)
The Not-So-Ultimate Writer: Mhm. the thing is, think of it from Webby's POV: her best friend just packed up and left, and she had to struggle for 3 years because she thought she caused the pain.
Lilbree: And thank you for these positive messages, Bree! :)
IlCaetlynlI27: YOU'LL JUST HAVE TO WAIT!
Luna McDuck: Thank you, Luna!
dewdrop: Glad to see you're back :)
TheOfficialKai517: AHHHH, thank you Kai! And if you ever want to collab, I'd be down :D And Brooklyn Nine-Nine is an amazing show! :)
Chapter 4 :)
ooo
"Dewey?" Boyd asked, obviously concerned. Dewey blinked, forcing his eyes to leave the apartment building, and land on Boyd, who was looking concerned.
"You okay?" Boyd questioned.
"S-sure…" he stammered, aware that the other man was still looking critically at him. "This is, uh close to where I lived before," he swallowed, trying to get a hold of himself. "And it just threw me off, I guess… I haven't been back this way yet."
"Aw," Boyd nodded, clapping him on the shoulder, making Dewey wince—Boyd's strength was unnerving. "It's a small world, right?"
"You could say that," he muttered.
Dewey eyed the building again, where it loomed over him in the distance. Automatically, his gaze went up to their windows, expecting their faces to appear, as if they had sensed he had dared to come this close. He could almost feel their eyes drilling into him, or feel the barrel of a shotgun, that a pissed Lena would no doubt, be aiming at his head. He bit his lip in indecision: should he just bail? Just turn around, and run in the opposite direction without any explanation? He contemplated it for a split second before scolding himself: he wasn't like that anymore. He just had to follow Boyd to wherever his apartment was, and hopefully, it was one of the many other buildings in sight. There were plenty of apartments around here, and the Duckburg skylines were filled with them.
Besides, fate wouldn't be that cruel… right?
No. No matter how close Boyd turned out to live to his ghosts, he had to go there. He'd just act normal, look around, and be polite. If it was too close for comfort, then maybe he could turn him down, but still try and remain friends someway. He liked the guy, and god knows he hadn't found many friends in his recent years. It would be a shame to sever this potential friendship before it even started.
"You sure you're alright?"
"Yeah, fine," he nodded, clearing his throat. "Sorry, u-um… lead the way."
Boyd nodded, starting to walk again, and Dewey forced himself to lift his suddenly heavy feet and follow, cringing as he headed in the direction he dreaded. As they got closer he noticed one obvious change.
"Didn't that used to be a bar?" Dewey asked, trying to sound casual, like he couldn't quite remember. Like the bar hadn't been his second home for the last few years of his life here. Like it didn't hold so many memories, some so good, and others so damn painful that the scars still hurt. He frowned at the Starducks that now took its place. It proved things had changed, moved on, and not stayed static awaiting his return like he often pictured in his mind.
Life had continued without him.
His mind took him back 12 years ago—he had been sick of not being paid attention to, so he had joined Don Karnage's pirate gang.
"How do you like my hat now?" Dewey grinned mischievously.
Scrooge turned to Huey, his expression a mixture of confusion and shock. "I didn't even know he was gone… did you?"
Huey frowned. "I thought he was on lookout."
Louie piped up. "Yeah, he was definitely there when we went back to the plane… right?" he asked, turning to Webby, who shrugged.
"Yeah, I think so?" she murmured.
They turned back to Dewey, who was furious. "You didn't even notice I was gone?!"
Dewey inwardly sighed: he should've been used to the feeling of being forgotten about.
"Yeah, it shut down a few years ago," Boyd replied, snapping Dewey out of his thoughts. "Don't worry though, it's the best coffee place around. My friends and I always hang out here."
Dewey cringed, he couldn't see the appeal of hanging out in one of these places.
"So," he asked the dreaded question, praying they'd continue walking past it. "You live around here?"
"Yeah, sure, right here," time stood still, and in slow motion he watched with dread as Boyd pointed to the building in front of them.
Crap.
Why? Why out of all the damn buildings in the whole of Duckburg did this guy have to live here? He knew without a shadow of a doubt, he couldn't live here again, but he still refused to bail. He was determined to ignore the red flags going off in his head, and focused on getting into Boyd's apartment quickly, and then leave just as fast.
"G-great," he lied, suddenly anxious to get off the streets. "Let's go."
It shouldn't have been so hard, but as he reached the entrance door he faltered, his hand reaching out to steady himself on the frame. This was the last place he'd seen Webby. This was the very spot he'd said goodbye to her… and she hadn't even realised it was the last time she'd see him. Dewey closed his eyes as the pain and guilt of his betrayal, still as raw as it was 3 years ago, ripped through him.
"You sure you're okay? You're getting so pale." Boyd pointed out.
"Sorry, yeah, I'm f-fine, just a stitch," he lied, desperately trying to gain some control over himself.
Taking a couple of deep breaths, Dewey steadied himself, and followed Boyd inside the building. He glanced around the entrance hall, trying not to picture their final farewell and focus on the here and now. He noted it hadn't changed much in 3 years. It was still beige and bland. He winced as Boyd indicated the stairs—he obviously didn't live on the ground floor as he'd hoped.
Dread and trepidation started to fill him with every step they climbed. He tried to focus on Boyd, listening as he spoke about rent and bills, but his head was spinning too much to be able to focus. Even the stairwell was bringing back memories he'd tried so hard to forget. He was aware of Boyd exiting the stairwell, and when he looked up, he focused on his surroundings, almost blanching when he saw where they were. His eyes darted to the step: the same step he'd sat on, his heart broken and mind crushed as he'd reached his decision to leave. His decision to abandon them all.
"So, here it is."
He blinked, grateful that it was his old apartment, and not Lena and Webby's. Had she moved on and someone else moved in? The fact that Boyd and an empty room were in his old apartment proved that Max had at least moved on. Was he living with her just the other side of that door? Or had they moved away from the city? Somewhere where they could raise their kids?
As Boyd dug out his keys, Dewey's eyes stayed locked onto the girls' old door: Webby and Lena's place. He'd practically lived there, feeling more comfortable there than he had his own apartment; especially on the nights Webby had stayed over with Max. He shuddered remembering that dark chapter of his life.
Boyd got the door open, and Dewey ripped his stare away from the wooden frame. He was about to focus on his old apartment when he heard the door open behind him. Panic ripped through him, his eyes wide, his breath caught in his throat as he spun around to face his fate.
He let out a heavy sigh when he realized it wasn't Lena or Webby, just a janitor wheeling out a mop and bucket.
"Hello, Mr. Duckson." Boyd greeted politely.
The janitor nodded at him, and jabbed a finger towards the door behind him. "Those girls and their spills." he said with a small laugh.
"That's Mr. Duckson, the building's super. He takes care of everything around here." Boyd smiled.
For a moment Dewey almost asked. Almost asked who else was across the hall, but he couldn't make the words leave his mouth. Instead he numbly nodded, before squaring his shoulders, and prepared himself to face his old apartment, and the stacks of unavoidable memories he knew would be lurking there.
Boyd gestured for him to enter, and he tried to offer him a tight smile of thanks as he stepped passed him, and inside his old apartment. He paused, looking around, trying to take it all in. It was weird: the place seemed smaller than he remembered, and he noted it hadn't been redecorated. The walls were still plain, but slightly less dingy than in his day. The furniture had definitely changed though.
It all felt so surreal.
He heard the door close behind him, trapping him in, and he swallowed hard, telling himself to remain calm as fear shot through him. He could do this.
"Well this is the TV and living room," Boyd started to give the tour, and Dewey tried to nod, trying to look like he was interested as his head spun. "The bathroom's through there."
Dewey nodded, he had no desire to look in the bathroom. To look to see if the same mirror still hung on the wall above the sink. The mirror he'd watched the hope die from his eyes little by little each morning as he'd got ready for work.
Why was he here? How had this actually happened?
Boyd led the way across the living room. Dewey froze suddenly as he spotted a very familiar colourful winter hat hanging off the wall.
"Nice hat, huh?" Boyd commented, misinterpreting the reason for his stare. "It was here when I moved in, but I think it's pretty cool."
"Yeah," he swallowed, staring at the hat. "I used to own one just like it."
"See, it was meant to be," Boyd laughed, moving past him.
As he drew nearer, Dewey reached up, and brought his hand to trace the fabric of the old, worn hat, his mind taking him to the events after he had joined Karnage's gang:
"He's sweet, and sensitive, and full of secrets." Webby had said all those years ago,
That was when Dewey first realized that he may have had feelings for her.
He'd loved that feeling.
Loved her.
3 Years Ago…
"Dewey?! Open the damn door!" an angry Max shouted.
Dewey groggily sat up. The red lights on his alarm clock read 4:45AM.
"I said open it!" Max demanded.
He trudged towards his bedroom door, and slowly unlocked it, only to be roughly shoved back. That seemed to wake him up. Dewey scowled, and roughly pushed Max out of his bedroom, and into the living room, where he tripped over the sofa, and landed on his butt.
"What the hell is your issue?!" Dewey sneered, looming over him, fire in his eyes.
Max growled. "You made Webby cry!"
He paled. "W-what?"
"You. Made. My. Girlfriend. Cry." he hissed through clenched teeth, getting up and crossing his arms.
Dewey growled, his anger returning. "What the fuck do you know about what went down? What the hell do you know about Webby?!"
Max sneered, his brown eyes burning into his. "More than you, apparently. She came straight home after talking to you, and just broke down."
"It doesn't involve you." Dewey said, walking by him. "I don't know why you're even getting involved."
"You're not the only person who loves her, Dewey! She's my girlfriend and I love her too!" Max walked towards Dewey, and set a firm hand on his shoulder. "And if you hurt her again, and I'll get more than involved."
Present Time:
"Dewey?"
"Sorry," he tried to relax his breathing, ignoring his increasing anxiety as he forced himself away from the picture, and towards where Boyd was waiting. "So," he braved, "how long have you lived here?"
"About 3 years," Boyd shrugged.
Ah, so he had been Dewey's replacement. It felt weird. Like he was trespassing, and any moment he'd get caught and exposed as the fraud he was. Maybe he would. What was he doing here? It's like he knew he should leave, knew it would only end in tragedy and yet he was strangely fascinated by it all.
"As I was saying this would be your room." Dewey blinked surprised as Boyd led him to his old bedroom.
"Right," he swallowed hard, stepping into the room. He found himself within the 4 walls, which felt like they were closing in around him. Like they knew who he was.
His eyes darted around, it was the same layout of somewhat different furniture. He couldn't believe he was standing in his old room. His eyes turned to the adjoining wall, remembering the sounds that used to crush his soul. The times he'd spent here in the dark, headphones on, as he'd tried to sleep, tears on his cheeks as the laughter and joy from the neighboring room had slowly broken him down. Night after night.
He'd been wrong. This room wasn't full of memories, just nightmares. Overpowering, painful nightmares which threatened to overtake him now.
"Nice," he choked out before quickly exiting, finding himself in the old living room, next to the mocking hat.
God, what was he doing here?
"It used to be my room when I first moved," Boyd started talking, unaware of Dewey's crisis. "But when my old roommate moved out, I swapped."
His heart was beating painfully in his chest. Dewey was aware he'd need to leave soon, to try and save his sanity, but part of him was desperate for answers before he left. He'd risked so much already. Boyd may be the only person who could fill in the gaps which he desperately needed to hear. Maybe he'd finally have some closure on his past sins.
"Why, uh why did he move out?" he tried to sound casual as if his whole being didn't revolve around the answer, but knew he was failing.
"Oh, well, he just broke up with his girlfriend who's living across the hall, so it's probably best they get a little space to sort themselves out as it's super awkward at the moment."
Dewey jolted in surprise, his mind whirling with this sudden information. Was Webby the ex-girlfriend? He needed more answers. Needed to know like the air he breathed.
"You, uh said his name was Max, right?" he tried to venture casually, wetting his lips, and praying he couldn't hear how fast his heart was thumping in his chest.
"Max?" Boyd sounded surprised. "No, I mean I lived with Max years ago but only for like a few months before he left. He broke up with the girl across the hall," he frowned. "Did you know him?"
There was so much information crammed into that statement to try and analyze, Webby and Max had broken up? 3 years ago? A lump formed in his throat as he tried to swallow.
"Briefly," he managed to get out.
"Nah, I'm talking about my friend Huey," Boyd continued not noticing the shock on Dewey's face. "He and his girlfriend broke it off last month, and they're slowly rekindling things. It's slow though, but it's obvious both of them want to get back together. It was a small fight, but one thing led to the next, and they called it quits. His girlfriend moved in with the girls across the hall a few weeks ago."
"Huey and Violet broke up?" he blurted out, grimacing as Boyd's azure eyes narrowed, the gears slowly turned in his brain.
"You knew Violet too?"
"Briefly," he lied again.
He could tell that Boyd was getting suspicious, but Dewey had to continue. Had to find out as much as he could before the pieces fell into place, and he had to run.
"Wait," Boyd crossed his arms. "How do you know all this stuff?"
"It doesn't matter," he shook his head briefly, he knew he'd have to leave soon. If the others had shared anything about him, he'd soon piece it all together. "So," he took a breath, gathering the courage to ask the vital question that burned deeply. "Is Webby still across the hall?"
That was the final straw. Recognition started to fill Boyd's eyes as he stared at Dewey's guilty ones.
"What did you say your last name was?" Boyd demanded.
"I didn't," Dewey stated, taking one last look around the apartment, his eyes landing on the large picture for the last time. "It's a great place you have here, but I don't think I'll be able to move in."
He took a hurried step towards the door.
"You can't just go!" Boyd protested. "They'll want to see you."
Dewey shook his head violently, turning back to face the man he had hoped to call his friend. Boyd was surprised by the amount of raw pain and emotion in the man's eyes
"No," Dewey said quietly but fiercely. "No they won't."
"Dewey," Boyd tried, but the other man strode to the door.
Dewey paused with one hand on the handle as he closed his eyes, trying to compose himself enough to say what he wanted, "Do me a favor?" he asked quietly, not turning around or waiting for a response, "Tell Webby I'm sorry, so so sorry for everything."
"Look—"
"Tell her I still regret it, and think about her every damn day," he then leaned his forehead against the cool door, before straightening up and shaking his head. He opened his eyes, and faced Boyd. "Actually, don't tell her that last bit, okay?" he swallowed. "I don't want her to feel… just… just tell her I'm sorry."
He drew in a shaky breath before turning the handle, and leaving.
Out in the hallway, he took one last deep breath. Just behind that door the woman that had haunted his dreams for 3 years may well be right now. Completely oblivious to the man that had abandoned her, the man that had claimed to be her best friend before just leaving her, was standing right outside.
He ran a hand through his hair and down his face. His breath was coming out ragged, his heart beating rapidly as his legs started to shake. He had to get out of here. He had no right being here. No right bringing back painful memories to innocent people. With a whispered apology to the door, he ran to the stairs, taking them as fast as he could, desperate to escape.
Out on the sidewalk, he didn't even stop to look back as he ran away.
Ran from the scene of the crime, and away from his past… for a second time.
ooo
Angst, huh? I wanted to give you guys some answers :) until next time
—Jordan :)
