Another fic for awhphooey's au! This one's a lot shorter, and more like a series of snapshots, but I had to get them out of my head. Enjoy!
1
"What a rush!" Della crows as they stumble out of the tunnel entrance, covered in dust.
"Yeah!" Webby hollers, punching the air with a triumphant fist.
"Uurggh~" Louie groans, bent over and panting from their run through the crumbling tunnel.
"C'mon, kiddo." Della says. She slaps his back, and a cloud of dust particles rises from his hoodie. "Let's get going before the mountain collapses. You can rest on the plane." Louie straightens, and the three begin to make their way to where Della parked the plane, shaking dirt out of their clothes and sighing in relief after another (semi)successful adventure.
Della watches her son out of the corner of her eye as they walk. Louie was off through the whole adventure. She knew he wasn't as enthusiastic about adventuring as Della and his sister - whatever adventuring genes she and Scrooge and Donald had gotten seemed to have skipped him - but not even in their earliest adventures had he been so unprepared and fearful in the face of danger. Della hesitates for a moment, but decides to reach out.
"You had me worried there for a second." She starts. "With all the screaming, I thought they actually managed to hit you. Was this adventure too much?"
"No, no, that was. Fun?" Louie struggles to reassure her. "It was historically enlightening, at least."
"If you say so bud." Della says, raising an eyebrow. 'Historically enlightening' is a new one. Against her better judgement, she decides to let it go. If Louie wants to talk about it, he'll come to her.
As they walk to the plane, Della checks her kids over for injuries. Nothing more than a few scrapes, some bruised knuckles, and a lot of dirt. They'd have to find a lake or a hotel or something to wash off in. That could wait though; there was one more task before their adventure could be considered complete.
"Okay kiddo, hand 'em over." Della says, holding out an expectant hand. Louie blinks at her, looking utterly befuddled.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Don't play dumb with me, bucko. I am on to you." She snags him by the hood, reeling him in to start the daily pat down. Sleeves, pockets, every conceivable place her little klepto could stash a stolen artifact. Della frowns when her patting turns up nothing. Not even a single gold coin. Her eyes meet Louie's, and they stare at each other in confusion.
"Mama?" Webby asks, breaking the silence.
"Louie didn't steal anything." Della says, stunned.
"What?" Webby asks.
"Louie didn't steal anything."
"WHAT?" Webby gapes, looking just as startled as Della feels about the revelation.
"Are you sick?" Della asks, concern sparking in her gut. Both her kids are hardy little ducklings; they rarely even got colds, let alone the multitude of childhood illnesses she and Donald had been plagued with. They'd been lucky for that, and even luckier to avoid any hospital visits over the years. She puts a hand on Louie's forehead. He doesn't feel warm.
"I'm fine Duc-mmmMom." Louie swats her hand away, taking a step back. His eyes widen, filled with an emotion Della can't quite place.
"If you say so." Della frowns. She wants to pursue it, but the ground is trembling, and they should really get back on the plane before the underground city they just wrecked collapses beneath them.
2
"You want to help me reset the fishing lines?" Donald calls to Dewey. Dewey just smirks at him and shakes his head, making himself comfortable on the far side of the dock. Annoyance flashes through Donald, but it is overshadowed by the ache of regret and nostalgia at the sight of that familiar expression. Dewey looks so much like Della it hurts sometimes.
The feeling vanishes when the crab trap Dewey is leaning against slides out from behind him. He topples backwards into the water with a surprised squeak and a splash.
"Ha!" Donald barks out a laugh. "Serves you right for slacking off!" And phooey, did he sound like Scrooge just then.
Donald sets to rewinding the reel with renewed vigor. This recent lazy streak of Dewey's was starting to become a problem. Donald has done his best over the years to impart a good work ethic; Dewey dragged his feet on occasion, but never to this extent. Pretending to not know how to bait hooks to get out of doing it, outright refusing to join him in the simplest of chores? Donald shakes his head. There is something going on, but he can't quite put his finger on it.
Donald breaks out of his musings, noticing how quiet the dock is. Something is wrong. The realization hits him like a lightning bolt.
Dewey still hasn't gotten out of the water.
Donald doesn't remember moving. One second he's on the boat, and a heartbeat later he's off it, over the dock and reaching into the water on the far side to snag the blue shirt fluttering beneath the surface. He heaves, and Dewey comes flying out of the water, coughing and sputtering like a waterlogged, backfiring engine. Donald sets him on his feet on the dock and immediately begins looking him over, encouraging him to empty his stomach of swallowed water and breathe, for gods' sake breathe.
"Did you hit your head?" Donald asks, not caring if his frantic quacking can be understood or not. He runs his fingers through the feathers on Dewey's head, feeling for a knot of any kind. It's the only explanation he can think of in his panic. Dewey is a great swimmer. He's fallen, jumped, and tripped off the docks hundreds of times, why is this time different?
"No." Dewey manages, his coughs subsiding. Donald continues his pat down, searching for any injuries.
"I'm fine. I'm okay Uncle Donald, I swear!" Dewey pulls away from him, wiping fruitlessly at his wet beak with his dripping sleeve. That, on top of the fear and adrenaline still pumping madly through his veins, is what sets Donald off. Now that he's certain that Dewey is suffering no ill effects, and has no more water to cough up, Donald rips into him with all the helpless fury only a terrified parent can manage.
"What did I tell you about keeping your life vest on!" Donald snaps. "What if I wasn't there, or didn't notice? You have to be more careful!" He grabs Dewey by the shoulders, and barely reigns in the urge to shake him, make him understand what his recklessness does to Donald.
"You scared the crap out of me!" Donald yanks Dewey close, wrapping his arms tightly around his little boy, mindless of his dripping feathers. Dewey stiffens in his arms, clearly not expecting the sudden hug. After several long seconds he relaxes into it.
"I'm sorry." He mutters, muffled by Donald's sailor suit. Donald squeezes.
"I know. Just please… be more careful."
He lets go, and begins ushering his duckling inside. It is in Donald's nature to worry, and his worry usually expresses itself as fussing. He orders Dewey to towel off and change into dry clothes, his earlier musings forgotten.
3
Hue hands Gyro the wrong tool for the sixth time, and Gyro just about throws it across the lab in a fit of temper.
"No! Not that one!" He growls. "Do you know what would happen if I used that tool on this delicate piece of machinery?"
"No?" Hue answers, and Gyro was asking rhetorically, but never let it be said he missed an opportunity to educate.
"If I used that, these connecting pieces would break, and the whole thing would explode!"
"Um… oops?" Hue says, not looking particularly concerned. This, on top of everything else that has gone wrong today, is the final straw.
"What is wrong with you?" Gyro snaps. Hue flinches, hurt flashing across his face, and Gyro immediately wants to slap himself. Of all the things he could have said, why that? He knows Hue's issues with people (with Scrooge) and how he cares so much about what they think. Words hold a lot of weight for this child; Gyro knows, has known for years, that he can't afford to be careless with them.
Hue takes a step back, avoiding Gyro's eyes.
"Look." Gyro sighs. "I didn't mean it that way." How can he still be so bad at this? He's been a father for twenty years now, and he still can't talk to little kids. Granted, he's never really needed to. Hue was always reserved, intelligent; more often than not talking to the kid he knew best (second only to his own) felt more like conversing with a small adult than a child.
"I'm sorry." Gyro says.
"It's alright." Hue says. "You know, I'm not feeling too good. Maybe it would be best if I come back some other time." Gyro wants to protest. Hue has always loved the lab; normally, getting him to leave is like getting super powerful magnets to unstick. Gyro doesn't want him to feel like he can't come here anymore.
"You can stay in here." Gyro says weakly. He wishes Fenton were here; he and Hue are close, he'd know what to say. Why did he have to take a day off, today of all days?
"Nah. I think I'm just going to look around some more." With that, Hue walks to the elevator, and Gyro turns back to blueprints, searching for a distraction. He never stops to question Hue's strange choice of words —- why would a kid who practically grew up in the Bin need to explore it?
4
"Why are fish so smart?" Fethry asks out of the blue.
"Um, I don't know?" Huey answers.
"It's because they live in schools!" Fethry says, and Huey snorts before he can stop himself. He told himself he was going to reign it in, after falling off the dock while laughing over Fethry's ridiculous octopus trick, but the urge to laugh is too strong. Duckworth's humor was always dry, bordering on sarcastic, and Scrooge never made jokes like these. Huey has no resistance for the corny jokes Fethry regularly employs.
"Don't you think I'm a little old for puns?" Huey asks. He should at least try for a modicum of maturity
"Fishcious rumors!" Fethry says. "Look at me. I get older every day, and I never miss an oppor—tuna—ty for a good fish pun."
Forget maturity, and what he should and should not be doing. Huey's whole body shakes, he is laughing so hard. Fethry stares in amazement.
"I thought I hallucinated the other day." He says, scratching at his head. "You really are laughing at my puns. You haven't done that in years!" A furrow appears in Fethry's brow. His gaze turns sharp, focused, and he studies Huey closely.
"There's something fishy going on here." Fethry says, and Huey stops laughing abruptly. Has he given himself away? Did Fethry figure it out?
"I can't quite put my finger on it though." Fethry continues, tapping his beak. "Guess I'll have to mullet over."
Relief surges through Huey so fast he feels lightheaded. He giggles helplessly while Fethry grins.
"I'd like to sea you try." Huey says.
Fethry's jaw drops. A second later, he swoops Huey up into a massive bear hug, laughing madly as he spins them both around.
"Lil' Donald! You made a pun! I knew you cod do it!"
They end up falling off the dock again, but this time it isn't entirely Huey's fault. Donald shakes his head when they climb out, sopping wet and smiling like a pair of loons. It's silly, but leaning into Fethry's side after they let Donald bundle them up in towels, Huey can't shake the thought that he wouldn't mind staying here for the rest of his life.
5
"You're a lifesaver, Duckworth." Hubert says from the doorway, and Duckworth puts the finishing twist on the pipe connecting the toilet to the wall a bit harder than he should.
" not to make a habit of shoving kitchen appliances down the drain, if you would." Hubert has the gall to smirk, and if Duckworth hadn't spent years cleaning up after a much messier and destructive pair of twins, he would have considered tanning the little demon's hide for the week of nonstop problems he's been causing.
Duckworth couldn't figure out what had gotten into the boy. Gone was the polite, clever child who spent eleven quiet years in the mansion. In his place was a changeling, who spent one week bouncing off the walls, and the next leading Duckworth on a merry dance around the mansion via sabotage to household amenities, in order to distract him from whatever mischief he got up to when no one was watching.
Hubert wanders off, and Duckworth contemplates all the forms of passive aggressive comeuppance he could conscientiously employ on a child. After packing up the tools, he leaves the bathroom and comes across Scrooge in the hallway.
"Hubert giving you trouble again?" Scrooge asks with one look at Duckworth's face. He's smiling a little, looking lighter than Duckworth has seen in years. The butler can't bring himself to share in Scrooge's amusement, however.
"Are you quite certain you didn't bring home the wrong duckling?" Duckworth asks.
"Och, he's fine." Scrooge dismisses with a wave of his hand. "Last week he was about to drive me batty, but he's shaped up. As long as he stays as interested in my work as he is, I could care less what the little rapscallion gets up to in his spare time."
Duckworth does not sigh, because he holds himself to standards, but it is a close call.
"I was afraid you were going to say that. If you're so pleased about his new attitude, perhaps you should answer the next time he calls me in to fix something so he can sneak a Pep."
+1
"You're not my brother."
The words are quiet, but they still cut through the one room shack like an axe.
"Whaaaat?" Dewey asks nervously. "What are you talking about, Webby? I'm totally—" He's tackled to the floor before he can finish.
"Where's Louie, you evil doppelgänger?" Webby snarls. She has a knife, Dewey notices with a sudden flare of panic. She angles the blade at his face, her own face twisted with hate and simmering fury.
"I'm not an evil clone, I swear!" Dewey squeaks.
"Demon, clone, curse, I don't care what you are!" Webby growls, leaning in close. "You better tell me what you did to my brother!"
She doesn't even need to finish the threat.
"Okay, okay!" Dewey yells. "I switched places with him and another kid. At the movies a few weeks ago, we noticed we looked alike and thought it'd be funny to switch for a while."
Whatever Webby was expecting to hear, it clearly isn't that. She sits up, confusion coloring her expression. Dewey takes advantage of her confusion to buck his hips, knocking her off balance enough to escape her grip and scramble away.
"You're lying." Webby says, jumping to her feet.
"My name's Dewey." Dewey says, pressing his back against the far wall. With no siblings and no crazy adventures to go on, he doesn't have anything even resembling fighting experience beyond a basic punch Uncle Donald guaranteed was more than enough. Webby has proven time and time again that she knows exactly what she's doing every time she goes in to attack.
"I'm eleven, and I live on the docks with my uncles." First plan, make her see he's just a kid and not a threat. "Louie is at the McDuck mansion. He's pretending to be this other kid who looks like us." Webby lowers the blade, looking serious, but no longer primed to attack. She believes him, Dewey realizes with a wave of relief.
"Tell me everything."
Webby sits down to listen, and Dewey cautiously slides to the floor.
He tells her everything. Going to the movie theater, meeting the two boys who could be his clones (or his brothers). The disastrous first switch, where Dewey was bored out of his mind and the other two were pissed they didn't get what they bargained for. The second switch, and the amazing adventures that followed.
He trails off after telling her how much Huey and Louie say they love their new homes, until a thought occurs to Dewey.
"Also, my Uncle Donald and your mom look weirdly alike too. It's kind of scary. Maybe we are alternate dimension clones that somehow ended up in the same universe." Dewey ponders this line of thought, but movement from Webby distracts him. She stands, but not to attack.
Instead she studies him, mulling over the information he's given.
"No." She finally says. "But there is some kind of connection. I'm going to find out what it is." She grins at Dewey, full of daring and danger, and he can't help but smile back at this sharp, wild girl he's come to see as a sister in such a short amount of time.
"I'm in."