Huey noticed the cave-in right after it happened when it was too late to turn back. Beyond him, the canary sang, its high-pitched warble setting his teeth on edge. Even with the transience of his hearing, he could still hear it and feel the accompanying rumbles along the walls. Unconsciously, he touched his hat, where the JWG lurked, but it was too dark to see anything. He hadn't thought to bring a flashlight, but, unlike Louie, his cell phone still worked. Of course, it had no service, but a Junior Woodchuck was always prepared and it was fully charged. He even had a power bank with him in case he needed to charge it again.

Armed with his phone, he was able to aim a small beam of light along the walls and help guide his way. With one hand holding the phone, the other ran along the wall to help orient himself. Aside from his breathing and the bird, he heard nothing. He didn't expect to hear the past Uncle Scrooge; his hearing wasn't that acute yet. Chances were the cell phone's flashlight would illuminate him before he approached the vicinity.

This was the first time he'd been alone, truly alone, in a long time. He found it unsettling and wished one of the others was here. Then again, he was the ablest of the group to sound the alarm. Webby wouldn't be able to see anything, Dewey couldn't yell, and Louie could barely walk. They were all counting on him to locate the past Scrooge and he knew he could do it. He had confidence in himself. It was just that he wished he had company. That's all.

Even with the flashlight, he tripped over his own feet and went sprawling. Scrambling for the phone, he held it up and tried to discern what had caught him up. Blood suffused his cheeks. Oh. While part of him was glad he hadn't stumbled over nothing, the fact that he'd literally fallen over the object of his search was embarrassing in and of itself.

"Uncle Scrooge?" he called and then groaned. He wasn't going to respond to that, even if he were conscious. Scrooge wouldn't know his grand-nephews from a hole in the wall this early in his life. Straightening up, he scooped Scrooge up and grimaced. He was heavier than he looked and his breathing was shallow. In addition, the older duck was warm to the touch. What had Magica afflicted him with?

Huey tried to divine how far he'd traveled since the cave-in. Time and distance were relative and as he trudged along, he realized it was silent, save for their breathing. The canary had ceased singing. That usually didn't portend anything good. As Webby had noted, canaries entered coal mines with miners to detect noxious gases. If the canary had stopped detecting it, it didn't mean the gases had ceased. It meant the canary had died.

Huey rushed forward, half carrying, half dragging the younger version of his great-uncle along with him. It was hard to hold the phone steady while he did it and the older duck showed no signs of waking. Panic clawed at Huey's chest. They were stuck in a cave-in, he didn't know how to reach the others, and he had a person with an unknown affliction down here with him. The timeline had altered, his family was injured, and the only able-bodied person here was "Glittering" Goldie O'Gilt, who wasn't renowned for her loyalty and devotion.

"Help!" he called, knowing it was probably hopeless. "I found Uncle Scrooge, but we're trapped!"

If there was a response, he couldn't hear it. Grimacing, he shuffled his way forward, still barely managing to maneuver with Scrooge. He was heavier than he looked. They could've used Webby's strength right about now. Webby-could she knock down the barrier? She was powerful, but was she that strong?

He stood well back from the barrier, lest he end up getting dirt and rocks flying at his face. That assumed that they'd heard him. What if they didn't? What if they couldn't and the barrier dampened sound too much? What if he was trapped down here, with limited oxygen, and the noxious gases suffusing the air? Huey told himself to hold it together, that panicking wouldn't help anyone. Unfortunately, panic didn't often respond to logic.

Beside him, Scrooge coughed, the same wet sound that his older counterpart had. Huey's stomach lurched. This was not good. How the hell had it traveled backward in time? Or had Magica been non-specific in her spells? How did magic even work, anyway?

A percussive boom shook the area and Huey retreated further, keeping a firm grip on his great-uncle. Had the canary stopped singing or was he no longer capable of hearing it? He'd heard himself speak, hadn't he? Or had he only thought he had? He didn't know.

The waiting was torture. He could have entertained himself scrolling through his saved pictures on his phone or rereading the JWG's ebook edition, but that would've drained the battery. Therefore, he shut off the phone, including the flashlight function, and bided his time. At best, he was waiting for someone to break through the barrier and rescue them. At worst, he was waiting to die. He shuddered.

To take his mind off his problems, he reviewed the JWG, which he had memorized three years ago. Closing his eyes, he pictured leafing through the pages and then recited what each one had said in detail. He'd never told Dewey and Louie that he'd memorized it. Somehow, he thought they wouldn't let him live it down.

He was about twenty pages into the book when a light poked through. After the near pitch darkness of the tunnel, it was almost blinding. He didn't miss the swift movement of a bird taking flight through the gap. That must've been the canary. That answered one question-at least it hadn't died.

What felt like an eternity later, there was more air to breathe and he saw the others standing on the opposite side of the rocks. Goldie reached him and tugged him and the younger Scrooge out. Once they were out, the younger Scrooge coughed again, spitting up blood, and, dismayed, Huey looked from one person to another.

The younger Scrooge cursed, seemingly unaware of his audience, which consisted mostly of children. When his eyelids fluttered open, he cursed again and then flushed, realizing the crowd before him.

"Who are you all?" he demanded. "And what the blazes am I doing here?"

"It's a long story," Goldie said and then smirked. "But you owe some gold, by the time this is through."

"I owe you nothing!" Scrooge retorted and then coughed, hacking up what sounded like a lung. His older self winced in sympathy.

"I saved your life. I think I do," Goldie said smoothly. "Unless you want me to leave you here?"

"No!" the kids cried in unison. Webby glowered at Goldie, or, at least, where she perceived her to be. Huey wasn't sure how well she saw right now, particularly in the dark.

"It wouldn't surprise me if ye did," the older Scrooge said coldly. "Back-stabbing Goldie O'Gilt."

"What can I say? I see a situation and I take advantage of it," Goldie replied. Webby balled her fists.

"So it was a mistake to even think of trusting you," Webby spat. "In the future, you tie me and Granny up just so you can get at a map for more gold. Now you're talking about leaving Uncle Scrooge for dead while you steal even more gold."

"Webs…" Louie said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"No," Webby said and her eyes flashed. "You don't care about anything but yourself, do you?"

"I brought you here, didn't I?" Goldie retorted. "I brought you all here and you dragged the younger Scrooge out from under. And now I'm going to lead you all back. I'd appreciate some gratitude."

"I'll show you gratitude," Webby muttered.

"Easy," Louie said. "Calm down, Webs."

"Don't you tell me to calm down," she retorted. "If it were up to her, she'd leave us stranded."

"That's enough. I'm not arguing with a child," Goldie snapped. Huey frowned, wondering whether any of Webby's comments had hit their mark. Goldie stiffened, leading the way out but refusing to engage in conversation. Sporadically, she glanced behind them at the younger Scrooge and her expression was inscrutable.

Dewey and Webby assisted the younger Scrooge, who shook them off as they made it out into the sun.

"I'm fine," the younger Scrooge said and then nearly collapsed. Louie rolled his eyes. His youngest brother was capable of walking short distances unassisted and when they reached the outdoors, he crashed against the cave's side. Webby rushed toward him, tripped over a rock, and went sprawling. Huey groaned. This was a comedy of errors.

"How about no one move until we figure out how to get back to Goldie's cottage?" Huey suggested, trying not to let his frustration show. Louie slumped to the ground and Webby ended up almost in his lap. Louie blushed and then looked away, determined not to reveal anything. It was too late for that. Huey might've been half deaf, but he wasn't blind. The only person he could hope to conceal it from was Webby, who was normally oblivious to those sort of things anyway. Even if she could've seen him, she probably wouldn't have thought much of it.

"I'll scout ahead," Huey suggested. Bright lights flashed before his eyes and he heard cackling. Blinking, his senses feeling like they were under assault, he almost missed Dewey's croak.

"Magica!"

"What?" the older Scrooge demanded. "Where?"

When his vision settled again, he saw a note drift down and land in Webby's hands. Louie snatched it, seeing as Webby couldn't read at the moment, and scanned it. It had arrived with Magica's trademark purple gas, which might explain the flash. She was nothing if not showy.

"'Enjoy your trip to the past,'" Louie read aloud. "'Because you won't be coming back!' Okay, does that strike anyone else as ominous? Or just me?"

"The question is: what is she doing in the future, our present, that would keep us from coming back?" Huey asked.

For that question, no one had a response. Huey hadn't expected one; it was rhetorical, after all. Not knowing the answer, however, left him queasy. He had a feeling things would get worse before they got better.

"You want a job," Glomgold said flatly and Donald nodded like a puppet on a string. In response, Glomgold scowled. On the one hand, Donald had already accomplished more than the others would have expected. Glomgold had taken him into the same room with the clock, but his DT-87 droids blocked it from easy access. Donald would have to both keep a lid on his temper and disable the droids before he could fix the past.

The latter might be possible, but the former? The McDuck/Duck temper was legendary for a reason. Della would paw the floor when she was angry, compared to Donald hopping up and down in rage. The thought of his sister didn't help. Della was gone now, Scrooge's fault, but he couldn't keep blaming the old man for everything. Della had chosen to go up there, after all. And if this didn't work, then they might never find Della. (Donald had a sense she was still alive, though he didn't vocalize it. He didn't want to give anyone false hope).

"Beakley!" Glomgold yelled and then grimaced. "Oh, that's right. She quit. Good for nothing housekeeper. You, droids! Go make tea!"

The droids stared at him blankly or would have if they had had anthropomorphic qualities. Security was what they were good at. Preparing meals and drinks was beyond their purview. Glomgold glowered as if that would help, and, when he realized it wouldn't, left the room. Unfortunately, the droids didn't follow.

It didn't really matter, though. Reality wavered before him and he saw a picture of Scrooge, disgraced, on Glomgold's mantle. The picture was shimmering in and out and Donald's memories were readjusting too. He remembered growing up here and then he didn't. He remembered losing Della due to the Spear of Selene and then it crashing before leaving the Earth's atmosphere, killing her instantly. He remembered raising the boys in the houseboat and then having to tell them that their mother was dead. The two sequences of events didn't fit together and were jarring, competing for space in his memory.

The idea of Della dead petrified him. It also stoked his rage and he lunged for the clock only to get blasted by one of the droids. Rather than deter him, it spurred him on. He hopped atop one of them and, using the picture, bashed it against the other droid's head. Without the proper financing for the Spear, Della's rocket hadn't had the right equipment and couldn't leave Earth, much less end up getting lost in a cosmic storm. There was more, though. His memories of Scrooge raising him and Della were vanishing too.

And without Scrooge acting as their guardian, the boys were flickering in and out of his mind too. Three distinct timelines had emerged. One of them, the correct one, faded in and out. The second one, in which Scrooge was alive but the second richest duck in the world, had resulted in Della's death. The third one, which threatened to crowd out the other two, frightened him the most of all because, in it, Scrooge had never survived to watch the twins. Donald and Della had ended up orphans with no family to take care of them.

Donald squawked, indignant at history rewriting itself and beside himself with the results. He grabbed one droid to hit it against the other and its laser scored a deep gouge in the other's shell. Donald latched onto the clock as soon as the droids had other matters at hand, just as Glomgold was re-entering the room. Donald cursed. He should have thought of bringing back-up.

However, he couldn't think clearly. The boys were his life . They were all he had left of his sister and they were so precious to him. If he lost them, he didn't know what he'd do. And then there was Webby, their honorary sister. What would become of her?

Would she exist at all?

Donald didn't know how the time clock worked, only that it did. He didn't know where the others were lost in time, only that they were. So, spinning the clock's dials, he hoped for the best. If things turned out worse, he'd never forgive himself.

It was probably a good thing that Louie was being overlooked right now. His head was killing him. Memories flooded him, ones he didn't recognize, and they controverted each other. They had made it back to the cottage and he was holding tightly to Webby's hand. Right now, he didn't care what it said about him or what his brothers might infer.

He had never known there was an option to fade out of existence and into oblivion. There was the feeling when you were watching a really good TV show or playing a good video game that you weren't yourself anymore, but this wasn't it. This was the sense that, with the slightest tug, he might be unmade and cease to exist. Webby seemed solid. He clung to her.

"What's going on?" Webby whispered.

"I don't know," Louie admitted. "I remember...I remember Uncle Donald telling us Mom died…"

His throat was tight and he had to swallow back tears that escaped anyway. The other two boys were having a half-whisper, half-shout conference with the Scrooges and Goldie. Their edges were blurry like they were out of focus, and Louie realized, heart sinking, that they might vanish too. Whatever was going on, whatever Magica had done, it wasn't over yet. It was barely beginning.

No, he had no intention of leaving. He would fight whatever it was. Or not, since, you know, he didn't know the first thing about it.

But if he was going to leave the world, if he was being unraveled, then there was one thing he had to do before he shuffled off the mortal coil.

"You don't have any proof Della is dead," Webby started and Louie cut off the rest of her sentence. He kissed her on the beak and held her to him. If he was going out, then he wasn't leaving without letting her know exactly how he felt about her.

Webby was shocked. She'd gone still in his arms; he knew she wasn't going to pull away, though he couldn't have said how he knew that. Then, just when he thought that he was pushing the matter too much, he felt the lightest of touches on his neck right before she kissed him back.

If he was going to fade, at least let him take that into oblivion with him. That one moment, if nothing else.