"You can't stay here," Dewey objected and Webby huffed at him.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Granny, for one thing," Webby 1 said. "She'll miss you. For another, it's your universe."

She glanced at the boys for assistance.

"You belong there," Huey said. "I mean, we don't know when the mirror will let you back into your world, so you're obviously staying the night, but you can't stay here longer than that. I don't know what happens when people from alternate dimensions don't return to their dimensions."

Webby frowned. Huey was right in that her grandmother would miss her. The triplets should be feeling uneasy about now too, not that she felt sorry for them. And Uncle Scrooge might be worrying about her whereabouts too.

"Can't I stay for a couple days?" she wheedled. "Then I'll go back. I promise."

"We should send word to the other universe if she's not coming back right away," Webby 1 mused.

"She could tell us so much as long as no one has to worry about whether she's okay," Huey agreed.

"We could check the mirror now and see if it's working," Webby 1 suggested, jumping to her feet. Her movements were lithe and Webby envied her. They trooped out and back toward the archive room. Once there, Webby 1 poked her hand at the mirror.

"Does it open the same time every day?" Huey mused.

"I don't know…" Webby 1 admitted. She poked the mirror again with her fingertip and then pushed her palm against it. It went through and Webby exclaimed in surprise. Did it work more than once a day, then? Could she just nip in there, tell her granny she was okay, and come back out?

Webby 1 sunk her arm up to her elbow and then screamed, pulling it back in a hurry. The reflection changed, too, showing shattered glass and an empty room. Webby didn't have time to wonder about that, though. Webby 1's arm was lacerated, bleeding profusely, and she looked like she was stifling a pained sob. Huey immediately searched for something to bind her arm with.

"I'll be okay…" Webby 1 said and then whimpered. She looked at the younger Webby. "You can't go through. If it did this to me and I only put my arm through…"

"The mirror's broken?" Webby exclaimed.

"Sure looks that way," Louie commented and frowned, whipping off his hoodie. Underneath, he was wearing a green t-shirt. He handed the hoodie to his older brother to use as a bandage. Huey gave him a questioning look and Louie shrugged.

Huey wasted no time ripping it up into strips to bind her arm and Webby 1 held up her arm. To their credit, the boys didn't hyperventilate, although Webby sensed they were close to it. Then again, this was a pretty serious injury. So maybe the fact that they kept looking at each other and then Webby 1 was telling in and of itself.

"Wait, wait…" Webby 1 pleaded. "Guys, I think there's glass embedded in my arm. We need to find Granny."

Webby feared she was right. Besides the fact she was dripping blood onto the floor, her arm glittered in a telltale way, revealing the shards of glass. Webby winced. That had to be excruciating, yet she was holding it together. She used Louie's sweatshirt to help stem the blood, but it pressed the shards in deeper.

Webby knew several curse words that probably would've appropriate here, things she'd heard Scrooge and Launchpad say, but she'd never repeat them. The boys were trying various things right now to help Webby 1, none of which were working. Louie was moving the sweatshirt and Webby 1 yelped in pain.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, wincing in apology and then nearly yanked it out of her grip entirely. Webby 1 had to fight to get it back, which was difficult considering she only had one good arm. Tears welled in her eyes and she was fighting sobs. Meanwhile, Huey had the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook open and was trying to find the page on treating glass injuries. Considering that her Huey's JWG probably had everything under the sun, she wasn't surprised to discover that Huey's did too. However, he kept flipping past it in his anxiety. He opened the book again, closed it, hissed, and nearly tore a page in his haste to find it. He was muttering what passed for curses among them; she guessed even in his agitated state, he didn't want to get in further trouble by cursing.

And Dewey? Dewey looked like he was torn between bolting and fussing over Webby some more. He kept glancing around the room as if the mirror would tell him what to do.

"We should go to get Mrs. Beakley," Dewey said. "Stay right there."

He took off in a hurry and tripped over himself, sprawling out on the floor. Gasping and shooting Webby 1 an anxious look, he raced off to find Mrs. Beakley. Webby turned. Her counterpart had tears in her eyes but didn't shed them. The other two brothers were examining her arm and Huey had pulled out a cell phone to shine the flash onto her arm.

"I'd need a set of tweezers," Huey said, glancing at the JWG in his hands. He'd finally managed to hit on the right page without closing the book...up until he shut it again. "Darn it. All right, I think I've got it."

His hands were shaking and he dropped it. Feeling superfluous and yet like this was her fault, Webby 2 scooped up the book and returned it to him. He thanked her just before dropping the book again. Webby 1 rolled her eyes, although Webby 2 had the sense her normal reaction was subdued by the pain in her arm and the tenseness of the situation.

"On a scale of one to ten, how much pain are you in?" He'd gotten the book open yet again and this time it was on a pain scale. It wasn't quite what they'd wanted, but it was close enough, for now, she guessed. The little faces on the page looked grotesque and Webby 2 winced in sympathy for the agony etched on smiley number ten, which looked like it was suffering a mortal wound below its face.

"About a seven or an eight…" Webby 1 said, gritting her teeth and then grinding them in pain. Webby 2 was proud of her for not crying; she must've had a high pain threshold. Then again, if she'd been trained as a fighter, she was probably used to pain to a certain extent. "If I take away this hoodie, I'll bleed all over the floor, but it won't hurt as much. Plus, Louie, you're never going to be able to get the blood out."

"It's fine," Louie said. His expression was pinched and he touched her good shoulder. His hand lingered on her, Webby noticed. She also noticed he was squeezing a bit too hard; both Louie and Webby 1 flinched and he released her. She was gasping in pain now and Webby 2 wondered where Dewey had gotten off to. Or whether he'd run into something in his agitation.

"Webs…" Louie started cautiously and she shook her head. She had gritted her teeth against the agony that had to be sharp and abrasive in her arm.

"Should I get tweezers?" Huey asked and Webby 1 again shook her head. This time, she was helpless to stop the tears trickling down her cheeks and Louie stepped closer to her as if he could somehow protect her. Huey, who had grabbed his phone in an attempt to find the glass with additional light, dropped it when he saw Mrs. Beakley and his brother return. As a consequence, he nearly blinded them.

"Give me that," Mrs. Beakley said, all business. She was more muscular than Webby's grandmother and much more in control. In her hands, she held a pair of tweezers. Despite the forcefulness of her bearing, Webby glimpsed genuine apprehension and anxiety in her eyes.

"Webbigail Vanderquack, what have you been doing?" she asked, her tone gentle.

"It's my fault," Webby blurted out, causing Mrs. Beakley to turn and look at her. She hadn't noticed her before and Webby squirmed, hugging her dolly tight to her chest. It was like a security blanket and Webby was loath to throw it away, despite the fact that this Webby had. (That was kind of impressive, too).

"I wanted to stay here for a while, so she was going to go through the mirror into my dimension to tell my granny so she wouldn't worry, but when she put her arm through…"

"Granny, I know you're mad at me, but could you be upset iand/i pull the glass out?" Webby 1 gasped. Tears streaked her cheeks and she was whimpering, swaying on her feet a little. Was the glass holding the blood in? Webby 2 thought she remembered hearing something like that, but it'd been said when the adults thought she wasn't listening.

Mrs. Beakley surveyed Webby 2 for a minute more before setting to work. She ordered one of the boys to hold Webby 1's arm steady so she could extract the glass. Of course, that assumed that the boys could hold her arm steady. They couldn't. They were freaking out, whimpering and offering apologies for something that wasn't their fault. Meanwhile, Webby 2 was silent, guilt swamping her. It took all three of them to hold Webby long enough for Mrs. Beakley to extract the glass shards. By the time it was done, Webby 1's feathers were soaked in blood and the girl rocked on her feet.

The mirror looked untouched, despite the number it'd done on her. Webby 2 shot it a dirty look.

"I'll take your hoodie for now," Mrs. Beakley informed Louie and bound up Webby 1's wounds. Huey guided Webby 1 to a crate to sit down, which she did thankfully. She didn't lower herself so much as collapse onto it and Huey grabbed the one nearby to prevent her from falling over. He sat beside her and held her hand. He was still gibbering something about the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook while Dewey came over to ramble about something equally insignificant. Louie, who might've been cold, hugged himself.

"Now, would someone care to explain what's going on here?" Mrs. Beakley said.

Webby gave the concise version and when she was finished, Mrs. Beakley's lips pulled into a tighter line. She was much more severe than the granny Webby knew and loved. Then again, this Mrs. Beakley had produced that Webby. So maybe there was something to be said for her parenting style.

By the time she'd blurted out all of it, she was crying too, harder than the other Webby despite her injury. The other Webby, Webby 1, was hardcore.

"I'm sorry," Webby finished. "I never meant for her to get hurt."

"It's not your fault," Mrs. Beakley told her and glanced between the two Webbigails. Webby 1 was leaning heavily on Huey now and Mrs. Beakley sighed.

"I'll take her up to her room," she said. She frowned. "You and I need to have a discussion, young lady."

"Yes, Grammy," Webby said, lowering her head.

They disappeared, leaving Webby 2 with Dewey and Louie. After a few seconds, Louie decided to follow Mrs. Beakley, Webby 1, and Huey, which meant Webby was alone with Dewey.

"You're not worried about her?" Webby asked.

"Duh, of course, I am," he said. "I mean, you saw her arm. But Mrs. Beakley wouldn't appreciate all of us crowding her and besides..." He glanced at the mirror frame. "The whole thing's so weird. You didn't get cut up when you came to see us earlier. And the mirror's shimmering."

His voice was shaking, despite his words, and Webby 2 hugged him. He didn't hug her back; his gaze was hooked onto where the others had gone.

He approached it, brushing his fingertips along it, but didn't attempt to cross the way Webby 1 had. After thirty seconds, he withdrew his hand.

"It's not broken on this side," he said. "But I can feel the gritty residue on the other. It's gotta be broken on your side."

He said this in something of a panic, doubtlessly thinking of what had just transpired. He still looked like he wanted to flee and she released him in case he was about to bolt and find Webby 1.

Webby's frown deepened. While she had wanted to stay, she could see the sense in letting her grandmother and Uncle Scrooge know where she was. That didn't appear to be an option anymore. She probably wouldn't be able to transport herself through the mirror without bleeding to death. That was an unnerving thought.

Webby's lower beak quivered. She hadn't meant to cause trouble. Moreover, the sight of Webby 1's arm like that made her sick to her stomach. Before Dewey had a chance to object or stop her, she darted from the archive room toward her counterpart's room. Dewey was right behind her and although he kept calling for her to slow down, he wasn't trying very hard to prevent her egress. Then again, he'd probably been headed in the same direction.

Webby 1 was lying curled up on her side with the hoodie beneath her. Louie's expression was almost tender as he looked at her and again, Webby had the sense she was intruding. Huey was reading something from the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook about treating wounds (he'd managed to keep the book open this time, despite his trembling hands) and Mrs. Beakley was frowning even deeper, which made Webby step back into the doorway and bump into the door. Oh, she hated when the adults were upset with her.

"You don't think she'll need stitches, do you?" Huey asked in an undertone. Dewey moved past Webby and approached the bed. The other boys nodded at him and he inclined his head back. Webby 1 wasn't conscious and her breathing was shallow.

"She should be okay after some rest," Mrs. Beakley said and smoothed back her granddaughter's hair. She kissed her on the forehead and turned toward Webby, who froze like a deer in the headlights.

"Now, young lady, I believe it's time for that little chat," she said. "I'll see if I can stir up some tea and biscuits to go with it."

Once Webby 1 was sleeping, Mrs. Beakley brought Webby to a private room where the young duckling squirmed. She didn't recognize the room but then again, everything in this mansion looked so much different. She waited while the other version of her grandmother poured the tea and, hand shaking, took the cup.

"You're far from home, young lady," Mrs. Beakley said stiffly.

"I didn't mean to!" Webby burst out.

"Other people are perfectly capable of making mistakes too. You needn't blame yourself for what happened," she said. "Although I'm quite certain your grandmother must be worried about you on the other side."

Webby nodded. "But it looks like I can't go back…"

"I'm sure they'll repair the mirror shortly," she said. Webby dropped her gaze. They'd probably have to enlist Magica de Spell's help. Despite what Mrs. Beakley had said, she felt responsible. But she was still a little glad she'd gone through anyway.

"Your Webby's so neat," she said, sipping her tea. "She can do all this fighting stuff and she's not scared of anything."

Not to mention she'd gotten her arm torn up and hadn't howled in pain the way Webby 2 would've. Webby 1 could handle it.

"I wouldn't know about that. Everyone's frightened of something."

Mrs. Beakley scanned her. "I take it your grandmother hasn't instilled in you defensive and offensive skills yet? Perhaps she thinks you're too young."

"My grammy doesn't know any," she said.

"A version of me who isn't a spy," she mused. "Huh."

She sounded obscurely disappointed. Webby racked her brains trying to come up with something that would impress her, but everything she'd seen here seemed superior to her own world. The boys had their own personalities and voices, her counterpart could fight, Mrs. Beakley was apparently a spy here, Webby's shadow wasn't really hers...and she wasn't marrying Doofus.

"You can stay with my Webby until we figure out how to contact someone on the other side to repair the mirror," Mrs. Beakley said. "Assuming they haven't already done so."

"They'd have to talk to Magica," Webby said. Mrs. Beakley stiffened and, surprised, Webby looked up. The woman's beak was clenched and something about the way she was holding herself put Webby on edge.

"And your Scrooge and Magica are friends?" Mrs. Beakley asked carefully.

"Oh, no. She hates him," Webby said earnestly. "But she's the only one who has magic."

"I see," Mrs. Beakley said stiffly. "I should hope that we don't need to consult our version of Magica. She's done enough damage around here to last a lifetime, not to mention she would need her powers restored."

"Why? What happened to her powers?" she asked.

"That is a tale for another time. It's getting late and you should be getting to bed," she said.

"Yes, Grammy," she said and Mrs. Beakley seemed to suppress a sigh. She guided her back toward her room and huffed when she saw that Louie was there too.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"I was just checking on her," Louie said, a tad defensively.

"Go to bed," Mrs. Beakley said. "Now."

"I'm going," he said. "Good night."

He cast one last look back at Webby 1 and Webby felt a sudden, inexplicable surge of jealousy. None of the triplets ever looked at her like that. They never looked at her like she was family. It wasn't fair.

"I'll be right down the hall if you need anything," Mrs. Beakley promised. She had secured a sleeping bag and prepped it for Webby, who crawled into it and glanced up. Louie was lingering and Mrs. Beakley shooed him away. The green-clad triplet shrugged and walked off.

Webby closed her eyes and tried to sleep. It was difficult when guilt swamped her. It was also difficult because, with the dim light the moon cast into Webby 1's room, Webby 1's shadow was moving. It appeared to be trying to talk, but no sound came out. The oddest thing was that it wasn't shaped like Webby, but like an older duck Webby didn't recognize. Seemingly frustrated, the shadow pointed at Webby 1 and then back at her as if to ask who she thought she was coming in here like this.

"I don't think I should talk to shadows…" Webby demurred.

"Ugh, why do I bother…" a weak voice muttered. "The person I really want to talk to is down for the count."

In her sleep, Webby 1 fingered a friendship bracelet around her wrist. The shadow's expression grew pained.

"Sssh, Webby, I'm here…" the shadow soothed. Webby 1 must've been having a nightmare because her chest heaved up and down like she was suppressing tears.

"Wake up and talk to me…" the shadow pleaded. "I didn't leave you. I'm still here. Webby…"

"Who are you?" Webby asked. "What are you?"

"My name is Lena and it's a long story," she said. "Argh, great, I can already feel my strength fading and all I wanted was to talk to her for five minutes. Give her a message for me, will you?

"Tell her that Lena has her back and that she'll always be with her. Okay? Can you remember that? Man, you look so girly. Just tell her that."

The shadow dispersed, replaced by Webby 1's own shadow. For some reason Webby didn't quite understand, her chest heaved up and down too like she wanted to cry. Who or what was a Lena?

She'd tell her in the morning. Webby was just going to close her eyes for five minutes and recite the speech back to herself...she'd remember it...she would…

She fell asleep and by the time she woke up, she had a lot worse troubles than Lena's speech.


Doofus Drake stood outside McDuck Manor and inhaled. He could smell the triplets, as well as their friend, Webby. There was, however, another scent on the air, a more lavender and sage aroma that intrigued him. He ordered his parents to carry him up the steep roof and he poked his head into Webby's room. Normally, there would be a security system that ought to have ejected him, but he supposed they'd had more important things on their mind, like defeating Magica. (The whole city knew about that). If Magica had blown through their defenses, then it was all to the good for Doofus. He wasn't going to complain or bring it to Scrooge's attention.

She was curled up on her side with a strange shadow hanging over her. She wasn't the source of the scent, though.

A younger duckling, likewise curled into a ball, with a pretty pink bow and a pink dress, was lying on a sleeping mat on the floor. Intrigued, Doofus climbed through the window, landed hard on his stomach, and looked up to see whether the girls had roused. They hadn't. He pushed himself to his feet and stared at the younger duckling. Something about her drew him to her and he leaned in close to inhale her scent.

The younger duckling whimpered in her sleep and he stroked her feathers. She was adorable. Too adorable. He had to have her. And, after all, no one said no to Doofus Drake.

He scooped her up into his arms and headed back for the window. It was difficult to move with her in his arms and he handed her to his parents as soon as he climbed out.

"We're taking her," he announced.

"But, Doofus, she's a person," his mother protested. "You can't just kidnap a person."

"I can do whatever I want," Doofus snapped. "And I want her, so I'm taking her."

"But, someone will know she's missing," his mother pressed. "They're bound to look for her. You can't...you can't just waltz in there and abduct someone, Doofus."

"I'm not paying you to reprimand me!" he snapped. Come to think of it, he wasn't paying them at all. Digging his hand into his pocket, he produced a wad of cash, which he threw into Webby's room. It landed beside her pillow and, if shadows could give dirty looks, he could've sworn hers did.

"There. I paid for her. Now everything is settled," he said. "Let's go."