For the longest time, the only sound in the ancient Aztec vault was the whirring of a grappling hook and the choked sobbing of a child.
The McDucks had emerged victorious over the mercenaries, tying them up in a large coil of rope and leaving them on the steps of the pyramid that stood in the middle of the chamber. The mercenary leader Pedro, a large jaguar with a scar across his cheek, was positioned so he was facing the pit that his ally, Ainara, and the boy in the green hoodie had fallen into. The rest of the McDucks stood anxiously around the mouth of the pit, waiting for the woman with the metal leg and the girl in the pink skirt to return.
They all stepped back as the woman emerged, clutching the boy in her arms. The boy's head was buried in her chest, his muffled whimpering barely audible. Pedro sniffed the air, detecting the smell of blood on him, then his eyes narrowed as he saw it. The ducks at the top gasped in horror as they, too, saw the splatter of crimson across the boy's face and jacket.
The woman rushed to the McDuck as the girl in the skirt clambered out from the pit. The two adults spoke in hushed tones, but their conversation did not escape the mercenary leader's feline senses. His ear twitched as he picked up pieces of their distraught discussion, and his head bowed sorrowfully as he realised what had happened.
The ducks started to move out, the mother quickly leaving with the bloodstained child. The other two boys followed them, badgering her with fearful questions, while the girl remained behind, staring down the corridor in shock. McDuck watched them go for a moment, before turning around and walking up the pyramid to the prize at the top.
Pedro glared at him the entire time.
As the duck made his way back down, holding the disturbing, night-black headdress in his hands, he turned to the mercenaries with a scowl, his eyes burning with fury. The leader matched it with one of his own, his own anger fuelled by a hate he thought he'd forgotten.
"We'll be takin' this." McDuck told him coldly. "Don't you ever let me see your faces again."
The leader stared back silently. As McDuck kept walking, however, the leader told him, "You're the one who brought your children here, viejo. Don't blame us for a tragedy you created."
McDuck paused for a moment.
Then, he kept walking, gently guiding the young girl to follow him.
Freeing themselves from their binds was a simple, if time-consuming matter. Retrieving their companion from the pit that the McDucks had left her in also took a while. By the time they had emerged from the tomb, blinking the daylight, the Americans were long gone.
They wrapped a bandage around the slit throat of their fallen ally, making no attempt to do anything other than staunch the bleeding. Then, they carefully carried her into a body bag, zipping her up and putting her into one of the jeeps. With that, they drove away, leaving the tomb behind them.
They travelled in silence, driving down the dust-laden road through the desert. When night fell, they pulled over to the side and stopped to set up camp, putting up tents and starting a campfire. Their meal was a simple stew of meat, beans and rice, which they ate quietly around the fire. The only sound was the crackling of flames and the chirping of the crickets.
"…So." Spoke one of the cougars, his fur a darker brown and his build leaner than the others. He looked up from his meal to the jaguar as he asked in Spanish, "What now, Pedro?"
The leader chewed silently for a moment.
"…We bury Ainara." He replied, speaking in Spanish. "In her home village, like she wanted us to. Then, we go back to the Don and report our failure."
"…In that order?" The mercenary asked.
Pedro said nothing, shovelling another spoon into his mouth.
The mercenary put his bowl in his lap and gave his leader a serious look. "Pedro, I don't think that is a wise decision. The Don is not a patient man."
"He will have to be." Pedro replied.
"Pedro, I insist that we go to the Don first. He'll be angry enough as it is. If we disappear to some peasant hovel in the middle of nowhere, it'll look as if we're running."
"The longer we leave it, the worse the body will decay." Muttered the last of the cougar mercenaries, staring into the fire with his meal barely touched. His fur was lighter than his allies', and he sported a short mane of hair, shaped into a mohawk. He looked over at his companion scathingly. "You want her family to see her half-eaten by maggots, Carles?"
Carles raised an eyebrow sceptically. "I very much doubt maggots can get into a bodybag, but fine. What if we compromise? Get to the next town, ship her back to her village, and then go and see the Don?"
"No." Pedro replied bluntly. "We should bury her with her family. It's what she'd want."
"Who cares what she would want?" Carles snarled angrily. "She's gone! Our job is more important than the wishes of the dead!"
"How can you say these things?" The other cougar demanded, glaring daggers into his companion. "After everything she did for us-!"
"I don't want to die, Ignacio! Simple as that!" Carles argued.
"You don't even care that she's dead!"
"Oh, of course you do." Carles said mockingly, leaning forward with a cruel smirk on his face. "Because you slept with her. Because you loved her. Because you're such an insecure little boy that you can't help but fall for the first woman who pities you enough to-"
Ignacio leapt to his feet furiously, his bowl flying from his lap and its contents scattering across the ground. His claws popped out from his hands as he swung an attack towards the other mercenary, who started to reach for a knife on his belt.
"Enough." Pedro murmured quietly.
The other two stopped where they stood.
They looked between their leader and each other for a moment.
Then, slowly, they stood down. Ignacio sat back down slowly, retracting his claws, while Carles let go of his knife.
"Look, I'm not trying to undermine your authority, Pedro." Carles said to his boss, his confidence replaced with desperation. "But I strongly feel that this course of action is unwise. The Don will-"
Pedro cut him off, saying firmly, "The man we are working for is but one part of the cartel machine, and a small one at that. We have worked for much larger, much more powerful families than his, who regard him as a paranoid old fool obsessed with the occult. If he were to kill us, as you say he will, then he will draw the ire of every other family that we have worked for. And he knows that."
He looked up at Carles, his eyes narrowed at him. "We bury Ainara. Then, we speak to the Don."
Carles visibly deflated at the finality in his boss's voice. He looked down at his meal and muttered, "…Very well."
They returned to their meal in silence, Ignacio scooping what he could salvage from his spilled meal. When they were finished, the two mercenaries retreated to their bedrolls, leaving their leader alone to keep watch by the fire. He stared into the flames silently, his gaze unwavering, though his ears remained alert for any unusual noise.
Don't you ever let me see your faces again.
Pedro's fist tightened in his lap. His low gaze at the fire turned into a glare. He could still see that little duck boy, caked in blood that wasn't his. He could still hear the boy's crying, and he felt his hackles rise slightly in anger. Pedro knew he was far from a good man, but even he would never stoop so low as to put a child in danger. Not even him.
What kind of man brings children to a place like this?
Pedro knew. He knew exactly what kind of a man would put his own kin in harm's way.
When are you going to learn, Pedro? I give you a command, I expect you to follow it.
I… I don't want to hurt anyone.
You have to. That is the way of the world, boy. You have to hurt to survive. Kill to survive. Because if you don't… the world hurts you back.
The mercenary could almost hear the stretching of the leather belt in his ears, twitching in agitation. He could see it in the flickering flames, above his younger self, raised to strike.
Here. Let me show you what I mean.
Crack!
The sound of the blow reverberated through the stadium as Dewey swung his bat, sending the offending baseball soaring through the air. Dewey immediately broke into a sprint from the home plate, dashing as fast as he could as the other team scrambled to catch the ball. A couple more of his teammates, Ted and Simon, dashed from their bases as he did, completing their runs. He made it all the way to the third base before skidding to a stop, the opposing player catching the ball being thrown back to him just after Dewey had made it to the plate.
The enormous scoreboard that loomed over the stadium was updated to read, 'FEATHERED HILL 20, SILVERBEAK 6'.
The game was being played at Silverbeak's own stadium, the seats filled with a crowd that was paying keen, if not rapt, attention to the game. The Silverbeak Griffons and supporters were denoted by white uniforms, expensive clothes, and embarrassed expressions, while the Feathered Hill Paladins wore blue, shabby clothes and victorious pride.
Most of the McDucks were sitting near the top row of the stands, with Della standing on her feet and clapping louder than anyone else. Beside her sat Huey, Donald and Scrooge, while Daisy, May and June sat in the row behind her. With the exception of Della, who was wearing a blue scarf with the Paladin's logo emblazoned on it, they were wearing their usual everyday clothes, with nothing to denote their support for the team.
"Yeah!" Della cheered, still clapping even after everyone else had stopped. "That's my boy!"
Huey leant towards her anxiously, noticing people giving them looks. "Mom, please…"
"Keep it down." Donald hissed at her embarrassedly.
"Huh?" Della blinked, looking between them. "What? I'm just showin' support!"
"It's not supportive if you're being obnoxious!"
"Alright, alright." Della chuckled, sitting back down.
"Man, these Silverbeak guys suck." May said incredulously from behind. "Halfway through the game and they're losing by a landslide."
"Hush, dear." Daisy scolded her gently. "Think those thoughts, don't say them."
"Just sayin'." May shrugged, leaning back. "If they wanted a rematch so bad, you'd think they would have trained harder."
Donald looked over to his side to Scrooge, who was staring down at the pitching silently. Frowning concernedly, he quacked at him, "You've been awfully quiet."
"Er… yes…" Scrooge murmured, not looking at him. "I just… don't really 'get' this game, I'm afraid."
"Eh, just pretend that it's cricket or something." Della suggested.
Scrooge gave Della a disparaging look. "…I don't need to. It's the same game, just with the pieces moved around. You stand at one end of a field, passively waitin' for someone to throw a ball at you! Where's the skill? Or the teamwork?"
"Oh, come on. There's more to it than that." Daisy reprimanded him.
"Yeah, if hitting a ball is all there is to baseball, when what makes golf any better?" Donald asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Golf is a contemplative sport, lad." Scrooge countered. "Each shot has a dozen different factors that you need to take into account before swingin', and you can take yer time doin' so. But there's no such time to think in this game, you just swing and hit, barely any thought to where the ball lands. Now, if this was a game of football…"
Della rolled her eyes as Scrooge started to go on a rant, looking over to her left where Huey was. Noticing the empty seat immediately beside him, she asked, "Hey, where'd your brother go?"
"He said he was getting some snacks." Huey replied, looking over to the seat. He frowned, noting, "He's been gone for a while, though…"
"…Yeah…" Della murmured concernedly. Leaning over, she asked, "Could you go check on him, make sure he's alright? He was a bit out of it this morning."
"Sure." Huey replied with a nod, immediately standing up and making his way for the stairs.
He found Louie beside the stadium canteen, leaning against a wall with a can of Pep in his hand. He was watching the game with a tired, disinterested expression on his face. Concerned, Huey approached and said quietly, "Hey."
Louie glanced over at him. "Oh, hey. What's up?"
"Just wondering where you were." Huey replied, trying not to sound confrontational. "You, uh… got your snacks?"
"Yeah. I'll be back with the others in a bit." Louie replied, pointing over to the pitch. "The crowd can just be a bit loud, you know?"
"Hm." Huey stood beside him, not convinced by his answer.
Another loud crack accompanied the next hit. The two brothers watched as the next batter ran around the bases, racking up another two points for Feathered Hill.
"Jesus." Louie muttered, taking a sip of Pep. "Does it even mean anything if we win at this point?"
"Yeah, I know." Huey replied, shaking his head. "Honestly, this is pretty insulting to Dewey's team. Silverbeak demands a rematch, then delays it for weeks, all while hyping it up as this massive confrontation. Then we get to the actual game, and this is what they deliver?" He gestured out to the scoreboard, which by this point read 'FEATHERED HILL 23, SILVERBEAK 6'.
"I know what you mean." Louie agreed. "Hell, I feel insulted, and I don't even play this stupid game."
They stood together silently for a moment longer, Louie sipping from his drink as they watched the game.
"…Mom said you were feeling off this morning." Huey told him after a while. "Is everything okay?"
"…She told you that, huh?" Louie murmured. He let out a long sigh and rubbed his eyes. "…I… might have had another nightmare last night."
"Another-?"
"It wasn't that bad!" Louie said quickly. "Like, I've had way worse ones."
"Haven't you been taking the sleeping aids?" Huey asked worriedly.
Louie shook his head. "Man, I honestly prefer the nightmares. At least then I'm feeling nauseous every few mornings instead of every single morning."
Huey fidgeted uneasily, trying to figure out a way to respond to him.
"…You worry too much, man." Louie muttered, turning away. "And don't bring up the therapy thing again, I'm not-"
"I don't- I'm not bringing it up." Huey reassured him. "I mean… if Uncle Donald couldn't convince you to go back, nothing can." He shook his head and said imploringly, "But what's the alternative, then? If you won't do therapy, then what kind of help will you get?"
"Oh, is that the conversation? That I need help?" Louie turned back to him with a scowl. "Why don't we talk about June, huh? And all the help that she needs after what she pulled in Paris."
Huey hesitated, folding his arms. "…That was an accident, Louie."
"An accident? She holds someone's life hostage, and that's an accident?" Louie hissed. "It wasn't just that she was threatening to do it, she had mortally wounded the chick! Her first instinct in a fight was to try and kill-!"
He stopped suddenly, blinking. After a moment, he regained his composure somewhat, muttering, "I mean… don't you find that even a little bit concerning?"
Huey stood resolutely, frowning sternly at his brother. "What I find concerning is that you immediately deflect the moment that I try-"
"I'm not deflecting!" Louie argued. "I'm just saying that there are people in this family who have way worse problems than me, so stop worrying about me."
"I can't do that." Huey told him flatly. "I can leave you alone about school, I can help out with your schemes, I can even keep secrets for you. But I can't stop worrying. I'm your big brother. It's my job."
"Older by three seconds." Louie muttered. He sighed and turned back to the game, raising his drink to his beak. "Whatever."
They stood beside each other in silence as the teams switched over, the Silverbeak Griffons taking to the batting plate. They watched as the first guy they sent out stood nervously at the plate, consistently swung his bat too early three times, then retreated back to the bench in humiliation.
"…Seriously, have these guys even played baseball before?" Louie asked.
Bentina had a strict routine. Every morning, she would traverse the same route through the mansion, systematically going from corridor to room with a feather duster and a vacuum cleaner, cleaning every spot of dirt, dust or staining that she could see until the room was spotless. Almost every room in the house was subject to her scrutiny, though she avoided the boys' rooms due to both their insistence that she stayed out, and because cleaning their room was a cause she'd given up on years ago.
This afternoon, as she passed by the door to Webby's room, she paused as she heard sounds coming from behind the door. Carefully approaching the door, she frowned as she recognised the sound of music – slow, melancholic music that didn't fit Webby's style at all.
Bentina knocked on the door, calling out, "Webby? Are you in there?"
For a moment, there was no response. No sound other than the music.
Then, she heard a noncommittal groan from inside the room.
"Can I come in?" Bentina asked.
Another few seconds passed.
Then, Bentina heard another noncommittal groan.
Taking that as permission, she pushed open the door and walked in.
She found Webby up in her bedroom, lying in her bed with the covers thrown over her body. Her phone was the source of the music, sitting on a bedside table. Bentina approached her granddaughter slowly, frowning. "You're already in bed?" She asked. "It's only four-thirty."
"Mmm." Webby grunted noncommittedly.
Bentina moved over to the side of the bed, looking down at Webby pityingly. She reached down and put Webby's music on pause as she said, "…I take it you're still upset about Lena?"
"…Yeah." Webby murmured quietly.
Bentina looked down at the black and white album cover on Webby's phone. "Did Lena often listen to Maya Robinson?"
"…I don't know." Webby muttered. "She's just this pop singer who writes songs about breakups and bad boyfriends."
"…I wasn't aware that you liked this type of music."
"I don't."
Bentina sat down on the side of Webby's bed, putting her hands in her lap and sighing. "…Webby, it's been two weeks." She told her. "Moping like this every afternoon isn't going to make you feel any better. In fact, I fully expect that it'll make you feel worse."
Webby was quiet for a moment. Then, she slowly turned around and sat up. She was still in her day clothes, though her jacket had been thrown aside onto a pile of laundry. She hadn't been crying, but she certainly looked miserable. She pulled her legs up to her chest, sniffling, "…I thought she felt the same way…"
Bentina manoeuvred herself so that she could put her arm around Webby's shoulders. "I know." She told her comfortingly.
"Like… it didn't even occur to me that she didn't…!" Webby rubbed her eyes. "I just feel so…"
"I know." Bentina repeated. "It's not a good feeling. And unfortunately… it's not the last time you'll feel like this."
Webby blinked a couple of times, looking up at Bentina confusedly. "What?"
"…Heartbreak is, unfortunately, part of the pursuit of romance." Bentina explained. "And over the course of your life, you will get your heart broken many more times before you either find the right person… or you don't. Either way, each time it happens, you learn something new about yourself, you take some time to recover, and you move on. And that's what's important."
Webby silently contemplated this for a moment.
"…I don't think you're very good at reassuring speeches." She said after a moment.
"…It's not my forte, no."
Webby smiled in spite of herself, though it didn't last long. She tucked her beak into her knees, muffling her voice as she said, "…I don't want to feel like this again."
"That's just life, I'm afraid." Bentina told her, stroking her headfeathers. "Have you talked to Lena since then?"
"What? No!" Webby balked. "I- I can't-!"
She hesitated, then buried her face again as she admitted. "…I… can't do it. I feel bad for avoiding her, but… I just can't face her."
"You should talk to her." Bentina suggested. "She won't be angry at you. In fact, she'll likely be just as uncomfortable as you."
"…Why should I talk to her if that'll just make both of us feel bad?"
"Because you'll both feel worse if you don't." Bentina said simply.
Webby didn't respond. Deciding to change the subject, Bentina told her, "If you want something to distract yourself for now, we're choosing the next adventure this weekend. We decided it would be nice to let the six of you choose this time."
Webby immediately perked up. "We get to choose?"
"We have a list of locations and adventures. You and the boys will get to decide which one sounds the most fun to you." Bentina smiled at her. "You've been following our directions for years. It's about time we started following yours."
For a moment, Webby was quiet. Then, she looked up at her granny with a tentative smile. "…I'd really like that, yeah."
"There's the Webby I know." Bentina declared, kissing Webby on the forehead. "Now, let's get out of bed. Do you want me to make something for you? Tea? Cocoa?"
"No, I… I think I'll be fine. Thanks."
"Very well." Bentina stood up, stroking her granddaughter's head one last time before heading for the ladder back down.
As she was stepping down, she heard Webby say, "Granny?"
Bentina paused, looking over at Webby. "Yes?"
"…Do you think it would be okay with Dad if I suggested some adventures that aren't on your list?" Webby asked. "Just in case there are some places we want to go that he hasn't thought of?"
Bentina tensed slightly at the word 'Dad'.
See, I brought along three nieces instead of one.
"That should be fine, dear." Bentina replied with a comforting smile on her beak.
"Okay." Webby murmured. As Bentina resumed stepping down the ladder, Webby suddenly sat bolt upright and asked, "Also, did you say the six of us?"
"I'll see you downstairs." Bentina called out from the library, leaving the bedroom without answering Webby's question.