Bloo knew something was wrong the moment he woke up. Any other night, he would have gone back to sleep when he saw it was two a.m. But something was wrong this time. He could sense it. A dreadful feeling sat on his chest. Something was very, very wrong.

The dreadful feeling only intensified when he saw that Mac had woken up at the same time as him - perhaps a little bit after - and in the same fashion. He looked worriedly at Bloo.

"Where's Eduardo?"

Bloo's stomach dropped.

He almost threw himself over the edge of his bunk to check the bed below him that Eduardo slept in. It was empty. The sheets had been tossed aside, and the pillow was laying on the floor. Eduardo was nowhere in sight.

"Bathroom?" Mac said, but he clearly didn't believe himself. Bloo could see everything he was feeling reflected back at him in Mac's eyes.

Bloo climbed down from his bed, and Mac jumped down from his hammock, grabbing his green cap to put on his head.

Uncle Giraffe's funeral was just last week. He had died peacefully in his sleep on the sofa in his mansion. It was abrupt and unexpected, hitting them all like a ton of bricks. Uncle Clifford had been distant and quiet. The only person who could get him to talk was Daisy. Mac had cried for hours. Bloo had been sensitive and angry, snapping easily.

Eduardo, on the other hand, hadn't really reacted. It was like he'd shut down. Bloo had gotten mad at him for not feeling anything, but then found out that Eduardo couldn't feel anything. Anything at all. Not even his own body. Bloo apologized for yelling at him a couple days ago, and asked if he was doing okay. Eduardo told him he didn't know. Nobody seemed to know how they felt, and if they did, they were sad. Since Mac had said the same thing earlier that day, and Bloo didn't know where he himself was on the scale of okay, he'd left things at that. Now he wished he'd done more.

"This is Eduardo's writing," Mac suddenly said, picking up a note that was on his desk. He started reading it and stopped moving.

"What does it say?" Bloo asked, the dread creeping up his throat, and he wondered if he was going to throw up.

When Mac didn't answer him, Bloo shook his shoulder. Mac gave him a horrified look. Bloo didn't need him to say anything to understand.

They found Eduardo crying on the riverbank three blocks away from their street, and relief flooded through them. Sweet, sweet relief seeped into their tired, worried bones.

Mac sprinted over to Eduardo, a bunch of words tumbling out of his beak as fast as a train, his voice cracking and breaking.

"Oh thank goodness, you didn't - Are you crazy?! What were you thinking? It's alright now. You're alright. I love you, I know I don't say it often, but I love you so much." Tears ran down Mac's face as he spoke. He threw his arms around Eduardo's neck, and Eduardo curled up in his embrace, clutching him like a lifeline.

Bloo knelt down, combing his hand through Eduardo's hair, and reveling in the feeling of Eduardo; the physical feeling of him, the feeling of him right here, the feeling of his physical existence.

"You scared us," Bloo croaked.

"I'm sorry," Eduardo sobbed, grabbing Bloo's arm and holding onto him tightly, and Bloo realized what had happened. All the pain and sadness and loss had ambushed Eduardo and overwhelmed him, and he'd just wanted to see Uncle Giraffe again. Until it dawned on him what that meant.

"It's okay," Bloo whispered soothingly. It wasn't okay, but Eduardo needed to hear that right now.

"I'm sorry. I-I didn't know what I - I just w-wanted - I-I'm sorry."

Mac shushed him, rubbing his hand up and down Eduardo's back. "Just please never do that again.

"I won't," Eduardo said, wiping at his face, clutching Mac tighter, and squeezing Bloo's arm. "I won't. I swear. I promise."

Bloo called Uncle Clifford, who came to pick them up with the camper van. He hugged Eduardo tight and kissed the top of his head, whispering "I'm glad you're alright" in his ear. Then he told Bloo he was proud of him for being responsible, and told Mac he was proud of him for being strong.

Clifford talked quietly on the drive back.

"Your Great Uncle Giraffe was old. He had to die at some point. I'm just sorry he can't watch you boys grow up." Sixteen was a fragile age to begin with. Add a dead loved one on top of a mom lost in space and some deep-rooted abandonment issues, it wasn't pretty. It was a heap upon heaps of years of pain. Clifford could only imagine what his three nephews felt, but if he could, he would heap all of that pain onto himself.

"What was he like when you were young?" Mac asked.

Clifford glanced at the youngest in the rear-view mirror. The boys had never asked him anything about his childhood before; in fact, they usually got bored when he recited a memory.

"The same," Clifford replied, "Greedy, strict, kind, and adventurous. Your mother and I liked visiting him. He didn't yell like our parents."

"Really?" Mac asked with a frown, "He yelled at us a lot."

"He made us work on the farm morning to night. And when I once asked for an allowance, he made me work twice as hard."

Clifford smiled when Mac laughed, "That sounds like Uncle Giraffe."

Clifford nodded. The memory was as clear as day in his head. He could still see a young Uncle Giraffe calling them into the house for a nice, happy dinner. They never had to worry about saying something wrong when they ate at his house. Uncle Giraffe raised his voice when he was angry, but he never screamed at Clifford or his sister. Maybe because he knew they heard enough screaming at home.

"I did something bad," Eduardo said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence that had descended on the four of them.

"What?" Bloo asked, looking at his brother in concern.

"Please don't be mad," Eduardo whispered, "I just wanted to feel again."

Bloo gasped and Mac's eyes widened to the size of saucers when Eduardo rolled up his sleeve.

Clifford parked by the curb in front of their house, then undid his seatbelt and went to the back of the camper where his nephews were seated. He gently took Eduardo's arm and examined the red lines and dried blood on Eduardo's skin.

"At least they're just scratches," Clifford sighed. Scratches that were not deep, or fatal, or life threatening. Scratches from Eduardo's fingernails that aggravated his skin, not damaged it. Scratches that will heal, and fade, and go away.

Mac couldn't fall back asleep. When they'd went up to their room in the attic, Mac had crawled into Eduardo's bed and so had Bloo. The bed was clearly not made for three teenage ducks, but neither of them cared. They were reminded of when they lived with Uncle Clifford on the water, and they were little, and they had to share a mattress.

Mac traced his fingers along the lines on Eduardo's arm, smoothing over them, trying to erase them. They didn't belong there.

"I'm sorry," Eduardo said. His voice was exhausted, and sad, and guilty.

Mac stopped what he was doing. Yes, it hurt to see Eduardo like this, but Eduardo was probably hurting a lot more than him. When Uncle Giraffe died, the sadness had washed over Mac like a wave, and everything made him cry. Now it was still there, but it was calm. Eduardo was numb for so long, and all the feelings had violently attacked him all at once without warning. Mac didn't think that was very fair.

"You're forgiven," Mac said, cuddling against Eduardo's side. He gave him a meaningful look. "It's okay."

Eduardo smiled, looking like a huge weight had just been lifted from his shoulders. "Thanks, Lou."

And then Bloo started snoring.

It didn't take long for Mac and Eduardo to fall asleep as well. Nothing had changed since they were ten; Bloo still hogged the blankets, Mac still sprawled out, and Eduardo still kicked.

Life returned to normal over the next few weeks. Or, as normal as it could be without Uncle Giraffe's Friday phone calls. They missed him like crazy, won't ever stop missing him, but they adjusted. They got used to it. He lived on in each of their hearts, and talking about him made it easier. Having things around them that reminded them of him made it easier. It made them feel like he was still there with him.

Uncle Clifford told stories about being a little boy on a farm. Mac laughed more. Bloo was done being angry. And Eduardo was happier.

Life was as good as it could be.

Until Bloo found Eduardo at his computer in their room with about a million papers strewn across his desk. A scene that reminded him of when Eduardo was doing research on their mother, bringing up all the hurt and anger Bloo felt towards her.

"What are you doing?" Bloo demanded.

Eduardo jumped and looked at him like a deer caught in headlights.

"This isn't homework, is it?"

Eduardo shook his head.

"You aren't making some sort of scientific discovery?"

Eduardo shook his head.

Bloo went and sat beside him, hoping and praying that this wasn't what it looked like. "Then what are you doing?"

Eduardo gulped fearfully, looking back and fourth between his computer and brother. He took a deep breath, while Bloo's breathing paused. He steeled himself, while Bloo felt something he had vaulted up inside himself years ago open and unravel.

Eduardo responded, "I'm looking for our dad."

"You're looking for our dad?" Mac asked incredulously, after Bloo had stormed out of their room. He had come as soon as he heard Bloo yelling at the top of his lungs, and had listened to Eduardo argue with him, and watched Bloo leave in a fit of rage.

Eduardo licked his lips nervously, looking at staircase that lead downstairs, like he was worried Bloo would come back to yell at him some more. "Yes?" he said.

Mac was... was shocked. Was... He didn't know what to feel. Eduardo had always been curious about their mom, especially when he was younger. He had asked Uncle Clifford a thousand questions about her, had researched everything about her life, and even met her best friend from college. He had wanted to know every little detail about her, and was very thorough in doing so.

Mac had been curious about their mom too. He used to fantasize about her when he was five. She was a sweet woman with pretty long hair, who loved animals just like him, and played sports in the backyard with him, and hadn't left them. She was a huge basketball fan, who watched every game with him, and let him eat all the cookies he wanted, and hadn't left them. She was a stay-at-mom, who played with them everyday, and hadn't left them. Mac had come up with a bunch of fantasies about her. What else could he do? He didn't know anything about her, and he missed her, and just didn't want to believe she'd left them because she didn't want them.

Of course, he'd wondered about their dad too. They knew even less about him than they did their mom. But they had Uncle Clifford, who might as well have been their dad, and Mac hadn't needed to fantasize about him.

"Why?" Mac asked, taking one of the papers off of Eduardo's desk and looking it over.

Eduardo sighed, thinking over his answer before he responded. "I guess I'm just... curious."

Mac was quiet, waiting for Eduardo to elaborate more.

Eduardo dragged a hand through his hair. "I think I'd like to know him... our dad. Before it's too late, you know?"

Oh. That was what this was about. Uncle Giraffe. Life. Death.

Eduardo looked hesitantly at Mac. "Don't you?"

Mac thought about that for a moment. Did he want to know their dad? He had wanted to know their mom. In fact, while Bloo had disapproved of Eduardo researching their mother, Mac had supported him, and even helped him. Because he had wanted to know about her too. He had wanted to know for sure if she had wanted them or not. Finding out that she had left them to go into space, that she had loved her work more than them, had crushed Eduardo. But for Mac, it smashed him. Because he'd tried so hard to believe for so many years in a mom that had wanted them, and as it turned out, she hadn't. She had wanted to be an astronaut. Not a mother.

If they found out that their dad didn't want them either, he wondered what it would do to Eduardo, what it would do to him.

"You really want to do this?" Mac asked.

Eduardo bit his lip, then hardened his expression and nodded.

"What if you don't like what you find?"

Eduardo looked at his computer. "I still want to do it. I want to find him."

Mac was scared. Terrified by how real all these papers were and how real all the words on Eduardo's computer was. But what scared him more was the thought of Eduardo, alone, finding out their dad didn't want them, and breaking.

"I'll help."

That way, if Eduardo broke, he wouldn't break alone.

Bloo was going to explode.

Eduardo hadn't meant for Bloo to find out about what he was doing. He had only worked when he was positive Bloo wasn't home. Because he knew that Bloo hated their parents more than anyone. He knew Bloo would react the way he had reacted, and he knew that Bloo didn't really hate their parents, but was hurt by them. Hurt often manifested itself as anger in Bloo.

He hadn't meant for Mac to find out either. He knew Mac would want to help, and he knew how hopeful Mac was. He hadn't wanted him to know, in case the results weren't what they wanted.

And they weren't.

"They couldn't find him," Eduardo said, sitting on his desk chair with the letter in hand.

Mac, who had been sitting with his back completely straight, slouched in his hammock with a heartbroken look. Bloo, laying on his back on the floor, looked up from his magazine, his expression guarded.

"Why not?" Mac asked quietly, brokenly.

Eduardo felt his heart breaking too. "It says that he was last seen wandering the streets of Duckberg, drunk. After that, he disappeared. Nobody ever saw him again."

"Figures," whispered Mac, pulling his blanket over his head. Tiny, muffled sniffles followed soon after.

"I told you not to look for him," Bloo grumbled, but he turned the other way so his siblings wouldn't see his face fall.

Eduardo sighed heavily and dropped the letter, letting it flutter to the floor. He buried his face in his arms. He should've known. He did know, and yet he persisted, raising all of their hopes in the process. Now Mac was crying, Bloo was holding back tears, and Eduardo had destroyed himself. For a man who probably didn't even love them.

"At least we tried," Mac said, the words coming out as a sob, "I'm glad we at least tried."

"Yeah," Eduardo agreed, humoring the youngest's attempt at optimism, "Yeah, I'm glad we tried too." He shut his eyes tightly, gripping his hair, torn between needing to cry and needing to shout. He was such an idiot, stupid, stupid idiot...

"You guys wanna know why I was never interested in finding our parents?" Bloo suddenly asked, his gaze still on the window and back facing his brothers.

"I thought it was because you hated them," Mac said, poking his head out from under his blanket, scrubbing at his eyes.

"No, that's not it," Bloo replied, still not looking at them.

"Then what?" Eduardo asked, hearing how watery his voice sounded. The need to cry had apparently won against the need to scream.

"I don't need them," Bloo said, conviction in his tone, "I just need you two."

Eduardo looked at Bloo's back, and Mac laughed.

"Love you too, Hugh," Mac said teasingly, laughing, and crying, and wiping his face, "Yeah. That-that's right. I just need you guys too."

Eduardo leaned back in his chair, smiling up at the ceiling, and letting the tears fall freely. This was how it'd always been. It'd always been the three of them. They always argued, and fought, and laughed, and cried together. This was how it was. How it would always be. This was their normal. And it had always been enough, was enough, would always be enough. The tears just kept coming, but that was okay. He was okay.

He was okay because he was blessed with two amazing, annoying brothers, who loved him unconditionally.

"Me too," Eduardo said softly, "I just need you guys."