A dream came to him, but not as it usually did.
Blackness surrounded him everywhere. A child, himself in his old uniform, was crouching on the ground, his hands on his head, trying to block out the noises coming from all over the void. There were sounds everywhere from within the darkness: screeching, explosions, howls, metal crashing.
There were beings in the darkness. Terrible, dark things with red eyes and large mouths that chittered. They seemed to surround the void, encircling the trembling child who was trying to hide himself from the monsters, curling himself in a ball, struggling not to look into the darkness.
They came closer and closer, forming into familiar faces, some of which were his own aged face twisted into horrid expressions, whispering things that further made the child draw into the ground.
"Useless…good for nothing…weakling…coward…selfish…a disappointment…"
"Evil…villain…bad…monster…always hated…I created you…you've always been a monster…she was right about you…you're just like me, admit it!"
"Nothing but a pencil pusher…boring old bean counter…what do you know of anything? Who would ever listen to your cuckoo ideas?"
"Nothing but a stingy, old buzzard…"
"You're nothing like your grandmother…you'll never be like her, you'll never live up to her legacy…you're nothing but a disgrace to her name…"
The last voice came the loudest, its owner's face gruesomely morphing from Finch's.
"...I am Scrooge McDuck! As long as adventure courses through my veins…no villain can best me...villain…best me…best me…"
The child started to cry as he held himself in a fetal position. The monsters crept closer, their voices echoing, becoming larger, their words filling the void.
A flash of gold swept through the heavy darkness, the sound of clashing steel heard throughout the void. The wall of demons scattered, and there standing was him in his armor. He stood with valor, fearless in the face of the monsters, his metal shining, his expression grim, his stance at the ready with Sword in hand. He glanced behind to check on his younger self. The child looked at him in awe, then he pointed ahead of him and screamed.
The Knight turned, swinging his longsword across the field, dispelling each monster it encountered into smoke with a slash. He kept his back to his younger self, defending him from every attack, every demon that flew closer and closer to them. Some clawed into his armor and he swung them off, many raced closer as a never ending cloak of blackness.
The boy whimpered from the danger as the Knight stepped back towards his shivering body and stood over him, cutting into the faces of his enemies, of old known voices, even at his own hated face. He had to protect the child, no matter what, whatever the circumstances, protect the child-
A sharp, high-pitched cry cut through the air. The Knight chanced a glance behind his back and gasped. The boy was no longer there. In his place lay a baby duckling wrapped in a blue blanket, wailing loudly, helpless.
The monsters kept coming at a faster pace. The Knight hacked and slashed all around him, but the more demons he cut, twice more replaced their place. Very quickly, they became overrun with blackness, clamoring all over him as he tried to shake them off, swinging his arms to fling the demons away from the vulnerable child.
But it was not enough. The black monsters became more and more numerous, putting their weight all over him, clawing at him, whispering menacing things, holding on to him and not letting go, getting closer to the duckling.
It was too late. The dense, dark void was closing in on them. He was losing control.
With a scream, he brought his body in and pushed his limbs out, flinging the demons off him. He quickly turned and knelt over the child, held her close to him, shielding her with his large body from the barrage of monsters falling and scrambling on his back. He clenched his teeth as the demons crawled all over him as he tried to hide the scared child under his chest and away from the monsters, his breathing quick and shallow.
The pain from the monsters' touch seared through him like burning knives. Everything was falling away from him. The only being he ever truly loved cried in his grasp and held onto his arms with her little hands. He was losing all control. They were coming for her.
A glowing red aura suddenly enveloped him, its power beaming around him and displacing the demons away. His eyes flashed open, and they were the full color of bright amber.
Bradford gasped loudly as he pushed himself up from the desk, sweating and breathing quickly, his unsteady heart hammering in his chest. The photos and letter were still on the desk, the same as they looked before but for a large crease bent across the old paper where he had slept on.
Whimpering came not far from him. It was April, still laying on his bed, crying, reaching out for anyone to come and hold her.
Bradford gasped quietly, deeply disturbed, and ran to her, knocking over the chair in his haste. He took hold of her, sat on the bed, and held her close, trying to feel her live body in his hands, making sure what he felt was real. He tried to calm his breathing, but his old, broken body only shook harder, rattling gasps going through him uncontrollably, making it hard for him to breathe.
He tried to swallow down the gasps, taking in deep, controlled breaths. He felt the little duckling squirm against his white work shirt, and he finally knew that this, indeed, was real. After a few minutes, when most of the gasps passed, when he had finally calmed down, he held the still crying April tightly against his chest, rocked his body slowly, and gently nuzzled her cheeks with the smoothness of his beak. Not for the first time that day, a disobedient tear trailed down his trembling face.
"Shh, shh," he hushed lightly through trembling lips as he rocked her. "Shh, I'm here now, April. I'm here, don't be scared. Shh..."
He continued hushing until her whimpering became lower then disappeared completely, leaving only low breaths. She was calmed back to sleep, and she burrowed herself into his shirt. Bradford's beak crawled into a brief, small smile as he continued nuzzling her.
"Shh. I'm here, April. Don't be scared. You'll never have to fear with me near you. You don't have to be scared anymore. I'm here. I'm here and I'll always be here. I'm here…Daddy loves you. Daddy loves you so very, very much…I'm here…"
He repeated the words again and again, slowly rocking his body on the bed, the last of his own sobs evaporating, the two of them at peace. In his mind, the picture of himself as he once was with the Sword in his grasp - strong, confident, brave - came to him easily, as the protective image of him in the armor cradling the child stayed for a few, precious moments, memorializing in his consciousness, before soon evaporating into a cloudy mist.
Bradford looked between the letter and the child in his arms, and he knew what he must do. He could only pray he was able to do this, that he would be able to keep his cover under the pressure.
He glanced at the clock, telling him it was 7:30 in the evening. He stretched out his long neck and craned his head to look towards the window. Ominous, dark clouds were just settling in around the newly rising full moon.