Chapter Text
Donald felt the intense pressure of the force of acceleration push him as far back into the seat as was possible. The rocket ship trembled with the immense power, a cracking sound heard distantly to his ears. His head shook violently, vision appearing doubled. The Earth in the distance was rapidly approaching, faster than what was expected, though he barely had time to process that fact.
As his vision blurred, colors began to mesh together, his environment a kaldeiscope of the colors his eyes were capable of picking up. He couldn’t breathe, as the force increased. He felt overwhelmed as the colors began to turn into different shades he didn’t even know were physically capable of. The small space surrounding him begin to grow hot, sweat beading on his brow.
His eyes rolled upward’s nearly allowing himself to pass out. Donald gasped suddenly, pushing himself forward out of his seat. He squeezed his eyes shut, fists clenched tight. “The k-k-kids!”
He felt as though his insides were boiling or it could have been the fury of the ship returning to his home planet. The duck swore his vision changed the closer he got, his boys all playing in the front lawn of the McDuck manor coming to mind. He didn’t know if it was a memory or if he were somehow reaching through space and time to the moment. He didn’t even try to think about how that would be possible. The next second his vision cleared and he witnessed the blue vastness of ocean rapidly approaching the ship.
Unable to help himself, the sailor breathed in deeply on impact and the ship exploded around him as it crashed into the water below. Later on he would realize he had gaps in his memory about the entire event, but next thing he felt was wetness soaking him to the bone. A moment later he felt his face collide with a hard object, his bill clamping together as he tasted blood from the blow. He felt the currents slam heavily into his limp body, hot metal objects bouncing him around left and right.
By the time he had awoken (or maybe become aware of his surroundings?) Donald felt the water washing itself upon his back, the grain of sand burying itself in the feathers of his body. He laid there for a moment, allowing his vision blur back into focus. When it finally did he felt immediately dizzy taking in the sight of the sun in his eyes. “Ughhhhh....”
He lifted his head up briefly, spitting out bloody salt water that burned in his mouth, before lying it back down. The sailor panted heavily, being able to tell that he had thrown up salt water that had filled his lungs at some unknown point, though he could not recall doing so. He was trembling, as though he were about to throw up from the pain that wrecked his body. He couldn’t even recall why he was lying here. That thought frightened him. The duck’s chest felt tight with panic, choking on his breath. Donald passed out finally, allowing the pain to overwhelm his senses.
*
Later, when he had awoken once more, the sun was in a different position, hot on the opposite side of his body. When he been awake last time, the sun was close to setting and now it seemed to be rising. He groaned, rolling over onto his back into the path of the unforgiving sun. The water below him cooled his skin, though the salt burned every pore on his body. Donald could tell there were open wounds but everything hurt too much to be able to focus on just one thing. In that moment he realized he couldn’t feel one of his legs though and he slowly lifted his head to look. His vision swam with tears of pain, as he realized a huge golden piece of the spaceship was crushing his right leg.
He promptly passed out once more.
*
The duck couldn’t have guessed how much time had passed by the time he had come back to his senses, but the sun appeared to be directly above him now. He closed his eyes against the light, raising his left wing to cover his face. He hissed as he felt his side burn in response. “W-What...”
Without thinking too hard about it he suddenly pushed himself into a sitting position. He didn’t realize the screaming was coming from his own throat until he felt the burning from his volume rising so hard. He flopped back over, suddenly unconscious to the world.
*
He found himself drifting in and out of consciousness, as agony wracked his weak body. The sun and the moon seemed to taunt him each time he did so. Other than the pain, he noticed he was growing hungry and thirsty as well. The duck knew he was going to die at this rate, especially since the smell of the blood seemed to constantly linger in his nostrils.
When the sailor finally had regained consciousness more than five minutes, he slowly pushed himself into a sitting position once more. While his side burned again, it wasn’t enough to make him scream himself hoarse this time. He stared at this surroundings, realizing that he was washed up on the shore of an unknown island. He looked down slowly at his body, realizing half of his shirt was missed, scorch marks clearly visible on it. His feathers seemed blackened in the same area, suggesting that he had been burned. Donald counted himself lucky that it seemed his damaged feathers had protected his skin underneath.
He glanced at his side, finding an open wound to be gaping out into the sand. The waves washed up on the shore once more, brushing again his wound. He frowned at the sting of pain and knew that the ocean’s salt had started the healing process. He was shaking vaguely, likely due to the lack of blood sugar at the moment or even the blood loss he experienced. He would guess from the healing and the hunger that he had been there at least a week by this point.
“Dammit...” He mumbled to himself, glancing at his right wing to see that his hand clutching his white sailor cap, confused on how he had clung onto it that long. There also appeared to be a gash across his wrist and heavy bruising visible even underneath the light layer of feathers there.
His eyes burned and his face throbbed, likely from the salt water and from bashing his face when he had collided with the ocean during the crash. He glanced down at his left leg, finding that while it was bruised, it appeared to be his least injured limb out of the bunch. Donald found himself finally glanced to this right, not surprised be unable to feel it, and see a huge chuck of the shapeship lying across it. Big enough that he wasn’t sure he could even lift it. He stared at his surroundings, finding a few chunks of the same material floating in the tide and lying on shore.
Donald leaned forward, hissing as the pain in his head and side increased, pushing at the debris with all of his might. His injured wrist burned from the effort and he felt his open injury grow warm as it began to bleed once more. He ceased movement when he realized this. “Godammit!”
He was glad the boys weren’t around to hear him curse, the pain was enough that he began to let out a stream of dirty curses that would even make Scrooge blush at the sound of them. The kids. That thought made him try pushing once more, the metal groaning as it shifted. The sailor let go, huffing from how hard he had pushed himself.
Donald sat there, vision swimming once more as he paced himself. He knew this might take a few hours. And it did in the end. He pushed it bit by bit, glad that his leg was numb, as he knew the pain would have been immense if it hadn’t. When he had it half way pushed off he paused, staring down at the strangely flat limp. He realized with a start that it might be beyond saving at that point. He whimpered at the thought, knowing even if he did manage to get himself out, the limp might already be dying.
He laid back down at the thought, knowing that half of the day had passed by this point. A few minutes later he sat back up, pushing as hard his can, until only his foot was still covered. Donald huffed, before tensing, as it occurred to him that he could feel pain in the leg. The duck supposed that was a could sign of it being salvageable, but was terrified of how his foot would feel. Suddenly, there was pins and needles, as though the blood was beginning to flow back into it. He screamed at the top of his lungs, before everything went dark again.
*
He woke up to darkness, the moon and stars watching him from above. Donald felt tears streaming down his face at the intense pain his leg had suffered, knowing that it was definitely broken and partly crushed. He didn’t know that blood flowing back into a limp and out onto the sand could hurt as much as it did. It took everything in his will power not to pass out. “M-Maybe I should just let myself die...”
His voice was scratchy and he felt his stomach gurgle for the millionth time. He knew there were coconuts on the tree behind him, but he couldn’t even reach them. He knew he shouldn’t try what he was about to do, but he leaned forward anyways, cupping the water with his good hand, sipping at it. It felt good to have water in his throat, but it left him more parched than before.
Donald cursed at himself, before he thought of his boys probably waiting back at home for him. Of his Uncle, Webby, and Launchpad worried out of their minds. He thought of Della, his sister he hadn’t seen in almost eleven years. With that thought in mind, he pushed the metal completely off of his foot, screaming at the pain from the effort. He flopped back onto the wet sand below as he cried for what he felt in that moment.
He must have cried himself to sleep, but when he regained consciousness he could see that dawn was quickly approaching. Donald rolled over, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees. He crawled through the pain, slowly but surely making progress as the sun rose. Donald finally reached the tree, staring up at the coconuts hanging there. He looked to the sky, speaking aloud to any deity out there. “If you’re out there, please help me.”
The duck shook the tree hard as he was capable of, the tropical fruit rattling into one another, but ceasing movement a moment later. He wheezed, knowing he didn’t have the strength. He was startled hearing the chirp from above, finding a beady eyed seagull staring down at him. “P-Please, help a duck out.”
He didn’t know who to thank, when the seagull pecked at a coconut, piercing it open, allowing sweet coconut water to flow out. He immediately opened his mouth, closing his eyes. He let the water flow down his face and into his bill and he began to sob at the relief felt. By the time the coconut had emptied itself, he felt much better, just by being provided water and nutrients. He rolled back over onto his behind, allowing himself a break for a few minutes.
When Donald had finally had his breath back, he examined his crushed leg, the blood sluggishly bleeding out. He knew the bones inside were broken or possibly crushed into tiny pieces which made him feel sick to his stomach at the thought. The duck tried to quell his nausea, as his stomach didn’t have much to release. Donald breathed in deeply, before poking and prodding at the limb. He whimpered at the pain it produced. He wasn’t exactly an expert, yet he learned a bit of medical first aid during his time with the Navy. He thanked his lucky stars that of all places he was trapped on was an island, as that was military training 101.
First of all, he needed to wrap his leg until it had ceased bleeding. Donald gulped, before reaching out to a palm leaf nearby, beginning to turn a light color as it died. He lifted the leg and gasped aloud. The leaf was placed underneath and the damaged limb was placed back down once more. He rolled the plant around as tight as he could.
Donald stared down at the shirt, coming to a decision. He ripped a piece of the bottom half of it off, accidentally taking more of what was left of his shirt in the process. The strip was wrapped around the leaf, hands shaking as he tied a knot. The biggest issue was dealt with. He pulled himself up, using the tree for support. His good leg was shaking at the sudden weight placed onto it.
Donald looked forward, focusing on his goal of heading a bit into the jungle, hoping to find a few coconuts nearby. He didn’t know if it was luck finally being by his side or what, but he was surprised to find a few coconuts on the ground nearby. Donald gathered as many as possible, heading back to the beach.
When he arrived by the shore, he allowed himself to sit back down. He grabbed a sharp piece of gold metal stabbed into the sand. The metal was piercing into the hard shell of the fruit. After a few hits Donald found himself chugging a few of them to gain more strength. Unfortunately, he found himself drinking too many, and felt his stomach roll. Donald gagged once, twice, placing a hand over his mouth. He willed his body not to blow chunks and was surprised that it actually listened.
He allowed his body to refuel itself and he felt his strength slightly return. By that point, the duck realized his head was throbbing hard and he stared at the reflection of the sharp metal, seeing his bruised face staring back at him. He had never seen his face that dark of a color before. At least half of his face was a bruise. “Ah, phooey.”
He continued to study his reflection, surprised to discover the few feathers beginning to grow underneath his bill. He knew after a few weeks he would have a full blown beard. He sighed aloud at the thought, hoping it wouldn’t come to that. It had never felt good to have that underneath there. Donald dropped the metal, staring off into the distance. Nothing but ocean for miles it seemed.
The duck sniffled a bit, allowing tears to once more swim in his eyes. For the first time since he arrived on the island, Donald allowed himself to sob out his emotions.
*
As the week progressed, Donald’s wounds were finally manageable enough that he could actually build shelter. He was glad he was mostly covered in feathers or he knew his skin would surely be sunburnt by this point. He was able to keep a tally of the days, by counting a rock he made marks on. He would guess he had at least two weeks built on the time here by that point.
His side, that he had wrapped with a leaf, no longer bleed, but was an open wound that he tried to rarely expose to the elements. He supposed the only reason he didn’t get an infection, was the ocean water that had washed it out the first week here. He had been worried about his leg gaining an infection as well, but it turned out the ocean had been cleaning that as well, during the time it had been flattened. As time passed though, he noticed he was losing feeling in his leg once more. He knew at this rate that his leg was going to be a lost cause.
Donald ignored it at the moment though, once again using pieces of rock, metal, and branches to make SOS signs for anyone that might be passing by overhead. So far he hadn’t seen anyone and he couldn’t even predict when someone would show up. He didn’t even know where he was.
The duck tried to not think about the fact that the only thing he might see happen soon would be that army of rocket ships coming from deep space. A sign of the invasion that was heading to the planet. He tried not to think too hard about that.
The first time he came across watermelon on the island, he nearly wept in relief. He finally had something other than fish and the coconuts to eat. He ate an entire one in one sitting the first time he came across it. It was the happiest he had felt on the island up until that point. The second one he picked up though, he stared at, thinking about a friend he hadn’t seen in years.
By the end of the day, Mickey Melon had been born and it felt like his old college days all over again. If he had been thinking clearly, he would have known that talking to a piece of fruit was insane. Being alone messed with you over time though and he was not liking how quiet it constantly was when he didn’t have anyone to talk to.
By the time the third week rolled around, he had begun to feel physically sick and his leg had begun to turn a ghastly pale color. “It’s dying, isn’t it, Mickey?”
Mickey Melon stared blankly at him and he felt himself speaking the words that he was sure to be spoken in return to a question like that. “Donald, I don’t think you want me to answer that.”
“I don’t...I just...I don’t know what to do. I don’t have anyone to fix this!”
“...I’m sorry, buddy, but you know what you’re going to have to do if no one finds you soon.”
Donald began to cry in earnest as fear engulfed him. “I-I can’t! That’s too much!”
Mickey Melon didn’t answer that and the duck spent the rest for night thinking about the fact that he might have to get rid of his leg for the sake of staying alive.
*
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed after he removed his leg, but it reminded him of the first week he was stuck on the island. He was in and out of consciousness and certain he was going to die. He thought of his family, memories flashing before his eyes. He woke up several times, hot with fever, pain from where he had removed his leg. Donald was beginning to accept the fate that he wouldn’t make it through this alive. That he would never make it home.
Just when he thought he would pass in his sleep, he woke up one day, realizing his fever had gone down. He looked down at the stump he had now, being washed by the ocean. He grabbed one of the leaves he had dragged over there right before he removed the limb. It was wrapped firmly around his wound and he laid back down. “How am I even alive? It could be…no…”
“I don’t know, but I sure am glad you are, buddy.” Mickey Melon was at his side, smiling blankly at him as usual.
“...I don’t know if I am.” He answered his friend, knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to walk for at least a good two days.
In the end, four days passed instead though and he crawled back to his makeshift hut he had created by the largest palm tree nearby. He cracked open his stash of watermelons lying there, eating until he felt full. Donald could barely walk with his limp that he had before and now he couldn’t walk at all on his one leg. He wasn’t sure how long he would remain stranded, but he knew it was likely going to be a long time by that point.
*
He was pretty confident that he was there for a month and a week when he saw the spaceships approaching the Earth. Donald screamed at the sight, horrified by what was happening. He was afraid that they would see his SOS on the shore and crawled to it. He tried to dismantle it as fast as he could. He had barely finished the first S when a ship flew overhead. Donald cowered on the shore, the shadow looming over head, shocked when the ship continued on. At least two other ships did the same, ignoring his tiny island as he hid away in his hut. He knew by this point that he was personally safe, but worried about his family.
Donald spent two days straight awake, fearing for the safety of the world. Mickey tried to soothe him, but it wasn’t enough. He sobbed more than he had ever had in his entire life during that time with anxiety consuming him whole. By the fourth day, he saw a ship shoot into the sky, wildly out of control. He didn’t know what it meant and that made him more scared than before.
By the time another week had passed, Donald knew the Earth was fine. He was certain by this point the planet would had exploded. Or something else at least, instead of leaving him to continue to be stranded on this island. He wasn’t sure what had happened during the invasion, but with all the heroes in the world, he was certain at least one of them had protected it.
Donald thought about his kids everyday. He thought about the fact that they would have started 7th grade by this point, going off to finally be actual teenagers. He thought about Webby finally being allowed to go to public school, instead of being cooped up in the mansion all day to be taught by Ms. Beakley. He thought about his promise to Launchpad to go see the anniversary showing of Darkwing Duck: The First Movie in theaters and how he would no longer be able to do so. He thought about Uncle Scrooge continuing to go on adventures with his family. He thought about his sister finally being able to get to know her sons. He thought about friends he hadn’t thought about in years and wondered why he stopped talking to any of them.
Donald Duck replaced the letter S, hopeful that someone would finally see his message from the sky. He was going to be rescued one day. His Uncle Scrooge spent two years straight looking for his sister, before he was forced to stop. He would surely spend at least the same amount of time looking for Donald. Right?