Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Goldie had said she wanted Sharpie gone, she hadn’t meant dead.

She watched with horror as the tiny kid-bot chased around her not-nephew, red eyes glowing devilishly. The kid next to her cackled, tapping away on his phone as if he hadn’t just sentenced a kid to a very painful demise.

‘Jesus, who raised this kid?’

Turning to him, Goldie ignored the panic in her voice as she asked, “what are you doing?”

The devil-child grinned, pointing to a wall where five decapitated piñata heads hung from the ceiling, “I’m the world champion… but I haven’t hunted the most devious prize of all, man.”

Goldie’s heart jumped into her throat as she watched Louie be wrapped and hung by a rope, screaming and begging for his life. If this had been an adventure with Scrooge than Goldie would have no qualms about leaving with the money, confident the old geyser could save himself from a face full of baseball bat.

But this wasn’t Scrooge, this was Sharpie, a ten-year-old kid.

Goldie really hated having morals sometimes.

Glancing back at the gift bags one last time, Goldie sucked in a sharp breath and started to head towards the kids. Louie was screaming his head off, kicking and turning in the ropes in a weak attempt to free himself. Getting away wouldn’t be possible though, the bonds were too tight, and Boyd was swinging that bat far too close to Sharpie’s body for her liking.

“Stop!” She begged, her voice coming out as a shriek as she threw herself in front of Louie. She could feel air close to her cheek, ruffling her feathers, the bat so close that another step forward and Goldie would be hit.

Apparently, Doofus Drake knew no mercy, grinning as he said, “goodbye.”

Everything turned black.

-

“Aunt Goldie? Goldie? Oh god please don’t be dead-“

“Sharpie?” She groaned, her head was pounding and she could taste the sharp iron flavor of blood on her tongue. Goldie was pretty sure she was slurring her speech too, but it was hard to tell when she could barely think straight.

There was a cough, and despite her body protesting Goldie forced her eyes open. It was bright, and it took her much longer to adjust then she would have preferred. Though, she supposed that’s what happened when you took a baseball bat to the head.

They were outside, soft grass resting beneath her and tall trees surrounding them on all sides. Louie sat next to her, looking relieved, but Goldie was having a hard time focusing on anything but the dark bruises beginning to form all over the duckling’s skin.

Louie looked awful, his feathers (the ones that were left anyway) stuck up at odd angles, revealing blackening skin underneath. His face was red and puffy, indicating he had been crying. And with the way he was clutching his stomach Goldie had a feeling his head wasn’t the only thing that was hit.

Goldie was shocked the kid was even still awake.

“What happened?” She asked, struggling to sit up and cursing as her headache only worsened, “where the hell are we?”

“Doofus’ parents stepped in before Boyd could… you know,” Louie explained, looking surprisingly calm for a ten-year-old that had almost just been beaten to death, “they bought me enough time to get us out of there. But… I didn’t get very far, we’re still really close to his house.”

Before Goldie could even begin to question how a half-dead ten-year-old had managed to drag her all the way out of a tree house and into a forest, Louie fell into a coughing fit. His breaths sounded more like wheezes, and the duckling desperately clutched at his hoodie as he struggled to regain his breath.

“Alright,” Goldie muttered, “we’re getting you to a Hospital. Your Uncle’s going to kill me if I let you die.”

‘And I don’t think I could handle losing you.’

“My-“ Louie sucked in a sharp breath, “my phone got shattered, so unless you have one we can’t call anyone.”

Goldie didn’t have a phone (she had always thought the stupid things were to complicated), and that meant that they were stranded. Cursing under her breath, she turned to study the duckling carefully. “You know where the nearest Hospital is?”

He shook his head, “Uncle Donald never had enough money to take us in, and Scrooge has Beakley look after us if we get hurt or sick.”

If Goldie’s heart wasn’t already shattered hundreds of years ago, that sentence alone would have been enough to break her.

“Well,” she said, struggling to her feet and stabilizing herself on the closest tree, “I guess I’ll just have to get us to McDuck Manor then. Old Scroogy can fix you right up!”

‘And then I won’t have to live with this on my conscience.’

Guilt had already wormed its way into her heart, eating away at her each time she caught a glance of yet another injury on the little duckling before her. Not only had Goldie failed to protect him, but she had gotten herself hurt too.

Oh, Scrooge was going to be furious.

It wasn’t like Goldie had gotten some random kid almost killed, no, that would be too lucky. She had gotten her ex- everything’s grand nephew almost killed, and while he wasn’t dead the duckling was severely beaten.

“Alright, think happy thoughts kid,” Goldie muttered, ignoring the bile that rose in the back of her throat as she leaned down to pick up the duckling, “this is going to hurt.”

Louie watched her warily as Goldie slipped her arms underneath his knees and neck, holding him not-unlike a mother would her baby. Any other time she would probably be embarrassed, but she found it hard to feel anything other than sympathy as the kid gripped her forearm tightly, breathing heavily as pain wracked him.

When this was all over, Goldie had a child psychopath to murder.

-

This, she decided, was a mistake.

Not the helping Sharpie part (Goldie wasn’t heartless enough to be annoyed about helping a hurt child), but the walking-through-a-forest-carrying-a-child-with-a-head-wound part. Her stomach was churning rapidly, and the pounding headache in her skull had only worsened the longer she was on her feet. A big part of her was inclined to just sleep it off, treat it like a hangover and get it over with. But something told her this was worse than any hangover she’d ever had.

“So,” she said, deciding that talking was probably the best distraction she could get at the moment, “mind telling me how you dragged a woman double-your-size all the way out here?”

“I don’t remember most of it,” Louie muttered, “I was just focused on getting us out of there you know? I didn’t want Doofus to get another chance to swing.”

“Well I don’t know how you did it,” she said, “but not bad Sharpie.”

The duckling smiled for a moment, before it quickly dropped back into a frown, “hey Goldie?”

“Yeah kid?”

“Did you mean it when you said you wanted to work together more?”

Goldie froze, her feet halting in the grass without her even thinking about it. She had said the comment flippantly, so caught up in winning the cash that she hadn’t thought about the larger implications. It hadn’t even occurred to her that Sharpie would take it seriously, not when Scrooge knew better then to ever trust her word.

“...Goldie?”

Sighing, she began to walk again, “it’s complicated, kid.”

“It’s okay,” Louie murmured, his speech was slurred now and Goldie wondered if he was even aware of what he was saying anymore, “I wouldn’t wanna work with me either…”

‘Oh god, please don’t make me play therapist, kid.’

“Can I go to sleep now?” The duckling whined, looking surprisingly cute as he rubbed his eyes, “I’m tired.”

“Nope,” Goldie said, very lightly shaking her arms to ensure he didn’t nod off, “not right now okay? You can sleep once we get back to the manor.”

It was quiet for a bit, the only sound being Goldie’s sneakers crunching against the grass and Louie’s harsh wheezing. The forest was surprisingly big, and the walk to the manor was even further. Goldie could only hope the kid could hold out for a little while longer.

“Did you know I was poor once?”

Pausing, she looked down at the duckling in her arms. His eyes were dazed, and a sad, almost melancholy look had come across his face. Part of Goldie told her to distract him, to stop him from revealing things to her that she knew he would otherwise never say.

The other part of her was desperate to understand the kid, to have the intimacy that she craved so badly.

“Huey says we didn’t have it that bad,” Louie continued, “but I think he was just trying to make us all feel better…”

‘Oh boy,’ Goldie thought to herself, ‘I am really not qualified for this.’

Goldie could relate to having a poor upbringing, as she had been brought up in a rural part of Ireland with little to her family’s name. But she had managed to escape that life by the time she was a teen, immigrating to America and conning people for their riches.

It had been so long since she had been poor, Goldie barely remembered it anymore.

“We used to eat fish a lot,” Louie said, giggling a bit before wincing, “actually that’s pretty much all we ever ate. It was pizza or fish, always. I think Uncle Donald practically invented having pizza for breakfast honestly.”

“It runs in the family I think,” Goldie said with a light snicker, “Scroogey used to do the same thing the few times I lived with him.”

It had been at least a couple of decades since Goldie and Scrooge had shared a home. The arrangement had never lasted very long anyway, what with the constant bickering between the two of them, but it had been fun while it lasted.

“Hey Aunt Goldie?”

Biting back the ‘I’m not your Aunt’ resting on her tongue, Goldie sighed, “yeah kid?”

“Do you think I’m a bad kid?”

‘What?’

“Why the fuck would I think that?” Goldie asked, too shocked to bother censoring herself.

The duckling’s eyes widened at the curse, and he immediately looked away from Goldie’s intense gaze, “I don’t know, I was just wondering… forget I asked.”

“No, no, no, no,” she said, “you're not a bad kid Louie, not at all.”

“But-“ He cut himself off, as if he was too scared to finish the thought. Goldie didn’t miss the way he deflated though, or the doubt in his expression.

‘Of course he won’t listen to you,’ her mind hissed, ‘you're not even that important to him, just a means to the end. He’s only telling you all this stuff to manipulate you into letting down your guard.’

“Come on kid,” she muttered, “let’s get you home.”

-

When Goldie finally arrived at the manor, she was dead on her feet.

The sun was already low in the sky, turning the sky a bright scarlet as the evening came to a close. Her stomach ached with hunger, and after hours of walking Goldie’s knees were just about ready to give out. Sharpie had eventually passed out on the way, and Goldie hadn’t had the heart to wake him up.

Struggling up the stairs and kicking at the door, Goldie yelled, “SCROOGE, GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!”

The door slammed open with surprising force, and Goldie flinched back as she was met with the furious faces of Donald and Della Duck.

‘Della’s back?’

Goldie remembered a decade ago, some time near the end of the year, Scrooge had called her. He had been an emotional wreck, telling her all about how his niece had launched herself up into space, and how his nephew had taken his great nephews whilst blaming him for the death. She had stayed on call with him all night, offering comfort where she could, and promising to visit as soon as possible.

She never did visit.

Goldie watched numbly as Donald practically ripped Louie from her arms, hugging the duckling to his chest protectively as he rushed off into the manor. Della stayed behind, her gaze ice cold as she glared at her sorta-Aunt.

“Go with the boy, lass,” Goldie heard a familiar voice call, relieved to see Scrooge walk over to the front door beside his niece, “I’ll handle this one.”

With a stamp of her (metal?) foot, Della rushed after her brother. Scrooge stepped fully into the doorway, at first scowling at the sight of her, but as he looked her over his gaze softened. 

“Come on,” he said, beckoning her to follow him inside, “we can talk more in my office.”

-

Scrooge’s office hadn’t changed in all the years Goldie had known him.

It still had the same old mahogany bookshelves, piled high with dusty novels on history and ancient artifacts. The walls were still a dark maroon color, and Goldie remembers distinctly comparing it to wine when she had first seen it. Even the desk, which had to be at least a couple of decades old by now, was the same dark mahogany piece of furniture with tightly locked drawers.

Sitting down in one of the comfy chairs sat in front of Scrooge’s desk, Goldie found herself practically melting into the cushion. Her entire body was aching, and her headache had grown only stronger over time, pounding down like a hammer on her skull.

Scrooge sat down in his own chair, eyeing her warily, “not going to… ‘ look around’ a bit while we talk?”

Normally, Goldie would be digging around the office by now. Messing with the books and drawers, or turning the picture frames just slightly to the right. Anything and everything to mess with Scrooge, to get him riled up and frustrated. It was all a game when you hung out with Goldie O’Gilt.

“Not right now Scroogey, I’m tired,” she muttered, blinking as the world around her seemed to spin slightly, “besides, I nabbed quite a bit when I came here this morning.”

“Of course you did,” He said, rolling his eyes fondly, “when do you not take a chance to nab from me?”

Goldie wanted to joke back, to pretend that everything was fine. She could just ignore the pounding headache in her skull, and the dizziness, and flirt with Scrooge just like she always did. Then she would go back to her hotel room, pack her things, and head out of Duckburg for her next big con.

But she couldn’t, not when Sharpie was still hurt.

“Let’s talk Scrooge,” Goldie said flatly, cutting through all the pretend causality, “you and I both know that pretending won’t get us anywhere.”

“Of course” Scrooge said, “do you mind telling me what happened at least?”

Goldie only told him the basics, leaving out the little parts like her almost selling out a ten-year-old to a psychopath and Louie’s little ‘therapy session’ with her in the woods. Scrooge didn’t need to worry about his great nephew’s mental state on top of everything else.

“Well that's…” the older Duck leaned back in his chair, actually looking his age for once, “I can’t believe a child did this.”

“Technically,” Goldie cut in, “it was a crazed killer-robot with a baseball bat.”

“How was the lad doing while he was awake?” He asked, and she was shocked to find that he was anxious.

Scrooge McDuck was anxious.

Goldie sighed, sinking further down into her chair, “it wasn’t good Scroogey, he was barely even lucid.”

The older duck nodded gravely, “I was hoping that wasn’t the case… but I’m sure Donald will want to take him to the Hospital as soon as he can. Do you want to come with us to keep an eye on the lad? Don’t think I didn’t notice that head wound either, you know as well as I do that you’ll heal better at a doctor's office then some blasted hotel.”

If it was anyone else Goldie would have said no in an instant, not even considering the idea. Hospitals were a depressing nightmare, and she didn’t see why she would subject herself to them for the sake of someone else.

But this was her Sharpie, and if Goldie was willing to take a baseball bat to the face for the kid, then why not a Hospital?

-

‘Oh the things I put up with for this damn kid.’

Despite only really knowing Louie for a day, Goldie found herself caring for him in a way she had only ever felt for Scrooge. A sharp need to protect him and love him boiling in her stomach (not that she would ever admit it).

Which is why she was putting up with the chaos of Duckburg Hospital.

They were in the ER section, where Louie had just been raced back for some sort of screening. Donald had been allowed to go with him (still labeled as his actual Guardian despite Della being back), but everyone else was forced to stay behind in the waiting room.

Despite the Duck family being given a whole corner of the waiting room to themself (thanks to Scrooge’s reputation), they could still barely hear each other speak. The place was buzzing with conversation, nurses and doctors speaking in hushed tones, and families chattering amongst themselves while they waited. There were even a couple of babies sitting around, most of them screeching and throwing little tantrums.

Goldie hated it.

Rubbing her temple with her fingers she tried to get the ever-constant headache to go away. Unfortunately, all of the noise only proved to make things worse. Bile rose in her throat again, and Goldie forced herself to swallow it back down.

“We’re going to get you checked out once the lad is stable,” Scrooge promised her, brushing his finger’s through the duckling-girl’s (did he have a niece she hadn’t heard about?) hair while the girl clung to his legs, “apparently getting hit in the head with a baseball bat isn’t considered an ‘emergency’ to these blasted doctors.”

“It’s fine Scroogey,” Goldie muttered, wincing as another child started screaming, “you and I have both had way worse then this before.”

“I don’t think that means it isn’t important,” The girl-duckling chimed in.

“The lass is right, love,” Scrooge said, and Goldie hoped he didn’t notice her flush at the nickname, “this isn’t some little hit you can just brush off.”

“Blunt force trauma to the head can be deadly if left untreated,” the kid with the red hat recited, shifting slightly on his Mother’s lap to face all of them, “it can lead to brain damage, and all kinds of complications with your nervous system, and-“

“Huey,” the blue-one cut in, making a cut-throat motion.

The red kid-Huey-flushed, turning back to them with a sheepish smile, “sorry… facts help me cope.”

“It’s alright kid,” Goldie said, ruffling his hair underneath his hat, “it’s good to know what I’m dealing with.”

“Mr. McDuck?” A nurse called, walking over to the rag-tag group, “your great nephew has been transferred over to the surgery wing. I’m assuming you would like to move there as well?”

Goldie felt like she’d been punched, “surgery?”

“Of course,” the nurse replied, and Goldie was starting to get annoyed by her chipper attitude, “Llewelyn Duck suffered from a severely ruptured spleen, it must be removed. He also suffered two broken ribs and a concussion.”

“I know I’m not legally allowed to murder a child,” Della said through gritted teeth, “but I would really like to right about now.”

“No one would stop you,” Huey muttered darkly, his irises ringed with red as he glared at the Hospital tile.

Doofus Drake was officially a Duck family enemy.

-

Somehow the surgery wing was even worse.

The nurses were constantly in and out, new people being raced in every other minute with doctor’s yelling orders. The families in the waiting room were mostly crying, all scared for whatever loved one was currently being poked and prodded.

Donald met them as soon as they stepped inside, so stressed that he was literally molting. “They already took him in,” the duck growled, hands clenched into fists at his sides, “I told them to wait, to let him see everyone before he was taken in, but they wouldn’t listen!”

“It’s alright lad,” Scrooge said as Della led her brother to a seat, “Louie will be alright, he’s strong.”

That seemed to be the breaking point for Donald, who broke down into choking sobs at the words. “He was so scared,” he whispered, like the words were too awful to say any louder, “he kept begging for the kids, and wanting to know how Goldie was doing. The doctors wouldn’t tell us what was going on besides the basic stuff, and I could tell it was really freaking him out. I couldn’t even do anything!”

No one said anything, there wasn’t anything they could say. The kids curled up around him, hugging their Uncle as he cried. Della sat next to her brother, rubbing his back soothingly as a few of her own tears escaped. Scrooge sat down on his Nephew’s other side, just offering his presence.

And Goldie?

Goldie went and grabbed a coffee.

-

It was late when the surgery finally finished.

Goldie was the only one left awake, using coffee to pull an all-nighter like she typically did at hotels. Of course, the Hospital was far less comfortable, but the principal was the same.

Donald had passed out after his breakdown, the stress and emotional turmoil taking a toll on the poor duck. Della had fallen asleep soon after him, leaning against her brother’s shoulder as she slumbered. The kids had all knocked out sometime around one, their little eyes unable to stay open any longer. Scrooge didn’t go down until the rest of the family did, watching them all protectively.

So when a nurse came at four in the morning to inform them Louie was out of surgery and stable, Goldie was the one to receive the message.

The nurse said visiting hours wouldn’t be open until six however, and Goldie prepared herself for another long two hours in the bland waiting room, anxiously waiting until she could see for herself that her Sharpie was okay.

Staring down into her coffee cup, she found herself wondering how she had gotten to the point where she could trust others. Where instead of running from intimacy she was slowly opening up to it. A couple years ago Goldie never would have dreamed of sitting in a Hospital waiting room for someone. She has to wonder where the sudden willingness to… trust had come from.

‘Sharpie,’ she thinks immediately, ‘I got attached to Sharpie.’

And how could she not? The kid was amazing. He was clever and cunning, while also not above being a bit petty. He had that damned McDuck loyalty, and a heart that was just too big for the fucking world. Goldie didn’t understand how someone couldn’t love Louie.

But she was Goldie O’Gilt, and her number one rule since day one had been to never trust anyone.

Yet she didn’t find herself upset at the idea of having a relationship with Louie. In fact, she was almost tempted to try and gain some stability for the first time in her life. She could get married to Scrooge again (for good this time), and adventure with the Duck family by her side.

Why did the idea both excite and terrify her?

Deciding she was probably just overthinking everything because of the lack of sleep, Goldie got up to go make herself another cup of coffee.

-

Everyone was crowded into Louie’s room just as the clock hit six.

The duckling looked startled to see them, eyes wide behind half-lidded eyelids. He looked more aware then the last time Goldie had seen him at least. Though she couldn’t say he looked much better physically. A bandage was wrapped around his head, and she could see hints of bandages along his torso underneath his Hospital gown. An IV was stuck in his hand, attached to a blood packet and a clear packet. The heart moniter beeped steadily in the background, providing a background noise to cut through the tense silence that overcame them all.

“Well,” Goldie said with a lack of flare that could only come from sleep-deprivation, “good to see you up Sharpie.”

Louie blinked owlishly at her, “you… didn’t go get your head checked did you?”

“I wanted to check up on,” she said with a shrug, pretending the statement had less meaning behind it then it really did, “I couldn’t have my Business Partner out of commission could I?”

The duckling’s eyes widened with excitement, and he grinned widely, “you mean it?”

“Course I do,” Goldie said, meeting Scrooge’s eyes as she said it, “it won’t hurt anybody if I stick around a bit longer.”

Louie nodded eagerly, before turning his attention over to his siblings. The three children had been standing by their Uncle Donald the whole time, struggling to come up with something to say. Luckily, Louie didn’t seem to need any words, simply making grabby hands at them until they finally complied and crawled gently into the bed beside him.

Surrounded by his family, the youngest Duck sibling was content. He looked nothing like the little boy who just hours ago had been asking if he was a bad kid, covered in bruises and seeming defeated.

“Hey Sharpie?”

“Yeah?”

“You're a pretty great kid.”