Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Louie suddenly felt empty, like a hollow shell of himself. He didn’t even feel relieved. He thought he would—thought that when it was over, the weight that had been pressing on him would finally let him breathe. In a way, it had. The crushing pressure was gone, but in its place was something else, something worse. A gaping void.

He gasped for air, taking in short, uneven breaths, his chest heaving as he curled onto his side. The cold pavement pressed against his feathers, grounding him just enough to keep him from spiraling. His body trembled, whether from exhaustion, shock, or something else, he didn’t know.

The cougar moved away from him, the shifting of fabric and the scuff of boots against the ground the only sounds filling the alley. Louie kept his eyes squeezed shut until something soft hit him—his hoodie. He flinched, opening his eyes just enough to see the guy walking away, his broad back disappearing into the dark. He didn’t look back. He never did.

Louie clutched the hoodie to his chest like a lifeline, wrapping it tightly around himself, but it didn’t make him feel any warmer. He wanted to cry, wanted to let the emotions out, but his eyes were already puffy, red, and dried up. No more tears left. Just the hollow ache in his chest and the stinging shame coiling in his gut.

He sniffled, curling tighter around himself, as if making himself small enough would make everything go away. His beak felt unbearably dry, so he licked it instinctively, but the moment his tongue touched it, the taste hit him. Salt. The other guy’s mouth. And something else—something sour, bitter, disgusting. His stomach churned violently, but he forced himself to swallow it down. He didn’t want to think about it.

He should get up. He should go home. Donald had been nagging them about curfew, even suggested to Uncle Scrooge that they enforce one. They all thought it was dumb—he and his brothers had planned to stay out late just to be annoying. But now? Now he didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to hear them ask why he was out past curfew. He didn’t want their concerned eyes, didn’t want them to notice the way his hands were shaking or the way he refused to meet their gaze.

But he couldn’t just stay here either.

He pressed his palms against the ground, trying to push himself up, but the moment he sat up, a sharp pain shot from his lower back up through his stomach, a deep, twisting agony that made him feel like he was about to be sick. He clenched his teeth, swallowing hard, but the nausea only worsened.

With shaky hands, he pulled his hoodie on, ignoring how much his limbs protested the movement. He needed to leave. He needed to go before someone saw him like this. Forcing himself to stand, he took one step forward, and the world lurched around him. His stomach flipped, and before he could stop it, bile rose in his throat. He barely managed to swallow it down, but the taste lingered, burning the back of his throat, making him gag.

He staggered, gripping the wall for support, sucking in shaky breaths.

Just get home.

Just get home, and pretend none of this ever happened.

He couldn’t help thinking as he walked—why did it happen to him? Why not someone else? He knew that was a terrible thought. Wishing something awful on another person, an innocent person, was wrong. But still… he couldn’t stop himself from wishing it. Wishing that, if this had to happen, it could have been someone else. Someone stronger. Someone who could handle it.

Or better yet, why did it have to happen at all?

His hands curled into fists at his sides, his nails pressing into his palms, but he barely felt it. His head buzzed with too many thoughts, but none of them stayed long enough to make sense. He felt his eyes sting, his throat tighten like he was about to cry, but no tears came. He was empty. Dried out. Like a well that had been used up until there was nothing left but cracked earth.

He swallowed hard and wiped at his face anyway, as if there were something to wipe away.

He needed an excuse.

He couldn’t just walk into the house looking like this, moving like this. His feathers weren’t ruffled too badly, no obvious bruises—nothing that would make it immediately clear. But the way he carried himself, the way he flinched at every movement… they would notice. Huey and Dewey knew him too well. Webby asked too many questions. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

He needed something simple. Something believable.

Maybe he could say he was playing hide-and-seek tag with some kids. That he tripped, fell, and just got a little roughed up. It wasn’t the best excuse, but he was too tired to come up with anything else. He just had to sell it. Act normal. Laugh it off. He had done it before, for smaller things.

But what if they saw through it?

What if Dewey gave him that look—that worried, serious look he only ever got when he knew something was wrong? What if Huey tilted his head just slightly, already running through the possibilities, connecting dots Louie didn’t want him to connect? What if Webby got excited and wanted to know who he had been playing with, where, how it happened?

He wasn’t sure he had the energy to deflect.

Louie took a shaky breath, but it did nothing to steady him.

He could barely feel his legs. They moved on autopilot, carrying him forward, but he felt disconnected from them, like his body wasn’t really his anymore. Every step sent a dull, aching pain through him, and he clenched his jaw to keep from wincing. He wasn’t old enough, strong enough, to take it from an adult without it hurting. Badly.

His stomach twisted, and he hugged his arms around himself.

First times were supposed to be painful.

But not like this. Never like this.

Chapter Text

Eventually, he made it back. The house was quiet except for the distant sound of a TV playing in the background. The warm, familiar glow of the lamps inside should have been comforting, but instead, it made his skin crawl. He hesitated for just a second on the doorstep, taking a deep breath.

As he stepped in, he tried to shake off the stiffness in his movements, forcing himself to walk casually, like nothing was wrong. He hoped his eyes weren’t red anymore. Hoped his face didn’t look as drained and hollow as he felt. He focused on relaxing his posture, dropping his shoulders, making himself look like the same old Louie. Normal.

Donald was the first to approach him.

"Where were you?" His voice was gruff, his usual hard-to-understand mutter carrying a slight edge of concern.

Louie blinked, glancing around the room. Huey and Dewey were already home. Sitting on the couch, half-watching the TV but also watching him. Webby wasn’t there, which was a small relief—one less person to question him. But Huey’s sharp gaze was already analyzing him, and Dewey’s usual easy-going expression looked a little too forced.

Louie swallowed. His throat was dry.

"Lost track of time playing hide and seek," he said, keeping his tone light, casual, like he had no reason to lie.

He hoped his voice wasn’t too hoarse.

Donald exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face before shaking his head. "Fine. But like I told them—bed early."

That was it. No lecture. No scolding. Just a simple, tired order.

Louie almost sagged in relief.

Normally, he would have groaned and argued about an early bedtime, found some excuse to stay up later just to push Donald’s buttons. But tonight, he didn’t care. Tonight, sleep sounded like the only thing he wanted.

He gave a small nod and trudged toward their shared bedroom. Each step felt heavier than the last, exhaustion pressing down on him like a weighted blanket. His limbs ached, his head throbbed, and his stomach twisted with something he didn’t want to name.

The moment he reached his bed, he all but collapsed onto it, pulling the covers over himself without even changing his clothes. He curled onto his side, facing the wall, shutting his eyes as tightly as he could.

He thought sleep might take a while. That he’d be stuck lying awake, staring at the darkness, drowning in thoughts. But the second his head hit the pillow, he was out.

A deep, dreamless sleep swallowed him whole.

.

.

The days that had passed were awful. Every morning, he woke up feeling like he hadn’t slept at all. His body ached, a dull soreness settling deep into his bones, but he forced himself to act normal. He laughed when his brothers joked around, smirked when Webby got too excited, rolled his eyes when Donald grumbled about chores. If he played it off as nothing, then maybe it would be nothing.

He was sure that if he just pretended he was fine, it would eventually become true.

Besides, today was supposed to be an adventure. And if there was anything that could take his mind off it, it would be getting wrapped up in one of Scrooge’s treasure hunts.

As he, Dewey, and Huey made their way to the living room, he focused on keeping his movements natural, his shoulders loose, his face neutral. He could feel his brothers’ presence beside him, hear their chatter, but he wasn’t really listening. He just had to make it through today. One day at a time.

“There you all are!” Scrooge greeted them as they entered.

The others immediately started talking—Webby throwing out questions a mile a minute, Dewey practically bouncing with excitement, Huey already analyzing whatever information they were about to be given. Louie wanted to join in, wanted to get swept up in the excitement like he usually did. But all he could do was focus on what Scrooge was doing.

The old duck tapped his cane against a map spread across the table. "Here in this jungle," he said, his eyes gleaming with that familiar thrill of adventure, "is a temple where three gems are kept."

Louie leaned in slightly, more out of habit than genuine interest.

"A water one, a sand one, and a fire one,” Scrooge continued, tapping different spots on the map. “These gems can only be controlled by certain people.”

He pointed at a silhouette of a reptile. “The Sand Gem can only be used by any reptile.”

His cane shifted to another image, this one resembling a goat or sheep. “The Water Gem by any kind of goat.”

Then, finally, his cane tapped the outline of a feline. “And the Fire Gem by any kind of feline.”

Louie swallowed hard before he could stop himself.

Felines.

His feathers bristled slightly, a cold sensation crawling up his back before he forced himself to push it down. It was just a fact, just information. It had nothing to do with him. Nothing to do with that night.

Stupid cougar, he thought bitterly. Now I’m scared of cats? Seriously?

Shaking the feeling off, he tried to focus back on what Scrooge was saying.

“However,” Scrooge went on, eyes narrowing, “apparently, one person has been able to use all the gems, which is odd and dangerous.” His gaze flicked up to them with that knowing smirk of his. “So, naturally, we’re going to check it out.”

Dewey’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “So we’re going on a treasure hunt!”

Scrooge chuckled. “Maybe even ‘borrow’ a little treasure while we’re at it.” He winked. “It’ll take about a day to get there. Up for it?”

The room practically erupted with excitement. Dewey was already rattling off ideas about how cool the gems would be, Huey was taking notes, and Webby looked like she was ready to sprint out the door that very second.

Louie forced himself to nod along, to smile at the right moments, to make some half-hearted comment that blended into the chatter.

But even as he played along, he felt out of place. Like he was a few steps behind everyone else, like there was a wall between him and the excitement they were feeling.

Luckily, no one seemed to notice.

And that was fine. That was good.

Because the last thing he wanted was for anyone to ask what was wrong.

Chapter Text

They spent the day packing and getting ready to go. The house was buzzing with excitement—Webby darting around gathering weapons, Huey double-checking their supplies, and Dewey dramatically proclaiming this would be “the most legendary adventure yet.”

Louie packed too. But really, he was just trying to keep his hands busy, to keep his mind occupied. He grabbed things he didn’t need—extra clothes, random gadgets, even a couple of books he knew he wouldn’t read. He just kept stuffing things into his bag until it was nearly bursting at the seams.

Huey, who was lying on his bed reading, barely looked up as he said, “You won’t need all that.”

Louie blinked at his overstuffed bag like he was seeing it for the first time. Right. Overpacking looks weird.

“Oh yeah… Guess not,” he said, forcing a chuckle as he started unpacking some of the unnecessary stuff.

Dewey, lounging on the top bunk, kicked his legs idly before saying, “Who do you think is using all three gems?”

Webby, crouched nearby, was busy stuffing her bag with weapons. She looked up and grinned. “I think it could be a mystical creature! Like a Chimera!”

Dewey tilted his head. “A Chimera? What’s that?”

Webby swung her bag over her shoulder. “It’s a mythical creature with three heads—a lion, a snake, and a goat. That way, it would match all three categories for the gems!”

Huey huffed, adjusting his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook in his lap. “I don’t think they’re real. It’s much more likely that there are three individuals—one for each gem—who are working together under someone pretending to use all three.” He tapped his temple. “It’s the logical explanation.”

Dewey groaned. “Ugh, boring! Why can’t it be a cool monster?”

Webby grinned. “Maybe because not everything is a monster, Dewey.”

Dewey gasped. “That’s quitter talk, Webby.”

Huey rolled his eyes and returned to his book while Dewey and Webby continued debating.

Louie wasn’t paying much attention. He had zoned out, his hands still mechanically adjusting his bag, but his mind was somewhere else. The mention of a lion had made his stomach twist, but he pushed it down. He wasn’t really thinking about it. Just… letting his mind drift.

Then—

“Louie, what do you think?”

He jolted, blinking rapidly. “Huh?”

Dewey leaned over the side of the bunk, looking at him expectantly. “About the gems! What do you think?”

Louie swallowed. His mouth was dry. He hadn’t been listening closely enough to give a real answer. But they were waiting for him to say something.

“Oh, um…” His brain scrambled for an answer. “What if… Both?” He forced a small shrug. “Like, maybe there’s three people, but they also have a Chimera or something helping them?”

It was vague. Noncommittal.

Dewey lit up. “Oh! That’d be awesome!”

Huey shook his head. “Improbable.”

Webby tapped her chin. “I mean… it could happen!”

Louie gave a small laugh and looked back down at his bag, pretending to adjust the straps. The conversation moved on, but his hands were shaking slightly, so he clenched them into fists to make it stop.

They were still treating him like normal. That was good. That was really good.

He just had to keep playing along.

Chapter Text

They all piled into the van, with Launchpad behind the wheel. As always, Louie hoped—prayed—that he wouldn’t crash, but considering their track record, that was probably wishful thinking. He leaned his head against the window, watching as the scenery blurred past. The ride was long, but he barely noticed. His mind drifted in and out of focus, the gentle hum of the engine and the chatter of his brothers and Webby fading into background noise.

They were heading to a small village near the temple, where they’d be staying the night before their expedition. It was only a short hike away from their destination, and Scrooge insisted it would be a good base of operations.

Of course, their peaceful arrival didn’t last long.

With a loud CRASH and the sound of wood splintering, the van slammed into the side of a small wooden building. Louie jerked forward, barely catching himself before he faceplanted into the seat in front of him.

"Oh come on!” Huey groaned, clutching his seatbelt.

Webby let out an excited “WOOHOO!” while Dewey cackled. “That was awesome!”

Louie rubbed his temples. Every. Single. Time.

A figure emerged from the damaged building—a short, stocky skink dressed in simple, earth-toned clothing, with faded green scales and a clearly irritated expression. He took one look at the damage, then narrowed his eyes at Launchpad, who was still gripping the wheel like nothing had happened.

“…We have arrived!” Launchpad declared cheerfully.

The skink crossed his arms. “You crashed into my building.”

“I parked into your building,” Launchpad corrected. “It’s all about perspective, my scaly friend.”

The skink’s frown deepened.

Before Launchpad could say anything else to make the situation worse, Scrooge stepped in. He adjusted his coat and strode forward, flashing his usual confident grin.

“Ah, greetings, lad! Apologies about the, uh, slight inconvenience, but we’d like to park here for the time being.”

The skink huffed. “Not without paying for the damage, you won’t.”

Scrooge’s grin faltered slightly. His eyes flicked to the broken wooden beams and the dented van, then back to the skink, clearly weighing whether or not he could argue his way out of this one. After a beat, he sighed, reaching into his coat.

“Fine, fine, I suppose fair’s fair.” He pulled out a card and offered it.

The skink didn’t even take it. “Cash only, duck.”

Scrooge groaned dramatically before pulling out a small wad of bills and handing them over. The skink took his time counting each note, pausing only to glance at the van again.

“You want that fixed up? Extra charge, of course.”

Scrooge scoffed. “Bah! Launchpad can fix it himself.”

“I can?” Launchpad blinked, then grinned. “Oh yeah, I can!”

Scrooge rolled his eyes, turning back to the skink. “Now, where’s the hotel?”

The skink pointed down a dirt path toward a collection of huts nestled among thick trees. “Over there.”

“Perfect,” Scrooge muttered, already walking off.

As they grabbed their bags and climbed out of the van, Louie lingered behind for a second. His stomach still felt a little uneasy—not just from the crash, but from the nerves that had been following him all day.

They were here now. The adventure was happening.

And that meant he couldn’t afford to mess up.

Taking a deep breath, he tightened his hoodie around himself and hurried after the others.

They stepped into the hotel lobby, the air thick with the scent of polished wood and fresh linens. The place was nice—probably too nice for the kind of trip they were on. The floors gleamed under the warm lighting, and soft instrumental music played in the background. It would’ve been relaxing… if it weren’t for the receptionist.

Louie froze for a split second the moment he saw her—a Bengal tiger, her orange-and-black-striped fur sleek and well-groomed. She looked up as they entered, her amber eyes briefly widening in surprise.

“Hello,” she greeted, her tone polite but curious. “We don’t see ducks often. What can I do for you?”

Louie’s stomach twisted. He forced himself to move, to keep walking forward as if nothing was wrong. It’s just a receptionist. A normal person. Not him. Not the same.

Scrooge, thankfully, took over. “I’d like a room for six,” he said, adjusting his coat.

The tiger tilted her head slightly, scanning them. “I only see five?” she noted.

“He’s parking,” Scrooge replied dismissively.

Nodding, the receptionist tapped on her screen. “Name?”

“Scrooge McDuck.” He pulled out his card, but as soon as he said his name, the tiger’s ears perked up.

“Scrooge McDuck? Oh, you’re the rich one from Duckburg.” Her expression shifted slightly, as if sizing him up. “That’ll be a hundred bucks per night for a six-person room.”

Scrooge’s eyes narrowed in displeasure, clearly not happy about the price. But after a grumble under his breath, he handed over the card. The tiger scanned it with an easy swipe and returned it to him with a pleasant smile.

“Fifth floor, room 501. Have a nice stay.”

Louie let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

As they made their way to the stairs, his eyes darted around the lobby. That was when he noticed the staff.

They were all some kind of cat.

A pair of sleek black panthers dusted off a display shelf. A fluffy Maine Coon cat in a bellhop uniform carried a suitcase up the stairs. A bobcat was in the corner, folding fresh linens with practiced ease.

Louie’s feathers prickled. He felt the tension crawl up his spine, making his hoodie feel too tight around his neck.

They had to stay here?

His mind tried to rationalize it. They’re just hotel workers. Normal people doing their jobs. None of them even looked at him twice. But it didn’t matter—his gut was twisting itself into knots anyway.

And then there was that other thought.

At least I haven’t seen any lions or cougars yet.

But strangely, that didn’t make him feel any better.

They reached their room, and the moment the door shut behind them, everyone scattered to claim their beds. Webby flopped onto one with a dramatic sigh, Dewey bounced onto his, and Huey carefully unpacked some of his travel essentials. Louie took the bed closest to the window and sat down, rubbing his arms.

The room was fine. Comfortable, even. He could get through the night. They just had to be here until morning, and then they’d be off to the temple.

Everything was fine.

After a while, Dewey, predictably, grabbed the hotel phone. “Room service time, baby!” he declared.

Louie barely listened as his brothers rattled off their food orders. He wasn’t hungry. He hadn’t really been hungry in days. The thought of eating just made his stomach churn. But if he didn’t order something, Dewey would definitely notice.

There was a knock on the door a few minutes later, and when it opened, a golden tabby cat stepped inside, balancing a tray of food.

Louie felt his throat tighten. He kept his eyes down, trying to focus on the hotel carpet instead of the fact that a cat was now standing right there, talking to Dewey and Webby like it was normal.

Because it was normal.

Dewey raised an eyebrow at him. “Dude, you’re not getting anything?”

Louie swallowed. He forced himself to talk, but his voice came out weak and unsteady.

“I-I’d like just a… a can of Pep…?” His mouth felt dry.

The tabby gave a simple nod and turned to leave.

Louie exhaled sharply once the door clicked shut behind them.

Dewey was still staring. “Since when do you turn down free food?”

Louie faked a yawn, hoping it was convincing. “Not that hungry. Tired, I guess.” He flopped onto his side, tugging his hoodie over his head to block out any further questions.

No one pushed him on it, but he could still feel Dewey’s eyes on him.

He clenched his fists under the blanket. He just had to keep playing along. Keep pretending.

Everything was fine.

Chapter Text

Louie felt like he was dying.

Clawed hands pinned him down, forcing him still. Every movement sent searing pain through his body, and he whimpered, trying to push against the figure above him. It had no face—just a vague, shifting shape of a cat-like creature, its breath hot against his skin. The oddity barely registered in his mind. The pain was all-consuming, unbearable, stretching him past his limits.

He felt it, saw it—a small bulge pressing outward from his stomach with every violent movement.

A sob broke from his throat. His body wasn’t his anymore.

His arms trembled as he tried to push harder, but it only made everything worse. His stomach churned, and he gagged, bile rising up. He shouldn’t have eaten those burgers. He shouldn’t have—

“Louie.”

The voice was distant, like it was coming from underwater. His body still ached. He was still trapped.

“Louie.”

The thrusts got harder. His stomach clenched in agony. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t—

“Louie!”

A sharp pain shot through his shoulder. His eyes snapped open, and suddenly he was here.

Darkness. Stale hotel air. The distant hum of the air conditioner.

His chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid gasps. His face was wet. He was shaking. He wasn’t—he wasn’t—

A blurry figure hovered in front of him. As his vision cleared, he realized it was Huey, kneeling beside his bed, his face tight with concern.

“You were whimpering in your sleep,” Huey whispered carefully, mindful of the others sleeping nearby. “Bad dream?”

Louie couldn’t answer at first. His throat felt tight, like something was lodged in it. He forced himself to take a slow, shaky breath.

It was just a nightmare. Just a dream. He was safe.

Wasn’t he?

He swallowed hard and gave a small nod. “Yeah… bad dream.” His voice barely came out.

Huey hesitated, watching him closely. “Wanna talk about it?”

Louie clenched the blanket between his fingers. He didn’t. He couldn’t. He wasn’t even sure he had the words.

“No… thanks.” He swallowed again. His voice was still unsteady. He hated how weak he sounded. “…B-but can you… maybe sleep with me?”

Huey didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

Louie felt the bed shift as Huey climbed in next to him. It was warm. Solid. Real.

For the first time since waking up, Louie exhaled.

He was okay. He had to be.

Chapter Text

They had finally made it to the temple. The morning sun was climbing higher, warming the jungle air, but Louie still felt cold.

The nightmare clung to him like thick fog, wrapping around his mind no matter how hard he tried to shake it. His body felt heavy, sluggish, like he was walking through water. Every rustling leaf, every snapping twig sent his nerves on edge, making his feathers prickle beneath his hoodie. He knew he was acting weird—tense, distant, barely even talking—but he just couldn’t help it.

Huey seemed to notice. He kept glancing over every so often, his expression thoughtful, like he wanted to say something. But he never did. He never pried.

Louie was grateful for that.

The temple itself was massive, towering over them like something out of a storybook. Its stone walls were worn but surprisingly well-kept, the carvings and details still sharp despite their age. It was clear this place wasn’t just some abandoned ruin—it was important. Not just to treasure hunters like Scrooge, but to the people who lived here.

It seemed to serve two purposes—part tourist attraction, part sacred ground.

Golden topaz, deep red rubies, cool blue sapphires, and burnt-orange sardonyx were embedded into the stone, decorating every pillar and archway. The sunlight streaming through the trees caught on the gems, making the whole place glow. It really was beautiful.

Louie barely noticed.

The long, steep staircase leading up to the entrance felt like a punishment. Every step made his legs ache, but he pushed forward, keeping his head down and trying to focus on anything other than the pounding in his chest.

When they finally reached the top, a small crowd had already formed at the entrance. A ram stood at the door, his wool thick and curly, his curved horns polished. He was dressed in simple robes, a sash tied around his waist. He didn’t look like just a regular worker—more like a caretaker of the temple itself.

Louie and the others stepped behind the line, waiting their turn. He tried to focus on what was happening, hoping it would distract him from the gnawing anxiety in his gut.

Tourists had to pay a small fee to enter—three coins per person. Locals, however, were allowed in for free. Louie watched as a family of villagers approached the ram, bowing slightly before being let through without payment. Then came the tourists, fishing for coins and dropping them into a simple wooden box before receiving a nod of approval.

Finally, it was their turn.

The ram eyed them curiously but didn’t seem suspicious. He tipped his head slightly, his voice carrying the soft, trembling quality that sheep and goats tended to have.

“Three coins each,” he said.

Scrooge huffed under his breath—clearly not a fan of paying for anything—but handed over the necessary coins without complaint. The rest of them followed suit, each dropping their share into the box.

The ram counted the coins, then gave a small nod. “Enjoy your visit.”

As they stepped inside, Louie exhaled slowly, gripping the straps of his backpack a little tighter.

The temple was cool, the air shifting from the humid jungle heat to something still and quiet. It should’ve been calming.

But Louie’s stomach was still twisting itself into knots.

The hall was massive, its high ceiling arching above them like the inside of a grand cathedral. The air was thick with the scent of burning salt lamps, their soft amber glow casting flickering shadows along the stone walls. Every few feet, statues stood tall, carved from dark stone, their expressions solemn and watchful.

Webby, ever the curious one, was already examining them, tracing the intricate details with her eyes.

At the very back of the hall, elevated on a pedestal, stood the most striking statue of all—a regal Komodo dragon, carved with impeccable detail. Her long robes flowed down her form, her claws delicately wrapped around a shimmering yellow gem. Even though she was only stone, something about her posture radiated authority.

Just below her, positioned almost reverently, was a smaller yet still imposing figure—a bearded dragon, dressed in noble attire. Around them, more statues filled the space, smaller skinks and geckos gathered around their feet as though in worship.

The same pattern appeared in the other sections of the hall.

To the left, the goat statues stood in a similar formation. A proud and elegant mountain goat stood at the highest point, clutching a brilliant blue gem. Below her, a dignified-looking goat stood at attention, and beyond them, sheep and rams gathered in humble poses.

And then, to the right, were the feline statues.

Louie’s stomach twisted.

Just like the others, a lioness stood at the top, her strong form exuding quiet power. She held the red gem, the fire gem, its carved facets glinting under the salt lamp glow. Below her, a tiger stood poised, his features sharp and serious. Surrounding them were leopards, panthers, bobcats, and more—each statue frozen in a silent, eternal vigil.

Louie swallowed, his feathers bristling slightly under his hoodie. His eyes lingered on the lioness statue, and suddenly, he wasn’t in the hall anymore.

Clawed hands. The weight of a larger body pinning him down. The feeling of being trapped.

He forced himself to look away, his breath catching in his throat.

“I wonder what these mean…” Webby mused aloud, breaking the thick silence. She tilted her head, studying the formations. “I think the ones on the pedestals must be the ones who hold the gems?”

A passing gecko, small and dressed in simple yet elegant robes, paused at Webby’s shoulder and tapped it lightly.

“Hey,” she said, her voice friendly. “I can tell you about this if you’d like.”

Webby practically lit up. “Yes! Please do!”

The gecko turned toward the statues, her tail flicking slightly as she pointed toward the reptiles first.

“The Gem Holders are always female,” she explained. “Always a Komodo dragon, a lioness, and a mountain goat. They are chosen at birth and are considered sacred.” She gestured to the figures below. “The ones just beneath them are their messengers—trusted advisors and protectors. While they can technically be any species, they’re usually bearded dragons, tigers, and goats.”

“And the others?” Huey asked, motioning toward the crowd of smaller statues gathered at the base of each display.

The gecko’s expression remained calm, but there was an air of reverence in her voice as she answered.

“The rest are their servants,” she said simply. “They carry out their will, ensuring balance is maintained.”

She then turned her attention to the glowing gems themselves, her gaze serious.

“The gems they hold are essential to our way of life. The sand gem—also known as the earth gem—keeps the ground fertile and protects us from natural disasters. The fire gem controls heat and wildfires, ensuring they do not destroy us. And the water gem regulates floods and keeps our land hydrated.”

Her tail flicked again, this time more anxiously.

“But if they are displeased,” she warned, “or if the wrong person—whether a non-holder or someone with evil intentions—gets their hands on one of the gems… the consequences can be devastating.”

Louie barely heard her last words. His eyes were still flicking between the statues of the big cats, his heartbeat loud in his ears.

His hands clenched into the fabric of his hoodie.

This trip was supposed to be a distraction. A way to get his mind off things.

But so far, it was doing the exact opposite.

Chapter Text

The hall they walked down was lined with gleaming sardonyx, the polished stones reflecting the soft light of their lanterns as they passed. It was eerily beautiful, but Louie couldn’t focus on that. His heart was hammering in his chest, every footstep echoing like a drum in his ears. His legs felt stiff, like they were made of stone, and every step forward felt heavier than the last. He could feel the gaze of the guards following him, each one standing at attention, perfectly still.

Six rams lined the hallway, three on either side, their eyes sharp as they scanned the group. They didn’t speak, just watched them silently, their powerful forms imposing as they stood perfectly still, like statues. Louie kept his eyes on the ground, the weight of their gaze making his skin crawl. They were guards, he knew that much. But the way they looked at them, especially him, made him feel small. Vulnerable.

Up ahead, they reached a split in the hall, two large doors at either side. One was marked "Messenger’s Hall," and the other was labeled "Treasury." Both were guarded by two cobras, coiled and tense, their hoods flared as they stared down the group. Without a word, they all turned toward Messenger’s Hall, following the path that would take them deeper into the temple.

The hallway leading to the next room was open, but Louie couldn’t stop the knot tightening in his stomach. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings, but he didn’t pay them any attention. His focus was on the next set of guards waiting inside.

Mountain lions.

Cougars.

Louie’s breath caught in his throat, his feet faltering as he stepped into the room. The sight of them sent a shock of panic through him. This was worse than just being surrounded by any big cat. These were the same ones. The same type of cat who had hurt him, who had done… that to him. He swallowed, but it felt like his throat was dry, like he couldn’t get air in. He wanted to run. He wanted to disappear. But his legs felt like jelly, and his body refused to obey his mind’s frantic command.

He forced himself forward, telling himself to keep going, that he couldn’t break down here. Not now. Not in front of them.

But the weight of their gazes was suffocating. Like all of them knew. They were staring at him, judging him without speaking a word. Louie kept his eyes on the ground, afraid that if he looked up, if he looked into their eyes, he might collapse.

But despite his best efforts, his gaze flicked upward just for a second—just enough to meet the eyes of one of the guards.

And that’s when everything stopped.

His heart stuttered in his chest.

That look. He recognized him. Louie’s stomach twisted violently. The same guard—the one who had hurt him, the one whose touch still felt like it was seared into his skin. The one who had made him feel like he wasn’t even a person.

The guard didn’t recognize him, though. At least, not at first.

Louie could see the flicker of confusion in his eyes, and for a split second, he thought he might be able to escape the memory. Maybe it was all just a nightmare, a horrible thing that had happened far away, in a different place. But then, something changed.

The guard’s eyes hardened, and the moment of uncertainty vanished. Recognition washed over his face, and Louie’s heart dropped into his stomach.

The guard remembered.

And then, the worst thing happened. The guard smiled.

A smug, almost dismissive grin that made Louie’s blood run cold. It wasn’t even a real smile—more like a sneer, like he was enjoying the discomfort, the fear, the humiliation.

Louie’s stomach churned, bile rising in his throat. How could he look so calm? How could he be standing there, with that look on his face, when he had done that to him?

The anger bubbled up from deep inside him, but it wasn’t the kind of anger Louie could just push away. It was sharp, white-hot fury that burned through him like a wildfire. The man who had hurt him, violated him, was standing there looking smug about it. He hadn’t felt a single ounce of guilt or remorse.

“Why?” Louie’s heart pounded in his chest as he hurried past the guard, his eyes focused on the ground again. Why did he look so smug? Why did he feel nothing?

“Why?” Louie whispered to himself, his breath shaky as he tried to push the thoughts out of his head. But he couldn’t. It was all so wrong, so unfair. He had taken something from Louie—something that could never be given back—and yet, there he was, standing there with that self-satisfied expression, like nothing had happened at all.

That smug look was like a slap across his face. Louie didn’t know what was worse—the fact that he remembered, or the fact that the guard didn’t seem to care.

Louie’s chest tightened as he fought to keep his composure, but it felt like he was suffocating. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to make the guard understand what he had done to him. But his throat was tight, his words stuck. He had never felt so powerless.

He forced himself to keep walking, ignoring the burning in his eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

They stumbled out of the hallway and Louie felt a rush of cold air hit his face. His lungs finally expanded properly, and he sucked in a deep breath, though it did little to calm the storm inside him. His skin prickled, and every muscle in his body ached with the tension he'd been carrying. His legs still felt weak, but he managed to keep himself upright, just barely.

The room they entered was grand, with high vaulted ceilings and walls adorned with shimmering gems that cast soft, colorful light across the stone floors. Everything about the place seemed designed to inspire awe, but to Louie, it felt like the walls were pressing in, like he was being swallowed by the temple itself.

Three ornate thrones sat at the end of the room, each carved with intricate designs that hinted at the culture of the temple. On the far left throne sat a mountain goat draped in a flowing blue robe. His horns curled elegantly, and his expression was calm but sharp, like he was used to reading through lies.

To the right sat a bearded dragon, his yellow robe almost blending in with the golden hues of the stones around him. His eyes were half-lidded, giving him a lazy demeanor, but Louie could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his clawed fingers gripped the arm of his throne.

And in the center sat a tiger. Her red robe cascaded over her throne like a waterfall of crimson. Her eyes, a piercing amber, studied them intently. When she spoke, her voice rolled over them like a soft growl—kind but commanding, a tone that brokered no argument.

“Welcome. Ducks are a rare sight here. What brings you to the temple?”

Her words hung in the air, and Louie felt them settle on him like a weight. He forced himself not to look at the guards that had followed them in, not to acknowledge the cougar that still lingered behind him. His skin crawled where the cougar had touched him, and he felt like he needed to scrub it raw to get the sensation off.

Scrooge took a step forward, his cane tapping lightly against the stone floor. His posture was confident, but Louie could see the way his uncle’s knuckles tightened around his cane, the subtle shift in his expression that told Louie he was frustrated but holding back.

“We heard rumor that one person is in control of all three gems,” Scrooge said, his voice steady. “I’d be interested in meeting them.”

The goat on the left tipped his head slightly, his ears twitching. “No one's seen the Gem Holder, but we can relay what you’d like to say to her.”

Scrooge’s frown deepened, a crease forming between his brows. “What animal is she?”

The three on the thrones exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Louie could feel the shift in the room, a sudden tension like the air before a storm.

“We don’t know,” the bearded dragon said, his tongue flicking out slightly as he spoke. “To me, she sounds like a reptile. He”—the dragon nodded toward the goat—“thinks she sounds like a goat. And she”—he gestured to the tiger—“claims she sounds like neither.”

The tiger’s expression remained unreadable, but her tail flicked once, a subtle sign of irritation. Louie’s eyes darted to the movement, his nerves so frayed that every small motion felt like a threat.

Scrooge sighed, a heavy, tired sound. “Tell her I’d like to talk to her myself.”

The goat’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward slightly, the soft jingling of the bells on his robe filling the silence. “We don’t just tell her whatever we are told to. Is this urgent? Is she misusing the gems?”

“Well, I... No. But—”

“Then leave.” The bearded dragon’s voice lost its lazy edge, becoming sharp and cold. “None can order the Gem Holder to do anything.”

“I’m not going until I get answers!” Scrooge’s voice echoed, the defiance in it a stark contrast to the quiet, oppressive air of the temple.

“Leave, or the guards will escort you out,” the tiger said. Her voice remained even, but her eyes hardened, and as if summoned by an unspoken command, guards began to emerge from the shadows.

Cobras slithered forward, their hoods flaring slightly as they moved into formation. Rams stepped into place, their hooves clacking against the floor in a steady rhythm. And then there were the cougars, their golden eyes locked onto the group, muscles tense beneath their fur.

Louie’s pulse quickened, his vision narrowing. He tried to focus on Scrooge, on Webby’s determined frown, on Huey and Dewey who had moved closer to him as if they could shield him from whatever was coming. But all he could see were the cougars.

One of the cobras moved up to Scrooge, its tongue flicking out as it gestured for him to move. Scrooge glared but didn’t resist as the guards started to usher them out.

Louie didn’t have time to react before a hand settled on his shoulder. His entire body locked up, a shock of cold terror shooting through him. He didn’t need to look to know who it was. The cougar. That cougar.

His grip was firm, not tight enough to hurt but just enough to hold him in place. Louie’s breath stuttered, and he had to clench his fists to keep from shaking. The warmth of the cougar’s hand seeped through his shirt, and it felt like poison, like the touch would burn a mark into his skin that would never come off.

Every step felt wrong. The hall stretched on forever, and the cougar’s hand remained on him, guiding him forward, keeping him close. Louie’s mind was a mess, his thoughts tangled and sharp-edged. He wanted to scream, to wrench away from the touch, to shout at the top of his lungs that this wasn’t fair. That he shouldn’t have to go through this. That the world wasn’t supposed to be this cruel.

But he said nothing. He bit his lip until he tasted blood and kept walking.

The temple walls seemed to close in around him, the polished stones turning dark and cold. The guards led them through the maze-like halls, and finally, they were outside. The sun was bright, too bright, and Louie had to squint against it. The cougar’s hand slipped away, and his skin prickled where the touch had been, like the memory of it refused to fade.

He stumbled away, putting distance between himself and the guards. His chest heaved, his breaths coming in sharp, painful bursts. The fresh air did nothing to clear his head, and he wrapped his arms around himself, a poor attempt to hold himself together.

His brothers and Webby looked at him, concern clear in their eyes, but Louie couldn’t meet their gazes. He felt raw, exposed, like every emotion was right there on his skin for everyone to see. His knees felt weak, and he lowered himself to the ground, not trusting his legs to hold him.

It felt like he was outside of himself, watching from a distance as he fell apart. The world spun around him, colors too bright and sounds too loud, and he dug his fingers into the dirt beneath him, grounding himself in the only way he knew how.

He was out. He was safe. But the cougar’s smug look haunted him, and Louie couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d never truly be free.

Chapter Text

They had gone back to the hotel and paid for another night. The room felt smaller than before, the walls closer, the air heavier. Louie sat on the edge of his bed, his hands twisted into the blanket, fingers knotted so tightly his knuckles had gone white. He could barely hear the conversation around him, Scrooge’s voice a low rumble as he started laying out plans for how they could get back into the temple.

Scrooge paced the room, gesturing with his cane as he spoke. “The treasury is the key. If we can get inside, there’s a hidden passage that should lead to the Gem Holder’s quarters. It’s old architecture—lots of back routes, emergency exits.”

Webby leaned forward, nodding enthusiastically, a notebook open on her lap. Huey and Dewey sat on the floor, looking between the map Scrooge had drawn and the older duck’s face, absorbing every detail.

Louie felt like he was watching it all through a fog. Their voices were muffled, distorted, like he was underwater. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears, a relentless thud-thud-thud that drowned out everything else. His chest was tight, every breath shallow and forced.

He wanted to speak up. Wanted to tell them what he’d seen, what he’d felt. He opened his mouth, but the words tangled in his throat, sticking there like thorns. His lips moved, but nothing came out, and he swallowed hard, the motion painful.

He felt eyes on him and turned slightly to find Huey watching him. His brother’s expression was soft, the corners of his mouth turned down with worry. Louie forced a weak smile, but it only made Huey’s frown deepen. Louie quickly looked away, his pulse quickening.

He needed to calm down. He needed to act normal. If he seemed off, they’d ask questions. If they asked questions, he’d have to lie. And if he lied, they’d know. Huey always knew. Dewey could tell when he wasn’t being honest. Scrooge wouldn’t stop until he had answers.

He couldn’t let that happen.

When the food arrived, Louie sat with his plate in his lap, staring at the food but unable to bring himself to eat. The smell of it turned his stomach, the sight of the greasy fries and the burger making his mouth flood with sour saliva. He felt like he might throw up if he even tried.

“Louie?” Dewey’s voice pulled him back to the present, and he blinked, realizing everyone was looking at him. He hadn’t realized Scrooge had stopped talking, that the room had fallen quiet.

“You gonna eat that?” Dewey asked, his tone light but laced with concern. Louie hesitated, then pushed his plate toward him.

“Not hungry,” he muttered. His voice sounded strange to his own ears, too soft, too fragile.

Dewey didn’t push it. He just gave Louie a look that said he wasn’t buying it, then quietly swapped their plates and started eating.

The conversation resumed, but Louie felt like he was still somewhere else. His mind kept circling back to the cougar’s face, that smug look, the way his hand had rested so casually on Louie’s shoulder. The weight of it still lingered, pressing down on him, heavy and inescapable.

He thought about telling Scrooge. His uncle would be furious—righteously so. Scrooge had no patience for anyone who hurt his family. He’d march right back into that temple, cane swinging, and demand justice. But then what? What if the cougar denied it? What if they believed him over Louie? What if Louie was just being paranoid?

His mind turned to Huey and Dewey. His brothers would listen. They always did. But they’d ask questions—too many questions—and Louie wasn’t sure he could answer them. He wasn’t sure he could handle seeing the hurt in their eyes, the anger, the pity.

He swallowed back a sob, his throat burning. No. He couldn’t tell them. Couldn’t risk it. He’d get through this. He’d push it down, bury it deep where it couldn’t hurt him anymore. He’d done it before. He could do it again.

Hours passed, and the room eventually fell into darkness. Scrooge’s snores filled the space, a low, rumbling sound that usually made Louie feel safe. But tonight, it only made him feel lonelier. Huey and Dewey were curled up together on the other bed, Webby nestled in a pile of blankets on the floor, her breathing soft and even.

Louie lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. His chest felt tight, his body buzzing with a restless, anxious energy. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing that hallway, those cougars, that face.

Tears welled up, hot and heavy, and he turned his face into his pillow to muffle the sound. His shoulders shook, and he bit down hard on the fabric, the taste of dust and salt on his tongue. He cried until he couldn’t anymore, until his body was spent and his mind numb.

He stayed like that, curled in on himself, wishing he could disappear. Wishing he could wake up and find out this had all been a nightmare. But when he finally drifted off to sleep, it wasn’t the comforting darkness of rest that took him. It was more of the same—fear, pain, and the inescapable knowledge that tomorrow, he’d have to do it all over again.

—

He struggled against the hands gripping him, the sharp claws digging painfully into his sides. Unlike the nightmare from the night before, he could see the cougar’s face clearly. Those amber eyes were cold and unfeeling, lips pulled into a twisted smirk that made Louie’s skin crawl. The room around him was dark and hazy, the edges of his vision blurred, but the cougar’s face was painfully vivid—every strand of fur, every sharp tooth, every mocking tilt of his head.

He whimpered, the sound small and pitiful, but beneath the fear, something else began to burn. Anger.

It started as a spark, a flicker of heat in his chest, but quickly grew into a raging fire. His fear receded, just for a moment, as he lashed out. His fists flew, hitting the cougar’s face with all the strength he could muster. His knuckles connected with fur and bone, the impact sending sharp jolts up his arms. But the cougar didn’t even flinch.

“Why won’t you stop?” Louie screamed, his voice cracking. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”

His words were swallowed by the darkness, echoing back at him like a cruel mockery. The cougar’s smirk only widened, his grip tightening until Louie could barely breathe.

“Please… stop,” he choked out, but the world around him only seemed to close in tighter.

Desperation clawed at him, and his mind spiraled. Maybe the cougar had a reason. Maybe he’d been ordered to do this. Maybe this was some twisted way of getting to Scrooge—hurting his nephew to hurt him. There had to be a reason. There had to be. Because if there wasn’t… if he’d done it just for fun, just because he could…

No. No, that couldn’t be true.

Louie’s chest ached, his breathing shallow and ragged. He felt his anger crumple under the weight of his fear, the fire extinguished, leaving only cold, hollow dread.

He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. The darkness swallowed him whole.

When he woke, it was with a jolt. His heart was racing, his skin damp with sweat, and his face wet with tears. His pillow was soaked, and as he shifted, a cold, uncomfortable dampness clung to his legs and the bedsheets.

“Oh no…” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.

He lay still, staring at the ceiling, his mind struggling to catch up with his body’s betrayal. He hadn’t wet the bed since he was a kid. He didn’t even have accidents when he was scared, not like this. But here he was, the evidence stark and undeniable.

A fresh wave of shame washed over him, and he bit his lip to keep from crying again. He couldn’t let the others see this. He couldn’t let them know.

His movements were slow and careful as he slid out of bed. His pajamas clung to him, damp and uncomfortable, and he shuffled to the bathroom with his spare clothes clutched in his hands. Each step felt like walking through thick mud, his legs heavy and his head light.

In the bathroom, he peeled off the wet fabric, his hands trembling. The cool air hit his skin, and he shivered, not just from the cold but from the lingering fear and humiliation. He changed quickly, pulling on the dry clothes, and stood in front of the mirror for a moment.

His reflection stared back at him—pale, eyes red and swollen, dark circles heavy beneath them. He looked small, younger than he was, and it made him feel even worse.

“What are you gonna do, Louie?” he whispered to himself. His voice sounded fragile, like glass that might shatter if he spoke too loudly.

He couldn’t tell them. Couldn’t risk the questions, the looks of pity or concern. If they knew, they’d hover. They’d watch him too closely. They might guess what had happened, and he couldn’t bear that.

Maybe they wouldn’t come back to the hotel after today. Maybe Scrooge’s plan would work, and they’d leave the temple behind, never needing to return to this room. Maybe he could get away with just leaving the bed as it was. Would the hotel staff just clean it up without saying anything?

The thought twisted his stomach, guilt mixing with his anxiety. He didn’t want anyone to know, but he also didn’t want to cause trouble for someone else. What if they got mad? What if they told Scrooge?

His mind ran in frantic circles, each thought more panicked than the last, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed comfort, needed warmth and safety and something familiar. His feet moved on their own, carrying him back into the dark hotel room.

He stood beside Huey’s bed, his brother’s soft breathing a steady rhythm that soothed him, if only a little. Louie hesitated, his hands hovering just above the blankets. He didn’t want to wake him, didn’t want to explain why he couldn’t sleep in his own bed.

Slowly, he climbed onto the mattress, careful to stay on top of the covers. The bed dipped under his weight, and Huey shifted slightly but didn’t wake. Louie curled up on his side, his back to his brother, his knees drawn up to his chest.

He closed his eyes, but sleep didn’t come easily. His mind replayed the nightmare, the cougar’s face, the cold grip of fear. His breathing was shallow, and he had to force himself to take deep, slow breaths, counting them out in his head.

One… two… three…

He focused on Huey’s breathing, the gentle rise and fall, and matched his own to it.

Four… five… six…

His body ached, every muscle tight and strained, but the longer he lay there, the more the room around him began to feel real again. The rough texture of the blanket under his cheek, the soft warmth radiating from Huey, the distant hum of the hotel’s air conditioner.

Seven… eight… nine…

Eventually, his body gave in to exhaustion, and he drifted off. His dreams were quieter this time, though shadows still lingered at the edges. But for now, with his brother close, he felt just a little bit safer.

Chapter Text

Louie wanted to stay at the hotel. Every part of him screamed not to go back to that temple, not to set foot anywhere near him. But how could he get out of it? What excuse could he make that wouldn't raise questions? If he said he was sick, they’d insist he stay behind with someone to watch over him. If he said he was tired, they’d push him to power through it. Any excuse would only make them pry, and he couldn’t deal with that right now.

So he stayed silent.

He watched as everyone started heading for the door, his heart pounding harder with every step they took. The moment they left, he’d be alone. Safe. But then Huey turned, looking back at him just as Louie let out a shaky breath and forced himself to follow.

He lagged behind, dragging his feet, hoping maybe if he was slow enough, they’d go on without him. But Huey noticed. Of course he did.

His older brother slowed his pace until he was walking beside Louie, his expression gentle, almost hesitant. “Hey,” he said quietly. “How are you doing?”

Louie tensed. “I’m fine.”

“I noticed you slept in my bed.”

Louie swallowed. He hated that look. That soft, concerned expression Huey always gave when he knew something was wrong but was waiting for Louie to admit it.

“Nightmare,” he mumbled, hoping that would be enough to satisfy him.

Huey studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Alright.” He didn’t press, but Louie could tell he wanted to. Instead, Huey gave him a small pat on the shoulder before stepping back to rejoin the others.

Louie exhaled slowly, his shoulders slumping as he followed.

How long could he keep this secret?

They reached the temple soon after, and Louie’s stomach twisted into knots. The sight of the stone walls, the towering entrance, the looming statues—it was all too much. He forced himself to breathe, to keep walking, to not turn and run back to the hotel where it was safe.

Scrooge led them around the side of the temple to a worn hole in the wall, just big enough for them to squeeze through. Louie hesitated, staring at the dark opening as if it were some kind of beast waiting to swallow him whole.

He clenched his jaw and followed the others inside.

The treasury was just as overwhelming as the rest of the temple. Gold and jewels glimmered under the dim light, piles of treasure stacked high against the walls. It was shockingly easy to get in—no guards in sight, no alarms, nothing stopping them.

Scrooge studied the doors lining the room, stroking his chin. “If I remember from yesterday, that door leads to the main hallway…” He turned to another door, placing a hand on the handle. “And this one should lead to the Gem Holder’s quarters.”

Everyone held their breath as he slowly cracked it open, peeking inside.

“Clear,” he whispered, motioning them forward.

The others moved quickly, slipping inside one by one. Louie lingered at the back, his eyes drifting to the treasure around him.

Normally, he’d be stuffing his pockets by now. He’d be scooping up handfuls of gold, trying to snag as much as he could before Scrooge caught him and took it all back. Normally, this room would’ve been exciting—an opportunity, a gold mine just waiting for him to take advantage of it.

But now?

He barely felt a flicker of interest.

Instead, all he could feel was the weight in his chest, the cold sweat on his palms, the creeping nausea curling in his gut. He wanted in and out as soon as possible.

He sighed and turned away from the treasure, following the others into the gold-lined hall.

The hall led to a massive chamber, the air thick with incense and dust. At the center of the room stood three enormous thrones, each decorated with a different gemstone—sapphire for water, topaz for earth, ruby for fire. But it was the middle throne, the one lined with gleaming red gems, that held their attention.

Louie’s heart pounded in his chest.

Something was sitting there.

No—sleeping there.

His fear, his lingering dread from earlier, dulled for just a moment as his mind tried to process what he was seeing.

The figure on the throne wore three robes—one deep blue, another golden brown, and the last a brilliant crimson, draping over its form like layers of royalty. Its body was sleek, powerful, unmistakably that of a lioness. But when Louie’s gaze traveled upward, his stomach twisted in shock.

The creature had three heads.

The center one was a lioness, eyes shut in peaceful slumber. To the left, a goat’s head, its curling horns adding an eerie regality. And to the right, a long, winding snake’s head, its forked tongue barely peeking past its lips as it breathed.

A Chimera.

Louie heard Webby gasp. He turned to her and saw her practically vibrating with excitement, her hands clenched into fists. “I knew it! I knew it! That explains everything!”

Dewey, looking just as awed but a lot less thrilled, edged closer to Scrooge. “Okay… So now what?”

Scrooge, however, wasn’t nearly as mesmerized. He studied the Chimera with narrowed eyes before pointing at its head. “I’m going to grab that.”

Louie followed his gaze and swallowed hard. Resting atop the Chimera’s lioness head was a golden crown, inlaid with the very gems they had come for—one blue, one gold, one red.

The Gems of Balance.

Louie’s stomach churned. There were no guards, no visible traps, no immediate dangers. But something about this felt wrong. Scrooge had stolen treasure before, more times than Louie could count, but this—this felt different.

Scrooge, however, was undeterred. He strode forward with the confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times before. He stepped up onto the throne’s stone platform, reaching carefully for the crown.

Louie held his breath.

With precise, practiced movements, Scrooge lifted the crown from the Chimera’s head. For a second, nothing happened. The room remained still, the Chimera unmoving.

Then Scrooge turned.

A sound sliced through the air—a sharp, rattling hiss.

Louie’s heart dropped as the Chimera’s snake head shot up, its eyes snapping open.

“Duck. Thief!”

The other two heads stirred, the goat groaning, and then the lioness awoke fully with a deafening, earth-shaking roar. The ground trembled beneath them, dust and small bits of stone falling from the ceiling.

“Oh, that’s not good,” Dewey squeaked.

Scrooge, crown still clutched in his hands, didn’t hesitate. “Alright! Let’s go!”

The Chimera lurched forward, claws scraping against the stone, but they were already running.

Louie sprinted after the others, his legs burning as he forced himself to move. He couldn’t think—there was no time. He barely registered the roar behind them, the sharp clicks of hooves, the slithering sound of scales against the ground. He didn’t want to process it.

They barreled into the treasury, treasure clattering underfoot as they skidded to a stop. Scrooge clutched the crown like it was a winning lottery ticket, his eyes darting around for an exit.

Louie gasped for air, trying to calm the frantic pounding in his chest. But there was no time to catch his breath.

The Chimera was coming.

The hole was too small to squeeze back through—it’d be too slow. They needed to move, now.

So they bolted for the hall.

Two ram guards bellowed in surprise, their horns lowering as they took defensive stances. Just ahead, the two cougars guarding the Messenger’s Hall growled before sprinting toward them, their powerful bodies moving with terrifying speed.

But then—the Chimera burst through the treasury doors.

The sheer force of its entrance shook the ground, the lioness head roaring with fury, the snake hissing like steam escaping a kettle, the goat letting out a deep, unsettling bleat that rattled Louie’s bones.

The four guards froze, their eyes widening at the monstrous sight.

For a split second, it seemed like they might let the ducks go—like their survival instincts would override their duty.

Then the rams caught sight of what Scrooge was holding.

The crown. The Gems.

And then it felt like every single guard in the temple was after them.

“MOVE!” Scrooge barked, clutching the crown to his chest as he pushed forward.

A ram slammed into Huey with full force. Huey let out a choked gasp, but he stumbled back to his feet with a determined grimace.

A cobra lunged at Dewey, its fangs flashing, and Dewey barely managed to dodge, the serpent's hiss ringing in his ears.

Then a cougar charged straight for Louie.

He didn’t have time to react.

Before he could even think, he was slammed to the ground, claws digging into his shoulders.

His breath was stolen from him.

His body locked up. His mind—his entire mind—shut down.

He forgot he was fighting.

He forgot—

A voice, too familiar, too wrong, purred into his ear.

“Why do you keep coming here, duckling?”

Louie’s blood turned to ice.

No. No, no, no, no, no—

He knew that voice.

Even though the wind had been knocked from him, he wanted to scream. His heart slammed against his ribs. His body felt trapped, locked in place, his muscles frozen in terror.

The cougar leaned closer, claws tightening slightly. His voice was mocking, amused.

“Like me that much?”

Louie’s stomach twisted. His vision blurred.

No, no, no, no—

He felt sick.

The cougar’s grip shifted—one clawed hand moving lower.

Louie snapped.

“N-no… get o-off me…” His voice came out barely above a whisper, a choked, desperate plea. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

Then, suddenly, air rushed back into his lungs.

And he screamed.

A raw, guttural, animalistic scream ripped from his throat, so loud it echoed through the temple. He kicked out wildly, his legs flailing in panic, his entire body burning with the need to get away.

The cougar flinched, caught off guard for only a moment—

And then Webby slammed into him.

Her foot connected hard with his ribs, knocking him off Louie with a sharp grunt of pain. The moment Louie was freed, he scrambled back, his breaths coming in short, frantic gasps, his entire body trembling.

“Are you okay!?” Webby whirled around, eyes scanning him for injuries.

Louie couldn’t answer.

Because he wasn’t hurt.

Not physically, at least.

Webby’s brows furrowed in confusion. He had screamed like his throat was being torn apart—but he had no wounds. No blood.

Louie knew why she was confused.

But he couldn’t explain it.

He couldn’t speak.

Webby hesitated only for a second before turning back to the fight, gripping her fists tightly, ready to throw herself into another attack.

But Louie—Louie couldn’t move.

He felt dirty. He felt trapped.

And worse than anything—

He felt helpless.

Chapter Text

The cougar clutched his ribs, his golden eyes locking onto Louie with a glint of irritation—no, amusement.

Then he moved.

Before Louie could react, before he could scream, fight, run, anything—strong hands grabbed him.

A clawed palm clamped over his beak, muffling the yelp that tried to escape.

And then—he was being dragged.

Away from the fight. Away from Webby. Away from safety.

Louie thrashed wildly, but the cougar was stronger. His breath came in quick, sharp bursts as he was shoved against the hard stone ground, the impact rattling through his bones.

His beak was freed, and for a moment, he just gasped, trying to force air back into his lungs. His heart pounded in his ears.

“W-why?” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. His entire body trembled, but whether from rage or terror, he didn’t know.

The cougar tilted his head, feigning curiosity. His face was too close. His breath too warm.

“Why what?”

Louie swallowed hard.

“Why’d you… hurt me… like th-that…?” His voice cracked. Shame burned in his chest, mixing with the raw, unbearable fear twisting in his gut.

The cougar’s lips curled into something wrong.

And then—he chuckled.

Low. Amused. Like Louie had just asked something ridiculous.

“The same reason anyone would.”

His claws tapped lightly against the ground, casual, like they weren’t drenched in cruelty.

“I wanted to.”

The words struck harder than any blow ever could.

Louie’s breathing hitched. His vision blurred.

No other reason?

Not orders? Not revenge? Not to get back at Scrooge?

Nothing?

Just—because he wanted to?

Louie’s whole body went cold.

A strangled sob tore from his throat. Then another. And another. The weight of it crushed down on him, suffocating, unbearable.

The cougar scowled. “Shut up.”

Then he pressed his muzzle to Louie’s neck, his breath hot against his feathers.

Something snapped in Louie.

Before he even realized what he was doing, he growled—a furious, broken sound—and twisted, sinking his beak into the cougar’s neck with everything he had.

The cougar yowled in shock, jerking back, his claws ripping away from Louie’s arms.

Louie ran.

Blindly, desperately, he sprinted back toward the fight, back toward the chaos—anywhere but here.

He could still feel the cougar’s breath on his skin, his claws on his body, his words echoing in his head.

He ran from him.

From the touches.

From the truth.

From the unbearable, sickening truth.

Scrooge was locked in a struggle with the lioness head of the Chimera, his hands gripping its powerful jaws, holding them apart to keep from being bitten.

Louie threw himself forward, lunging onto the beast. The goat head turned and snapped at him, but he clung on, his claws raking wildly at its eyes, his mind screaming hurt her, hurt her, don’t let her hurt you, don’t let anyone touch you ever again—

The Chimera roared, thrashing violently.

The snake head whipped around in a blur of movement, fangs sinking into Louie’s shoulder.

White-hot pain exploded through him.

Then—he was flung through the air.

He slammed into the stone wall. His vision went black for half a second, and a sharp, piercing agony shot through his leg.

He couldn’t feel it.

He couldn’t care.

He shoved himself back to his feet and ran again.

The Chimera’s goat head reared back, ramming into him.

The impact sent him flying into the wall again, harder this time.

Something broke.

He heard it. Felt it.

Didn’t care.

Didn’t stop.

He charged again, vision swimming, limbs screaming in protest, but he didn’t care, he had to keep fighting, had to keep hurting something, had to make the pain inside him go somewhere else—

Hands grabbed him.

Scrooge.

Scrooge lifted him easily, gripping him tightly as he ran.

Louie barely registered the movement.

His mind was foggy, his body was battered, but somehow, somehow, his attack had bought them an opening to escape.

The temple blurred around him.

The only thing Louie could feel was the unbearable, crushing weight inside him.

And the sickening knowledge that no matter how much he ran—

He could never escape the truth.

Chapter Text

They got back to McDuck Manor at some point.

Louie didn’t know when.

Didn’t know how.

Didn’t care.

One moment, they were running. The next, they were home. It felt like a blur, like his mind refused to fill in the gaps, like it had shut down the moment they escaped.

His leg and arm were in a cast now.

A good excuse to stay in bed.

He was grateful for that.

It meant he didn’t have to move.

Didn’t have to pretend.

He spent hours lying in bed, staring at nothing.

He barely ate.

Didn’t talk.

Didn’t exist, not really.

The whole adventure had gone well for everyone except him.

Scrooge had determined the gems were powerless.

The Sand Gem, the one rumored to grant shape-shifting abilities, had been tested on a chameleon friend of his.

Nothing happened.

It was worthless.

Louie didn’t care.

Didn’t react.

Didn’t even pretend to listen when Scrooge talked about it.

None of it mattered.

Not when his mind wouldn’t stop replaying everything that had happened.

Not when every time he closed his eyes, he saw him.

He tried to sleep.

He tried to ignore the way his stomach twisted with every passing day, how the weight in his chest only grew heavier.

But the nightmares always came.

Again.

And again.

And again.

He woke in the middle of the night.

Not for the first time.

Sobbing.

It was quieter than before. More broken. Like the sound had been ripped out of him rather than something he willingly let go.

He pressed his face into the pillow, trying to stifle it, but the shaking wouldn’t stop.

The ugly, choking feeling in his throat wouldn’t go away.

Then he heard it.

“Louie?”

His breath hitched.

He looked up, bleary-eyed, and saw Dewey.

His brother’s head was upside down, leaning over the bunk above him, blue feathers dim in the moonlight.

Louie froze.

He should say something.

Should tell Dewey to go back to sleep.

Should act like everything was fine.

But he couldn’t.

He had no energy to lie.

No fight left to push him away.

Dewey didn’t wait for permission.

He jumped down and crawled onto the bed next to him.

He didn’t ask questions.

Didn’t demand explanations.

Didn’t force Louie to talk when he couldn’t.

Instead, he just—stayed.

His arms wrapped around Louie’s shoulders, gentle but firm.

“Hey,” he whispered. His voice was softer than usual. Quieter. Not full of the usual energy, just steady.

“It’s okay.”

Louie squeezed his eyes shut.

It wasn’t.

But he let Dewey hold him anyway.

Chapter Text

Huey absentmindedly picked at his cereal, pushing the soggy flakes around with his spoon rather than eating them. His stomach twisted with unease, making it impossible to focus on food. His thoughts were consumed by Louie—by how withdrawn he had been, how little he spoke, how much he avoided everyone. Something was wrong. More than just the broken arm and leg, more than just post-adventure exhaustion. It was like Louie wasn’t there anymore, like his body had made it back to the manor, but his mind was still trapped somewhere else.

“You good, Hue?” Dewey’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. He looked up to see his brother watching him from across the table, spoon halfway to his beak.

Huey hesitated, then licked his beak. “Yeah… I’m just worried about Louie.”

Dewey shrugged and took a bite of his cereal, chewing quickly before replying. “His arm and leg are healing just fine.” He tilted the bowl to drink the milk, then wiped his beak with the back of his hand.

Huey sighed, his grip tightening around his spoon. “It’s not just that. He’s been… different. Depressed? Maybe not that, but something is wrong.” His voice had risen slightly, and he forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

Dewey set his spoon down and nodded. “I’ve noticed his nightmares.”

Huey’s head snapped up. “You have?”

Dewey crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, tapping his webbed foot against the floor. “Yeah. Think he might have night terrors?”

Huey shook his head. “I know he’s been having nightmares, but I don’t think it’s that.”

Dewey furrowed his brow. “I’ve seen him sleepwalking. He’ll cry in his sleep, and sometimes he’s pretty hard to wake up.” He tapped his foot more insistently. “Aren’t those symptoms of night terrors?”

Huey frowned, thinking it over. He’d read about night terrors before, and what Dewey was describing did match up. But night terrors weren’t usually this frequent, right? And even when Louie was awake, it was like he wasn’t. Like he was just going through the motions, barely reacting to anything.

“I don’t know…” Huey muttered, staring down at his untouched cereal. “I just… I feel like it’s more than that.”

Dewey didn’t argue this time. He just sat there, thinking, just as troubled as Huey was.

Chapter Text

Dewey was jolted awake by a sound in the night. Blinking blearily, he looked down from the middle bunk and saw movement. At first, he thought Louie was just shifting in his sleep, but then he saw him standing up. The dim moonlight from the window cast eerie shadows over his brother’s form as he shuffled toward the door.

“Louie?” Dewey whispered, his voice hoarse from sleep.

Louie didn’t answer. He just kept walking, his steps slow and deliberate, like he wasn’t entirely present. Dewey’s stomach twisted. Sleepwalking again.

It had been happening a lot lately, and Dewey wasn’t sure what to make of it. Louie had never been a sleepwalker before—at least, not that he could remember—but ever since they got back from the temple, it had started. At first, Dewey figured it was just a weird one-time thing, but now it was almost routine.

Until now, Dewey had never actually followed him. Usually, he’d just shake him awake or guide him back to bed. But tonight, curiosity got the better of him. He climbed down from his bunk as quietly as possible, padding after Louie as he slipped into the dark hallway.

The manor was eerily silent, the wooden floor cool beneath his feet as he trailed his brother. Louie’s steps were slow but purposeful, like he was headed somewhere specific. Where was he even going? Did he think he was somewhere else?

Dewey was so focused on Louie that he nearly jumped out of his feathers when a voice suddenly whispered behind him.

“Where are you both going?”

Dewey barely stopped himself from yelping. He spun around and found Webby right behind him, her pink nightgown making her blend into the dim light. She looked just as curious as he felt, though her expression held a hint of concern.

“Webby!” Dewey hissed. “What are you doing?!”

“I saw you sneaking around, so I followed.” She tilted her head toward Louie, her voice lowering. “What’s going on?”

Dewey glanced back at Louie, who hadn’t even noticed them. He just kept moving forward, completely unaware of their presence.

“He’s sleepwalking,” Dewey explained, turning back to Webby.

She blinked. “I didn’t know he was a sleepwalker.”

“He isn’t,” Dewey replied. “At least, he never used to be. It only started about a week ago.”

Webby frowned at that, watching Louie for a moment. “Huh… Maybe the whole adventure with the temple left him shaken?”

Dewey bit his lip. He had thought of that too, but he didn’t know for sure. And Louie sure wasn’t talking.

“I want to ask him,” he said after a moment, determination setting in. “But I’ll wake him first.”

Webby’s eyes widened slightly. “Wait, don’t try to—”

Too late. Dewey had already stepped in front of Louie and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him gently.

“Hey, Louie, wake up.”

At first, Louie remained slack in his grip, his head lolling slightly as though his body was resisting the pull back to consciousness. Then, suddenly—

A guttural, angry sound tore from Louie’s throat, something between a growl and a whimper. His arms flailed out wildly, one hand striking Dewey hard in the face.

“—wake a sleepwalking person,” Webby finished with a sigh, rubbing her temples.

Dewey stumbled back, holding his face where Louie had hit him. “Ow! Dude, what the heck?!”

Louie mumbled something incomprehensible under his breath, his expression twisted with frustration. He still didn’t look fully awake—his eyes were glassy, unfocused.

Webby crossed her arms. “They can react violently when you try to wake them,” she explained. “You’re supposed to let them wake up on their own.”

Dewey groaned. “Well, that would’ve been useful before I got smacked in the face.”

Louie wavered on his feet for a moment, then blinked sluggishly, finally seeming to come to. His eyes darted between Dewey and Webby, confusion clouding his face.

“What…?” he croaked, voice thick with sleep.

“You were sleepwalking,” Dewey told him flatly, still rubbing his cheek.

Louie furrowed his brows. “Oh.” He didn’t sound surprised. Just… exhausted.

Dewey and Webby exchanged a glance.

“Louie,” Webby said gently, stepping a bit closer. “Why do you think this keeps happening?”

Louie’s posture stiffened for a moment. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers like he wasn’t sure they were even his. Then he swallowed and muttered,

“I dunno. I don’t… remember anything.”

Dewey wasn’t sure if he believed him.

Webby clearly wasn’t either, but she didn’t push. Instead, she sighed and gestured toward the hallway. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”

Louie hesitated, then turned around and shuffled back toward their room without another word. Dewey and Webby followed, but as they did, Dewey felt a deep pit of unease settle in his stomach.

Something was wrong. Something big.

And he had no idea how to fix it.

Dewey was tired of not knowing.

For days now, he and Huey had danced around the issue, giving Louie space, waiting for him to open up on his own—but it wasn’t working. If anything, Louie was getting worse. He barely left his bed. He hardly ate. He hardly even existed in the same space as them anymore, always tucked under his blankets like he was trying to disappear.

Dewey hated seeing him like this. They hated seeing him like this.

So, the next morning, Huey and Dewey sat down and prepared themselves. It was time to stop waiting.

It was time to confront him.

They walked into the bedroom, the blinds still shut, casting everything in dim, lifeless light. Louie was a barely-moving lump under the covers, facing away from them. His breathing was slow but awake. He knew they were there.

Huey took the lead, clearing his throat. “Louie, can you sit up?”

A groan from beneath the blanket. A shift of movement. For a second, it looked like he wasn’t going to listen, but then Louie grudgingly pushed himself up, the covers slipping down. His green hoodie was wrinkled, his feathers messy and unkempt. He still wouldn’t meet their eyes.

Huey took a careful breath. “Hey, we need to know what’s going on with you. You’ve been acting weird lately. What’s wrong?”

Louie swallowed, rubbing at his arm. His voice was quiet. “Nothing, just… shaken up by the adventure?”

Dewey’s eyes narrowed. Liar.

“The truth, Louie,” he pressed. “Please. We won’t judge you. No matter what.”

Louie’s face twitched, his expression darkening as he stared at the floor. He hated that look in their eyes. That worried, pitiful look. Like they already thought he was broken. Like they knew something was wrong.

His feathers bristled. “I don’t care if you judge me,” he snapped. “I don’t want your pity.”

Huey flinched slightly at the anger in his voice but held his ground. “Sorry. We just want to understand. You can tell us. We want to know.”

Silence.

Louie clenched his hands into fists on his lap, staring at them so hard his vision blurred. He felt his throat tighten. He didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to think about it. But his brothers—his brothers—were looking at him with such open concern, such genuine care, and he… He couldn’t keep pretending.

Not to them.

“I was…” His voice cracked. He sucked in a breath, tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat. “I-I w-was…”

Huey and Dewey leaned in slightly, waiting, holding their breath.

Louie squeezed his eyes shut. The words wouldn’t come. They got stuck, tangled, clawing at his throat like they were fighting to stay inside. It felt wrong to say it out loud. It made it real. But it was real, wasn’t it? It had happened.

And it wasn’t going away.

Finally, finally, the words came—broken, choked, barely above a whisper.

“I was… r-raped…”

His whole body trembled. Tears blurred his vision, but he blinked them back, chest tight, stomach twisting.

Dewey and Huey stared at him, frozen.

“…What?” Huey’s voice cracked, like he’d been punched in the gut.

Louie laughed bitterly. It sounded wrong coming out of his mouth, like it didn’t belong there. He wiped his eyes, even though no tears had fallen yet. “Yeah,” he whispered. “So, uh… there’s your answer.”

Dewey’s breath hitched. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “Who?”

Louie didn’t answer. He just shook his head, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, curling in on himself like he could disappear.

Huey was shaking. He looked at Dewey, at Louie, then at the floor, like he was trying to piece everything together, like he was trying to make sense of something that shouldn’t make sense. “Louie… you… why didn’t you tell us?” His voice was raw, pained.

“Because it doesn’t matter,” Louie mumbled.

“Of course it matters!” Dewey snapped, his voice too loud, too sharp, but he couldn’t help it. His hands were trembling. “Louie, you—” He cut himself off, shaking his head, pressing his fists against his temples. “I don’t—I don’t know what to do!”

Louie let out a shuddering breath, tucking his face into his arms. He wasn’t crying. Not really. But his shoulders shook, and his breaths were uneven.

Huey and Dewey sat there, at a complete loss.

They had wanted answers.

But they weren’t ready for this.

Chapter Text

The two had asked so many questions, and Louie hated every single one of them. He barely answered. He didn’t want to.

Where did it happen?
When?
Who was it?

Each question felt like a needle being pushed deeper into his skin, and the weight of their stares made it worse. His chest was tight, his breathing shallow. He didn’t want to relive it, didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to say it. Saying it made it feel real again.

“Stop!” Louie suddenly snapped, his voice raw with desperation. “Please!”

Huey and Dewey flinched at the outburst, their eyes wide with shock. Louie was never one to yell like that. But they were pushing him too hard, too fast. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push back the rising panic.

“If I tell you both,” he said, his voice quieter but just as strained, “you’ll just go to Scrooge or Donald…”

He didn’t even need to see their expressions to know he was right. The guilty silence that followed was all the confirmation he needed. They would go to them. They’d tell, they’d try to fix it, but Louie didn’t want fixing. He wanted forgetting.

He took a shaky breath and glanced up, catching a flicker of something blue at the doorway—someone was there. But before he could focus on it, it was gone. His paranoia was getting to him. Probably just a trick of the light.

“Just let me deal with it myself… Please…” His voice cracked slightly, and he hated it.

Huey let out a long sigh, rubbing his arm. He looked uncertain, conflicted. Like he wanted to argue but knew it wouldn’t help. “For now… but you need help, Louie. Consider it, please?”

Louie swallowed hard. He wanted to say no. He wanted to tell them to drop it forever. But he was exhausted—too drained to fight anymore.

“Fine…” It wasn’t a promise, but it was enough to satisfy them.

Without another word, Dewey climbed into bed beside him and wrapped his arms around Louie, holding on tightly. Louie stiffened for a second before melting into the embrace. Something about telling them made the pressure in his chest feel just a little lighter, like he wasn’t suffocating quite as much.

Huey joined the hug too, and for a moment, it was just the three of them. No adventure, no temple, no trauma—just brothers holding each other, trying to make the weight of the world feel a little less heavy.

Chapter Text

Louie hadn’t wanted Huey and Dewey to tell Scrooge, but it turned out he didn’t need to worry about that. Only a few minutes passed before the bedroom door swung open, and in walked Scrooge, looking more frustrated than Louie had ever seen him.

Louie jumped, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Scrooge!” he yelped, pushing himself further back against the bed frame. His uncle’s eyes were sharp, his movements tense as he strode forward with his cane in hand.

“When were you going to tell me?” Scrooge snapped, his voice edged with frustration but laced with something Louie couldn’t quite place—concern?

Louie froze, his mind racing. How did he know? He shot a glance at Huey and Dewey, but they looked just as shocked as he felt. Then, from the corner of his eye, he caught a faint shimmer.

A familiar, glowing blue form hovered just behind Scrooge.

Duckworth.

Louie’s stomach twisted in anger. He told on me?!

His glare locked onto the ghostly butler, who met his gaze with a neutral expression.

“You told him?” Louie hissed, his hands balling into fists.

“I did,” Duckworth said calmly. “Because you wouldn’t.”

Louie grit his teeth, his face burning with frustration. It wasn’t fair. He had barely gotten through telling Huey and Dewey, and now he had to go through it again?

Scrooge tapped his cane on the floor, drawing Louie’s attention back to him. His expression was still hard, but his posture had relaxed just a little. He wasn’t just mad—he was worried.

“When were ya goin’ to tell me?” Scrooge repeated, his tone quieter but no less firm. He gave Louie a pointed look and prodded him lightly with his cane.

Louie swallowed thickly. His mouth felt dry.

“Some time…” he squeaked, but even he knew it was a weak excuse.

Scrooge let out a slow sigh and rubbed the bridge of his beak. “Aye, right,” he muttered, clearly unconvinced. Then, after a moment, his voice softened. “We need to talk, lad. Alright?”

He stepped forward, pulling up a chair beside Louie’s bed before sitting down with a sigh. His usual confident, unshakable energy was dimmed—replaced with something quieter, heavier.

Louie clenched his jaw and looked away. He had just told his brothers. He didn’t want to do this again. He didn’t want to see the concern in Scrooge’s face, didn’t want to hear the pity in his voice.

“We have nothing to talk about,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

Scrooge didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached out and rubbed Louie’s back in slow, firm circles. The gesture was warm, comforting—uncharacteristically gentle for Scrooge.

“I need to know, Louie,” he said softly.

The way he said it made Louie’s chest ache. It wasn’t a demand, not like before. It was a plea.

Louie squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t know if he could do this.

Chapter Text

He had told Scrooge everything.

Who did it.
When it happened.
Every awful, stomach-churning detail.

He told Scrooge that one of the cougar guards had been the one who did it—that it wasn’t some faceless stranger, but someone who had been right there, close to them the whole time. By the time he finished, Louie was sobbing so hard he could barely breathe. His chest ached, his throat was raw, and he couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Huey and Dewey sat off to the side, pale and terrified, looking like they didn’t know whether to comfort him or run from the weight of it all.

Scrooge… Scrooge had stayed neutral, at least on the surface. But Louie wasn’t stupid—he saw it. The way Scrooge’s hands gripped his cane tighter, the way his jaw clenched just a bit too long. Scrooge was furious. Louie could feel it radiating off of him, but for once, the old duck held it together. Maybe because he knew if he exploded now, it would shatter Louie completely.

But what Louie hadn’t expected—what made his stomach twist—was waking up the next morning to find out Scrooge had already told Beakley and Donald. He hadn’t even asked Louie.

Donald had burst into the room like a hurricane, his eyes wide and bloodshot, his feathers ruffled, like he hadn’t slept at all. He crossed the room in seconds, grabbing Louie and pulling him close, holding him like he was afraid Louie might vanish if he let go.

Louie just sat there, stunned, unable to even cry.

Donald was rambling, his voice shaking, fussing over him like he was a kid with a scraped knee. But Louie knew it was deeper than that. Donald was scared. He wasn’t just their uncle—he was basically their parent. He’d raised them, worried about them, tried to fill the impossible hole Della had left. And now… Now he was faced with the fact that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t protect them from everything.

Louie knew that’s what this was really about. Donald wasn’t just mad—he was heartbroken. And Louie hated it.

He hated seeing that pain in his uncle’s eyes, hated knowing he was the reason Donald was breaking down like that.

Beakley had been… gentler, but it wasn’t better. The way she looked at him—like he was made of glass, like if she spoke too loudly he’d shatter—made his skin crawl. She wasn’t mean about it. She just… watched him differently. Like she was waiting for him to break.

Louie rubbed his face hard, trying to push it all away. He hated how everyone was acting. He hated the pity. The careful glances. The lowered voices when they thought he wasn’t listening.

And worst of all, he hated knowing that Donald wanted to do something—wanted to punish the one who did this—but they couldn’t. They had stolen something valuable from that kingdom. Barging back in, demanding justice, would probably start a war Scrooge couldn’t afford.

So… nothing was going to happen. That monster would get away with it. And Louie just had to live with that.

At least… at least his arm and leg had finally healed. The casts were gone, and now, for the first time in what felt like forever, he was outside again—sitting on the grass at the park with his brothers.

The sun was warm. The breeze gentle. It should’ve felt nice.

But all Louie could feel was the way everyone kept watching him—like he might fall apart at any second.

He hated it.

He thought being at the park would make him feel better—fresh air, sunshine, his brothers being idiots like always. He thought… maybe it’d help him forget. Maybe, for just an afternoon, things could feel normal again.

Apparently not.

Louie sat on the grass, legs crossed, hands picking absently at blades of grass. He barely even listened as Huey rambled about some new book and Dewey argued just to argue. It was fine. Background noise. Louie didn’t have to participate—he just had to be there. That was enough, wasn’t it?

Then, like always, chaos broke out. Dewey grabbed Huey’s book and threw it, laughing wildly as Huey gasped and took off after it. Dewey sprinted after him, tackling him into the grass as the two wrestled and shouted.

Louie didn’t move. He just stared down at the ground, lost in his head—until the air beside him shifted. Someone sat down. He barely glanced over, expecting maybe a stranger or, god forbid, a classmate. But whoever it was didn’t sit too close, so Louie ignored them.

Until the voice came.

“Hello, Llewellyn.”

Louie stiffened instantly. His stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat. He didn’t need to look. He knew that voice. He’d know it anywhere.

Doofus Drake.

Louie shot to his feet so fast the world spun for a second. He couldn’t stay—he wouldn’t. He didn’t care if running made him look weak, didn’t care if his brothers saw. He just needed to get away.

“Where are you going, friend?” Doofus asked, voice syrupy sweet and dripping with fake innocence.

Louie flinched at the word friend and quickened his pace, heading straight toward where Huey and Dewey were still rolling around in the grass. If he could just get to them—

Footsteps followed. Louie risked a glance and saw Doofus following casually, hands in his pockets like this was all normal, like he wasn’t the last person Louie ever wanted near him.

Louie stopped. He took a shaky breath, hands clenched at his sides, then slowly turned around.

“What do you want, Doofus?” he asked, his voice low and trembling despite himself.

Doofus smiled—too wide, too fake—and walked right up to him, closing the distance until he was far too close. Louie flinched, leaning back slightly, heart pounding so loud he could barely hear.

“I just wanted to say hi,” Doofus said sweetly, his eyes cold. “It’s such a coincidence seeing you here. Don’t you think?”

Louie’s frown deepened, his body screaming at him to run. “You said hi,” he muttered. “Now you can go.”

He turned, trying to shove past, but Doofus’s hand shot out, grabbing his arm in a bruising grip. Louie gasped, the contact sending his mind spiraling. He tried to yank away, but Doofus pulled him close, their faces just inches apart. Louie could feel his breath, smell that awful sugary scent.

“Let go!” Louie shouted, panic rising fast. He squirmed, kicked, but Doofus held tight.

Doofus opened his mouth, something vile dancing on the edge of his tongue—but he didn’t get the chance.

Before a word could leave him, Dewey was there—sprinting faster than Louie had ever seen—shoving himself between them and forcing Doofus back with surprising strength.

“Get your hands off him!” Dewey snarled, teeth bared, eyes blazing with anger.

Louie stumbled back, gasping, clutching his arm where Doofus’s fingers had dug in. He felt like he might puke.

Doofus blinked, his fake smile faltering for the first time. “I was just saying hi…”

“Yeah?” Dewey snapped. “You say hi by grabbing people now? Get lost.”

Doofus hesitated, eyes flicking from Dewey to Louie, then shrugged like it didn’t bother him. “Fine. Whatever. See you around, Llewellyn.” He winked, then sauntered off, whistling like nothing had happened.

Huey finally caught up, panting and confused. “What’s going on?”

Dewey didn’t answer. He just turned and threw his arms around Louie, pulling him close. “Are you okay?” he whispered, voice cracking. “Lou… what the hell was that?”

Louie stood frozen for a second—then broke. He clung to Dewey like his life depended on it, shoulders shaking.

He wasn’t okay. Not even close.

Chapter Text

“Don’t you feel like you should have stolen more treasure from that place and not just the crown?” Beakley asked, setting down a steaming mug of tea on the table in front of Scrooge. She eyed him critically, arms crossed.

Scrooge, who had been flipping through a newspaper, sighed and set it aside. “I have a plan, Beakley,” he said, rubbing his temples. “Besides, the crown is useless.”

Beakley raised an eyebrow and took a slow sip of her tea. “Useless?” she echoed. “You don’t often go after things that are ‘useless,’ Scrooge.”

Scrooge huffed and pulled a paper from the pile on his desk. “Aye, well, not useless exactly,” he admitted, tapping the paper with a finger. “Just not worth keepin’ when I can turn it into somethin’ more valuable.”

Beakley leaned forward, studying the paper he had set down. It was some kind of hand-drawn map, covered in red inked lines and scribbled notes. “And what exactly is your plan?” she asked. “From what you and Webbigail described, the Gem Holder seems to be rather violent.”

Scrooge smirked and sat back in his chair, fingers laced together. “Simple,” he said. “When she comes for the crown—and she will come for it—I’ll negotiate with her to get half or more of her treasury in exchange for it.”

Beakley’s expression didn’t change as she studied him. After a long pause, she asked, “You’ve had a few days to figure this out… Have you been distracted?”

Scrooge’s smirk faded, and he let out a deep sigh, his posture deflating slightly. “Aye,” he admitted, rubbing the bridge of his beak. “It’s been… a bit harder to focus after what Louie told me.”

Beakley’s gaze softened slightly. “Understandable,” she said quietly, sipping her tea again.

Scrooge drummed his fingers on the desk, his eyes distant. “Speakin’ of which… could ye talk to Donald about maybe gettin’ Louie some therapy?” His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. “The lad’s not been the same since we got back.”

Beakley nodded. “Of course. But you do realize therapy is expensive, don’t you? I’m not sure Donald can afford regular sessions.”

Scrooge waved a dismissive hand, but the exhaustion in his expression remained. “I’ll help him pay for them,” he mumbled, staring down at the notes in front of him.

Beakley gave him a long look, then nodded. “Good,” she said simply. “He needs it.”

Scrooge didn’t reply immediately, just stared at the map, deep in thought. After a moment, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Aye,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “That he does…”

Chapter Text

Stolz stood in formation with the rest of the cougar guard, her back rigid, tail held high and perfectly still. Her eyes stared straight ahead, unblinking, though every fiber of her body screamed with frustration. Across the great hall, the cobra regiment mirrored their formation, their hoods flared slightly in unease. The rams, stoic and unmoving, guarded the grand double doors at the far end.

It had been a surprise to all when they’d first learned that the Gem Holder was not a typical ruler—but a chimera. A creature of legend: lioness, goat, and serpent, all in one body. It had shocked Stolz at first, but over time, respect had settled in. The Holder had ruled with sharp intelligence and terrifying strength, but never cruelty. As far as Stolz had seen, she had never misused the gems. She had guarded them with purpose. They were sacred. Powerful.

Now the gems were gone.

Stolz had to clench her jaw and breathe through her nose to suppress the growl rising in her throat. Those ducks. Those smug, loud, chaotic ducks. They had taken something that did not belong to them. Stolen it. Violated their home, and walked away with the crown like it meant nothing. Her tail twitched once, but she forced it still again. No weakness. No rage. Not here.

The Gem Holder was pacing before the throne, claws clicking softly on the stone floor. The lioness head snarled. The goat muttered curses under its breath. The snake hissed furiously, baring fangs. Her entire form radiated tension, like a storm on the verge of breaking. Stolz swallowed hard. If the Holder exploded in fury now, there was no telling who would bear the brunt of it.

Then the doors creaked open and a tall Maine Coon stepped in, bowing low. She carried herself with a calm confidence that only made Stolz’s fur bristle more.

“I believe the ducks who stole the crown are all from Duckburg,” the Maine Coon said clearly. “They’re members of the McDuck family. The Vanderquack girl was with them as well.” She raised her eyes to meet the Holder’s.

The lioness snarled again, but this time it was more thoughtful than furious. “So they’ll be in that oversized mansion of his. The one on the hill.”

The cat nodded. “Yes, my Holder. The McDuck Manor.”

Without another word, the chimera turned and stalked out of the hall, her tails lashing behind her. Guards stood rigid as she passed, no one daring to move or breathe too loudly. When she was gone, the tension didn’t leave the room—it simply followed her like a wave.

Stolz finally allowed herself to breathe again. Her muscles ached from how stiffly she’d been standing.

She and the rest of the cougars exited the hall, walking in tight, orderly rows toward the guard camp behind the temple. There, in the fading light, three great tents stood—one for each species of the Holder’s army. The cougar tent lay in the middle, nestled between the ram’s barracks and the cobra's long, tunnel-like sleeping quarters.

Inside the cougar tent, everything was as organized as it could be. Cots lined up with gear stacked neatly beside them. Stolz dropped onto her shared cot, letting her posture sag for the first time all day. Her legs ached. Her mind was buzzing with questions. Would they be sent to Duckburg? Would there be a war? She didn’t know what she wanted the answer to be.

Across the tent, her boyfriend, Tapferkeit, was lounging with his usual companions—Deutlich, the stocky, sharp-toothed male who never stopped bragging, and Kunstvoll, lean and wiry with a half-missing ear from some training accident he exaggerated in every telling. Kunstvoll tossed a can of beer from a hidden stash and grinned.

“One for each of us,” he said with a smug chuckle, tossing another to Tapferkeit and Deutlich.

Schimmern, polishing her armor at the side of the tent, narrowed her eyes and growled. “Are you all seriously drinking now? What if we get called tonight? What if the Holder summons us?” Her tone was sharp, her scarred muzzle twitching in annoyance.

“Oh relax,” Kunstvoll waved her off. “She’ll send scouts first. We’ll get hours of warning.”

“You don’t know that.” Schimmern’s voice was like ice. “You three idiots will be half-drunk and useless if things go south.”

The boys just rolled their eyes and snickered, cracking their drinks open with loud hisses. Schimmern stood, frustrated, and moved to the weapon rack to begin sharpening her spear, muttering curses under her breath.

Stolz watched all of this with a quiet gaze. She admired Schimmern’s discipline, the way she didn’t put up with nonsense, how she kept the rest of them grounded. Her fur was darker than most of the other cougars, almost smoky gray-brown, and that scar down her eye only added to the fierceness of her look. She was beautiful in a way that was hard to explain. Harsh and warm all at once.

Stolz finally looked down at the worn book in her lap and opened it, pretending to read while her ears stayed perked, catching every word of the boys’ conversation.

“They’ll send us to Duckburg for sure,” Deutlich was saying. “We’ll just walk in, grab the crown, and leave.”

“You think the ducks’ll hand it over that easy?” Tapferkeit snorted.

“No, but c’mon. They’re not soldiers. We are. We’ll outmatch them easy.”

Stolz closed her book softly. You underestimate them, she thought. That’s why they got away in the first place.

She glanced across the tent again. While the boys drank and joked, and Schimmern scraped her blade until it gleamed, Stolz sat quietly, her thoughts heavier than ever.

The Holder was angry. The army was preparing.

And Duckburg had no idea what might be coming for them.

Chapter Text

Rapide flicked his tongue out, tasting the air, and flared his hood as he stepped out of the sleek, dark vehicle Vivaneau had been driving. The car was parked on a quiet side street a few blocks from their destination—just close enough to watch, just far enough to avoid suspicion. The late evening air was cool and humid, perfect for movement. The moon was tucked behind scattered clouds, casting soft shadows that danced across the road and made everything feel unsteady.

They were three. Just three cobras for now. Sent ahead of the larger force to gather intelligence, test the waters. Stealth was their art—silent infiltration, observation, and sabotage. The cougars could roar and pounce, the rams could guard and crush, but the cobras… the cobras were the shadows in between.

Rapide glanced up the hill to where the grand mansion loomed, its silhouette etched against the star-speckled sky. McDuck Manor. Big. Bold. Arrogant. Typical.

Vivaneau let out a soft hiss and nodded her narrow head toward the side. She slithered forward in smooth, practiced movements, her limbs low and close to her body. Rapide followed, his eyes scanning every shadow, every bush, every corner. Ivoire brought up the rear, her eyes as sharp and cold as always, flicking back and forth like a blade in the dark.

They kept to the edges of the property, gliding between hedges and using the natural dips in the terrain to mask their movement. No unnecessary motion, no sound louder than a breath. The fence at the rear perimeter was tall and laced with pointed iron tips—not a problem. All three cobras stopped, coiled like springs, and leapt in sync.

Rapide felt the tip of one iron spike brush the edge of his tail, but he shifted in mid-air and cleared it. They landed silently on the inside lawn, soft grass muffling their descent. Not a single light flicked on. Perfect.

The house was vast up close, its stone walls old but well-maintained. Decorative carvings framed the windows, some of them open just a crack to let in the night air. From here, it looked peaceful. Still.

But Rapide knew better.

Vivaneau motioned silently and crept around the backside toward the veranda. She began climbing up the side lattice with quiet precision, moving to get a higher vantage point. Ivoire slid off to the right, circling toward the side of the building that faced the main road, scanning for potential cameras or trip wires. She was the best at spotting tech.

Rapide stayed low and crept toward the nearest window. He peeked inside, carefully angling his eyes to avoid casting a reflection. A kitchen. Spacious. Homey. Polished countertops, old-fashioned hanging pots and pans, and the smell of something vaguely savory lingering in the air even through the glass. A large duck stood with her back turned, stirring a steaming pot. Broad shoulders. Steady stance. Strong arms.

She didn’t seem like the kind to scare easily. Rapide noted her posture, the way her stance was balanced—not careless. Not weak. A cook, perhaps, but one who looked like she could throw a cleaver with deadly accuracy. He didn’t recognize her from the temple encounter. A new addition to the house? A relative? Staff?

Either way, not someone to underestimate.

There wasn’t much more he could learn from that vantage point, so he moved along the wall like liquid shadow, heading toward another window. This one was darker, maybe a living room or a study. He could see the edge of a velvet armchair and some flickering light from a television or lamp inside. No one was in that room, but he took a mental note of the layout. Two exits, one hallway leading to the front of the house.

His tongue flicked out again. The air here tasted of comfort and calm. It made his scales itch.

A soft thud from above signaled that Vivaneau had reached the upper level. He looked up to see her peering into one of the second-story windows, her tail wrapped tightly around a narrow pillar for balance. She gave a slight signal with her fingers—two figures inside. Children, maybe? Hard to tell from this angle.

Ivoire returned a moment later, crouching low near a flowerbed.

“Security system is old. Cameras on the front and sides, but the back is blind,” she whispered, voice like silk.

“Guards?” Rapide asked softly.

“No one obvious. A few lights on timers. This place isn’t expecting an attack.”

“Arrogance.” Vivaneau muttered as she dropped quietly to the grass beside them.

“Complacency,” Ivoire corrected.

Rapide smirked. “Which means it’ll be easy to break.”

He turned back to the house, eyes lingering on the tall windows and sleeping rooms beyond. For now, they were just scouts. They wouldn’t act. Not yet.

But when the Holder gave the order, the cobras would be ready.

And Duckburg would never see them coming.

Chapter Text

Dewey woke to a soft, broken sound. At first, he wasn’t even sure what had stirred him—it was so faint, like the echo of someone crying in a dream. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains. His room was still and quiet, the shadows long and soft. But the sound came again, a muffled sniffle, a twitch of movement on the bunk below.

Dewey carefully rolled over and peered down from his middle bunk. He could just make out the shape of Louie, curled tightly under the covers, his back to the room, shoulders shaking ever so slightly. Dewey’s chest tightened at the sight. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen his brother like this—but it never got easier.

Slowly, trying not to make any noise that might startle him, Dewey slipped from his bunk. The cool air hit his feet, and the wooden ladder creaked faintly, but Louie didn’t react. Dewey padded softly across the floor and gently crawled into the bed behind his brother.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask what was wrong. He just curled in close, careful not to touch Louie unless he made the first move. There was a quiet tension in the air, like a wire pulled too tight, ready to snap.

Behind him, there was another quiet creak, then the soft sound of movement. Dewey glanced over his shoulder and saw Huey climbing down from the top bunk. His twin’s eyes were wide and tired, brows furrowed in worry, but he didn’t say a word either. He didn’t need to.

Huey crossed the room quickly and gently crawled in on Louie’s other side. They formed a quiet circle around their brother, the three of them fitting together the way only siblings could, like puzzle pieces that had been made to match from the very beginning.

Louie was still sniffling, though more quietly now. Dewey could feel the slight tremble in his body as he fought back whatever memory or nightmare had haunted him tonight. Dewey waited for him to relax into him like he sometimes did—but instead, he felt Louie shift slightly, leaning more toward Huey, tucking his face into his older brother’s chest.

Dewey hesitated. For a second, something sharp and small twisted inside him—a little pang of jealousy, cold and unexpected. He swallowed it down. He wasn’t here for himself. He was here for Louie.

Huey looked over at him, meeting Dewey’s eyes. He gave him a soft, understanding look—one that said “I know,” without having to say anything. Dewey offered a tiny smile in return. Then he wrapped an arm gently around Louie’s side, feeling his brother’s breathing begin to even out, little by little. His whimpers softened.

None of them spoke. They didn’t need to. In the quiet, in the closeness, in the warmth of each other, they said everything.

And for now… that was enough.

Chapter Text

Louie had stayed home when his brothers went out. They tried to get him to come, promised it would just be a walk, maybe some ice cream, maybe just some time to breathe. But Louie didn’t feel like walking, didn’t feel like talking, didn’t feel like anything. The walls of the manor felt too big, too loud in their silence, so instead of staying cooped up in his room again, he wandered.

His feet led him without thinking, past the garden, through the trees, down the worn path that led to the old boathouse. The house-boat was still docked where Donald had left it, weathered by time and rain. The paint had long faded, and some of the boards creaked when you stepped on them. It smelled like sea salt, wood, and faintly like old oil. But it was familiar. It felt… smaller. Safer.

Louie climbed inside and shut the door quietly behind him. The hinges gave a little squeal, but he didn’t flinch this time. He walked through the small space and sat on the battered old sofa with the springs that had always poked out weird if you sat the wrong way. The cushions were worn and slightly sunken in. He sank down into them and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

He just wanted it to stop. The thoughts, the flashbacks, the way even shadows sometimes looked like him. The way any sudden touch or loud noise made his chest clamp up. It was always there. No matter how much he distracted himself, no matter how much he tried to pretend he was okay for his brothers, it came back. Still. Still.

He sat there for a long time. Or maybe it wasn’t long at all. Time had felt strange lately.

From where he sat, he could see into the small kitchen space across the room. Everything was within reach—living room, kitchen, even the door to the tiny bedroom. And hanging on the wall above the counter was a knife. A clean, sharp one. Probably hadn’t been used in ages.

He stood, walked over quietly. The floor creaked once beneath his foot, but he kept going. He reached up and unhooked the knife from the wall. It was heavier than he expected. Solid. Real.

He rolled up his sleeve slowly, staring down at his wrist. His feathers were a little ruffled, his skin pale beneath. He held the knife just above it. Hovering. Shaking. He wasn’t even sure what he was thinking—wasn’t even sure if he was thinking.

Maybe if he pressed just a little—

The knife was suddenly gone, yanked from his hands with a force that startled him so badly he stumbled backward. His eyes snapped up.

Donald was standing there. Eyes wide, breathing fast, holding the knife in one hand like it had just burned him. He looked between the knife and Louie, and his beak parted in horror.

“Louie!” he cried out. His voice was hoarse, strained as always, but full of panic. Louie flinched hard, the sound too loud, too sharp. He turned and tried to walk away, anywhere, just away from that look in Donald’s eyes.

But Donald wouldn’t let him.

He set the knife far out of reach on the counter, then reached out to his nephew. “W-what… what were you doing?” His voice cracked with emotion, his words nearly tripping over themselves. He didn’t always speak clearly, but now he was trying so hard to be understood it hurt to hear.

Louie stopped walking, his shoulders hunched up high, tight with shame. He didn’t turn around. His hands were shaking.

“I… I wasn’t gonna,” he said weakly, not even sure if it was true.

Donald stepped closer, carefully. “Louie…” he whispered, softer now. Not angry. Not yelling. Just there—the way he always was when things went wrong. “Please… talk to me.”

Louie didn’t know how to. He didn’t know how to explain what he felt—how broken he felt, how hopeless everything seemed, how alone even when surrounded he could still feel. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

And then Donald did something that made Louie finally start to cry—he just pulled him in. Arms wrapped tight around him, no questions, no lectures. Just a hug. Just a firm, protective, unshakable hug. Louie didn’t even realize how badly he needed it until he was sobbing into his uncle’s chest, fingers clinging to his shirt.

Donald didn’t let go. Not even when Louie’s knees gave out and they both sank to the floor. Not even when the tears soaked through his shirt. He just held him.

And for the first time in days, Louie didn’t feel like he was drowning alone.

Chapter Text

Beakley walked through the dimly lit hallway of McDuck Manor, her heels clicking softly against the polished floors. The late afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows, casting long golden lines across the walls and floor. She had a tray in her hands—tea and some biscuits she’d made earlier, a habit that helped her focus when her nerves were tight.

As she passed one of the tall windows, she paused. Something—a flicker of movement—caught her eye. It was quick, almost like a shadow shifting, but it didn’t match the trees swaying in the distance. She set the tray down on the console table and moved closer to the window. She peered out, narrowing her eyes. The yard appeared empty. The bushes were still. The trees swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves rustling like soft whispers. Nothing moved.

But she knew better.

Years of experience had taught her that quiet didn’t always mean safe. Sometimes quiet meant waiting. Watching. She stepped back from the window, her posture immediately sharper, her grip on the tray tighter. Something was coming. She could feel it in her bones.

She didn’t waste time. She left the tray where it was and turned on her heel, striding quickly toward Scrooge’s office.

—

Meanwhile, upstairs, Louie lay face-down on his bed in one of the manor’s guest rooms they’d taken to sharing since they first ever moved in. His room was half-lit, the curtains pulled just enough to keep out the worst of the afternoon glare. He wasn’t hiding from the world exactly—not today. Today actually felt slightly less heavy. Still a fog in his chest, but thinner, breathable.

He was just starting to drift into a peaceful doze when something heavy landed on his back with a muffled fwump.

“Hrmf!” Louie wheezed into his pillow, flailing slightly. “What the—?”

He twisted his head to the side and blinked up at a familiar, grinning face. Dewey was sprawled over him like a blue blanket with too much energy.

“Whaaat?” Louie groaned, muffled into his comforter as he tried weakly to push Dewey off. Dewey snorted and rolled off, landing beside him with a dramatic thud.

Dewey propped his head up on his hand and grinned wider. “Louie, guess what’s in a week?”

Louie furrowed his brow. “...Tuesday?”

Dewey rolled his eyes so hard his whole head went with it. “Our birthday, you goober.”

Louie blinked. His face went still. Then slowly—too slowly—he forced a smile. “Oh. Right. Our… birthday.” He sat up a bit and leaned back against the headboard, pretending to stretch so he could hide his reaction. “That’s exciting!” he said, voice a little too high, a little too strained.

Dewey’s grin faltered. Just for a second. But then he plastered it back on, letting it go. “We’re turning thirteen this year,” he said, nudging Louie’s arm. “We’re gonna be teens. It’s a big deal.”

Louie let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah. A big deal.”

Dewey paused. Then, quieter, “We don’t have to do anything big if you don’t want to.”

Louie didn’t say anything. He didn’t trust himself to. There was a weird tightness in his chest again, something that had nothing to do with the idea of balloons or cake and everything to do with the way time kept going, even when he still felt stuck.

Dewey reached over and gently bumped their shoulders together. “We’ll make it chill. Maybe just us and Huey. Cake, movies, those gross sodas Webby likes.”

Louie looked down at his lap. “Okay,” he whispered.

And Dewey smiled again—smaller this time, but real—and flopped back onto the bed beside him. For now, that was enough.

Dewey had left at some point. Louie wasn’t sure when. The door had clicked quietly shut behind him, and the room fell into a still, too-silent calm. He lay there, eyes wide open and unfocused, staring at nothing in particular. Then, without warning, he felt the warmth of tears slip down his cheeks again. It was quiet at first—just a sniffle, a shaky breath, his fingers clutching the blanket like it could protect him from his own thoughts.

His birthday was supposed to be exciting… right? Cake, presents, laughs with his brothers. It used to be something to look forward to. But now all it did was remind him.

Remind him that time was still moving forward, dragging him with it whether he liked it or not. Remind him that he was twelve—barely even a teenager.

Twelve.

And this had happened to him.

A sharp sob tore out of his throat before he could stop it. Then another. He curled into the blanket tighter, like he could disappear inside it. Like he could make the memories stop if he just squeezed hard enough.

He wasn’t supposed to be dealing with this. He was supposed to be worried about dumb stuff like what kind of cake he wanted or if he’d get new sneakers. Not… this. Not trauma and fear and the way he still felt like something was crawling under his skin whenever he was alone.

Maybe if he were older—fifteen? Seventeen? An adult?—maybe he would have handled it better. Maybe it wouldn’t have broken him the way it did. Maybe he wouldn’t feel like such a mess all the time.

Another sob ripped out of him and he sat up, wiping at his face furiously as the sound of a door creaking open reached him.

He froze, heart stuttering in his chest. He rubbed his face harder, trying to clear the tears in time.

Footsteps. Familiar ones.

Scrooge stepped into the room, his cane clicking softly against the floor. He paused at the doorway, and when he saw Louie’s red-rimmed eyes and trembling hands, his expression softened.

“Am I interrupting anything?” he asked gently, his voice lower than usual, more careful.

Louie quickly shook his head. “No, no… Wh-what do you need?” His voice cracked on the last word, and he quickly sniffled, trying to keep himself from falling apart again.

Scrooge took a breath, and instead of staying by the door, he walked forward and sat down next to Louie on the edge of the bed. He didn’t say anything right away, just rested his cane against the mattress and folded his hands in his lap.

After a moment, he spoke, his tone quiet and serious. “I think… the gem people we took the gems from might be here.”

Louie blinked and looked up at him, startled out of his spiral. “What?”

“Beakley saw something outside earlier,” Scrooge said, his voice still steady. “Movement. Shadows. Could be nothing… but we both know better than to assume that.”

Louie’s stomach twisted with sudden anxiety. He nodded slowly, swallowing hard.

“I want you and your brothers to come see me in my office tomorrow,” Scrooge continued. “We’ll talk about what we know. About what we can do.”

Louie nodded again, more numbly this time.

Scrooge reached over and gently patted Louie’s back—a rare gesture of comfort from the old duck. “We’ll keep you safe, lad,” he said. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”

Louie bit the inside of his cheek, holding back more tears. He wanted to believe that. Maybe a part of him even did.

But the rest of him just felt tired.

Chapter Text

Louie met the others in Scrooge’s office just after breakfast, though he hadn’t eaten much. He sat stiffly on one of the chairs while Scrooge laid out the plan, pointing to maps and documents spread across the desk like puzzle pieces.

“If the negotiation goes smoothly, we hand over the crown in exchange for a portion of the treasury. If it doesn’t…” Scrooge glanced at the boys, “we fall back on Plan B. Beakley and Donald will cover the flanks, and I expect you three to stay out of the direct line of fire unless absolutely necessary.”

Louie tried to focus. He really did. But the moment Scrooge mentioned “plans” and “strategy,” his thoughts slipped. He was twelve. Twelve. That number stuck to his brain like tar. Twelve wasn’t old enough to be part of diplomatic standoffs. Twelve wasn’t old enough to have scars like his.

He blinked, snapped back to reality by Huey’s voice asking a question about defensive coverage. Louie didn’t catch the answer.

Now, he was following Scrooge through the massive front doors of the manor, down the curved stone pathway, and onto the long driveway where the wind carried a heavy, unnatural stillness. The kind that comes before a storm. His sneakers scraped against the pavement as he walked behind his brothers. Normally, they’d stand shoulder-to-shoulder, united. But today, Dewey and Huey had quietly moved in front of him, instinctively shielding him.

Louie hated that. He hated the pity in their actions, but at the same time… he didn’t have the strength to tell them to stop. Maybe he didn’t want to.

Then there was a noise—metal clinking, feet striking ground in rhythmic unison. Scrooge’s hand raised in a silent signal, and Louie looked up.

They were coming.

An army moved like a living wave across the street, marching in perfect, ominous rows. There was no subtlety. No surprise ambush. This was a confrontation laid bare in daylight. No tricks. Just pressure.

The rams came first, heavy and armored, their expressions unreadable. Behind them, the cougars padded forward, sleek and deadly, each one brimming with quiet violence. But Louie didn’t scan the faces—he was already feeling the sick churn in his stomach. He knew who would be here.

He didn’t see the cobras at first, but that wasn’t surprising. They would be hidden. They always were. Silent watchers in the shadows.

Then the Gem Holder appeared, stepping forward from the ranks like royalty. A tall chimera lioness with eyes that shimmered like glass, her presence magnetic and terrifying. She walked calmly, like she owned the earth under her paws, and when she stopped, the army did too.

Everything was still.

“Duck,” the Gem Holder greeted with a voice both polite and dangerous. Her tone was smooth, even gentle, but the calm only made it worse—like speaking to a predator just before it pounced.

Scrooge stood tall and confident. “Gem Holder,” he replied. “I assume you’re here for the gems.”

The lioness nodded once, curt.

Dewey shifted slightly and leaned toward Louie, elbowing him softly. “Is he here?” His voice was low, bitter, and ice-cold. Louie followed his brother’s gaze, scanning the cougars.

There.

Just behind the rams, nestled in their shadow, was the one face Louie had hoped not to see. The cougar that had shattered something inside him. He stood relaxed, smug, like he didn’t have a care in the world—and he was looking directly at Louie.

Louie’s breath caught, and he nodded stiffly. His chest felt tight. His hands were starting to tremble.

Huey noticed immediately and moved closer to him, protective. “You don’t need to be—”

“Of course I need to be here!” Louie snapped, louder than he intended. His voice cracked, but his eyes were sharp. “He’s here. I’m not hiding.”

The words lingered, and Louie noticed the Holder’s eyes flick toward him at the sound.

“We’re assuming you want to barter,” Scrooge said calmly, shifting the tension back to where it belonged. “And we’re here to say we’re willing to negotiate—within reason.”

But the Gem Holder’s expression didn’t shift. Her voice was cool, decisive. “We are not here to barter,” she said. “We are here to take what was stolen. The Crown. The Gems. All of it. This is not a negotiation. This is a retrieval.”

The words hung heavy in the air. Behind her, the army stiffened. Scrooge’s grip on his cane tightened.

Louie stared at the chimera, the army, him, and felt the slow crawl of fear creeping up his spine.

But he didn’t step back.

Not this time.

Chapter Text

Scrooge’s frown deepened, his cane tightening in his grip as he opened his mouth to respond—but he didn’t get the chance.

In a split second, four startled yelps rang through the air.

“HEY—!”

“LET GO!”

“What the—!”

“Scrooge!”

Before anyone could react, Louie, Dewey, Huey, and Webby were yanked off the ground by swift, powerful arms—coiling, cold, and covered in scales. Cobras. The stealth unit had been hiding in plain sight, waiting for the moment to strike, and now they surged from the shadows like lightning. Louie thrashed, panic flaring in his chest as the cobra’s grip tightened around his torso. He kicked wildly, but it did nothing. They were fast—too fast.

“NO—HEY!” Dewey was shouting. “Put me down! Put me down!”

“Scrooge!” Webby cried, struggling against her captors. Two large rams tackled her from behind while a third pinned her arms behind her back. She fought harder than the boys, her legs kicking wildly until one of the rams shoved her into the dirt.

Louie twisted enough to see the stunned expressions on Scrooge, Beakley, and Launchpad. Launchpad’s jaw dropped, Beakley’s hand reached for a hidden weapon—but it was too late. All four kids were already at the enemy’s line, pulled behind a barricade of rams and cougars. In seconds, ropes were wound around their wrists, tight and unforgiving. Webby was pressed into the ground, growling like a feral cat, but she couldn’t break free.

Then the Gem Holder stepped forward, her heads high, tails twitching.

“How about this?” she said smoothly, her voice a venomous purr. “We won’t kill them—but we will use them to get the Gems back.”

All three heads stared at Scrooge, and the lioness-like one narrowed her golden eyes.

“Give us the Gems now, or watch your kin suffer.” Each of her heads let out a different sound—growls, hisses, snarls—that built into a horrifying chorus of threat.

Scrooge’s heart raced. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. If the Holder refused to negotiate, there was a backup plan—but none of them had accounted for this. They had taken the children. Not just hostages—leverage. Emotional, dangerous leverage.

The weight of their wide eyes on him, the way Louie was shaking, the panic in Dewey’s face—it made something old and fiery rise in Scrooge’s chest. But he kept his face stern, unreadable.

“Then a trade,” he said carefully, his voice firm. “You get some of the treasure back. And we get our kids.”

“No.” The Holder’s middle head answered. Cold and final. “We don’t want some. We want everything. What was stolen. What you violated.”

Behind her, one of her tails flicked.

It was barely noticeable—but Beakley saw it. So did Scrooge.

Then, chaos exploded.

With no warning, the cougars lunged forward from behind the rams, a fluid and terrifying rush of muscle and speed. They weren't aiming for the children—they were charging Scrooge, Beakley, and Launchpad.

The moment the cougars moved, the ducks sprang into action. Launchpad grabbed a staff from the ground and swung wide, catching one in the side. Beakley pulled twin batons from her belt and launched herself into a defensive stance, her movements as fast and graceful as ever. Scrooge ducked and raised his cane, parrying a strike with surprising strength.

“GO!” Beakley shouted, fending off a cougar who nearly clipped her shoulder. “Get to the kids!”

The battle erupted in full—no longer a standoff, but war. Dust kicked up from the manor grounds as claws clashed with cane, staff, and steel. Shouts filled the air, metal struck bone, and in the chaos, Louie ducked as a cobra slithered past, eyes wild.

The rope around his wrists burned, but he twisted against it with desperate urgency.

“Webby!” he shouted. “Behind you!”

She kicked backward and nailed a ram in the shin. He stumbled just enough for her to spin and bite his hand. He roared, and Webby rolled toward Louie, grabbing the small knife she’d kept hidden in her boot.

“Stay still!” she hissed, cutting at his ropes.

Dewey and Huey were struggling, but they were close. A ram loomed over Huey, until a high-pitched battle cry came from the side—Launchpad barreling in, swinging with the grace of a sack of bricks, but knocking the ram down all the same.

Louie’s heart thundered. He didn’t know what would happen next. He didn’t even know if they’d win. But he knew this—

He wasn’t going down without a fight.

Chapter Text

The fight had blurred into a storm of chaos around Louie—shouts, growls, the clang of metal, and the thudding of feet on dirt and stone. He ducked when someone swung a spear too close, scrambled away from a cobra’s tail, and gasped for breath that kept catching in his chest. Everything was noise and motion and fear, and Louie couldn’t tell who was winning or losing. Just that it felt like it would never end.

Then suddenly—a roar. A deafening, primal roar that cut through everything.

A hand—huge, furred, strong—grabbed Louie by the collar and yanked him off his feet like he weighed nothing. He shouted, arms flailing, and before he could even register what was happening, he was slammed to the ground with enough force to knock the air from his lungs.

He let out a choked sound as he hit the dirt.

“Agh!”

Then—cold. Sharp. Pressure.

Louie’s eyes flew wide.

Teeth.

Sharp, curved fangs pressed against his neck, just enough to sting. One wrong move, one deep breath, and those fangs would sink in. Blood would spill. He couldn’t even scream—his voice caught in his throat as his body locked up in complete, paralyzing terror.

It was him.

The cougar.

The same one who had hurt him before. Now looming above him, pinning him with those golden eyes that were full of challenge, full of power. Not even anger—just the look of someone who knew they could end you if they felt like it.

“Holder!” Scrooge’s voice rang out, shaking with fury. “You said you wouldn’t kill them!”

The battlefield stilled. Weapons lowered. Breaths held.

The Gem Holder stepped forward, head high, three pairs of eyes locking on Scrooge like a queen amused by a peasant’s outburst. She didn’t blink, didn’t flinch.

“I said I wouldn’t,” she said calmly. “He could.”

A ripple of unease passed through both armies. A few of the enemy soldiers looked at each other, visibly uncomfortable. One ram even shifted his weight awkwardly, exchanging a glance with a nearby cougar. You could almost hear what they were thinking: They wouldn’t actually kill a kid… right?

But Louie couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t process their hesitance. All he could hear was the thunder of his own heartbeat and the small, near-silent growl the cougar made as his teeth pressed just a little deeper. A warm trickle slid down Louie’s neck—was that blood? Was it just sweat?

He didn’t know.

He didn’t care.

He was going to die.

He struggled, instinctive and desperate, but the movement only made it worse—the fangs scraped deeper into his skin, and he let out a panicked sob, his legs kicking uselessly against the ground. His hands scrabbled at the cougar’s arm, but it was solid as stone.

“Stop!” Dewey screamed from somewhere behind. “Let him go, let him go!”

“Please!” Huey’s voice cracked, terrified. “He didn’t do anything!”

Webby was already trying to rise again, blood on her face, but a ram shoved her back down.

Scrooge stepped forward, slowly, with both hands raised. “This isn’t how this ends,” he said in a low, serious voice. “You’re making a mistake. You want the Gems. You want leverage. But kill that boy—and you’ll have war.”

The Gem Holder paused, her heads tilting again. The lioness head narrowed her eyes.

“War,” she echoed softly. “There’s already a war.”

“But right now it’s one you could win with diplomacy,” Beakley added, stepping beside Scrooge, her voice level but ice-cold. “Kill that child, and even your allies will turn. You will lose. Slowly, painfully, piece by piece.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Tense.

The cougar still hadn’t moved.

Then—finally—one of the Gem Holder’s heads let out a low, short bark. A command.

The cougar’s ears twitched. His lips pulled back slightly in disappointment—but he obeyed.

He stepped back.

Louie gasped like he had just resurfaced from underwater, dragging in air with a shaking chest. He rolled onto his side, hand flying to his neck, and sobbed in relief and fear. Scrooge and Dewey both rushed to him, but the armies didn’t break formation.

The war wasn’t over.

But—for now—Louie was still alive.

Chapter Text

Louie’s hands were still shaking as Scrooge helped him to his feet, keeping a steady arm around his shoulders. His neck ached from where the cougar’s fangs had pressed in, and his whole body felt like it was still braced to die. He barely noticed Dewey and Huey close beside him, or Webby staring daggers at the cougar from where the ram still held her back.

Scrooge didn’t wait.

He stepped forward, facing the Gem Holder with barely contained fury under his calm, measured voice. “Take your Gems,” he said. “We’ll give them back.”

A flicker of surprise crossed the lioness’s face. The snake head tilted in interest.

“But in return, you leave,” Scrooge continued, his voice tightening. “Now. No more hostages. No more threats. You get your treasure—and this ends.”

The Holder was quiet for a moment. The army around her held still, everyone watching. Waiting.

“Just like that?” she asked. “You’re surrendering the Gems without further demand?”

Scrooge’s jaw tightened. “You nearly let one of your own soldiers kill my great-nephew. That boy is twelve years old. He isn’t a warrior. You crossed a line.”

Louie looked up, startled. He’d suspected the offer was about him, but hearing it spoken aloud sent a strange wave of shame and relief through him. His hands clenched in the fabric of his shirt. He wasn’t supposed to be the reason someone changed a deal. He wasn’t supposed to be weak. But… he had nearly died.

The Holder looked down at Louie for a long moment, something unreadable in her three sets of eyes.

Then she nodded slowly.

“Very well,” she said. “We’ll take the Gems… and leave.”

Everyone seemed to breathe again. Even the cougars and rams shifted, letting the tension ease from their shoulders.

But then the lioness head added, “However… before we depart, I would like to speak with you privately, Scrooge McDuck.”

Scrooge’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What for?”

“A second negotiation,” she said calmly. “One not involving your soldiers. Or your family.”

Scrooge hesitated. He didn’t like it—Louie could tell—but he also wasn’t going to say no. Not after the blood nearly spilled.

He gave a sharp nod. “Fine. Beakley, watch the kids. Launchpad, keep the airship warm.”

The Holder turned and motioned to one of the cobra guards. “Clear the temple chamber,” she said. “I want no one in the hall when we speak.”

Louie watched her go, something still tight in his chest. Something told him this wasn’t over. That even with the Gems returned, the Holder still had something else in mind.

He just didn’t know what.

But he had a sinking feeling it had something to do with him.