Archive of Our Own ^beta

Della groaned as the TV screen flashed the words "YOU DIED" for the fourth time in a row. She used to be so good at this game! Ten years on the moon with no form of digital entertainment really takes a toll on one's gaming skills, damn it. Sighing, she picked up the controller that she had dropped at her side and pressed A, a determined look settling on her face as her character respawned in the safe zone. She was going to beat this stupid level if it was the last thing she did.

Fifty minutes and three more red screens later, the controller was thrown across the couch with a strung-out groan of frustration. Della flopped backward, glaring intensely at the ceiling. Stupid game with its stupid hard level. She was so good at this game as a kid...!

Wait... maybe that was what she needed, the kids. Surely one of them knew how to beat this level. She sat up again, rubbing her chin in thought. Who would be the best one to find? Maybe Webby, or...

"Mom?"

Della shot up in excitement, turning over the back of the couch with a wide grin. "Dewey! Oh, you're exactly who I need right now!"

Standing in the doorway, Dewey blinked in surprise, looking oddly subdued. "...I am?"

The unnatural stillness of his stance was hardly enough to faze her however, as her mind was dead set on finishing this godforsaken level. She nodded eagerly, waving a hand towards the couch. "Yes! Come on over here, kiddo, I need your help with this game. I can't pass this one level!"

She turned back to face the TV, leaning across the couch to grab the controller once again, and was about to press A before Dewey's voice behind her stopped her in her tracks.

"Actually, mom, I was hoping I could... talk to you? Real quick?"

Della turned back around, surprised to see Dewey hadn't moved from his spot, but was instead fidgeting in place - rocking on his heels, picking at his longer sleeves. He looked nervous, guilty almost, refusing to meet her eye. Della frowned and set down her controller. This didn't seem at all like the Dewey she knew - even if she didn't know him very well yet. Concerned, Della nodded slowly.

“Yeah, of course. Come on and sit down." And she gave the cushion next to her an inviting pat.

Dewey didn't move, for half a second. Then he stepped forward, making his way around the couch to the front, where he sat down a foot away from Della, still not meeting her eyes. It was silent for a moment as Della waited for him to say something - but it soon became obvious that she would have to start the conversation. So she sucked in a breath through her teeth and, silently hoping her parenting skills were good enough to handle this, said, "So... what's going on, kiddo? Are you okay?"

Dewey's only answer was a sudden dry sob, and Della felt her heart split in two.

She watched in shock as Dewey hunched over, burying his face in his hands, back shaking with sobs that seemed to come out of nowhere. He didn't say anything, didn't even hesitate - he was just suddenly crying, crying hard and loud and afraid, and Della didn't know what to do. She had never seen him like this, had rarely seen him anything but fidgety and energetic and cheerful and eager, her sweet little duckling that took after her own heart. But now here he was, sobbing his eyes out, and she was frozen, because she didn't know how to help.

Though, maybe...

Dewey didn't look at her when she scooted closer to him, nor when she held her arms out in preparation to gather him up - but then she found herself with a sudden armful of trembling, weeping duckling and realized her job had been done for her, as Dewey had latched onto her torso and didn't seem to plan on letting go anytime soon. Della scooped him up into her lap, holding him tightly against her chest, rocking slowly back and forth as she did her best to soothe him, despite feeling a tad panicked herself.

"Dewey?" she said softly, and the middle triplet gave a tearful whine, snuggling deeper into her embrace - which only served to worry her more. "Sweetie, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

He gave no answer. Della waited, but nothing came. She was quickly beginning to feel more and more panicked - why wasn’t he answering? Could he not talk? What was wrong?! - but she just as quickly remembered something her brother had told her.

They had sat down together once, back when she was still just getting to know her kids, her family. The conversation had been hard, for both of them - but also necessary. Donald had told Della all about her kids. Told her everything that he couldn't afford for her to find out on her own - like how when all three got upset, they often clammed up, couldn't or wouldn't speak, so he had taught them sign language for just such a situation. Told her that she can't push any of them to speak, to tell her why they're upset - they have to work it out in their own minds, in their own ways. He had explained to her so much about the triplets, things that were hard for her to hear from an outside source - she couldn't help but wish she had been there to learn this stuff along with them. To teach them how she dealt with stuff, to show them what she knew. She had missed so much time.

But she was here now. And dammit, she was going to make the most of the time she still had. And that started with being a comforting presence for Dewey, who was starting to relax, his tears finally beginning to run dry. Remembering what Donald had told her, Della said nothing, instead letting her baby work stuff out in his own head. Dewey gave a tiny sniffle and Della softly rubbed his back, absolutely aching to say something but holding it in, knowing this was how he functioned and she shouldn't, couldn't, interrupt that.

It took a minute, but Dewey managed to get himself calmed down to the point where his sobs were reduced to the occasional soft hiccup that had Della's parental instincts kicking in at full force. Her poor baby...

After another minute or so, Dewey untangled himself from her embrace, leaning away from her chest, freeing his arms to wipe at his face. His eyes were red, feathers dampened with tears, and his headfeathers had been mussed out of place at some point. Della reached up to gently run her fingers through them, smoothing them down in a way that wasn't at all what his normal style looked like but seemed to be soothing, as he gave a little sniffle and leaned slightly into her hand, eyes fluttering shut. Della's heart ached at the sight.

"Dewey," she whispered, and he looked up at her with tired, red-rimmed eyes, reaching up with one shaky hand to wipe away a stray tear.

"What happened, kiddo? Can you tell me now?"

He averted his gaze, eyes falling to his lap. The nervous look had returned, and with it came the fidgeting once more - playing with the edge of his shirt, the button on her jacket, picking at his knuckles. He took a slow, deep breath, words falling out in a shaky whisper.

"I got... scared," he admitted, and his voice was so small and timid and un-Dewey-like that Della felt her heart shatter into a million tiny pieces. "Scared that... that you were gone. On that adventure the other day, you...." And he sucked in a sharp breath and stopped and seemed unable to continue - though Della knew exactly what he was talking about.

A few days before, an adventure with the family had almost ended Della's life - she had been this close to falling into a pit of lava. Scrooge had thankfully caught her at the last minute, and then proceeded to pull her into such a quick but tight hug that she thought she was gonna be squeezed to death by him anyway. She had hardly acknowledged the incident, having been in and lived through worse. Not to mention things picked up again rather quickly only moments later, and none of them were really given a chance to process what had happened before they were running for their lives once again. It hadn't had much of an impact on Della. But apparently, her brush with death had affected Dewey a lot more than he originally let on.

"Oh, sweetie," Della whispered, and Dewey took a shuddering inhale, leaning further into her hand. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you that bad, I honestly didn't think it was such a big deal. I mean, heh, stuff like that happens all the time, y'know?" she added with a soft chuckle.

Dewey sniffed, nodding slowly. "I-I know, but... with you it feels... different. Sometimes I'll just be sitting there, and I'll suddenly worry that you're gone." He scrubbed a hand across his face, pointedly looking anywhere but her eyes. "That you... left."

If Della's heart had somehow managed to put itself back together at all in the past few minutes, that work was instantly undone. She could feel tears pool in her eyes, threatening to slip, her chest tightening at his words.

Gods, how she had fucked up.

Dewey glanced at her for a split second, eyes widening when he realized hers were misty and heartbroken. He ducked his head, a small, nervous hiccup escaping him, but said nothing. Della opened her beak, tried to speak - but found she was too choked up to get any words out. So instead she wrapped her arms around him once more, pulling him swiftly into another hug, tucking his head under her chin with a stuttering exhale. Dewey stiffened momentarily, then relaxed into the embrace, snuggling closer to her.

Della swallowed, throat working for a moment, attempting to quell the tremble that emerged as she opened her beak again, this time forcing her voice to work, however unsteady it may be.

“Dewdrop, honey, I’m- gods, I am so sorry.” She squeezed her eyes shut against the building tears, feeling them begin to run down her face as she held her baby tighter. “I- shi- shoot. I can’t even begin to tell ya. There is nothing I regret more than getting on that stupid rocket.”

She paused, breath hitching, and Dewey pressed himself closer, body trembling beneath her touch. She slid her hand up to cup the back of his head, gently ruffling the feathers there.

“I know- I know I messed up. I know it’s- different, getting used to me being here. But- but believe me, honey, I’m not going anywhere. Okay?” She took in a shuddering breath, voice breaking, face scrunching up as she choked out, “I will never leave you. Not willingly. Not if I can damn well help it, hear me? I’ve spent your whole life trying to make it home, and- and I will spend the rest of my life doing whatever I can to make it up to you. I promise.”

Dewey’s body lurched with an audible cry, hands tightening on the back of her jacket, and the dam broke for both of them at once.

Della’s beak split open as a sob forced its way up, tears streaming freely down her face, cutting through her feathers, dripping onto Dewey’s head as he squeezed her as tight as his little arms could manage, shoulders hitching with high, wobbly cries that left him gasping for air. Della gently rubbed his back through it, still his mother despite it all, even as she matched his cries with her own, a bit more subdued but identical in the cocktail of emotions forcing the tears free.

And it was loud, and it was messy, and it was painful - in more ways than one, with the way Della’s head throbbed the longer it went on, and the way Dewey hicced and sniffled, audibly choked up. And they clutched each other close, as though if either of them dared to let go the other would disappear into thin air, slipping helplessly through desperate fingers, nothing more than a memory of an aching, longing dream fading into obscurity in the shine of the morning sun.

Ten years, she’d wanted this. Ten years, she’d wanted- she’d craved a chance to experience this with her kids, this frantic, messy, ugly sort of connection, a chance to sit and experience the lows that will always come with the highs.

Della would never not grieve all the chances that were lost in those ten years.

But gods above, if this alone didn’t make up for an awful lot of it. And the fact that she’d have ten years, and ten years, and ten years more to catch up? Well, thinking about that only made the tears redouble, a hiccuping, broken laugh bursting free from her chest, eyes squeezing tighter as she turned to nuzzle her beak into Dewey’s headfeathers.

She’d been given a miracle of a second chance, and she’d be damned if she let it go to waste.

It was several minutes later, when Dewey’s heaving sobs had once again begun to mellow out into breathless little hics, that he wiggled just enough to ease himself out of the spine-crushing embrace they’d been locked in and drag an arm forcefully across his face, soaking his sleeve with tears that didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. He looked up at her, his little face puffy and ruffled and so, so hopeful, and said, “I- I know how you can- can start.”

It took her a moment to understand what he meant, weepy and stuffed to the brim with emotion as she was. She blinked, sniffling a little, before it clicked. Della opened her beak, her voice absolutely wrecked.

“How- how I can make it up to you?”

He nodded, almost shy, and she gave him a watery smile. “Shoot, bud.”

He paused for a moment, as though working up the courage, wringing his hands in front of him. Then he blinked hard, set his face, and looked up at her once more.

“Can you… be a bit more- careful? On adventures?” He gave her a sheepish little smile, fidgeting slightly. “I know, ironic to hear from- from me, but. I just- I don’t wanna lose you when I only just got you, mom.”

Della’s brow furrowed, face scrunching up in an effort to keep more tears at bay. She reached up, arms shaking, to carefully take his face in her hands, and tilt him gently forward just enough to press a kiss to his forehead, not missing the way he followed her movements, eager and compliant. She let him go after a moment, swiping her thumbs across his cheeks as she gave him a wobbly, tearful nod.

“Of course, sweetheart. I can do that. I know how it feels, watching someone you- you care about be reckless and careless.” She chuckled softly, finding her mind wandering back to when she was his age, and everything around her was shiny and new and incredible. “Though between me and your Uncle Donald, I’ve definitely always been the one to fill that role.”

Dewey giggled, and Della’s heart soared at the sound. “Yeah, I know. I think I do, too. ‘Least, that’s what Huey says.”

Della grinned, reaching up to ruffle his already-mussed headfeathers.

“Yep, you get that from me, kid.”

She stilled, letting her hand rest on his head, and offered him a gentle smile, heart aching in her chest as she studied his little face, how his eyes squished when he smiled too wide, and the adoring way he looked up at her, full of love and admiration and forgiveness she didn’t think she’d ever fully earn.

“How about we work on it together, hmm?”

“Okay.” Dewey nodded, hands tapping excitedly at his legs before he leaned in again, wrapping himself around her like a clingy little starfish, slotting his head beneath hers. She was quick to adjust to the new position, pulling him in close in a hug not nearly as frantic or desperate or aching but soft, and steady. They were definitely both still sniffling, breaths stuttering, eyes stinging - but there was a sense of contentment to it now, emotions having reached a crest and crashed back down around them, letting them paddle in the gentle waves left behind.

“I’d like that.”

For a moment, as they melted together, overflowing with love, there was quiet.

Then Della’s game, long forgotten in the heat of the moment, made an impatient little ping noise, and Dewey jumped, prying himself from the hug in an instant to twist and face the screen, beak splitting in a huge grin.

“Wait, I love this game!”

He squirmed to turn around in her lap, leaning to one side to grab the discarded controller, wiggling in sudden, uncontrollable excitement.

“You said you need help, right? What level are you on? This looks like level six, is it six? This one’s hard, it took me ages to beat!”

Della huffed, leaning forward to rest her chin on his head, arms coming to wrap around his chest. “Ugh, I knew it wasn’t just me! I swear, they made this harder while I was gone. Y’know, when I was your age I once beat this whole game in a day.”

Dewey gasped as he started it back up, disbelief audible in his voice. “No way, you’re joking!”

“Nope. Spent a whole day in front of the TV, had a killer headache afterward. Worth it though. Ask Donald, he’ll tell ya.”

“That’s awesome, mom!” He laughed, voice full of awe, and leaned back into her, snuggling further into her embrace. “I love you. You’re so cool.”

Della blinked, the screen suddenly blurry, and squeezed him a little tighter. “I love you too, Dewdrop.”

And despite it all, Della felt that somehow, she was the luckiest duck in the world.