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Della’s kids were two months old, and they already caused inordinate amounts of trouble. She couldn’t be prouder, really, even if it stressed her out a bit. And if it stressed her out, then Donald was absolutely working himself into an early grave.
They’d been fine at first, just doing normal baby stuff. They cried a lot, and when one of them cried, they all did, like it was some kind of bonding exercise or hobby that they shared. It was Louie that usually started the crying, upset because no one was holding him or mad that he was still awake, because boy did that kid love to sleep. Little Dewey, however, did not, which was its own problem. Luckily, Huey didn’t mind naps, and he often cuddled up to Louie when they slept, which worked out great because the youngest couldn’t stand to sleep alone.
Dewey usually settled down once his brothers were asleep, finally able to recognize that it wasn’t playtime. Or perhaps just got jealous that his brothers were doing something without him. Either way, it ended with the three of them snuggled up close and sleeping soundly.
Until one of them woke up and started crying, and the others followed suit.
Della didn’t mind it, although it did get old at three in the morning. Donald – the mother hen that he was – was always there right after she was, or even before sometimes. Scrooge was never there, because he wouldn’t be caught dead within fifty feet of crying babies. Especially not in the middle of the night.
Lately, though, the triplets had grown more restless and irritable, clinging to her and to each other at all times. They’d cry at the drop of a hat, and Huey threw tantrums almost daily at some minor inconvenience. Everyone was reaching the end of their rope. Donald had watched them for a while that morning to give her a break, but he’d run out not even an hour later, looking about ready to pull his feathers out. Della had just patted him on the back and told him to rest, because he certainly hadn’t gotten enough, recently.
“You ought to give him a break, you know,” Della said lightly, playfully scolding her children. “Driving him crazy is my job.”
The only response she received was giggles as Dewey held Louie’s face between his hands, squishing his cheeks. Louie waved his little arms around, either trying to reciprocate or dislodge his brothers’ grip on him, and Huey made a noise of what could’ve been curiosity or concern, attempting to push himself up onto his hands and knees.
Della couldn’t help but grin. They hadn’t learned to crawl yet, thank god. It would be a nightmare, but she couldn’t wait to see it, couldn’t wait to watch them stumble towards her on wobbly legs.
She wished that the world was ready for them, that it was safer. With the way that the three of them had been acting lately, she wondered if they could sense the tension in the air. She wondered if they knew that things weren’t okay.
Della sighed, her soft grin dimming a bit as her fists clenched in her lap. Things had been falling apart slowly for the past few months, and maybe even longer, though she wasn’t aware of it. All she’d ever wanted was for her family to be happy and safe and together, and now they were caught in the middle of a war. Being royalty sure sucked, sometimes. Although maybe it wasn’t even the royalty thing; maybe it was just how her family was. They attracted trouble. They caused it. They protected each other from it, and stuck together no matter what. Except this time was different, because this time there was Huey, Dewey, and Louie.
Speaking of which, Huey was now babbling loudly as he tried to separate Dewey’s hands from Louie’s face. Louie didn’t seem to mind too terribly, although he was squirming a little, and Dewey alternated between giggling and whining as Huey tried to intervene. Eventually, Dewey detached himself from Louie’s face and switched to Huey’s, pulling him down so that they almost bumped heads. Huey screeched in surprise, but otherwise seemed fine, and he giggled quietly, leaning down the rest of the way to bump his beak gently into Dewey’s forehead, imitating what Della did when she gave them goodnight kisses. Dewey squealed, though not unhappily.
Della chuckled to herself, eyes sparkling. The sight was so precious that she could hardly be sad anymore. At least she still had this, even in the midst of everything that was happening.
Louie let out a rather offended cry suddenly, reaching his hands out towards his brothers, irritated at being excluded. Huey clumsily bumped his beak on top of Louie’s head, then collapsed between his brothers, latching onto their shirts with either one of his little hands. Della leaned forward to give them forehead kisses of her own, grinning and tickling their sides as they looked up at her with wide, sparkling eyes.
In the laughter resulting from the tickle session, someone cleared their throat from behind her, and she turned to see Scrooge standing a little awkwardly in the doorway. He probably thought that she was still mad at what he’d asked her to do.
She wasn’t. She was resigned to it, now. She knew it was the best option.
Della smiled sadly at her Uncle, tilting her head to invite him into the room. Scrooge’s shoulders dropped in relief, and he sighed as he came in and sunk down beside her on the floor.
“Is it time?” Della asked, one hand busy sweeping Louie’s hair out of his half-lidded eyes.
Scrooge nodded, a frown pulling at his beak as he gazed down at the lightly dozing kids in front of him. It had been his idea to send her and Donald away with them to keep them safe, but that didn’t mean that he liked it any more than she did.
“You’ll see them again,” Della reminded him gently, managing a sort of smile in his direction. “Granted, it’ll be like a hundred feet underground in a secret castle, but it will happen.”
Scrooge huffed a reluctant laugh, running a hand through the feathers on his head in worry. It made her nervous, to see her uncle like this, but she understood where it was coming from. This was a man who wasn’t used to being out of options.
“And you’re sure you remember how to get there?” Scrooge asked, for what had to be the seventh time in the past three days. Della rolled her eyes.
“Yes, I remember. We’ve been visiting on and off for like twenty years, Uncle Scrooge,” Della pointed out, bending down to pick up Louie, beginning to move him to their cradle. “And if by some miracle we forget, we have the medallion trick. Don says its overdramatic and pointlessly difficult, but hey! I’m sure someday someone will use it.”
“It’s—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Della waved him off, depositing the last of her children into the cradle with the others. “It’s tradition. You could’ve at least had the code lead to something other than a dusty old castle, though.”
Scrooge just sighed, rubbing at his head and closing his eyes briefly.
“That ‘dusty old castle’ is where our ancestors were born and raised,” Scrooge said tiredly, with all the enthusiasm of a man who’d been repeating it for years and years.
“I don’t think they meant for it to be a hiding place,” Della said, mostly just to keep the argument going. “It seems like a sad place to hide away, what with being underground and all.”
“It’s the safest place for you and the kids,” Scrooge said calmly, not rising to the bait. “You know it is. You agreed to it.”
Della sighed, gazing down at her sleeping children, hating that this was even a decision that she had to make. Being a mom was tougher than she expected.
“I know, Uncle Scrooge,” she said, utterly defeated. “Trust me, I get it. I just wish things were different.”
Scrooge stood up from his sitting position, crossing over to her and putting a hand on her shoulder, looking at her with sad eyes.
“Me too, lass,” Scrooge said, glancing down at the boys and smiling faintly. “But it will all be worth it, to keep them away from danger.”
“What about you?”
“I’m Scrooge McDuck,” Scrooge said, familiar bravado making his voice stronger, although it seemed more like a performance than it usually did. “I’ll be just fine.”
It was hard to believe, this time.
“Promise?” Della asked quietly, even though it felt a bit childish, even though she knew it wasn’t fair.
“I…” Scrooge’s legendary confidence faltered, his eyes flicking slowly between her and the boys. “I’ll try my best.”
Della wanted more than that, but she knew that it wasn’t possible. She tried out a smile, but it sat awkwardly on her face, like she’d forgotten how. Scrooge took her hand and squeezed it, and together they watched the triplets sleep, carefree and small and grabbing onto each other so that nothing would separate them.
Della and Donald snuck the triplets out of the castle that night – just as they’d planned – and Scrooge watched them go from the window.
Traveling with three babies was a bigger challenge than she’d expected, but she’d never been one to shy away from a challenge. Nothing could stop Della Duck, after all. Although there were plenty of people who wanted to try.
It had been somewhere around five days since her and Donald had left one castle to find another, and although you would think that being sent away to avoid impending doom would be exciting, really it was just monotonous, and depressing, and dreadfully boring. It didn’t help that Uncle Scrooge had insisted that they go on foot and avoid any sort of civilization. She had a backpack half as big as she was sitting on her back, filled to the brim with supplies, and she’d ask Donald to carry it, but he already had that stupid sword slung across his back. She’d rather they switched, honestly, because she was just as good with a sword as he was, but Donald had been adamant that he be the one to have it.
Della had been about to argue that point – she was always ready to argue – but then she’d seen the nervous, almost desperate look in her brother’s eyes, and she’d left it alone. She knew she had more precious cargo to carry than a sword anyway; Huey and Louie were curled up in the basket she was holding in her right hand, filled with blankets and cozy enough that they were lightly dozing. Not Dewey, however, because he was—
An excited, playful cry sounded from behind her, and Della turned back – already grinning – to face Donald, who was holding Dewey at eye level as the little munchkin grabbed at his uncle’s beak. Donald was smiling softly, halfheartedly attempting to pull the baby away from his face. Della chuckled, falling back a few paces to walk beside him.
“That one’s gonna be trouble, eh?” Della asked amusedly, nudging her brother in the side.
“If he’s anything like you, absolutely,” Donald replied, finally able to get Dewey to let go. “He’s already tried to go for the sword three times.”
“That’s my boy!” Della ruffled Dewey’s hair and grinned when he giggled. Donald rolled his eyes.
As if on cue, Huey started making noise from the basket, babbling and whining, jealous of the attention that Dewey was getting. Della looked down and saw Louie beginning to stir, his little face twisting in annoyance, and she lightly rocked the basket back and forth, humming their lullaby under her breath. After a few minutes, they fell back asleep, Louie’s beak wide open as he snored quietly. Della snickered, adjusting the blankets so that they covered them more.
When she looked up, Donald was looking at her strangely.
“What?” She asked, looking behind her briefly in case she’d missed something, but there was nothing.
“Nothing, just… it’s weird to see you as a mom,” Donald said, shrugging and shifting Dewey as he too started to nap. “Yesterday you wouldn’t stop asking if we were there yet.”
“Well it was a perfectly reasonable question,” Della said playfully.
“Not every two minutes it’s not!”
“Agree to disagree.”
Donald just hummed shortly in response, and then there was a moment of silence as they continued making their way through the forest.
“So, uh, are we there yet?”
“Della!”
“I’m serious!” Della said, laughing as quietly as she could. “We’ve been walking for forever.”
“We still have two days to go, if we don’t slow down,” Donald told her, squinting at the sky. “But we should probably check to see if we’re almost out of the woods.”
“Me! I’ll do it!” Della exclaimed before Donald could react, and she passed the basket with her sleeping children into Donald’s free hand. “Hold this, I’m going up!”
She dropped the backpack from her shoulders onto the ground, rolling up her sleeves as she started climbing the nearest, sturdiest-looking tree. By the time Donald called her name angrily from below her, she was already halfway up. Donald could keep his sword, whatever, but he sure as heck couldn’t stop her from climbing a tree.
She reached the top, laughing triumphantly and grinning down at the small form of her irritated twin glaring up at her, holding a basket full of babies. Della waved cheekily before refocusing her attention on the task she was supposed to be doing.
Della loved looking down at the world from high in the sky. She loved the way the wind felt, loved seeing the never-ending sky spread out above her and the land sitting below. It was several seconds before she could remember what she was looking for, and she blinked back into reality as she finally registered what she was seeing.
The trees grew fewer not too far away, maybe a five minute walk. What surprised her, however, was the line of wagons being packed up and prepared for travel. By the state of the area surrounding them, they’d camped there for the night. She was too far away to tell for sure, but her gut instinct had them pegged as a sort of traveling salesmen or merchants, probably visiting every village to sell as much of their merchandise as possible.
Newly curious, Della climbed back down the tree, jumping the last five feet to the ground and making Donald screech at her in alarm.
“We’re pretty close to the end of the forest,” Della said, tilting her head to indicate which direction it was, “but there’s a bunch of wagons near there. They seem like one of those, like, traveling markets that Uncle Scrooge hates, and they look like they’re leaving soon.”
Donald’s brow furrowed and he scratched at his head, the trademark signals that said he was thinking deeply about something. Della took the basket of children from him and glanced down at them to make sure they were still alright.
“We could always hitch a ride, you know,” Della pointed out, growing restless as she knew that the opportunity would soon be gone. “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind! Everyone loves babies, after all—”
“No,” Donald interrupted, tension in his shoulders as he bent down to pick up the backpack she’d discarded. “It’s too dangerous. We can’t have anyone who will be able to identify us if someone comes looking.”
“Oh, c’mon Don, we’ve been walking for days. Don’t you wanna just sit in a wagon for a while?” Della said, feeling the first few sparks of irritation begin to grow in her chest. “It’s not the end of the world to trust people. You always do this.”
“I’m trying to keep you safe!” Donald shot back, taking an angry step forward. “There’s more than just you now, Della. We can’t always take the easy way out!”
Della scoffed, turning her back and beginning to stomp off, careful not to rattle the basket too much.
“It’s not terrible to take a shortcut every now and then,” Della tossed over her shoulder, her voice deceptively lighthearted when an undercurrent of something hurt and furious. “If you ever bothered to listen to me, maybe you’d get that.”
“Della.”
“And it’s not like I’m asking for much! I don’t want a Yes Man or anything—”
“Della—”
“—just some sort of acknowledgement would be nice. Some sort of discussion instead of you just shutting me down—”
“Della, stop.”
There was real fear and pleading in his voice then, and it brought her up short, making her turn around and immediately stop talking. Donald only ever sounded like that when something was wrong.
Just liked she’d thought, Donald had stopped dead a few feet away from her, his gaze scanning their surroundings with well-hidden anxiety, one hand hovering over the hilt of the sword on his back. Della’s breath hitched, and she glanced down at her kids on instinct, shifting the basket so it was held tightly against her stomach.
The forest was quiet – completely and wholly silent – and that was a bad sign.
“Did you—” Della began, but Donald shushed her, shaking his head.
There was a moment where nothing happened.
And then the fight that they’d been running from found them.
Donald drew his sword in a movement as smooth as it was frantic, spinning around just in time to watch as enemies began emerging from the cover of the trees and foliage. Della took a half step backward, praying that her boys would stay asleep for the time being. In front of her, Donald squared his shoulders and held his sword at the ready, something resigned and determined in his stance.
“Della,” Donald said, lowly enough so that only she would be able to hear it. “Go.”
Her racing heart skipped a beat, tripping over itself as her brain did the same.
“What?” Della whispered, sure she’d heard him wrong, keeping one eye on the slowly advancing soldiers a few yards away. They were dressed in black and purple, covered in bits of armor, and they seemed unbearably smug. There were three of them.
“Go,” Donald repeated, a little louder this time, a little more forceful.
“Are you— No,” Della said, feeling hysteria build up in her chest. “I’m not leaving you. I can’t just—”
“Della,” Donald interrupted her, and he turned his head just enough to pointedly glance at the basket in her arms. She looked down on instinct, following his gaze until her eyes landed on the three sleeping babies, too young to understand that the world was dangerous.
Tears stinging her eyes, she met Donald’s worried gaze and gave a curt nod. Donald closed his eyes briefly, an expression of sorrow twisting his features, but when he opened them, there was nothing but determination, and that famous protective anger.
Heart in her throat and a chasm in her chest, Della turned and ran.
The ringing sounds of swords clashing echoed behind her, bouncing off trees and making her strain to go faster. She knew that Donald would keep them occupied for as long as he could. He was an excellent swordsman, but he was also outnumbered. Della tried not to think about it too much, instead focusing on the babies in the basket who were just beginning to fuss, possibly picking up on the terrified energy surrounding them.
She hadn’t given much thought to where she was going – just away seemed good enough – but it felt like she’d only been running for a few seconds when she suddenly broke out of the trees into a field. She blinked in surprise, coming to a startled halt, realizing that she’d been heading for the wagons she’d seen not even five minutes ago. It scared her, how quickly things could go wrong. It always had.
She was broken out of her frenzied thoughts by the telltale signs of a baby starting to cry, and she took a few gasping breaths as she rocked the basket shakily, shushing them quietly and beginning to take in her surroundings.
A few feet in front of her were about five wagons, lined up and loaded with supplies and ready to go. All the travelers were already aboard and preparing to disembark; the first wagon was just now starting to pull away.
Della suddenly felt as if she had an important decision to make, like she was standing before a fork in the road, or dangling over a precipice. She let out a single, heaving sob, hugging the basket of her kids to her chest and looking down at them with watery eyes. Then she turned to look back at the way she’d come from, knowing that Donald was still fighting, knowing that she could never actually bring herself to leave him behind if he needed her help.
She closed her eyes tightly, listening to the quiet cries of her kids, still hearing the phantom rings of clashing swords in her head. Taking a few deep breaths, fighting to keep them from turning into sobs, she knew what she needed to do.
The second wagon was just starting to depart, and before she could talk herself out of it, Della made a mad dash to the back of the closest wagon, which seemed to be filled to the brim with crates of fruits and vegetables. She frantically cleared out some floor space, wiping at the wetness in her eyes every few seconds, trying not to think too hard about what she was doing.
When a space was cleared, a little hollow spot surrounded by the tailgate and 3 crates, Della carefully lifted her basket and set it down gently inside. Still crying, she fussed with the blankets, trying to soothe the whining babies. Little Dewey looked like he was seconds away from throwing a fit, his hands in tiny fists, two months old and ready to fight the world. Huey was babbling loudly, tugging on Dewey’s arm and seeming very upset with whatever was going on. And Louie was just staring at her, like he wanted to cry but wasn’t sure why, and he was holding the little stuffed bear that Donald had given them right after they’d been hatched—
Della shook her head forcefully, telling herself to get on with it, trying to convince herself that this wasn’t goodbye.
“You’re not gonna understand this,” Della began quietly, taking note of the third wagon beginning to leave, knowing that she was running out of time, “but I have to go back. You’re gonna have to be alone for a while.”
The babies, of course, showed no signs of listening, but this wasn’t really for them.
“It’s not fair, I know.” Della patted each of their chests briefly, feeling the hard shape of their medallion pieces sitting in a hidden pocket on the inside of their clothes. Scrooge had insisted that they be on them at all times, but he had also insisted that they be hidden; he was difficult like that.
Della missed him.
“Your Uncle Donald needs help, even though he won’t admit it, and I—” Her voice cracked, but she barreled onward. “I’m his sister. I’ve gotta go back.”
The fourth wagon began to leave, and she tried on a smile, shaky and fragile, not wanting her kids to see her upset.
“You’ll understand, one day,” Della told them. “I mean, I hope nothing like this ever happens to you, but if you’re anything like me…”
She gave up trying to explain, and she gave up trying to clear her eyes of tears. Della leaned down and kissed them each on the forehead, little Huey bumping his beak into her chin before she could pull away.
She opened her mouth to tell them that she’d be right back, but the words couldn’t quite make it past the lump in her throat. (If they’d made it to her tongue, she wondered if it would’ve tasted like a lie.)
“Take care of each other,” was what she said instead, softly and quietly. A plea.
Della turned away just as the wagon began to leave, and she ran into the woods once more, hands now holding nothing but air.
It had seemed to take only seconds to get out of the forest, but it was somehow taking forever to get back to where she’d started. She was starting to think that time wasn’t as linear as it presented itself to be. Or maybe it was just her, maybe the speed of the racing thoughts in her head made time seem slower by comparison.
Every time she blinked, her boys’ faces appeared beneath her eyelids. The last time she’d looked at them was burned into her memory, even as she ran farther and farther away from where she’d left them behind. Even as she ran towards Donald, who was the one who’d told her to leave. God, he’s gonna be mad.
It took her a few seconds to register that the sound of swords clanging together was no longer just in her head, and just as she had that revelation, her foot caught on something and she hit the ground hard, gasping as the breath was knocked out of her.
Della flailed, managing to get her dirty and scraped hands beneath her in order to push herself up, head twisting as she looked for whatever had tripped her, and—
Oh, an unconscious person. Sweet.
The guy was breathing, but a sizeable bump was growing on his head. Della felt a bit of relief and pride at the fact that Donald had been able to take one down and even the odds a bit. But where was he now?
She shoved herself to her feet hastily, not taking the time to recover fully, stumbling for the first few steps before her legs remembered what to do. Her heart was suddenly pounding and echoing in her ears, she ran towards the sounds of fighting, ignoring her stinging wrist. She’d probably landed on it wrong.
The familiar sound of Donald screeching a battle cry reached her echoey ears, and she forced herself to go faster, to get there quicker. Part of her was convinced that she would be too late, and the other part was convinced that she’d done the wrong thing, leaving her kids behind to go back and help her brother who might be just fine on his own.
She broke out into a small clearing, and it shocked her into stopping short. She’d been looking at her surroundings, of course, but she hadn’t really been seeing them. She shook her head and forced herself to focus, her gaze finally landing on the person she’d come to help.
Donald was on the other side of the clearing, fighting the remaining two enemy soldiers. He seemed worse for wear – he had several tears in his clothes – and he was favoring his right side, although only she would be able to tell. His opponents were in a similar condition, their faces twisted in anger as their pride was wounded, being kept at bay by a lone fighter. Donald had worked very hard to be as good as he was at sword fighting. Della knew, because she’d been right there with him the whole way.
Slowly, Della relaxed, the tension bleeding out of her shoulders as she stood there and breathed for a minute. Donald was okay. She should’ve known that, really, she shouldn’t have worried so much, shouldn’t have left her babies behind in a wagon traveling to who knows where—
Movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she whipped her head around to locate the source, her heart giving a horrified lurch when she saw it.
All too late, Della remembered that Magica was known for her tricks. A fourth soldier was creeping out of the woods, sword already drawn and dark eyes fixed on her brother.
Donald’s back was turned. He couldn’t see the person coming up behind him, ready to hurt and kill. Della opened her mouth to call out to him, but closed it just as fast. If Donald turned to face the person behind him, then the two other soldiers would have a clear shot. If Donald knew that she was there at all, he’d already be hopelessly distracted. So, really, there was only one thing left that she could do.
Sorry, kids. Sorry, Don.
Della ran, adrenaline coursing through her veins and causing her hands to shake as she raced to intercept the lone assassin. It was going to be a close call, she knew, but she’d always been fast. And sure, she didn’t have a sword, or any sort of weapon, but that wasn’t going to stop her. Nothing could stop Della Duck.
Nothing except herself.
She didn’t get there in time to have the luxury of stopping and pulling Donald out of the way, but she did get there in time to push him, in time to save him. Her outstretched arms made contact with Donald’s left shoulder, and she actually bounced back a bit with the force of the collision.
Her brother’s wide eyes were the last image that she could make sense of before he fell to the ground with a dull thud and a shout of surprise. There was a half of a second where nothing happened – where everything slowed down and blurred together and breathed – and then time and misfortune caught up with her.
At first she thought she’d been punched, that the soldier had dropped the sword and hit her square in the stomach, but then she looked down and saw—
Oh. That’s… not good.
Donald was looking up at her with a look of absolute horror plastered on his face, and though she was beginning to really panic, she offered him a rueful smile, barely registering that she was sinking slowly to the ground. She didn’t feel her knees hit, too busy focusing on the new pain radiating from her midsection, and she curled around it, hunching in on herself as she struggled to process what was happening. She tried to breathe slowly to calm herself down, but couldn’t seem to get a full breath. Distantly, she was aware that she was crying.
Hands squeezing her shoulders painfully hard was enough to bring her momentarily out of her own head, able to focus on the blurry form of her brother in front of her, looking more scared and distraught than she’d ever seen him. Part of her wondered why. The other part already knew.
The hands on her shoulders started to shake, and Della attempted to reach up with her own hand to offer some comfort, but it seemed a million times heavier than it normally was. She instead tried to give another smile – awkward and unpracticed and weak – and something in Donald’s face seemed to break. He couldn’t have possibly looked any more furious, and he set her down on the ground with a gentleness that belied his expression. Della felt extremely tired, suddenly.
Donald stuck his sword forcefully point-first into the ground, standing tall and turning slowly to look at the three remaining soldiers, who looked both mildly shocked and slightly unsettled. Della didn’t have the energy to pick her head up and watch her brother beat them up, but she could at least see part of the action through the reflection in his sword. Donald had always done well in hand-to-hand combat, and nothing could stop him when he was truly angry.
The fight was over within minutes, though it could’ve been eternity, for how sluggish she was feeling. She closed her eyes, recalling the way her babies had looked at her before she’d left them, getting stuck on the memory of Louie in particular, and the way he’d gazed up at her with big, sad eyes, hugging his stuffed bear as his brothers fussed.
She wondered if they’d known, somehow, that it was going to be goodbye. She suddenly wished she’d been able to say it. They deserved more than empty words and empty excuses. They’d deserved a goodbye, even if they wouldn’t have remembered it.
Donald fell heavily to his knees beside her, and she couldn’t find it in herself to be startled, just trying to make it as easy as possible for Donald to pull her halfway into his lap. She looked up at him, and darkness was creeping along the edges of her vision, but she could still tell that he was crying. Her stomach didn’t hurt anymore, but interestingly enough, her chest was beginning to ache terribly, like it was being carved out, or smashed to bits, or crushed beneath some enormous weight. She knew without knowing how she knew that Donald was feeling the same thing, and she found the strength somewhere deep inside her – in the place that was stubborn and angry and refused to give up – to lift a shaking hand up to her neck and yank the chain that hung there hard enough to break it. She pushed the necklace containing her half of their shared medallion into Donald’s hand, and then she let herself fall limp, feeling like she’d finally done enough.
Della looked up at Donald with bleary eyes, and she could tell that he was saying something, but it was too echoey and faint to make out. It sounded vaguely pleading, with a repeated question somewhere in there. She felt a far away stab of guilt at that, at knowing that her last moments in this world were going to be spent not understanding what her brother was saying, because he’d always been insecure about that.
Her vision was going dark, and she couldn’t feel most of her body, but she could tell that Donald was holding her hand, and she could feel the vibrations of him humming something to her. Probably the lullaby he’d helped her write for her kids that would grow up without her.
Her kids that would grow up.
Her kids.
They wouldn’t have her, but they’d have each other, at least. They wouldn’t be alone.
Closing her eyes, she thought of Huey, bumping his little beak into his brother’s heads to give them kisses. She thought of Dewey, already reaching for a sword, already reaching for family. And she thought of Louie, who couldn’t sleep alone, who had hugged a stuffed bear and looked at her like he knew it was for the last time.
She thought of Donald and Uncle Scrooge. She thought of being a kid and wishing to fly. She thought of all the adventures she’d gone on, and all the times that Donald had laughed at her jokes or smiled at his nephews, and Uncle Scrooge standing awkwardly in the doorway thinking she was still mad at him.
Strangely enough, she thought of shooting stars, and forest fires, and apples.
And then she thought of Nothing.
After two days of searching for something he wouldn’t see again until over a decade later, Donald picked up his sword and started walking home alone.