Ducktales Oneshots - Disney_FaN_21 - DuckTales (Cartoon 2017) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1: Rescue in the Rain

Chapter Text

Rain battered a very unlikely trio currently galloping as if Duckburg was on fire: an 11 year old boy dressed in red; a headless man-horse with a stone replica of Scrooge McDuck's head attached to its neck; and a tiny robot with a glowing head, huddled into the boy's neck.

The boy's left arm was around his equine companion's neck; and In his right hand, fingers slowly numbing with cold and trembling due to perturbation at this whole situation; the boy bore a tablet bearing Fenton/Gizmoduck's last known location to be on this street, but there was no specific spot, or even coordinates to track him down. And the last anyone had heard from him, he had gotten into a nasty fight.

Huey suspected the helmet was badly damaged enough that the GPS signal was lost, and now finding the superpowered superhero would be a challenge.

Hence, the three of them had run straight into the streets of Duckburg on the hunt for their missing friend, and to give any help he might need.

…

“Manny, slow down,” Huey instructed, eyes scanning the street nervously before turning back to the tablet. “Fenton - erm, Gizmoduck is here somewhere.”

Manny slowed to a trot.

Huey, feeling overwhelmed to the point he might throw up, merely managed to pat Manny on the neck gratefully.

Lil Bulb scanned the streets also, seeing no sign of their friend. He slumped against Huey’s neck, his light dimming.

“Where is he?” Huey fretted, regretting not asking Webby or his brothers to help, as they could've split up and - but then again, Webby and Louie had not yet found out Fenton being Gizmoduck, and Huey vowed to keep it that way.

Manny, who had stopped to rest a moment, merely clopped a hoof against the pavement.

‘We'll find him.’

“Where, though?” Huey asked Manny, frustrated. “I can't narrow down his location any further than this and the longer we take to find him -” he couldn't bear to finish his sentence.

Suddenly Lil Bulb grabbed his neck, pinching the soft flesh as hard as he could.

“Ow! Lil’ Bulb, do stop that!” Huey snapped, resisting the (very strong) temptation to whack the little robot away like a fly. After all, he had no wish to incur the Wrath of Dr. Gearloose if he accidentally inflicted damage on his pocket-sized companion.

Lil Bulb just pointed frantically down the street to an alley entrance, some 50 yards away.

“Seems cliche, don't you think?” Huey asked Lil Bulb, who merely shrugged in response.

Huey just sighed, and Manny took a moment to ‘hoof-palm’ his face before breaking into a gallop.

…

Sure enough, Gizmoduck was lying in the alley - unresponsive, armour was badly dented, like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it and beaten Gizmoduck as if he was just a metallic pinata.

Huey's little heart dropped to his stomach when he saw the visor was smashed - again.

Wretched thing! He, Fenton and Dr. Gearloose hadn't yet figured out how to ‘Fenton-proof’ it, as he somehow kept breaking the strongest materials in fights with criminals, leading Huey to fear that his best friend may end up losing an eye one day.

Fearing the worst, Huey jumped off Manny's back and ran to his best friend's side.

From what he could tell, even with the armour, Fenton did not seem to have suffered any spinal injuries, (it seemed Fenton had gotten into a fight and collapsed with exhaustion. Manny concurred with Huey.)

Lifting his friend's prone head into his lap, Huey gently pried the helmet off, with some help from Lil Bulb, revealing Fenton's pale face.

Huey was relieved his eyes were unharmed, but he had a nasty cut on his left cheek; the blood long dried.

This was far from acceptable, of course, in Huey's eyes, for he could comprehend any of his friends getting hurt, especially not one as kind as Fenton - but at least a cut cheek was easily treatable and better than an injured eye.

Huey tenderly wiped at the encrusted blood adorning the cut, before trying to haul the unconscious duck to his ‘feet’.

…

It turned out Huey - again with assistance from Lil Bulb, for Manny could not grasp the armour - had to pry their unconscious friend free before dismantling the entire armour by hand, packing each separate piece into the carelessly discarded duffel nearby.

Once Fenton was safely draped across Manny's back, armour bag balanced precariously in front, the trio set off for Fenton's house.

…

“Ughh…”

Fenton gently forced his eyes to open.
He rubbed his face, trying to wake up - and felt a plaster, meticulously stuck on his left cheek. He suddenly remembered the crack of the visor, a piece of glass cutting his face…

The Gizmoduck armour! Fenton realised he wasn't wearing any of it anymore.

He realised then that he recognised his bedroom, and he was lying atop his bed, huddled in cosy blankets….

He did see the bulging bag lying next to his bed, so he needn't fear the armour being lost to someone nefarious. He sighed in relief - but he nearly yelped when he saw Manny standing over him.

“Manny!” He exclaimed. “What are you doing in my house?” He paused, mulled over what he'd just asked, and spoke again “Actually, what am I doing in my house? I remember being in the alley -”

He stopped when he realised Manny was communicating - but with someone else.

M'ma?

But she was still at work, unless of course she somehow heard…

“Fenton! You're awake!”

Fenton was momentarily surprised at seeing the small duckling hover briefly in the bedroom door; before he gave a small whoop of joy and relief and threw himself at his friend, snuggling into Fenton's side.

Fenton wheezed at the unexpected force - seems he was more winded than he initially thought - but his heart warmed when he pieced everything together.

“You found me.” He whispered.

“Of course I did. I had help, too.” Huey mumbled into Fenton's shoulder. “It was Lil Bulb who found which alley you were in, I don't know how. Manny gave us a ride back.”

Manny clopped his hooves together indignantly.

“And he gave Lil Bulb and I a ride to look for you as well.” Huey acknowledged.

Manny clopped in confirmation - just as Fenton glimpsed Lil Bulb waving at him from his desk. He waved back, smiling incredulously.

“That's - that's awesome of you guys.” Fenton replied, relieved. “Gracias, amigos, for rescuing me.” he gave Huey a hug, and gave a thumbs up to Lil Bulb, and he shook Manny's hoof.

“Of course we rescued you, silly,” Huey said affectionately, his voice warm and sleepy. “We weren't going to leave you to rust outside.”

‘We're just glad you're alright,’ Manny clopped.

Lil Bulb just shook his fist at the window.

“Another day, I'm afraid.” Fenton remarked to Lil Bulb. “Preferably when I'm not…” he yawned. “when I'm not so tired…”

He laid back down again, smiling tenderly when he saw his little Gizmobuddy had fallen fast asleep, still cozied up to his hero.

“Heh…” Fenton rubbed Huey’s back, feeling protective of his young friend. “You're the best… mejor amigo,” he whispered into Huey's ear.

Then, he added, quietly, “thanks, guys, for helping me home, and for - another yawn - “for being so great,” he gave a sleepy thumbs up, before he collapsed back into the embrace of Morpheus.

…

Lil Bulb sprang from the desk to the bed, and grabbed the blanket before tucking the two in rather cosily. Once finished, he hopped onto Manny's waiting hoof and crawled up his arm to rest on his shoulder.

Manny and Lil Bulb decided to remain put for a little while, watching over their slumbering friends.

…......................................

Hope you enjoyed it! I love Huey and Fenton's friendship so expect a lot of one-shots on these two! But I am hoping to write about a variety of characters.

Requests welcome 🙂

Chapter 2: Launchpad's Job Interview

Chapter Text

“Ye're a bold man, McQuack,” Mr. Scrooge McDuck said solemnly, leaning across his desk, eyeing the young muscular man who had boldly strode into his office not even five minutes ago.

Launchpad squirmed nervously. He had wondered if he'd crossed a line with his suggestion - and it seemed he had.

Would he ever stop being a disappointment to his parents? To his family?

What would they say if they saw him now?

About to fail a job interview as a chauffeur -

“I like you.” Scrooge's beak had suddenly curled into a smile. “We'll do it.”

Launchpad was surprised.

“You sure, Mr. McDee?” He asked, confused. “I didn't think -”

“That's Mr. McDuck to you,” said the lady who had led him to this office - Mrs. Beakley, in a sharp tone.

“No, problem-o, Mrs. B.”

She sighed.

“Ach, dinna fash about that, Beakley,” Scrooge waved a hand dismissively.

Launchpad sighed in relief. He may not have gotten the job just yet, but he at least had a chance to show Scrooge McDuck what he, Launchpad McQuack, could do.

His mind began racing through the last five minutes of this interview.

…

Mrs. Beakley - or Mrs. B, as Launchpad had taken to calling her, had led him to Scrooge's office.

“Mr. McQuack here sir, for his interview.”

“Thank you, Beakley,” came a polite, albeit clipped, Scottish tone, and Launchpad felt his knees quiver at the sight of the elderly duck.

He was old, but he also seemed to command the room, merely by his regal posture - as if he was a king upon a throne, not merely the richest duck in the world.

Launchpad had a feeling in his gut he'd like Mr. McDuck regardless. But then, he felt that way about a lot of people, even if they didn't always feel the same about him.

Scrooge was holding a piece of paper in his hands as if it was some royal decree - but Launchpad felt heat creep into his cheeks as Scrooge slid it across the desk towards him, realising too late it was his ‘CV’.

“Tell me, Mr. McQuack, why would you like this job?” Scrooge asked, quietly. He did not sound impressed, and Launchpad panicked.

“I like driving! And crashing!” He added that last part a little too eagerly, and Scrooge’s eyes widened in - was it alarm?

Mrs. Beakley had returned with a coffee pot, and two cups. She eyed the two men, and stated crisply. “I take it that this won't be needed, then.”

“Dinna leave yet, ma dear Beakley,” Scrooge replied. He turned back to Launchpad. “Mr. McQuack, I'm sorry, but I dinna think you’re the right fit-”

“How about a test drive? Round the block?” Launchpad asked, deciding to ‘get dangerous’ even if it cost him the job - what did he have to lose?

There was silence.

“The utter audacity!” Fumed Mrs. Beakley. “Mr. McQuack, you must understand it is not your place to suggest such a thing - it should fall to Mr. McDuck to decide if he wishes to see your driving in action or not!”

She turned to her employer, who looked somewhat stupefied - a rare sight indeed.

This man, for better or worse, had left some kind of impression on Scrooge McDuck.

And it did not escape her notice that the next time he addressed the young man, he did so without his title.

“Ye're a bold man, McQuack,” Mr. McDuck said solemnly, eyes locking on Launchpad's.

…

“Sir, are you sure this is wise?” Asked Mrs. Beakley, interrupting Launchpad's flashback.

“Ach, Beakley, it's fine, he's a respectable enough lad.” Said Scrooge, waving a dismissive hand.

“Sir, I don't like this idea…”

“Beakley, it'll be fine.” Said Scrooge, firmly. “It's just a wee jaunt around the block in the limo, how bad can it be?”

“You are Scrooge McDuck, anything can happen to you, Sir, for better or worse.” She said dryly. “Besides, he literally just stated he likes crashing!”

“Beakley,” said Scrooge, more firmly this time. “I can handle meself. I've survived far worse than a crazy limo driver.”

“Suit yourself Sir, but don't say I didn't warn you,” she said darkly, firing one last look at Launchpad before firmly placing the tray down on the desk, and leaving the room.

Once the door closed behind her, Scrooge grinned mischievously. “I'm gonna make the drive a wee bit longer, McQuack, if you'll no’ object.”

“No problem-o, Mr. McDee!” Launchpad tipped his hat politely. “Where can I drive you today?”

Scrooge nodded in satisfaction. “I can see ye hae enthusiasm and an eagerness to help.” He said, his tone softer now.

“Does this mean you like me?” Launchpad asked, confused.

“Despite your lacklustre CV, ye seem to be the man I'm looking for.” said Scrooge. “But, before I decide for certain, I want to hae ye drive me doon tae ma Money Bin.” He said. “That's where I work, and I'll spend most o’ my time, so having a drive who kens far it is and how tae get tae it will be just grand.”

“Uh, sure thing, Mr. McDee!” Launchpad replied nervously.

Scrooge pulled out his phone and looked out a photo before showing it to Launchpad. “Ye recognise this building?”

Launchpad did - he'd been that way a couple times, but had no idea the building belonged to Mr. McDee, or indeed what it was actually used for.

“Yes, I've seen it.” He nodded. “That's your office?”

“Drive me there, and we'll talk.” Scrooge winked at him. He reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a set of keys.

“We’d best no’ waste this coffee,” Scrooge added, as Launchpad reached for the keys. “Tell me aboot yersel’, lad.”

Chapter 3: Huey Cheers Fenton Up

Chapter Text

Huey dashed into the lab, grinning from ear to ear at the thought of spending more time with his best friend, Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera.

In his school bag was a box of glazed doughnuts (something they mutually agreed was a necessity for pursuing scientific endeavours) which he had purchased from their favourite bakery.

If Fenton was free, they were going to work on an experiment Huey had proposed, based on an interesting fact he had read about in the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook; they were working on whether a sunstone could indeed be used for nautical navigation.

“Fenton, I'm here!” Huey called out, expecting a response - only to blink in confusion as he only saw Manny sweep the floor.

Fenton was normally doing that.

Odd.

“Erm, Manny? Sorry to interrupt,” Huey began politely.

Manny looked at him, and clopped ‘Yes?’ On the floor.

“Have you seen Fenton? We're meant to be meeting up today.”

Manny just clopped his hooves on the floor again. ‘He left the lab. Went outside.’

“You saw him go outside?” Huey was confused. “Why?”

Manny shrugged, clopping his hooves together again. Huey had no idea what Manny said this time, but he had heard enough.

“Well, thanks, Manny,” the duckling said, and hurried back out of the lab and towards the elevator to find his friend.

…

From the elevator, along the reception, Huey found his way to a set of stone steps outside the Money Bin, where a lone figure sat huddled outside, shivering from the salty, biting winds of the Audubon Bay.

Huey grinned at the distinctive yellow shirt and mop of hair ruffled by the wind.

He hauled open the heavy glass door, taking in a lungful of crisp, salty air whipping in from the bay - a smell he was intimately familiar with from his days living on Uncle Donald’s houseboat.

“Fenton!” Huey greeted in relief, breaking into a run to give his friend a hug.

But the scientist didn't answer him, and as the boy got closer, he could hear soft sniffles.

“Fenton?” Huey whispered in disbelief, slowing to a halt at his friend's side, worry gnawing its way through the relief he had felt moments ago.

Fenton had buried his face in his knees, and his shoulders were shaking.

Fenton was crying.

He rarely ever cried. He was always so cheerful, so optimistic.

Huey bit his lip, before shuffling forwards.

“Hey, Fenton, what's wrong?” He asked gently, placing a hand on Fenton’s back and rubbing it gently, like his uncle would do to comfort him and his brothers when they were little.

…

Fenton started on seeing his young friend suddenly standing beside him, rubbing his back.

“Oh! Hey, Huey.” He wiped a hand across his face and tried to plaster on a smile. “How-how was school, buddy?”

“Fenton.”

Huey's reply was sharp, and blunt - but not meant unkindly. He could tell the scientist was trying to hide the fact he was upset - illogical, really, as Fenton's eyes were puffy and red, and his face was streaked with tears.

“You don't have to hide that you're upset from me.” Huey said, softly this time, his hand still rubbing Fenton's back. “You're my best friend, you can tell me what's wrong.”

“Heh,” Fenton let out a sigh, giving Huey a small, watery smile. “You're good at this.”

“Oldest sibling, comes with the territory,” Huey smiled, before he frowned in concern. “Did something happen today?”

“More like a culmination of little things that happened, Huey,” Fenton exhaled, a hand cradling his teary cheek. “Sorry you had to see me like this…” He brushed a knuckle across his cheek, stubbornly trying to wipe away his tears.

“Hey, you've got nothing to be sorry for,” Huey reminded him, still rubbing his back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Fenton shuddered. “Not at the moment, Huey, I feel like I might cry again and I'm not ready for round two,” he said. “I appreciate your offer, though.”

“Ok. Would you like me to sit with you?” Huey asked instead. “We don't have to talk about it, or talk at all, even. I could just sit here with you… unless you want to be alone for a little while.”

Fenton pondered this, before patting the space next to him on the steps with a soft“I would appreciate that very much, Huey.”

Huey sat down, before wrapping an arm around Fenton, giving him a good squeeze.

He smiled warmly at his friend, and Fenton managed a watery smile in return.

…

The pair sat in silence, staring at the sparkling waters of Audubon Bay, feeling the breeze ruffle their hair.
Neither of them spoke for a good while, content to enjoy each other’s company.

It was a loud rumble from Fenton's stomach which - unintentionally - ended their silence.

“I take it you haven't eaten lunch today?” Huey asked worriedly.

“Nope, I was rushed off my feet and everything kept going wrong.” Fenton replied, dully. “The last straw was when I tried to do a demonstration for Mr. McDuck.”

Huey loved Uncle Scrooge to bits - but it didn't take much to imagine how he might react to an unfavourable situation, like a scientific demonstration going wrong.

“How badly did it go?” He asked, reluctantly.

“Bad enough that I nearly injured a Board Director and broke a window,” Fenton replied with a sigh.

“May I ask what project it was?” Huey asked.

“Just some silly, useless personal project that I thought could be revolutionary.” Fenton replied wearily. “I’m regretting taking it on, now. It's proven to be more trouble than it's worth.”

“I think work is getting to you,” Huey patted Fenton’s arm comfortingly.

“It is!” Fenton ran a hand through his hair. “Don't get me wrong, Hue, I love helping people, I love being Gizmoduck- but I'm exhausted. I've not had time to socialise, or conduct experiments, or-”

“Shh,” Huey patted Fenton’s arm again. “You definitely need a break. You're suffering from burnout.”

“I guess-” But he paused when Huey shoved the now-open, ever-present JWG in front of his face.

“Burnout symptoms.” Huey said gravely, tapping the page.

Fenton read through a bullet-pointed list, his heart sinking lower and lower as he realised his best friend was right.

“You need to take a breather, Fenton. I'm sure Duckburg will manage until you're better.” Huey said, gently. “I'm worried about you.”

Fenton softened at Huey’s words, and he pulled the kid in for a hug. “I know. I'm sorry for worrying you, little buddy. It's just… saving Duckburg is a huge responsibility, y’know?” He said. “I don't want to let anyone down.”

“I know, and you're doing great,” said Huey, warmly. “But you need to take a break to be the best you can be.”

Fenton almost looked relieved, as if he had been waiting for someone to give him permission to take a break.

Which he most likely had.

The realisation broke Huey's heart - his best friend worked so hard and sacrificed so much for the people of Duckburg and he didn't so much as think he deserved a day off?

…

“I almost forgot, I was going to show you my project.” Fenton said suddenly, startling Huey.

Despite himself, Huey's curiosity was piqued.

He watched as Fenton pulled out a table tennis racquet from his shirt pocket, tied to which was a small glowing blue orb.

“Is that a…?”

“It's a synthetic crystal.” Fenton replied. “Of my own creation.” He hit the ball, and it began bouncing - and stayed bouncing.

“That's amazing!” Huey exclaimed in delight.

“I wanted to create a new, sustainable energy source, so I created it. The trouble is, it's unstable.” Fenton admitted sheepishly.

“Is there a way to stabilise it?” Huey asked curiously, tilting his head to the side like a curious puppy.

“I need an equation to stabilise it, but I'm having trouble with working out what the equation is - I'm stumped.” He shrugged. “Like I've said, I've got so much going up here”- he tapped his forehead with his index finger - “I can't dedicate any brainpower to solving it right now.”

Huey just patted Fenton's arm again.

“And because it’s unstable, your uncle isn't happy with how its demonstration turned out… and he had some choice words to say on the matter.” Fenton concluded.

“But he's not one to stay angry for long.” Huey replied reassuringly. “His fuse burns out as quickly as it's lit.”

Fenton nodded wearily.

…

On hearing the box rustle in his bag, Huey had an idea how to cheer his friend up.

“I was saving these for the lab, but I think they're of better use here,” he grinned cheekily as he shrugged his backpack off and unzipped it, before pulling out the bakery box.

Fenton’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked at the box of glazed doughnuts Huey bought, and he smiled. “You didn't have to get them, Huey, I said I'll do that -”

“I don't mind.” Huey interrupted. “And anyway, if they help cheer you up, that's money well spent.” He added in a whisper. “Don't tell my Uncle Scrooge I said that in case he tries to argue otherwise.”

Fenton chuckled. “I won't. Thank you, Huey. I really do appreciate you doing this.” He smiled warmly at the young duckling before adding softly “mi mejor amigo. This… this means a lot to me.”

Huey beamed.

“Anything for you, Fenton.” he replied loyally, as he worked the tape of the box free before flipping the lid open, allowing the sugary smell to waft in the air.

Fenton grinned back. “They were definitely a good call,” he replied, as Huey offered him the box.

They grabbed a doughnut each and ate them in silence, staring at the sparkling waters of the bay.

“I could never tire of this bay,” Fenton sighed wistfully, leaning back on the steps. “Whenever I'm sad, or stumped, or just struggling, I like to come out here and just… collect my thoughts. Take some fresh air in.”

“Really? I just kinda grew up in the bay my whole life, on my uncle's boat. It was just water, day in, day out. We wanted to go to Cape Suzette and get away from boring old Duckberg.”

He caught Fenton's eye and sheepishly added, “Not that it's so boring now, meeting Uncle Scrooge, Webby, Launchpad and you.”

“And I'm all the more glad I met you, Huey,” Fenton grinned. “Without you, I would never have become Gizmoduck, and who knows where else I might be now?” He smiled tenderly. “Thank you, Huey. It's moments like this that make bearing the bad ones easier.”

“You're welcome,” Huey grabbed Fenton in another hug. “Do you feel ready to face my great uncle yet?”

“Not really, but I'll attempt to make amends,” Fenton replied bravely. “Once I do that, I'll go home and get some rest. I'm afraid our sunstone project will have to wait.” He added apologetically.

“Never mind, it can wait until things settle down. I'm just glad I could be here for you.” Huey smiled, shyly holding out a fist.

Fenton grinned and gave him a soft fist bump.

…

The pair devoured the rest of the doughnuts between them, and, after sitting staring at the boats sailing across the bay for another twenty five decided to start heading back in.

“I need to go downtown and pick up some birefringence beam splitters later this week. Would you want to come with me?” Fenton asked, brushing crumbs off his lap and scrambling to his feet, smiling affectionately as Huey, who had gotten to his feet first, grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet.

“Of course!” Huey replied eagerly, shuffling alongside Fenton.

“Great. I'll text you the details later,” Fenton smiled at Huey, holding the door open for him. “Better head back before we’re missed.”

Huey stepped back through the door, already missing the salty air of the bay. “Well, good luck with my Uncle Scrooge.”

Fenton nodded. “I'll be fine, Hue. Thank you.”

Chapter 4: First Aid for the Bullied

Chapter Text

Fenton still hadn't looked at the calculations he'd been asked to do by Dr. Gearloose.

He preferred brainstorming ideas or conducting experiments or - well, just about anything else - but he was the quickest of the lab team at calculations, due to his savant-like counting abilities.

Besides, he promised Dr. Gearloose his assistance, so he would provide it.
With a groan, he grabbed the pile of hastily scribbled calculations to be calculated.

He was the only one here, as Dr. Gearloose had a dentist appointment and left early, and he had no idea where Manny or Lil Bulb were, either.

Fenton was cross - he didn't appreciate Manny or Lil Bulb leaving him alone to deal with cleaning the lab up and the wretched calculations as well.

There was a soft whoosh behind him, and Fenton, almost at the end of his tether, snapped, “So, have you guys come back to help or are you just going to swan off again and leave me to -” he whirled around as he spoke, fully expecting to see Manny looming in the doorway, perhaps with Lil' Bulb on his shoulder.

Instead, a small duckling huddled by the doorframe, looking crumpled and forlorn, sniffling timidly, and looking ready to collapse. Dried blood marred the duckling’s feathers from face to knees, and a huge shiner throbbed on his right eye.

Fenton's eyes widened and he dropped his calculations in shock and horror when he realised his friend's Junior Woodchucks uniform was tattered and his sash torn; his hat was gone and badges, once neatly and expertly sewn on, had been violently ripped from the once-proud sash.

“Hue, what happened?” Fenton whispered in horror, darting across the room to the door.

Huey just shook his head, fighting back tears as he stared at the floor, shame and hurt burning in his eyes.

“Who did this to you?” Fenton asked carefully, getting down on his knee, to make eye contact with Huey, but Huey just shook his head - either he didn't know or he wasn't ready to say who did it yet.

Fenton's heart sank to his stomach.

“Does… Does your family know you're here? Do they… know about this?” He asked gently.

Another shake of the head.

Had he… had he walked home from a Junior Woodchucks meeting alone?

Fenton knew he was a sensible kid, but he usually went home with Launchpad - or Donald would get him sometimes. It wasn't like Huey to leave a Junior Woodchucks meeting and not tell his family about it.

Did Launchpad know Huey was safe?

He made a note to text his friend later, just in case. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. This was just… horrifying.

Who could do this to his best friend?

“Come sit down,” he gestured to a messy desk. “I'll get those injuries tended to and make you a hot cocoa, after, how does that sound?” He offered.

There was a pause, before a small, barely perceptible, nod came from the small duck.

Fenton nodded, relieved to have something to do - some way he could help his best friend.

… he could do this.

“Would you like me to carry you?” He offered kindly, his arms outstretched. “Your knees look really sore, buddy.”

Huey silently conceded to being picked up; so Fenton gently scooped Huey up in his arms, getting up to his feet.

He took a step towards Dr. Gearlooses's desk - and slipped on a page of the forgotten calculations. Fortunately, he managed to steady his balance before he fell and hit the floor - just as well, he didn't want to hurt poor Hue further.

He'll get them once he sits Huey down. The last thing he needed was to get into Dr. Gearloose’s bad books (again).

He skirted round the papers and to the seat, gently sitting Huey down before swiftly tidying them up, making a mental note to reorganise the papers later - as well as actually do the confounded calculations.

…

Fenton ran to the lab sink, where he grabbed a bowl of water, a clean cloth, and the lab's First Aid kit, its green hue a comforting sight. He grabbed an instant cooling pack, and deftly twisted it, as if he was wringing a wet rag, feeling it ‘snap’ in his hands before the cold began to kick in.

He gently applied it to Huey's bruised eye, who winced.

“You'll be OK,” soothed Fenton, patting Huey’s shoulder comfortingly. “Here, hold this to your eye while I clean you up, and tend to your wounds.”

Huey nodded mutely, wincing at the cold as he placed it over his purple eye, watching warily as the scientist dipped the rag in water and began working crusted blood out of Huey’s feathers with great patience;
murmuring kind words in both English and Spanish.

…

Once Fenton finished cleaning his friend's face and hands, he gave Huey’s knees a quick glance. They were badly grazed.

This scene was all too familiar to Fenton, who blinked back tears at Huey’s heartbreaking situation - and his own memories coming back with full force.

…

“Pollito, what happened to you?” his M’ma asked, horrified. An eight year old Fenton was in her arms in seconds.

“M’ma, Felix Towe was picking on me again.” He sniffed. “He was saying… saying horrible things about Papá.”

M'ma Cabrera was quiet. Her husband had passed away due to cancer only two weeks ago - after a painful, heartbreaking battle.

“What did he say?” She asked softly, though her voice cracked with grief.

Fenton sniffed.

“Pollito.” M'ma said gently, squeezing her son's shoulder.

“He said… said P'pa deserved to get sick and that if I'm not careful I'll end up like him.”

M'ma sighed - before squeezing Fenton's shoulder again. “Pollito, some people are just cruel and sad*stic enough to mock those who are ‘different.’”

She pulled him for a hug. “Your father fought long and hard to remain with us - to watch you grow up. His body just… grew too tired to fight. No one deserves to be so ill they have to fight for their life the way your father did - but he was a very brave man for fighting, regardless.”

She gazed into her son's eyes. “You have his courage, and inquisitive mind, my son.” She smiled tenderly. “Just remember that your dad loved you very much - and I'll love you for the both of us,” she vowed, squeezing his shoulder.

…

“Fenton, you… you don't think I'm weird, do you?” a small voice asked.

Fenton froze, holding the wet rag mid-air. His flashback had gone, Huey's voice like a stone hitting the surface of a pond.

Cold water dripped down his fingers and onto Huey’s knees, which he was tending to.

“Of course I don't think you're weird!” Fenton exclaimed, surprised Huey could ask such a thing. He watched Huey sigh in relief, and his heart twisted.

“May I ask what happened?” He asked carefully, a hand now on Huey’s shoulder. Unfortunately, he forgot about the wet rag until Huey glared at him, nodding to his now wet shoulder.

“Blath - sorry, bad time.” Fenton corrected, checking himself in case he accidentally activated the Gizmoduck armour, which was lying near the couch. “And sorry for getting your shoulder wet.” He added sheepishly, staring at the darkened shoulder.

“It's fine.” Huey sighed. “It'll dry. It's just-”

“H2O molecules.” Fenton winked at Huey.

It was a little joke between them - oje which Huey started, only meaning to wind up Dewey and Louie by calling common substances - such as water, salt, and vinegar - by their scientific names instead.

Fenton accidentally overheard the joke one time - and challenged Huey to a more advanced round, such as Mrs. Beakley’s bleaches, and fuel needed for Uncle Donald’s houseboat.

Since then, they would name more complex compounds between them, namely to annoy anyone else not as scientifically inclined. It also meant Huey unexpectedly aced chemistry (physics was his strongest science)

….

Fenton put the rag back in the bowl, and smiled gently at his best friend. "Why would you ever think I think you're weird, little buddy?”

Huey sighed. “It's Bully Beagle - he… he beat me up today at tonight's Junior Woodchucks meeting.” He explained quietly. “Called me names - like, freak and - and weird while he did so.” He rubbed his arm, tears forming in his eyes. He sniffed.

“He was ridiculing me for… this.” He flapped his hands. “I got excited about something Violet and I were talking about, and I started stimming, and he began calling me names. I tried to stand up for myself and tell him to leave me alone - but he and a friend of his jumped me when I was heading home.”

Fenton winced, memories better left unspoken having started bubbling to the surface.

…

He waved them aside, currently more eager to help his friend than deal with his own issues.

“Well, you're many things, Hue, but you're not what those kids say you are.” Fenton said, squeezing Huey's shoulder. “You're amazing! Why, you converted the suit's core processor before Dr. Gearloose and myself! You're so smart.”

“Really?”

“Of course! I'd be honoured to have you as my own intern one day, Huey.” Fenton smiled, and Huey managed a watery smile back.

“But more importantly, you're a great friend, because you had faith in Gizmoduck before I adopted that mantle, and you have faith in me and my inventions. I am both glad and honoured to know you.” He finished.

“You, you mean it?” Huey asked hopefully. A sparkle was slowly coming back to his youthful eyes, which gladdened the heart of the young scientist.

“Of course.” Fenton told him, smiling - and was rewarded by a smile from his young friend.

“Thanks Fenton.” Huey said quietly, but sincerely.

“Right, I'm just gonna finish cleaning the scrapes on your knees, and I'll make your cocoa.” Fenton said cheerfully, changing the subject.

“a
“I'm upset this happened to you, Huey,” he sighed, drumming his knuckle on his leg. “You don't deserve this - no kid does, of course.” He amended hastily.

“But?”

Fenton hesitated, not wanting to make this a ‘woe is me’ scenario, but also hoping sharing his own experience would help remind Huey he wasn't alone in knowing how bullying sucked.

“I've been in your shoes before, Hue,” the scientist admitted. “I was a little younger than you when my papá died, and kids made fun of me for it. It was mostly verbal bullying for me, but I… had one or two instances…” he shook his head, unwilling to proceed further, “The point is, I've walked in your footsteps before - these things are hard to forget.”

He took a deep breath, looking Huey in the eyes before continuing,

“Huey, it was my experiences that made me want to help people - keep them safe from those who bully and terrorise others. I may not have planned that path of my life, but it's one I don't regret taking.”

He put a hand on Huey's shoulder. “I'm sorry this happened to you, Huey, I really am. But I meant what I said before - you are an amazing person and the bestest friend I could ask for. You are so much more than this, y'hear me?”

He gave the shoulder a soft squeeze. “Bullying is awful, but we're here to remind you how wonderful and amazing you are, and what you can do one day, because we know you'll achieve so much.”

“I hear you.” Huey smiled, throwing his arms around Fenton. “Thank you - for everything. You're the best.”

Fenton felt his heart warm.

“You-you're welcome, Hue.” He smiled. “I think you should tell your family you're here, and about what happened to you.”

“I guess,” Sighed Huey. “I just wish there was a way to get this to stop. I was terrified, but seeing as this wasn't at school or at Junior Woodchucks, I don't know what to do or who to turn to.”

“You could've been seriously hurt today, Huey, or worse. I strongly advise taking this to the police. You can get your uncles or your m'ma to help you with that.”

Huey considered this. “I'll speak to Mom later.”

“Good. My M'ma and I can help you guys out if you want.” Fenton smiled reassuringly, before looking Huey over once more. “Just remember you're not alone, kiddo, and never will be.” He ruffled Huey’s fringe.

“I think you've made that clear, buddy,” Huey smiled gratefully. “Thanks for cleaning my injuries for me - though I do have a -” his face fell on remembering his sash was in tatters.

“Are… are all of the badges there?” Fenton asked.

Huey’s eyes went wide. “I'm missing two. I… I need to speak to Launchpad.”

“Worry about that later,” Fenton offered. “You need to take it easy, amigo.”

“OK.” Huey nodded.

“Well, good news is, that's your injuries taken care of,” Fenton told him.

“Thanks, Fenton,” Huey smiled graciously, wiping his eyes.

“Happy to help, Huey.” Fenton answered, as he got to his feet and brushed himself down. “I'm just gonna clear this up and make you that hot cocoa.” He winked mischievously. “I may have a couple leftover doughnuts in the fridge, too.”

“Of course you do,” Huey sighed affectionately. He had his phone out, ready to call his mom. At an encouraging nod from Fenton, he called her.

“I'll be back in a minute,” he said quietly, and left Huey to it.

Chapter 5: The Man from the Garage

Chapter Text

Nine year old Webby Vanderquack was curious - a mysterious man had moved into Scrooge McDuck’s garage earlier in the week.

This was a novelty to her, as she had never heard of anyone new moving into the mansion - despite the vastness of the place, all Webby remembered seeing her whole life was her granny, Mr. McDuck himself (occasionally) and Duckworth the butler, until he died a month ago.

Webby missed Duckworth - she liked him, even if Granny didn't seem to like him at all for some reason.

After all, he always acknowledged her politely, and with a smile, and he recommended books to her - books on mythology, warfare, medicines and cultures around the world.

Ever since he died - she suspected poison - the mansion felt as if it had gotten smaller, quieter.

It didn't help that Granny turned into some kind of bloodhound, constantly checking that neither her granddaughter nor her employer would fall victim to whatever happened to poor Duckworth.

…

She'd seen the new man in the garage once - he was younger than Duckworth had been - which was even younger than Mr. McDuck or her Granny.

Granny didn't seem too keen on him either. But she didn't seem on a lot of people - she could be put off by Mr. McDuck’s more sour moods.

It was this, and the fact she had never met anyone new before, that made her nervous to meet the man in the garage.

…

He was tall, muscular, and redheaded. He was dressed like a pilot, much to Webby's confusion. Still, that didn't bother her too much, as she had bigger fish to fry, as it was.

Webby trailed him for a week, and, whilst imposing to watch, he seemed kind - he always greeted Granny politely, and was often seen chatting amiably to Mr. McDuck.

…

It had been Day 3 when she saw Mr. McDuck give Launchpad a rare smile. “You seem tae be settlin’ in, McQuack,” he said.

“I am, Mr. McDee, sir!” Launchpad grinned boyishly. “Duckburg makes a nice change for me, and I'm enjoying working for you!”

“Good tae hear, lad,” Mr. McDuck replied with a friendly nod.

Webby noted this interaction with interest.

She was well aware that Mr. McDuck had been fond of Duckworth, and he had been reluctant to hire anyone to replace him.

Not that he needed to to begin with - Granny had managed for a while, but driving him to board meetings and back home was impossible for her.

Hence the ad for the personal driver in the local newspaper - a copy of which had made it onto Webby’s new corkboard, along with a photo of its successful applicant; a drawing of herself and Granny; a picture of Duckworth with a bunch of hand drawn flowers next to it, and some research she had started on Mr. McDuck.

So far, she found out that he had a nephew, Donald Duck, and, after a very, very vigorous dig, found mention of Donald's younger sister, Della Duck.

She found Donald’s Navy transcripts, photos of Donald - and even mentions of his three nephews, mere eggs when Donald and Scrooge last spoke nine years ago.

But she knew nothing about the boys, and realised with sadness that she likely never would.

Nor would they know her.

…

When her research stalled - Della had been seemingly wiped from existence.

She did note, with some interest, that their regular mailman had been replaced by someone much older- apparently, a junk letter addressed to Della turned up, sending Mr. McDuck flying into such a fierce fit of rage that he decided to buy the post office the very next day - and sack the mailman.

Webby wondered if he'd been murdered as well. That's what she would have done, if she was in Mr. McDuck’s shoes.

But she couldn't be sure, and Granny refused to spill any of his secrets (‘Best not poke a sleeping bear, dear,’ she had said, rather cryptically)

So Webby refocused her efforts on Mr. Launchpad McQuack - the name of the man in the garage.

She found his mail when looking for any more mail addressed to Della. (Mr. McDuck had Granny burn the junk letter before she could get her hands on it.)

(She didn't steal his mail, thank you very much, but she had at least found his name. It took too long for her to work that out. Granny would've tutted in disappointment.)

She wrote it on the corkboard within the hour, next to the photo and job advert.

…

What she did find was that he wasn't very open about his family, like Mr. McDuck.

Webby deduced that Launchpad had to have suffered hurt at some point, as he seemed to view Scrooge as a father figure - always seeking praise and sharing exciting news with him, no matter how mundane it was.

What surprised her was that he didn't seem to entirely mind this - answering questions and even sharing tidbits of his prospector days, which Launchpad seemed to find cool, even if he didn't entirely understand everything.

Perhaps she could get to know them both better in the future.

…

It had been Day 5 when she was accidentally caught by Launchpad, snooping in his living quarters.

(Granny would have been shaking her head in disapproval)

“Oh, hey, you looking for me?”

Webby jumped, accidentally knocking an action figure of a duck dressed in a big hat and purple cape onto the floor.

“Darkwing, no!!” He yelled, and swooped in to ‘save’ his action figure - which only served to confused Webby.

“Dark-what?” She asked.

“Darkwing Duck - my all-time favourite TV series!” Launchpad beamed at her. “It's about this superhero who goes out fighting crime and… stuff.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, before adding, “Oh, before I forget, the name’s Launchpad McQuack.” and he held out a huge hand. “What's yours, kiddo?”

“We… Webby Vanderquack.” She said shyly, taking his hand.

To her surprise, his handshake was very gentle.

He was smiling - not at all cross by the fact that she had been snooping in his living space.

“Nice to meet you, Webby!” Launchpad winked. “Mrs. B. mentioned you after I got hired, but I didn't get to say hi to you before.” He said sheepishly. “Hadn't seen you around, so I thought you were maybe shy or something.”

“You… like kids?” Webby was surprised - it was only Granny, and Duckworth on occasion, who seemed to enjoy her company.

The few times they crossed paths, Mr. McDuck was always polite, but rarely friendly.

“Yep!” Launchpad grinned. “I have a little sister, you see, and I love her to bits. I quite like being a big brother figure for kids so I try to be approachable.” He said with a sheepish grin.

Webby smiled back.

She saw a small plane model nearby, on a dresser, and asked him about it.

“Oh! This?” He asked, holding up the model. “I'm not just a personal driver - I'm a pilot, too!”

That explained his outfit.

It turned out that he knew a great deal about planes, and flying. He told her about his stint as a stunt pilot - something that Granny warned her never to mention to Mr. McDuck.

Webby deduced it was something to do with Della.

“I was gonna watch some Darkwing Duck, if you wanna join?” Launchpad offered. “I got cookies!”

Webby could never resist cookies. “Chocolate chip?” She asked, hopefully.

“Triple chocolate chip,” Launchpad replied, solemnly.

Webby’s eyes widened in delight. She had never heard of triple chocolate chip cookies before!

“I'm in!”

Launchpad offered her a fist - to which she suddenly shied away.

Why was he suddenly going to punch her?!

“What's wrong?” asked Launchpad, worried. “I only wanted to give you a fist bump.”

“Fist… bump?”

“You've never done a fist bump?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

“No…?”

“Ill show you!” Launchpad said, cheerfully. “Hold your fist out towards me,”

Webby obeyed, but her training was telling her she should punch him.

She didnt want to - he was nice, and tryijg to teach her somethjng new.

“So, i do this -” he moved his fist, very carefully, yowards Webby, and his knuckle made contact with hers.

“That's a fist bump,” he told her.

“That's… it…?”

“Pretty much,” shrugged Launchpad. “Sometimes people like to do this -” he repeated the gesture, but with an explosion sound effect - “it's like a plane crash!” He added, a little too eagerly. He switched his TV on and put on an episode - the first one, Webby presumed, before grabbing the cookies.

…

A week went by. Webby decided she liked Launchpad - he was a good friend, and childlike, which made hanging out with him fun. She often smuggled pieces of her granny's homebaking for him, and he taught her aeroplane mechanics (she'd been curious since she found out he was a pilot).

She still would've liked a friend her own age, and had wondered about one day meeting Mr. McDuck’s great-nephews - but Launchpad was a great friend to have.

Chapter 6: Scrooge's Apology

Chapter Text

Having defeated Magica De Spell, the triumphant Duck clan decided to have a late-night swim in the Money Bin before calling it a night. But they had barely been there an hour when Scrooge noticed his nephews flagging.

Beakley and Donald looked exhausted, as did Fenton (who was in the Gizmoduck armour) and Launchpad looked worse for wear.

But it was Webby he was most worried about; although she was clearly relieved that Magica was gone, and her friends/family were safe, she was also looking very downcast and had barely spoken.

Huey, ever the big brother, and Dewey, who was closest to her out of the triplets, were both looking considerably worried about her.

Scrooge knew that Webby had lost a dear friend today, and he felt sick thinking back to how Magica had casually discarded her ‘niece’ - he was ashamed for not realising Lena was being abused and needed help.

He hoped she would suffer karma for treating a child’s life with such disdain and cruelty, and he vowed justice for Lena- and Webby too, as she had been hurt the most by both Lena’s betrayal and by her loss in the fight against Magica.

But he had acted no better, telling Webby she was ‘not family' back on the Sunchaser. He had been haunted by grief and guilt over his mistake and vowed to help Webby through her trauma.

It would not undo his cruel words, but he could prove he wanted to make amends.
He had to take the first step in showing that he, unlike Magica, valued family and cared about all who were in it… blood connections or no.

“Webbigail?”

“Yes, Mr. McDuck?” Asked Webby. The use of his honorific made Scrooge wince, remembering what had happened hours on their attempted vacation to Monacrow, and their precarious misadventure with the Sunchaser and a precipice.

“This is a family matter! You are NOT family!”

His cold, angry voice rang in his mind - those words had haunted him when everyone left him, shortly before Magica’s ambush.
Scrooge brushed the memory aside, in order to focus on his surrogate great niece

“May I… may I have a word with you in private, lass, when we return to the mansion?” He asked, sneaking a look at Beakley. His faithful friend/housekeeper merely nodded once, which meant she was alright with him speaking to her granddaughter again.

“… of course, Mr. McDuck.” Sighed Webby.
Scrooge was relieved Webby was willing to speak with him at least, but he felt his stomach curl and coil at the horrible memory of telling sweet Webby that she wasn’t family.

Regardless of what he had said to her before, she was family to him - and he was determined to make things right with his surrogate great-niece.
….

Once they had returned to the mansion, Donald and Beakley checked everyone for injuries.

Launchpad had taken a fair beating, but he was alive, and would heal. Fenton was fine, but neurotic at having lost the Gizmosuit to his shadow and potentially endangering the family. Donald and Beakley themselves, along with the kids, had suffered bumps and bruises from the fight, but, fortunately, they were minor.

Webby was bruised from being flung into Scrooge’s money, but she remained silent and solemn as her grandmother checked her for injuries.

The boys were concerned for Webby, considering she had lost Lena in the battle, and they wanted to be with her, but she just told them she’ll rest once she had a chat with Scrooge.

“Ok, just, don’t push yourself,” Huey advised. “As Woodchuck Rule No. 87 states, don’t push yourself so hard that you’ll wear yourself out.”

"Yeah, Webs,” Said Dewey, giving his best friend/surrogate sister a quick hug.
Louie said nothing, but he squeezed her hand supportively.
….

Scrooge caught sight of his nephews giving him a warning glare, and he sighed, wondering how well this would go down. He invited Webby up to his study for their chat, where they would be guaranteed privacy.

And although she had acquiesced to allowing Scrooge to speak with Webbigail, Beakley warned him not to keep her long, as she was clearly exhausted and still trying to keep herself from falling to pieces over Lena’s sacrifice.

Scrooge agreed - and told her he'd be no more than 10 minutes.
….

Now, Scrooge sat in his chair, Webby facing him. He blinked at her, trying to think where to begin this conversation. “Lass, what I said back on the Sunchaser…” he began, awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head.

“… You are NOT family!”

‘She is!’ Scrooge shot back in his mind. ‘She is family! She’s as precious to me as my blood family and nothing you say can make me think otherwise!’

Scrooge winced.

He wished his thoughts would shut up for a moment. He needed to think of how to deliver a heartfelt apology.

“… I… I had no right to interfere.” Webby said, her hand encircling her wrist. “I’m not her daughter, I shouldn’t have said anything, sir…”

Scrooge’s heart broke at the honorific.

Heavenly hollyhock, what had he done?

“I… I had no idea that Della would steal the rocket early, or that she would get caught in a cosmic storm,” he said, slowly.

"I… I really did try to get her back. She’s my niece, my little sister’s daughter, and that makes her a greater treasure than the contents of my Money Bin.” His eyes glistened with tears.

“I thought the rocket wasn’t a sensible gift choice,” Said Webby, to which Scrooge snorted. “But I knew that you wanted to find her. After all, I’ve seen what you’ve done for us… even me and my granny, considering we’re not related.”

“And there’s Launchpad, Gyro, Quackfaster, Fenton…” Added Scrooge, quietly. “They’re also like family… like ‘here are the crazy cousins’ type of family.” He smiled, and Webby smiled too.

“I only wanted to give Della the stars…” he said wistfully, “just as she wanted. And I had no qualms doing so, as she was adding some new stars to our own little universe.”

He sighed dreamily. “But I… I had no idea Della would do that… and by the time I did, it was too late.”
He paused, realizing he had strayed from his original point.

“Point is, lassie, I was hurt at the boys lashing out at me the same way Donald had after Della’s disappearance. Della’s disappearance haunts, and will continue to haunt, generations of the Duck family. And I instantly put up my defenses, trying to guard my heart against the pain… but, in doing so, I only succeeded in hurting you greatly… I’m so sorry, sweet Webbigail.”

He reached a hand across his desk, and allowed his hand to touch her shoulder. “I was hurting, remembering my fallout wi’ Donald when the boys lashed oot - but that doesnae excuse my words.”

“I… I can understand why you did that, Mr. Scrooge,” Said Webby, still forlorn. “And I… I hold no ill will towards you. I only interfered with the business of Della and the Spear of Selene to help the boys find out about their mom…”

"I- I appreciate that, lassie,” Said Scrooge. “It shows you care about the boys a great deal.”

“They’re family to me, Mr. McDuck,” Said Webby. Her eyes glistened, no doubt recalling the words Scrooge had hurled in her face.

“I had no right to say that to ye, my lassie,” Said Scrooge, ashamed. “You are family, no matter what anyone says. And I’m sorry for what I said.”

He gazed into her hopeful, teary eyes, and gave a small, tear-filled smile. “I know an apology is a pathetic offering after such cruelty, but I’ve never felt so ashamed in all my life, sweet lass, and I’ve had plenty o’ reasons to feel ashamed.”

He lifted her chin with his hand. “I hope you can forgive me, Webby… and I can understand if ye’d rather not after what I said to ye, but ye can call me ‘Uncle
Scrooge’ again. There’s nae need for “Mr. McDuck” round here.” He tried to smile, but his face fell, worrying what Webby would say.

….

Webby paused. Normally, she’d forgive him in a heartbeat, but this, along with Magica’s cruelty towards her in the battle, along with Lena’s death had left her so emotionally drained that she couldn’t process her thoughts or emotions properly, so they all swirled in her head like a storm.

“Lena was just a shadow! How pathetic of you!”

‘Lena…’ thought the young duck, her eyes tearing up again at the memory of her awesome, cool, loving best friend, dying so young at the hands of Magica.

It didn’t matter - it never would have mattered that Lena had been a shadow.

The connection between the two girls was real, and her heart felt like it had been ripped out of her chest and disintegrated in dark magic the moment Magica attacked Lena.

“Scrooge…” she said, her voice cracking up. She felt that he was letting him down, being unable to carry on.
….

“Scrooge…”

‘It’s a start,’ he mused to himself thoughtfully. “Yes, my dear?” he asked her tenderly, giving her shoulder a brief, loving squeeze.

"I… I’m sorry, I’ve got so much to take in…” she said quietly, her eyes filling with tears. “Lena’s gone… the truth about Della… Magica… and…” she began to cry, unable to hold on any longer.

In a heartbeat, Scrooge had gone around his desk and was hugging the young duck close to him. “Webby… ye dinna need to apologize, lassie, you’ve been through enough.” He cooed, rubbing her back. “I’m sorry about Lena, I really am. I liked that girl.”

“Magica, for the hell you’ve put both these innocent lassies through, I’ll ensure the next time we meet will be our last…” He vowed to himself, his hold tightening protectively over Webby.

“Webby, I’m sorry this happened, but we’re all here for you, and will help you through it.” He assured her kindly, moving back a little so he could make eye contact with her.

“We’re a family, we’ll pull through this together and get justice for Lena, somehow.”

A sniffle.

"And you can take your time on deciding whether you’d like to call me uncle or not,” added the older duck, taking her hand and squeezing it.

"I see you need time to process what you’ve been through, so please, take that time you need to heal. But whatever you call me, I’m here for you, my dear, and always will be.”
Webby merely buried her face into Scrooge’s shoulder, her fingers desperately grasping at his coat like it was a lifeline. Scrooge held her close and rocked her gently as she sobbed, her hot, salty tears soaking his coat and neck. But he paid the wetness no heed.

“Shh, there, there, Webbigail, it’ll be alright, lassie. I’ve got you now.” He soothed gently, rocking her. “Ye’re alright, I’ll look after ye. We all will.” He promised, ruffling her hair tenderly.

He did note it was a bit longer than the 10 minutes he promised Beakley - but he figured she'd understand. He wouldn't chase her out.

Chapter 7: Aprendiendo la Tabla Periódica

Chapter Text

“So, what's Spanish for hydrogen?” Huey asked curiously, a pencil in hand, thoughtfully tapping a blank page in his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook.

“Hidrógeno.” Fenton answered smoothly. He repeated it, slowly this time, and asked Huey to try to say it back to him.

“Don't worry too much about pronunciation right now.” He added kindly.

Huey took a couple of attempts, tripping over the syllables, but managed it after try 3.

“Not bad,” Fenton nodded approvingly. “Next is Helio, for Helium.”

“Easy!” and Huey repeated it beautifully.

“Fantastic!” Fenton was grinning from ear to ear.

Next was Litio, for Lithium, Berilio, for Beryllium, and Boro, for Boron, and so on. Huey managed very well, and soon, they had gone over all the elements in Group 1.

“Why don't we go over the ones we've done so far?” Fenton suggested, before Huey could ask what the Spanish for sodium was.

“OK,” replied Huey, grinning from ear to ear.

…

Fenton had to admit, it was fun having Huey around the house - the kid had come to visit him in the hospital shortly after he got blown up saving Duckburg from an exploding Core Processor from the Gizmoduck armour.

The pair had bonded over science, as well as glazed doughnuts - and even following Fenton's discharge, Huey continued to visit Fenton at his house and see how he was recovering from his injuries.

He was able to shuffle about, now, from his room (where he spent most of his time laid up in bed, like right now) to the living room to the kitchen - but leaving the house was still too overwhelming to even consider.

He could pick up a mug of coffee (just) and he could write for short periods - but his body was still stiff from the cast.

Huey had - without complaint - helped Fenton with some of his physio exercises, and also ran little errands, like fetching him coffee (which he was surprisingly apt at making, for a boy of ten).

In return for Huey's help, and company, Fenton had offered to teach the boy the Periodic Table - in Spanish - purely for academia's sake.

Huey had, of course, only been too delighted at such an opportunity.

They'd only started today, as Fenton didn't feel quite so exhausted trying to just get by.

…

They made a little game, where Fenton stated a random element (either in English or Spanish) and Huey had to state the corresponding translation.

The kid was quick to learn, and soon he could recite the whole of Group 1 in Spanish. It wasn't quite as flawless as Fenton's - but it was pretty good for a non-Spanish speaker.

'Former non-Spanish speaker.' Fenton mentally corrected.

“Could we do Group 2 now?” Huey asked gleefully.

Fenton pondered his friend's request - he was eager for some mental stimulation, not being able to work at the lab for the time being was driving him up the wall with boredom, and holding books for long periods was not possible yet.

However, he was feeling fatigued, again, and a little irritable as a result - not necessarily enough to be annoyed with Huey, but he did need some peace and quiet soon.

…

Huey paused, surveying his friend more closely. “Actually, it doesn't matter, you look tired,” he said sheepishly. “I should leave you be.” He began plumping up Fenton's pillow, clearly trying to distract himself from his embarrassment.

Fenton softened, his irritability fading away like mist with the rising sun.

“How about I teach you the Spanish for sodium up to aluminium?” He offered. “I'd go as far as phosphorus- that's a bit more challenging, but-”

“Are you sure?” Huey asked, hesitantly. “I don't want to be a -” he trailed off.

“I do want to keep going, and I think I can hold out a little longer - to aluminium at least.” Fenton smiled, leaning back against his newly plumped up pillow before ruffling Huey's hair affectionately.

The gesture was a little rougher than intended, which displeased Huey, but he reminded himself Fenton was still recovering, and only meant the gesture a kind one.

“So, the Spanish for sodium is Sodio,” Fenton said, startling Huey from his thoughts. His pencil danced across the page as he made note of this, before nodding.

“Magnesio is magnesium.” Fenton continued, his voice sounding more weary as he yawned. Maybe it was just as well he didn't say he'd go as far as phosphorus.

“and aluminium is -” another yawn, followed by a bleary “Aluminio,”

Huey finished writing these two words in his JWG, along with the translations. He wasn't sure if the spelling for some of these were correct, but Fenton would keep him right.

But, he smiled on hearing soft snores. He looked up to see that Fenton had indeed nodded off, still sitting up.

Shaking his head affectionately at his friend, Huey carefully extracted the cover from under him before tenderly draping it around Fenton’s shoulders, doing his best to protect him from getting cold.

M'ma Cabrera would be back from her shift soon - she'd be better able to help a sleeping Fenton lie down than he.

…

Admiring his handiwork, he decided to sit in the living room and read a Jules Veery novel that he borrowed from the school library earlier that day - just something quiet to do whilst his friend got some much needed sleep.

He just pulled his book out of his bag when he heard a cheery “Hola, Rojo!”

He jumped. “Oh, hey, M'ma Cabrera.” He said sheepishly. “How was work?”

“Ah, too quiet.” She grumbled. “The boss was being an absolute pain, again.” She smiled at Huey. “And how are you, Pequeño Rojo?”

“Fine,” Huey replied. “Fenton was teaching me the Periodic Table - in Spanish.” He added proudly.

“Was he now?” She hung up her blazer before sitting down on the sofa. “How far did you boys get?”

“Aluminium.” Huey told her.

“Ah, Aluminio,” she replied, catching Huey off guard.

“Do you know it?” He asked. “The Periodic Table?”

“Snatches.” She replied. “I heard Fenton learning the Periodic Table in Spanish when he was younger,” she explained. “Some are straightforward and everyday, like Oro, for gold.”

“We haven't gotten that far yet!” Huey protested, clapping a hand over his ears, causing her to laugh.

“Don't worry, Rojo, I won't tell,” she winked at him. “And how's Fenton?”

“He's fine - sleeping actually,” Huey replied.

“My poor Pollito,” M'ma replied sympathetically. “He's been having a hard time sleeping, you know, his body is still very sore and he's finding most of his sleeping positions uncomfortable.”

Huey nodded. Fenton had vented - once or twice - about being too sore to sleep all night and either being too tired in the day, or sleeping too much.

“He's remarkably resilient, but not a very good patient.” she grinned. “I'm glad I'm not a doctor!”

Huey chuckled.

He liked coming here - not only did he enjoy Fenton’s company and saw him as the older brother he didn't know he wanted - but M’ma had proved to be a great mother figure as well - providing a maternal balm on a scarred heart.

“I'd best go check on him, myself,” M’ma Cabrera said warmly, “and then it'll be time for Patos!”

Huey sighed quietly. He had hoped to read his Veery novel in peace and quiet, but not with the TV in the background.

M'ma noticed the book in his hands and smiled. “I'm sure Fenton won't mind if you'd want to sit in his room and read.” She said, quietly.

“Are you sure?”

“Sí, he trusts you.” she answered. “And I know you won't disturb him.”

Huey agreed, and thanked her before the two set off to check up on him.

Chapter 8: Breakthrough Over Breakfast

Chapter Text

Fenton grimaced as he awoke to a stiff neck and a sound coming from the kitchen.

Glancing round, he recognised he had - rather embarrassingly - fallen asleep in the Gizmoduck armour standing up behind his front door.

Minus the helmet, which lay on the floor next to his wheel.

Furthermore, he was reeking of his own sweat and body odour.

He was about to contemplate a shower when he heard the soft hiss of the stove turning on.

M'ma should be at work right now, so whoever was in here was likely an intruder.

Fenton decided to forgo the hempel in favour of heading to the kitchen to catch the intruder out.

But what he didn't expect was for Gandra Dee to be cooking eggs and bacon in a frying pan.

“Gandra…?!” He spluttered in astonishment.

…

Gandra whistled round, frying pan in her hand. “Oh, morning, Suit,” she said casually.

“What- What are you doing in my house?!” He protested.

“Nice digs, by the way,” Gandra said lightly, turning back to the stove. “I made coffee if you want some. And I brought milk.” She added.

“You have some nerve, to show up here and act like you live here,” he hissed.

“And you have some nerve, stinking up the hallway.” Gandra retorted. “You're practically marinating in your BO at this point.”

“What do you want?” Fenton snapped.

“Breakfast.” she shrugged. “I made pancakes as well, if you prefer.”

Fenton glanced at the table, where the coffee things had been laid out, along with a plate of pancakes.

“This is… surprisingly domestic of you.” He said, running an armoured hand along the back of his chair.

“Be grateful I'm too hungry to consider throwing the frying pan at your head!” Gandra replied, irked.

Fenton rolled his eyes. He didn't know what to do about Gandra Dee, but he knew he didn't want her here.

“Look, are we going to talk, or what?”

“What is there to say?” Fenton challenged. “You betrayed me, broke my heart-”

“I also helped you stop Beaks and gave you the stupid equation you needed!” Gandra countered, flipping the bacon and eggs a little too aggressively. “And I'm even making you breakfast!”

“-which you broke into my house to do!” Fenton threw up his hands in despair. “I give up, Gandra, you're impossible.”

“And yet,” Gandra said, softly this time, “you like me like that,”

As much as Fenton hated to admit it, a part of him was still attracted to Gandra.

Despite being a ‘bad’ person, she wasn't actually so; just brilliant and brash and in with the wrong crowd.

Fenton was well aware of what was going on, and he hated that Gandra knew his feelings for her as well.

“It's a pity you stink,” Gandra replied dryly, dishing out two plates of bacon and eggs, with a nod to the pancakes, before pouring herself a black coffee. She nodded to the table and winked at Fenton.

“Was that… Some kind of proposition?” Fenton blushed.

Gandra laughed.

“Oh Suit, you're so delightfully naive.”

“Naive to trust you, perhaps.” Fenton snipped.

Gandra stiffened at the remark, focusing on stabbing a rasher of bacon with her fork.

Satisfied, Fenton also pierced some bacon onto his fork and took a bite.

It was actually delicious.

“This… this bacon is exceptional.” He said, with his mouth partially full.

Gandra did manage a smile at that.

“Well, glad to see that my cooking exceeds expectations.” She said, quietly.

“It does,” Fenton agreed, helping himself to a pancake. It felt soft and fluffy in his hand, and he was convinced this would taste just as good.

The two ate in silence, Fenton wondering all the while of this was some weird date, or a F.O.W.L trap, or some bizarre mix of the two.

“Relax, I'm not here to trap you or steal your stupid Gizmotech.” Gandra waved a hand dismissively at the metal-muscled duck she was sitting across from.

“Rude,” Fenton muttered. Speaking louder this time, he added, “Then, what are you here for?”

Gandra shrugged. “I wanted to see you.” She said, simply.

“You… wanted to see me?”

“Yeah,” Gandra said, though a mouthful of egg. “I wanted to see you. Is that illegal?”

“Well, no, but-”

“But-?”

Fenton just shrugged. “Well, I wanted to say I didn't want to see you - but 1, that's not entirely true, and 2, you're in my kitchen, and you made breakfast.”

“Yes, as we've established,” Gandra put her fork down. “I do have something to ask you, as well.”

Fenton raised an eyebrow at her, taking a sip of coffee.

Gandra sighed. “I… I need help leaving F.O.W.L.” She said at last.

Fenton almost - almost - choked on his coffee.

“Leave F.O.W.L?!” He exclaimed, uncertain if he'd heard that right.

“Yes, leave F.O.W.L.” Gandra snapped. “I only joined as they could give me resources and funding to do my experiments.” She slumped in her chair. “When I joined, I thought I'd just be, well, doing this,” she removed a glove, exposing her nanite-ridden hand. “Not… endangering people, or-”

“What did you expect?!” Fenton asked incredulously.

“I wasn't expecting to be on the front line, so to speak.” Gandra said curtly, getting to her feet. “Perhaps it was a mistake coming here,” she said angrily.

“wait.” Fenton held up a hand. “If you - well, left F.O.W.L for ever, what would you do? You need resources to work.”

“Guess I'll just have to find somewhere,” Gandra said with a shrug. “Labs don't just fall out of the sky.”

Fenton exhaled softly - and was suddenly hit with a crazy - no, nigh-on impossible idea.

“What about clouds?” He suggested, with a smile.

Gandra just gave him a look that strongly implied she thought he'd lost his mind.

“I know, I know, but, hear me out,” he said, pushing his coffee and plate to the side just in case. “so, I work with computers a lot and often help Mr. McDuck with any computer issues his company has.”

“Your point?”

“We could create a lab in a virtual Cloud!” Fenton said excitedly. “Think of the possibilities and impossibilities - as closely intertwined as a DNA helix!”

…

Gandra was dumbfounded at the idea. On the one hand, it was a large scale idea, bound to be expensive and difficult to set up.

On the other hand, it would solve some of her problems. And it might even save other brilliant young minds from being exploited by evil people like Mark Beaks and sinister organisations like F.O.W.L - the only people who had been eager enough to exploit the destructive aspect of her work.

“You know, that might just work,” she said softly. “But it won't be easy.”

“No, but I'll help you get out from F.O.W.L.” Fenton promised. “I know our date/not a date was a disaster, but I can see you really do want out. So I'll help you.”

“Thank you,” said Gandra, relieved. “But this means you have to keep our project - and me - secret. It's imperative if I am to have any hope of escape.”

Fenton nodded, realising as he did so that would mean he couldn't even confide in M'ma, or Huey about any of this.

They would've given him advice, and Huey would've gotten a nerd kick out of the idea of a virtual lab.

But Fenton had made a vow, and come what may, he had to stick by it.

“Very well, Gandra, I will keep all of this a secret. Including this meeting.” He added.

Gandra nodded. “I better go, before I'm missed, but, you still have my number?”

Fenton nodded. “I did block it after our date though. I'll unblock it.”

“When you do, text me Dovelace, and nothing else,” Gandra instructed. “Just so I know it's you.”

Fenton agreed.

“Thank you so much,” she went round to kiss Fenton on the cheek, and then grimaced.

“I suggest you finish breakfast and take a shower,” she said wryly, grabbing a pancake.

“Wait - Gandra, do you want to take some bacon and eggs for your pancake?” Fenton had produced some tin foil and held it aloft.

“Genius.” Gandra grinned. “I look forward to working on this project with you, Suit.”

“And I look forward to working with you as well,” Fenton replied, surprised at how much he meant that, when, earlier today, he had wanted nothing to do with her.

“Take care, Suit,”

“You too, Gandra Dee.”

Fenton watched as Gandra stuffed the pancake with bacon and hurried out of the door, leaving him alone with his thoughts.