Chapter Text
"Don't worry," Doofus purred. "It'll be fun."
Louie shivered. The breath on his neck from the older boy and the vibrations from his bill sent trembles down his spine. His hands unconsciously found each other in his hoodie pocket, twisting together as an anxious fidget when he felt his collar being tugged on. He swallowed hard at the warm tongue that met his feathers.
He didn't want this. He didn't want any of this. All he wanted was a cool new friend who happened to be rich through inheritance, someone he could rely on and relate to someday, someone who understood his desire for the easy life. He never expected this to be where his siblingless day wound him up.
Things had seemed so good this morning. Making the plans for today the night before had him excited - he hadn't been truly excited in a long time. Arriving at the Drake family's front door was only slightly intimidating, his mood too perfect to be tarnished by a potentially overly spoiled kid and his awesome tree house. It wasn't until he actually met this kid that his spirits dampened.
As soon as he layed eyes on Doofus Drake, Louie felt something in his chest fall to his stomach, as if telling him to ride the elevator back downstairs and leave. As usual, his common sense was outweighed by his excitement over the different activities and a new friend, and his general greed, and he promptly ignored the pull. Even when Doofus showed himself and said things to make him question his visit. The gift of the golden bracelet was odd and made him pause with confusion, but he ultimately didn't care about how weird it was, he just wasn't expecting it.
He knew it was a mistake to accept the strange gift once it was holding him hostage on the floor. The unknown force keeping the bracelet on the floor and his wrist in the bracelet was new and he didn't know what to do about it. When Doofus explained his plan to keep him, like some object, Louie wanted to cry. Of course, he didn't. He couldn't show weakness in a situation like this, not when he was at such a disadvantage.
Then Doofus ordered his father to barricade the door, his only escape. He then let the magnetism ware off and Louie was free. He was on his feet in seconds, dashing about the large room. He hardly payed he broken glass on the floor any mind when it cut the bottoms of his feet, digging into his flesh like dull knives. He was too pumped up on adrenaline and panic to notice the trail of blood he left with every splattering step.
He frantically searched all the walls and pedestals for a secret lever, or hidden button, or dent signifying a trap door, anything to help him escape. He hated the way Doofus and his parents did nothing to stop him, only watching him with dead eyes, implying there really was no way out.
He still refused to cry. The tears threatened him, taunted him with the reminder of his sensitive nature and the weight of the situation. Reality was staring him in the face, and he just wasn't buying it. He was not trapped, he was not helpless, he was not about to spend the rest of his life as a slave for this spoiled brat.
He hadn't even noticed he'd stopped running until he opened his eyes to the wall opposite the front door. It was mere inches from his scrunched bill, left barren after their earlier rampage of destruction. He wasn't sure how long he'd stood there before he heard feet behind him.
And now, here he was, lured into a bribe he never agreed to. Violation for his freedom. He never said yes. He never planned to. He'd rather find his own way out. He'd even rather his brothers find him and tease him for the rest of their lives for how blind he had been than do this.
Doofus stopped pulling on his collar, instead slithering his arms around his middle. One of his hands pulled his from his pocket, the other just holding him securely to his chest. He lifted his trembling hand to the side of his head, planting a kiss to his knuckles. His breath hitched when the other boy's bill moved to his neck to deliver more unwanted pecks.
His other hand, still in his pocket, found the smooth surface of his phone screen and he suddenly felt very stupid. He could have used his few seconds of panicked freedom to contact his brothers or his uncles, to send a distress text or something, to use their family's personal 'I'm in danger and need unsuspicious help right now' word that he'd thought he learned by heart by now. He and his brothers all reestablished the use of the word before splitting up that morning, even if none of them expected any need to use it.
But that's just it; you never expect it could happen to you.
Louie finally felt the tears in his eyes spill quietly down his cheeks. He closed his eyes tight, squirming uncomfortably in the arms of his captor. He felt his hoodie being slowly lifted from his waist, his hand released but still frozen awkwardly beside him. His other hand was pulled from his pocket, allowing the much older boy to lift the green fabric up to his chest. He shuddered at the feeling of his feathers exposed to the open air of the room, hating how unsafe the lack of a shirt made him feel.
It had been that way for as long as he could remember. He'd always had a strong distaste for being without a top, be it a t-shirt or, in the last few years, his favorite hoodie. Huey had described it as a need for security, saying that when babies are learning to rely less on their parents, they have a comfort item to attach onto instead. He said said it usually too the form of a blanket, or stuffed toy, or some other soft item that could provide warmth or even a sense of companionship. He said it was rarely clothing at their age, it was usually teenagers or adults who clung to articles of clothing for comfort, not ducklings or ten year olds. But Louie had always felt different when regarding his age, like he was ahead of his years.
Not ahead enough for this to be okay, though.
Someone must have been looking out for him then, because he heard two sets of feet pattering across the room in a rush. He felt a pair a of hands, one on his shoulder and the other pulling his hoodie back down. He faintly heard adult voices trying to reason with the tyrant that held him hostage, but his heart hammered too fast and the blood in his ears blocked out his entire sense of hearing.
Finally, the strong hold around his chest unwound and the heavy weight leaning into his back backed up. It was a slow, reluctant movement, and it did little to make the too-young duck feel any more in the clear than he had been moments before, but he appreciated being able to breathe again. He never did do well with tight spaces, and nothing had felt as tight a space as Doofus' dirty hold.
He slowly slid his eyes open, feeling strangely relieved to see the blank wall in front of him. With the blur of his tears and the shear panic that still pumped through his veins, he doubted he'd be able to keep himself together on any regard if he'd been forced to instantly lock eyes with his assailant, He sucked in a quaking breath, letting it out to try and release at least some of the tension in his shoulders.
It was then he realized he was still being touched. A gentle hand rested on his shoulder, a different kind of careful than the hands that roamed his middle before. This hand felt hesitant, apologetic, perhaps even maternal. He turned his head to the side in a quick flick, suddenly not enjoying the contact all that much.
His eyes met soft blue, an admittedly welcome contrast to the icy teal he'd spent the day with. Mrs. Drake was staring him down with a concerned expression, silently asking if he was alright. It was unfamiliar to him. He was used to the overprotective shouts of demanding concern from his uncle, not the motherly sympathy and gentle safe touch. Normally, he'd be held in at least one pair of arms by now, someone - probably his Uncle Donald - talking his ear off with questions regarding his wellbeing. Not that he didn't love this family, but he really would rather have this kind of comfort than the usual right now.
He silently mouthed a thanks to the brunette duck, but his bill was trembling so bad at this point he wasn't sure she understood. But then she smiled at him, a tiny, solemn perk in her beak, but a smile nonetheless, and he knew she got the message.
He slowly turned around to face his captor, but only felt a little better seeing him all the way on the other side of the room with his father. The adult duck seemed to be trying to distract his son from what he was about to do, the younger barely appearing to be interested. They watched the transaction blankly, a hand still rested comfortingly on his shoulder.
"He's never done this," The lady beside him whispered, catching him off guard. He looked up at her face, and the familiar expression of guilty failure made his heart ache. She was silent for a long moment before adding, "He used to be so good to his friends..even if they didn't want to be here."
Louie looked back at the teenager, his chest swelling with the knowledge that he'd almost been his first time violating someone he'd trapped in his home. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to be angry about it or flattered. His uncle had always taught them to be optimistic, but now didn't seem the right time to be happy about it. Why him? Why now? What did he have that other kids didn't?
As the adrenaline in his system ebbed, his legs began to tremble with the growing pain under his feet. There was a stab of...something, in his chest. He didn't know what, just some kind of emotion he couldn't place. He wiped carefully at the tears on his face, willing himself to calm down. Nothing happened, Mr. and Mrs. Drake stopped it, he was okay. He didn't even lose his hoodie, which was possibly the most relaxing thought on his mind at the moment. Maybe a bit of a twisted victory, but he'd take it.
"I want to go home..."
It took him a second to realize he'd said that, and once he did, he flinched. He had yet to refer to the mansion as his home, even after months of living there. He guessed he still held helplessly on to the fear their Uncle Scrooge would kick them out. Sure, he felt safe there, and he felt safe with his great uncle, but something in him just couldn't believe everyone else's declarations of family and a 'better future together.' Maybe it was out of defense that he couldn't let the fear go. He'd rather be prepared for the heartbreak; it hurt less then.
Perhaps he meant the boathouse. It had been his home for his entire life. It was where all of his childhood memories centered, all the times with him and his brothers. He used to hate the constant rocking and sloshing of water at night, and it sometimes made him feel sick. But he found himself really missing it those first few weeks in the mansion. He even kind of missed it now, but that may have just been how not-homey the Drake house felt all of a sudden.
Instead of the unsteady motion and the ominous splashing of waves and air musky with overwhelming salt making his gut turn, it was the way Doofus was now looking at him. Lustful teal eyes bore into his frightened green ones, a glare of distaste and desire that made him with he wasn't so good at reading people. He tore his gaze away, but he wasn't sure the sight of his footprints all over the floor, splattered with blood, was much better.
He looked down at his aching feet, covered in the same blood that pooled around him. The queasy feeling in his stomach multiplied, and he forced his eyes shut again. It wasn't that he was afraid of blood or that it made him sick, just that there was so much and it was all his that he'd lost in just a few minutes. His head started feeling heavy and the lump in his throat felt more induced by his dry mouth than his discomfort.
"You should sit down," The kind voice beside him offered, but he couldn't respond. He just wanted his brothers to find him and get him out of here. He wanted to go home, wherever that was. He didn't care, he just wanted to leave this godawful place and never look back.
The hand on his shoulder moved to his back and pushed gently, trying to get him to take a step forward. He only obeyed the silent order because his feet hurt too bad to remain still. Each step felt like the glass in his feet dug deeper, and his blood flowed faster. He knew that wasn't quite logical, but he really didn't care. All he knew for sure was that it hurt and he wanted to go home. He'd even settle to walk there on his own if he had to. Forget the fact the mansion was literal miles from the Drake house, he would endure every painful step if it meant he got to leave and see his family again.
He had to force the thought of his family from his mind almost as soon as it got there. He swallowed the tears back, opening his eyes to blink them away. He saw one of three large pedestals in front of him, and he already knew this was where he was meant to stay. He climbed numbly onto the hard surface, letting his throbbing feet dangle limply off the side.
He didn't bother to pay attention to Mrs. Drake and where she went. He just kept his head down and his shoulders up. He pulled his hood over his face, tightening the strings until he was in complete darkness. His breath heaved with the lingering panic, and he could feel his body convulsing in terrified shivers. He didn't like that he could no longer see the teen, but he needed to block out everything else or he'd never get calm.
Slowly, he drew his knees up to his chest, breath hitching and shuddering when the glass in his feet ground into his flesh once again. He froze at the familiar lump in his pocket, an empty hope filling his sore heart.
He fumbled to remove his phone from his pocket, peeking out of hi hood to watch the screen come to life. He frantically searched for one of his brother's numbers, not bothering to check which one it was he clicked on. He typed the first thing that came to mind; the safe word. After it was sent, his thumbs seemed to fly across the keyboard without his consent, typing out every detail of his capture. He just finished explaining that he wasn't sure how much time he had to talk when a message appeared on the screen and his brain stopped.
'Sit tight, we'll be there soon.'
He suspected by the lack of chat-speak that it was Huey he'd contacted. He decided against sending his long-winded explanation, thinking it better not to delay his brother by distracting him with more reading. Not to mention, his use of the safe word being lone implied the urgency of his situation, and not that that it wasn't urgent anyway, nut he needed Huey to know to be quick. He didn't want to mess with his brother's emotions or anything, but he figured he's be more concerned and pushed to hurry if it was apparent he couldn't send more.
He didn't have to pretend much longer, however, because Doofus was suddenly right in front of him. He flinched back, scrambling to the opposite side of the platform. He stuffed his phone back in his pocket, a pathetic attempt at keeping it safe from the teen. But his attention seemed not to remain on his obvious call for help, instead redirected to his neck. He shuddered at the sudden knowledge of potential marks under his feathers from the older kid's earlier teasing. He'd really have some things to explain to Uncle Donald when he got out of here.
That's right, when. He was getting out of this horrible place, whether this spoiled brat of a child touched him or not. No matter what he did to him, he was getting out. His brother knew he was in danger now, and was on the way to save him. He hated the idea of his brothers being subjected to the same perversion as him, but he had full faith they could handle Doofus on their own.
His confidence was short lived. Doofus reached to the side of the platform, a small click sounding from some button he couldn't see. Immediately, the bracelet around his wrist attached to the smooth surface he sat on with a thunk. The panic rose within him again and he tried uselessly to tug his arm to freedom. Damn, and it had to be his left hand, too.
It was only after he tugged so hard his wrist felt raw that he stopped struggling. It seemed the more he pulled, the tighter the band of metal got. His sigh almost sounded more like a sob, but the tears never showed up. Maybe he'd cried them all away already. Or maybe it was his subconscious trying to keep up his tough-guy act, even though these people had already seen him cry and shake.
He sensed the presence of his captor behind him, whipping his head around to meet his eyes. He immediately regretted it when he realized how close their faces were. He jumped back the best he could, but the stupid bracelet prevented him from scooting away. Doofus only leaned in, more and more until they were sharing the same breath.
Louie could smell the hot breath on his bill, the unpleasant scent of expensive dishes combined with junk food. The queasy feeling came back, stronger than before, and he nearly threw up right then and there. He was suddenly glad he hadn't eaten much today.
"You're cute when you act disgusted," Doofus mused.
Louie would normally bite back with a sharp reminder that it wasn't an act, but his confidence was all washed away and the words lodged uncomfortably in his throat and promptly got lost.
"Fear looks good on you," The seventeen year old continued. "But that hoodie hides you from me. It looks warm, you should let me take it off for you."
"N-no.." Louie managed. His free hand gripped tightly to the green fabric on his chest, hoping to convince the bearish teen to leave him alone.
A sharp pain flared through his cheek, his hand flying to cover the offended area. his head snapped to the side with the loud crack of the slap. The room spun a bit before he collected his thoughts enough to look back at the teen, eyes wide in shock. He was glaring harshly at him, fierce teal eyes burning into his fragile green ones. His hand was still suspended in the air at his side.
"No one tells me no," He snapped ominously.
Louie's breath picked up again when he reached forward to grab him. He tried in vain to back away, wincing as the bracelet cut into his wrist. The large hands of the other duck gripped the waistline of his hoodie, roughly tugging it up and over his head. Rather than pull it all the way off like the younger duck expected, he left it folded up over his face, preventing him from seeing what he was doing.
He flinched hard at the cold hands that ran up and down his middle, the tickly feeling making him shiver. His hand found a large wrist, weakly trying to push it away from his chest. It took everything he had not to just start screaming with ugly honks and quacks - to make a scene, as Uncle Donald would call it. He'd always taught them to cry and kick if they were in danger in public, because someone was bound to help somehow. But this wasn't public, and there was no one around to help.
He didn't know where the parents of this perverted child were, but they weren't helping and that was all that mattered. Louie guessed by the fact that this was happening again that Mr. Drake had failed to convince his son to do something else, and they both probably gave up already. Not that Louie could really blame them for being afraid of this beast they'd created, but he could really use some help right about now.
Despite knowing for a fact that his brothers were nowhere near the Drake house, Louie couldn't help the mental plead that they hurry and burst in dramatically already and get him out of here.