Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

Louie trembled like a leaf, curled in a little ball on his side as he sobbed. His wrist was rubbed well passed raw, his feet felt like pin cushions and leaked blood all over his platform, and his insides felt garbled and sore. He felt sick to his stomach, which ached and twisted in tight knots. His head pounded as it spun, the bright lights of the pale room burning his sensitive eyes and making him wish he still had his hoodie.

It was cold, but not cold enough for him to want his company to appear again. He felt so exposed, so vulnerable without his cover, with the horrid memories of what he'd just been subjected to. He still felt the tight hands on his now-bruised arms and legs, the choking feeling in his marked throat, the hard slamming against his tail. He tasted the caviar and stale Pep in his beak from kisses he never wanted.

He felt lightheaded and queasy, but he fought sleep with all he had left in him. Although, that was, admittedly, not much. He just wanted to stay awake long enough for his brothers to find him, just so he knew it was safe to doze off. He wouldn't dare let his guard drop quite that low until then.

There was a sound, distant and low. Louie slowly removed his face from his arms, peeking out across the trashed room. More of that sound, each louder than the last. It was almost like giant somethings falling over, crashing to the ground. It sounded like it was coming from outside.

A big boom on the wall sent large chunks of white sailing across the room. A huge puff of cement dust clouded the entire half of the space, but Louie found himself not really caring if he could see the intruder or not. He didn't want to get his hopes up, but also didn't want to lay eyes on someone he couldn't trust.

"Louie?"

The duck in question nearly sat up at the sound of his own name. It was a very familiar voice, one that brought peace and a sense of safety. But he couldn't, for the life of him, match a face to the angelic voice. He knew the person, he knew them well, and yet he couldn't recall who it could possibly be. There were a few coughs, and another equally familiar voice spoke up.

"Louie, are you here?"

"H..Huey..?" He winced at the sound of his own call, rough and weak. "Dewey..?"

"Louie!"

As the dust cleared, three shapes formed. One was bigger than the other two, a robot of some sort. But he couldn't care less about that. His brothers were standing in front of it, squinting to see farther into the room. There were two sharp gasps, and they were both about to run over to their brother when he spoke again.

"Don't.." He put his free hand up, struggling into a sitting position. He pointed at the floor surrounding his pedestal, still littered with shattered glass, splintered wood, sharp jewels, and, of course, his blood. "There's stuff everywhere..you'll hurt yourselves.."

Huey and Dewey shared a look of contemplation. They looked back at their brother, hesitation clear on their faces. Huey reached into his hat and pulled out his guide book, flipping through the pages at lightning speed.

"Don't worry," Dewey offered the youngest triplet a smile. "We'll figure it out." After a moment of frightened eye contact, he asked what he'd been wondering since Huey got that text. "What happened?"

Louie swallowed dryly, eyes roaming the large room. He stared intently at the elevator, waiting for the rescue to be ruined by the teen who refused to lose, expecting him to come in all cheerfully creepy and singing about how much 'fun' they were going to have together. He was honestly shocked he'd been left alone for so long without anyone checking in on him.

"I want to go home.." He whimpered, ignoring the question. "I just..I want to go home..!"

Huey paused his page-turning to shoot his little brother a sympathetic glance when he started sobbing. Dewey seemed ready to ignore all regards for safety and to just run to him and give him a hug to make him feel better, but he remained in his spot in front of the security robot with balled fists.

"You will," Huey assured. "We'll be home soon. I promise."

They both had realized their brother's unwillingness to call the mansion home, and the looks he gave anyone who stated with confidence that they'd all become a true family and they'd never part again. They knew he didn't believe it just yet. That was fine, he just needed time. Or, that's what they thought before. Hearing him refer to the mansion as their home right now felt off, like it had been forced on the duckling by the danger and stress of whatever had happened during their siblingless day.

Dewey was suddenly very regretful of the invention of the holiday, now seeing where it had ended his only little brother. Guilt flowed over his senses, and for a full moment, all he could see was his crying brother, beaten and weak with blood puddled under and around him. He'd seen the younger in similar positions before, results of bullies or bad days or even nightmares, but this was different than all those times. This was his fault.

Huey, giving up on his guidebook, stuffed the worn book under his arm. He pulled his hat off his head, using it to flick away the harmful debris at his feet. He smiled at his success, slowly moving forward along his self-made path. Dewey, deciding he was taking too long, pulled his top shirt over his head and copied the plan next to him. Louie watched blankly, the hope he should have felt not even sparking.

He wondered if he was dreaming.

Huey looked up when they were half way, brushing some glass shards from his hat. He stopped his brother, telling him to do the same with his shirt. Both articles of clothing had been dipped in blood numerous times, but they tried their best to avoid the half-dried splatters.

All three ducklings jumped when a familiar ding sounded. The elevator doors slid open, and they all waited with bated breath for whoever it was to walk in and further disrupt their rescue attempt. Huey and Dewey got back to work, trying to be faster, but it wasn't like they were holding back before. Louie kept his eyes glued to the sliver of the inside of the elevator he could see.

Huey and Dewey looked up again when there was a light thump and Louie sighed. The youngest had slumped back down to lay in his own blood, eyes closed in relief. It was not Doofus who had entered the room, but Mr. Drake.

"Oh," The adult gasped lightly at the new ducks. It didn't take long for his face to change from shock to clarity. "Hurry."

With that, he continued further into the room with a broom and dustpan. He started sweeping his own path, slowly progressing towards the pedestal his son's prisoner layed atop of. He didn't bother trying to use the dustpan, just making the floor safe to walk on. Huey and Dewey, not knowing of his better intentions, got more desperate in their own sweeping.

It wasn't long before Dewey reached his brother, followed closely by Huey. Louie only spared them a glance before his gaze fixated back on the butler, now just over half way there. The look on his face wasn't unlike his usual blank stare, but to the red and blue clad ducklings, it looked a lot like resignation, like he'd accepted some horrible truth.

"Louie," Huey tried. The youngest didn't react.

"Louie," Dewey joined. Nothing.

"Llewellyn," Huey almost snapped. His brother always responded to his real name, even if it was in a tired demand to not say it out loud. But this time, he didn't. Not even a change in facial expression. His eyes continued to follow the butler, like he was physically incapable of looking away.

"Louie, please," Dewey reached up, trying to place a hand on his seemingly comatose brother's arm. His fingers barely brushed his feathers, but he still flinched the appendage away from the touch. Still, he did not look at him.

Dewey, along with his brother's heartbreaking reaction, felt his hand and arm touch something wet and thick. He pulled his hand back, eyes widening at the red substance that dripped from his soaked sleeve and feathers. He shuddered, shaking the blood off the best he could. Huey swallowed dryly as the sheer amount of blood around them finally sunk in.

With how much they had to avoid just getting to the pedestal, as well as how much was on Dewey's arm, and how it dripped from where their brother layed, unresponsive, it was easy to guess it all came from him. It was a lot, more than Huey ever thought he would see from one person, much less his own brother. Huey suddenly felt like he knew why the normally green-clad duckling was so hollow.

"There's a button.."

The two ducklings looked up at the rough voice. Louie's eyes still hadn't moved, but his bill was slightly ajar, evidence that he had, in fact, spoken.

"On the side.." He croaked. His right arm, folded awkwardly underneath him, lifted just enough for his brothers to see him point absently at the side of the platform.

Dewey leaned over, peeking around the corner of the white block. There was a little red button, just like the younger said.

"What does it do?" He asked curiously, tone less gentle than Huey thought it should have been.

"It releases the bracelet.."

Huh?

"What bracelet?" Huey raised a brow. Maybe Louie was just loopy from blood loss, but he didn't think that sounded quite right.

"It's magnetic..or s'mthin'.." Louie muttered.

He lifted his left elbow, feeling the gold-plated ring shift painfully against his bleeding wrist wound. Huey boosted himself up on his toes, peeking over the red-stained platform. His soul ached at the sight of his brother, blood smeared over his feathers, and wrist rubbed so raw the feathers were gone and replaced with an inflamed wound. The golden band looked so tight it was cutting off circulation to his hand. It was stuck to the platform, but he couldn't see where it met the white block under all the blood.

Dewey, not needing further explanation, pressed the button cautiously. Normally, he'd push it with little to no regard for what it did or what could happen, but his wrecklessness was being put on hold until they got their brother home. They heard a click and a small sigh.

Louie finally allowed his gaze to move to his wrist as he raised it slowly. He couldn't really feel his fingers anymore, but he reached forward to hang his hand off the edge anyway. He just barely felt Huey take it gently in his own, and a tear he didn't fight slipped down his cheek. Within seconds, he was quaking with sobs and his chest was hitching against the hard surface under his blood. He tried uselessly to grip his brother's fingers, the familiar soft touch finally driving home the fact that this was real.

"Missed you guys.." He whimpered.

"We missed you, too, Lou," Huey almost whispered. He eyed the bracelet wrapped tight around his brother's wrist. "Does it hurt?" He pressed a thumb to the band, earning a pained hiss and weak flinch.

"Dumb question," Dewey stated dryly.

"How are we going to get it off?" Huey twisted the hand in his grip gently to inspect the bracelet for a release buckle or something. "I don't have my tools."

"I do," A voice spoke from behind the older brothers.

They both jumped and whipped around. Mr. Drake stood a few feet away, his dustpan discarded and a pair of pliers held in his hand.

"Back off," Dewey moved to stand between the adult and his brothers.

"I do not want to hurt Llewellyn," Mr. Drake tried. "I want to help."

"Where's Doofus..?" Louie wondered quietly. He trusted the Drake parents, if only a little more than he trusted their son, which was not at all.

"Still upstairs," Mr. Drake told him. "His mother is giving him a talk about how to treat his friends."

He stepped forward, grateful the two ducklings he didn't know the names of stepped aside instead of stopping him. He took the young duck's red-soaked hand, digging under the bracelet with the pliers. Louie winced, but made no move to get away. He tensed at the snap of the metal on metal, and he couldn't tell if the wound felt better or worse with the bracelet removed.

He looked up when two large hands closed over his. Mr. Drake was looking at him with the most apologetic expression he'd ever seen. His brown eyes shined with unshed tears.

"I am so sorry," He whispered. "I should have stopped him. I should have done more to help."

"It's 'kay.." Louie lied. "Can't st'p..crazy.." Mr. Drake smiled slightly at that. The smile became a little more real a second later.

"I held onto this for you," He reached behind him, into a pocket only a cartoon character had, pulling out a green hoodie. "It's still torn, but I thought you might want it back."

Instead of handing it to its owner, he passed it to the blue-clad duckling. Dewey held it by its shoulders, inspecting the damaged cloth. There was a huge rip, ugly and stretching from the left sleeve all the way down to the waistline. It looked almost like it had been ripped off of the wearer. There was a rectangular lump in the pocket, shown to be Louie's phone upon further inspection. There was a small crack in the screen's upper right corner, but it was perfectly fine otherwise.

"Th'nks.." Louie slurred, eyes fluttering shut. "B'tter th'n..th' suit.."

"I'm afraid I cannot help your injuries," Mr. Drake informed regretfully. "Doofus used the last of our disinfectant to make tea for his last 'friend.'" The two older triplets shuddered at that. "But I can get you outside."

With a carefulness that made Huey and Dewey question how a child like Doofus was the product of the Drakes' parenting, the butler scooped the nearly limp duckling into his arms. His outfit was immediately smeared with the blood on his feathers, but he didn't seem to mind. Louie opened his eyes in alarm, but didn't attempt to get away. Huey and Dewey couldn't tell if it was because he couldn't or knew he shouldn't.

Dewey inhaled sharply, his hand moving up to grasp the front of his shirt. He flailed silently for his brother's arm, slapping his palm over his shoulder. Huey gave him an odd look, following his gaze. His bill fell open in shock.

"Oh," Was all he could manage.

The bottom of Louie's feet were all torn up, punctured with shards of something they couldn't make out. The blood that still leaked from the open wounds dripped heavily from his heals, a seemingly never-ending river of dark red. The flesh, torn and perfectly healthy alike, was all puffed up and agitated. Infection, Huey concluded. He suspected the same of his wrist, but he could still hope he was wrong.

"'Ncle D'n'ld 's gonna s'ream.." Louie mused pathetically. Huey swallowed the lump in his throat before responding.

"Y-yeah," He forced a wobbly smile onto his bill. "He's gonna scream. Yeah."

"Will you tell them?" Mr. Drake asked the duckling in his arms. "I understand if you don't want to, but you'll be better off if they know. They can get you help."

Louie didn't respond, face suddenly very blank. Huey and Dewey shared a concerned look. What was he talking about? What could have happened to their brother that he wouldn't tell them?

Of course, the youngest duckling had his bad habit of hiding his problems, be they bullies, nightmares, or feelings. With enough gentle prodding, or even something big happening, he would spill the truth, if only a little. If there was enough evidence against his lie that proved his excuses were a load of bull, he would give in and admit to whatever was wrong, albeit reluctantly.

There was easily enough evidence to prove something big and bad had happened to him. It was so obvious Huey and Dewey would actually be shocked if he tried to lie to them. Not that they thought he was aware enough to come up with something on the spot like he usually could anyway.

"L'ter.." Louie whispered. He almost nuzzled into Mr. Drake's chest out of instinct, but he reminded himself that this was still the father of his assailant and stopped himself.

He let his arm fall from his chest, dangling it down over the arms of the butler. He felt one of his brothers take his hand, now with more feeling than before, and the other hold his arm. He sighed contently as they all left the building.

Mr. Drake knealed down on the pavement in front of the older triplets. He carefully helped them get set to carry their brother, Huey by his head and Dewey by his feet. Huey had his arms wrapped around his chest and his head resting on his shoulder while Dewey held onto his ankles with his feet suspended on either side of him.

They were unprepared for when Louie's breath swung from the shallow breaths to panicked heaving in seconds. He weakly tried flailing, the arms around his chest feeling way too tight and the hands on his legs holding too close to his bruises that had yet to become visible. He knew it was just his brothers and he was fine, but every time he blinked, all he could see was Doofus' face and all he could register was how much pain he had been in.

He heard a faint voice telling him to calm down, as if it actually helped. It wasn't like he actually wanted to freak out, he didn't want to keep seeing the face of his most recent trauma, he didn't want to be incapable of taking a real breath, he didn't want the tightening feeling in his chest to persist, he didn't want to be unable to collect his thoughts and listen to his own common sense. Telling him to 'calm down' only implies that he chose to panic, that he has the ability to stop whenever he wanted. Well, he wanted to stop, so why was he still feeling lightheaded and like he was back on that pedestal being violated?

Huey felt weak hands grip at his arms, trying desperately to remove his hold. Dewey wasn't having too hard of a time keeping his legs under control, but the way they tried to kick gave it away that his grip hurt. They set their brother down carefully on the pavement, resting his head on Huey's lap.

"Louie," The red-clad duck tried, brushing a hand through his hair feathers. He felt hot, an infection-induced fever, no doubt. "Louie, can you hear me?"

"C'mon, Lou," Dewey, sat beside the panicking brother, grabbed his hand. "Calm down. You're okay. You're safe, we're going home."

"It's just us," The eldest triplet added. "Huey and Dewey. You know us, we wouldn't hurt you. Louie, you need to calm down so we can get you home."

Louie's eyes cracked open, but the green irises were unfocused and hysterical. He didn't see them, but he fought his mind to come back to the present. His uneven hyperventilating pittered off and the tears in his eyes got bigger. A sob broke through his held breath, followed by more of its kind.

Huey stroked his hand over his forehead, brushing back the hair feathers. He knew being pet like this had a chance of calming him down if given the time. Dewey held securely to his hand, rubbing a thumb up and down his knuckles. He knew outside strength often implored him to act strong, too. They both knew contact made Louie feel safe, less alone than he did on a day-to-day basis. He would never ask you for it, but if he was desperate enough, you could see it on his face, like bold sharpie marker letters begging 'hug me!' They had a feeling they'd be seeing a lot more of that face for a while.

"Llewellyn!"

All three triplets froze.

"Llewellyn, my sweet, where did you go?"

Huey looked at his middle brother, trying to share his suspicion, but Dewey was still staring at the slightly ajar front door. They'd both failed to notice when Mr. Drake went back inside.

"Butler!"

Huey cringed at the sudden venom in the young voice.

"Where is my friend present!?"

There was a shuffle, a mumble, and something crashed on the floor.

"You insulant fool! Find him! Find my friend present!"

Huey felt Louie shiver on his lap. The panic had changed from a passed threat to a present threat, which just so happened to be the same thing.

"Time to go," Dewey decided, voice low with caution and rage.

Huey inspected his injured brother for any signs of another attack, but had to push that concern away in favor of the precious little time they had to leave.

Maybe it was because he'd been numbed of the immediate pain of his wounds. Maybe it was because he knew they couldn't stay there. Maybe it was because he desperately didn't want to keep his brothers stuck in a place like this and in danger of the same abuse he'd suffered. Hell if Louie knew. But he somehow managed to remain calm enough for Huey to lift him up onto Dewey's back to be carried.

He heard an ominous creak, followed by a deafening silence. He blinked his eyes open, blarily seeking out the cause of the odd noise. His gaze landed on his captor, standing only feet away in the doorframe of the house. He couldn't make out his face, but he could easily imagine what the somehow emotionless anger looked like.

Huey, hands still grasped tightly to his brothers' arms, stared blankly at the teen. He'd expected to be stormed with screams and a fight the second he saw his prisoner's escape. But he was smiling at them. Dewey seemed just as confused, shoulders still tensed in preparation to defend the youngest of their three.

"Oh, Llewellyn," The bearish teen gushed. His happy tone sounded so artificial to Louie. "You didn't tell me there were more of you." He trotted a few feet forward, stopping short as if he was inspecting a wild animal. "They're not as beautiful as you, my dear, but they're very lovely."

Dewey, perhaps out of offense, couldn't help but mutter something about them all being identical triplets. Huey had thought it, mind always scouting out the odds and ends of someone's logic, but he hadn't a moment's consideration to say it out loud. Louie just barely registered the words at all.

"Llewellyn?"

Huey hated how this duck said his brother's name, so sweet and thick like honey, yet sharp like the bees that guarded it.

Doofus' face hardened significantly when Louie didn't respond. His eyes were blank, dull like the life that leaked from his cracking heart. Huey knew he was too weak to deal with this guy on his own, whether there was a physical struggle or not.

"Need I repeat the rules?"

Huey and Dewey didn't like the sound of that.

"You will answer me when I address you," Doofus almost snarled. "Llewellyn."

An airy whimper sounded from the injured duckling's throat, his best attempt at a vocal response.

"Introduce me to your friends," Doofus ordered, a smirk tugging the corners of his beak. "They will be mine soon enough, after all."

"We're his brothers," Dewey, also aware of the youngest's inability to speak out, answered. He wasn't sure why he gave this teen what he wanted, though. "And we're taking him home."

"Brothers?" Doofus' eyes went wide in an almost innocent confusion. "That can't be right. He told me he was the one and only heir to his great uncle's fortune."

Of course he did. Huey and Dewey shared a tired look. They'd have to talk to him about that later. Right now, their goal was the same as it had been the moment Huey received that dreaded text.

"Well, he lied," Dewey glowered at the teen. "He does that."

"I see," Doofus' face reset again to that emotionless blank. "So my dear, perfect Llewellyn needs some discipline. Hm." He seemed to think for a moment.

In the moment of stillness, Huey thought about grabbing his brother's hand and running while their adversary was distracted. But that was dangerous. He had a feeling if they so much as slid a foot in the direction of the mansion, they'd have large hands flying their way and they'd be back at square one; Louie in the hands of Doofus and his brothers powerless to do anything but join him. Huey was anxious to end this back-and-forth and get out of there, but he still had to think logically.

Louie could feel the eyes of him. Not his brother's, much to his dismay. No, it was Doofus. Doofus was staring at him. In thought or out of lust, he couldn't tell. He'd been cursing his ability to read people just mere hours ago, and now his senses were too blurry and fuzzy to even comprehend the irony that his wish had come true, if only because he'd lost so much blood and energy he was having trouble clinging to the feeling of the soft rubbing of fabrics on his bare chest.

"Don't worry, Lou," Dewey whispered to him, as if he'd heard his thoughts. "We're almost done here. Then we'll get you help." In an effort to assure that he'd heard him, he gave the best squeeze of his arms around his chest as he could manage.

"That's right," Doofus...agreed? "Llewellyn needs to go home. Come on inside, my lovelies."

"That's not his home," Huey snapped back before Dewey had the chance. "His home is with us. And we're going somewhere you can't."

Oh. So that was the answer. Louie had been so caught up in the initial shock and fear of his situation before, he hadn't realized. The one thing his old home and new home had in common; his brothers and uncle. They were his home. They were here now, for him, and were going to take him to the other half of his home. It was never the boathouse, or the mansion that he wanted to return to. Not as bad as the people that surrounded him when he was in those places.

Good to know.

"I can go wherever I want," Doofus chuckled, and it was potentially the creepiest, wrongest sound any of the ducklings had ever heard. "All I need is my good name."

"Names don't get you much in our house," Dewey stated confidently. "And yours would be anything good after what you did to Louie." Whatever that was. They'd hadn't had the time to stop and let him explain.

"Oh, that?" Doofus waved a hand in the air carelessly. "That was merely a sample. My dearest Llewellyn needed a taste of his new home, as I'd doubt he'd ever had the pleasure of experiencing it before I introduced it to him. I was just coming down from a talk with my maid to show him a new perspective."

Dewey had to pause his slow comprehension of the words when Louie had a quicker reaction than he would have expected. His arms tightened around his chest, and his head twisted against his shoulder to hide his face. He felt his deep shudder, accompanied by specks of wet on his shirt.

"Now now, darling," Doofus consoled, but it still sounded so fake. "I know you enjoyed it just as much as I did. You were just screaming in delight~!"

Louie shuddered again, voice cracking with whimpers. He buried his face deeper into the blue shirt, slowly jerking his head back and forth, trying to relay to his brothers no. He never enjoyed it. Not for one damn second.

"D'n t'ke.." Louie's trembling voice broke through his tears. "D' t'ke m...i' 'urts..please...d'nt.."

"We won't let him take you," Huey told him firmly, squeezing his shoulder.

"Just go back inside," Dewey ordered the teen. Huey knew by the way Louie tensed and shuddered that Dewey had made a mistake.

"I see the blue one will need some one-on-one," Doofus spoke thoughtfully.

Dewey stumbled when Louie suddenly straitened out. He bent over more, allowing his brother to sit up the best he could on his back. Louie stared at Doofus with horror clear on his face. He locked eyes with him, and he found his ability to read people was, unfortunately, still perfectly intact. He was so smug, like he'd won a game of wit.

Even with his mind swimming with the memories, the pain, the fuzziness, he knew what he had to do. He was the one who could see the angles in any given situation, and he was finally feeling the ability returning.

"Deal.." He strained, arms trembling against his brother's shoulders. "We..ha-ad a..deal..."

"I said you'd like it," The tyrant reminded. "And you never agreed. It was fair game." His eyes pierced through the duckling, a sick amusement hiding behind the sheen of nonchalance. "We could go again, if you'd like."

Louie would normally say no. Huey and Dewey expected him to. But he hesitated.

"Our stakes would be higher, of course," Doofus mentioned, his beak curling in a smile that almost looked real. "With three friend presents, I'd need at least three finishes. I've never had more than one at a time, so you'd be here for quite a while, my dears." He looked at him again, a challenge playing on his face. "If you can finish me off three times, I'll let you all go. If you can't, you all stay here." He giggled at the terror on his present's face. "You'll have as many chances as you like to try. One every day."

Huey suspected his brother would refuse the offer and they'd be out of there on their own terms. But when he started sliding off Dewey's back, he knew he'd been wrong.

Dewey was about to say something in protest, but Huey stopped him. They both knew their brother was better at plans and seeing the easy way out of a bad situation. Even when he wasn't entirely there to think of it, he'd do it and it'd be great. Huey had to let him do this. If Louie didn't see any better way out, then...there wasn't one.

Besides, they didn't even know what Doofus was talking about. Something bad, obviously. Something traumatizing, duh. But Louie was more sensitive than them, taken to crying against his own will a lot easier than the rest of the family. Not that Huey didn't think whatever his brother had been through wasn't worth the drama, but he wouldn't be particularly shocked if it happened to not be as bad as they'd originally thought.

Louie's feet hit the pavement, only for the numbing static surrounding the wounds to vanish, the pain that'd faded during the failed rescue flaring up and blooming across his soles. Dewey caught him before he could sink to his shaking knees, holding him up the best he could.

It seemed as though Huey blinked and the scene before him had completely changed. Doofus had rushed forward and scooped the injured duckling into his bearish arms, holding the suddenly frantic child to his chest. Dewey stood in the same spot, staring at the two with an unreadable expression.

Almost immediately, the brother in blue leapt up to save the younger. Doofus shoved him away with seemingly no effort, eyes never leaving the duckling he cradled. He looked...concerned?

"Oh, Llewellyn, my sweet," He gushed, petting Louie's head feathers down. "You didn't tell me you were hurt." He spat the word like it could poison him.

"I thought it was obvious," Huey muttered. This kid had some serious problems.

"Put me...down..!" Louie breathed, a panicked strength making his demand better understood.

"You poor thing," Doofus looked almost like he actually cared. "We'll get you fixed up."

"We?" Dewey dared ask.

"Butler!" Doofus bellowed, whirling around and marching towards the door. Huey and Dewey followed, sharing looks of fear.

"Y-yes?" Mr. Drake was knelt on the floor with his dustpan. It seemed he'd been sweeping everything up with his bare hand. The look of anguish on his face when he saw the triplets was painful.

"Go get more disinfectant," Doofus ordered coldly. "Llewellyn is hurt." The more times he said that name, the more Huey wanted to let Duke have a field day with this guy.

"Shall I have your, uh, maid get the kettle ready?" Mr. Drake struggled to ask it, like it physically burned him.

"No need," Doofus started across the room to the elevator. "He can drink it on its own."

Huey and Dewey felt sick listening to this. They recalled what the father had said about making tea with disinfectant, and they knew he'd expected the same here. Even they were a little shocked that the plan was different.

"Come, my lovelies," The 17 year old sang to the free triplets. He entered the elevator, waiting for them to stand with him.

Huey only entered because he knew Louie was stuck. He had to stay with him. Dewey had no hesitation. What was he supposed to do, abandon his brother in favor of going home? Fat chance.

Standing so close to the large teen, surrounded on all sides by the small box, sent suspenseful shivers down the red and blue brothers' backs. Louie seemed to have accepted his fate, no longer struggling against the strong arms and hard chest. His weak sobs filled the small room.

Huey and Dewey remained on Doofus' heels as he navigated through the upstairs portion of the house. The walls were layered with paintings of the same old woman with piles of money behind her. Doofus featured in a number of them, but they tried their best to ignore how the childish glee drained a little more with each photo.

Huey made sure to make his best mental map of where they were going, but it was getting harder to remember each and every turn and door. Dewey didn't divert his gaze from the teen's back, anxious about losing them. They wouldn't be leaving Louie alone in this place, not again.

"Worry not, my beautiful," Doofus spoke softly, petting a careful hand over Louie's aching head. The touch almost soothed him. "You will feel better soon."

Huey and Dewey shuddered. They didn't like his tone, as calm and consoling as it seemed. It felt wrong. It didn't match the situation, or the harshness that once lined the back of his voice. It actually made the brothers feel sick again.

Finally, after countless different hallways, Doofus' purposed stride faltered. He stopped in front of a salmon pink door, producing a set of keys from his pocket. He unlocked the door, pushing it open. With much less hesitation than his newest prisoners, he walked in. Huey and Dewey stayed in the doorway.

The new room was large, twice as big as the living room in the mansion. It had elements of an old fashioned lodge, from the decor to the wooden fireplace. A rug stretched across the whole floor, red and gold with silver swirly and floral designs. The couch was too far away to really tell much, but the cushions were maroon red and the frame looked old. It was...kind of homey.

Or, it would have been if the serene atmosphere wasn't totally ruined by the large white block sitting to the left of the door. It was another pedestal like the ones in the main room. Upon seeing it, Louie wanted to flail, fight to escape that hell, but Doofus had such a strangly comfortable hold on him, and his body was so sore and tired. He couldn't move, much less run away.

"Oh, Sweetie," Doofus looked almost remorseful as he set the duckling on the pedestal. He held him up in a sitting position that hurt in just about every way, taking his left wrist to inspect. "You took it off."

"'urt," Louie muttered before he could stop himself. It did hurt, had been hurting since he first started pulling on it. But confiding in this tyrant of a teenager was the last thing he wanted to do, even if it was just in the physical way.

"I can tell," Doofus giggled, and it still sounded so wrong. He looked at him with amusement, like he was an old friend and this was just a typical conversation. "You know, it tightens like that to prevent you from pulling on it. I kinda figured you'd stop if it hurt."

"'ou don' know th' Duck B'ys very well.." Louie huffed. He wanted to elaborate, say they never gave up, they never gave in to any evil, but moving his jaw was too difficult and he couldn't find the words in time.

"That's why you're here," Doofus turned to the ducklings still standing in the doorway. He gestured for them to come forward. "We're all friends, now."

Huey and Dewey didn't say anything. They slowly made their way to the big block, keeping a couple feet between them and Doofus. Louie stared at them with a similar expression as the one Mr. Drake wore when he saw them return.

"Don't be shy," Doofus giggled again. "You'll enjoy your time here, I'm sure."

"Don't touch them," Louie demanded, protective strength filling his chest just long enough to say it.

"What was that?" Doofus didn't drop his smile, but his tone grew cold.

"D-don't touch them," Louie repeated, the fear drilling up his spine. "Th-they won't, l'ke it.."

"Hm," Doofus seemed to think on it, absently petting the top of his head. Louie shuddered, and Huey suspected the touch would no longer provide comfort. "It'll cost."

"What does that mean?" Huey finally spoke up. Louie shot him a weary glare, silently telling him to shut up.

"Four," Doofus stated simply.

"Wh-what..?"

"Four finishes," He repeated. "For me not to touch them at all, it would require four finishes at once."

"Fine," Louie strained to sound as sure as he was about it.

"My my, Llewellyn," Doofus chuckled, running his hand down his face and caressing his cheek and neck with his large fingers. "That's horribly selfish of you."

On any normal occasion, the brothers would probably agree. Louie tended to think about himself a bit more than he should. But they had a feeling, in this particular instance, he was actually doing them a favor. A big one.

"Very well," Doofus decided. "I won't touch them, in exchange for four total finishes at a time, from you. However," He paused, watching for the horror he knew would mask his prisoner's face. "They cannot run free. And you need a new bracelet."

"But they hurt him," Dewey spoke up this time.

"Yes, well," Doofus huffed in amusement. "If he's smart, he'll remember that, and not try to get away. If you know what's good for you, you'd all behave like good friends and stay put."

"Good friends can talk about their problems and understand when it's toxic," Huey almost snapped. Louie's glare returned, but there was new desperation in his eyes. "You're keeping us here against our will, and that's not a healthy friendship."

"Shut up," Louie whispered. Begged. "Huey, shut up.."

"You walked here," Doofus reminded darkly. "I did not drag you, carry you, or anything of the sort. You followed me. You willingly entered my home and came with me." He looked back at his original prisoner. "All of you. That makes you my friends."

"That's different," Dewey argued. Louie's glower turned to him. "You have something we're not leaving without. We're not leaving Louie alone with you again."

"'Louie?'" Doofus, seeming to ignore the rest of the declaration, tilted his head in confusion. It was somehow even worse than hearing him say his full name. "Do you mean Llewellyn?"

"He doesn't-"

"Shut up," Louie interrupted his brainy brother with another whisper.

He didn't want to hear his preferred name coated by Doofus' voice ever again. His full name was stupid and made him feel disgusted and wrong, like it wasn't quite right for him. But, boy howdy, he'd really rather his enemies use that than the name he actually liked and used. That would be much worse.

"Llewellyn's fine.." He told their captor, head hanging low. He could feel his brothers' eyes on him, questioning, judging.

"Whatever you say, dear," Doofus shrugged it off, continuing to carress his face. "You all stay here while I get your new bracelets."

If it was someone else, the feeling of the hand leaving his feathers would have made him cold and have him wishing it'd return. But when Doofus took his hand away to walk out of the room, all he felt was overbearing relief.

He barely waited for the door to close before he slid off the pedestal and fell to the floor. Pain shot up his feet, which he had forgotten were still injured, and he crumpled to come face-to-face with the scratchy red rug. It would be a much shinier shade of red soon if his wounds kept bleeding like this. He felt his brothers grabbing at him, faint voices asking if he was okay. The dizzyspell faded slowly, but the pain did not. With the help of his brothers, he sat up on his knees.

"Don't do that," He heard Huey order. "It'll be harder to remove those things if you keep trying to walk on them."

"What is it, anyway?" Dewey asked, and he just barely felt his fingers brush next to the wound under the hot pain.

Louie tried to answer but, damn, he just couldn't catch his breath. The suddenness of the heat in his feet seemed to knock the wind right out of him. Tears pricked his eyelids, his chest shuttering with the shock and lack of air. He still felt sick, but the wave of nausea that struck him was heavier than any others he'd had that day. He just about threw up right there.

"You still have a fever," Huey spoke softly, a hand held to his forehead. "We have to get you patched up soon."

"'n't.." Louie tried. "D'fus w'n't.."

"Yeah, I kinda figured," Huey would have laughed, had the situation been less dire. "We could try removing those things, but that would be difficult without the proper tools, and it might just make you bleed more. That's the last thing we need."

"You're t'llin' me.." Louie mused. "'s glass..."

"Oh boy," Dewey sighed.

"At least it's not rusty metal," Huey mentioned. "It's already infected, but it'd be much worse if it was old nails or something."

For the first time in far too long, Louie felt a laugh bubbling up his throat. He didn't know why, it wasn't a humorous statement. It was such a casually worded optimistic view on their most recent predicament, he couldn't help it. The sound was a so foreign to the brothers. It had been a long time since a genuine laugh had coupled Louie's breath.

"F-for such a..bad da-ay," Louie choked through the broken humor. "Th-that sure is..l-l-lucky..."

"I guess?" Dewey raised a brow. "You should save your breath." He didn't know what would happen to his brother, what deal he'd made with Doofus, but he had a feeling it wasn't good and he needed all the energy he could muster.

"We're n'ver gettin' outta here," Despite the defeat in his voice, Louie was still huffing chuckles.

"Don't say that," Huey ordered. "He said you can have as many attempts as you want. I don't know what that means, really, but it's something. We can work with something."

"I can't do 't.." Louie grinned at nothing. There was nothing to grin at. "I jus'...couldn' let him..'urt you..."

"Whatever it is, we can handle it," Dewey assured. "The Duck Boys face everything together, the good and the bad." More guilt choked at him saying it, knowing full well he'd been going against the family rule for a while now.

"Not th's," Louie shook his heavy head slowly, bill still curled up. "Can't...w'n't let you.."

"Why are you smiling?" Dewey finally wondered aloud.

"I dunno," Louie shrugged pathetically. "I's jus'..so funny..."

"What?" Huey asked gently.

Louie locked eyes with him, tears beginning the leisurely decent down his face. His grin grew wider.

"We were s'pp'sed t' be..on our own to'ay.." He chuckled again. "And here you are."

This wasn't a dream. It was a nightmare.

Chapter Text

!!VOMIT AND BLOOD WARNING!!

Dewey glared at the golden band around his ankle with disdain. He couldn't move from where he sat atop the blank white block. Huey was to his right, fixed with his own restricting cuff. Louie was in front of them, back turned and head low. Unlike the two of them, his new golden band wrapped around his neck like a collar. Dewey couldn't imagine how suffocating it must have felt.

Doofus was back. He'd ignored them all being on the floor, staying completely silent as he trapped each of them on the pedestal, one by one. He still had yet to say anything, even as he held a bottle of rubbing alcohol up to his main prisoner. His other hand held him up, but his grip looked much too tight.

"Don't fret, my sweet," The teen whispered. "This will make you feel better." Not the way he was planning to use it, the brothers knew.

Louie didn't have it in him to respond. He was just so tired, he didn't care enough to bite back. Who cared if he wanted him to drink it or not, at least then this would all be over, right? At least then, he'd finally find the peace he'd missed out on for so long. At least then the eternal pain would be gone.

No. He knew, deep down, that wasn't quite right. He was the only thing standing between Doofus and his brothers. Okay, maybe 'standing' wasn't the best word. It was more like he was laying semi-consciously, hoping to get in the way enough to at least trip whoever tried to get passed and deter them from continuing. Nevertheless, he would not give up until he knew his brothers were safe and out of this whole situation.

"I do hope it works this time."

This made all three brothers pause. What did that mean?

"My last friend present got hurt, too," Doofus continued, but it didn't seem to be because of their confusion. "I made him tea with all the disinfectant I could find, but he only got worse. His wounds never healed, and he got horribly ill. He died not days later. A shame, really."

"And what, pray tell, makes you think it'll work this time?" Huey snapped.

"This time, Red," Doofus almost gave the same tone in return. "I will not be diluting the disinfectant with tea water. This time, he will drink it straight, and he will be just fine."

"That's not how it works," Dewey exclaimed angrily. "You put it on the wounds, you don't drink it!"

"Guys, shut up..." Louie breathed. He was so lethargic at this point, he didn't care how things turned out for him right now, he just couldn't let his brothers set this predator off. He wouldn't be able to protect them that way.

"No more talk," Doofus demanded. He pushed his thumb to the cap of the bottle in his hand, the little plastic lid popping off and falling to the floor with a small clink. Why on earth it made that noise against the fabric rug was beyond anyone in that room. He moved the smelly bottle closer to the more or less slack bill of the intended receiver. "Drink up, darling."

He tilted his hand, pouring the clear liquid into his mouth. It burned his tongue, stinging all the way down his throat and splashing sorely in his empty stomach. It was only four mouthfuls and not the whole bottle, thankfully, but he knew immediately that that didn't matter. He was in real hot water now.

"There," Doofus sighed in what sounded like relief. "Now you will be okay."

Louie shuddered, his entire being reeling at the sensation of the non-ingestible churning amongst his stomach acid. This wasn't good. Not good. Not good at all. He was going to die, and for once, he was fully confident in the fact he had to stay. He couldn't go out like this, not when his brothers needed him the most.

Huey stared in horror at his brother, unable to comprehend what he'd just had to do. He remembered clearly how intensely the Junior Woodchucks had chiseled the knowledge of how dangerous consuming this kind of stuff was. He didn't know all the gorey details, but he didn't have to to understand how much trouble Louie was now in.

Dewey wasn't sure of a lot of things. He didn't know what was going to happen next, if anything. He didn't know if they were ever going to get out of there. He didn't know if he could ever earn forgiveness for causing this. But he'd been comforted by the presence and promise of his brothers, both of them, and now one was going to die. That, he knew. And he hated it with every bone in his body.

As soon as Doofus left to do whatever(they weren't paying attention), Louie ragdolled backwards on the block. God, it hurt. It hurt so bad. He'd had cramps before, he'd been sick, but, god dammit, none of that even compared to this. His abdomen ached in a way he couldn't explain, like a fire had been placed and was now burning him from the inside out, only it wasn't as sharp, instead wide and heavy. It clawed at his throat, threatening to climb and spread to every other part of him and surely kill him from sheer pain. Forget the poison aspect, he was sure the feeling alone would do him in soon enough.

"Louie!" Huey's voice shook with his terror. He crawled the best he could to his brother, grasping at his face and shoulders. "Louie, you have to throw it up! You'll die if you don't!"

"Way ahead of you," Louie gasped between waves of pain.

His throat squeezed with nausea multiple times while Huey helped him flip onto his side. The band around his neck pressed against the thin liquid that scaled up his esophagus, feeling so much more suffocating as it splattered on the carpet below. He didn't think he could feel worse, but it burned nearly thrice as bad on the way back up. He felt more hands on his back, but didn't have enough time to process who it could be before more of the vile substance spilled from his insides.

His head spun wildly as he felt himself become weightless for just a moment before being pressed to something warm. He could barely hear the voices around him, unable to make out the desperation and anger. Whatever wall he was being held to jostled, like it was breathing. The unpleasant aroma of the puddle he knew he'd made combined with the horribly familiar scent of stale sweat, and he felt that burn again. It splashed against the wall, ricocheting back onto his blood-caked feathers.

He'd never been so disoriented in his life. There was a time when he'd gotten so sick he awoke to the beeping of monitors and the glare of too-white everything. His heart had just about stopped due to a fever that had climbed too high so his Uncle Donald rushed him to hospital, where he stayed for two days. That was bad. He didn't like those memories. But this was easily worse. Even without the traumatic experience itself, he had a feeling he'd grown much more ill now than he had then. The only reason his heart still beat now had to have been because of his brothers' appearance. They'd rejuvenated his hope and reminded him he had something to live for, if only just this once.

None of this really registered in his brain, however. All he could think about was how incredibly bad he felt and how little he could see. Everything blurred together. The colors, the pain, all of it. The only coherent thought that ran through his mind was a whimpering, sobbing, desperate ow. Even that was garbled, immediately overrun by all the other words and feelings he couldn't make out.

Wait.

He felt something. Something odd. He knew that feeling. And he didn't like it.

A strength he swore he didn't have a second ago rushed through his veins, his instincts working against his better judgment. A harsh, painful quack screeched from his bill as he pushed away from the wall and the tight drapes around his back. A different lack of weight than before overcame his body just before he landed hard on the floor.

Doofus stared at the messy duckling, hand still held up where he'd planned to start a game. His finger and clothes dripped with the nearly clear liquid that had come from his dearest present's bill. He'd wanted to have some fun with the unexpected stuff and use it as the lubricant he'd forgotten last time. Screaming demands from the other two fell on his deaf ears.

Louie panted heavily on the floor, his body tremoring with all he was and wasn't quite feeling. He didn't move, too exhausted and limbs too heavy from his outburst to do more than ache. He didn't like being invaded. He didn't like it. He wanted it to stop. He wanted it to go away. He wanted the hands to let go. He wanted the fullness to vanish. He wanted the pain to fade. Why couldn't he just be okay for once?

Huey couldn't really hear his or Dewey's voices. Their yelling was so loud he was having trouble telling their demands apart. Blood rushed in his ears, pure, raw anger flooding his chest. A hot rage he normally hated feeling overtook his senses. For the first time ever, he didn't care what Duke was planning. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to make Doofus suffer just as much as he'd made his brother suffer. More, even.

"Go, Duke!" He heard Dewey shout. He couldn't tell if it was a supportive cheer or an order, but it didn't matter.

He went.

--

Doofus waddled calmly through the hallways of his home, not a bruise or scrape ailing his body. He glanced back at the red-clad duckling following him, a giggle of amusement curving his misshapen bill upward. This earned him two matching glares of disapproval, which only made him laugh again.

"It is quite funny that you thought you could hurt me," He mused. "Your presents aren't made of gold, but reinforced titanium. Even the worst temper can't break it."

Huey turned his glare to the band in question. His ankle had been rubbed enough to bleed by the time Duke returned to the dark corners of his being. It was sore, but he'd had worse injuries. Luckily, he was nowhere near the level of blood loss as his brother, only a couple heavy drops leaking onto their shared platform. He wasn't worried about it. The chances of it getting infected were low unless he touched it to something, and he was trying his best to remain far away from every trinket and podium in this place.

Dewey grabbed his hand, trying to offer some comfort. He couldn't lose his cool again. They both knew if Duke got out too many times at once, it would be too difficult to put him back in his place. They'd find another way out. Someone was bound to notice they were gone eventually. As adventurous and independent as Dewey wanted to be and often was, he never missed dinner and always returned home by nightfall. The others were like that, too. They loved their family and loved their new life in the mansion. Everyone knew they wouldn't stay out late without a reason, and even then, they would call one of their uncles to let them know where they were.

It seemed to hit Huey and Dewey at the same time. They could have called their family before Doofus came back! Dewey, after his own lengthy groan of frustration, put his spare hand on his brother's hunched shoulder. After Duke episodes, his nerves were raw and he was more susceptible to anger. Especially when it was something seemingly so obvious that he missed.

Doofus made a sharp turn into an open doorway, into a small double-sectioned room. The first chamber was tiny, a sink to the right and a tall shelf to the left. The second was what gave away what kind of room it was. A toilet sat by the far left corner, a bathtub lining the opposite wall to the right. A cream colored rug layed in front of it, but there was no shower curtain. It was a very clean bathroom, which was actually unexpected considering how untidy the child billionaire tended to be.

With a care similar to his father's earlier that same day(although it felt like that was weeks ago), the teen set the third triplet inside the tub. He turned to the older two, smiling wide.

"Come, my dears," He reached over, turning both knobs of the bath. Water poured from the spout, slowly building at the bottom of the tub.

"A bath?" Dewey tilted his head in confusion.

"You are dirty," Doofus droned. "Llewellyn has seen cleaner days." His hand ran over the feathers on Louie's head, eyes seeming to soak in whatever twisted beauty he saw. "He must not be filthy if he wishes to bring me pleasure four times in a row."

"What does that even mean?" Huey finally asked aloud. He'd been too scared to before, but now all he knew was the remaining anger and the want to protect his brothers.

"Get in," Doofus ignored the question, gesturing to the filling tub.

It had just met Louie's mangled feet, the red of his blood swirling into the liquid in ominous designs. He'd been bleeding less, which they couldn't decide was a good or bad thing.

"Wait," Huey stepped up to the side of the tub. He stretched upward until he grabbed the shower head, pulling it down and flipping the toggle to turn it on. He felt the temperature on his hand, knowing cool but not cold would help lower his brother's fever. He sprayed the torn feet, keeping the stream away from being directly on the wounds. "We should rinse him off first, so he's not sitting in bloody water." Sure enough, the blood streaked along the tub and escaped down the drain.

"I see," Doofus hummed. He pointed to a bottle on the ledge in the wall. "Shampoo." He stood, walking to the door. "Maid!" He screamed.

"Yes, Doofus..?" A feminine voice came from somewhere in the hall they couldn't see.

"Watch them," The teen ordered. "Make sure they don't escape again." There was a resentment in his voice.

"Yes, sir."

Doofus left swiftly, leaving the three ducklings for the third or fourth time that day. An adult female duck came in, her hands wringing together. Her face twisted with sympathetic pain when she saw the additional ducklings.

"Who are you?" Dewey asked, stepping back to stand on the side of the tub his brother leaned against.

"I am Doofus' maid," She hesitated. "And his mother."

Her eyes shifted to the unconscious child in the tub. Tears pricked her eyelids at the sight of him. She hadn't realized his feet were so badly wounded.

"I will be back," She promised. "Please, don't go anywhere."

Huey and Dewey watched her leave in a haste. They shared a look.

"We don't have a choice," Huey sighed heavily at the fact. "Louie needs this. The infection could get worse if we don't clean it somehow." He fidgetted with the shower head. "And I doubt he'd appreciate it if we left him covered in vomit and blood."

Dewey's bill scrunched. In disgust or frustration, Huey couldn't tell. He didn't say anything for a long moment.

"I'm sorry this happened," He blurted.

"What?" Huey gave him a strange look. "You didn't do anything. This is all Doofus' fault."

"But I came up with Only Child Day," Dewey argued. "If I didn't push it on you two, we wouldn't even be here. Louie would be okay. You never would have had to 'go Duke.' We wouldn't be trapped here." He slid his back down the wall, hugging his knees and burying his face in his arms. "This is all my fault."

"You didn't know this would happen," Huey spoke softly, running the shower stream over his brother's lower body. It seemed especially filthy for some reason. "None of us did. We did need a break from each other, and while I admit it was a bit too far to say we didn't have siblings at all, it wasn't a bad idea. Just a bit extreme."

"Webby warned us," Dewey muttered.

"Not really," Huey shrugged one shoulder. "Not about this. She said being siblings was a lucky thing and we shouldn't do it because we were brothers and love each other."

"I love you guys," Dewey's voice cracked, the sound kicking Huey's big brother instincts into high gear. "I don't wanna do this again. No more Only Child Day."

Huey saw him lift his head, teary eyes gazing longingly at their brother. He followed the look, and the blankness sitting in Louie's demeanor brought clarity.

"He'll be okay," He was quick to assure. "He threw up the disinfectant. I-I won't say there's absolutely no chance for it to still, uh..kill him. But it's less."

"You're still here," Mrs. Drake marveled upon her return.

"Where would we go?" Huey asked sarcastically. Any gentleness in his tone was gone. "One of us is dying, and we're all cuffed."

"Huey..!" Dewey wailed.

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Drake sucked in a breath. "I want to help you. I can't help you escape, it's too risky. But I can help Llewellyn's wounds."

Huey's eyes widened. The woman had pulled out a pair of tweezers, a roll of bandages, and a box of baking soda. All necessary for extracting glass punctures.

"Do you want to do it?" She offered the tweezers to him. "I understand if you don't want me near him."

Huey looked between the tool and his brother. He hadn't been properly washed yet. He was definitely looking better, but he had to be at his best to fight the infection, and deal with Doofus, and complete whatever deal they'd made.

"Not yet," He told her. "He needs to be clean, first."

She nodded, stepping back to give them room. He didn't trust her, and he wasn't sure he ever would. She raised that thing that had trapped and hurt them. He was never one to judge a parent trying their best - after all, look at his family and upbringing - but this was just ridiculous.

"Dewey, get in with him," He ordered evenly.

"What?" Dewey flinched. "Why me? You're leg needs cleaned, too."

"Your arm is soaked," Huey deadpanned at him. His expression was cold, but there was only care in his eyes. "Get in."

Dewey took a moment to move. He slowly stood, slipping his shirts over his head. He set them on the toilet lid, glancing at the woman. She was facing the hallway, giving them some privacy. He was relieved they didn't have to take a bath with unrelated eyes. He stepped into the tub, lifting his brother and sitting behind him. He leaned him on his shoulder, brushing his hand over his forehead.

Huey ran the stream of water over his brothers, their feathers releasing the blood and bile that had stuck to them. Well, most of it. They filled the tub with the lukewarm water, Huey grabbing a soft loofah from a cabinet. He stepped carefully into the tub after removing his shirt and hat, sitting with his back to the faucet.

"Here," Huey squirted some shampoo onto the loofah, handing it to his conscious brother. "Wash your arm. I'll work on him."

"But your leg," Dewey eyed the banded appendage under the water. "It could get infected. We don't need another one of us getting sick."

"I'll take care of it," Huey sighed. "But as the oldest, I have to take care of you two."

"Three seconds!" Dewey exclaimed, and for a moment, their situation seemed a little lighter and they felt a little more normal.

"Just do it," Huey hid a smile behind his youngest brother's head. "When you're done, you can start getting the stains out of Louie's feathers."

Dewey grumbled nonsense as he did what he was told. The blood on his arm was still a little wet, reminding him of how little time it took for their rescue mission to turn so drastically south. The recollection of the day's events made the guilt spike up again, the salty taste in his throat almost reaching the front of his tongue.

When he'd gotten all the red off his hand and forearm, he traded the loofah for his brother. He ran his fingers through his feathers, trying to get as much of the debris out as he could without soap. He pestered Huey until he agreed to finally take care of his own wound by gently rubbing it in the water. When that was done, they got more shampoo on the loofah and scrubbed it over their brother's unconscious body. It was surprisingly effective.

After about ten minutes, Louie was looking a lot better. Still sick, still hurt, but better. He was clean, all traces of blood and stomach acid removed. Dewey held him a little tighter, and Huey brushed his fingers through his hair feathers, both taking in their brother while they still could. They didn't know how his deal would go, or how long they had until he gave up.

"It's kinda refreshing," Huey mentioned, voice weak with emotion. "To not see him so.."

"Abused," Dewey finished. Huey nodded.

They drained the tub, rinsing all three of them off with the shower head. Huey called for Mrs. Drake, telling her to set the tools on the floor so he could get to them when he needed them. She obeyed, just like a maid, but that thought made him feel bad, so he pretended it never came to him.

He lifted one of his brother's feet, using the tweezers to carefully extract the shards of glass. Blood splattered heavily on his legs and the white floor of the tub, but he didn't stop. Dewey thought he looked borderline emotionless. When all pieces of glass he could see were gone, he moved on to the other foot and did the same.

When he was done, he set the tweezers on the floor with the other stuff, using the shower head to wash the blood away. He dabbed at the wounds with some of the bandages, drying his feet the best he could. Using the baking soda and shower head, he made a thick, sticky substance and wiped it gently where it needed to be, effectively coating the soles of his brother's feet. After that, he wrapped them carefully with the bandages.

"What's the baking soda for?" Dewey asked, nervous for an answer. Huey was still obviously being influenced by his earlier episode, and he didn't want to set him off.

"It draws out any other glass shards you can't get," Huey didn't explode, he actually sounded a lot like he always did when sharing a fact someone else didn't know.

Without Doofus around, the boys could find at least a little normalcy in their situation, it seemed.

"He'll be okay," Huey added, though the crack in his voice and the tears that suddenly entered his eyes made it hard to tell how truthful he was being, or if he was saying it to Dewey or himself.

"He will," Dewey made sure to sound more confident than he felt. Huey always saw right through that act, but the effort was appreciated.

"I don't wanna be done," Huey sniffed. "But Louie's as good as he's gonna get."

This was the closest to 'normal' as they felt it would get for a long time. It was nice, getting to sit in a bath together and take care of each other without the constant looming danger of Doofus. Having Louie in their own arms instead, not okay, but safe, with them. The last thing they wanted was to go back to that room, sitting on their pedestal, not knowing what would happen next. Not knowing how much torture Louie would endure each time Doofus appeared.

But fate was cruel.

Doofus returned to the bathroom, escorting his prisoners back to their designated room. Though, it acted more as a cell in a jail than a cozy little sitting area in a house. It was only when Dewey put his shirts back on that he remembered something he still had tucked away in his cartoony pockets. Two somethings, actually.