Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If nothing else, Louie Duck thought idly, as he watched the Italian country side pass by through the cab’s window, it’s a nice day to be outdoors.

It was, at that. Spring had recently come to Emilia-Romagna, the warm air slowly making its way inland from the coast to the mountains, though they had not yet warmed to the extent that would make a ramble unpleasant. This was fortunate, as such an expedition was exactly what Louie had planned for the day.

He had flown into Milan the night before. Commercially, for once. Kit had offered to fly him, because of course he had, which Louie had refused with thanks, saying that this was a trip he needed to make on his own.

Kit had given him a look then, some odd mixture of fond, frustrated, and pitying, before heaving a great sigh and wrapping his friend up in a bear-hug.

”If you need anything, Lou, anything, you know where to find me. And even if you don’t, come visit soon, OK? Don’t go letting me worry about you.”

From Milan, Louie had taken the fast train to Bologna, arriving in the evening. There, he had checked himself into his hotel and grabbed a quick dinner, before turning in. It pained the gourmand inside of him to be in the gastronomic center of Italy and not make a bigger deal out of a meal, but in the end, exhaustion won out. He’d make up for it later, he reasoned.

He’d woken up early that morning, intending to get an early start on the day. He’d gotten his hiking gear together, loaded his pack, and hailed a cab to take him out into the Bolognese countryside. Specifically, to a small village nestled into the Apennine foothills.

When he arrived there, Louie paid the cab driver with a ‘Grazie. Buona giornata.’, and shouldered his pack. He then allowed himself some time to wander through the town a bit, stopping for a light breakfast in a small café, before deciding it was time to get on with his plans. After receiving some directions from his waiter, he set off again, making for a trailhead on the outskirts of town.

Frow there, he just walked. He didn’t have a particular destination in mind, but he reasoned that he would know it when he saw it.

Finally, after about an hour’s ramble, Louie came upon a small, rocky outcropping, about three-quarters up the mountain. He clambered to the top, finding a fine view of the valley and village below. Deciding he’d found his spot, he shrugged off his pack and sat down. He then opened the pack, removing a bottle of MacQuaken’s and an urn.

He set the urn down next to him, and opened the bottle.

“Slàinte Mhath, Uncle Flintheart.”

He drank deeply.

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It hadn’t been a surprise. Louie wondered sometimes if it would have been easier if it had been.

But it hadn’t.

It was, if you took a step back, eminently predictable. Flintheart Glomgold had been old when Louie had first met him, and older still when his surrogate uncle had found him again. He’d only grown older every day since. That’s the way the world works.

Well, it’s the way it works for most people. Louie just happened to know several people for whom that rule didn’t apply, for one reason or another.

Somehow, that didn’t make it any easier.

Because time came for everyone else, and Flintheart Glomgold was no exception, however exceptional he may have been in other ways. Louie was no exception either, and as the years went by, they turned him from the world’s youngest billionaire to a thoroughly middle-aged one. From a young upstart to an established captain of industry. From a brash young man, to a much more measured older one, with all the attendant responsibilities of that age.

Responsibilities his life up until that point had not adequately prepared him for.

It was, perhaps, impossible to pinpoint where it had all started. Louie could, however, recall the moment he’d become aware of it. That memory would stay with him until the day he died.

------------------------

“Mr. Duck? Do you have a moment?”

“Zan! Of course. Please, come in. Have a seat. And it’s ‘Louie’, as I know I’ve told you a hundred times. ‘Mr. Duck’ is my uncle. Two of them, actually. Never mind all that though, please, sit!”

Zan Owlson responded with a tight smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, as she took her seat on the other side of Louie’s desk in his Edinburgh office.

“Of course, ‘Louie’ then.”

Louie regarded his uncle’s COO as she sat across from him. While it wasn’t unusual, exactly, for Owlson to be in Scotland (Glomgold Industries certainly had enough projects in the area, after all), it was at least a little unexpected. Golmgold tended to leave his American interests in her hands these days, preferring to handle his European ones directly. Still, something about the owl’s demeanor indicated to him that this was not a standard business meeting.

“I apologize for not replying to your request for a virtual meeting earlier,” Louie began, attempting to read his visitor’s expression “but my schedule’s been a bit all-over the place for the past few weeks. I’m sure you understand.”

Owlson shook her head in reply. “It’s fine. This was probably a conversation we needed to have in person, anyway.”

Louie gave a small frown at that, turning to busy himself in his office liquor cabinet. “Well, you’ve got my attention. Can I get you something to drink before we get into it?”

“Scotch and soda, with a twist.”

Louie’s frown deepened. He’d been offering mostly out of politeness. Owlson was not exactly a teetotaler, but he’d never known her to partake during the day. Nevertheless, he set about making her drink, then poured himself a measure of scotch neat.

He turned then back toward his visitor, handing over her glass. Owlson accepted it with a nod of thanks.

They clinked their glasses together in toast, then each took a deep sip.

After a moment, Owlson spoke.

“Louie, have you noticed anything… unusual about your uncle lately?”

Another frown. “Unusual? He’s only probably the most unusual duck I’ve ever met, and you know that means something, coming from me. What’re we talking about here?”

“I started noticing little things a few months ago,” the owl replied with a sigh “but these last few weeks, since he’s been back in Duckburg, it seems like it’s getting worse.”

“What do you mean? What’s getting worse?”

“He’s been… forgetting things, Louie. His first board meeting after he came back, he couldn’t remember half of his board member’s names.”

At that, Louie felt a feeling of dread settle into the pit of his stomach.

“Did he ever know them?” he replied, trying to be glib, and really failing quite badly, even to his ears.

Owlson was kind enough to give him another tight smile, though it again failed to reach her eyes.

“If that was all there was, I wouldn’t be as concerned, but it isn’t. He stormed into my office the other week, demanding to know why he hadn’t received any updates on the St. Canard rail project. Louie, that project ended…”

“Five years ago.” Louie finished for her, the feeling of dread intensifying.

“That’s right,” Owlson nodded “and I could give you probably a dozen other examples from the past month.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m not a doctor, so I don’t want to speculate. He needs to see one though, and he won’t hear it from me. But something needs to happen, Louie. I’ve managed to keep this fairly quiet so far, but the longer this goes on, the more people will talk. If it gets out that the CEO of Glomgold Industries is having these sort of issues… thousands of peoples’ jobs are at stake. Even setting that all aside, he needs to get looked at for his own sake.”

“So, you want me to fly back to Duckburg and drag him to the doctor’s, is that it?”

“I understand you’re busy, Louie, but…”

“I can be there by tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

“Mr. Duck? Do you have a moment?”

Louie had never been a big fan of hospitals.

Fortunately, he’d never had much cause to visit them too frequently. Growing up with his brothers and Uncle Donald, money had generally been too tight to rush to the hospital for anything other that the most serious illnesses or injuries (usually to Dewey). Later, once they’d moved in with Uncle Scrooge, house-call doctors had been utilized whenever there was a need, a practice Louie had continued once he’d set off on his own.

Still, needs must when the devil drives, so he found himself in the waiting room of the neurology department at a private hospital, just outside of Duckburg, staring blankly at the wall-mounted TV, when he was approached by Glomgold’s treating physician.

“Dr. Moynihan,” he stood, reaching his hand out in greeting at the approach of the tall, older dog “yes, of course. How’s my uncle doing?”

“He’s doing well,” the doctor replied, shaking Louie’s proffered hand “just finishing up his last few tests with my team. I did, however, want to take this opportunity to speak with you. Would you like to step into my office?”

“Of course.” Louie responded, pushing down the surging feeling of dread that had been sitting in the pit of his stomach for the past week.

Doesn’t sound like good news, but you weren’t expecting good news either. Whatever this is, you’ll just have to deal with it. No sense crying over it, at least not now.

He followed the doctor into his office, taking the seat in front of the desk as the dog took the one behind, sitting and opening what Louie imagined was this uncle’s chart.

“Now, Mr. Duck,” Dr. Moynihan began “before we get too deeply into this, Mr. Glomgold did sign a medical release form allowing me to discuss the details of his case with you. That said, given the nature of his… condition, I should ask: do you happen to know who holds his power of attorney, medical or otherwise?”

“Yes. I do. What are you saying? Has it already come to that, or…”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” the doctor rushed to continue “I didn’t mean to imply… it’s just that I wanted to determine if there was anyone else who needed to be informed of these matters. Yours was the only name on any of the forms Mr. Glomgold filled out, but if you do also have his power of attorney, then you will be able to make the decisions of who else needs to be brought into the loop.”

Louie nodded. “Well, that depends on the situation, I suppose. So, let’s cut to the chase, Doc: is it Alzheimer’s?”

“It may be a factor.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that, while we can identify the symptoms Mr. Glomgold is exhibiting, we will need the results of these tests we are running today to make a definitive diagnosis.” The dog sighed here, removing his glasses and sitting back in his chair. “At the same time, there are other conditions that could explain the symptoms we are seeing.”

“Such as?”

The doctor regarded him a moment before replying.

“Mr. Duck, are you familiar with Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy?”

Louie felt his brow furrow. “That’s CTE, right? Like football players get?”

“Most famously, yes. However, the disease has been noted in athletes in other sports, as well as in many others who’ve suffered repeated head trauma. Reviewing Mr. Glomgold’s medical history…”

…And those were just the times he actually got treated for, Louie thought, a wave of nausea threatening to overcome him.

“… this is, to my mind, the most likely root cause, pending, of course, the results of the tests we are running.”

Louie swallowed, thickly. “So, is one of these tests going to tell you whether or not it’s that?”

Dr. Moynihan shook his head. “Unfortunately, there is no way to definitively diagnose CTE in the brain of a living patient at this time. The test we are running are for alternate conditions, Alzheimer’s among them.”

“Alright, be straight with me, Doc: is anything you’re testing for curable, or is this all basically just leading us to the same place?”

The dog hesitated a moment before replying. “Well, there are a few differences in the management of…”

“Oh, God…”

Louie stood up at that, and began pacing, breathing deeply to try and both steady his rising heart rate and quell the waves of nausea that kept increasing. Dr. Moynihan stood, looking torn as to whether to offer assistance or to just give Louie a moment.

Finally, Louie regained enough control over himself to come to a stop, taking one last deep breath and turning to face the doctor.

“How long?”

“Difficult to say. The testing we’ve done so far indicates whatever’s going on is still in the early stages, but without knowing exactly what we’re dealing with, the progression will be hard to predict.”

“So, in the meantime?”

“We’ll be sending Mr. Glomgold home today with a number of prescriptions meant to assist in cognitive function and attempt to slow the disease’s progression. We can further adjust and refine these medications as we see how he responds to them, as well as when we get back the results of his tests.”

Louie nodded. “Have you told him any of this?”

The doctor hesitated again, though this time Louie could guess why.

“We did, but… before we could get too far into the details, Mr. Glomgold became extremely agitated. Quite frankly, we would’ve had you in the room with him when we had that discussion, had he not adamantly stated we were not to bother you and to just, and I quote, ‘get on with it’. But as I said, he became extremely agitated when we spoke to him, to the point that I made the decision to leave it at that for his own health. He calmed down after we gave him a mild sedative, though not without calling us a bunch of ‘half-trained, half-witted lobotomizers’. In any event, this was part of why I wanted to speak with you and make sure whoever had power of attorney was brought into the loop. If discussing his care with Mr. Glomgold is going to cause this sort of effect… you may find yourself having to make decisions on his behalf sooner rather than later.”

Louie nodded again. “Alright, I think it’s time for me to go find him then. Anything else for the present?”

“Well, I do have some more information about…”

“Email it to me.” Louie reached into his jacket for a business card, handing it to the doctor. “Sedatives won’t keep him down for long, so it’s probably best if we go ahead and collect those prescriptions and get him out of here.”

“Of course, Mr. Duck. I’ll be sure to send you along that information. Do you have any last questions for me today?”

“Just one: where’s the nearest bathroom?”

“Down the hall the way we came, third door on the right.”

Thanking the doctor once more with a handshake, Louie left the office and headed down the hall to the bathroom…

… where he spent the next five minutes being noisily, violently sick.

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A few minutes later, having splashed some water onto his face to clean up as best he could, Louie found a nurse to direct him to his uncle’s room.

Arriving at the door, he hesitated before entering, peering in to find the old duck sitting on the examination table, worrying his cane with both hands and looking… lost, in a way Louie had never seen him.

Steeling himself, he rapped lightly on the doorframe.

Glomgold’s head jerked up at the noise, and Louie could almost see the mask of normalcy fall onto his uncle’s face as he hopped up to greet his nephew.

“Louie! About time yew got here! Yew’ll not believe what these bampot quacks have been telling me! Me, Flintheart Glomgold, about to lose all his marbles like some withered old crone! Can yew imagine?”

It took about everything he had, but Louie forced a smile onto his face at that, coming over and wrapping has arm around his uncle’s shoulder.

“I can’t. It’s how I know they don’t know who they’re dealing with. Flintheart Glomgold’s too stubborn to let his wits just go like that. They’ll learn though. In the meantime, let’s go get your scripts filled, and get ourselves out of here.”

The older duck scowled. “I donnae need…”

“Maybe not,” Louie cut in “but it would make me feel better if you took them anyway, just on the off-chance they help. You willing to do that much for your favorite nephew?”

For a moment, it seemed that Glomgold would continue to argue the point, before suddenly the tension bled off of him and he leaned into Louie’s shoulder.

“Yer me only nephew,” he grumbled “and far too good at playing dirty, at that.”

“That’s how you know we’re family.” Louie replied, squeezing his uncle’s shoulder before turning him and leading them out of the exam room.

As they walked down the hallway towards the hospital’s pharmacy, an idea occurred to Louie.

“Say, Uncle Flinty. I was talking to Owlson earlier. She said she was cancelling your board meeting for tomorrow. Turns out it could’ve just been an email. That being the case, why don’t you come back to Scotland with me this weekend? It’s been a while since we’ve gone fishing.”

Louie hadn’t actually talked to Owlson, at least not about that, but that was neither here nor there.

“Aye, lad,” the elder replied, smiling a genuine smile for the first time since Louie had come back to Duckburg earlier that week “that sounds like a fine time.”

Chapter Text

“How’s he been?” Louie asked his brother without preamble as he exited his car, making his way up the stairs towards the front door of his Blair Atholl manor.

“All right, for the most part.” Dewey answered, opening his arms expectantly as Louie approached. “A couple of low-grade incidents, but nothing we couldn’t handle. Hello, by the way.”

At his brother’s response, the tension that had kept Louie’s teeth on edge for the better part of the week (mostly) fell away, and he allowed himself to be gathered up into Dewey’s waiting arms. Feeling the comforting weight of his older brother around him, he allowed himself a moment to finally relax.

“Hello, Dewey.”

They remained this way for a few seconds before Louie broke the hug, intending to enter the mansion. Dewey, however, evidently had no intention of breaking contact with his little brother just yet, instead keeping an arm draped across his shoulders as they came through the front doors.

“Where’s he now?”

“Sitting in the garden out back. Napping, last time I looked.”

“Is he warm enough out there?”

“Dude, Webby’s out there with him. Do you really think, if he so much as shivered, she wouldn’t have him wrapped up like he was getting ready to climb Neverest?”

Louie snorted at that. “I suppose not.”

“You wanna go check on him?”

Louie considered this for a moment, before shaking his head. “Not just yet. If he’s comfortable for the time being, I need a few minutes to decompress first.”

With that, he patted his brother’s hand that was still on his shoulder, shrugging it off. He then removed his green jacket and hanging it on the coat rack, leaving him in his shirtsleeves and yellow waistcoat. Turning then, he headed for his office, knowing without needing to look that Dewey followed him.

Entering his office, he tossed his briefcase on the couch and made his way to this desk chair. Before he sat, however, he looked out the window into his back garden, where, true to his brother’s words, he found his uncle.

The old duck was seated, evidently napping in the garden’s most comfortable chair. His lower half was covered in a thick tartan blanket, so Louie supposed he was plenty warm enough. Webby’s doing, most likely.

Speaking of Louie’s aunt/cousin/sister, he found her next, sitting at a nearby garden tale, reading a book he was fairly sure came out of his own library.

If it were anyone else, he thought, I’d be worried about her having that thing outside. That’s a first edition, after all.

Sitting across the table from Webby, typing away at a laptop, was Fiona, one of two full-time, in-home nurses specializing in dementia patients who Louie employed for his uncle’s care. Satisfied, for the moment, that Glomgold was in good hands, he turned from the window to find his brother had already taken the seat on the other side of his desk.

“So,” he began, taking his own seat “you said there were a couple of incidents. What sort of incidents are we talking about here?”

----------------------------------------------------

For the first few months after Glomgold’s diagnosis, life had actually continued with some semblance of normalcy. As much as life was ever ‘normal’ for Louie and his extended family, anyway.

He’d known it wouldn’t last; his uncle’s treating doctors had been very clear on that point.

Still, for a while at least, it was possible to pretend.

It took some work, obviously. Louie and Owlson spent countless hours tweaking the organizational structure of Glomgold Industries to account for its CEO’s declining faculties, gradually shifting responsibilities away from him, while keeping him in control, at least in name. Owlson in particular had done extremely valuable work in identifying which employees could be trusted with these additional responsibilities without seeking to exploit the situation for personal gain. Additionally, it had taken some delicate planning to find a way to integrate Louie, as Glomgold’s legal executor, into the company’s command structure without giving off the appearance of an incipient corporate takeover.

That they were able to accomplish these tasks while only occasionally drawing the ire of the duck in question was, to Louie’s mind, something of a blessing. Glomgold would occasionally rage when he suspected his authority was being undermined, but after a while they learned to make these moves more subtly, at the same time becoming more skilled in identifying the types situations that would trigger the old duck. Thus, for the most part, if Flintheart Glomgold noticed he was spending less time in board rooms and more time fishing, he didn’t seem to mind.

He did, however, occasionally comment on how exhausted his nephew looked during these fishing trips, but said nephew was, after all, a skilled liar.

The upshot to all of this was that Louie found himself spending more time in Duckburg than he had in probably thirty years. This meant, obviously, that his family needed to be apprised of the situation.

He’d told Huey, Dewey, and Webby first. They’d reacted about how he’d expected. Huey, with a million questions about the exact diagnosis, how many second opinions they’d gotten, what treatments were being tried, and why others hadn’t been tried. Dewey, with just as many ideas about how various artifacts they’d gone after on their adventures might help. Webby, with a teary hug that had probably bruised a few ribs.

He'd told Donald next. Here, he’d received a much gentler, but no less loving, hug, and the advice that he should speak to Daisy. Apparently, she’d gone through something similar with her grandmother years before.

Della had reacted similarly, though she’d been more at a loss for words. Louie couldn’t begrudge her that; he had no idea what he’d say on the other side of the situation.

Then there was Scrooge. The old duck had expressed his heartbreak for his nephew, and a concern for his old rival that would have surprised a younger Louie. There was something else in his great-uncle’s expression at the news, however. Something almost… haunted.

They had all, to a person, made it clear that if there was anything Louie needed…

He’d thanked them. He’d even meant it.

What he did not say, was what he needed was his uncle, and that that was the whole problem.

They had made good on their word, though. Huey, in particular, essentially appointed himself Glomgold’s unofficial medical advocate, asking the doctors all the questions Louie would never have known or thought to ask himself. He was more grateful for this than he’d have thought. It wasn’t that Louie didn’t trust his uncle’s physicians, but he recognized it couldn’t hurt to have a knowledgeable voice asking those questions. Daisy, meanwhile, had been as good as Donald’s word, offering valuable advice from her own experience in coping with cognitive decline in a loved one.

For a while, all this was enough. Until all of a sudden it wasn’t.

While video-conferencing and other forms of tele-work made it possible for Louie to conduct much of the Claymore Group’s business from Duckburg, there were times when his physical presence was required in Scotland. Usually, at these times, he would bring Glomgold with him, under the pretense either of fishing, or checking in on Glomgold Industries European interests (which Louie was also, effectively, running). In this instance, however, the older duck had been ill with a low-grade flu a few days prior, and it was decided that it would not be a good idea for him to travel. His household staff could watch over him for a couple days, and Owlson and Louie’s family could check in as needed.

Louie returned to Glomgold’s estate two days later to find it in chaos.

Even in his younger and healthier days, Flintheart Glomgold had rarely, if ever, driven himself, preferring to use hired drivers. Therefore, no one had found it necessary to secure the car keys in the mansion (Louie wanted to be mad about this, but for the fact that the thought hadn’t occurred to him either). Apparently, at some point that afternoon, while the household staff had been going about their business, Louie’s uncle had taken a pair of keys and driven off without a word to anyone. Now here it was, hours later, and all attempts to contact (either his cell phone had run out of batteries or had been turned off) or locate the elderly duck had failed.

There was nothing else for it, Louie and Owlson decided. They’d need to call the police, have them put out a Silver Alert. There would be trouble, once word got out, but there were no other options.

What followed may not have been the most nerve-wracking five hours of Louie Duck’s life, but they were up there. At some point, someone, probably Owlson, must’ve called McDuck Manor, as Della and Donald had shown up. They sat on either side of the couch next to him as he stared at the phone, praying to every god he’d ever met that it would ring.

Finally, it did.

They’d found him at a gas station in the mountains, three states away, confused and disoriented, but seemingly unharmed. He’d been taken to a local hospital, where they would monitor him until a family member came to pick him up. Louie hurriedly plugged the address into his phone, and was halfway out the door and to his car before he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to find his mother regarding him with open concern.

“Honey… you’re not really in any state to be driving that far by yourself right now. Your nerves are shot all to hell; you’d be just as likely to crash yourself. Let me drive.”

“Besides,” Donald added, coming up on his other side “you’ll need someone to drive Glomgold’s car back. Let us help you.”

It was on the tip of Louie’s tongue to argue, but suddenly he just didn’t have the energy. He nodded tiredly, before turning back to Owlson.

“If you don’t mind, can you call Scrooge? Tell him if he can kill this story, I’ll count it for my next five birthdays.”

Hours later, at the hospital, Louie approached the room where his uncle was being kept for observation. He’d asked Della and Donald to stay back in the waiting area; he didn’t think he or Glomgold really needed an audience for this part. He rapped on the door frame.

His uncle’s head snapped up, gazing at him in bewildered confusion.

His heart stopped.

No, dammit, no, Not now. Just a little more time, please…

Finally, the light of recognition came to Glomgold eyes, and Louie could swear his heart started beating again.

“Ah, Louie, me dear lad. There yew are.”

Said lad let out a shaky breath. “Here I am, and there yew are, Uncle Flinty. You gave us a bit of a scare.”

The old duck head dropped at that. “Aye, I suppose I did. I dinnae mean to, lad, I promise yew that, I only meant to…”

It took everything Louie had not to ask what Glomgold had meant to do. It was clear he didn’t know, and asking him would be asking for answers that weren’t there. It would be asking him to just try harder, as if this was something he could fight if only he wanted to enough.

And it’s not, Louie thought. This isn’t something he’s allowing to happen to himself. They told me that from day one, and I thought I got it. Then he did so well for so long, I let myself believe… They told me it would come to this, that the other shoe would drop. Things can’t continue like they have now.

“You know what, Uncle Flinty? After we get you home, I think you and I should go back to Scotland for a while, maybe do some fishing. How does that sound?”

He doesn’t say that they won’t be coming back.

His uncle smiled at that. “Aye, lad. That sounds like a fine time.”

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“Well, the first day you were gone, he was generally pretty agitated. Had a couple of fits that Aileen and Fiona had to get him through.” Dewey frowned at the memory. “I’ll be honest, kinda freaked me and Webby out a bit. I know you’d told me it’d gotten much worse, but it’s different seeing it for yourself.”

Louie winced at his brother’s response, running his fingers through his hair. “I was afraid of that. He calmed down after that, I hope?”

“For the most part. I think he believed Webby and me when we said who we were and why we were there after that first day, even if I was never quite sure if he actually recognized us, apart from a few flashes here and there.”

“Well, I’d hoped having you around would be familiar enough to him, though with hindsight I suppose it could’ve gone the other way and confused him more. Didn’t consider how he’d react to Webby, though mostly because you didn’t tell me you were bringing her.”

This last part was delivered with some humorous reproach, though there was more than a little truth to it.

When it had become apparent that several pressing business matters would compel Louie to travel from Blair Atholl for the better part of a week, it had presented a problem. While Glomgold did well at Louie’s estate for the most part, deviations from his routine with his nephew and nurses could have unpredictable effects. Similarly, him travelling with Louie was not a viable option, as the last time they’d attempted it proved.

Faced with this conundrum, Louie had weighed his options and reached out to his middle brother for assistance. His hope was that Dewey would be a familiar enough presence that, combined with his general easygoing attitude and ability to go with the flow, the distress Glomgold would feel at his absence would be minimized. He had not expected his brother to turn up with Webby in tow, though only the gods knew why. He’d been concerned how his uncle would react to her, given the Scrooge connection.

Dewey, predictably, had dismissed his concerns with a it’ll be fine, stop worrying. Who doesn’t like Webby, honestly?

Louie supposed there was some truth to that. In any case, it had apparently been fine.

“It was fine.” Dewey confirmed. “I think to the extent he even remembered who she is, he remembered her as Mrs. B’s granddaughter.”

“Probably for the best. If you had to bring a best friend, at least you didn’t bring Drake or LP. My house’s structural integrity thanks you.”

“Speaking of people I didn’t bring…”

“Hmm?” Louie feigned ignorance, though he had a feeling he knew exactly where his brother was going with this.

The unimpressed look he received in return served as confirmation.

“C’mon, man. You had to know how he’d take it when you asked for me, me specifically, to come and not him.”

“Seriously?” Louie groaned. “How is it Huey and I fought, like, twice our whole childhoods, but ever since we became adults, I can’t go six months without him being mad at me for something?”

Dewey just stared at him. “Umm, was that an actual question, or…?”

“Shaddap.” Louie rubbed at the spot between his eyes, trying to fend off what increasingly felt like an inevitable headache. “I swear, for a genius, it amazes me he can’t fathom a reason why I’d have asked you and not him to do this without considering it a personal slight.”

“You know Huey,” Dewey shrugged “he may be a genius, but he’s never been as good at reading people as you have. And as much as I know I’m great and all, why did you ask me and not him to do this?”

“When faced with an unknown situation with a lot of variables, how do you handle it?”

The middle triplet blinked confusedly before answering. “Uh, well, to be honest, I kinda usually just… throw myself into it, figure it out as I go.”

Louie nodded. “And Huey?”

Dewey thought for a moment. “Studies a lot. Plans. Tries to make sure he understands everything possible about the situation. Then, once he’s sure everyone’s ready…”

“And what happens when something happens that he doesn’t understand, or didn’t plan for?”

“He’s… not at his best.”

“And how would he have reacted to Glomgolds fits that first day?”

Dewey nodded, realization dawning on his face. “Panic. Anxiety. He’d have tried to fix things, instead of staying calm and letting the pros take care of it.”

Louie nodded in turn. “And even if that hadn’t happened, Huey frets. Glomgold doesn’t respond well to that these days, makes him anxious.”

“OK, when you put it it that way, it makes sense. You should probably tell him that though. Maybe be a little more diplomatic about the wording, but yeah…”

“I’ll call him tonight,” Louie replied, looking up at the clock “but we’re getting sidetracked. Any other major incidents with Glomgold this week?”

“Nothing major, no…” Dewey trailed off, looking thoughtful “at least not like that first day. There were times where he’d forget who we were, or what year it was, but as long as you don’t call him out on it and just let him talk it through, no one gets upset and you can just go with it.”

“Yeah? Anything stick out in particular?”

“Actually, yeah. There was one the other day, where he asked me if I remembered playing in the alley behind the butcher’s shop on Saint Patrick’s Road, back in Pretoria.”

“How’d you play that?”

“I said a little bit, but asked him to tell me what he remembered. He got pretty into it too. Almost felt like I had been there, for a second.”

“He always was a good storyteller, even before. That’s a good strategy, though.”

“Yeah, I got it from Aunt Daisy. No harm in letting him tell a story that makes him happy, especially since I don’t think he’d have responded well had I reminded him that not only did we not grow up together, we’re not even blood related.”

OK, Louie was absolutely not up to going down that road at the moment. It must’ve been showing on his face, because Dewey was giving him something of a funny look, so he went to move the conversation along.

“Yeah, that sounds about right. Probably half of our conversations these days either revolve around things that could never have happened, or could have but didn’t.”

“I can imagine.” Dewey replied, his look shifting to one of sympathy. “This has all got to be so hard on you. I mean, I’m not having the easiest time with it, so it’s got to be that much worse for you.”

“If it was just that, it’d be one thing.” Louie sighed. “The worst of it though, is that I know where this is all headed, and soon. And I’m just not ready.”

“I mean, is anyone?”

“I feel like I should be. More than I am, anyway, at this point in my life.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we’re in our forties now, Dew, and this is the first time I’ve really ever had to deal with anything like this. That’s not normal. I’m watching my uncle fall apart in front of me, sooner than later he’ll be gone for good, and I’ve got nothing to draw on. The closest thing I guess would be when Baloo died, but that wasn’t the same thing at all.”

Dewey was quiet for a moment before responding.

“I guess I’ve never really thought about it this way,” he finally said “but for as amazing as our family is, it really didn’t do much to prepare us for, well, normal things like this.”

Louie nodded. “Especially this particular thing. I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently, for obvious reasons, but our family has a weird thing when it comes to death. Like, Mom and Uncle Donald lost their parents way too young, and Gladstone did too, so you can’t really compare that to anything else. Then Scrooge went and made the rest of his family functionally immortal. Who does that leave? I mean, I guess Mrs. B will go eventually, but sometimes I also think she might outlive me.”

“Don’t joke about that, Lou.” Dewey replied, seriously. “I mean, obviously I hope Mrs. B lives a long time, but you are not allowed to die anytime soon. I will die so much faster if you try.”

“Thanks, I think. Even though, of the three of us, you are by far the most death prone.”

“I dunno. Huey works closely with Gyro, so…”

Louie stood up with a laugh. “OK, this conversation’s gotten a little morbid, even for my tastes. C’mon, let’s go relieve Webby and get everyone inside. Angus should have dinner ready soon.”

Chapter Text

Back up on his mountainside perch, Louie recapped his bottle of MacQuacken’s and set it aside. He needed a little bit of fortification for this, true, but it wouldn’t do to get too far into the bag, under the circumstances.

He didn’t think his uncle would’ve minded, or have held it against him, but still. Not to mention, practically speaking, he did still have to make his way back down the mountain in one piece once everything was said and done. So, with that in mind, he slipped the bottle back in his pack, taking up instead the silver urn that had sat next to him.

(He ignored, for the moment, a familiar presence behind him. One thing at a time…)

Silver. He’d never understand why Flintheart Glomgold had chosen silver for his final vessel. Too late to ask now, though…

Actually, there were a lot of things Louie hadn’t quite understood about his adoptive uncle’s last requests. Frankly, he’d avoided going over them until it had become absolutely necessary, after the old duck’s passing. His living will, now Louie had been intimately acquainted with that, but he hadn’t seen the point in devoting any of the very little mental energy he’d had to spare on Glomgold’s post-mortem arrangements until he had to.

Still a coward, after all these years, I suppose…

The will itself had been a mix of the expected and unexpected. Louie was, of course, the prime beneficiary, with the vast majority of his uncle’s personal fortune, as well as his stake in Glomgold Industries, going to him. Combined with his own fortune, Louie was now the world’s richest duck. By kind of a lot.

You always did say that if you couldn’t beat Scrooge, you’d see me do it. I wonder if that was on your mind at all, at the end. I kind of hope it wasn’t. I’d hate to think that was the last thing you could hold on to…

The rest of the will had been mostly predictable. There had been other beneficiaries, Owlson chief among them. A few charitable donations here and there, most notably several million dollars that had been earmarked (and that Louie had already promised himself he would match) for the creation of a new boys’ home in Pretoria. Fairly standard stuff, by billionaire standards, until it came to the funeral arrangements…

Or rather, the surprising lack of them.

If you were to have asked Louie Duck a few years previous what sort of funeral arrangements Flintheart Glomgold would have planned for himself, first, he would have given you side-eye for asking such a morbidly specific question. If pressed, however, he would have speculated that the old duck would have something lavish, if not completely-and-totally over-the-top, planned. A funeral procession miles long. A gold-plated marker a hundred feet tall, built directly in the sightline of either Kilmotor Hill or the Money Bin. Both if possible. That sort of thing.

Instead, Louie’s uncle’s will had established that there was to be no funeral, or memorial service of any kind. There would be no burial, either. Rather, Flintheart Glomgold had elected to be cremated, with the instructions that the executor of his estate (Louie, of course) “find someplace nice to dump [him] out, donnae just stick [him] on the mantle to gather more dust.”

As to the first part, Louie had announced immediately after his uncle’s passing that there would be no memorial service, and had asked that, in lieu of flowers or anything of the sort, those who whished to pay their respects make a donation to one of a list of children’s charities he had vetted.

(Each charity on said list had immediately received a donation of a size that could have only come from one source. Louie was going to need some time before he could process that…)

The second part was what brought Louie to the mountainside, overlooking Lizzano in Belvedere.

“I took me a while to figure out what to do with you,” he addressed the urn in his hands “but I suppose, if you can hear me, you already know that. My first thought was Blair Atholl. You always seemed happy there, and it is where you died, after all. But that didn’t really feel right, to have you there, in the place where you fell apart for good. Thought about the North Sea too, or maybe the Med, off the coast of Monacrow, where we went fishing the first time? Just dump you out there, let the currents carry you all over…”

He shook his head at that.

“But that didn’t quite fit either. You were never one to just let yourself be pulled places, or to surrender yourself to the tide. Uncle Donald’s talked about maybe wanting to go that way when his time comes, but you and he were never the same kind of duck. Plus, honestly? Mom and Aunt Daisy both hate the idea, so he may not get to go that way either.”

The breeze picked up then, and for a second, Louie thought he might smell a little bit of salt of the air.

“I thought about Duckburg too, but going back there right now… it would just be too much. They all mean well, so well, but I couldn’t take all of them, not right now. If I was going to be able to do this, I needed to do this on my own. I think you knew that. You always did know me just a bit better than I thought you did. Maybe that’s why the ‘no funeral’ thing? I hope not. I hope you didn’t do that on my account. I would’ve hated every minute of it, but I’d have done it. You know that, right?”

He shook his head again, smiling ruefully to himself this time.

“Listen to me, asking questions I’ll never get answered. You’d think I’d have learned better by now. Plenty of people have tried to teach me that…”

He hears a faint snort at that, though soft enough it could have been his imagination.

“Anyway: Italy. I thought about South Africa too, but you honestly never seemed too keen on going back there, even after I found all those old records. So, here we are, where it all began for you. Now that I’m here, I can hear you harumphing and calling me silly, or sentimental, but this is what I chose. If you don’t like it, next time, be more specific with your last wishes.”

He stood then, knees creaking as he pushed himself up, careful not to upset the urn in his hands.

“I’m supposed to be good with words. It’s like, my whole thing. But I’ve gotta tell you, Uncle Flintheart, I’m having a real hard time with this. Anything I had to say to you, I should’ve said it while you were still around to hear it, so who am I doing this for? Maybe it’s to make myself feel better? I don’t think you’d begrudge me that, though, I’ve gotta tell you, if this is what better feels like…”

He choked then, fighting back tears that threatened to spill over.

It was ridiculous. Why was he fighting? There wasn’t a soul on the mountain, dead or alive, that would’ve judged him for it.

After a moment, he continued.

“Anyway, it is what it is at this point, and there’s no changing it. I mean, no way that’s right or decent. I suppose I could go steal Gyro’s Timetub, go back and grab you before everything started going to shit, then stash you at Castle McDuck so you could live forever. I actually think you and Fergus would get along weirdly well, come to think of it. But that wouldn’t be right, and I don’t think you’d have wanted that anyway. This is the way it is and always has been. You’re born, you grow up, you grow old, and you die. That’s how it’s supposed to work, and all of our ultimate fates, no matter how hard we fight against it. The only question is what comes after…”

He turned his head then, first to the northwest, then to the southeast.

Pomeroy and Ithaquack.

“… and no one knows that. People have their beliefs, theories. Gods, even, have their own thoughts on the matter, but no one knows. Maybe, if there’s mercy in the world, when my time comes, it will be my turn to find you as you found me. Or maybe this was all we get, and our time was all the more precious just for that. But even then, if that’s our fate, then we share it, and one day I will join you in it. There’s something to that, I think.”

With that, Louie unscrewed the top of the urn (he having removed his uncle’s ashes from the inner packaging prior) and set it on the ground beside him.

“You know, for as many times as we talked, I don’t ever think I thanked you properly. Not for the money, or the business advice, or anything like that. All that I’m pretty sure I did thank you for. I mean, for everything else. If you don’t come find me that day in Monacrow, I really don’t know how my life turns out. I’m pretty sure I don’t mend fences with my family quite so quickly. Honestly, it probably would’ve taken some kind of tragedy to send me back there. I’d have just gone on as Jacob MacGarganey, making my money, growing my company, then going home to an empty house with a phone that only ever rings for business. Until you found me. Until you walked back into my life and declared us family, having no way of knowing how right you were. You don’t do that, I don’t remember what I’m missing, and everything about my life is worse off for it. So, thank you, Uncle Flinty. I can only hope you got as much out of our time together as I did. I promise to always speak well of you, until the day I follow you wherever you’ve gone. Gus an coinnich sinn a-rithist.”

The breeze picked up at Louie’s final words, so he took advantage of the opportunity to send his uncle’s ashes on their way. They caught the wind, spreading what was once the body of Flintheart Glomgold down the mountainside, towards Lizzano in Belvedere.

Louie stood there a moment, perhaps several, gazing down into the valley below.

Finally, he decided he’d best go on and address the elephant in the room, as it were.

“I was wondering if you’d show up.”

“I was wondering if I’d be welcome.”

He turned then, to find his visitor standing on the mountain path.

A duck in a green jacket, with a yellow waist coat, wearing a smile that somehow managed to be both sad and wry at the same time.

“Hello, Louie.”

“Hey, Dad.”

Chapter Text

The two ducks regarded each other for a moment before Louie turned and retook his seat on the rocky outcropping, gesturing for Reynard to join him. As the elder did so, he replaced the top of Glomgold’s urn and returned it to his pack, withdrawing the bottle of scotch in turn.

It seemed at least one more dram would be in order.

He uncorked the bottle and took a swig, before offering it to the immortal in kind.

“Ah! MacQucken’s.” Reynard exclaimed, accepting the bottle and taking his own pull. “Good taste runs in the family, it seems.”

Louie rolled his eyes at that, though he felt a small smile form as he did so. If nothing else, his father was good conversation, and he could probably use some of that, given the circumstances. Perhaps that’s why the ancient mountain spirit had come, after all?

“You’re not about to tell me that James MacQuacken was another one of yours, are you?”

“No,” the elder shook his head as he passed the bottle back to Louie “James was not one of mine. Funnily enough though, the excise man who gave him the most trouble early on was. Duncan Cameron, his name was.”

Louie accepted the bottle, debating briefly whether to have another drink before deciding against it. The two fell into a companionable silence at that, gazing side-by-side into the valley below.

“That was a lovely speech, by the way,” Reynard said, after a few moments “but I suppose that’s hardly a surprise. You’ve always had a way with words.”

Louie nodded his thanks, not exactly feeling up to being praised for that at the moment, before changing the subject slightly. “Was that you, with the assist with the breeze at the end?”

The elder shook his head. “Not exactly. That sort of thing is a bit outside of my ken. Had to call in a wee favor.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Indeed. Your cousin, in point of fact.”

“My cousin?” Louie turned to face his father, brow furrowed in confusion as he tried to work out what was meant by that.

It only took a moment.

“Uncle Donald had it right,” he finally replied, shaking his head in amazement “this is the most confusing family ever. Thank him for me though, if you see him before I do.”

“I will, though I have it on good authority he believes he owes you.”

Louie shook his head. “No. Not for that. I’ll never hold anyone in my debt for advice. Especially not family, apparently. Man, that’s weird to think about…”

“Strange friends you have, lad.” Reynard replied, sending his son a knowing grin. “I know I’ve told you before that children of mine are never normal exactly, but I’m hard pressed to think for many quite so extra-ordinary as you.”

“Thanks. I think.”

They both chuckled at that.

“Speaking of your children,” Louie spoke, after a few moments of silence “what did you think of him?”

He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t think he needs to, under the circumstances.

“Ah,” Reynard replied “Domenico. I can say with some certainty that I’ve never met one of mine quite like him before.”

Louie snorted. “Goes without saying.”

“He never told you about our meeting.” Reynard stated.

Stated, not questioned.

“No,” Louie frowned at the memory “he didn’t. I offered to come with him, but he turned me down. Said it was something he needed to see through himself. I could understand that.”

His father nodded at his words. “And when he returned?”

“Gave me a big hug, thanked me for telling him, then never brought it up again. Honestly, nothing really ever changed for us. I still called him ‘Uncle Flintheart’, or ‘Uncle Duke’ if I was trying to annoy him. The uncle-nephew thing just worked better for us. So, what? Did your meeting not go well, or something?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Reynard replied, looking thoughtful. “In fact, I would say it went remarkably similarly to our first meeting. The main differences being that he came to Malperdy with a better idea of what he was going to find, thanks to you, and that he had a few harder words for me where his mother was concerned.”

“About that I would expect.” Louie nodded again. “So, what made him so much different from me or any of the others then?”

Reynard regarded him for a long moment before replying.

“When he first came to find you,” the elder began “he told you he’d done so with the idea that the two of you together could best your uncle, aye?”

“Yeah, he did.” Louie nodded in reply. “Then you told me years later that sort of thing tends to happen with your kids, and your friends’ kids. We find each other.”

“Indeed, but that’s not the point I’m making.”

“Well? Go on then.”

“My point is that, however much our Domenico, or Duke, or Flintheart, came to you with the intent of besting his old rival, that became a secondary consideration very quickly.”

“How do you mean?”

Louie’s father gave him an unimpressed look. “Lad. I think you know.”

“Well, let’s just assume that I don’t.”

“It was you, Louie. Whatever intentions Flintheart Glomgold might have had going in, being your family became the thing that mattered most very quickly. More than the money, more than Scrooge, even. He may never have said it plainly, but you have to have known that.”

And just like that, Louie felt his eyes well up once more.

“I knew.” he finally managed around the lump that had suddenly grown in his throat “You’re right, he never came out and said it. Not his style, and not mine either, if we’re being honest. But yeah, I knew. Took me longer to pick up on it than maybe it should’ve but… He was never really any good at hiding his emotions. I didn’t know what to make of it at first. But he was happy, in a way I’d never seen him before, whenever the two of us were together. At first, I just thought it was because he’d been alone for so long, and maybe that was part of it, but it was more than that. It was like he’d finally figured out what he was meant to be, and that reminded me what I was meant to be also.”

“You were each what the other needed.”

Reynard laid a hand on his son’s shoulder.

Without thinking, Louie reached up to grasp it. He turned his head then, to find his father regarding him with a fond, sad smile.

“And that is why it was different for him when he came to me.”

“How do you mean?”

“When you came to me, it was because you were looking for something you imagined you were missing in yourself.” Reynard replied, smiling at the memory. “Your brother, or your uncle, if you’d rather, came to me because I was another connection to you. That’s what mattered to him. The truth of his origin was a secondary consideration, at best.”

The elder’s smile became a touch rueful, at that.

“It was an odd experience for me, being so thoroughly second place. I cannot remember another of mine finding me in such a way.”

Louie found it in him to chuckle a bit at that.

“Somehow, I feel like your ego will survive. Family trait, I think.”

“He loved you, Louie. To the very end. Don’t ever let yourself doubt that. I know how hard it was for you, these past couple of years. It’s a cruel way for a life to end, and all the crueler for the pains it causes those who have to witness it. If it were in my power to change… Just remember: as long as there was any part of him still living, that part loved you.”

Well. That did it.

There wasn’t anyone around to see, but it wouldn’t have mattered if there was.

So it was that Louie Duck found himself sobbing into the chest of his father.

---------------------

“So, what happens now?”

“Hmm?” Reynard looked down at his son, currently leaning into his side, nestled under his father’s left arm.

“I mean, what’s next? Where do we go from here?”

“I’m assuming you’re asking in a more theological sense than a practical one?”

Louie rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah. Practically, I walk back down this mountain and hire a cab back to town, and you do your magic teleporter thing and go back to Malperdy. I already know all that. I’m talking more ‘big picture’.”

“You’ve asked me this question before, I think, and I happen to know you’ve asked it of the King of the Gods as well. You didn’t get an answer either time. Why do you think you’ll get one this time?”

“C’mon.” Louie sat up straighter at that, shrugging off his father’s arm as he turned to face him. “I know you don’t know, exactly, but you’ve been alive pretty much since the world was created. You have to have given it some thought.”

Reynard shrugged. “Not as much as you might think. I’ve never found pondering the fundamentally unknowable to be that fruitful an exercise.”

“Ah-ha! But ‘not as much as you might think’ isn’t ‘not at all’, now is it?”

“’Sharper than the sharpies’, indeed.” Reynard shook his head with some amusement. “Alright, it’s come up a time or two, but I’m not generally the one for musings such as these. You didn’t get to meet old Grimbard when you came to Malperdy, did you?”

“The badger?” Louie’s brow furrowed in thought. “No, not officially. I saw him for a second right before I left, but I didn’t get to talk to him.”

“A pity. You’d have liked him, I think. He’s a jovial fellow. Perhaps if you ever decided to visit again…”

“Nope. No guilt-tripping. Get on with it.”

A laugh. “Alright then, have it your way. Some years ago, not long after your visit, as it happens, he had an interesting conversation on this matter with a kinsman of his from Pomeroy.”

“Kinsman? Wait, Father McGeary?”

“The very same.”

“Huh. How did I not put that together? He even said when we met that there was a gap in his family line like the Donnelley’s.”

“We’ll be charitable and say you had other things on your mind at the time.”

“So generous. Anyway…?”

“Anyway,” Reynard continued, willing himself to get back on track with a grin “old Grimbard posed this very same question to the good Father.”

“Yeah? And what did he say?”

“The priest relayed first that his God does not speak of the fates of those of us who are bound to the world. Myself, Bruin, Grimbard, all your Greek friends, and so forth. Your kind, he believed that his God has a place set aside for you, and that is where you will go when you depart this world. This is what his faith taught him.”

Louie nodded. “I’ve heard that before. It’s a nice thought. Where would that leave you then?”

“He didn’t know. We’re not spoken of in his Bible. That said, he had his beliefs.”

“And what were they?”

“He said that his God was a god of mercy. Believing this, he could not reconcile that God allowing his children to be separated permanently. His belief was that, at the very end of the world, when all that is comes to a halt, those of us who remain will find you again, and together we’ll face eternity.”

Louie was quiet for a moment, considering this.

“It is a nice thought,” he finally replied “and I suppose I’ve seen enough over my life to not be able to reject it out of hand.”

“Well, whatever the truth of the matter, the priest is one step closer to knowing, I suppose.”

Louie looked up sharply at that. “He passed? When?”

“Last winter. His poor heart gave out on him.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t know him well, or for long, but he seemed like a good man.”

“Aye.”

The pair remained quiet for a few moments after that.

“Hey,” Louie finally spoke, breaking the silence “kind of related. There was one other thing I wanted to ask you about…”

------------------------

It wouldn’t be long now. Every doctor Louie had spoken to was in agreement on that point.

Things had been better, for a short while, after Louie had brought his uncle to Blair Atholl. The consistent, familiar surroundings and the controlled number of familiar faces Glomgold was exposed to had seemed to help keep him feeling calm and safe.

Still, the disease taking over Louie’s uncle’s mind progressed, because that's what it does.

At first, he’d taken the older duck down to Edinburgh a couple of times a month for in-person examinations. The doctors there were all very nice, and clearly practiced in handling these sorts of cases, but the trips always seemed to leave Glomgold more agitated than anything else, and Louie eventually made the call to discontinue them. If they weren’t going to alter the ultimate outcome, he didn’t see the point in subjecting his uncle to additional stress.

When he’d posed this question to the doctors directly, they’d been forced to admit that, no, there was no changing the ultimate outcome.

So, he’d kept his uncle at home. The at-home nurses he’d hired for Glomgold’s care remained in communication with his doctors, keeping them apprised of the situation.

And Louie watched, and waited.

It was torture.

It would’ve been one thing if his uncle’s condition had just gradually deteriorated. It would’ve hurt like all hell, but it would’ve been easier to take. Instead, Louie was treated to months of flashes of false hope, followed by devastating reminders of the reality of the situation.

Things like sitting on the back porch of the manor, listening to his uncle reminisce about how he’d finally tracked Louie down all those years ago, before their reunion in Monacrow. Things that could almost make Louie believe that his uncle was getting better, that they would beat this.

Followed by things like waking up in the middle of the night to find said uncle confusedly stumbling down the halls, not remembering where he was, or who the nurses were, or who Louie even was.

And of course, as time went on, the latter came to greatly outweigh the former.

It had been a move made in desperation, as a last resort, but Dewey and Webby’s visit a few months prior had been something of a blessing. Not only had they provided their brother with some badly needed relief, but Dewey’s particular way of handling Glomgold’s memory lapses proved to be invaluable.

“Dude, I can’t believe I’m having to tell you of all ducks this, but just lie.” Louie’s older brother had said, shortly before heading back to Duckburg. “If he asks you whether you remember such-and-such, just say yes and let him talk. If he asks you where so-and-so is, just say they’re out for a few hours. He won’t remember anyway, and telling him the truth will just upset him. Daisy told me: you can’t fix this, all you can do is try and keep him content.”

Louie supposed this was good advice, though he wasn’t totally able to shake the weirdness of Dewey being the one to give it.

And so it went. Glomgold would regale Louie with half-remembered stories, most frequently regarding his youth in South Africa. Sometimes, he’d go as far as to call Louie by the name of some long-lost childhood acquaintance. Louie, of course, had no memory of any of these instances, but they were usually able to be identified as something that could conceivably have happened at some point in his uncle’s early life.

Until one night…

Louie had been sitting next to Glomgold’s bed, having told his night nurse to take a break, that he would watch over his uncle for a few hours before bed.

“Helmut…”

Louie frowned at his uncle’s voice. This was not a name he could recall having been called before. It seemed as though they were in for a bad spell.

“Yes, Duke. I’m here. What is it?”

Evidently the wrong thing to say, if the way his uncle’s brow furrowed in confusion was any indication.

“What’s that? ‘Duke’? That’s a new one. Yew should tell a person before yew just assign them a new nickname.”

Louie swore internally. Looked like he’d be going into this one totally blind.

“Sorry about that. Mind must’ve been wandering. What is it? Do you need some water, or should I stoke the fire…?”

“No, no. It’s fine, only… Do yew remember the spruce tree, out behind Opa’s house?”

No. No, Louie didn’t remember the spruce tree out behind their grandfather’s (And we’re German now, apparently?) house. Never mind that the only grandfather they had in common was literally primordial Chaos, who didn’t have a house, as far as Louie knew.

“The spruce tree, yes, of course. What about it?”

“Do yew remember when you climbed up it, and refused to come down? The day the papers came, when they called me to the war?”

“I… I think so. I was…”

“Yew were so angry,” Glomgold cut in, sparing Louie having to figure out an appropriate answer “and scared too, though yew would never have admitted it. I must have spent an hour out there, calling yew to come down and come back inside.”

“Yes, I think I… how did you get me down? I can’t remember right now.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” Glomgold replied, a fond smile playing over his withered face. “Yew were in a state that day, and never seemed to remember much after those kind of fits. You told me ‘Werner! I’ll not come down from here until you come home, and you promise to stay!’ Of course, I could nae promise such a thing, but I could nae leave yew in that tree either.”

“So, what did you do?”

“Yew really donnae remember? I didn’t have to do much, in the end. Ma was smart enough to set a Zwetschgendatschi in the oven, and yew never could resist plum pastries.”

“A mother always knows, I suppose.”

“Aye. And once yew had a full belly, I could talk to you easier, though yew were still plenty angry.”

“I… was young. I didn’t understand.”

“Of course I know that, lad. I’ve always known. But that doesn’t excuse me, for what happened next.”

Louie gulped. This wasn’t real, none of this was real. He and Glomgold hadn’t been brothers in pre-war (Which war, even?) Germany.

But, somehow, that fact seemed oddly inconsequential.

“What do you mean, Werner?”

“Do yew really not remember?”

“I… I think I might’ve repressed it. Help me remember, please.”

“I made yew a promise, lad.” Glomgold replied, a look of deep sorrow settling on his face. “I brought yew back out to that auld spruce tree and I made a promise. I told yew I had to leave, but that I would come find yew, right back under that very spruce tree, and I would nae leave again ever after. And I dinnae keep that promise.”

Well, there wasn’t much Louie could say to that, was there?

But he still had to try.

“It wasn’t your fault.” he finally managed.

Glomgold snorted. “No, the Grenzschlachten saw to that. Even so, I promised yew.”

Louie couldn’t breathe.

This wasn’t real. Could not be real.

So why did it feel like it happened yesterday, all of a sudden?

“But you did. You did find me.”

Louie had no idea where those words came from.

Only that they were exactly what he needed to say.

Glomgold looked up at that, a look of surprise giving way to a sad smile.

“Aye. I suppose I did. And here I am, about to leave yew again.”

Louie reached out, gripping his uncle’s hand as tightly as he dared.

“It wasn’t your choice then, and it’s not now. This time though? It’ll be my turn to find you. And I will. I promise.”

“Aye, lad.” Flintheart Glomgold closed his eyes and laid back into his pillow. “Yew were always better about keeping yer promises than I was.”

“Rest easy now, brother. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

That night, Flintheart Glomgold died.

Chapter Text

“So, does any of that mean anything to you?”

Back on the mountain, and having finished his tale, Louie regarded Reynard. The immortal had listened intently to the tale of Glomgold’s last night, but the expression that had grown on his face during the telling was not one Louie could place easily. An odd mix of recognition and regret, topped off with what seemed to be genuine confusion.

For the first time since Louie had met him, Reynard actually seemed to be at a loss for words. He supposed that was something of an accomplishment, considering the person in question.

Finally, Louie’s father spoke.

“It does, in point of fact,” he began, slowly “but that’s exactly the problem. It shouldn’t. For Domenico, or Flintheart, to have told you that story… It’s not possible, not through any means I’m aware of.”

Louie felt an eyebrow raise at that.

“That right? With everything you’ve seen in your long life, Reynardine, you’re going to sit here and tell me something’s impossible? Did I seriously experience something too weird for my immortal mountain spirit of a father?”

“Cheeky brat.” Reynard replied, small smile breaking through the oddly troubled look that remained on his face. “No, in my long life, I’ve never come across anything quite like this before.”

“So then, I’m guessing there was a bit more to Uncle Flintheart’s story than the ramblings of a mind about to give out on itself?”

“Yes, but you’d already guessed that.” Reynard pointed out. “You’d not have brought it up otherwise.”

“Fair enough, but now you’ve got the advantage of me. Clearly, that story means something to you, so why don’t you tell me what you know, so I can understand what’s so significant that you, of all people, start talking about impossibilities?”

“It’s impossible” the elder began, fixing his son with mock-frustrated look “because our Flintheart, at the very end of his life, somehow acquired detailed knowledge of things he would have had no way of learning that I’m aware of.”

Louie felt a small frown form on his bill.

“Explain.”

“Werner and Helmut Bauer were two of mine, born in Bavaria around a century and a half ago.” Reynard replied after a moment, gazing down into the valley. “Half-brothers to you and yours, full-brothers to each other, and somewhat unusual amongst my children for it.”

“How’s that?”

“When children of mine have full-siblings, it tends to be a situation like you and your brothers. Twins, triplets, quadruplets at least once or twice. Werner and Helmut though, were born ten years apart.”

Louie considered this.

“So, their mother came to you twice?”

“Aye. Anneliese, her name was. Not unheard of, but a rare enough occurrence to be considered unusual.”

It was on the tip of Louie’s tongue to make a snarky comment that this didn’t speak well of his father’s… abilities, but he deemed it inappropriate, under the circumstances.

“Anyway, be that as it may, the lads grew up close, closer than one might expect, given the difference in their ages. They lived with their ma and granda on a small farm, nestled in a valley in the Bavarian Alps. Until the Great War, that is.”

“And Werner had to leave.” Louie finished.

“Aye, and thanks to your brother, you know what happened next. Werner died early in the fighting, and poor Helmut was never the same, ever after. Eventually, in his hurt and anger, he sought me out. One of the last to do so, before you.”

“How did that go?”

“About as poorly as any meeting with any of my children ever has.”

Louie thought for a moment before replying.

“So, what happened to him after that? Is there any chance he might have met Uncle Flintheart at some point, told him his story, and it just came out at the end when his mind had gone?”

Reynard shook his head.

“No. I would have known, if they’d met. Helmut stayed in Germany until his granda passed. By then, things were starting to look bad again, so he sold the farm, took his mother, and set out for Australia. He died in Adelaide, right around the time your mother and uncle were born.”

“I see.” Louie frowned, searching his mind for alternate angles, and coming up frustratingly short. “So, what does that leave then? Some sort of reincarnation-type deal?”

He hoped not. He found the idea that either he or his uncle, or both of them, had lived previous lives they had no memory of to be somewhat disconcerting. Or the idea that they’d have to go through all of this again…

“No,” Reynard replied, cutting into Louie’s musings “I do not think that’s our answer either. I don’t claim to have all the answers, especially as to what happens to your kind after death, but your brother was not Werner, and you are not Helmut. I would know.”

Louie briefly considered bringing up Zagreus and Dionysus, before deciding against it. He had sworn an oath, after all. Besides, it was likely his father was aware of that situation anyway, either due to the Burdan, or by other means.

“We might be overthinking this.” he replied, finally.

“Oh? Have you a simple explanation for how your brother could have known details about the lives of brothers he’d never met, one of whom died long before he was born? Do tell.”

“Well, Lena always said we had magic.” Louie shrugged. “Huey, Dewey, and I. Seems a pretty safe bet that would have come from you, so it’d be a safe bet Uncle Flintheart would’ve had it too.”

Reynard nodded slowly.

“Aye, it’s a part of what makes my children extraordinary, though it’s rare that translates to actual powers. Never mediumship, in any case.”

Louie nodded, filing ‘rare’ away for later.

“Maybe not mediumship, but maybe just enough, when his mind was about as close to death as you can get without actually being dead, to be able to hear if Werner, or some memory of Werner, said hello.”

Reynard’s face took on a thoughtful look, at that.

“Perhaps. Are you starting to come around on the afterlife then, lad?”

Louie shrugged again in response.

“Maybe? I’ve never been one to take anything on faith, but I’ve seen enough in my life not to rule anything out.”

------------------------

“So, lad, I suppose it’s my turn to ask you: what happens now? And to clarify, I am asking in a more practical sense that a theological one.”

“Thank you for clarifying.” Louie replied with a chuckle. “Well, practically speaking, next stop is Duckburg. Huey and Dewey were not happy about me doing this on my own, and the only was I was able to get them to agree to let me go was to promise I’d come right back to Duckburg after. If I take too long, they will hunt me down and drag me back themselves.”

“Ah, the power of brotherhood.”

“Yeah, mixed with Duck and McDuck stubbornness and tenacity. It’s both touching and exhausting in equal measures.” Louie gave a small frown at that, as another thought occurred. “Besides that though, Uncle Scrooge said he had something fairly urgent to discuss with me, so I’ll need to see what that’s about.”

Reynard nodded. “And how long will you stay?”

“I’m not sure. A little while, at least, but I do have other places to be. I promised Kit a visit to Cape Suzzette sooner than later. He wasn’t crazy about me doing this alone either.”

“You were a source of strength for him, when his father passed.” Reynard pointed out. “I imagine it causes him some pain not to be able to do likewise for you.”

“If I was a source of strength, it was almost certainly just dumb luck.” Louie replied, wincing a little at the memory. “I had no clue how to handle any of that. All I could do was throw money at the situation, when they’d let me.”

“You were there, and you showed you care, in your way. Sometimes, that’s enough.”

“I suppose.”

“And after that? Back to Scotland?”

Louie nodded.

“Eventually, I’m going to have to get on with regular life, and that’s where mine is. I’ll probably stick to Edinburgh though, at least for a while. I’m not sure when I’ll be ready to go back to Blair Atholl, after everything.”

Reynard nodded in return.

“Understandable. Just know that you’re always welcome to Malperdy, should the world become a bit much. Or any other time, for that matter. Especially if you can think of anyone else who might benefit from a visit?”

The elder trailed off with a meaningful look here, while Louie gave a small chuckle in response.

“I may actually be taking you up on that sooner rather than later.”

“Oh?”

“This past year or so, there’ve been a few times I’ve been pretty sure Dewey’s been about to ask me.” He gave a rueful smile at the memory. “I’ve been glad he hasn’t. There’s no way I could’ve dealt with that on top of everything else, and I think he knew that. Only took him 40 years or so to learn what ‘tact’ is. But now…”

“What will you tell him, if he asks?”

“Depends how he does it.” Louie frowned, gazing down into the valley. “If he comes to me with Huey, then I just bring them to Pomeroy. If he comes to me by himself, I’ll need to convince him we need to get Huey on board, then figure out how to do that.”

“You wouldn’t tell one and not the other, even if only one cares to know?”

Louie shook his head.

“No. It might be bending the rules, whatever they are, but I couldn’t. Not about this. This can’t be something that divides us. I haven’t told them, because they haven’t asked, but if they do, it’s got to be all three of us.”

“Well, they are your brothers, so I will trust your judgement in this matter.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

The two lapsed into a few minutes of companionable silence at that, each gazing down into the valley, feeling the comforting weight of the other at their side.

Finally, as one, they stood. Louie gathered up his pack while Reynard brushed the trail dust off of himself, then off of his son. Once settled, the two took a moment to regard one another, before coming together in a tight hug.

After a moment, Louie squeezed his father a bit tighter, then broke the embrace.

“Well, I’ll see you further on up the road, I suppose.”

“You’ll always know where to find me. Safe travels, Louie.”

With that, Louie Duck offered his father a small wave, before turning and making his way back down the mountain.

--------------------

Arriving back in Lizzano in Belvedere, Louie was vaguely surprised to discover it was only around midday. A light rumble in his stomach reminded him he should probably get some lunch before returning to Bologna. The light breakfast he had consumed had probably not quite been sufficient for a half day spent hiking, to say nothing of the belts of scotch he’d taken. So resolved, he headed back towards the café he’d visited earlier.

As he turned the corner onto the village main street, he was mildly surprised to find two very familiar figures seated at one of the café’s outdoor tables, both engrossed in what appeared to be a map, spread across the table.

Who am I kidding? he thought as he approached, It’d be a bigger surprise if they weren’t here.

“I thought we had a deal, you two?”

At Louie’s words, Huey and Dewey both startled, looking up from what was indeed a map to find their youngest brother approaching. They each traded slightly guilty looks, before standing up in greeting.

“Technically,” Huey spoke first “the deal was that we would let you do what you needed to do on your own. We never specified how long we’d give you after.”

“You really should’ve seen that loophole, Louie.” Dewey put in, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “We’ll allow it this time, given the circumstances.”

Rolling his eyes, Louie deposited his pack on the ground, drawing his brothers into a three-way hug, before breaking the embrace and cuffing said brothers lightly on the back of their respective heads.

“Semantics are my thing. You two stay in your lanes.” He turned then to snag a free chair, pulling it up to his brothers’ table and sitting. “You guys order yet?”

His brothers shared another look before taking their own seats.

“No,” Dewey replied for them both, as Huey folded up the map they’d been studying “we just sat down a minute ago. I think the waiter said he’d be right back with our water? My Italian’s rustier than I thought it was.”

“Good. I’m starving.”

“So, is he still in there,” Huey began, eying Louie’s pack “or is it…?”

“It’s done.” Louie replied, noting twin looks of relief on his brothers’ faces that they hadn’t broken their promise after all. “Spread his ashes from the mountainside this morning.”

“Why’d you wanna do it here?” Dewey’s question was followed by a wince that Louie immediately identified as being caused by Huey kicking him under the table. “What? I can’t ask one question?”

“Dewey, if he wanted to tell us…”

“Guys, chill out. It’s fine.” Louie cut in, nodding his thanks to the waiter as he arrived with their waters. “It’s a fair question. This would be a really odd place to choose randomly.”

“So why did you?”

“He was born here.” Louie took a sip of his water, noting with some amusement the looks of surprise and confusion on their faces.

“Really? I thought Duke Baloney was from South Africa?”

“He emigrated with his mom right after he was born.” Louie replied. “Long story, but he actually didn’t even know that until I found out for him. I guess his mom never talked about it, and she died when he was still real young.”

“So, how did you find that out, if he didn’t even know?” Dewey questioned.

“Even longer story, one I don’t have the energy for right now. Ask me again sometime.”

Louie’s brothers shared another look between them. Concern, this time.

“Lou,” Huey began “are you OK? I mean, really OK?”

Well, there’s a million way to answer that one, aren’t there?

Louie considered his options and, for once in his life, chose honesty.

“Right now? No, not really,” he replied, looking from one brother to the other “but I will be. I think I will be.”

“End is in beginning;
And in beginning end:
Death is not loss, nor life winning;
But each and to each is friend. - “Song”, William Soutar