guess what

yES it's ya gurl baguette back for another chapter!

But seriously, sorry for keeping you waiting for so long. (and also sorry about the cliffhanger...) I just got into a new french school that's been draining all my writing time. Somehow I managed to get back on track and write Chapter 4! i hope y'all will like it because i had fun writing it.

This Chapter was not reviewed by my friend Lu to be corrected, so it may contain some mistakes or be more painful to read... i hope not 3

Enjoy!

Although it was dreamless, his sleep was not peaceful. It was not blissful. It was like he had been drugged into sleep and he hated it. He wasn't even sure he was sleeping, most of the time.

Donald did not understand what was happening to him. He could only perceive pain in his whole body, but if he concentrated enough, he could feel it in his abdomen, a flame that refused to be tamed. Never in his life had he felt such pain.

Sharp. Lingering.

He could do nothing but embrace it. When he fought it, he was always the one who lost.

The space sailor was in a state of semi-consciousness that allowed him to hear muffled words around him, to feel he was being touched sometimes, but he couldn't move or even try to do something. And damn was it frustrating, because he was sure to hear voices he knew.

Sometimes names would appear and shake his mind : Huey, Dewey and Louie. They would wipe away everything else and leave him in a panicked state. I have to wake up and find them, would be his only thought.

Two voices often came through the veil that seemed to have been put over his ears. There was a feminine, reassuring voice, most of the time, when he was touched. She brought comfort and she brought bandages, he knew it because he had already been bandaged before. Her touch was careful, kind, mother-like.

But it wasn't his mother. His mother had passed away long ago, and his father too. That voice, nevertheless, reminded him of pleasant memories of her.

She spoke to him when she was cleaning his wounds, and listening to that voice felt nice, even if he barely understood what she was saying.

The other voice was the voice of a man. This one was less present and only hovered over him from times to times. But Donald knew, deep inside of him, who that voice belonged to. He was although too tired and in pain to try to put a name on that voice. He preferred to associate it with feelings.

And when he heard this rough voice, all he felt was a mix of pain, sadness and anger. He couldn't explain it.

That voice must have hurt him in the past, and it was worse now to hear it so close to him. He brought memories and he brought anger. Donald felt his heart beat faster when he heard him. Without knowing precisely why, he wanted to wake up just to punch that voice.

Yet everytime he seemed to gain consciousness, he immediately sunk back deeper into this dreamless sleep he hated. It was like drowning in tar.

Drowing in pain. Drowning in thoughts. Drowning in memories.

Was he drowning in blood? It was likely. The smell was overwhelming. Everything was chaos and he was just floating in it, barely conscious. He was just trying to grip onto something. That something was the image of his nephews in his mind. He felt that if he ever let go of it, he was going to drift away, too far. Out of time and out of space. Die, maybe.

Not that he could care, the pain was too intense and sharp for him to clearly understand what dying meant.

He couldn't open his eye. Could just hear distant noises. Chaos. He could hear chaos.

He had been stabbed only a few minutes ago. He knew that.

Then he spoke to him. He was a familiar voice, but an old voice. Rough, bringing back many memories.

It became more and more loud as he was approaching him.

Worried. Panicked. Trembling.

"Oh shit... Fuck..."

Donald was not used to hear the voice say these words. To actually sound frightened.

A strange noise informed Donald that the voice had teared open his shirt.

Though his touch was extremely careful, on his wound, on his chest. Was he looking for something? A beat, maybe. A pulse. A heart.

Worried. Panicked. Trembling. Gripping on his clothes. On his skin.

Donald's thoughts were mixed up again. He felt nauseous.

He would have liked to be able to do something to reassure the voice, but he was drowning in his own pulse. He tried to concentrate on the voice to understand what he was saying to him.

"Com'on, nephew, don't die on me, alright?"

Nephew. Now that was a name he hadn't been called in a long time.

Again, his touch on his wound. Fatherly. Kind. Patient.

It definitely hurt, but in a good way, and Donald appreciated the presence even though he understood half of his sentences. He felt less lonely in his own mind.

"Help me... Help me get him up."

"Captain, - loss of time, -bleeding - !"

Another voice. Unknown to him this time, and he could hear half of the words.

"I swear if you don't- you to the intergalactic sharks, ya hear me?!"

Fury. Impatience. Then it all became quiet again, calm.

"There. I'm going to - might hurt a little."

Then he felt he was being lifted. Where was he taken? Who had taken him? He began to feel fearful about what was happening around him. Pain shot again in his abdomen and in his back, but he felt he had to fight really hard not to drown completely.

Fight for someone? Impossible, everyone had abandoned him.

Everyone?

Huey.

Dewey.

Louie.

Fight it. Fight it. Ignore the pain. Wake up!

He awoke in a jolt, and blinked because of the sudden light his eye hadn't seen in a long time. He was sitting ; it was different from when he was semi-conscious. He was more comfortable back then. Maybe in a bed. Now he could feel a throbbing pain in his abdomen. It was a little better than before, though.

"Where...?"

His throat was dry, and speaking still hard. His eyes found soon enough how to adapt to light again. The silhouette became a man.

Donald felt his heart drop when he recognized the only spectacle, the white beard that grew randomly where it could, the pirate hat, the self-sufficient smirk.

His face turned instantly pale. Scrooge McDuck.

It had been such a long time since he had seen him for the last time. A long, happy time. He prayed to never cross paths with him again, and here he was, right in front of him.

"Sleeping Beauty finally decided te wake up," the old man in front of him said, smiling aggressively.

Still a bit disoriented and in a daze, all anger in him came to a burst, and Donald gritted his teeth:

"You motherf-"

"Easy, nephew, easy. There are young ears on this boat."

On this boat. Of course. Donald was on the Golden Dawn, Scrooge's ship.

"It's Lieutenant Duck to you, pirate," Donald spat back, his eyes throwing lightnings.

Despise could be read in the way he had pronounced "pirate".

"Don't you remember your good ol' Unk', eh lad?"

Impulsive, Donald tried to launch himself onto the bloody pirate to take him by the collar. Only then he realized he was firmly attached. The ropes wouldn't let him make a single move.

He lowered his eyes. He was only covered by his own coat, stained with dried blood, but underneath, there were just bandages on his torso and abdomen. Someone had taken care of his wounds. The feminine voice?

He was held hostage, but they had taken good care of him. Why? To make sure he wouldn't die before being given back?

"Oh, I remember you well," Donald said while taking a rasp breath. "Everytime I see myself in the mirror, I remember your old face."

"Damn, nephew, I didn't know we were so alike," Scrooge replied while taking his relative's chin in his hand, examining his face.

Donald was repelled at his uncle's touch. He couldn't bare to know these murderer's hands were touching his face. And he hated to know that it was true they were alike.

He knew the way Scrooge called him «nephew» was to mock and play with him. But he wasn't sure he'd ever call him «uncle» again.

The young space sailor released his head from Scrooge's grip in a swift movement. He wanted to spat at his face, erase his malicious grin.

Oh, how proud he must have been, a space pirate that held captive a Lieutenant, his own nephew! His own nephew he had once disfigured.

Then, Donald remembered some slight details.

"The Gabbiano... Where is it? Where is my crew?"

"Finally ye come to yer senses... Ya've always been a little slow, lad, even of the sword."

The remark hurt Donald more than it was supposed to. He avoided Scrooge's glance, knowing fully well he was observing his bandages.

"Sorry to be the one to tell ye that, but they didn't come to yer rescue," the pirate continued. "We'll be forced to find them to give ya back to "yer dear family"."

"How kind of you," Donald muttered, still avoiding his look.

"Except if ye decided ta join yer real family..." Scrooge tempted. "Then we could maybe forget your past as a Space Marine Lieutenant."

"If you mean by becoming a bloody pirate, you can still dream."

"Oh, ya don't know what ye're missing, nephew. The life in the Space Marine must be dull as hell. I know ye secretly admire yer sister and I for having left this hellhole."

If Donald hadn't been tightly attached to his chair, he would have jumped to Scrooge's throat. But the simple movement against the ropes was setting his abdomen on fire. He was probably bleeding again. He didn't care. He was trembling because of the overwhelming fury in his veins.

"And what's that fancy napkin ye've got here?"

Donald's heart stopped beating.

Scrooge fiddled absent-mindedly with his nephew's eye patch for a bit.

"Don't you touch it," Donald grunted in a threatening tone.

"Or else?"

"Don't."

It sounded almost like a pained plea. Donald's lips were quivering, but Scrooge couldn't seem to understand why. From anger? Fear? Pain?

He ripped the eye patch off, discovering a scar that went from Donald's eyebrow to his cheek, crossing his eye he kept shamingly closed. The old pirate opened his mouth, but no words came out of it. Only surprised silence.

Then he saw his nephew inhale and open his eyes again. The right one was perfectly normal and glared at Scrooge with hatred and defiance. The left one looked without seeing. Its eye pupil and iris were a bluish white, scarred too. It was only the ghost of an eye.

It was blind, realized Scrooge who couldn't catch his breath.

Realization hit Scrooge as he was swept back into some unpleasant memories. He shook his head to get rid of the screams that filled it.

"Your wound is bleeding again. I'll get Mrs. Beakley to change your bandages. Try not to move too much."

He left the room without a word. He was trying really hard to ignore the fact he had seen tears in his nephew's eyes after he had ripped off his eye patch.

But by the stars did it hurt.

That's it for this chapter! Did you like it? Or did you hate me even more? Leave a review if so, I'm always super glad to hear what you thought about it! (and I love receiving death threats)