Second thoughts are for losers- sadly I am one too.

Scrooge McDuck sat at his desk, checking the daily mail as he always did, early in the morning. So early even the sun wasn't up yet, but the old duck didn't care. For him, it was the best time to work. No one else to bother him, just the money in its quiet, cold reassurance.

He had been going at this all night. Quite honestly, it had been a while since he last tried to sleep properly for a whole night, his old bones so accustomed to the endless gruel of work that they screamed and whined whenever he tried to go and have a rest. It was as if, after all those years, they had forgotten how to stop and relax for a bit, while at the same time needing that same rest. After all, he wasn't 30 anymore. He himself had seen so many years and eras that didn't remember his true age, for he didn't know what year it was anymore. The work was all that mattered. So his bones ached, but that ache was less of a nuisance and more of a quiet reassurance. He was here, and he was working, and that was more than enough.

With a sigh, he started sifting through a number of bills and deposit receipts, checking if the losses were smaller than last month, writing everything in a small notebook to make sure his numbers were correct. The work was complicated, to say the least- a special code was needed, just in case someone tried to steal his records and leak them to his competitors. Even a small change in his deals could mean disaster if such information reached the wrong hands. And so Scrooge did it all on his own. Accountants would only make the system go slower and could make mistakes. He needed to be complete and utterly alone. Which he was.

It was the main reason Scrooge McDuck could work for hours on end without any loved one checking in on him and making sure he was alright— he had no such loved ones to speak of. He barely had any employees. All he needed, after all, was himself and his money. Just as it was in the days of his youth. This was what he was thinking of while counting his money and checking his letters.

It was what he was always thinking about.

His mail wasn't exactly what he would call interesting, quite the contrary actually. There were always letters to invite him to this and that celebration, to discuss assets, Glomgold's fake ransom notes, De Spell's constant threats, petitions to donate to many different charities (when will they learn he was not going to donate his precious money? Ever? Were they really so deluded?) and an endless stream of such things. It was a hassle to go through all that, and if he were a usual billionaire, he might've asked someone else to do it for him- but he was Scrooge McDuck. He didn't relegate the important stuff, as exhausting as it was. What kind of message would that send to his (few) employees? He, after all, valued hard work over any and all other ways to make money. "Get Rich Quick" schemes? Pah!

And so he was doing this. Checking through many, many letters, and boxes, and-

It was then that he saw it. A seemingly unassuming envelope, of faded yellow paper, with his name and address painstakingly written in blue ink.

It was immediately clear this letter wasn't the kind he used to receive, made from cheap paper and printed in such a way it told you there were millions of others made there as well. It wasn't even like the fancy envelopes he used to get from time to time, from important millionaires or billionaires who wanted to make their acquaintance for whatever reason. This didn't look official, nor overly exaggerated. This was simple. Understated. Thoughtful.

And he knew exactly who sent it.

The envelope threw him back, years and years in the past. Of endless hours teaching his sister to write, when he barely could himself. A childish scrawl, trying so hard to emulate the delicate and yet assured handwriting of their father, and utterly failing, but the intention was there. Now, the hand was more experienced, but just as unsteady. Age had creeped in, and it showed. Scrooge shivered. His own old self was screaming at him.

With trembling hands, Scrooge opened the envelope. Inside, the paper was just like the envelope. Cheap, yes, but almost hand-pressed, the kind you can't buy in a stationery shop. The writing inside was done by the same person who wrote the envelope.

Scrooge wanted to get rid of it now. Why even read it? He'd only avoided reading a letter once, and he hasn't regretted it. Maybe this was the same. Maybe his ridiculous relatives decided he was so powerful he could save them all from their own idiocy. Ha! As if!

… Scroogey, you're stalling, said an annoying voice in the back of his head, that sounded quite a lot like his… like the person who wrote the letter. He hated it, but it was true. He was stalling. But it wasn't at all because he was afraid. He just thought it was pointless.

With a frustrated sigh, he decided to finally read the blasted letter and get it over with. Ignoring all the internal screams, he read.

Dear Scrooge,

Yes, you are still dear to me, despite everything, but I'm writing for serious reasons.

I'm sure you don't know, but when you so rudely kicked us out of your money bin and your life, my brother in law Quackmore had just started treatment to heal his lungs after that nasty smoke accident a few years ago.

As of yesterday, that doesn't matter anymore.

You probably don't watch the news, but if you did, you probably heard of the car crash that happened near Duckerspring Avenue, exploding with a couple inside. Yes, they were Hortense and Quackmore.

She'd probably stab me with a spoon if I invite you to her funeral after what you did, but I hate hating you, Scrooge. This is the last chance I'm giving you. If it doesn't work, well… It won't. I won't resent you for it. (much.)

After all, we both have changed. I don't know yet if it's a good thing.

Please, if nothing else will move you, just do it for the kids. Donald and Della have been inconsolable since they discovered the truth. They're twelve, old enough to understand what it means to be orphans. If seeing your sister won't move your heart, at least go and remind the ducklings that they still have family they can count on. That they're not alone. Ludwig and I try our best to cheer them up, but they know all our tricks.

You'd love them. Della is such a sweetheart, always trying to see the best of any situation. And Donald is really temperamental, but also fiercely protective of those he loves. Sometimes, he reminds me of you.

I want to believe you still have some of the good Scrooge I remember from my childhood somewhere under all that… pride you boast every day.

Just… try and remember. I miss the sweet lad from Glasgow you once were. I miss my brother.

Your sister,

Matilda

The letter trembled in his hand. The words somehow throwing him into his memories, of that one day so many years ago, when he had heard similar, heartbreaking news. He didn't expect to read those words again so soon. He didn't think the world would take family from him so quickly.

Around him, the air had gone still, the room quiet in a way that was less from absence of noise than it was from absence of life. He trembled at the feeling. He'd been running so fast, trying to accomplish so much, that he had completely forgotten the sacrifices he'd had to make on the way to wealth and success.

He remembered the last day he saw his family properly. How he kicked them all out without showing any sign of family love. Hardened by his own greed. Psh. Greed.

Scrooge crumpled the letter, invaded by sudden resentment. They called it greed, he called it ambition. Besides, what's done is done— his sister is dead, and so is his brother-in-law, and that's that. There's no way it's gonna affect him in any way. He was Scrooge McDuck, for Pete's sake! He was the richest duck in the world! Tougher than the toughies, smarter than the smarties! Who needs a family when you're the literal embodiment of success?

Besides, he was sure Hortense never actually believed in him. Not the way Poppa did. And Poppa was gone anyway, so it's not like it mattered. Who needs them!? Freeloaders, the lot of them.

They're better off dead.

His own mind recoiled at the idea, and Scrooge sighed.

There was no way he'd go and face Matilda. Or those children. He didn't have the time.

(He didn't have the strength.)

Besides, he was fairly sure he wouldn't be accepted in the funeral. They only sent him the card out of politeness.

(They hated him. This wasn't an olive branch. It wasn't.)

Scrooge threw the letter and card in the trash, and kept working. Yelled a bit at his secretary. Never uttered a word about what was written inside, and focused on the numbers. The only thing that would always make sense.

(There were tears falling from his eyes, down his beak. The humidity in the room was too high, again.)

He didn't hear anything else from his… family, in months. Not a phone call, nor a visit, nothing. So far, it was as if he didn't exist, which suited him just fine. He couldn't even fathom the idea of his sister deceased, and it was already true. Why should he be trapped further by the ghosts of his past? It would only dampen an effective year, with so many wins it was insane.

Sometimes, though, the thoughts would creep in. Hortense had twins. He had seen them, holding each other's hand tightly, as if they were one entity. Donald and Della. He remembered being so excited when they hatched. His first successors. A niece and a nephew. Where were they now? Maybe with Matilda. She would be a good mother. Scrooge never understood why she had waited so long to fall in love with someone. He'd always imagined her with a bunch of ducklings, all well fed and impeccably dressed, calling her mum with their soft voices, soft like their mother. Soft like Downy McDuck's had been. Their Momma.

Out of the three siblings, Matilda resembled their mother the most, but also had the serenity of character Poppa always showed and Scrooge always envied. Surely the children would be fine with her and Ludwig, right? There was nothing to be concerned about.

Still, those thoughts creeped in constantly, at night, when he was sure no one looked at him with judgmental eyes. Not even his own. Even so, Scrooge hated even remembering they existed. Because they reminded him of his (selfish, broken, almost petrified) heart, and everything that entailed.

Sometimes, he hated how weak he truly was.

Today was one of these days.

He woke up feeling uneasy, and the whole morning was off-kilter to him. He had no idea what it meant, as he was just working like any other day, but he couldn't help it. Poppa would say he was feeling so many things because of his 'brilliant intuition' or something of the sort, but truth be told, Scrooge didn't think it was that brilliant to lose an entire day of important business just because of some intuition that barely worked beyond making money and finding good deals. And so he shook himself off, convinced himself it was just his feathers going the wrong way when he was sleeping, and went on with his day.

It was a few hours later, when he was deep in paperwork, that Scrooge allowed himself to feel the uneasiness again. This time, it was harder to just shake it away, and felt it deep in his bones. Something was going to happen, he knew. It was an unmistakable dread, the kind that preceded an earth-shattering disaster, like that one time when an avalanche almost drowned him in cold snow and he only managed to save himself by listening to that dread. And yet, it was mixed with something else.

Still, it wouldn't do to focus on such a ridiculous train of thought.

With a grunt, Scrooge went back to his work, sending a message to his secretary that if anyone wanted to disturb him, they'd meet the end of his cane in the most painful way.

Poppa would have laughed.

(He'd been thinking about Poppa more often these months than in the last 30 years)

Shaking his head, Scrooge turned to the news of the day, moving his wings quickly in an effort to find whatever might distract him from his own thoughts.

The newspaper boasted something about Flintheart Glomgold being 16 cents away from becoming the richest duck in the world, a clear taunt to Scrooge's title, just as he'd been doing ever since he joined the billionaire's sphere with his shoddy businesses and his questionable proceedings. Scrooge scoffed. He hated that someone who clearly didn't really care about hard work and tenacity could make such a fortune just by being unethical, and also couldn't stomach how Glomgold, with his endless obsession with amassing more and more money, made him feel like a sentimental idiot. Glomgold had no family, no connections, as alone in the world as Scrooge always dreamed of being. And at the same time, that very same idea filled him with dread. That dread made him work even harder, make even more money, until he was satisfied. Until Glomgold's smug beak disappeared from his nightmares.

Scrooge grimaced. It wasn't like him to be so introspective.

It was then that one of his (few) servants decided to knock at his door.

"I already said I'm busy!", yelled Scrooge, back into old habits, "what on Earth is so important that you must disobey my orders!?" Even as he was screaming in fury, Scrooge still stood up from his desk and walked to open the door, where, polite and pristine as always, stood his butler, Auguste Duckworth.

"My apologies, sir," Duckworth bowed, his voice as steady as always, but his brow slightly furrowed as only hint of what was to come, "but I'm afraid this is incredibly important. Mrs. Elvira Duck is waiting outside, and she has assured me the situation was truly urgent and delicate."

"Elvira?" Scrooge asked, blinking confused. It wasn't like Mrs. Duck to visit him, not without announcing herself first through a letter or some hint of the sort. She was, after all, an old-fashioned woman, and Scrooge respected that kind of stubborn politeness. Even more so, after Quackmore and Hortense's death he had no true reason to talk to his departed sister's mother-in-law. "What does she want? Did she give you any details?" He continued. Duckworth nodded, his expression turning more concerned by the second. Scrooge felt more and more dread.

"I know the reason, but Mrs. Duck said, and I agree, that you must see it with your own eyes, otherwise you might not fully understand." This did nothing but further worry the old duck, who followed the butler to the main entrance of the bin, brimming with curiosity and a bit of anxiety.

The newly built city of Duckburg greeted him, all the way down from Killmotor Hill. Scrooge would have taken a moment to admire the bustle of a growing city, a city he himself had helped build, but there were far more pressing issues at hand.

Namely, the truly unusual sight of Elvira Duck with disheveled head feathers, wrinkly clothes and bags under her eyes. Never in the many years he had known her, had Scrooge seen Elvira in such a sorry state. This worried him further, even as he tried to hide it.

"Elvira," Scrooge nodded as greeting, while Duckworth bowed slightly, "ye look… well, quite terrible." Had Quackmore's death really affected her so much? The clothes looked clean, though, and he had seen the effects of true, paralyzing grief. This wasn't it. This was worry.

Elvira Duck fidgeted, as if she was already regretting what she was going to say. Scrooge didn't pressure her. He didn't want to unleash the anger of the woman. Finally, after what seemed like hours, she spoke.

"You must know of what happened to… To Quackmore and Hortense," she mused, and Scrooge nodded. So his instinct had been right after all. "Their kids, Donald and Della…"

Scrooge nodded again, this time slower. he had been thinking of them. The ducklings had been on his mind for a reason, it seemed. "I suppose arrangements have been made for them."

Elvira shook her head, sadness painting her face. "Matilda and Ludwig offered, but I couldn't let them take the kids with them to Scotland. I know it's where your family comes from, but Europe isn't safe lately."

On this, Scrooge had to agree. His businesses in Europe were suffering due to all this German issue. Even if Dismal Downs was far away from many conflicts, food and comfort would still be at a minimum if any of the stupid leaders of such countries decided to go on to a full-blown war. The lad could be called upon to serve the country, now that conscription was legal again. It would just be a huge danger for the kids. This, he understood.

"Are they staying with ye, then? The United States is still away from the conflict, if ye want tah keep them safe."

Elvira shook her head. "I tried. I promise I did. I took them in as I used to do during the summers, but the farm isn't giving me enough to feed all of us. I need to pay everyone their salaries, and the children are too young to work for their food. Daphne has a child too, and Eider has two with one more on the way. These children need to be looked after. You can just…"

Scrooge had to stop her there. "Ye want me to take care of them? Me? Elvira, if Ah was the kind of man who could take care of children, I would have some of me own already!" Nevermind that the only person he would be willing to have children with had been gone for literally years, his point still stands. He's absolutely unfit to take care of anyone. Even if Elvira Duck herself asks him to. He barely takes care of himself! How could he even start if he had to ensure the safety of two children?

However, Elvira was relentless. "You're the only one who can. No one else has enough resources. I just want them to live comfortably- it's the least they deserve after everything that's happened." Her eyes were fiery even if her whole appearance was haggard, and Scrooge had to admit, Elvira was the only person in the world who could out-stubborn him.

(Except perhaps… but she didn't count.)

"... Ye will still come over as often as ye can," he grumbled, realizing he was defeated. Elvira looked at him, surprised. "I won't do this alone."

"Oh, of that I'm sure," she reassured Scrooge, now that her worries were abashed, "I promise you, I would never stop visiting the poor dears. They do deserve a grandma, now that the world has robbed them their parents." This last part was said with understandable sadness, and Scrooge merely kept his beak shut as a way to convey his sympathies without being too mushy for either of them. "I will bring them here next week, so you have time to prepare. Please, don't be too harsh with them."

Scrooge nodded, although he wasn't sure he would ever be able to keep that promise. He had been honest; he had no idea of how to behave around children. He barely managed to be one himself, and that had to stop when he turned ten. His sisters grew up while he was traveling the world, so he couldn't witness every milestone or anything like that. Children were a terrifying concept to him.

Nevermind the cost! Thank goodness they were old enough, so clothes would fit them for a while, and they probably didn't need any special cutlery. Perhaps they had some things from their old house that were still useful, and they could just eat what he ate. But things would get more stressful the longer the ducklings stayed with him.

"Duckworth!" Scrooge called his butler. "Make sure the kids have everything they need, prepare a room for them and… Get more groceries. They need to be properly fed."

Duckworth nodded, and bowed, leaving Scrooge with Elvira outside the bin.

"When will they come?" Scrooge asks, suddenly weary. Elvira, understanding as always, looks at Scrooge with a wistful smile.

"As soon as everything's done here. And you know, you can just call me. I do have a phone installed in the barn, young man."

Scrooge barked a laugh, surprised. Of course Elvira would worry about that. "I do know that. Don't worry, yer gonna get tired of me makin' calls left an' right when the kids need help."

Elvira smiled and said her goodbyes, leaving Scrooge to enter the bin on his own. And although he had directed Duckworth to do all the planning, he couldn't help but go through his mind as he walked towards the elevator, thinking of the myriads of things the children would need. Even if he tried to convince himself that the money spent would be a needless waste, the truth was that he was fully ready to cover it all. It scared him, sure, but Scrooge McDuck wasn't someone who backed down easily, if ever. The children needed him, so there he'd be.

Something told him it was going to be both a long time and not quite enough. He didn't exactly believe it.

formatting is weird, but eh

hope you guys like it! 3