I TOLD YOU I WOULDN'T GIVE UP ON THIS STORY! Even if it did take over a year; you guys, I'm so so sorry. I sincerely hope this is the longest I ever make you wait.

Chapter 6~ The Worst of Messes!

As far as Dewey was concerned, everything was going perfectly.

Getting the weirdo Beagles to leave their post at the gate had been even easier than he'd thought it would be. Louie'd come up with a well-thought-out, multi-step plan that was somehow supposed to make sure none of the thugs stayed behind to guard the exit, but Dewey hadn't really been paying attention when he'd explained it. There was something about bird calls, maybe? In any case, it hadn't mattered.

He'd been hiding just out of sight behind the ticket stand like Louie'd told him to do while his little brother had approached the two sets of Beagles with an unwavering air of cool. It had probably helped that these were not the most intimidating of Ma's boys—although, the evil clown Beagles had definitely not been helping with the nightmares. Because Dewey had known Louie since before they'd been hatched, it had been clear as day to him that his little brother's ease was entirely for show. His hands may have been casually hanging by his sides, but his shoulders were so tense that Dewey could all but see his feathers trembling as he tried not to clench them into anxious fists.

Louie'd said something to the Beagles to get their attention that Dewey hadn't been quite able to hear, but he did recognize that his brother hadn't even managed a whole sentence before all six of them had laughed maniacally and charged towards him. Louie'd spun on his heel and took off in the direction the two of them had come from, shouting a quick "Nevermindlet'sjustgo!" on the way by.

Dewey'd smirked as the pack raced by his hiding spot, readjusting Huey's hat on his head so he wouldn't lose it before taking off after them. "Hey, you big dumb dogs!" he'd yelled. It'd caused the Beagles to stop and turn, letting Louie get some much-needed breathing room between him and them. "You're chasing the wrong guy!"

Half of them had believed him, and now Dewey was running for his life from the psycho circus Beagles. These dudes are so creepy, I don't know how the guys and Webby didn't recognize them in the show earlier! He'd been pretty sure the mime guys had followed Louie, but when he turned around they were bringing up the rear just behind the freakier group. Dewey turned another corner as he pushed himself to keep running, yanking an exposed tent pole on his way past it and causing the entire thing to collapse. He winced as his injured wrist throbbed in protest, having grabbed without thinking when he pulled the thing down. He'd forgotten about his wrist up until this point, but now it refused to be ignored. His shoulder also chose this moment to remind him he hadn't exactly landed properly on that, either. A small whimper escaped him as he chanced a look back, but he let it melt into a sigh of relief when he saw that all three of the mimes, as well as the creep on stilts, were tangled up in the mess of dark canvas.

His respite was brief, however, as an eerie whistling filled the air and the largest of the goth clowns—Did Webby call them the Bumblethumbs?—began clambering over the tangled pile of fabric and Beagle Boys. In his trademark terrifying fashion, the twisted jester was walking backwards on all fours, back arched and advancing far faster and more nimbly than anyone in his position had any right to do. Dewey thought for a split second about climbing the tents again, but it had been hard enough to do even before he'd hurt himself. Not only that, but a quick glance at the rooftops let him know that the last of the freaks—the jumpy one who moved way too quickly—had already had this idea. Instead, Dewey decided to bolt into the nearest tent, which looked a lot like the one they'd all hidden in earlier, and planned to wait a few seconds before darting out the back of it under the cloth wall.

The warmth of the dark, muted atmosphere in which he suddenly found himself caused his unfortunate exhaustion to slam into him full-force. He was breathing shallowly, the sharp and irregular rasps of air scratching at his windpipe on their way out and in. He would've done pretty much anything for a glass of water right about now. His every muscle was sore, his cradled wrist was still screaming at him, and, in that moment, Dewey wanted nothing more than to just sit down for a few minutes—just for a couple of minutes—and catch his breath. Maybe just to rest his eyes, if only for a couple of minutes. Just for long enough to make them stop stinging. Just for long enough to convince his aching limbs to keep trying for just a little bit longer.

He tried to hold in the aggressive yawn forming at the back of his throat, knowing it would only open the floodgates to more. He lost that battle, though, and the yawn forced its way out of his beak, bringing with it an even more crushing wave of fatigue. He stumbled but managed to catch himself, eyes prickling with hot tears which were most definitely only caused by the yawn and were definitely not caused by the pain still radiating through his right wing or how absolutely stupidly frustrating this whole entire day had been. Why couldn't Webby have just let me sleep? Maybe if he could just rest for a moment, his body would stop fighting him on every step he forced it to take.

He was still very seriously considering the bale of hay in the corner when he heard what sounded like skateboards outside. If this actually was the tent they'd all been hiding in earlier, it sounded like the Beagles were headed in the same direction Webby'd gone to sneak out with Huey. There was no way the two of them could outrun guys on skateboards. Well, I mean, Webby probably could. Dewey groaned, suddenly back in the reality of the situation. This was definitely not a good time—or place—for him to take a nap. He had to move. When he got home tonight, he was gonna sleep for, like, a million years. Maybe it'd be quiet back in my room on the boat?

He fought through another yawn and slid underneath the back of the canvas tent, determined to get right back into the swing of the chase. The sudden blazing sunlight at least helped him to feel more awake, but the abrupt shift in brightness was something he hadn't anticipated. His already-watery eyes were flooded with salty tears and he could hardly keep them open, flinchingly lifting his uninjured wing to block the sun.

"Hey, you stupid mutts!" he yelled anyway as he furiously wiped his eyes dry and tried to force them to adjust. He may not have been able to see just yet, but there was no way he was missing his chance to save the day. "You're going the wrong way again!"

"Oh, are we?" he heard from right beside him before a large paw clamped itself around his throbbing wrist. Dewey bit back his small yelp, willing as little sound to escape as possible. The man didn't relax his grip, and when Dewey could see again he noticed that he was unusually well dressed for a Beagle Boy, from his straw hat to his bow tie to the shiny brass buttons on his vest, which Dewey could see his reflection in.

"Greetings, little one. They call me Benevolent, and not for no reason!" he said. "Now, I know my brothers here can be awful brutes; my humblest apologies. What say I help you find your brothers and that delightful friend of yours and we all get out of here?"

Even though Dewey didn't trust Benevolent Beagle for a second, he almost wished he could. At least then this could all be over with. He didn't even have a second to process this line of thought, however, as a deafening air horn interrupted it and caused the man to drop his hold on Dewey. Benevolent yowled in pain and sunk to his knees, having had the portable siren used point-blank behind his sensitive ears. Dewey saw Louie standing there behind him, finger still on trigger and smirking.

"You're welcome," he said, tossing the can into a nearby garbage bin.

"I totally would've had him," Dewey said, "but thanks for the assist."

Louie rolled his eyes. "C'mon, the mimes and the skateboard bros are right behind me. We gotta go!"

"What?" Dewey asked as they started jogging away from the sound of the wheels. "No, the mime dudes were after me. I left them all tangled up with the Thumbledumbs!"

"No way," Louie said, deciding after a moment's consideration to turn right. "They've definitely been after me the whole time."

"Weird," Dewey said. "Super weird. Speaking of weird, where'd you get the air horn?"

"Found it by a trash can near the Big Top," he said, shrugging as he continued to run. "Surprised it even worked to be honest."

"There they are!" they suddenly heard from behind them. When Dewey turned, he was only a little bit terrified to see not only the mimes and the skateboarders, but pretty much all of the Beagle boys they'd been trying to evade today. Except for the nightmare clowns, he noticed with a fleeting sense of satisfaction.

The boys shared an intense look and tripled their speed. The Beagles were definitely gaining on them, but not by much, so at least it would take them a while? How much farther could it possibly be to the exit? I'm sure Webby's got Huey out by now. "What was your plan if it didn't?" he asked Louie, trying to distract himself from the deafening stampede behind them.

"Huh?" Louie said, not turning to look at him.

"If the air horn didn't work," Dewey panted, "What was your plan?"

"I dunno," his brother shrugged, "play on his confusion?"

The boys turned another corner and almost ran into the antique merry-go-round. Its paint was peeling and its banners tattered, yet it was still somehow charming despite its obvious age. "That gives me an idea," Dewey smiled. "You see an 'on' button anywhere?"

"Not a bad idea, Dewford," Louie said, eyeing a rusty lever beside the carousel. "Hop on and I'll get it!"

"And then what?" Dewey asked him.

"Then we spin 'em around and hopefully split the group so we can make a break for the exit!" Louie said, making his way towards the control panel.

Dewey took a running jump at the rusty carousel, the steel groaning hollowly as his feet made contact with it. The creaking quickly turned into an uneasy metallic screech as the merry-go-round whirred to life. The young duck quickly moved to hide himself behind a wooden horse that was so faded he couldn't even guess what colour it used to be, and Dewey wondered if anyone had actually ridden this thing in years. The notes were sour and out of time, but he could hardly hear the carnival music over the rapidly approaching Beagles nearly drowning out the clanging racket being caused by the ride itself. Dewey hoisted himself up onto the side of the dingy horse, sliding one foot in the stirrup and his uninjured wing under the ratty saddle to grip on to its back. He ducked behind its neck, hoping he was as well-hidden as he thought he was.

The first couple of Beagle Boys didn't see him at all, but Dewey knew it was only a matter of time as the whine of the motor increased with every new set of feet. After only a few rotations, his stomach was very much not enjoying the constant up-and-down, round-and-round sensation. He'd never been one to get motion sick before, but, with everything else going on today—not to mention the boatload of treats he'd had earlier— he figured his body was finally deciding to just give up on him. He peeked over the horse's back and happened to see Louie just coming into view. He smirked and nodded at Dewey, flashing him some signals with his hands. Dewey nodded back, not really getting the plan but understanding enough to figure Louie wanted him to run now.

He dropped off the horse, stumbling again as he made contact with the rotating ground. He looked up to see at least a dozen sets of Beagle feet stomping around as well as the back of Louie's hoodie as he headed for the Big Top. None of the thugs seemed to be noticing either of them yet, so Dewey precariously began crawling across the two rows of horses towards the edge of the spinning platform. Between the pounding footfalls and the ancient motor running the ride, the ground was vibrating so hard that it shook his whole body. Huey's hat slipped off in the process, but Dewey didn't notice as a pounding headache was quickly added to his list of complaints to take up with his body later. Still, he managed to make it all the way without being seen, nearly having been stepped on twice yet apparently low enough to avoid detection. He deftly slipped off the merry-go-round, only exacerbating both his headache and queasy stomach when the ground stopped spinning but his head did not. He dizzily started his break for the Big Top as well, planning to go the opposite direction Louie had gone. He had only made a dozen or steps or so, however, when he felt something wrap around him and his feet lose contact with the ground.

"Gotcha," he heard his captor say victoriously as Bouncer lifted him to eye level. Dewey'd never really thought about how much bigger than him the Beagle was, but finding his whole body held immobile by one of the man's fists sent a shiver down his spine as he thought about how easily he could be crushed if the man really wanted to hurt him. Even the slight pressure on his right shoulder made it feel like his whole wing was burning. "Hey Big Time!" Bouncer yelled, shouting in the direction of the carousel, "I got one!"

"Well, would you look at that; you actually ended up bein' useful after all!" Big Time said as he stomped over from where he'd been watching the chaos on the ride. "Not so clever now, are you?" he said, snarling triumphantly at Dewey.

"I could say the same for you, you stupid mutt," Dewey spat, hoping his voice didn't betray how scared or pained he actually was. "It's just a stupid hat! You caught the wrong triplet!"

Big Time barked a menacing laugh, one which spread to the Beagles who were rapidly beginning to surround the captured child. "There ain't no such thing as a 'wrong triplet', idiot! Ma just wanted one of you, and I knew you'd be too busy tryin' to save the one we said we're after to watch your own behind!" he laughed again. "You dumb-dumbs fell for my master plan!"

"I thought this were Ma's plan," one of the Beagles piped up from out of Dewey's line of sight.

"Shut it, Botched Job," he snarled, "or I'll tell Ma it were your fault this took all dang day! Now," he said, pulling a rag and brown bottle from under his hat. He shook some liquid onto the cloth and sneered at the small boy, "where were we?"

Dewey tried to struggle against the strong vice grip to no avail. There was nothing he could do as Big Time used one hand to clamp shut his beak and the other to hold in place the damp rag over his nostrils. Dewey tried to hold his breath, struggling in vain to get the cloth away from his face, but eventually his lungs forced him to inhale. The smell was sweet, not actually all that unpleasant apart from the slight chemical aftertaste it left in the back of his throat. With every passing breath he felt his limbs responding to him less and less. As his eyes began fluttering, Big Time removed the rag and Bouncer slackened his grip, but there was nothing Dewey could do. He was only barely conscious as he felt himself being lowered into something not much bigger than he was. The last thing he heard was a zipper being done up above him, world fading to black as his consciousness did the same.

This is all my fault. How could I have been so stupid? He was supposed to be right behind me! Why didn't I check on him? Why did I even make us come to this stupid circus? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. This is all my fault!

Louie was sitting in the back of the limo, hands robotically turning the phone in his hands on and off and on again, wishing it would just work already so they could call Uncle Scrooge or Beakley or Uncle Donald or the authorities, or anybody. He just needed to be useful right now. Here they were, stuck in traffic, not having moved at all for the past five minutes, while Dewey was god knows where, all alone against the Beagle Boys. It had been his stupid plan that had lost him.

Huey was yelling angrily out the window at the other cars in the traffic jam, as if that would somehow clear whatever was causing this major backup on the bridge. He was sitting up in the front with Launchpad, who, to his credit, was still trying to calm the boy down. Louie had rolled up the divider window, his brother's shrill rage having given him a headache, but he could still hear him through the glass.

Louie sighed and rubbed his eyes, trying to calm the unease coiling in his stomach. He was finding it hard to breathe and wondered if the back of the limo had always been so claustrophobic. He and Webby were sitting on opposite ends of the back seat, dead silent in comparison to the cacophony going on in the front. He looked over and saw her staring despondently down at her lap, fiddling with a loose thread on her skirt. He wondered if she felt as guilty as he did; her plan hadn't worked, either. Louie'd thought it was a dumb plan from the start, trusting the Beagles to be good at their jobs, but he'd gone along with it despite his concerns and now they'd lost Dewey. The taste of bile was present in the back of his throat as he fought back frustrated tears. He didn't deserve to be crying right now.

He checked his phone again.

No service.

Nobody else even knew Dewey was missing yet. Nobody was looking for him.

He didn't deserve to be crying right now.

"So," Webby said, breaking the tense silence, "Llewellyn, huh?"

"What?" Louie said, pulling himself out of his spiralling thoughts.

"Your name," she said hesitantly, looking like she was debating whether or not to keep talking. "It's short for Llewellyn?"

"Unfortunately," Louie groaned. Secretly though, he was grateful to at least have something else to think about while they were stuck in this car. "I'm surprised you didn't already know."

"There's not exactly a lot of published material on you three," she said. "But still, I never would have guessed 'Llewellyn'."

"What did you think it was short for?" he asked. He was curious, but also he just wanted her to stop saying his stupid name (with its entirely too many Ls).

"'Ludwig' was my first guess, for Dr. Von Drake. If not that, I had it down to 'Lucien', 'Louis', or 'Lucifer'."

Louie snorted. "You actually thought they named me after the devil?"

She blushed and shrugged. "It was a distant fourth place." She paused. "How do you even spell that?"

"Lucifer?" he asked.

"Obviously not."

"Stupidly," he grumbled. He flashed back to his first year of kindergarten, frustratedly watching Huey and Dewey neatly printing Hubert and Dewford while he was having a hard enough time remembering if it was supposed to be Louey or Louie. When Miss Alba had come over to check on their progress, she'd praised his brothers while telling Louie they were supposed to be practising their full names today.

But it's stupid!, he'd said.

But it's yours, his teacher had reminded him.

Louie doesn't know how to spell it yet, miss!, Huey had so graciously told her.

Having heard this, Miss Alba had excitedly announced that not only did Llewellyn need to learn to spell his own name, but that it would be a fun exercise for the class if they all did. He could still hear the dumb song she'd come up with any time he had to write it down: Double L-E-double U-E-double L-Y-N! That damn song had followed him through school!

"Ask Huey, he knows," he said dismissively, "and no, you can't ever call me that. I'll sick Dewey on you."

A pang of panic shot though his chest, remembering why they'd been trying to distract themselves in the first place. Dewey was gone and it was his fault and it was her fault but it was mostly his fault and now he was all alone and-

"We're here!" Launchpad announced, crashing through the gates to the manor while they were still in the process of opening. In a flash, the three of them had their seatbelts off, hitting the ground before the limo had even come to a complete stop. They ran as fast as they could for the door, Huey hobbling as if he'd hurt himself. Louie didn't stop to ask him about it as they raced to get help.

"Uncle Scrooge, Donald, Granny!" Webby cried out as she thrust the doors open and the three of them burst into the foyer.

"Webbigail, please, Mr. McDuck is still sleeping," Mrs. Beakley said as she came in from the kitchen.

"It's Dewey," Huey said, panting.

"The Beagle Boys," Louie pleaded. "They got him."

Dewey had finally come back around a couple of minutes ago, but even though the drug had worn off he was just as helpless as before. He was blindfolded and still unable to move, his wrists tied together behind his back as well as to the chair he was sitting on. Even the smallest of movements sent shooting pain through his injured wing. He'd lived at the marina for long enough to know the scent of sea and rotting wood around him, and it was somewhat comforting to at least know where he probably was. There was nothing stopping him from talking, but he wasn't sure he wanted his captors to know he was awake quite yet. The longer he could stall, the more time his family would have to get here and save him.

This line of thought was quickly dashed however as the cloth covering his eyes was yanked away. To Dewey's dismay, it wasn't all that much brighter without it. The stench of Ma Beagle's breath was in his face immediately.

"Well, good mornin' sunshine. You have any nice dreams?"

"Yeah, I dreamt you overcame your fear of breath mints," he retorted.

She slapped him.

"Don't get smart with me, boy! I need you alive, but ain't nothin' says you have to be in pristine condition."

Dewey gulped. He was in shock; he'd never been hit by an adult before. His whole face stung from the impact and he felt tears pricking at the corners of the eyes. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of letting them fall.

"Now then," she said, turning his chair to face a video camera. She flicked on a light behind it and Dewey's vision was suddenly flooded with white before they could adjust. "Smile for the camera! We have a little message to send to dear old Uncle Scrooge."

Uncle Donald was pacing the study floor so hard Louie was low-key concerned the rug might actually catch on fire. As soon as they'd got home, Scrooge had sent Duckworth to investigate the Fairgrounds, reasoning the ghost was the only one who could bypass the gridlock traffic between here and there. In the meantime, Mrs. Beakley had called the Duckburg Police Department while Scrooge tried to get ahold of Gizmoduck, who was currently on vacation.

The police had said that it was quite expressly written into their contracts that they were not to interfere in McDuck family affairs, but they would go check out the junkyard for them as a courtesy.

"A bloody courtesy!" Scrooge had said. "Who the blazes do they think writes their bloody paycheques?"

Gizmoduck was proving impossible to reach, and when Duckworth came back with the incredibly troubling news that the Fairgrounds were entirely empty, no sign of a circus, Louie could see even the adults were starting to have their anger replaced with worry. When the police called to inform them that the junkyard was all but deserted, that was when the panic truly began to set in.

Mrs. Beakley had told them all that the only thing to do was wait for the terms to come in. If this was a kidnapping, it shouldn't be too long before the Beagles came asking for money in exchange for Dewey's safe return. Uncle Donald had agreed to wait one hour before he was bent on scouring the city by himself.

They hadn't had to wait long before Scrooge's computer went off, the cheery You've got mail! feeling entirely inappropriate.

Funny. In the movies it was always a phone call.

The six of them rushed to crowd in front of the screen. There was no message, just an encrypted address and an attachment titled 4. It was a tense thirty seconds before finally Webby moved to open it.

The media player opened and the video flickered to life, at first showing what looked like a hardwood floor. It then spun upwards and Ma Beagle's face came into view. Louie could almost smell her breath through the camera.

"Hey there McDuck. How's things? Good? Just kiddin', I don't care!" she cackled. "Anywho, I'm sure by now you've noticed that you're missin' something. Tut tut, very careless of you! I'd never lose track of one of my precious boys. 'Cept for the ones I sold, of course!" she laughed again. "Lucky for you," she said, spinning the camera once more, "I think I may have found what you're lookin' for!"

Dewey came into focus and Louie's gut dropped. His brother was tied to a chair, pupils fully dilated as though he were coming down off of something. He looked more pissed off than afraid though, which made Louie feel momentarily better until he noticed the clear imprint of a paw on his face reddening by the second. He saw Huey begin to shake and Louie put his wing around him, feeling the rage come off his eldest brother in waves.

"Uncle Scrooge, I'm fine! It smells like home here, except for that horrible wet dog smell-"

She hit him.

Louie felt sick. He could have sworn he felt it on his own cheek. Webby gasped and tears started falling. Huey was shaking so hard Louie thought he might explode any minute. His beak was gnashing and his eyes glazing over, like always happened before he had a breakdown. Uncle Donald protectively put his wings around them, eyes still glued to the screen as Scrooge and Beakley stood seething, frozen in place.

"My my, McDuck, your brats are so disrespectful! You can thank me for my discipline lessons later."

Dewey looked up and directly into the camera. Louie could see that his eyes were wet, and yet his entire disposition radiated anger. He was in awe of his brother; Louie was sure he'd be wailing by now if it were him. He felt terrible at the wave of relief he felt, thinking about how glad he was that he wasn't the one in that chair right now.

"Now, since I am a generous and flexible business woman, I am goin' to give you two options," she said, stepping into the centre of the frame and obscuring his brother. "I will either accept thirty million for a healthy—more-or-less—brat, or ten million for the body."

A collective gasp echoed in Scrooge's silent study.

"After twenty-four hours, option one will no longer be on the table. Tick tock, McDuck."

She smirked and Louie wanted to punch her, or something worse, but he was also filled with so much dread by the threat she had just made that he was also having a hard time standing. He leaned into Uncle Donald's tightening wings and Huey for support.

"Oh, and in case you were thinkin' of showin' this video to the authorities, I had Megabyte set the file to self-destruct, or whatever you call it, once we're done here. And we're done here! See you real soon."

She smiled that horrible smirk one last time before the screen went black.

"I have to say, you had perfect timin' with your whole I'm-not-scared! bit there, kid," Ma Beagle said, shutting off the camera and the spotlight. The warehouse was once again flooded in darkness. "Really gave me the perfect moment to show old Scrooge I ain't messin' around."

"All you're doing is painting a target on your back," Dewey said, hoping it only felt like his voice was shaking. His cheeks were still burning, and that second blow had made his ears start to ring. "My family will be here before you know it, and then you'll be more sorry than ever!"

Ma Beagle chuckled, not at all fazed by the small boy's words. "Child, do you really think I hadn't thought of that? Scrooge McDuck did not become the richest duck in the world by payin' ransoms," she said, gesturing to someone behind Dewey. He couldn't move his head enough to see. "But there are plenty of folks who would love to get their mitts on a young duck like yourself, especially being one of McDuck's precious pipsqueaks. So I just need to keep that family of yours distracted for a bit, while I finalize a few details. And it just so happens," she said, pulling out her phone and flashing an e-mail in his face too quickly for him to read, "that you've just been sold to the highest bidder!"

"I…what?" Dewey said, completely and utterly unable to process what had just happened. What was about to happen. His heart was racing. His breathing became erratic. It felt like he was being drugged again, but this time it was his own pure panic causing it.

Two of the larger Beagle boys came into his line of sight with a wooden crate not much bigger than he was, CAUTION: LIVE CARGO stamped on the side.

"Pack 'im up, boys," Ma said, sealing his fate as he felt his wings momentarily freed just long enough to be retied once he was hoisted off of the chair. "We need to keep our product well-packed so it don't get damaged in transport."

He tried to kick them, but his ankles were swiftly tied together as well and the former blindfold was repurposed into a gag as it was tied tightly around his beak, preventing any intelligible sound from escaping. They forced him into the tight space, which was fortunately not all that uncomfortable and yet too tight to move more than a few inches in any direction.

"Safe travels, sweetheart," Ma Beagle mocked him as she lowered to lid onto the box. "It were a pleasure doin' business with you."

Dewey heard her continue cackling as she walked away and felt himself being lifted off the ground. In the pitch black of his prison, he finally let loose the tears he'd been holding back.

Oh my bloody hell, I did it! I'm so sorry I did this to you; I can't even begin to explain why this took me forever. I know you probably won't believe me that not a single day has passed that I haven't thought "I should really be working on my DuckTales fanfiction," but the wrath of writers block and IRL responsibilities knows no bounds.

So thank you to anyone who is a returning reader! I really, truly hope to never leave you hanging this long again. And to any new readers, welcome! Hopefully the longest drought is over.

To everyone, I would love to hear where you think I'm going with this story, because I can all but guarantee you're wrong but I would still love to hear it ;)

Lastly, an extra big shoutout/thank you/general big love to Pilyarquitect, the Fan who goes above and beyond to make me feel like I'm actually a good writer. This wouldn't have happened without you.

Oh, and LASTLY lastly, you should know that I almost named this chapter "Quack Packed!", and we should all be ashamed of me.