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aftermathfanfic · 2 years

Text

Part 2, Chapter 15

Warnings: Major Character Death

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Scrooge stood in the centre of the bridge, staring at the fake Talisman aghast and appalled.

He let his hand fall limply to his side, staring forward and seeing nothing.

He turned around to look at Glomgold’s body, lying limply on the platform on the other side. He heard a dull boom rock the chamber, dust raining down from the ceiling, but he barely noticed.

You didn’t know.

Scrooge winced, rubbing his temple. It has been aching the entire night, but he’d been forcing himself to ignore it. But now that the danger had passed and the adrenaline was fading, it was coming at him at full force.

It isn’t your fault. How could you have known?

Slowly, he turned back around and started trudging back to the entrance, a deep, terrible sadness taking over him.

Flintheart’s was not the first life he’d taken. He was a career adventurer, after all. He’d been in scrapes where his options had been limited to kill or be killed, but he had always tried to exhaust all other options before he resorted to that, and only in self-defence. But this death… this one had been pointless. If he’d just tried to catch up to Flinty, or talk to him, or, hell, even if Scrooge had reacted just a moment later, the talisman would have been placed on the pedestal, revealed to be fake, and this could have been avoided.

This was a difficult decision. You were right to do it.

He arrived back on the cliff face. The armoured mercenary was lying on the ground, presumably still unconscious from the sleep gas. Scrooge ignored him, continuing forward.

“…You can’t go up that way.” The mercenary wheezed as he walked past.

Scrooge stopped, then looked down at him, too surprised that the man was conscious to respond.

“The, uh… the room we came in is kinda… exploded.” Reshad explained. “I blew up the tunnels leading in, so… you can’t get out that way.”

“…Why?” Scrooge demanded.

“I had to get your wife off my case.” Reshad said with a shrug, bringing a canteen up from his belt. “Or servant, or live-in assassin, or whatever the fuck she is to you.”

Scrooge watched him unscrew the bottle, realising that he’d completely forgotten about Bentina in the heat of the moment. If she’d been here…

Reshad poured the bottle’s contents on his face, a splash of brown liquid coating his helmet. Screwing the lid back on, he muttered, “So… we’re kinda stuck down here. I was really banking on that thing down there digging us a new way out.”

He put his bottle back on his belt and spread his arms out, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling.

After a while, he turned to Scrooge and asked, “You, uh… wouldn’t happen to know any other secret entrances, would you?”

Scrooge glared down at him for a moment, then sighed reluctantly.

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The family had gotten out of the catacombs just as the bombs exploded. A dull boom that echoed through the tunnels announced the detonation, and the thunderous rumble of collapsing infrastructure followed soon thereafter.

They had found the French police waiting for them on the other side, back at the entrance they’d made previously. Immediately, they bombarded them with questions, buffeting the children with inquires made in a language they didn’t speak. Mrs. Beakley took charge of the conversation, talking to the officers in fluent French as the kids were led off to the side, towards a police car.

A paramedic was attending to May as soon as possible, a female white duck in a navy blue jacket. Sitting her on the edge of the car seat, the officer treated to May’s injured leg, quickly cleaning, disinfecting and dressing the wound. The other kids stood to the side awkwardly as it happened, unsure what to make of themselves.

The medic stood up and turned to the children with a smile. “She’ll be okay.” She told them in simple English. “Stay here for now, okay?”

They each murmured their affirmation. With that, the officer walked away, though not so far as to abandon them. The five teenagers were silent, none of them willing to make eye contact – least of June.

Huey looked at her, trying to analyse her. It wasn’t easy, since he was still coming off of the adrenaline rush from behind held hostage, and he couldn’t quite get a good read off of her.

May was the first to speak up, asking her sister carefully, “June… what happened back there?”

The boys turned to look at the guilty cousin, who stared at the floor, not looking at any of them.

“…I don’t know.” She responded quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I wanted to stop him from hurting you… but…”

June finally looked up at her family, all of them looking at her like she was a perfect stranger. May’s expression was that of fearful confusion, Huey’s was of concern and upset, while Dewey’s was merely wary. Louie’s expression bore no emotion – his face was an unreadable mask.

“…I think I went too far.” June murmured, her voice cracking.

“Were you… actually going to let her die?” Dewey asked slowly.

“No, I… I… I don’t think so…” June’s voice sounded unsure, like she had frightened herself as well as the others.

They overheard a snippet of conversation and turned as one towards the police. They could see Beakley starting to break free from them, making her way towards them.

“Please don’t tell her.” June said quickly, distress written across her face. “Please.”

Huey shook his head. “June, we can’t…”

“If Miss Daisy finds out, she’ll never let us go with you guys, never!” June insisted, tears welling in her eyes. “Please, I- I’ll never do anything like that again, I promise! Please!”

Huey hesitated, then turned to look at his brothers, their expressions betraying the same uncertainty that he felt. He turned to look at May, her face deeply conflicted.

They saw Mrs. Beakley make her way towards them, leaving the police officers to talk into their radios behind her. Looking between the five exhausted teenagers, she told them, “Tonight’s not over just yet. They want us to come down to the station to answer some questions.”

Huey let out a long exhale, not particularly surprised. From behind him, Dewey asked, “Was anyone hurt? Like, from the bombs?”

“…There’s been some structural damage.” Beakley admitted. “No deaths as far as I know, but they haven’t told me much yet.”

She knelt down, giving each of the teens a scrutinous eye. “Now, I need to know what happened down there. How did the mercenaries get free?”

Huey didn’t say anything. He saw June look down to the ground, her hands clasped tightly around each other.

“…There…” May muttered. “The mole, I… I thought I’d choked him out, but…” She sighed. “He tricked me. He had this smoke bomb, and… in the confusion, he got free and…”

“He had me hostage.” Huey told her. “Told us not to do anything, or… or he’d kill me.”

“…I see.” Beakley said quietly. “…What made him let you go?”

Huey hesitated. He could see June trembling in inner turmoil, a tear silently rolling down her face.

“Well… that was thanks to Huey, actually.” Louie spoke up. “He, uh… while we were all panicking and everything, he told them about what I found on Glomgold’s phone. Turned out that he hadn’t paid them yet. Didn’t have the money to pay them, either. So… we managed to convince them that it wasn’t worth it and… they kinda just left.” He shrugged.

“They believed you?” Beakley inquired.

“Ehhh…” Dewey waved his hand noncommittedly.

“Well, more like they couldn’t chance that we were lying.” Louie replied.

“…Very well. Did anything else happen?”

“Nope.”

Beakley looked between the five of them once more, her eyes narrowed. June wiped away her tears quickly before she looked at her, keeping her face as even as possible.

After a moment, Beakley sighed and stood up. “Alright… you all did well, considering the circumstances. Don’t blame yourselves for letting them go.”

She pulled her phone out from a belt pouch, quickly dialling a number. June looked around at the others, nodding at them in silent gratitude. Louie nodded back, though Huey could tell that his brother didn’t seem wholly confident in the decision he’d made.

“Scrooge, this is Beakley.” Beakley said after a moment. “We’re being taken to the police precinct for questioning. One of the mercenaries detonated explosives in the catacombs, and the police think we’re involved. Which we are. Make your way there at your earliest convenience.”

Huey double blinked, suddenly realising something. “Wait, is Scrooge still down there?” He asked alarmedly.

“He had to go on ahead and stop Glomgold.” She replied, putting her phone away. “Which he presumably has, since we’re all still alive.”

“But the way we came out is, like, completely caved in!” Dewey protested. “How’s he gonna-?”

“He’ll find a way.” Beakley said confidently. “He’s Scrooge McDuck, after all.”

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Deep underground, in the sewers of Paris, a section of the wall suddenly pushed itself outward.

Then, it slowly slid aside, revealing a passage deep underground.

“Ah, the sewers.” Reshad commented as he exited the opening. “They’ll never think to look for us here.”

Scrooge followed him out, having remained silent throughout the whole trip. The stench of the sewers caused him to gag, but it did nothing to make him forget that he had killed Glomgold.

There was no going back now, he knew. What was done was done. Bemoaning his actions or endlessly arguing ‘what if’ wasn’t going to achieve anything. Even so, he couldn’t shake off the feeling of guilt at the pointlessness of it all.

“Welp. Guess this is where we part ways.” Reshad said casually, turning back to Scrooge. “So, uh, you go that way, I’ll go this way, and we’ll hope the cops catch the other one first. Sound good?”

“You’re… not angry that I… killed your boss?” Scrooge asked warily, not convinced that he wouldn’t just shoot him the moment his back was turned.

“Eh. He’s not the first employer we failed to protect.” Reshad replied apathetically. He cocked his head to the side and stroked where his chin would be, adding thoughtfully, “He was the one I had the most fun with, though… oh, and it means we don’t get see the three billion, either…”

“…He didn’t have three billion to begin with. I think he was just goin’ to betray you.”

Reshad stared at him blankly.

“…Huh.” He said in a low, emotionless voice.

After a moment, he shrugged. “Well, whatever. It’s splitting hairs at this point.” Turning to leave, he gave Scrooge a cheerful wave and said, “Guess I’ll see you around, old man. Maybe. Probably not, though.”

Scrooge watched him leave, feeling somewhat nonplussed. As he walked away, Reshad turned and shouted back, “Have fun telling your family that you’re a murderer now!”

The moment he said that, Scrooge’s eyes widened in realisation. He watched Reshad disappear from sight, a new wave of dejection washing over him. What was he going to tell his family?

More specifically, how could he tell the kids what had happened? How would they look at him, knowing that he’d killed a man over nothing?

You can’t.

He felt his headache flare. He couldn’t just lie about the whole thing. A cursory inspection from any of them would reveal the Talisman’s false nature.

Tell them that he escaped. That he ran away in the confusion.

They deserved to know.

They’ll never adventure with you again if they knew.

He grimaced and rubbed his temple. He reached into his suit and took out a white bottle of pills. He opened it, took one out and popped it into his mouth, swallowing it die. After a moment, he sighed in relief as the headache began to slowly fade.

…they’ll never trust you again…

He took another deep breath to get himself under control, trying to figure out what to do next.

A minute of deliberation later, he’d decided. He started to make his way out of the sewers, rehearsing what he’d say to them under his breath.

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The family had found themselves in the police station foyer. May had been quickly ushered away to the infirmary, leaving June and the boys sitting silently on a set of plastic chairs while Mrs. Beakley was answering questions in another room. Above them, a television was mounted to the wall, playing the evening news. Even though they couldn’t understand the presenter’s voice, they knew exactly what the story was about.

They watched as image after image of destruction was displayed on the screen. Streets and buildings that had collapsed in on themselves, burst water pipes and even fires that had started. It was a chaotic scene to be sure, but it was better than the all-out carnage that the Tarrasque would have surely caused.

“…On ne sait toujours pas ce qui a causé cette dévastation.” The presenter said as the camera panned over a house that had sunk into the ground. “Cependant, de nombreux résidents touchés ont rapporté avoir entendu ce qui ressemblait à une explosion, ce qui a conduit beaucoup à soupçonner l’implication d’un groupe terroriste...”

Dewey frowned in recognition. “Are they calling it a terrorist attack?” He asked.

“Guess so.” Louie replied, leaning forward with his hands clasped around each other. “Honestly, it’s an easier sell than the truth.”

“…I’m sorry.” June mumbled again, prompting the boys to turn to her. “I- I won’t do that again. Ever again.”

“It- It’s alright.” Huey replied quietly. “It… it was clearly something left over from your…” He hesitated, then continued, “…Your F.O.W.L. days, and… obviously, something triggered it in a stressful situation, and now that we know what it was…”

“…Yeah. I think, when I heard May get hurt…” She winced a bit, then nodded. “Yeah, that- that must’ve been it.”

“It- it was just a slip-up. An accident. And it’s not going to happen again.”

“No, it won’t.”

Louie’s hands clenched at that word. Accident. A quick glance at Dewey beside him let him know that his brother didn’t buy that for an instant either.

Suddenly, the precinct doors flew open. The teens turned to see Della barging her way into the room, beelining for the boys. “There you- I’ve been trying to call you guys for half an hour!” She cried. “I just got a text from Mrs. B, I haven’t heard anything from Scrooge-!”

She pulled the boys into a tight hug, causing them to yelp as their ribs were crushed. She let them go and breathed a long-held sigh of relief. “What happened down there?” Della asked worriedly. “Are you all- where are-?”

“We’re fine, we’re fine.” Dewey told her. “Uh, Webby and Lena are back at the manor ‘cause Lena got hit by a car, Scrooge is underground fighting Glomgold or something. Uh, we fought a bunch of mercenaries – don’t worry, they weren’t that tough – May got stabbed in the leg, and… yeah.”

“…Glomgold was behind this?” Della asked incredulously.

“Yep. Don’t know what’s come of that yet, but Mrs. Beakley is just talking to the police.” Huey added helpfully. “And May’s in the infirmary.”

“Cool, cool…” Della muttered. “That’s gonna be a fun conversation with Don and Daisy… and the lovebirds are back at the manor, you said?”

“Yeah… oh, yeah! I totally didn’t realise that!” Dewey exclaimed in realisation. Turning to his brothers, he commented, “They’re probably boning or something, aren’t they?”

“What?” June spluttered, mortified. Beside her, Huey rolled his eyes at his brother’s immaturity.

“On their zeroth date?” Louie deadpanned. “After getting hit by a car?”

“I don’t know, that kinda how it happens in movies.” Dewey replied defensively.

“Yeah, movies don’t do real romance, Turbo.” Della countered him gently. She frowned at the boys and inquired, “Did you guys get my messages?”

Huey shook his head. “No, we turned our phones off before the auction.”

“Oh, shoot.” Dewey muttered, pulling his phone out of his jacket. “Yeah, Webby’s probably been trying to call us as well…”

The police station doors opened once more. All heads turned to see Scrooge McDuck wander through the doors, looking distinctly grubbier than usual.

“Aye, aye…” He said wearily in response to his family’s exclamations of excitement and relief. “I’m alright, I’m alright…”

Della immediately ran up to him, as did Huey and Dewey. Louie remained sitting in on the bench, while June leapt up from her spot but stayed where she was.

“Did you get him?” Della asked worriedly. “Did you stop him from…?” She chuckled as she said it, and added, “I mean, obviously you did, otherwise…”

“Aye, I stopped him… in a way.” Scrooge replied, reaching into his suit and pulling out a gold medallion. “Here… this is what he had.”

“…Holy…” Della murmured, taking it into her hands. “I can’t believe I’m actually… holding… wait.”

Della trailed off, noticing something. She held it up to the light, squinted at it, all the while Scrooge just watched her passively, waiting.

“…It’s fake.” She murmured in shock.

“It’s what?” The kids cried out.

“Are you fucking serious?” Louie blurted in outrage.

“Language.” Scrooge reprimanded him, Huey being too astounded to do it for him.

“I’m sorry, b-but- what do you mean, it’s fake?” Louie cried.

“Just that. It innae the real Talisman.” Scrooge sighed. “Either someone swapped it out before the auction, or it was never real to begin with.”

June’s eyes widened and she turned to look at the television in dismay. “Wait… wait, wait…”

“Oh, no…” Huey murmured, taking a step back in agitation.

“S-So, wait, we did all this- all that for nothing?” Dewey demanded, gesturing wildly at the news program.

“No.” Scrooge said emphatically. “No, not for nothing. We did this because we knew what could have happened, because we knew what Flinty was tryin’ to do. We had no way of knowin’ the truth before we left. We cannae hold ourselves accountable for that.”

Della looked up at him, looking concerned. “But… Scrooge, it’s a mess out there. I heard people got seriously hurt in this…”

“…Aye.” Scrooge acknowledged regretfully. “I’ll deal with that. You lot just sit here, try to wind down.”

“Wait… what happened to Glomgold?” Della asked as he began to walk towards the front desk.

Scrooge stopped.

“Ah… he escaped.” He told her.

“Escaped?”

“Well,” Scrooge shrugged. “Not immediately. After we realised the Talisman was fake and that the way we came in had been destroyed, I showed him and the man he’d hired another way out.”

“There was another way?” Huey asked.

“At least three that I know of, more well-hidden than the one we used.”

“And they were cool with that?” Dewey asked.

“Aye, that armoured fellow was oddly civil about the whole thin’.” Scrooge said perplexedly. Shaking his head, he continued, “Erm… and Flinty was… well, he was bein’ Flinty about it. Last I saw him, he was runnin’ into the sewers declarin’ revenge against me again.”

“Should we be worried about that?” Della asked.

Scrooge chuckled quietly. “Eh, well… the man’s spent all his money and he’s lost his job… I don’t think we’ll be seein’ him for a while.”

Della frowned concernedly. “Are you alright? You seem a bit… off.”

“Eh…” Scrooge rubbed his eyes. “Just exhausted, I suppose. Been runnin’ around all night thinkin’ the world was comin’ to an end… don’t think I realised how tired I was.” He groaned as he continued walking to the front desk. “Night’s still not over, either. The police will be wantin’ some explanation for this…”

“You sure you’re up for it? Beakley’s talking to them now.”

“Aye, I’ll be fine.”

He walked over to the receptionist and began talking to her. Della watched him, frowning.

“…Hey, mom?” Louie piped up. “Can I have a look at that?”

“Hm? Oh, sure.” She walked over and handed him the talisman. “It’s probably not worth a lot, though, just a heads up.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Louie replied quietly, taking the amulet and inspecting it himself. Della left him and walked over to Huey, who was still looking distraught, while Dewey had pulled out his phone in the background.

He looked it up and down, turning it over to look at the front and the back of it in turn. It was a counterfeit, all right. The gold was real, but it was far from pure, and the gemstones were completely artificial. It was obvious, and Louie would consider himself a mere amateur in appraisal.

Which is why he found it hard to believe how Carbonneau wouldn’t have noticed.

He frowned to himself thoughtfully, a plan formulating in his head.

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On one of the balconies overlooking Carbonneau’s garden sat a lone young duck in a pink dress, sitting with her knees hugged to her chest and her head buried in her arms. She had recovered from the deep, wracking sobs that had been consuming her a moment ago, and had progressed to silent, miserable sniffling in the cold midnight wind.

A faint buzz from the pouch on her belt caught her attention. Slowly, she reached behind her and pulled out the culprit, lifting her head to look at it.

It was her phone, displaying a picture Dewey and the option to answer it.

Webby’s eyes shot wide open, and she leapt to her feet. In her melancholy, she had completely forgotten about her family and what they were doing. She answered the call and brought the phone up to her ear, whispering, “Dewey?”

“Webs! Hey!”

“Hey.” Webby mumbled, wiping the tears out of her eyes. “What- what happened? Did you guys stop him?”

“Yeah, yeah… well, Scrooge stopped him, technically. We got, uh… hold on, I’ll put you on speaker.”

Webby waited a moment. Then, she heard him say, “Yeah, she’s on speaker.”

“Hey, Webby.” Spoke June’s voice.

“Hey.” Huey’s voice mumbled.

“Hey, Webs.” Della’s voice said. “You girls okay over there?”

“Yeah, we’re… we’re fine. Is this everyone?”

“I mean, mostly.” Dewey said. “Louie’s here too.”

“What?” Louie’s voice said distractedly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here too.”

“And you’re all okay?”

“Yeah!” Dewey said. “Well… mostly.”

“We… had a skirmish with some other mercenaries.” Huey explained to her, sounding upset about something. “May got injured in the fight, but she’s being treated here…”

“Injured? Is she all right?” Webby asked worriedly.

“Yeah, it’s nothing serious. Light wounds, that’s all.”

“Nothing Lena can’t heal.” June added.

“Okay, that’s… that’s good.” Webby muttered. “Uh, what about…?”

“Scrooge and Mrs. B are just talking to the cops.” Dewey told her, answering her unsaid question. “They kinda picked us up after we left the catacombs.”

“Yeah, the police spoke to me as well. I just told them that I didn’t know anything.”

“They asked you about the bombs?”

“Wh- no, about- about the gunman, what- what bombs?”

“The mercenaries, they rigged the catacombs to-” Huey started to respond. “You didn’t hear?”

“No!” Webby cried. “What- is anyone hurt?”

“We’re fine, but…”

Huey hesitated. Webby heard Della pipe in, saying sadly, “There’s been a lot of structural damage. And… a lot of people have been injured, from what I’ve heard.”

Webby looked out towards the city, suddenly realising just how many sirens she could hear in the distance. She had been too lost in her heartbreak to listen to them before, but now…

“…It wasn’t us, Webby. It was them.”

“Y-yeah, I know.” Webby replied shakily, turning back toward the manor. “It’s… they were trying to end the world, this… this is still better than that.”

“…Yeah, so, about that.” She heard Louie say reluctantly. “The talisman’s fake.”

Webby stood still for a moment, silently processing what he’d said.

“…Wh… what…” She muttered warily, running her hand through her headfeathers. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s fake.”

“Yeah, but- but what does that mean?”

“You know what he means, Webby.” June told her.

Webby stared into the middle distance for a moment. She turned back towards the cityscape, whispering in disbelief, “…It’s fake?”

“Yeah.” Louie replied. “A total dud. It was never gonna wake up the tarask.”

“Tarrasque.” Huey corrected him.

“Whatever.”

Webby quietly contemplated what that meant. “So… so we didn’t have to come here at all.” She said slowly. “We could’ve… stayed at home or gone somewhere else and… it would have been fine.”

“We didn’t know.” Huey told her. “Even if we’d had reason to think it was fake, we still would’ve gone.”

“Yeah, we couldn’t have taken the risk.” Della added.

“…Right.” Webby said quietly, listening to the sirens.

“Hey, there is a bright side to this.” Dewey told her reassuringly.

“…Yeah?” Webby asked uncertainly.

“You know how the original plan was to leave first thing in the morning? Because we thought people would be after the Talisman?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, we don’t have a reason to do that anymore, so… maybe you will have an opportunity to ask Lena out.”

Webby didn’t say anything.

“Uh… are you…?” Huey asked confusedly.

“I mean, think about it! Restaurant at a Paris café, under the Eiffel Tower…” Dewey elaborated.

“Are you sure that’s appropriate, after what happened tonight?” Della asked.

“I- Look, I know, but when is she ever gonna get another opportunity like this?” Dewey protested. Addressing Webby, he said, “I mean, obviously it’s your choice, but it sounds like a cool idea, right?”

It did sound cool. It sounded romantic and picturesque, like a date taken out of a storybook.

The idea caused her throat to tighten.

Behind her, she heard the balcony door open.

“…Webby?”

“I’ll see you guys back at the hotel.” Webby muttered, hanging up before they got a chance to reply.

She quietly put her phone back in her belt pouch, her back turned to her friend.

“…Hey.” Lena said from behind. “Um… I’m all healed up. So… we gotta go.”

“…Okay.” Webby replied quietly.

“The others’ okay?”

“Yeah, they’re fine.”

“Alright, um… I’m, uh… ready to fly when you are.”

“Actually, I’ll just… I’ll just take a cab or something.”

“…Do you have any money for a cab?”

“Then… I’ll walk.”

“…Are you sure? That’s kinda a long walk.”

“…I’m sure.”

Lena sighed sadly. “…Alright.”

Webby felt her friend rise from the ground, a faint breeze accompanying her as she slowly flew away. She didn’t watch her leave. She didn’t turn around until she was sure Lena had left, until she knew that she wouldn’t have to see her eyes. Only then did she stare up at the pale blue glow of her sorceress friend, watching her disappear into the night sky.

She choked out another sob, then stifled it. Wiping her eyes again, she swung herself over the balcony and fell into the garden, landing on all fours. Then, she got up, and began the slow march back to the hotel.

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