Ducktales: Twenty Years Later - Episode 21

TWO MORE! As we draw the story to a close, I invite you to re-read over it, and revel in how mistake-ridden it is, but also to see if It holds together as a cohesive whole as much as I think it does. Watch out for blatant hints I dropped to future events. I don't remember what hints I dropped, but I'm pretty sure I dropped them.

Enjoy the MSpaint, especially how kinda retarded Louie looks.

Here's to a non-disappointing final two chapters!

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Episode 21:

In 1951, years after the Sky Pirate menace had long since disappeared from the air over the Indies and Caribbean, the Pirate hideout was discovered, or, perhaps, simply revealed, by a young pilot and adventurer based in Cape Suzette named Kit Cloudkicker. Soon after, the UN, in the process of forming a new international police organization for squelching world-wide crime, claimed the small volcanic island off the coast of Africa as a neutral territory and set up the secret headquarters of the Sky Inspection League, set up to police the problem of smuggling and piracy that still plagued the region.

Carved out of a Volcanic mountain and with enough space to store a small army, the island, still referred to as "Pirate Island" even when formally renamed after the Director of S.H.U.S.H at the time as "Hooter Isle," was a perfect place to police the corrupt Asiatic skies.

It was hot inside, the fire within the earth felt plainly through the thick natural stone walls, with added structural supports and safety railing added only later, after a few unfortunate lava-pool-related fatalities were reported.

As the Sea Duck was towed out of the Iron Vulture and into the small Lagoon used as a dock, The boys watched from a few empty seats near a guardhouse beside the lagoon at all of the people.

They ran around, exclaiming to one another, whispering rumors and half-remembered truths. Almost as soon as the Vulture had landed, the surviving crew had spread the story of the attack by Thembria, and was answered by murmurs of war. Dewey shrank back in his seat slightly as more than one accusatory eye came his way.

"World War Three," said Louie in civilian garb, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked off across the lagoon to the patch of sky he could see through the far-off opening, "It's really coming. World War Three."

"That's what they said," noted Dewey, "Thembria are allied with the USSR, who are allied with China, North Korea, North Vietnam, East Germany and whatever other communist nations I'm forgetting. Thembria has picked a fight with the SIL which is an arm of S.H.U.S.H, which, although a neutral peacekeeping organization, is essentially American."

"With how much the Russians and Americans seem to like throwing around how many bombs they have, I wouldn't be surprised if we're all glowing in a half a year," said Huey, bitterly.

Louie shivered, "You think they would really do it? Bombs?"

"Honestly, I think the US will probably give it to them first, but we won't know until it happens."

"Where's your patriotism, Huey? It'll be the Russians who'll do it, I just know it."

"It flew out the door once we started this war with 'nam." He gave a sidelong glance to Louie. "I would think you and I would see closer on this sort of thing, considering..."

"Considering what?"

"Well, you always seemed to be the... I dunno... Rebellious one. At least where Uncle Scrooge was concerned." Huey leaned back, thankful for the shift in subject. "Spending money like water and going in for total selflessness and all that. Scrooge would have turned over in his grave if he heard about your adventures in Saint Canard."

Dewey spoke up, "Uncle Scrooge was only one of our guardians, if you'll remember, Huey, and even then only for a few years." His eyes swiveled over as he scratched his cheeks which had grown some serious whiskers since that fateful day in Duckburg. "When you think about Uncle Donald, Louie was absolutely devoted to him."

Huey frowned and turned away. "I suppose that's right."

"Listen," Louie said suddenly, turning his face from one brother to the other, "It's not like I'm pro-war or anything. It just scares the shit out of me, y'know." He smiled, but with a note of a sigh, "You never know when us Superheroes are going to get called in by S.H.U.S.H to go... I dunno... help out behind enemy lines. Who knows? Someday I might be like Super Snooper and go punch out Hitler. Or in this case Stalin, I guess. Maybe a little patriotism is what we heroes need just to do our jobs."

"I don't like it."

"You're allowed not to like it. That's the cool thing about the stupid country."

Dewey was back to watching the crewmen walk back and forth. "I suppose with all the commotion, there's no hope for the investigation into Farid to go through. With any luck they'll just forget all about us." He sighed. "Of course that just leaves us right back where we started."

"It can't end here," said Louie, resolute, "It just can't."

"And if it does?" asked Huey.

"I won't let it. These hands could potentially be punching out Stalin in a few years, so some punk wannabe kingpin should be no problem."

"You say that now..." smirked out Huey, "But how tough could you be if some fifty year old duck put you in a stretcher for two weeks?"

"Ha-ha."

***

"Here you go, Doofus," said Webby as she unwrapped the bandages from around the formerly stricken shoulder, "You're well enough to move, I think."

Doofus sat up, placing a hand to his shoulder and moving it experimentally, working out the stiffness from not moving it for so long. The small sick-bay they sat in was brightly lit and sterile, and had a comfortable air conditioning system that protected the infirm from the heat of the cave it was located in.

Doofus smiled sheepishly. "Thanks Webby. You're a lifesaver."

"It's just my job here, I guess. Team nurse, team den mother, teacher, shoulder to cry on. You know. Usual stuff for the token girl on these kinds of adventures."

Dewey's spectacled face homed in on Webby suddenly, their strong gaze burning a hole in her soul. "Why do you let Dewey jerk you around like he does, Webby? It can't be good for you. It makes me so sad to see..."

"It's not as bad as all that, Doofus. He's my boss, and I'll stick by him." she laughed. "I haven't been paid yet anyway. I have to stick by him until then at least."

"Don't joke about that, Webby. He's... he's not good for you."

Doofus's hand flew over to lay itself over Webby's resting on the hard hospital bed. Webby stood suddenly, jerking her arm away.

"Don't do this, Doofus. We... We both decided we weren't right for one another a long time ago. Don't reopen old wounds."

"But Webby..." He began to stand. "...I know we grew apart. You had your career and I had... mine. I'm sorry. Both of our lives conspired to break us apart, but." He walked towards her, slowly. "But we've both changed. I don't have to hide who I am anymore, and you..."

"No. Doofus, stop! It wasn't just how... how unavailable you were. I know now why you were the way you were and that makes me feel better, but..."

"How is it any different from how Dewey is? He doesn't love you. He sees you as a tool for making money. You're just his secretary."

Webby rounded on Doofus and held up an admonishing finger, "Don't you dare, Doofus. Dewey is a good man and he is going through a lot right now. He can't be thinking about anything like that."

"But Webby..."

"Doofus. I'm warning you. Don't. Just don't. We had our chance together and you blew it. You broke my heart when you left..."

"For your own safety."

"I didn't know that at the time. Even though I know now I feel like... You could have told me."

"No... No I couldn't have. I couldn't have subjected you to..."

"What? I couldn't have taken the truth?" She shook her head, "Doofus, I grew up for a long time in McDuck Mansion. Even after the boys moved back in with Donald, Grammy and I stayed in the Mansion as staff. I was raised on adventure just as much as the Duck brothers were. I think I could have taken knowing why the man I used to love disappeared, and when he came back, grew so distant so suddenly. I would have understood."

"I... I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. It was all just so... so new and exciting. But I've changed. I know what I'm doing now. Mr. Crackshell is back, and I can stop all of those horrible things I did in Saint Canard." His hand was on her shoulder, gentle. "Please, Webby. Give me another chance."

They were silent for a long time, with Webby's shoulder feeling the warmth of her former love's hand on her shoulder. She felt the old stir she used to feel around Doofus. Her memories drifted back to before the disappearance, when he was just a normal boy, so different from the fantastic figures that surrounded her from day to day.

"No." She shrugged his hand off of her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Doofus. Maybe... Perhaps..." She began to walk out of the door, leaving Doofus in the sterile office, "Perhaps in another future."

She walked out, her arms twined around herself as she looked down, tracing the path of her feet along the ground. Doofus stayed in the room for a moment, before closing his eyes and sighing, sitting down at the doctor's table and burying his face in his hands.

***

A day went past, and then two, and finally three. War brewed over the horizon and there they were, right at the thick of it. The entire group was roundly ignored by most of the SIL, with only occasional friction between them and the Commodore, who still, on some level, believed that they did it, and this belief tore him apart inside.

With every day that passed, news from the outside got grimmer and grimmer. USSR and US peace talks were breaking down left and right, and it seemed that Thembria's attack would not go unpunished. For its part, the country remained unapologetic, although rumors of them starting the war to seek some occult amulet were popular, if disbelieved, bits of apocryphal wisdom, at least to those without knowledge of the ultimate goal of their former state sorceress.

Dewey was hunched over at a long table the group used as a sort of meeting place away from the prying eyes of the SIL. The room was adjacent to the hastily put together sleeping quarters they had been given, which were much less nice than the ones aboard the Iron Vulture. On the other end of the table, Huey and the girls were chatting low, teaching and learning bits of each other's languages, while Louie discussed the Superhero trade with Doofus. Webby sat at Dewey's side, reading the only thing she could, a silly romance novel that had been donated by the Iron Vulture's crew for her use.

From a small stack of the past few day's newspapers delivered from Bombay, Dewey was reading an article in an Indian newspaper, using his knowledge of the Hindi language to keep tabs on the business dealings of McDuck Enterprises. To his annoyance, stock prices under Farid Kagan were rising, even as he delivered some truly baffling changes to the structure of the company.

Several industries that were formerly the very center of McDuck's revenue base, for example, Mining, Banking, Agriculture, and others, were being closed out, or reduced.

"I don't get it." Said Dewey out loud, wrinkling his forehead at the latest news from yesterday's paper, "I just don't get it. What is he planning to do?"

Webby looked up from her novel, finding conversation potentially more interesting, "More news from the front?"

"Farid's just closed down several factories for automobile parts. He's literally robbing people of their jobs, but he's such a slick talker he's getting away with it. I can't see the profit in it."

Louie spoke up, his conversation with Doofus having come to a bit of a snag regarding the correct procedure for chasing down a mugger, "Maybe he's got a backup plan. Close down some factories, open them up later to big ole' fanfare or something."

"Maybe they weren't up to code," posited Webby, "You know how Uncle Scrooge would cut corners."

"Or maybe..." began Dewey, before shaking his head, "I wish we could actually do something. I feel so useless here."

"We all do, Dewey," said Doofus who was itching to put on the suit, but couldn't risk being seen by the SIL.

"No kidding," said Louie, "What I wouldn't give to just fly in there and bust some heads."

"It would never work," answered Dewey, shaking his head as he turned the page, moving from the business section into the arts, and throwing the paper onto the table, "It wouldn't accomplish anything but making us look more suspect."

"I know. But it would make me feel better. Right Huey?"

"¡Foda Sim!"

The girls nodded their heads in triumph.

"Maybe it will say something in today's paper," said Webby, reasonably. She reached into the stack and pulled out the new news, opening it right to the business section with a practiced unconscious motion, before passing it over to Dewey and looking back down to her book.

Webby's heart skipped a beat when he heard her boss say "Thank you."

"Y- you're welcome, Dewey."

Dewey was too engrossed in the business section to hear her however, and began reading the fascinating writing of the Hindi language. In a moment, everyone went back to their individual conversations and tasks.

Suddenly, Dewey slammed the paper down on the ground, "That double-crossing son of a bitch!"

"What's wrong?" said Webby, startled away from Lady Argyle receiving a ripped bodice from Duke Iverson of Glen, disguised as the pirate and robber-baron Gregor the Cut-throat, who was at this moment on his way to claim the Lady as his own forced bride.

"That... That bastard! He... He wouldn't!" Dewey quickly took the paper back up and re-read the passage, before, throwing the paper towards the wall with a growl.

"What? What? What?" yelled Louie, "Don't leave us in suspense!"

"He... The factories he closed down... All of those mines and industries..." Dewey stood quickly, causing his chair to clatter to the floor, "He...!" He turned away, beginning to pace.

"What did he do?"

"Weapons manufacturing! Bombs! Guns! Battleships! He's shifting McDuck Enterprises to a pure weapons manufacturer. He's... he's closing down all other non-essential wartime industries to focus on weapons."

"My god," said Huey.

"This... this is..." Suddenly, a light came on behind Dewey's eyes. He ceased the nervous pacing he had taken up and looked up at the wall, a terrible expression lighting up his face. A cruel mixture of fear and loathing and anger all coming together to form an evil concoction upon his face. His eyes were wide and wild, his mouth bent down at a brutal angle, and his forehead creased as his brows rose up to meet the heavens. His body went rigid and his hands flexed outwards, keeping that position for as long as he held the face that had come of his greatest betrayal. "This was his plan all along."

Huey stood quietly, saying, slowly, "What do you mean?"

Dewey snapped at Huey, "I mean, Huey, that Farid planned this, all of it. The siege on Duckburg was his plot to take over the company, using us to tie up the SIL and S.H.U.S.H so they wouldn't catch wise of the plot. He used Gizmoduck to lock down the superhero contingent in Saint Canard so they couldn't raise a finger to stop him even if they did figure him out. I'll bet..." He grunted and turned, leaning on the wall with one elbow and looking with his tortured expression down towards the ground, "...I'll bet he's somehow behind this new war as well. He used you, Huey, and Higher-for-hire to get us mixed up with the Thembrians when they attacked. He must have heard about Magica's need for that dime, and knew I never gave it up, so he threw us together, and counted on... on war. If we lost the dime they would declare war on the world and he wins. If we kept the dime they would tear the world apart trying to get it, and he wins!"

"Why would he do all that?" called Doofus, his hackles raising at the thought of being used to such an end, "What possible reason..."

Dewey laughed, a horrible, sardonic noise that resonated with all of them, "Money! Money! Money money money! World War Three is declared, he uses McDuck Enterprises to sell the Allies guns, rockets, bombs, and makes a killing. He turns around, and uses Khan Industries to sell the Soviets guns, rockets, bombs... He uses our birthright to fleece both sides of the conflict!"

Everyone looked at Dewey, shocked. Louie stood up slowly.

"My... my god. We've got to stop him!"

"Louie's right," said Doofus, standing up gallantly, "Starting a war to make money. That’s diabolical!"

"But what can we do?" said Webby, who stood as well, "We can't just go in and..."

"But we must," Said Dewey, cutting her off, "We can't fight him the way we have been. We need desperate measures. He's covered his tracks too well. Governments are eating out of his hand and the population is on his side thanks to the sympathy vote from taking over McDuck when we were implicated in the raid on Duckburg. S.H.U.S.H is too busy preparing for WWIII to do anything about him. We can't expose him. We have to stop him."

Louie's face had begun to smile a bit, "You mean it?"

Dewey nodded, "By force."

"The SIL," said Webby, her heart saying 'yes yes!' but her mind saying 'be careful,' "They'll never let us go."

"Who needs their permission?" smirked out Huey, his fist finding purchase in the palm of his hand.

***

Two SIL crewmen were rushing by the door to the conference room the guests were using when they heard two unfortunate words.

"Blathering Blatherskite!"

Soon enough, the entire wall blew open as rockets, fists, giant hammers, and various chainsaws and power tools sliced and knocked away. The crewmen tried to run, but were buried under the rubble from the near instantaneous explosion of plaster and iron. Soon, a small stampede of footsteps echoed through the hall as the group ran out. The Carioca girls, carrying the meager luggage of the small crew, crowded up behind Huey who ran joyousely through the hall. Doofus, in his armor, lead the charge along with Louie, in full costume including drawn-on mask. Dewey pounded along the hall at a secure clip, hand-in-hand with Webby, who carried a suitcase full of Dewey's few business papers and petty cash he insisted on bringing along.

Soon, a ringing alarm blared out, and the entire group was being chased from the halls, but with Gizmoduck's brute strength at the charge, and Louie's skill with ropes and bindings on backup, the group went completely unmolested as they ran towards the hangar, and beyond, the lagoon where the Sea Duck was being moored.

"Get them!" yelled a familiar voice, before a gunshot rang out, only to be deflected by a quick shield from Gizmoduck, "They are escaping!"

Huey looked over and saw the Commodore, jumping up and down from rage. He smiled inside as he ran.

They were soon in the wide cavern containing the Lagoon, and were on their way to the Sea Duck. Suddenly, however, there was a loud snapping noise and several of the lights went out.

There was a wild laughing as a strange figure came flying towards them. The red emergency lights came on just in time for the group to see the Commodore, brandishing his sword and swinging from an electrical wire. He slammed the wire against Gizmoduck, who began to vibrate as the sizzling energy shorted out his suit.

"R-R-R-R-R-Run!" Said Doofus, pointing towards the Sea Duck.

"Gizmoduck!" cried Webby, before she was jerked on by Dewey.

Louie complied, herding the rest of the group on, taking up the bulk of the defense of the group. Soon, Dewey, Webby, and the girls had ran up the back ramp of the Sea Duck. Louie followed them up and did a quick head count, before exclaiming, "Where's Huey?"

All eyes pointed out over an encroaching crowd of SIL, where Huey had tarried by the stunned Gizmoduck, and was squaring off against Perry Kid, a sword in his hand.

"That idiot!" cried Louie, before it became apparent that the approaching SIL crewmen would keep him and the others too busy to go collect his brother. The crack of Scrooge's musket resounded, and the firefight inside the Sea Duck had begun, with the girls ducking inside the Pilot's cabin to keep themselves safe from stray bullets.

***

Back over towards where Gizmoduck lay, stunned, Huey and the Commodore squared off towards each other, Huey keeping one nervous eye towards the Sea Duck, which was being swarmed by SIL.

"Pay attention to your opponent when you fight him!" cried the Commodore," You insult me!"

"Of heaven forfend I insult you, Junior."

"Your friends are probably already dead now. I knew you weren't to be trusted. The Guilty always run."

"Everyone runs, Junior, if they're being chased."

"Because everyone is guilty, perhaps?"

"Because it's better than being caught."

"You and your brothers have been the thorn in my side long enough, yes no? I am glad to finally be rid of you. To attack in the midst of war..."

"Because of the war, Junior. We've got to stop it!"

"Preposterous. You have no chance to stop it. You're just three men and some women, how could you...?"

"We'll find a way. We'll find some way to stop Farid Kagan... You could help us..."

"This is not how things are done!" screamed the Commodore at the top of his voice, "You do not escape from me! It cannot be for something so noble, swine!"

"Fine, Be that way. Looks like the tides may be turning my way after all." His eyes looked off to the side briefely.

The Commodore followed his gaze, and saw the crowd of SIL suddenly thinning out, with a single black and yellow blur jumping and punching through the crowd, too fast or heavily armored for the men to get a bead on with their guns. PK took down the crowd, helped, soon, by The Green Phantom and Dewey Duck.

"No! No! I cannot be defeated by the likes of you! Enemies of Justice and right!"

"Junior, quiet. You've lost."

"You insist on calling me Junior, because your mentor calls me Junior. Do you know why they call me Junior, do you?" He began to sweat, this confrontation not going as planned, "They say I am the son of Don Karnage, the pirate. They say my whore of a mother conceived of me as he visited and pillaged a Spanish village, his home town. THEY ARE WRONG!" He screamed, brandishing his sword as his speech became more and more unhinged, "A man who would sack his own home town could never be a father to me, who loves Justice and right! The Law is my father, and fair Justice is my mother, and I am it's proud servant! You are an enemy to that end, and for that I will strike you down! Putup your sword, yes?"

Huey looked at the Commodore's sweating, wild-eyed face with a cold smirk, before he dropped the sword to the ground, dropping down into the accepted position of fisticuffs.

"A-ha. You are different. You follow your blood like a sheep. Your anger-addled Uncle has given you a dishonorable preference of combat."

"honor or not. I'm still kicking your ass."

Screaming, the two men came at each other. Kid struck first, swiping his sword. Huey dodged to the right and fired a punch, which struck kid's ribs, but allowed him to try a stab with his cutlass. Circling round, Huey strafed out of the way, peppering the wild, angry man with punches, before finally laying a kick squarely into his ankle. The Commodore cried out, going down to one knee, and trying a wild slice, his mannered, rigid style bedazzled by rules and regulations going out the window in the face of Huey's fists made hard by visits to cities around the globe before he settled in Cape Suzette. He punched, Face, shoulder, face, stomach, each time his face taking on a little bit more of the joy of the fight, and the enthusiasm that comes from knowing he's fighting someone with a measure of skill and still winning.

Finally, The Commodore stood and gave a bellow, letting everything he hated about Huey come out through his voice. His nose began to gush blood into his perfectly white teeth, as he slashed down.

Huey stepped backwards, used to fighting men addled by rage, and waited until the sword was once again raised to the familiar fencing position. He then gave a strong right cross, and aimed for the broad side of the sword.

Snap! Huey punched the sword, and the blade snapped in half near the base from the sheer force of his strike, tested against the steel grip of Perry Kid.

Deprived of a useful weapon, the Commodore dropped the hopeless hilt of the former sword, and raised his own hands to defend himself, before he was struck out with an uppercut to the jaw. He landed a few feet back, and struggled to stay awake, but unconsciousness overtook him all the same.

By this time, Gizmoduck's systems had rebooted, and he was getting up, "What... What happened?"

"Nothing much," said Huey, "Come on!"

The two ran on towards the crowd of SIL, who were dispersing, scared off by the loss of their leader, as well as from the demon who fights them so harshly.

***

Huey and Gizmoduck ran in, Huey with a big ole smile on his face. His brothers called their frantic salutations to him, but his face was focused on PK, who was finishing up one last SIL goon. It may have been the angle of the punch, or perhaps the stance he displayed while throwing it, but somehow, Huey felt that PK, at this moment, was a familiar, comforting presence, especially considering how similar the way he took care of the goon was to the way he just took care of Junior.

He was mesmerized by PK suddenly, his shape matching up with his memories, calling up someone, One of the most influential people to his personality, and he felt a strange mixture of joy and disgust. He finally knew who PK was, and he couldn't help but feel elated by the knowledge.

"Hey, Huey," said a voice, breaking out of his reverie. Suddenly the rest of the cargo hold registered. The back had been closed and everyone had gathered together around him.

"Wha?"

"Get your ass in gear, Kid," said PK, "You've got a plane to fly."

Looking directly into PK's single eye, he blinked, before, in a moment of unbridled happiness, giving him a giant shit-eating grin. "Groovy."

***

The Sea Duck was soon winding its way through the lagoon, towards the exit. The parcel of sky getting larger and larger as Huey approached it, until it filled the vision beyond the windshield of the plane. Soon, with a bounce, the plane was in the air and the group was off to face their final foe.

Ducktales: Twenty Years Later - Episode 20

We have reached the Twenties! Hooray!

Lets see. If I stay on track (And don't run chapters together or break them apart or what have you) There are... three more to go. Wow. We've gotten far. It's the FINAL COUNTDOWN.

Thanks for reading this silly fanon-wank story. I'm sure I'll say it many times over the next three chapters, but I do mean it. If you want, spread the word, start a page on TVtropes or something.

Anyway, the most important part: Enjoy yourself.

---

Episode 20:

The Iron Vulture had, in its Port side near the top, a guest quarter of some luxury. Florid tapestries and curtains hung around the room, gilt with inlays of silver and gold in flowering vine patterns that warmed the room when in the presence of natural lighting. Urns and pots from china and India were laid about and kept fresh with flowers and plants to keep the room friendly. The walls were burgundy, and each of the three rooms available had a huge four-poster bed which matched the walls impeccably. Everything in the rooms had the feeling of some age and history, but was well-taken care of.

Louie had taken the rich red curtains down from the top crossbar of the four-poster, and had begun doing chin-ups. Dewey was sitting at a stained Oak drawing table with carved patterns on the sides and drawers, and was doing some calculations on a sheet of stationary that was provided with the room. Huey paced the gold-threaded carpet, looking utterly perturbed.

Dewey, without looking up from his calculations of how much money they have spent on this little excursion, with little lumps in his throat forming when he looked at how much they have spent on gas for the sea duck so far, said, annoyed, "Huey, You're making me nervous. Sit down."

"I don't like it," was the reply.

"You can dislike it while standing in one place... or sitting. Sitting is wonderful."

"Here we are, after running for our lives for over a year and now we've just given ourselves to the guys chasing us..."

"ONE of the guys chasing us. They guys who, if they had caught us, wouldn't have killed us." Dewey looked up. "And what's the big deal? They said they're investigating Farid. They'll find us innocent and we can go on with our..."

"IF they find us innocent. It is still very possible they might not find what they're looking for, or Farid covered his tracks too well."

"You worry too much, Huey."

"I think I'm entitled to some worry, frankly. We're prisoners here..."

"It's a lovely room," said Dewey, "Commodore Kid said it's for statesmen and other guests who come through. We're lucky we're not back in the brig."

"It's a cage all the same," Huey rebuked as he flung himself into a wine-colored armchair, "And we walked right into it."

Louie landed on the ground with a thump, sweat beading on his forehead. He took a sodden towel from the nightstand and wiped himself down. "For what it's worth, Huey's got a point."

"Not you too!"

"It is a cage. It's a very nice cage, but we're still trapped with the SIL. However," He turned towards Huey and smiled, "You shouldn't worry like that."

"And why not?"

"Darkwing, of course. I trust Darkwing to come through for us." He nodded with some finality. "End of story." After speaking this he laid himself out on the bed, stretching the burn out of his muscles, "So, Dewey, what's the damage?"

"Huh?"

Huey picked up the meaning. "How much have we spent?"

"Oh! Er." He turned back towards his figures and furrowed his brow. "About ten thousand for airplane fuel, Nearly five hundred thousand in losses from the Bed and Breakfast..."

"You've still got the money from the till, right?" asked Louie, "How much was that?"

"About two million cruzeiro."

"And in American?"

"About ten bucks, and falling." He sighed and continued, "Food for the little revolving door crew... Including that steak dinner AND the bottle of scotch... came to about fifteen thousand dollars. Clothes, repairs for the sea duck, miscellaneous expenses (including gifts and other such luxuries from you to those silly girls, Huey)... This all comes to..."

"Skip it," said Huey, "I don't want to know."

"We're very grateful that you're footing the bill for this little expedition, Huey," said Louie, "It's very nice of you."

"Aw, quiet. I know I've still got close to a septuplepillion thousand centrifugillion left, but still... You should know how losing a chunk that big can affect someone."

" Dewey, maybe, but not you Huey. I thought you were cooler about money."

"I am! I mean... at least... Well, I think it's just a lot of money to lose at once, y'know?"

Louie smiled. Dewey smiled. Neither one could ever comprehend the reason for the other's amusement.

Huey threw his hands up, "Moving along. I still think we should be careful around that Kid guy. I don't trust a guy who is that much into the law."

"Huey. I'm a superhero."

"And illegal superhero, remember. I'm just saying anyone who is that way creepily into the law won't hesitate to turn on us if things don't go our wa..."

But before he could finish speaking, the entire room shook violently. Dewey's chair turned over, spilling him and his money notes on the floor, while Huey and Louie threw themselves to the floor as a simple safety precaution. When the shaking subsided, Louie nearly screamed.

"What was that?"

Huey, however, was already up on his feet, "Come on!" he yelled, before he slammed the door to their room open and ran out. Very soon, he was followed by Dewey and Louie, who didn't bother getting into costume.

***

Through the air in flew, in defiance of gravity and sense, a giant, bulbous iron balloon, a Zeppelin, which ran at the top, the scarlet tones of the Thembrian flag.

The Bridge of the Iron vulture was in an uproar. Perry Kid sat in the center, a rock among tangled white rapids, as his men ran about, operating consoles and relaying information about the Iron Vulture, the Thembrians, their current strength, their opponent's strength, and the specs of the giant balloon in front of them.

The Commodore held a handheld up to his mouth and began to speak in authoritative tones, his eyes frozen on the quickly approaching Thembrian airship, "Thembrians. You have opened fire upon an SIL craft, and by extension, a S.H.U.S.H-sponsored craft in international air. This could be considered an act of war. I will give you a moment to explain yourselves or surrender. If you do not comply we will blow you out of the sky."

He then listened for some answering noise over the radio, willing them to respond. Soon enough, a Thembrian answered.

"Our fearless leader requires that you surrender Dewey Duck and his entourage. If you do not comply, we will be forced to take them from you by force."

"I order the compliances here, bub. Dewey Duck is in S.H.U.S.H custody. You cannot have him, yes?"

"And he is what we were ordered to collect. Submit or die." There was a rough clicking noise and the line went dead.

The Commodore placed a hand on his forehead, "Oy. These Iron curtain jockeys vex me so. Why is it they cannot act like sane people?"

"It's their society," said a voice behind him, "They believe we're inferior thanks to our different ideologies. Things like that don't fit neatly into that little thing called international law."

A hundred guns were trained on Huey and his brothers as they entered the bridge.

"What are you doing here?" cried Kid, "Get back to your quarters."

"And miss all the action? I think not. We're on this ship, There are women and wounded upstairs, and my employer's potentially very expensive vintage plane is in the hangar. I think we have a right to make sure it gets through this little incident all right."

Pointing a wild finger towards the exit, Perry Kid was about to scream for his men to run them out of the bridge, when a voice lanced through his radio.

"Time is up, dogs! Do you comply or do we take them by force?"

Perry kid looked at the radio with an unhinged look in his eyes, before picking the reciever up in one hand while gesturing for the boys to sit in the corner. "We do no such thing." He slammed the receiver down before screaming, "Aim all guns for the Red Thunder. Fire at will!"

A gunshot rang out, before a man in an SIL uniform ran out of the room screaming, being chased by the thick Rand, holding a musket. The Commodore sighed, and wondered if the sky pirates ever had to deal with idiot crewmen. Huey couldn't help but smirk.

***

The Zeppelin, the Red Thunder, was a vehicle of East German design which had become widely used in the ever important sky by soviet and soviet-allied military. The modern touch of the vehicle, including new bits added on since the 1940s, made for a terror of the sky. A maneuverable fortress of the sky to rival the airships of the sky pirates used back in the golden day, and for a fraction of the fuel and resources.

The two giants of engineering triumph met in the sky over the Atlantic Ocean a little past noon. The first shot was fired from the great cannons attached to the Red Thunder's side and struck the hull of the Iron Vulture. From there, the two titans entered into a dogfight of legend, the bodies of the two airships circling 'round each other, over and under, trying to gain the superior position. Meanwhile, around their heads buzzed flocks of fighter jets spinning and whirling around their mother ships like lazy flies, firing at one another, and trying to wrest the advantage away from their opponent.

War over the Atlantic raged on well into the day. Wrecks ignited in the air, and fell to the sea like confused fireworks, exploding as they neared the green and blue sea, or smashing into the waves, the force of the blast contributing height and impact to the splash.

Within, the two commanders screamed orders at their men, ordering more, less, forwards, up, down, thinking in a million directions at once for the good of their survival, ideals and ideas and demands flying out the window as the two forces tried to repel and destroy the other.

Eventually, the limited manpower of the Iron Vulture, meant for skirmishes with smugglers and not formal war, began to give out. The jets that were left had to do more with less power, luring the Thembrian airplanes into the paths of the Vulture or Red Thunder's guns, or leading them to ruin by smashing into the sides of one of their parent ships. They fought valiantly, but struggled against the fully armed might of a strong military might wielded efficiently.

***

The hours had flown by, and the boys were worried. They looked on from their corner of the bridge, looking helpless as the Thembrian contingent bore down, trying to get at them.

"What do they want?" asked Louie.

"They probably heard about your little stunt with Magica Despell," said Huey, smirking, to Dewey, "I wouldn't put it past them."

"Ugh," shivered Dewey, remembering the event. He quickly changed the subject, "What if...? What if they get in?"

"Then..." Huey stretch his arms lightly, and Louie unconsciously adjusted the belt he wore under his clothes. "...We fight them off."

In a frenzy, Perry Kid was standing on his captain's chair and railing at him men. Rage had made him forget his own head and he spoke in mannered, but still angry, Spanish. Huey walked up purposefully.

"You're getting slaughtered out there, Junior."

"And what would you know you Infamous ingrate? I oughta throw you three in the brig just for lookin' at me funny, yes no?"

"I know the air. You're playing right into their hands. Those new zeppelins rely on their large capacity for fighters to protect them while they bombard their targets. You can't fight off their numbers by yourself, not with this disorganized crew."

"My crew is being none of your business Duck!"

"You have to retreat. Cut your losses. Keep us out of danger."

"I will do no such thing! The SIL does not bow to terrorists!"

Their faces had gotten closer and closer as the two men yelled at each other, until another impact on the stern of the Iron Vulture caused Perry Kid to fall over on top of Huey. Interpreting this as a threat, Huey began to fight the wildly flailing coyote, until both were a rolling dust cloud of fists and legs. Soon, the crewmen known as Ein had grabbed his Commodore, sporting a burning black eye, while Louie and Dewey had grabbed Huey, whose face was simply burning red.

"Attack ME will you? Fine!" Huey screamed, "I'll show you. I'll show you how a real man fights off an enemy."

He shrugged off his two brothers - quite hard as well, causing them to fall over on their behinds- and walked out of the bridge.

"Where are you going you silly duck?" Kid yelled.

"You're see!"

After a few moments, and a couple more impacts, the Commodore got his mind right. "Damage report!"

"20% damage. One engine disabled."

He nodded, extricating himself from Ein's grip, "Fine. If that rage-blind idiot can show such initiative, then someone with the full force of right should have no problem..."

"Commodore!" yelled a small Chihuahua dog with a pronounced lisp, "There's a commotion in the hangar!"

"WHAT?"

Dewey and Louie sighed.

***

"Final Squadrons, ten and eleven, prepare for take-off!"

The Scottie dog with an eyepatch yelled towards the two three-man teams of fighter planes lining up to take off. With his limited peripheral vision, he wasn't able to see the whit fist coming at him from the red-faced duck. He fell to the ground a yard away, knocked out.

There was a commotion as several men opened fire on the duck, who ran towards the closest Jet, painted like a many-toothed monster. The men were ordered to stop firing, not wanting to damage the precious planes. The pilot, however, hadn't heard he order.

Huey climbed up to look at the helmeted pilot , who threw his canopy open and drew a service pistol. Thinking quick, Huey kicked the man's hand, before punching him soundly in the face. Soon, the man's body, stripped of his breathing apparatus and helmet seated firmly on Huey's head, was tossed over the side of the plane like so many bags of potatoes.

"Alright you!" cried Huey into the radio, "Watch and learn!"

"Listen y- URK!" said the voice of the Commodore, cut off.

Louie's voice cut in, "Huey. Do you even know how to pilot one of those things?"

"Uncle Sam wanted me to. Let's see if he was right." He then started it up, ignoring plainly many of the instruments, and relying on his own instincts. The engines roared to life, and his jet sped forward towards the wide open mouth of the Iron Vulture, and into the bright blue of the sky, stained black by clouds of smoke. Huey's back sank into the seat of the jet as his hands kept a steady grip on the control stick. He screamed at the G-forces, not out of weakness, but from sheer willfulness.

Faster than the eye could see the jet was out of the airship's dock and in the air, whirring around, pulling loops around the other, saner planes. There seemed to be some kind of spirit in the plane that caused it to move with almost presentimental grace. It approached the encroaching hoard of Thembrian planes, similar, but so slightly different from it. They fired, which the plane corked and twisted around in the air to avoid, before returning fire. A plane burst into flames from the precise shot, and the rest of the swarm turned away at once, creating a ripple of airplanes out from the exploding one.

Huey gave a yell, not hearing the Commodore scream back at him to turn his radio off to spare them all the fruits of his rage, and chased after the nearest plane. The Tightly packed thembrians seemed like clumsy beetles to his graceful dragonfly. He pulled a loop, firing on several too-slow airplanes, which flared up and fell like stars.

Then they were upon him. A group of aces, three, flying in tight formation. They surrounded him, revolving around him like the orbits of an atom, and firing all the time. Huey had just enough presence of mind to ungulate his plane out of the way and cut a swath out from between the tight teamwork of the three Thembrians.

He was chased through the battle, and the consequences of his wild flying were felt throughout the battle. He swerved across groups of thembrians menacing his temporary allies with the SIL, causing the unaware aces to perforate their own kin. As the three on his tail tried to use their numbers to trap him, he would fly among a group of allies. The aces were chased off by the firing of the few SIL left, and one of them took one right in the canopy, spraying through the air a sprits of blood and glass.

Wary and wise now, the two aces followed behind Huey's plane at a safe distance, trying to outlast him while staying out of the path of his wild guns. Unmolested, Huey was able to take out several more Thembrian jets, and under his actions, the tide of battle had begun to switch.

Desperate now, one of the aces drew close to Huey, intending to end this. Huey clenched his teeth, before pulling up sharp, revealing one of the Iron Vulture's guns. The cannon fired, and the plane, in mid pull-up, was torn right in half by the harsh shell. It looped around lazily, spinning as it fell to the sea, before exploding spectacularly.

Now, one-on-one, Huey looped around behind the last remaining ace who menaced him, firing on the unlucky Thembrian. The two pilots circled 'round, trying to line each other up in their sights. The dogfight dragged on and on, circling and barreling through the air, catching lesser pilots off guard and to an early, watery grave.

Huey gave a yell, the frustration of the fight causing a vein in his forehead to fill to bursting. With a sudden burst of skill, he tipped his plane in an odd maneuver, flying on his side just enough to pass the Thembrian, who panicked and pulled downwards. Huey then pulled up sharply, looping up and around, until the plane was facing downward again, and was lined up right behind the ace. With a single burst of his guns, he sent the last of his ammo into the jet engines of the Thembrian plane, and the entire thing combusted. Huey pulled up before his own nose could be caught in the leaping flames.

He then turned his sights towards the huge, momentarily unprotected Red Thunder zeppelin. He fired, but found that he had exhausted his ammo during the fight. FINE!

He hit the boosters, the throttles, the retros, the whatever-they-were-calleds, and speeded on towards the huge airship. He aimed for the panels in the Iron casing of the balloon that held the monster up, and braced himself for impact.

***

Boom!

Watching from the open mouth of the Iron Vulture, the girls, Huey's brothers, Webby and Doofus, and the Commodore watched the jet fly into the oblong target and explode. All at once, the volatile gasses inside combusted, and in a moment, the panels of the balloon were expelled out, dropping into the sea. The Red Thunder was, for a moment, alight in fire, before it was merely an empty, falling frame of its former shape. The cabins and hangar, now unsupported in the air, fell to the ground like a dull rock and broke in half with the impact of the water. They could not see beyond the lip of the Vulture without falling out of the ship, but imagining the drowning crew of the airship was terrible.

The three girls were sobbing, and calling Huey's name.

"He... he couldn't..." said Louie.

"H...Huey..." said Dewey.

Their eyes were wide in shock, looking up towards the spot on the stripped zeppelin where the Jet had crashed and exploded, until the whole skeletal thing sunk out of sight.

After a moment of stunned silence, The Commodore spoke, "Fool."

"Say that again!" Screamed Louie, grabbing the Commodore's fancy coat, "He's not the only one with anger management issues, you know."

"Such common reactions. He has given his life for mine, and I think him for that, yes? But there was certainly a better way."

"Shut up, Commodore," said Dewey, darkly, his right-hand trigger finger twitching unconsciously.

"For example, what about the Parachute?" The Commodore allowed two of his goons to pull Louie roughly off of his jacket, "He did not deploy it, yes? That could have..."

"...Saved my life?" said a voice from the radio, still breathing hard in anger.

"HUEY!" everyone yelled, crowding around the receiver of the radio, trampling the commodore underfoot, before all talking at once.

"Quiet everyone," he said, and they were silent, "I'm coming in, and I need to do something to feel better. Come to the mouth of the vulture and make sure I land safely."

With uplifted spirits, the group ran over as close to the open hangar as they could and lo-and-behold, saw the orange and blue colored SIL parachute holding up the duck, who had his arms crossed. They cheered as the Commodore walked up.

Huey caught sight of the group then, and began to clench his fists. His face was still a mask of rage, the dogfight with an entire airforce platoon not enough to sate his need. As he got closer, those who beheld him began to feel a bit like taking a few steps back.

As Huey was about a yard from the ground, he disengaged the parachute and began to fall. He drew back his fist as he flew to the group. The SIL Men, figuring him to go for the Commodore, pushed him out of the way.

With a final scream, Huey fell towards the ground.

POW!

With a single punch, Louie was laid out flat on the ground and skidded over the floor. Dazed, he rubbed his face and groaned, not understanding for a moment what had happened. It wasn't until he was picked up bodily by Huey that he remembered the events of two seconds ago.

"H... Hu..."

"Paul isn't dead! That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard of! Understand?"

"Y... Yeah..."

Louie was then dropped unceremoniously on the ground. The Commodore, still buried under a small pile of protective sky-sailors, began to rail at him.

"Where do you get off? I did not give permission to fly off like that! If you hadn't shot down the Red Thunder I would have you under a court martial right now! I would be breaking you under my knee right now, yes no?"

Huey breathed out, his blood pressure returning to normal. He turned towards the commodore, saying, "You're welcome," before walking back upstairs to his quarters.

There was a long silence, before the three girls gave a shout of joy and followed Huey off towards the upper decks. Dewey blinked, before shrugging and beginning to make conversation with the Commodore, now waving the overzealous crewmen off of himself.

"Well now, Commodore. What was that all about?"

"You three taking your sibling rivalry so seriously. Sheesh."

"No, no. I mean the Thembrians. What was that?"

"That, Mr. Duck," began the Commodore, looking at the blue clad Duck with eyes full of a dull hopelessness, "Was an act of world war, and you appear to be right in the middle of it."

Ducktales: Twenty Years Later - Episode 19

I have this horrible feeling that the picture for this chapter and the picture for the last chapter should be switched around, considering this one features Jose and the last one featured Jose, Panchito, and PK all together. But oh well. You can play a game of pretend, and suddenly JoseCariocaHirschfeld.png can go here while 3Caballeros.png went in the last chapter.

Also, is it weird that I basically copied down PK and Jose's usual costumes (Minus PK's hat, of course, that makes guessing his identity way too easy and makes the characters look like idiots, and not in a funny way), but I decided to take liberties with Panchito's? His usual costume looks a bit too fancy for honest ranchwork, so I gave him some leathers instead.

Anyway, this chapter and the next chapter were going to be a single chapter, until I actually got to the end of this one and I felt it appropriate to end it there. Enjoy!

---

Episode 19:

In the fields, among grazing cows and surly ranch hands on horseback, the Sea Duck stood inert, tamping down the grass where its landing gear met the turf. Spread out beside the great yellow bird was a rough brown blanket, with sets of old but well-loved tools laid out. The front engine block of the Sea Duck in the nose was open, and Huey, having stripped off his leather jacket and undershirt and tied them off around his waist, was covered in sweat from the hot day and oil from the plane he was taking care of. Nearby, down to his shirt-front and holding his jacket in his arms while fanning himself with his hat, stood Louie in civilian garb. The extent of his injuries seemed to be healed, with nothing but a lingering ache in the ribs, and even then only when jumping from building to building.

The shirtless Huey stood up straight. While his upper body had seemed larger to Louie when they had first met after all these years, he understandably had had few chances to pay any real attention to things like that since the days of the Baiano pousada. Louie was a little irked, frankly, that Huey had been able to bulk up so much by flying planes and getting into fistfights, while he, who did exercises every morning after work, and was supremely active during the night besides, had still retained the lithe form natural to Ducks and their ilk.

Huey went on with their conversation, "He's still alive, Louie. That's just stupid."

"Paul McCartney is dead, Huey, you can't argue with the evidence," said Louie, annoyed at his brother's ignorance, "Cover of Abbey Road, the backwards messages in 'Strawberry Fields' and 'Revolution 9.'" He whispered low, with the timber of a conspirator, "'I buried Paul.' 'Turn me on, dead man.' How do you argue that?"

"He's still putting out Records, Louie. Why would this... what's the imposter's name supposed to be again?"

Louie tapped his head, as if imparting some crucial clue, "William Shears Campbell, Huey. Billy Shears."

Huey rolled his eyes, "Right, so if that band broke up last year, why would... Billy, want to continue the charade?"

Louie shrugged, "To use Paul's good name to launch a solo career I guess. He's going to do it too." Louie nodded, satisfied that his point had been made, "Paul was killed in a car crash during Sergeant Pepper, I can't see how anyone can see it differently."

"See, this is why I liked the Stones better," said Huey, "Beatles fans are so pretentious."

Louie growled, his brow creasing in frustration. "Philistine."

"I know what I like, and I don't like having to see stupid little messages in everything I listen to. What's the point? Can't you just enjoy the music?"

"Of course I enjoy...!" Louie stopped, sighing, "I don't even know why I try. It's always like this when we talk about the Beatles."

"When you talk about the Beatles," said Huey, diving into the engine block wielding a wrench, "you always bring it up. They broke up, they're gone, live with it."

"They might make a comeback!" Louie said, "anyway, Lennon is keeping the flame alive, even if he is with that woman. I wish I wasn't stuck in the middle of nowhere. I hear he put out a new album. There probably isn't a record store for a few thousand miles in any direction."

"I always found Lennon too... I dunno... spiteful," said Huey, "Like he would look at his fans and thing, 'They're so stupid.'"

"Not spiteful!" Louie sneered, "Above it all. Anyway, what do you know? You don't even listen to them."

"Of course I listened to them. You wore out three copies of Sergeant Pepper making everyone in the house listen to them. Everyone was sick of it by the time the third one died."

"You have to agree that after that, all bets were off. It was the first truly new thing to happen in music in years!"

"Yes, maybe the first three thousand times. After that it starts to get old."

"Pah!" called Louie, falling silent as Huey turned back towards the engine. Finally, his eyes lit up. A rebuttal so perfect, so cutting, that it comes only once in a lifetime!

"Huey, I..."

"Huey!" Cried the Carioca girls as they ran up. "Huey!"

"...Oh, shit," said Louie, letting the epic burn fade away.

"Oh. Hi girls," said Huey, his smile and grace attaining a bit of masculine posturing, although with the slightest bit of confusion as to which of the girls he should direct his charm towards, "What's up?"

With rehearsed perfection, all three girls, with bright smiles, pointed towards the sky.

"Ha-ha," Louie said, thinking it so cute he might just kill himself, "There's no talking to you about some things, Huey. I'm out of here."

"You'll be back," Huey smirked, "I'm all you got. Farmhands wouldn't know 'Hey Jude' from a hole in the wall, and Dewey hasn't listened to music since 1959."

Louie had already started off, however, "Whatever." And he was gone.

Huey laughed, and turned back towards the girls, who each echoed his jolly smile as they swarmed over him, twining their arms in his.

"So. Uh. What did you girls want, exactly?"

Amalia smiled and looked to Maria. Maria took the smile, amplified it with a giggle, and passed her gaze along to Rosalina. Rosalina gave them both a smirking look, before turning back towards Huey.

"Nothing."

"Ah. Well," said Huey, their strange wordless communication reminding him of how he and his brothers used to be, and marveling that three girls who had grown up apart from one another could learn the trick, "I'm, er, almost done tuning up the Sea Duck. Would any of you like to join me for some supper?"

A hand, he wasn't quite sure whose, rubbed its hand through his bare chest.

"We would like that," said Rosalina.

Huey smiled, wondering which one it was who touched him, wondering if the girls were aware of the fact that since Bahia they had gone to bed with Huey at least twice, each, and wondered how angry they would be at him and each other if they ever found out. He then thought of their Uncle-slash-father. He then thought of his own corpse, with Panchito standing over it, whooping and hollering.

The thought caused him to laugh quickly and break away from the three amorous girls and bend over the engine block to hide his sudden fear, "I'll, er, meet you kids at the tavern. Okay?"

"Okay, Huey," they all said, before each blowing a kiss, causing Huey to panic once again. Which one should I do something cute with?

Thankfully, they were gone before the imaginary kisses flying through the air could land on their marks, and Huey breathed a sigh of relief. As utterly exciting as this situation was, it couldn't be good for his blood pressure.

He finished up the tune up on the engine, just a few tightened, ancient components, and he was free to join the girls at the Tavern, where there was sure to be some lovely stew or other waiting for them.

He turned as a cloud passed overhead, blotting out the sun. He looked up on a whim, and found that clouds have gotten a lot darker and closer to the earth since he was a kid.

***

A young woman with a bright red pattern of feathers placed two mugs of cool, frothing beer on the table, before placing between them a small glass of water.

"Thanks," said Dewey, sitting at a table with José and Panchito, looking perfectly miserable, "Now tell me, you two, where did PK run off to?"

"Why do you think we would know?" said José, after a puff of his thick cigar, "He is as an enigma to us as much as he is to you, Dewey."

"As you went into the fire to chase the Weetch, he seemed to just vanish away."

Dewey closed his eyes and fingered his water glass. His other hand seemed to hover over the center of his chest. "Huey and Louie said as much. I was hoping you two..." He shook his head, "Nevermind. I just wish I could get a bead on that guy. First he beats up Louie, then he helps us find Fenton Crackshell, and then helps us against Magica DeSpell. Even if he is on our side, all the same, Panchito, I'd like your men to be on the lookout for him. He's probably still around."

"Si, amigo."

The three drank in silence, Panchito with relish, José with a mind full of wistful remembrance of cachaça, and Dewey with annoyance at the apparent ignorance of his allies, when he was so sure he remembered them and PK acting almost like old friends.

"By the way, Dewey," asked Panchito, innocently, "Where is Webby? She and you are nearly never seen apart for so long."

"She..." He looked down into his water, "She, uh. She's taking care of Doofus."

"The big guy?" said José, his face expressing the distaste of someone watching a soap opera where his favorite characters do not end up together, "That is... nice of her."

"They... We used to be old friends before we grew apart. Apparently, Webby was friends with him a little longer than we were."

"Of course," Said José, "Panchito, I regret to ask, but could you leave us alone for just a moment?"

Panchito looked towards the sullen Duck and the concerned parrot and understood, "Say no more, amigo." He then stood, taking his drink and walking over to a burly crow who led the guard patrols.

"What's this about, José?"

"I would like to speak of matters of love, Dewey."

Dewey started, blinking as his head rose quickly. He turned towards José's smirking, knowing face, before he darted his eyes away, afraid looking at the green parrot might reveal something untoward. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Some men drink, some men write poetry, some men sulk. Alcohol and paper cost money, so I made a nice guess." José placed a hand on Dewey's shoulder, "You are in love my frien'."

"I... It's not... she's my personal assistant, I just miss her... uh... organization."

"I did not mention Webby. I only mentioned love."

"Oh! Oh..." he crossed his arms, "Well that's ridiculous."

"This new Doofus fellow is getting you down."

"He... Well... They seem to act... Together they seem... I don't know. I don't want to talk about it."

"Of course."

He and Dewey sat for another moment, drinking.

Dewey spoke up, filling the trap of silence José had left, "I know they were friends and all, but... they act like they have... a past together or something."

"Perhaps they do."

"Yes, but... Webby is..." He sighed, "How do I...?"

"Courage, Dewey. You can fight back. You and she hev' been together too long now and through too much..."

"I..." He tried to look positive, "I guess so."

"The only thing holding you back from her is yourself, not that Doofus fellow."

"I... You're... José, I..."

But suddenly, the door to the tavern swung open, letting the bright sunshine into the bar. The shadow that stood in the frame was of a duck. Dewey stood.

Huey Duck spoke, "Don't get up on my account." He began to walk forward, his hands up in the air. He was being followed by another figure, "We've got company."

The glint of the sword pointed towards the duck's back caused every gun in the tavern to be drawn.

"Ah-ah-ah!" said this new man's voice, "One wrong step and I am running him through, yes?"

Panchito raised his hand and gave a signal, and every man, woman, and child in the tavern lowered his or her pistol.

"Thank you very much for your co-operation," said the voice, stepping into the light of the tavern.

Dewey yelled, "Commodore...!"

"So glad you remember me, Mr. Dewey Duck, fugitive. We have been tracking you for quite some time."

"No!" Dewey cried, "No. Not now."

Perry Kid rolled his eyes, "Aw don't get all upset. I'm not here to arrest you." He planted a fancy boot in Huey's back and pushed, sending him to the ground. He then sheathed his sword, "I am here with my crew on behalf of S.H.U.S.H. The investigation on Mr. Farid Kagan is underway."

Huey and Dewey perked up suddenly. Huey crawled away slightly before standing to his feet and turning. "Why didn't you say so? You didn't have to...!"

"Because I still do not like you, and it was well within my legal options. Yes no?" He smiled deviously.

"What are you doing here then?" said a voice from behind Perry Kid. Kid looked behind to see The Green Phantom standing behind him, face painted mask obscuring his face, hands hovering over his utility belt.

"It seems I am surrounded," the coyote said with a smile, raising his arms, "It is all right, yes? S.H.U.S.H merely wants you all taken into custody..." a twitch of guns and gadgets, "No! No! It's not like that. You have been... partially absolved."

"You mean...?" said Dewey.

"They think we're innocent?" finished Huey.

"Maybe! In any case, I am required to take you in peacefully. I do not get to start shooting unless you refuse." He looked to Dewey. "Please refuse."

All eyes turned to Dewey. He crossed his arms slowly, before nodding. "If it will help S.H.U.S.H's investigation, we will be happy to cooperate." He looked up, "But only us three. The others have nothing to do with it."

"No!" said a voice at the top of the stairs. Webby ran down, followed by Doofus, "If you're taking Dewey, I'm coming too."

"Webby?" said Dewey, "Webby. Don't..."

"No. I'm coming, and that's final."

"Me too!" said Doofus, his shoulder appearing to be nearly fully healed.

"And Us!"

Seemingly from nowhere, the three Carioca girls had appeared from somewhere, and had latched onto Huey.

"G-girls?"

José smiled, but with a note of pain beyond the jolly façade, "Ahh. Youth."

"Well. Such a big family," scoffed the Commodore, "Very well. Within the hour Dewey Duck." He then came face to face with the Green Phantom, "To one side, yes no?"

Louie moved out of his way, letting him out the door.

All members of the group gathered in the middle of the room wordlessly. Hope sprang among them. This was their chance to finally stop running. Their chance to be safe and secure for once. Louie thought of Saint Canard, and of climbing and swinging among tall buildings. Huey thought of the sky, and the Cape, and the world. Dewey thought of his business, and what he would do once it was once again his.

Nodding their heads in agreement, they each dispersed their separate ways to pack up and prepare for the long trip to the SIL home base.

***

Chattering among themselves, the three girls packed three small bags filled with as many supplies as they could fit. Their conversation meandered on about nothing, pointedly ignoring the big move they were about to take. The closet of their small room in the tavern, filled with nothing much but a few extra dresses, was stripped bare and each color dress was shuffled off to the bag to the appropriate girl.

There came a knock at the door, and the girls smiled. They ran towards their places. Amalia draped herself over the small chair like a duvet, pulling a strap off of her shoulder and letting his hang. Maria sat on the floor, to read a book, her legs curved out under her. Rosalina took the bed, lying on her stomach in such a way that the cavernous canyon formed by her breasts was accentuated by being squished between her body and the mattress. The three girls nodded towards each other, before they each said, "Come in!"

The door opened, and the girls looked their sexiest, and were momentarily disappointed when it turned out to be their Uncle Carioca and not Huey Duck. The three of them switched their language to Portuguese.

"Hello Tio Carioca," they said, easing into more comfortable, less sexy positions.

"Hello girls," said José as he walked in supported by his umbrella, cigar between his fingers, "I'd like to speak with you."

Amalia stood up from the chair, allowing José to sit. The girls surrounded their uncle, looking up at him with familial adoration.

"What about, Tio Carioca?" asked Rosalina.

José began to look a bit uncomfortable. "You see, girls. It... You all are going away from me, and I don't know if I shall ever see you again." The girls began to speak all at once, and José raised a kindly hand to silence them, "I don't wish to lie to you girls any longer. I think you are old enough to know of the truth."

"What is this about, Tio Carioca?" asked Rosalina, laying her hands on José's arm.

To stall for time, José let out a sigh of smoke from his cigar, "It is... about your parents. Your mothers, all of them, are beautiful, wonderful women, and your fathers are... are good, honorable men that I do not deserve to call my cousins." His hand was trembling suddenly, and he grabbed the arms of the chair tightly to try to stifle the motion. "I... I knew them all well and... and I'm sorry to say that I have done your father's a great disservice. I... I am somewhat of a lecherous man, I think. I always have been. That is why I never married, you see. Too many women, even in my advanced age, I cannot stop myself." He looked at the girls and shook a finger, "You must never fall in love with a man like me, my little ones. He will break your heart."

"Yes, Tio Carioca," said the girls dutifully.

"Is that what you wanted to say?" asked Rosalina, "Is this about Huey?"

"No! No no. Huey is a good man to be sure. I talk about... I talk about myself. You see..." beads of sweat appeared at his brow, "You see, girls, I... I am... Your Mothers were very dear to me, and I, well, I..."

He stopped as he felt three dainty hands lay themselves over his own wrinkled hand gently. He looked into the faces of each of his daughters, so alike to him, and yet with their basic feminity making them so different. Each of them smiled kindly.

They each spoke in turn, "Our mothers" "Told us" "Tio Carioca."

"Then... you already know?" his eyebrows raised up and crinkled in remorse, "That I am...?"

They nodded.

José stood suddenly, taking a pained drag on his ever-present cigar, "Then... Then you must think I'm..." He leaned on the wall to the room, laying a hand on his him. "I... I feel terrible about what I did to them. Your mothers and fathers. I can't help but... You must hate me for what I have done to you."

Running up to José, Amalia was the first to speak in the beautiful excesses of language, "No! Tio Carioca, we all love you. We will always love you. Your visits to our homes were some of the best memories of our lives. When our mothers told us about you, they did not tell us in regret or rage. They said so in the wistful remembrance of a love long past. They love our fathers, but they adored you, who gave them their greatest nights of romance and passion. And we owe you a debt of gratitude. We three grew up apart as cousins and dear friends and pen pals, but when we were told we were suddenly all daughters of José Carioca, and while we will always love our fathers as fathers, we will always love you for tying us together as sisters."

The three parrot girls gave their uncle a great hug, all together. As they embraced, José could feel his eyes mist over from a swell in his chest, an overflow of gorgeous emotion that he had never felt before. A feeling of fatherly love, rather than mere affection as he had felt before, had come over him, and he couldn't help but wipe away his rapidly forming tears.

"Rosalina," he said, touching her face, "Maria," and hers, "Amalia," and hers, "I... thank you. I cannot believe I have never been as happy as I am at this moment." He encircled the three girls in a strong embrace, which they reciprocated, wrapping their arms around him and each other. "I... I only wish I had more time..."

A knock at the door. Webby's voice called, "Almost time to go, girls. Get ready."

"Must you?" asked José, "Must you leave now?"

Rosalina nodded. "If we don't follow Huey now, Tio..."

Maria continued, "...We'll regret it..."

"..For the rest of our lives," finished Amalia.

José, a great believer in life, and taking advantage to it to the fullest, understood his three daughters perfectly. It was too late for him to be their father, and too late for the three blossoms in spring to stay cooped up with him until he was ready to let them go. They had to chase after their love, by any means necessary, just as he had in his turbulent, amorous, fantastic youth.

"Then... I give my blessing. I may not be able to speak for your own parents, but I can speak for myself," he loosened his grip and looked at the girls, noting that their cheeks and beaks were stained with tears as well, "Go. Go to him. Chase after him. Have the time of your lives. And I only have one request."

"What is it..." "...Tio..." "...Carioca?"

"When you are ready, you come back to me, and tell me all of your adventures." He nodded, wiping his eyes, satisfied at what had occurred here today, "Now go. Don't let me see you again until you have lived."

With a kiss, each girl left the green parrot alone in the room, taking her bag and departing without as much as a second look. Amalia was the last to leave, and she gave a strained, "Goodbye" as she exited into the hall and towards life.

José watched the empty doorframe for a long time after that, hoping perhaps, that somehow they would have a change of heart. He waited, even as he heard the distant sounds of the Sea Duck's engines roaring to life and taking off to meet the Iron vulture in mid-air. Eventually, however, he sat down, his eyes dry and strong. He took his cigar, which had burnt down to nothing but a stubby roach, and put it out on an ashtray on a table by the chair.

He knew that his part in this adventure was over, somehow, and that the part he had played for the Duck boys and PK, and all the rest was over. He could go back to Bahia, try to rebuild the bed and breakfast there, or perhaps go back to the hotel in Rio if it is still there. He had some money squirreled away, perhaps he should finally rest on his laurels. Retire, perhaps, live somewhere and await the return of his girls with the stories of their youth. He was too old to marry, and soon would be too old for the alternative, so perhaps he should just stop.

But then he thought of his time with the Sea Duck; His time in Bahia, dealing with the personalities of the three boys, each so full of life and regrets and futures in their own way. He thought back on Panchito, doing what he loved to do, and still ready and able to at an even higher age than himself. He thought of his friend Donald...

No. Never retire, He thought, When the girls come back to me, they will bring me stories of their adventures, and I will pay them right back with stories of mine!

He smiled to himself, reaching into the pocket of his coat for another cigar. He thought dimly that he might need to give that up soon, with thoughts of his health looming over his head. However, he lit it up anyway. If he was to live life as his girls were, he would live all of it. Good and bad. He stood quietly and walked out the door, down towards the front room of the tavern. Soon he would go back to Rio and use what he has learned from Dewey to remake his hotel as a successful venture. Perhaps he will build a stage and give floorshows every now and again. In the meantime, however, a dear friend was downstairs, waiting to be entertained in the here and now. He could not disappoint, not as long as he was alive.

***

"Alright Junior, open up. We're coming in," said Huey into the CB.

"What is the magic word?" Asked that Spanish inflected voice.

" Alright Junior, open up. We're coming in, Motherfucker," answered Huey dryly.

There was a momentary growl that was cut off mid-tone as Kid began to speak, "You will watch your step around me, Mr. Duck, yes no? Remember how soundly you were thrashed the last time we came face to face, remember. Do not tempt me."

"You first."

After a pause, the CB went dead, and the Iron Vulture began to open up. Huey smiled and pointed the nose into the large airship. This was the home stretch, it had to be.

And even if it's not, what a ride!

Ducktales: Twenty Years Later - Episode 18

This chapter was surreal to write. I love doing fucking disturbing things with Disney characters. It feels like you're teaching your kid brother swear words, and then telling him to go tell mom so he'll get spanked. This chapter is officially the closest thing to porn this Fanfic gets. I promise. (And even then, it's a very specific kind of porn. You'll see) This chapter earns the "Grimdark" tag.

To contrast this, over there, I have an MSpaint I did on a whim. It's less about the Fic and more about Jose Carioca in general. I asked myself the artistic question "What would happen if Al Hirschfeld (Look him up) went to see Joe's floor show?" The answer is, of course, he would draw the caricature you see here. I tried to stick as close to Al's style as I could while in MSpaint (Clean ink lines only, no paint fill, hatching and cross hatching, Final destination) and it is a... unique challenge to make a caricature of an already exaggerated cartoon character.

I like it, so, with apologies to Al Hirschfeld, I present it to you.

In b4 Dat Ass

---

Episode 18:

It was late in the day by the time the group had flown into Chihuahua, the sun had begun to dip low on the horizon over the bare Mexican landscape. The three girls looked excitedly out the windows, searching for any signs of their uncle, climbing over each other to look out over the sleepy ranch town that had already gone to ground for the night. Huey had to concentrate not to get too distracted by this display occuring on his co-pilot seat, and definitely had to stop thinking about the vague wish that he was indeed a co-pilot seat, so that he wouldn't smash the nose of the Sea Duck into the ground.

As the bird landed, Louie awoke from his sleep, feeling less than refreshed, the normal part and parcel cricks and aches of sleeping in an airplane seat overlaid over the not so typical aches associated with being savagely beaten within an inch of his life a while back.

"Where...?"

Dewey looked out the window, as a single horse backed rider that had come to meet them, "We're here, Louie. Wake up."

Without a word, Louie began to rise, working through his aching body as he stood up from the uncomfortable seat. He, too, looked out of the window. "Everyone else in town is asleep already, I gather. And it's not even dark out yet."

"Not all of us can survive on a couple hours of sleep a night, Louie," teased Dewey as he stood and walked towards the exit, opening it up and jumping down onto the dusty ground below.

Webby stood and began to help Louie to follow his brother.

"Skip it, Webby," he said, shrugging off her gentle hands, "Doofus needs more help than I do."

"Er, right," she said, as she walked over to the still prostrate Doofus.

Soon, the group had assembled outside of the plane, and were being lead by the single horseman, another of the Crow night watchmen that patrolled the ranch after dark. The girls chattered on in Portuguese, with Huey hovering over them catching every other word. Dewey strode a discreet distance away from Webby, who supported the weakened Doofus on her shoulder, who for his part carried a suitcase by his side filled with his armor, which Webby forbade him to use until he was better. Louie walked, or limped, a little behind the group, all of the sexual politics languishing through the Chihuahua cattle range making him roll his eyes. However, he couldn't help but think of Gosalyn. How old was she anyway? Could he be arrested for that?

On, through the edge of the village, and towards the tavern. Their Crow guide said nothing, preferring instead to simply hurry on before darkness fell completely over the town. For their part, the brothers and company were too exhausted by their flight to make too much conversation amongst themselves, and more than one of them planned to crash on the first bed in sight.

The crow dismounted from his horse and tied him up in front of the tavern, before he walked in through the front. The entire group moved after him, through the swinging doors of the tavern. Dewey, at the head of the group, noted that everyone in town, it seems, was gathered in the bar, sitting rail straight at tables and on the floor when they couldn't fit. Drinks sat untouched on tables and the bar, and the entire scene held an eerie silence that Dewey was all too familiar with.

"Wait!" He yelled, already backing away from the tableau, "It's a trick!"

But it was too late, all of the five ducks had found their way through the swinging doors, and found themselves helpless as each townsperson, as a man, tossed a wave of small, green balls towards the ducks and parrots, which flashed brightly as they struck the ground with a clear 'foof' noise. Instantly, Dewey felt his legs shake and his vision leave, as he felt his body and senses be stunned by the torrent of foof bombs. He tried to stay standing, but he was suddenly too weak. He fell, to the ground like a ragdoll, along with his brothers and allies, who fell about each other like so many sacks of potatoes.

"M-"Dewey tried to begin, "M-magic... ca..."

"I'm terribly sorry," said a voice, crackling and fragile, but with a familiar Italian lilt, "But I'm afraid this may be your final adventure, nephews. You've gotten between me and my plans for long enough."

As Dewey's vision began to return, he saw the outline of a black-clad figure, a hag of a duck, thin as death, with fright-white hair and more crags and lines than the face of a mountain. She stood among the now standing townspeople, holding a glowing wand in her right hand, and with the other caressing the chin of a man, Panchito.

"I shall not dally long, Duck. I have come for the dime."

"My... D..."

"Your dime?" She laughed, a wracking heave of a cackle, "Claiming the old man's dime as your own, eh?" She approached, slowly, using the curves she no longer had, "how funny of you. Shall I tell you what I will do with that dime?"

"I know what you... want..." Said Dewey, sheer gumption allowing him to recover from the foof before any of his companions, "...Midas... touch..."

She laughed again, casually dropping another foof bomb on the ground. Dewey was caught in the flash, and once again found himself stunned.

"THAT old spell? I gave up on that years ago. No! I have found a new use for the old man's dime." She twined her thin, boney fingers around the wand, a long, glowing green whip of a stick. "I have found in my studies the secret to eternal youth and beauty. The Elixer of Aphrodite." She turned away from Dewey and began to hobble about, reveling in her own genius. "Ever since I lost my beauty I have been travelling the world to find the components of this spell, including the first coin made by the richest duck in the world. I had thought that the magic in the coin would disappate with his death as his wealth was distributed through the world, but... After it counteracted my beautiful Ideologue spell, I see that it is still potent after all these years." She rubbed her face. "Wealth is... hard. Cold. Beauty, now that is the greatest treasure of the universe. I did not know what power I had until it was gone... It is, ephemeral, temporary, and it is the greatest asset that I could ever choose to have. For my youth back, I would gladly sacrifice you, this town, those blasted idiotic thembrians... the whole world!" With a smile, her still haunting eyes narrowed, "today I shall settle for you."

Supine and numb all over, Dewey was unable to move as Magica DeSpell walked up, her trembling, arthritic hands reaching towards his pocket where he kept both dimes.

"WAAAAK!" He suddenly yelled, forcing his dead arm to move to clumsily knock against her hand, an utterly weak attack, but enough to cause her to draw back.

"There is spirit in this one. Well. We shall have to fix this." She waved the acid green wand towards the Green parrot sitting at the bar, José, "You, Playboy. Get me Scrooge's dime."

"Yes, Comrade," said José, his trance smoothing out his accent. The parrot stood, limping forward without the help of his umbrella.

"José," Said Dewey, drained after his desperate attack against Magica's probing fingers, "Joe. Please..."

But José did not listen. He merely reached his hands into Dewey's pocket, and, as he was told, withdrew the dime. The heaving cackle began once again.

"And now it is mine! Slave! Bring it to me. Let me... hold it in my hands."

José turned blankly, holding the dime between his thumb and forefinger. He walked towards Magica, arm outstretched, and she held out her arms as if accepting a beloved child back home.

"N-no!"

"I win, Dewey Duck! I win!" She laughed as the dime hovered ever closer to her fingers.

"NooOOOOOOOOO!"

Suddenly, a crash! The window... No! The whole side wall of the tavern caved in violently, sending splinters and hypnotized victims to ground. A cloud of dust preceded the entry of a large brown object flying in, smashing though the old wood of the tavern's wall. Dewey blinked away the dust and residual foof, anc could have sworn that he saw a struggling horse fly through the air away from the wall, to crash into the bar hard, sending strong spirits all over the ground. The horse, coming in contact with the ground, struggled and screamed on its broken body, before it slowed down and began to shrink in size, the chocolate tones darkening and turning black, and the two broken front legs becoming a pair of broken, busted wings. Soon, the horse had become a raven, who screamed and cried in pain, speaking words in Italian that none but the uncaring Magica could understand.

"What was that?" she demanded, trying to wave away the smoke, before she saw the silhouette. A duck. A billowing cape. Boots. A flash of yellow and black. She snatched the dime away from José quickly.

"Drop the dime, Magica!"

"Or what? Who are you, silly man? Who dares face Magica DeSpell, Sorceress?"

The dust cleared fully, showing the one-eyed mask, the costume, and the face of pure rage.

"They call me..." He said, eye wild, "...PK!"

"Rooster! Playboy! Get him you fools!" Magica Screeched as she ran upstairs to the upper level of the tavern.

"Yes, Comrade."

"Dewey!" PK yelled as Panchito began to draw his twin guns, and José took up an umbrella, which he brandished like a sword, "Your dime!"

"D...dime..."

"Throw me your dime!" Bang bang bang! PK jumped out of the way just as Panchito tried to fill his gut with hot lead, "Quickly!"

"But... I can't... It's mine..."

"Dewey! Right now!"

Something in the voice called Dewey back, to hot summer days playing in the backyard with his two brothers, to ice cream sodas, to Super Snooper comics, and misadventures ending in the dreaded switch. Unconciousely, his arm disconnected from the rest of his numb body, he reached in his pocket for the remaining, 1967-dated dime and ripped it from its housing on its string in his pocket. Before his natural money-grubbing tendencies could get the better of him, he threw it towards the fray before passing out altogether.

As the flying dime neared the two hypnotized caballeros, it began to vibrate. PK dived, reaching his arms out to grab it out of the air, and landed in a roll. With the dime in hand, he could feel the power fighting the communist magic that bewitched the parrot and rooster. Balling it into his fist, he gave two swings; baf, Pow; and Floored José and Panchito in two shots. When they opened their eyes, it was clear they were back to their normal emotional selves.

"What happen'?" said José.

"Where is the weetch!" cried Panchito, hopping up and pointing his guns towards the masked man, "Who are you? We do not take kindly to strangers here in Chihuahua!"

But José, still prostrate on the floor, looked up at PK with a kind of wide-eyed reverence, "Is... is it...?"

"No time," Said PK, "She's getting away. Come on!" He then disappeared up the stairs after tossing the dime back to the unconscious Dewey.

Panchito and José looked in each other's eyes for a moment, before smiling broadly. Panchito helped his friend to his feet, and, with an old spark of life rediscovered, charged up the stairs after PK.

***

The small hearth in the center of the tavern's guest room was lit, and Magica was sitting by it, desperately rummaging through her bag.

"Telepowder. Telepowder. Where is that... Ah!" She called in delight as she withdrew a small brown sack from her bag, full of a fine powder.

"Not so fast, Witch!"

Not even bothering to answer, She reached into her sleeves and tossed two foof bombs towards the three men who stood in her door frame. She covered her eyesand nose to protect herself from the bomb's paralyzing effects, before she peeked, seeing the cloud of smoke dissipate.

"What?" she screeched, as she saw the outline of the wide, black umbrella, acting as a shield for the three men.

Before she could react, Panchito moved first, popping over the rim of the umbrella and taking a well-aimed potshot at Magica. The bullet tore through her arm, causing her to drop nearly the entire brown bag into the shouldering hearth with a small pile of dust settling over the sides. The fire turned red, then orange, then green, before settling on blue, with the faint outline of a destination.

"Imbeciles! Do you have any idea how much that powder costs!" she yelled, ignoring her grotesquely limp arm. With her other, she pulled out another wand, a golden one, and aimed it at the floor. The ground where she fired the magic seemed to burst into flame, and from the fire grew a figure that glowed with a kind of infernal light. It turned towards Magica.

"Kill them," she said, simply, before jumping into the fire, just before, in a rainbow of color, she was gone.

The three looked at the figure as it continued to grow, until it seemed to take up the entire room. The three then looked to one another.

"I am the Alpha and the Omega! I am lord of all evil! The Underworld is my playground, and I have but to stretch my pinky and subjugate each of your so... what are you doing? Stop!"

In a whirl, the parrot and Rooster had hurled the masked hero towards the huge demon. The duck was a tornado of fists and kicks. The Demon found himself caught off guard, shielding his firey eyes and face from the windmill of punches that came off of the wild duck, who made that horrible noise all throughout with his voice. Meanwhile, Panchito had opened fire, careful not to strike his ally clinging to the demon. José waved his arms and screamed encouragement at Panchito and PK, before poking the Demon in the stomach with the pointy end of his umbrella.

"Unholy shit! You guys are crazy!" said the demon, "Beelzebub out!"

In a flash of fire, the devil was gone, leaving only a scorched patch in the ground.

***

"Wake up!" said a voice, before Dewey's face was slapped.

"What happened?" said Dewey, groggily, before remembering, "The dime! Where's Magica?"

"Probably all the way back to Vesuvius by now."

"We... We've got to go, get back Uncle Scrooge's..." He began to lift himself up, but a hand was placed on his chest.

"Not so fast. We need to think this through."

Dewey's eyes had finally caught up with the rest of him. PK was sitting over him, looking gruff. Around him, Huey, Louie and the others were being helped up by Panchito's various relatives and relations. José was embracing his nieces, and they were reciprocating t gesture, all speaking at once. In front of Dewey's face, PK was waving the 1967 dime, which he snatched out of his fingers quickly.

"Thanks," He said curtly, "but we have no time for thinking. If we don't hurry, she's going to melt that dime down for that crazy potion of hers unless we can stop her."

"And how do you plan on getting to Italy within an hour?"

"I... she teleported, didn't she?"

PK nodded.

Dewey trembled lightly, before he let out a long, anguished wail, beginning with a wide 'a' noise, before transitioning with a dipthong into a teeth-clenching long 'e.' His throat clenched over the noise, creating a hard G which gargled in his throat, letting all the rage and frustration percolate to the top of his being.

When the outburst was over, Webby wandered over, "Dewey?"

"I lost it! Uncle Scrooge's dime. It was right here in my pocket, and... Oh! God! Why did I let it slip away?" He fell to his knees, with a groan. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! It's... it's gone, and it's all my fault!"

"No," said Webby, "Dewey, it wasn't anyone's fault."

"You don't understand! It was... The number one dime was... It was his legacy. The first thing he ever earned by his own sweat and labor, and I let it go. I couldn't protect it. I... Now... It's gone and I'll never see it again."

A ripe crack against his cheek took his mind off of his troubles for a moment. "Stop hitting me, PK!"

"That wasn't PK," said Webby, before she slapped him again, this time on the other cheek, "Pull yourself together!"

"But..."

Slap! "No buts Deuteronomy Ebenezer Duck, you listen to me. That dime was Uncle Scrooge's responsibility to protect. Not yours, not PK's, not anybody's but Uncle Scrooge's. It was his wish that you boys forgot all about that dime and went to make your own fortunes. You understand me?"

"But Webby..."

Slap! "Now we are going to sit down, calm down, and talk about what to do about Magica DeSpell using Scrooge's dime in a spell for immortality and eternal youth, you understand me? The dime is beside the point, the world is at stake here, and if you're too short-sighted by your little love-affair with your Uncle's ghost then I... I'm... I'm afraid I will have to give my two-week notice."

"What?"

"I cannot work under these conditions. You're small-minded, pay barely any attention to me, pay me barely anything, are frankly horrible to the people around you without realizing it, and you only ever care about one-upping Uncle Scrooge. Well Nuts to that, Dewey. You need to get your priorities straight here. Magica. Farid. There are people threatening the world, and all you can think about are your petty little problems that nobody asked you to care about.

Webby stood up, placing her hands on her hips and scowling, "Now I'm giving my ultimatum. Are you going to give up right now and sulk, or are you going to get your head out of your hindparts and find a way to beat Magica?"

Everyone in the room had frozen to behold this outburst, and as she finished, Webby was suddenly aware of it.

"...sir," she added quickly.

There was a small pause as Dewey sat. He was holding his own dime in his hand and trying to figure out what to stare at. He settled his gaze on the dime, on Webby, and on his silent brothers. He dropped his head down and began to cry. Once he was finished, he stood up and faced PK, wiping his tears from his eyes.

"We need to get to Mount Vesuvius as soon as possible. There might still be time."

PK reached into a pocket in his cape and withdrew a small, clear back filled with the fine telepowder Magica had used to escape, "She only left enough for one person."

***

Spiced smells of dark things wafted through the old shack on the face of Mount Vesuvius. Within, the glow of the pot, bubbling in the center of the room with no apparent means of heat, overpowered the senses with ghosts of light and sound. The ingredients went in, one-by-one, from the single, useful hand of the witch concocting the Elixer of Aphrodite.

She sat as if in a trance, her eyes wide open, but milky and unseeing. Her hand moved as if controlled by something outside of her body, and her throat made mumbled incantations as she places each component in the pot. Soon...

Her arm reached for the dime, sitting at the bottom of the stack, surrounded by perfumed rose petals, that wilted as her fingers closed around the shiny metal. With the prize held in her hands, she held her hand over the boiling pot, which spewed pink smoke like a chimney.

All at once, the fireplace at the end of the room roared, and the roar of flames transformed into a roar of voices. As if burning away in reverse, Dewey Duck appeared in the fireplace. He cocked Scrooge's Musket on his shoulder and fired a single musketball with a scream of rage. The large projectile passed clean through Magica's heart, exploding out the other side in a spray of crimson. Dewey lowered the rifle as he eyed the magician.

The arm moved closer to the pot, undeterred by trivial ailments of the body. The dime fell into the pot.

Cruel laughter in the familiar sensual voice that seemed to run backwards and forwards at once echoed through the room. Before Dewey, above the living corpse of Magica DeSpell, there appeared an ethereal presence in the shape of the youthful temptress of Dewey's youth.

"It is no use. The elixir will soon be complete, and this body of mine will be remade to match my beautiful spirit," said the ghost, "And I will be more powerful than ever before. At my full strength I shall not kowtow to any man ."

"You're mad, Magica!"

"Mad, you say? To want to live forever is madness? To want power is madness? Then perhaps you too are mad, little boy."

"Shut up!" Dewey yelled, before he tried stepping towards the cauldron. However, he was knocked backwards off his feet by an unseeable force.

"You think I didn't plan for you to come here? I am more than protected from you, and your pitiful bullets will be of no matter when I am once again young and powerful." A cackle, strong and supple. "First I shall take care of those troublesome Thembrians... No! Them second, After I kill you and your little family right in front of you."

The ghost floated down to hover over her own body, letting her own hand swish over the cauldron, laughing merrily all the while, "Soon, Dewey, I will be myself. Young, supple, beautiful. You will have the pleasure to be the first to look upon the new queen of this world, and also be the first to be crushed beneath her heel!"

Her laugh started small, but grew in a horrific crescendo, letting out the mad evil she radiated in every cackle. At the apex of the mad laughter, the hands of the sorceress moved, one of them flopping about grotesquely, and dipped her hands in the pool. Instantly, her wrists hardened up, as the magic within the elixir youthened them. A deep draught of liquid was taken from the pot by the two hands, and forced down the Witch's unfeeling gullet.

"Yes. Yes! I can feel it happening," she said, the spirit form beginning to rub herself all over, down the front of the black dress the spirit wore out of some memory of human modesty, which was quickly flying out the window as the opposite hand travelled lower. "Yes. It is warm! Oh, Yes!"

Dewey felt his throat go dry at this display, and to distract himself, he started to pack down some more powder into his musket, before dropping a ball in. His stomach was tied in knots with terrified fear, but he couldn't let that stop him.

Magica's body had begun to change. The dead hands slipped the robes she wore off, revealing the nakedness of the old woman underneath. Spots and wrinkles seemed to melt away as the potion worked its magic on her body. Dewey had to suppress his gasp as the bosom began to fill out, and sagging skin realigned with the sleek body in a process Dewey found fascinatingly grotesque.

Looked down at his Musket, he decided to fight. Iron bullets pass through magic barriers after all. He raised it and fired, but the sorceress was already more powerful than ever before. With a wave of her hand, the musketball stopped in mid-air and turned, nearly piercing Dewey straight through if he hadn't ducked out of the way in time.

"You are a fascinating plaything, Dewey Duck. You have grown into such a strapping young thing. It would be a shame to kill you straight out," said the astral projection, who had begun to look more and more like the rapidly de-aging husk below, naked and gorgeous, and touching herself all over and reveling in the sensations the Aphrodite Elixer warmed in her.

"Go to hell, Magica!" Yelled Dewey as he tamped down another round into the musket.

"Eventually, yes, but not for a long time now." Then the projection froze, a probing finger drew itself back from its explorations, "Wait... what...?"

Dewey looked down at the body. Something had changed within it. The husk had slumped over, the spirit above having lost control of the magic keeping it upright and connected to her spirit.

"What? No! It cannot be!"

Dewey wanted so to cover his eyes, but found he couldn't. Magica's age had regressed to the prime of womanhood, beautiful, supple, raven-haired and smokey-eyed, but somehow the skin and feathers seemed off. Dewey soon realized why. It was crawling.

"No! No! NO! What went wrong? The spell! The spell is backfiring!"

Dewey could only watch in terror as the feathers began to molt off of the duck, revealing that the skin underneath had become red and runny. Skin no more, it had begun to resemble the muscle underneath, and all over the woman's body, it ran off like water. Soon the inner mechanics of the body were laid bare for Dewey to behold; wide, lidless eyes beheld in unconscious terror; Beak, falling open, allowing the flesh of the mouth to dribble out, before the tendons and cartlage holding the orange bill up melted away, causing it to fall to the floor with a sickening thump; Hands, slender fingers of both hands stripping away to reveal muscle, then the white peeks of bones between.

The projection above, still nude and alluring, was screaming in pain and terror, too far-gone to form words for what was happening to her one and only body.

Soon, something had begun to take hold inside as well. Her chest expanded, as if breathing, but then seemed to widen like a measure of elastic. The area around her heart grew out, pushing the liquefying bones out of the way, before the muscle exploded outward, spraying all of the blood forward in a harsh stream towards Dewey. Magica's force spell still held, however, and Dewey beheld the strange sight of all of the blood of a Duck's body dripping down a pane of invisible glass.

Finally, the body itself gave a death rattle, a horror-filled scream to rival that of its soul, before the entire body detonated, meat and bone quickly flying apart in an orgy of gore that Dewey couldn't tear his eyes from. The chunks fell to the floor, held within the circle by the force field, before they finally completed the melting process, and, eventually, evaporated away, meat, bone, blood and all, leaving only a vague stench of death, tinged with roses.

"No! How? HOW?"

"You picked the wrong dime, Magica." Said Dewey, letting words flow out of his mouth so his lunch wouldn't, "Scrooge's dime is powerless. It has been since he was gone. He... He isn't around to give it meaning anymore."

"But...! But I saw you use the dime to counteract the symbol! I saw the power with my own two astral eyes!"

"You saw this!" Dewey pulled from his pocket his own number one, still tied to its string, "Scrooge isn't the richest duck in the world anymore. I am. Flintheart Glomgold is dead and his businesses dispersed, John Rockerduck was never even close, and that just leaves me, Dewey Duck, rightful owner of McDuck Enterprise and de-facto Richest Duck alive," He stuck out his hand holding the dime, proudly, "And this is the first dime I ever earned with my own labor."

Magica's spirit, all that was left of her now, drew away from the sight of the dime and screamed like a banshee as she flew away, through the roof, and up into the sky, railing at the unfair world that had wronged her so.

Dewey looked around, before pocketing the dime. The latent magic in the hut, held up by Magica's spirit, dispersed, and the horrid smell held in by the force field, a smell of death and corrosion, wafted past. He held his beakholes shut as he stepped forwards to the now still cauldron, its contents having evaporated along with the victim of its horror-filled spell. He looked down into it. He reached inside. He found, at the bottom, a lump of metal, a composition of silver and copper, with seated liberty's still recognizable on one side. It had been melted slightly, and crinkled by the corrosive magic. It was recognizable as a dime, but no one would ever take her as currency every again.

Dewey stared at the lump, before he pocketed it. Without a word, and trying to block out the things he had seen, he searched the hut until he found another measure of telepowder, intending to go back to Chihuahua and take as much time as he needed to get over whatever totally never happened here today.

Before he threw the powder into the fire, he dug the ruined dime out of his pocket again. Scrooge had always thought of it as a useless keepsake. The first bit of money that he attributed memories to. A shoeshine boy in Glasgow, Scotland, unknowing heir to a castle, a legacy, treasure, adventure, thrills, heartbreak, just trying to earn his way in the world.

Dewey shook his head of the images of his uncle he had never seen. Those weren't his memories. They were never his memories.

I should leave it behind, he thought, Scrooge is gone, and there's no reason to keep it anymore.
But then, he thought about all of that time they spent defending the money bin. Storms of Beagle Boys, A witch, a rival millionaire. Some after the money itself, others after just a part. He looked down at the remains of the dime. He remembered his own first encounter with it. He and his brothers were being lead through the money bin for the first time. Scrooge looked old, tired. More exhausted than they ever saw him like again after that. It was in a glass dome, on a green cushion. It had been just after that hard Christmas up on Bear mountain when they had first heard from their uncle, and slept in that dangerous bear-infested cabin. Uncle Donald pointed out the dime to me, calling it, like many did, the "Lucky dime." I jump as Scrooge's voice cuts the air, refuting the name. Calling it "Balderdash." He wears a hat that I learn later is his clan tartan.

Moments later, he opened the vault door, and there, just sitting there, was more money than I had ever seen in my life.

Dewey looked up from the dime, to the fire, then back down to the dime. He salvaged the long string from his own dime, figuring he could find another somewhere, and tied it into a rough circle. He then took a thin implement, some sortof needle, from off of one of magica's workbenches, and poked a hole through the still-softened metal before it could harden back up and become just a hunk of Silver and copper. He threaded the string through the hole in the dime, before hanging it around his neck, underneath his shirt.

Those are my memories, he thought, attached to his dime. He wanted me to make my own memories, and my own fortune. That's why I kept it. He smiled as he threw the powder into the fireplace, thinking of that hearth in Chihuahua.

I already had my own memories, all along.

***

In the long, sacked hall of the Thembrian palace of the former Tsar, his most excellent Grand High Marshall of Thembria was taking a call from overseas. Unable to move his arms, a servant held the receiver to his mouth, and the speaker to his ear, and covered his own ears with cotton so he could not eavesdrop.

He talked of politics, and the tiring maze of it all, and how the fantastic is so much more interesting.

He talked of money, and his disdain for it.

He talked of power, and his lust for it.

He talked of living forever, and how he feared that it would never come.

He talked for an hour over the phone, undeterred by such things as phone charges, expecting the country's coffers to pay for any necessary luxuries he required.

As he talked, he suddenly heard a second voice in his mind, as if in a dream. He began to splutter on and on to the person on the other line. Ducks. Dimes. America. The fugitive Dewey Duck. The Sea Duck. There is a Dime held by the fugitive. That is the Capitalist symbol. If he can attain it and destroy it... or better yet...

Memories, as if from another body flowed into his mind. Something called the elixir of Aphrodite. Religious hogwash of course, but... but the promise of eternal health, youth, and beauty? To be young and handsome again. To be able to move from this bed.

He began to breathe hard as he rambled, and the State Telephone Operator hadn't noticed. He must find the dime. He must find Dewey Duck. He must create the Elixer, and live forever. So says Rasputin!

He awoke, his brow covered in sweat, the man on the other end of the line calling into the line.

"Marshall, Marshall. Are you all right?"

"Rasputin has come to me in a dream. His earthly vessel has been slain once more."

"Oh."

"But he has... But he has given me a mission. A glorious war of honor against the terrorist, Dewey Duck, for that symbol of Capitalist blindness and corruption, this... 'lucky dime.' I must..." He breathed deep, his eyes wide, "I must have it!"

The voice on the other end of the line seemed to smile. "I think," said Farid Kagan, to his new friend and business partner the Grand High Marshall of Thembria, "That is a wonderful idea."

As plans were formulated and the tide of events began to rise, there could be heard a wild cackle echoing through the grand hall, disappearing as the last of her magic faded, with a smell of death and roses.