Chapter Text
Scrooge never wanted children, but now that he had them? There was no way he'd go back. His nephew and niece brought such a purpose to his life that he never knew he needed and he'd be damned if anything tried to take that away. They were his kin and he was by all means their parent. But that didn't mean that there wasn't times he would lose his temper with their attitudes or lack of obedience.
They were both fifteen and hormones were every bit as bad as Scrooge remembered. Della was a nightmare at times, so loud and excitable, but also getting extremely bossy and controlling, believing she had the answer for everything. But she was also sweet and compassionate when it came down to it, so he wasn't too concerned. Sometimes he found her anecdotes funny, and shame to admit, he'd be encouraging this bad behaviour when it wasn't directed at him.
Donald was every bit the typical teenage boy. He just wanted to be left alone in his room and to do his own thing. Della dragged him on their adventures, and while he was good at them, especially at fighting, his heart wasn't in it. Scrooge had tried on numerous occasions to connect with him, build the same close bond that he felt with Della, but the lad would just roll his eyes thinking he was being punished for something.
So it came like a brick to his face when he had gotten the phone call from Elvera asking him to come and pick up the twins because Donald was homesick.
Scrooge had a business trip scheduled for a couple of days out of Duckbourg, one that the twins weren't able to go with him on. By coincidence their grandmother had written to them, asking if they would like to stay on the farm with her for two weeks to visit, along with the other young children of their long extended family. Naturally Della was overjoyed at the idea, and though Donald didn't show it, he was too.
Everything was fine when Scrooge dropped them off, taking the long car journey with them so he could briefly greet the elderly woman. It was a welcoming sight when they made it to the farm, Elvira placed out balloons and a welcome banner for her grand kids, most of whom had already been dropped off.
Della and Donald had leapt into her arms, almost knocking her over in the process. It was the first time in ages he had seen the moody boy smile, happy to see his grandma again. That's why it didn't make sense when he got the phone call. They had been there for five days, Della had rang just yesterday saying how much of a great time they were having. So now at 11pm, Elvira apologising profusely, explaining that she knew it was unreasonable but Donald wouldn't settle himself. The boy was frantic with tears and shaking so much that she was close to ringing the hospital. He was refusing to talk, whether that was by choice or he was unable to no one knew. He just kept pointing to a picture of Scrooge and nodding desperately when asked if he wanted to go back to the mansion.
The trillionaire sighed. He was settled in his bed for the night and didn't exactly feel like heading back to the farm in the early hours of the morning. He was in half a mind to put Donald on the phone and tell the boy to stop being ridiculous and go to sleep. But Scrooge couldn't bring himself to say those words for some reason. Because why was his nephew so desperate to come home? No one knew the answer and it was so unlike him that Scrooge feared something bad must of happened. So instead of taking the car, he made a quick phone call and got a private plane over, cutting the journey down to an hour.
It was an odd sight indeed, one he would have been chuckling to himself about had there not been such a tense atmosphere. Della sat in silence, her eyes wide with worry as she stared at her brother. Donald was sat by Scrooge's side, his head resting down on the misers shoulder and arms wrapped so tight over his chest that Scrooge found it a strain when he breathed. The lad has never been one for physical affection whereas Della loved it, so seeing their roles reversed was bizarre at least.
Scrooge had asked questions, tried to make sense of what was going on, but there were no answers. Della didn't have a clue and Donald had completely shut himself off. He refused to talk, or make any attempt to explain. He started appearing almost like a ghost. All he wanted was to be held by his uncle and nothing more. Scrooge could hardly deny him that.
It was still early in the morning when they made it back home, Duckworth driving them from the private airport they landed on. Della helped take in their bags, dropping them down as soon as they walked inside. Scrooge rubbed his tired eyes, just glad to have this ordeal dealt with. He looked over to Donald, the young lad gripping onto his arm as they walked, his face still held low to the floor, whether feeling guilty or just upset he didn't know.
“Right'o, I think with all the excitement over we best be going to our beds. Come on wee ones” he spoke softly, leading the two children up to their rooms.
It was only recent that the twins had split from sharing a room, deciding they needed to have their own privacy as they were getting older. So when they passed Della's room, Scrooge gave her a kiss on the forehead and bid her goodnight. She hesitated by the door, unusually quiet. She was still worried for her brother.
When arriving at Donald's room he lead the boy inside, deciding now might be the best time to get to the bottom of what was going on. The teen wasn't crying anymore, but his hands were still unsteady and it put Scrooge on edge. He didn't like not knowing things, especially concerning his kids.
Carefully, for a moment thinking his nephew was made of glass, he helped Donald into his bed, pulling the covers over and tucking him in. Normally that would have sparked an outrage from the teen, claiming he was too old for things like that, but nothing was said. This bothered Scrooge so much. Donald would get angry at something as simple as touching his hair and throw a fit if he didn't like something, so the fact that he was allowing this and was making no attempt to stop it was a red flag. Looking at his nephews face, something in his heart twisted. The stupid long fringe the lad had was falling over one of his eyes, but he could still see clear as day the sadness then emulated from them. Still so red and watery. While he didn't seem to be panicking anymore, there was still something in the way he looked, something that Scrooge could have easily called fear. But from what?
Without realising it, Scrooge reached out and brushed the boys hair back, wishing so much he'd cut the damn thing. Donald closed his eyes, surprisingly leaning into the touch. He was so tired, so drained after the events of the night, perhaps it was best to wait until morning to talk.
So with a small smile, Scrooge bid his goodnight, planting a small kiss on his nephews forehead as he had accustomed to do every night before, despite the complaining that came with it, and he left the boy to his room.
The next morning Scrooge woke up as early as he did every morning. 6Am sharp! A late night was no excuse to act like a deadbeat.
As he walked from his room down the hallway, he paused outside of Donald's door. He knew the lad wouldn't be awake but he still wanted to check up and see if he was okay. Quietly he twisted the handle and slowly crept the door open, peeking his head through the small gap. He threw the door open the full way when he realised the bed was empty, the covers pushed up as a pile at the end of the mattress. Scrooge scratched at his head at the oddity. Donald hated mornings, so where was he? Perhaps he and Della had gotten up early for some reason?
So without a second thought, Scrooge walked to the room next to this one, and again quietly opened the door in case Della was asleep. The light from the hallway seeped into the room enough for him to make out the figure lying under the blankets, her hair tied up into a bun and her leg freed from the covers and exposed to the cold. In her arms she held the sleeping form of her twin brother, who was still dressed in his day clothes from yesterday. His face was buried into her chest, his arms securely around her waist. It was sight Scrooge hadn't seen from the two since the night they first moved into the mansion under his care, after losing their parents. They were so young then, there was something bitter sweet about seeing it again. He decided that for now it was best to leave them be.
“Morning uncle Scrooge!” Della beamed brightly as she danced into the dining room, taking her usual chair on the right next to her guardian. Scrooge smiled at the sight of her, a sunny welcome from an otherwise gloomy day. Donald was behind her, and while he'd normally take the chair on the left of Scrooge, he instead sat next to Della this time, looking so unsure of himself as he did so. It wasn't unnoticed that the lad was wearing one of his sisters turtle neck jumpers, probably too lazy to go into his own room to get clean clothes.
“So” Scrooge started awkwardly, watching as Duckworth placed breakfast down for the twins. Della dug in while Donald stared at his. “How did ye both sleep?” he asked.
Della's eyes darted at her brother then back to her food. “We slept alright, Donald climbed in my bed though.” Immediately the boy elbowed her, his face red from betrayal. She yelped and rubbed the area that he hit.
“Donald!” Scrooge warned. The lad looked back down.
“Well I had to tell him Don, you've been acting weird all night” she explained, glaring as she held her arm.
“Alright Della, let the lad explain himself” Scrooge interjected, allowing a silence to fall as the cue for Donald to speak. But he said nothing, keeping his eyes fixed on the food he didn't want to eat.
“Laddie?” he prompted, but still nothing. He felt himself growing annoyed. “Donald!” he snapped, trying to at least get him to look up, but while the teen did flinch, he didn't look away from the table. “Donald yer being extremely rude right now! I paid a lot of money to rent out a plane so I could get ye home, the least ye could do is tell me what's causing all this trouble!”
There was still nothing, and Scrooge was becoming impatient. “This isnee a game nephew! Ye really put me and yer grandmother out of our way with this little tantrum of yers.”
That hit a nerve. Donald flinched and closed his eyes tightly. Della was quick to reach up and wipe the tears away from his face before they fell. He suddenly started trembling again.
Scrooge was at a loss, why wasn't Donald talking? The lad did have a history of issues with his voice, most noticeable being the scratchiness and sometimes slurred way he spoke as a child, but over the past year he had gotten a lot better, his voice still had an edge of roughness to it, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been. Doctors had suggested it would be something he'd grew out of, and it was appearing to be that way for a while. He was even starting to sound really good when he sang too, his voice being perfect for those rock and roll songs he liked so much. Donald was many things, silent wasn't one of them.
With a reluctant sigh, Scrooge felt himself admit defeat. He wiped his beak with a napkin and placed his top-hat back on his head. “Alright kids, we'll leave it as it is for now. I have to get going to the bin for a meeting. The board of directors are on my case again, renting a plane in the middle of the night certainly doesn't help” he scoffed and got up from his chair. “I'll see ye two trouble makers later” he said as he walked to the door.
But then he stopped as he got a fright from the loud squawking noise that rang through the room and a strong hand gripping around his wrist. His head snapped back to the table, eyes as small as pin dots. Della was just as taken back as the chair next to hers was tipped over and Donald was standing next to Scrooge, hand locked on his uncle. Without a word he threw himself onto him, arms crushing around the man's neck and torso. Small whimpering noises escaped as the boy struggled to breathe, his chest rising and falling frantically as if he were drowning.
He didn't know what that noise was earlier, but Scrooge didn't have time to wonder as his hands worked to lift Donald's face from his shoulder. “What in dismel downs is wrong with ye lad? What do ye think yer playing at?” he yelled, forcing the younger one to look up at him this time. Donald tried to worm free, tried to pry away from the grip and place himself back into the hold he had before, but he had to settle for holding onto Scrooge's hands instead, why though he didn't know.
Scrooge didn't have time to play around however, he let go and stepped back to put distance between the two of them, but Donald jumped at him again, holding him the same as before. “Donald I have to go to work. Stop being ridiculous!” he yelled, prying his nephews arms from around him, but the boy was surprisingly strong, Scrooge had trained him too well, and getting him to let go was harder then he'd anticipated. Della could only watch the whole thing from her chair, too unsure if she should get involved or not.
She didn't need to though. Duckworth had come in and seen the struggle between the two before deciding to intervene.
As Scrooge held back Donald's arms, Duckworth came from behind and grabbed the boy around his stomach, lifting him up from the floor so he couldn't push back. Finally Scrooge could leave the room.
This was a mistake.
Donald started screaming as he watched his uncle leave. He kicked out, not caring that Della and Duckworth were pleading with him to calm down. He lashed out with hands balled into fists, willing to punch anything and anyone that was keeping him back. Duckworth hadn't thought it would be this difficult to hold back a child, he tried placing a hand over his beak to at least keep him quiet while the master left, but this only gave Donald the opening he needed as he elbowed Duckworth in the eye, knocking him down and causing him to let go of his hold. He pushed Della out of his way when she tried to block him and raced to the front door before Scrooge could leave him.
The old man nearly had a heart attack as he was once again pounced on, falling to his knees from the impact. His nephew maybe small for his age, but there was a lot of force behind that small figure. “Donald ye maniac!! GET OFF ME!!” he yelled, hitting the lad with his cane. The teen didn't even register it, too desperate to hold onto his uncle.
Duckworth and Della came running in after, and Scrooge saw the bruise on his butlers face and easily pieced what had happened.
“Right!” he seethed to himself, stepping up and grabbing Donald's shoulders to pull him up with him harshly. He held the teen at bay and forced Donald to pay attention this time by shaking him. “Ye are in so much trouble young man! I don't care what pathetic excuse ye have going on in yer head but ye do NOT hit anyone in this family! Do I make myself clear?”
The boy said nothing.
Scrooge was not a cruel man to kids, but he had the biggest urge to slap that kid.
Donald was just staring at him, sadly, and nothing else. His hands still clung to his uncle's coat. Scrooge felt his limit being reached. His nephew was being out of control and there was no apparent reason for it.
“Ye listen to me Donald. Ye have two choices. Ye either tell me what is going on or I'm locking ye in yer room for the rest of the day. Which one is it?” Scrooge was so angry, he didn't notice the new found fear in his nephews eyes, or that the boy's legs were growing unstable.
Della and Duckworth saw it, but he had failed to see that Donald's mouth was opening and closing slightly, his breath hitching every so often. It was like he was trying to speak, trying so hard, but he couldn't. Duckworth was about to point this out, but Scrooge too the silence as ignorance and ran out of patience. “Fine then” he growled, snatching Donald's arm and dragging him aggressively upstairs. The duck winced and groaned in protest, clinging onto Scrooge as if the miser was about to throw him off a cliff.
Della went to chase after them, stopping only because of Duckworth's hand on her shoulder. She couldn't see it happening, but she heard her brother cry in protest and a door slamming shut, drowning out his cries, followed by the sound of a key in a lock. Scrooge came back down the stairs, straightening his coat from the creases it had now gained. He went to say something but all three of them flinched when they heard the sound of punching on the wooden door above them.
“Sir I really think you shouldn't of done that” Duckworth said.
Scrooge didn't agree. “The boy is acting out for whatever reason and I am not going to let that sort of behaviour continue. I cannae understand what's gotten into him?” he cried. “Della, surely ye must know something! Anything that could have caused this?” he spoke to her, but the girl had her eyes fixed upon the top of the stairs, flinching at every punch her brother made on the door. They could hear his muffled screams, desperately pleading, like a wild animal trying to escape from a trap.
“I don't know” she cried, wishing so badly that she could explain it. “E-everything was fine. We were with Gladstone and Fethry all day and he was being himself-” another punch echoed above them. “Grandma asked him to go out and put the chickens away for the night, and when he came back in he went to sleep. He woke up at ten and that's when he started panicking and wanting to go home. I don't know what happened!” Another punch.
“He probably decided he wanted to come home because he was asked to actually do some work” Scrooge scoffed.
Della glared at her uncle, angry in that moment until another, much louder, punch brought her attention back. She started trembling, tears building in her eyes. She hated this so much.
“Sir, I think one of the main concerns here is that Master Donald isn't talking. Are you sure he's doing this just for attention? It did look as though he was trying to speak earlier but couldn't” Duckworth pointed out. Another punch.
“Why would he have a problem? His voice is the best it's been for year. He's never had a history of mutism before, why would he have it now?”
“I don't know but this is very, very peculiar behaviour, you must know that this can't be deliberate sir?” Another punch.
Della felt a sob in her throat as she listened to her brother grow more and more distressed. He wasn't calming down and it was scaring her. “Uncle Scrooge I don't like this, please let him out” she begged, but she was ignored.
“Well he's obviously trying to get a reaction for some reason. He's never had a problem with me leaving the house before, so he must be doing this for attention. If nothing happened then what else could it be?”
“Uncle Scrooge...” Another punch.
“Sir I don't think that's what's happening here...”
All three of them jumped in surprise at the sound of a door being forced off it's hinges and slammed onto the floor above them. When they looked up, Donald was already there, running down the steps and stopping only when he made it to his uncle.
Scrooge was horrified at what he saw. The boy was panting heavily, sweat running down his face and wetting his hair. His cheeks flushed a bright red and his voice sounded broken with every pant he took. But Scrooge could only stare at his hands. His knuckles were bleeding badly. There were splinters sticking out from the cuts and blood was oozing between his fingers, covering the many bruises that laced his fists.
He couldn't bring himself to discipline the boy, he couldn't bring himself to say anything. He just stared at his nephew, now realising the lengths he had gone through just to escape that room, all just so he could at least stand by Scrooge's side, wanting so badly to reach out and hold him but now scared to do so.
Okay, Duckworth was right. There was something seriously wrong.