This was the first DT fic I wrote, so it's kinda a deal for me to finally post it.
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Dewey takes another step closer to the propeller of the Sunchaser, another step closer to the final piece of the photo of proof, another step closer to the truth. The propeller moves just out of his hold as he reaches out and keeps moving...and moving...and moving...and the next one pushes him off the wing, slices through his body, hot red blood spouts from every part of him as he screams. He spins around and around, blood whirls and drips' and gushes and bursts and screams at him to wake up.
He hit his head against Huey's bunk. It cut his scream into a moan. His footie-pajamas where slick with sweat. Too slick.
He threw his pillow to the floor and kicked off his blanket in frustration that couldn't be silent. He grabbed his sheet and pulled it off the mattress as he jumped to the floor. Running out the door and into the bathroom, he unzipped his useless PJs and threw them on the floor. He wiped himself with wipes and itched his itchy feathers. Grabbing his PJs from the cold tiles he stalked back to his room, grabbed the sheet and blanket from the floor and dragged then down the hall. Usually he'd have forgotten how to work the washing machine, if he'd ever known how, but this one worked the same as Uncle Donald's and he'd had to know how to work that one for chores. And Uncle Scrooge's was harder to overflow anyway. He stuffed his blue cloths in the machine and turned it on. He'd switch it to the dryer in the morning and Mrs B would never know.
He didn't care that he walked naked to the linen closet, Duckworth wasn't going to be doing chores at this unknowable hour, dead or otherwise. He grabbed a blanket and sheet that seemed to be the same color as the ones he'd disposed of, he didn't want his nosey family getting suspicious in the morning, and dragged them back to his room.
He opened his closet and grabbed his spare pajamas to wear. Then he stuck two corners of the sheet beneath his mattress, he knew from experience he couldn't get all four corners in without groaning loud enough to drown Uncle Donald's snores out and he'd prefer if his twins stayed asleep, so he left the sheet unmade and brought his pillow and blanket up, bundling into a blanket burrito and staring at Louie's leg hanging off the bunk below to make him forget the dream until he fell back asleep.
Dewey woke in the morning at the usual time, if more groggy than usual. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, tongue waving around in his beak. He crawled down the ladder rungs, careful not to disturb Louie's delicate morning slumber and waddled into the bathroom, where Huey was flossing his freshly brushed beak. He smiled at his brother.
"Hey," Dewey couldn't match his brothers enthusiasm.
"Fine." Dewey picked up a comb and busied himself with brushing his hair feathers up.
"Got tangled in your sheets again, didn't you?"
"M-hm." Dewey pretended concentration on his hair.
Dewey just shrugged and glared at the mirror, telling his older brother the conversation was over. Huey took the que and picked up a brush to smooth his own hair. After the ten strokes it took to banish his bedhead he put it down and made eye contact.
"Did you make a mistake?"
"NO!" The comb clattered on the floor. "I did not make 'a mistake'! I don't do that! In fact, I'm offended that you'd even suggest such a thing!" He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, seething and embarrassed.
"There's too much evidence for that to work." Huey said, annoyingly cocky.
Dewey slid down the wall until he could hide his trembling bill behind his knees. "I dunno what you're talkin' 'bout." He mumbled.
Huey knelt to pick up the fallen comb. "It's okay. You were obviously under a lot of stress and your body lost a bit of control. It's normal."
"I meant that it's not bad. There's an explanation for it and it's cause is known."
"Yeah, cause your science solves everything."
Huey put on his "big brother" voice. "Dewford, you're acting like a baby."
"Well I wet my bed like one so why not?!" He rubbed his fists into his eyes, banishing the wetness that had abruptly gathered there.
Huey scooted next to his little brother. "Was there a bad dream?"
Dewey nodded, his body betraying him.
Huey cautiously put an arm on his brothers shoulder. "Wanna tell me about it?"
"Maybe if we figure out what happened in the dream that made you do it, we could figure out how to stop you from dreaming about it."
Dewey curled up tighter but Huey just slid beside him, their sides touching.
"Have I ever laughed when you were crying before?"
"You're not a baby, so why would I call you one? It's factually incorrect. Please tell me."
"You'll think I'm a coward."
"Dewey..." Huey put his arm around his brother. "If we didn't live amongst living legends I'd say you're the bravest person I know. I'll never, ever think you're a coward, cause you aren't. And no amount of fear could make you one."
"But, if you keep sitting there not telling me cause you're scared then I'm afraid to tell you that that is the dictionary's definition of a coward so I'd have to name you one."
Dewey mumbled something unintelligible into his arms.
"Speak up Dew, I can't help if I can't hear you."
Dewey rested the side of his head against his crossed arms. "You're being bossy." He announced.
"Comes with the birthright." He wiggled closer. Dewey sighed and closed his eyes.
"I was on the wing of the Sunchaser reaching for the final piece of the Spear of Selene photo on the propeller. Uncle Scrooge was coming after me. Then he fell off the wing. Then Uncle Donald was in the window next to you guys and he told me to come back but I ignored him. Then he looked so mad and pressed a button and the propeller moved away from me and then it hit me and I started bleeding out and screaming and I woke up." Dewey gasped as he said the last lines. He'd started shaking and Huey hadn't registered when he'd wrapped both hands around his brother and held him close. He needed a few moments to banish the images his mind was rapidly making up before he spoke.
"Oh man, that's scary. I think I just wet my pants."
"You're not wearing pants, doofus."
"So that's why my tail feathers are sticking up like that."
Dewey giggled. He slid his arms around Huey's waist. Huey closed his eyes.
"It's okay. Wetting your bed when you dream of your basically-dad killing you with lots of blood doesn't make you a coward. In fact, telling me just now was really brave."
"Ya think?" Dewey looked up at his big brother.
Dewey smiled big and bright, his tears already dried up. "I guess it coulda been worse." He mused.
"Exactly." Huey said. "It's just urine. It's sterile, so its not even germ filled. It washes out without leaving stains and actually contains che-"
"Sorry Hue, but urine ruined the moment."
"Well, it usually does." Huey said with a twinkle in his eye.
"Ew! I am never confiding in you ever again!" Dewey announced as he pulled back from his brother.
"Who then? Louie? And let it get all over the internet?"
"Then I'll talk to Webby."
"She'll tell her diary and then it's blackmail."
"Okay fine! I'll keep telling you stuff. Just don't tell me your stuff."
"Come on! Don't you want to at least learn how to put a sheet on a bed?"
"No thank you, I'm good."
"If you let me teach you how to put on a sheet I'll show you the very fun practice of short-sheeting a bed."
"It's when you make someone's bed in such a way that they can't get under the covers."
In unison, they grinned mischievously.
This story came to be because I thought that bit where Della asked if the boys are potty trained and Dewey answers sort of was so gosh darn funny that I had to write something about it. And then angst happened. Because I am weak and cruel.
I know I'm not the first to come up with this idea but I don't know who also did so I sadly can't tag them. I can however tag @stevenfallsvs because they love Huey fics and so do I!
I also really like that the dream is present tense but the rest of the fic is past. I think it’s really effective, jarring and discombobulating when its over, simulating the waking from a dream feeling the character is feeling. Dose that mean its cheating? (I stole that idea from an unfinished fic of mine, its half dream and half not and is more effective there, but I like it here too.)
