#my dt post

The dark sun is setting.

Ten days without Webby or Louie. Two days since they've found each other. Two days since the monsters attacked. They'd be getting reckless if they hadn't learned better the hard way. But Huey's taken note of the monster's hunting routines in his guidebook and Dewey has his spear, they can shout Louie's name till their voice-boxes crack then shriek for Webby till they splinter apart. They don't need their voices in this world like they did in the last. But they need their brother and sister. So they shout. So they search. So they press on. Into the night. Into the dark. The dark sun is setting. Twelve days without Webby or Louie. Four days since they've found each other. Two days since the monsters attacked. Using Huey's compass they retrace their steps to check the traps they set last night. Dewey goes in front, focused, steady, spear ready to strike, walking almost silently. He doesn't speak much anymore, only to call the names or if it's urgent. Huey stays in back, checking for anything in the brush they can take. They've found a lot of useful things, a ragged backpack with a single strap and rusted buckle, two chipped cups and some nails they've bent into fishhooks. They still have the grass baskets Huey wove but it's nice to have something from their world. At least they think its their world. They hear the babble of the creek they set the traps alongside, a good place to catch game. They find one, the jackalope already dead. Dewey skillfully picks the branches and netting open and puts the thin corpse in Huey's backpack. They have three more to check. But when they reach the next trap they find it's caught more than a rabbit, a beast is eating the rabbit in the trap. Huey remembers Dewey's description, matching it with what he sees. Too many limbs with joints in the wrong places, ending in uncanny fingers, a wolf's snout under numerous hazy eyes and a stinger longer than he is tall. Silently, they slowly step back, back they way they came, but it smells their feathers over the blood in it's jaws and it comes after them. Dewey readies his spear to attack, but Huey can't let him, grabbing his brothers arm he peals into the brush, the monster on their tails. It's a matter of moments before it tackles Huey, smelling the fresh meat in his backpack. Forced onto his face in the dirt Huey can barely breathe. He feels it's teeth pushing at his back, trying to get into the bag. He's frozen in fear. It shrieks and it's claws rip into his arms as it falls away. Huey balls up tight in instinct. Dewey's spear has stabbed it in an eye. He pulls the spear out and stabs it through the mouth. Then he stabs it again, this time in the chest. Again. And again. And again. By the time Huey's come out of shock his brother is drenched in blood, cleaning the head of his spear in the grass. Huey sits up, Dewey looks up, seemingly shocked to see his brother. He rushes over. Carefully grabbing his arm he turns it over, looking at the scratches. "It's okay." Huey says quietly, as though the disfigured corpse will come to life if he speaks too loudly. Without a sound Dewey rips off the sleeve of his t-shirt. He tears it in half, tying each strip over each arm. Huey is touched, but not sure how much good the bloodstained rags will do. "Thanks." Dewey picks up his spear and gets up, holding a hand out to his brother. Huey takes it and points towards the river. "We should probably clean up before we attract more." Huey cleans his new bandages and cuts in the muddy creek while Dewey cleans his whole body. He doesn't swim, just cleans each body part at a time. They don't know what's in the water. On the way back Huey feels he has to ask. "Why?" Dewey doesn't respond. It's only that night, around their fire, both pretending to let the other sleep while he takes first watch, when he does speak. "Because it killed us." The dark sun is setting. Sixteen days without Webby or Louie. Seven days since they've found each other. Three days since the monsters attacked. The welts in Huey's arms aren't healing well, though he instructs his brother patiently. Dewey dresses them in new shreds from his overshirt. "What if...what if we can't fin-" "Don't." "But what-" "We *will* find them." "And if we don't like what we find?" "Then we'll know." "I don't-I don't wanna know." Dewey cringes. Both have changed so much, but this is too much. He touches Huey's bruised hand. "They need us to find them. So we can be safer. No matter what we find, we'll be safer for it." Huey nods mutely as Dewey tightens the bandage. The monsters smell blood, they need to keep the dressings clean, they need to keep moving. They need to find them. Then need to know. The dark sun is setting. Eighteen days without Webby or Louie. Ten days since they've found each other. Two days since the monsters attacked. Huey's backpack smacks his back as he races through the bushes. Dewey grips his spear beside him. The footsteps behind them grow louder, closer with each step. Leaves and branches with sharpened edges chip away at their scabs, making them fear with each gash that they've been caught by claws and teeth. The woods are just a few feet away, they'll dash up a tree to keep the monster from getting them, they'll figure out what to do once they're there. It growls. It's close. Huey forces adrenaline long since drained to push foreward and grab a tree branch, it moans like a person would, pulling himself up with instinctual skill. Ten feet above ground, he turns to see Dewey, struggling at five feet, his spear making him clumsy. Huey moves to help when the long handle slides between his brothers legs and he fumbles, slips, falls. The monster waits at the base. Huey can see it's teeth, long as his hats brim and sharp as Louie's khopesh. He sees Dewey brandish his spear. He sees the sharp pinchers bite it in half. He sees the claws rip into Dewey's jaw. He hears Dewey scream in pain. He doesn't think, he just rips his backpack off and throws it at the monster before it can draw another drop of blood from his scared brother. It smells the food inside and swallows it, meat, herbs, cloth, hooks and all. It steps towards Dewey again but Huey jumps down over Dewey, broken branches in his hands. He screams a war cry and hits the monster with his branch while Dewey jumps up to do the same. It's snarling and hissing but it's backing away. Huey screams, louder and louder, pounding with fury that wants blood. Dewey uses his distraction to stab the spearhead into its gut. The monster howls and runs back into the bushlands, orange blood glinting then disappearing. Huey pants, harder then when he was running for his life, and the branch breaks inside his fist. "Let me see your face." He forces calm into his voice. Dewey lowers his hand so the gash can be seen along his jaw. It's just under the scar he got before he found Huey. He's relieved it wasn't reopened. "Does it hurt?" A head shake. "I'll get something to clean it, then we'll wrap it s-" "With what?" "I-I'll figure something out." "You always do, don't you?" "Wha-I... I just want to help." "I'm fine." He wipes his jaw on his wrist, biting back a wince. "I need a weapon." His fingers curl against nothing. Huey nods. "Okay. Let's keep looking." The dark sun is setting. Twenty-two days without Webby or Louie. Fifteen days since they've found each other. Two days since the monsters attacked. Huey studies the map, comparing it to what he's already recorded in his guidebook. They found it in an abandoned shack, along with some much-needed supplies and Dewey's new axe. He dozes beside him, fingers tangled in the willow knapsack Huey isn't finished weaving. His breathing is soothing but not enough to lure Huey into sleep. Nothing is, not anymore. Only his own fatigue weakening his eyesight and slowing his mind can make him shut his eyes for an hour. It's never enough. Like the answers he struggles to find, never telling him enough. The answers keep him up as much as the questions do. "LOUIE!" Dewey cries as he bursts awake. One hand gripping the handle of his axe, the other in a shaking fist in front in defense. His eyes are wild, terrified. Huey takes his fist, whispering reassurnce. They never wake up normally anymore, startling awake from night terrors, screaming for Louie, Webby, Uncles Donald and Scrooge; desperate in ways only palpable in sleep. Dewey sighs and rubs gruby fists in his eyes. He looks at Huey sadly, and this time Huey can tell he's not speaking because the words don't need to be said, they're felt. It would hurt if they were spoken and right now they're too dependent on each other to risk another wound. They hear a branch snap in the dark behind them, too heavy to come from webbed feet. Orange blood glints in the fading light. The dark sun is setting. Twenty-five days without Webby or Louie. Eighteen days since they've found each other. One day since the monsters attacked. Dewey found some rope while foraging for water, he's added it to their tiny inventory of supplies. Huey found some flint, they were running out. They light torches, not knowing what to look for, almost hoping not to find it. They've barely been surviving together, how could the others survive this long alone? Dewey sees something in the distance, he taps Huey's shoulder and points. Huey peers through the foliage, squinting in the darkness. "Is that...light?" Dewey runs towards the speck of light in the distance, hacking at branches in his way. "LOUIE! WEBBY!" He's shrieking, calling, begging, desperate beyond hope, not caring what his voice atracks. Huey follows in silence, barely able to move fast enough for the hope he feels bursting inside. It feels like it's been forever since he last hoped, he hates that he feels that way, but he keeps on, he has to know. Dewey runs fast enough for his torch to blow out and Huey's has as well. They see only the light ahead. It grows brighter and bigger but they shout just as loudly with no response. Once they're close enough to see that it's a bush aflame Dewey stills, Huey a step behind him. Cautiously, Dewey brandishes his axe as they step around the flames. There's a green hoodie. On a duck. And it's not moving. Huey begs everything in the universe for his brother to twitch, pleads with everything he has left for a flinch, desperate to not have failed his twins. Louie's hands quiver. A sob spurts out in relief, his brother is alive. He stretches desperate hands to make the dream real. Louie opens his eyes. Huey stops moving. Dewey flinches. Flames are roaring beside them yet they feel ice cold. This can't be Louie, not those eyes. They don't recognize his brothers. They're too dim, too hollow, too hopeless. Red from crying and no sleep with new cresent bruises underneath. "L-Louie?" Huey whispers without thought. His body, his face, his eyes speak of terror, horror unknowable. Of pain deeper then atoms. Of too much everything for anyone to experience. Yet his voice is not scared, tearful nor disbelieving. It reminds Huey of a mad genius he heard on TV, it is filled with delight. "Huey...Dewey." Warmth fills Huey again. It's Louie. He's heard that voice every single day of his life, there's no mistaking it. "LOUIE!" He's sobbing before he can wrap his arms around his beloved baby brother. Clutching a too-thin body to his chest, to his heart, to his soul, never to let go again. Louie's hands knot themselves in Huey's shirt, grabbing as much as he can. His grip is weaker then it should be. Dewey drops his axe, engulfing them in his arms. Louie clutches him, his hands haven't stopped shaking. Huey runs worried fingers under his hood, through Louie's hair, feeling for the telltale bump of a concussion. "We're okay, Louie." Huey whispers reassuringly. "We're here. It's us. For real. We're together. We're gonna be okay. We're okay. Oh, Lou, I'm so sorry, Lou." He covers Louie in kisses, the kind of pecks they hated for Uncle Donald to give. Dewey presses a few too, rubbing circles onto his back, whimpering as tears fall. If it weren't for the tears on Louie's cheeks that Huey can feel he wouldn't know that his brother was crying. His chest is moving normally, his breaths are quiet and steady, not a sound escapes his beak. It's scary. "L-Louie..." Huey whispers. "A-are you okay?" Louie turns his head and Huey's startled again by the sight of his eyes. "Webby?" "Not yet. But we're trying. Now that we're together we're sure to find her." His optimism sounds forced but he's never felt better now that he's got part of his family whole again. Louie's grip on his brothers tighten, bloody fingers clutching feathers under cloth. A whimper escapes him before he burries his head back into their shoulders. "Lo-baby." An old nickname Uncle Donald called him when he'd get sick. Dewey whispers it tenderly and Louie sobs at it. "Lo-baby, we're the Duck Boys and we don't back down." The familiar phrase bring smiles to both beaks, but Louie's started sobbing and he can't seem to stop. "P-p-lee-aase d-d-d-dont g-g-go." He sobs around the words, shaking violently. "Never." Huey hugs his brothers tighter, closer, safer. "We'll never ever go. I promise you both. We'll be right by each other's sides, like we've always been, till this is over. I promise." Louie nods against their arms, still shaking, still sobbing. Dewey nods and squeezes Huey's hand. They let him cry for as long as he needs to. The fire beside them has blown to ash before he's halfway done. His brothers hold him, hold each other, so he won't break. Huey fears he's already cracking. He feels it in himself, he's seen it in Dewey, and he's terrified of shattering. But they are three parts of a whole and they are together again. They fill each other's cracks with hugs and high-fives and private jokes and limtless love, and that keeps them from shattering. Huey feels it as Louie's breath's calm, as his quivers slow. As he kisses both his brother's soft, bloody feathers over and over again they feel themselves click back together. Louie curls up, worn out from twenty-five endless days alone, finally able to relax. His hands are holding hands and his sobs are quieting. Huey snuggles beside him, not to sleep, he doesn't sleep anymore, he just needs to make sure his breathing is steady. He hasn't checked him for injuries yet and they're all too tired now. He'll check later, when he can look at his brothers without crying. Dewey splays his arms around them, guarding his horde of brothers like a dragon. Louie whispers but neither brother is awake to hear it. "I love you." And the bright sun rose.

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@heythatsdeep , I was super inspired by your #don’t starve au so here’s this fic. I hope you liked it.

I’ve never played this game so I’m sure I’ve been inaccurate but I hope it still works.

HE’S TALKING ABOUT ISABELLA FINCH!!!!!

Ludwig knew her!? Did he help make the first ever JWG!?!?!?