Chapter Text
It wasn’t often that Gladstone was obsessed with something other than his luck. His life was easy-going. He didn’t need to work and he usually received what he wanted in the form of a present or prize. However, it had been today, on the 13th of June, which just so happened to fall on a Friday this year, he had been surrounded by family.
Donald Duck, his cousin and the physical antithesis to Gladstone’s own good luck, had been thrown a birthday party at Gladstone’s home.
It didn’t bother Gladstone, not really. Donald was always trying to mind his temper on all Friday the 13th occurrences, but it went to extremes on such days that would fall during his birthday week. After hanging several lucky charms all over his property - horseshoes, some rabbit’s feet, and others - Gladstone had been greeted by his grandmother and Uncle Scrooge.
“Hello, Grandma! Hey, Uncle Scrooge!”
His grandmother gave him kisses to his cheeks. Uncle Scrooge nooded, greeting him kindly but always looking about for any possibility that his oldest nephew was working. Joke’s on Uncle Scrooge, why would Fortuna’s child need to work?
They helped him arrange a few more charms and soon, more family members were coming in help with decorations. Some of Donald’s friends came as well to help. Jose Carioca used his black magic to duplicate himself and help multiple people at once. One of them also blew Gladstone a kiss; Gladstone felt flattered but stuck a horseshoe in his pocket, just in case.
Gladstone always felt somewhat crowded by the number of family members and friends that his cousin had, what they only shared partially between the two of them, but it gave a lightness to his chest. Ever since he’d moved back to Duckburg from Macaw, he found himself enjoying all of those small daily occurrences that his cousin Fethry was fond of, what Donald took in stride, and what Della had always found so boring.
He missed Della; he had wished to see her again, but no such luck yet.
Instead, he’d take pleasure in watching his cousin survive the birthday that had cursed him. Gladstone could watch as Donald muttered and fluttered about. When Della had been here, her excitement often outweighed his anxiety, but Donald’s cautious temperament would shield Della from the world’s dangers that were too big for her to handle and much too subtle for her to notice.
Donald was greeting everyone, his sister-in-law Daisy leading him around to everyone. Gladstone looked at them. They made a fine pair, and Daisy always helped out with the boys. Daisy, looking in Gladstone’s direction, gave him a little wave.
Gladstone gave a small salute in return, tipping off his hat to the lovely hen that he and Donald had fought over for months when they were younger. Daisy turned back to Donald, who was talking to Daisy’s fiance. A mallard from New York that Daisy had met on a business trip, Anadon Hynchos had won Donald over. Donald, on his own birthday, was congratulating Daisy and Anadon on their engagement, smiling as though losing the girl of his dreams didn’t pierce his soul with a pain-dripping knife.
Gladstone walked over to the table where Uncle Scrooge had helped to organize from snacks, Grandmother Elvira wandering around and checking on her family. Panchito Pistoles was playing on his guitar, some slow tune that reminded Gladstone of Barcelona and Madrid.
“You play really well,” he offered, sitting by where Panchito stood as the rooster finished another song.
“Muchas gracias, Mister Gladstone!” Panchito bowed lowly. His body spoke of work and muscle, practice in a body endowed with the power to achieve such a form. Gladstone shuddered to think what he could look like, perhaps more like his muscled, rough-feathered father and not the soft, willowy form that his mother possessed. He noticed then that Panchito had asked him something.
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, would you like a song, Mister Gladstone?” Panchito asked, his fingers playing along the frets without strumming a single cord, “If I hear it once or twice, I can play any song!”
Gladstone hummed, placing a finger to his bill. He smiled as a thought came to him.
“Do you know any Raphael? He’s the one Spanish singer I know.”
“Si, I do!”
Gladstone watched as Panchito’s nimble fingers tuned the guitar with talented, practiced ease. Soon, Panchito began to play a song that told of a fabulous night, all for one person to enjoy.
Gladstone could definitely relate to that. As he closed his eyes and enjoyed the voice has often praised when they were younger, Gladstone could hear people approach, enthralled by the rooster's voice. One of the children - Webbigail, judging from how she stood so respectfully at Gladstone’s side but still made little squeals of excitement as she did whenever she got to see him - sat down next to him, humming along as soon as she got the rhythm down.
Soon, Gladstone was surrounded by people dancing. However, the birthday boy was nowhere to be found.
"Where is Donald, Webby?"
"Oh, I saw him inside with Miss Daisy!" Webby smiled at him as he nodded politely and turned to leave, the Duck triplet boys and Daisy's nieces inviting her to dance. Gladstone watched as the girl went over to the other ducklings, Lena eventually making her way over as well. He saw Lena come close and Webby eagerly grabbed her hand.
He used to be close to Donald that way, before they started understanding that their luck (good and bad for Gladstone and Donald, respectively) was something that they could never change. Sometimes, Gladstone found himself missing those days. He had loved Donald's sleek feathers, the down underneath already well on their way out and showing Donald's true shape, the body of an athlete. It served Donald's dream to be a sailor one day, and Gladstone had enjoyed taking swims in Scrooge's swimming pool when they would go over, watching his cousin navigate the water. At Grandma Elvira's home, there was a lake where they would play. Donald had invented so many games for them to play, Gus even participating in a role that would give him easy rest time. That left Gladstone and Della (and later Fethry) to be the main participants.
Then... Then they grew up, and a lightning bolt had cursed him on his birthday. When Donald somehow reversed the curse, Gladstone had thought that everything was done. Perhaps they would go back to how they were before.
As Gladstone made his way inside, watching Daisy leave the sitting room, he found his cousin as he had always found him before since Della had gone - Donald was sitting on the couch, staring at a picture frame.
"Hey there."
Donald looked up. He looked surprised, having been in his own world for who knows how long. God only knew if Daisy could get him back into the real world.
"... Hi."
Gladstone sauntered over, watching Donald resist the urge to look back at the frame. He sighed as he sat down next to Donald, casually swinging his arm to land on Donald's opposite shoulder. Donald tensed for a moment before relaxing slowly.
"Thinking about her?"
"Always."
Gladstone hated how honest Donald could let himself be.
"... Do you wanna stay in here, cuz? No one's gonna judge you for it."
But they would. They did, every year.
"I heard a guitar. Is Panchito playing?"
"Yeah," Gladstone said, "some songs by a Spanish singer. I have some records lying around of the guy."
"Really? Records?" Donald gave him a smirk. Gladstone only laughed in response. Donald still kept records, and Gladstone had teased him about it before. Gladstone loved his collection, however; whenever he found an older artist, he liked to appreciate as the artist's contemporaries did, which meant at times getting a record.
"Hey, I like to stick with the times of the music. How about you, Mr. Things-Used-to-be-Better?"
Donald groaned, and Gladstone saw his hold on the picture frame relax as Donald said, "I know people say that, and I'm not the only one. I just think that Dewey on his phone, and Louie having all of his schemes online... That didn't happen before. It couldn't."
Gladstone nodded, listening well.
"It's hard taking care of them, huh." It wasn't a question.
"Right... I just wish I knew how she... how Della would have done it."
Ah, so that's what it was. Gladstone nodded again, pulling on Donald. Donald didn't resist, and soon, they were cuddled on the couch, Donald resting on Gladstone's shoulder and his legs on the couch. Gladstone let Donald rest there, his neck a small hiding spot for Donald's sight as they tried to make it through another day that Della should be present for.
The silence was welcome, a soft blanket around both cousins that didn't always see eye-to-eye, that had sharp, painful memories between them. As luck would have it - Gladstone smiled as this happened - the door to the sitting room closed, locking itself, and the blinds fell slightly. The sunlight now dimmed gave the room a warm but welcome feeling to relax.
"I hope we can be like this, all the time," Gladstone whispered to his cousin. Donald didn't respond, only nuzzling his face into Gladstone's neck feathers and hiding. The gander could feel a wetness there, and Donald's shoulders began to shake. "Hey," Gladstone said, "hey..."
"I want... I want her here with us. I just..."
"I know. Baby cuz, I know-"
"I feel so tired and so lonely and I can't- I didn't even get to say good-bye."
"No-one did, baby. No-one did." Gladstone moved his free arm, trapping Donald in a strange sort of hug. "But it hurts you most, doesn't it?"
They stayed that way for a while, silent and trying to comprehend that they were broken without Della. Della had stopped all of their fights when they were younger. Even if Donald was a bit younger, both could get up to quite a bit of mischief. Uncle Scrooge often found enjoyment from it, if only that Donald had matured much faster because of his bad luck, and Gladstone would have to adapt to whatever his luck would throw at him. He often advised them in their little war games, with Della being the best referee. Della would always support Donald, be by his side, and they were practically one person split in two.
Gladstone held Donald close as another birthday came and made sure that Donald knew that his other half was missing.
"Panchito is singing outside."
"Yeah?"
"Let's go dance."
"But-"
"What would Della say?"
It was a daring thing to say, as Donald knew Della better than anyone, but it was true. Della would not want her brother here, stuck in the dark while festivities were going on outside. With that in mind, Gladstone pulled Donald up with him as he stood. Donald still had his face hidden.
"Come on, baby. Let's show the world and fate and whatever the Hell else is out there that Ducks don't back down."
Donald was still before nodding. With Gladstone unlocking the door to the sitting room, Donald found himself dragged outside. Everyone greeted Donald warmly.
"Happy birthday, Donald!" Daisy came close, kissing Donald's cheek and hugging him. Everyone else joined, wrapping Donald in a love that he couldn't try to deny. Gladstone, in the hug, rubbed his thumb over the back of Donald's hand.
"Venga, amigo," Panchito coaxed the duck of the party, "Baile con nosotros, Donald!"
Again, the grand night song began to come out of the rooster's guitar, pure and energetic. When Panchito began to sing, Donald came to pull Gladstone to the dancefloor.
If someone had asked Gladstone when the last time he danced for the fun of it, he would recall a time in high school when he had taken Sarah Ravenmore to the Spring formal. Since then, it was contests and easy ways to find a place to sleep or to get money. Donald's hand in his, Gladstone decided that this would be his new memory of dancing, and maybe he wouldn't be the one to spend the night this time.
"You wanna spend the night?" Donald stared at Gladstone for a moment before answering.
"Sure."