Duckshots!

In Death We Part! (Three Caballeros x Reader)

The Legend of the Three Caballeros
Three Caballeros & Reader
Gender Neutral!Reader
Dead!Reader
Angst

Context: You travel with the boys until one day you didn't. This is their reactions.

Donald's anger was on a hair pin trigger. Panchito slothfulness was at an all-time high. José refused to leave his room. The cabana was a mess. The boys were at each other's throat. The only one that might've been able to defuse the situation was dead.

The truth was, it had been ____'s choice and it had saved them. None of them choose to see it that way. None of them choose to see it for the sacrifice it was but rather to blame everyone else in the cabana.

Donald blamed José. Out of all of them, he should have been able to talk ____ out of it. José blamed Panchito. The two of them were always daring each other to take stupid risk and José saw this as another one. Panchito blamed Donald. Because it had been his turn to pick the adventure.

It wasn't even an adventure. Just a fun day at the beach gone wrong when they stumbled into the cave. They had almost made it back out as the tunnel filled with sand. But the door required someone to hold it to stay open. ____ volunteered. The three of them made it out, and they waited as the door shut and they tried to reopen it once it had, but to no avail.

One thing they agreed on was Casandra was to blame for getting all of them mix up in this to begin with. The decision to close the book was unanimous. She begged them not to, but they ignored her pleas.

The swirl of emotions in the cabana rose with each passing day. It was bound to come to a head, eventually.

Donald stormed to the kitchen in the dead of night. He hadn't had a full night since it happened. He noticed ____'s door was open. He creeped down the hall and stuck his head in. No one had been in there since that day and it was still an organized mess. Clothes on the floor; José's painting on the walls; nicknacks from their trips on the nightstand; postcards from Donald dresser; borrowed music and cook books from Panchito in the corner chair. It was almost like it never happened.

Then there was José, who was on the bed, ruining the image.

"Out," Donald growled, clenching his fist.

José looked at him, not moving. Donald saw red. He crossed the room and snatched the parrot up. José wasn't having that and pushed him back. They bumped into the nightstand. The small rocks and collectibles exploded onto the floor. Donald surged forward, knocking both of them onto the bed. José twisted. He slipped on a shirt that had been meant to be washed eventually and landed on the floor. They bumped the dresser and postcards rained around them. Donald punched and José dodged, and his fist crumpled a letter. José stood and pushed Donald across the room, knocking the paintings off the wall.

Neither of them were thinking clearly. Donald stood and shook the shock off. José ran at him and the duck caught the parrot's shoulders. Donald slung him to the side into the chair. Donald grabbed the painting of the cabana that had fallen and threw it at José. The parrot put his hands up to block it and his hand crashed through it with a pop. They both stared at it.

"Filho da puta!" José screamed.

His eyes watered as he jumped towards Donald. He pinned the duck to the bed with one hand and punched with the other. José managed a few hits before he broke down and pulled himself back to broken canvas to cradle it. Panchito appeared in the door.

"¿Que esta pasando?" Panchito asked, rubbing his eyes.

"None of your business!" José growled, pulling the painting closer.

"You were in ____'s bed!" Donald shot back.

"You destroyed the room! You destroyed our memory," José choked.

Panchito scanned the room. No part of the room went untouched in their struggle. He was heartbroken at the sight, but only had one thought.

"____ hated when we fought," Panchito sighed.

"Yea, but it wouldn't exactly come as a surprise," Donald mumbled.

None of them looked at each other. Donald expected another fight but they didn't have it in them but Panchito dropped to his knees and picked up the postcards and nicknacks from the floor. Donald sighed and placed the fallen painting back on the wall. José straightened the chair and books. Donald finished first and he slide down the frame of the bed. José joined him after a minute. Then Panchito.

"What should we do now?" Panchito broke the silence.

"We can't keep avoiding each other," José sighed.

"You're right." Donald stood. "I'm going back home."

"What?" Panchito asked.

"You can't be serious?" José gasped.

"You should too." Donald head for the door and paused. "There's nothing left here for us."

"There's nothing left for you," José said, standing. "This all that's left of ____."

"Then you stay." Donald marched out.

"So you're staying?" Panchito asked after a long moment.

"I have nowhere else to go." He looked at the broken canvas. "Nowhere I want to go."

"Sí, I understand."

José turned to him. "You're leaving as well?"

"Si," Panchito nodded. "A muchos recuerdos tristes. Adios, mi amigo."

José stared at the busted cabana in the painting. The house had been a home a week ago and not it was a husk. It had hosted five friends and after tonight it would be a party one.

Word Count: 971

Portugese:
filho da puta - son of a bitch

Spanish:
¿Que esta pasando? - What is going on?
A muchos recuerdos tristes. - To many sad memories.