A Knight in Shining Armor || A DuckTales Story

The Boy Who Survived

A small boy of seven sat alone by the fireplace, hugging his knees. He did that often, for something about the flames comforted him. Their warmth embraced him whenever his mother was away, and couldn't do so herself. Dylan was always worried for his mother whenever she left with his father, but he was more so scared of the vicious fights between them whenever they returned from...whatever they were doing. He never actually knew, and his mother had never disclosed any of their whereabouts. Not that Dylan minded; he found out all he needed to during the fights between his parents anyway. He hated those, but he'd been forced to sit through every single one. That's why he sat by the comforting fire, its warmth was the only source of it he had, apart from his mother.

Tonight, there would be another fight...but this one would be unlike any other. It would end very differently.

Dylan sat by the fire as usual, scared for when his parents would come back, and they would inevitably start sniping each other with words. And sooner than he anticipated, they arrived. His father slammed the door open, startling Dylan so much he hid his face in his legs. He was terrified of his father, and scared for the moment he would shout something awful at his mother, which came immediately.

"Seriously, why do I take you out on these?" his father shouted angrily.

"Come on! We got the cash, didn't we?" his mother retorted nervously. After a glance at Dylan, she seemed adamant to move the fight elsewhere in the house, but her husband wanted to keep it going where, and when, it currently was.

"Yes, but you tripped the alarm!" he shot back. "Now the police watch around here is gonna be tighter than ever! And we still don't have enough to pull off that big job," he finished, somewhat lamely.

"Then maybe you should stop looking for more money!" his mother retorted, now angry.

"DON'T QUESTION ME!" his father roared back.

Dylan hated the yelling, the screaming, the fighting, and often an object would break. That would make his father even more upset. Dylan's heart broke as well as he fought to hold back tears. He would have to fight harder, for his father ran at his mother and their hands met, both of them struggling against each other.

"Honestly, I should've left you and that kid of yours behind to get arrested!" he shouted. "I'm just wasting my time with you all anyways!"

Dylan felt a huge surge of hatred toward his father for insulting his mother, he wasn't even mad for what had been said about him, and his mother seemed just as hurt.

"My kid? He's as much your son as he is mine!" she shouted back.

"I never asked for one!" his father yelled, throwing his wife against the wall.

That hurt Dylan more than anything in that moment, but that wasn't even the end of it. His father grabbed a wrench and struck his mother with it! She fell to the ground, now scared to fight back.

"And stay down!" he said, looking down at her.

"Daniel, please, stop!" his mother cried.

"You're a piece of garbage! I want you both out of my house, NOW!" his father shouted, hitting his mother again with the wrench.

She sat up, then turned to Dylan with fearful tears swimming in her beautiful eyes. Dylan still fought to hold back his own.

"Dylan," his mother whispered, "we have to go."

She stood up and took her son's hand, and together, they stepped out the door. Unfortunately, they hadn't noticed her husband had as well, for he was a stealthy thief. And little did the two know that he was waiting around the corner with a loaded pistol, and just as Dylan's mother passed the corner of the house —

BANG!

His father ran, far far away without looking back. His mother's knees buckled as she held her stomach. Soon she fell to the ground on her back, Dylan's tears struggling harder to escape his eyes, as every breath she took became more shallow. She looked Dylan right in his eyes, and slowly placed a hand on his cheek.

"I love you Dylan," she muttered.

Dylan was already on all fours by his mother, and she pulled his face closer to hers, smiling her last.

"Your family will find you again," she breathed hoarsely.

With that, she pulled herself up and gave her son a kiss on the forehead. Dylan's breath became shaky as his mother's beautiful eyes closed, and the hand that held his cheek fell limp to her side. The tears that had been building up in Dylan's eyes finally burst, and he wept over his mother's corpse.

He continued until his voice was hoarse, wanting his mother back, but knowing all too well he couldn't. However, now with his father gone, he could retrieve his things peacefully. He started by gently taking his mother's pink scarf from her neck. She said it always brought her luck, but that's not what Dylan cared about. He needed his mother's essence, and he thought the scarf would give him that much. He went back into the house, packed all he could from his room, and then walked off.

He took one last glance at his mother, then quickly turned away. He had enough crying for one night.

He knew where he wanted to go: his Uncle Wildwing's house. He was Dylan's only resort, his only family. As he walked down the road, it started to gently snow. Dylan was glad it wasn't raining at least, but it did make him feel a bit cold. Thankfully, his uncle's house was right around the corner, and then one more block. Once he reached it, he set his bag down, and knocked on the door with his free hand. The other clutched his mother's scarf. Dylan saw the lights turn on through the windows, hearing his uncle's footsteps, and then he came to open the door. His Uncle Wildwing let out a small gasp upon seeing him.

"Oh, hello Dylan," he said rather pleasantly.

Dylan wanted to respond, but words and his beak failed him, his sadness having gotten to his head. Wildwing's grin faded as he got on one knee, so his eyes would be level with Dylan's.

"Where's your mother?" he asked, sounding a bit more serious. "Where is Astoria?"

Dylan could hardly bear to hear about his mother, let alone her name, and more tears leaked out from his eyes. Wildwing's gaze seemed to land on Dylan's mother's scarf, and then to Dylan's face. He seemed to understand, his expression softening, and he pulled his nephew into a hug.