#donald catches these assholes being assholes to gladstone in the cafeteria

[tcsauaskblog]

13 Donald

#13 Who did this?

Gladstone decides wholeheartedly he’s in the wrong place at the wrong time the second Donald’s eyes lock on him and the only thought he has to show for it is a dispirited, ’Seriously, he needs to get a new hobby.’

Because Don crosses the school courtyard between them like it was nothing, Gladstone barely having time to blink before his cousin’s hands are holding his jawline in place, turning his head every which way and that to get a better look at the freshly purpled bruise now blossoming across his right eye and cheek.

“What happened?” Don growls, low and mean, but Gladstone barely even winces at his temper, because for all of Donald’s bark, there was true hurt and anger in his eyes. The kind that came entirely from a caring place, rooted every last inch in stupid protective love.

And Gladstone hated being the reason behind that pained expression etched across Donald’s face. It was making something hot and heavy swell in the back of Gladstone’s throat, a raw sort of compassion that Glad doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to receiving.

The kind of stubborn concern he had every intention of avoiding if Donald hadn’t been waiting for him by the flagpole long after the final school bell had rung like some kind of vigilant guard dog.

“Don’t get your flannel all worked up, it’s not as bad as it looks,” Gladstone lied because that was always easier when it came to Don’s mother-henning. He tried to swat his cousin’s hands away, but Don had an impossible iron barred grip on his chin, destroying any possible chance of escape Gladstone had, so he resorted to tapping his cousin’s arms absentmindedly while looking just about everywhere other than meeting the 14-year-old’s piercing gaze. “Where’s Dumb and Dumber? Thought y'all’d be halfway through a bag of bacon catching crawdads by now.”

“Apparently a group of squirrels got into Fethry’s lunch bag during recess and ate most of the crawdad bait, so Del and him went home to get some more and I stayed behind to let you know so you wouldn’t head down to the river by yourself and wonder where we were,” Don said all in one, short, tense breath.

Like he couldn’t be bothered to spend any more concentration on breathing as he glared down at Glad’s face, inspecting it like there was something hidden tattoed in the bruises. Gladstone ignores the flush feeling rising in his cheeks. Normally he’d be on cloud nine to have so much attention squarely focused on him.

But with Donald looking at him with all the whole world of worry that he didn’t know where to place, it was just making him sick.

“Awww, that’s really gross that you care so much,” Glad cooed in an annoyed tone, rocking back on his heels softy and doing his best not to let the action choke himself with Don’s current unwavering headlock.

“Well, thanks for letting me know. Better not keep them waiting, I bet Del the first one to catch three mudbugs gets shower privileges all week, and if you don’t think I’d sail you down the river in a New York heartbeat to win then you’re dead wrong. I always look good, but even I can admit that these curls take some time to maintain.”

And Gladstone would have used that as an excuse to wiggle himself free and stroll right around Donald, going on their merry way and ignoring the giant target bruising itself across Glad’s face. But of course, Donald’s grip on his jaw was ironclad, never wavering for a second, and there was a look on his eyes so fierce and fervid it was burning holes into Gladstone’s chest.

“Oh no, you don’t! Do even think about changing the subject,” Donald says sharply, concern and annoyance pouring into every word equally like a threaded braid and with a tone he was whole years too young to have. Taking on a persona like a frustrated guardian of at least ten years older than Gladstone, rather than an overly defensive cousin who was only a year older. “What happened?”

To be fair to Gladstone, the last thing he wanted was to fight Don. That’s why Gladstone had waited almost 30 minutes after the final bell had rung before leaving the bathroom.

Because he was hoping to miss his cousins altogether. Hoping that they would head to the river without him and he’d have some time to put some distance between the school and him so that, either way, even if Don did want to fight him about this, there was nothing he could have done.

And really, why should Don do anything?

Gladstone’s 13 and Donald’s 14 and honestly, even that shouldn’t be any reason for Donald to act like he’s suddenly Gladstone’s parent. They’re the same height for Pete’s sake! Gladstone can do anything Donald can do and there’s never a reason for Donald to treat him like some brat who can’t take care of himself, and yet here he is, acting like Gladstone’s bodyguard and it makes him want to scream in frustration.

“Relax, stupid, it was just P.E accident. I got hit in the face with a stray volleyball during one of the free games. I’m lucky I didn’t get a bloody beak.” He passive-aggressively shrugged, waving a dismissive hand away shamelessly. Hoping that was enough of an answer to skeet by. “Now will you let go already? Take a picture, it’ll last longer, but my face isn’t going to look any prettier no matter how hard you scowl.”

The pointless jab only made him scowl harder, but Donald eased his grip regardless. “You? The luckiest duck in the world. A P.E accident?” Donald says slowly, like the wheels are spinning in his head but there’s ice on the road so he can’t get enough traction to go anywhere. He let’s go of Gladstone reluctantly, but Don keeps his hands out in front of him, like he’s afraid Gladstone might bolt if he doesn’t keep his guard up and ready to grab him at any moment.

Gladstone has half a mind too, but instead, he just huffs impatiently and straitens out the collar of his shirt and readjusts his backpack on his shoulders.

“Hey, I’m not any happier about it than you, but I guess even I can get faulty luck sometimes. What can I say, it happens to the best of us.” And Gladstone’s carefully not meetings Donald’s eyes again, because he knows that even the slightest hesitance will give something away, and knowing Donald, the last thing he needs is to give his cousin some sort of stupid incentive to go charging off on his behalf to a battle he doesn’t want him to fight.

Honestly, after that day he’s had, all Gladstone wants is to head home. “That’s why I didn’t meet you guys by the lockers after school, I was in the nurses’ office getting checked out. Looks like it isn’t too bad though, no bleeding under the skin or anything, so we’re all good to hit the road.”

And he shoots Don an easy smile like it was his day job, and wishes with all his luck that it’s compelling enough to make Don drop the subject altogether when he passes around him easily, tapping him on the shoulder comfortably with all the confidence and smugness of someone who doesn’t have anything to hide.

It should have been easy. He’s hid all the bruises up until now without any suspicion. He isn’t about to let one little black eye blow his best-kept secret in one day.

Gladstone rests his hands behind his head and waits till he reaches the school gates before asking, “Hey, do you think if I do a convincing enough puppy dog pout, I can get Feth on my side to help me win the bet against Del? She really takes too long of showers in the morning and I think it’s time her reign of terror over the bathroom is over.”

He’s hoping for a laugh. Or at the very least a snide remark, but it’s only when he gets no response from Donald that he checks over his shoulder, to find that his cousin isn’t right behind him, but still at the other end of the courtyard, staring at him with a furrowed brow that made storm clouds look tame.

And then, before Gladstone could rightly ask him what he was waiting for, Donald dropped his backpack with a resounding thud that wholely echoed through Gladstone’s core, before marching back towards the entrance of the school with a conviction that would take a tank to tear down.

Gladstone feels like he swallowed ice as he watches Don’s back all for a mere 4 seconds before bolting after him, scooping Donald’s backpack up in the process, and just managing to reach the front door of the school right after it had slammed shut behind his hot heeled cousin.

“Do-ouufff-Don! Wait!” Gladstone calls, just barely managing to catch up with Donald as he rounded the first hallway. “What are you- where are you going?”

“Where are they?” Donald growls through clenched teeth, not meeting Gladstone’s eyes but slowing his tempo just a bit so that Gladstone could keep up easier.

It was a good thing he did, because at his cousin’s words, Gladstone almost tripped over himself, and Donald barely managed to catch him by his upper arm and help pull him back up to his feet. This stopped them fully, which gave Gladstone a chance to catch the breath Donald just stolen from him.

“They? They who?” Gladstone asked slowly, trying not to let the panic in his voice show as he anchored Donald’s backpack to his chest to steady his breathing. “What are you talking about?”

“Shut up Gladstone, you know exactly what I’m talking about,” Donald snapped, pointing a finger at Gladstone’s swelling black eye. And Gladstone did his best not to back into the lockers behind him in surprise. “The people who did that to you.”

And Gladstone felt his whole body go frigid. Because shit. Shit! This is exactly what he didn’t want to happen.

“W-wait Don. You have it wrong, this was an accident, remem-?” Gladstone tried to reassure, but it must have been evident in the panic in his voice because Donald was already rounding him with those electric eyes sparking sharp and bright.

“Bullshit Glad, don’t lie to me! I’m not stupid! I know how your luck works.” He barked, and he was getting that kind of mad that turned his fists taut with how tight he was folding them.

Fethry once disclosed to Gladstone a forgotten amount of years ago, that he was always afraid when Donald made his hands go that tight, because it usually meant that he was about to hit something really, really hard. And that whenever Donald did that, his fists always came back bruised and bloodied red.

It was the reason why Fethry usually held Don’s hands whenever it looked like he was about to get mad at something petty or about to get into a fight. It was a defense mechanism, one only a 10-year-old Fethry, with all the love and admiration and whole bleeding affection for his only family, could come up with, and it worked.

Don couldn���t rightly hurt himself, if he was already holding onto and protecting something else.

“Accidents don’t just happen to you. You don’t just get hurt.”

Something about his words brought something mean and biting clawing to the front of Gladstone’s heart, and he frowned as he took a step forward towards his cousin. That spitfire fight that Donald always seemed to bring out in him coming back to life. “Oh please, Don. I’m lucky, not invincible. I get hurt all the time! Just last week I got hit in the head by that apple!”

Donald rolled his eyes hard enough to hurt something. “Yeah, exactly! Because I threw it at you! It wasn’t an accident!”

“Yeah? And? What’s your point? I still got hurt!” Gladstone argued, squeezing Donald’s backpack tighter, like it was the only lifeline he had at the moment. Because really, what was his cousin’s point? What was the point to any of this? “Honestly, I don’t get why you’re so mad right now. It’s not a big deal, I’m fine, ok? It’s just a black eye-”

“STOP TRYING TO PUSH ME AWAY, YOU PRICK!”

Gladstone will never know why the hallways were so empty and quiet that sunny afternoon, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s grateful that no one was around to see the expression his cousin was making.

Painful. That’s really the only way Gladstone could describe it. Like something was breaking and tearing Donald from the inside out, and he was staring at Gladstone with a burning fury because love looked like that sometimes.

And Gladstone’s hit with a sudden wave of nausea, because for all the sneaking around and hiding the bruises and scars was supposed to keep his family away and protect them, it just ended up hurting them in a way he never meant it to.

“You’re not fi- don’t pretend to be-,” Donald chokes, and he isn’t crying, but his eyes are shiny and he rubs at them aggressively with the back of his palm anyway and takes a shaky breath. “Your luck only protects you from things it has control over. Supernatural or otherwise, be it weather, or traffic or even sports, your luck has always pulled through, with you being on top.”

And then those tight fists are on Gladstone’s shoulders, rubbing a fond hand against the back of Glad’s neck, and Gladstone doesn’t care to wonder if it’s to steady himself or the shaking coursing through Gladstone’s body. “But I’ve been around you long enough to know that your luck doesn’t control people, Glad. And it can’t protect you against their emotions, good or bad. So when you get hurt, it’s only because people hurt you.”

“And don’t you dare,” Donald says, tracking a finger softly over the bruised skin under Gladstone’s eye and glaring at him with a raw passion that hurts, and Gladstone ignores the stinging cornering at the edges of his eyes. “Try to tell me that that isn’t a big fucking deal. That you aren’t worth getting mad about.”

Later on that night, he’ll definitely be glad that there wasn’t anyone in that hallway to see the tears pour out of his swollen eyes when Donald pulls him into a rough, awkward hug. But at that moment, he can’t think to do anything other than drop Donalds backpack and hug his cousin just as tightly and with every last inch of his trembling strength.

After a few moments, they pull away, and both are rubbing their eyes without mercy, so when they both look up at each other with red, puffy eyes, they do little more than try to stifle tired laughter that echoes through the hallways. And Gladstone thinks it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

“God, what were you even thinking,” Donald sighs, rubbing a rueful hand through his hair in spent exasperation.

“I was thinking I don’t need my older cousins coming to bail me out every time I get into a stupid scrap just because he feels obligated to,” Gladstone quips back without shame as he bends down to retrieve Donald’s backpack so that he doesn’t have to look at his cousin. “I’m not your problem, ya know.”

“The hell you aren’t,” Donald shot back without cruelty, and staring at him with those deep blue eyes that Gladstone could just drown in. “And, Jesus Glad, you’re not an obligation either. You’re family. You’re all I got.”

And with pure ernesty in his voice, he takes the backpack from Gladstone’s hands when he says, “You and Della and Fethry, you’re all my problems. Della probably being the biggest pain in my ass, but for better or for worse, you’re stuck with me. And I know I can be overbearing and protective but it’s just cause… cause I care. And worry. And you guys are idiots so you stress me out constantly. But, until the day you die, you guys are my one and only problems. Period. And I wouldn’t have it any other way for even a second. Got it?”

And he said it with so much honest confidence and truth, not giving Gladstone even a square inch of wiggle space to argue with him, that Gladstone had no choice but to believe him. So he didn’t argue, and just gave a soft nod and a smile that erased whole years of worry off of Donald’s face when he said, “Got it.”

Donald smiled back as he threw his backpack over his shoulder, but there was still a tense sort of air about him that Gladstone couldn’t very well erase no matter how much he wanted too.

“You’re not still thinking of fighting them, are you?” Gladstone asked, and Donald looked up at the bruise on his face like the answer to the meaning of life was tattoed right there and Don was doing everything in his power to decipher it.

Just watching Donald’s hands start to clench up again made Gladstone’s stomach do Olympic worthy backflips in worry, so he didn’t hesitate to leap forward and put an easy hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “Look, I promise you, it’s really not as bad as it looks ok? Doesn’t even hurt. Bit of ice and some aspirin and I’ll be right as rain by tomorrow. Plus, I don’t even think the dudes are here anymore, and Del and Feth are probably wondering where we are by now. So please, for now, can we just go home?”

Donald has a soft spot for Fethry roughly the size of Jupiter, that kid could convince Don to commit arson with him and all he had to do was give him a flash of those honey colored puppy dogs and Don was a hook-line-and-sinker in seconds.

Gladstone knew that was just par for the course when you’re the baby brat of the family. But never in all his 13 years did he wish he could hone in his younger cousins powers more than he could at that moment as he stared at his cousin with wide, pleading eyes and just please, please Donnie. Let’s just go home.

And for a second, Gladstone didn’t think it would work, but after waffling in his own thoughts for what felt like a handful of minutes, Donald sighed reluctantly. He ran a hair through his fluffy hair, making it look messy and haphazard, and gave Gladstone and equally haphazard, incredulous look. “Fine, on two conditions.”

Gladstone hated conditions, but if it meant avoiding another fist fight, then he could work with the circumstances. “Shoot, coyboy,” he answered.

“First, you tell me about how you got this black eye. I wanna know everything that happened,” Donald listed, which in retrospect, seemed fair and easy to do. So when Gladstone nodded his understanding, Donald continued with, “And two, you stop keeping things kinda things from me. I don’t care if you get into fights, but I at least want to know about them when you do. I’m tired of you trying to sneak around me like I don’t notice you coming home with bruises and limps.”

And that, that kind of sent Gladstone’s whole world on a dizzying spin, and he was thankful that Donald ignored the way his hand instinctually tightened its grip on his arm. Because he didn’t know that Don knew. He thought he had kept it hidden so well. And if Don knew, did Della or Gus or Gran. Did Fethry know?

In his mind, there never seemed like a good time to bring up the fact that older kids just loved making him their number one punching dummy. It didn’t help that he was lucky, so he was a natural target for envy and hatred and snide comment and looks thrown his way.

It also didn’t help that he was a bit (or a lot) of a smart mouth and that usually ended up getting him in more trouble than he was worth. And sure, Donald and Della were popular, and it wasn’t a secret that they were cousins, so Gladstone was sure if he made a little noise about his situation, the bullies wouldn’t even stand a chance against them, and Gladstone would probably never be bothered again.

But Gladstone didn’t want to be saved by his cousins. The same way he would be saved by his luck. This was his problem. He was his own problem, and dammit if he couldn’t even handle this by himself.

So when the bruises started piling up, Gladstone just made every excuse in the book he could come up with to avoid attention from his cousins. Because the last thing he needed was for them to come save him. The last thing he need was for him to just be a nuisance, and bother, and worry, and not be able to do anything by himself.

But boy, even he couldn’t do that right, because Don had seen right through him like he always did and something close to white-tipped fear clenched around his heart when he yelped, “Ok, fine, but we can’t tell Gran of Della, Ok? Please. I’ll talk to you, but I don’t want to worry them about this. Not yet, not until I… Until I figure this out. Please, Don?”

Something soft and feather-light eased at the corners of Don’s eyes, and he rubbed a callous but endearing hand roughly through Gladstone’s hair before slinging an arm around him and leading him towards the school exit.

“You’re a selfish brat, you know that?” He says, and he isn’t meeting Gladstone’s eyes, but he’s smiling with a fond, crooked grin that’s full of all the warmth of the sun when he adds, “as long as we figure it out together, that’s fine with me.”

And Gladstone can’t help but laugh when he snakes an arm comfortably around Don’s side like it’s second nature as he soaks in this rare, tender moment he finds himself in.

That he’s actually in agreement with his older cousin.

Course, he’d never tell Donald that. And he hopes his cousin won’t mind that that’s one of the only things he’ll keep to himself from now on.

#tcs #tcs prompt #tcs fic #donald duck #Gladstone Gander #ouuuuuuuhhhhhh look at me i finally fishish a prompt WHOO HOO #HECK YEAH #RIGHT IN TIME TOO CAUSE LOOK I HAVE WORK FOR THE NEXT MILLION YEARS NOW AND WON'T BE ONLINE FOR AWHILE #SO sorry for the next 3 days this blog will be dead cause I'm gonnabe dead from work #but then I'll have a break and then!!! ABNER FIC!!! #Fuck yeah #love me some good angst #like a week later #donald catches these assholes being assholes to gladstone in the cafeteria #except fethry is with gladstone and gladstone is trying to hurry fethry along so they can leave cause he knows whats coming #but feth doesn't understand why these guys are being so mean to glad when glads like the best person in the world????? #so he's just like hey guys can you maybe no be mean to my dude here and maybe say sorry??? #but all these jerks see is some 5 grader talking to them and so they kinda push him aside #kinda bop him on the shoulder and fethry hits the floor #and then dons on his feet and he sees red and it's all over for those bitches