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He watched it happen like it was slow motion - Dewey running, jumping, falling. He’d slipped on the landing, obviously twisting his ankle and hitting his head hard on a rock as he went down.
Donald ran toward Dewey, mentally kicking himself for not keeping a closer eye on his most reckless kid. Della was next to him, keeping pace.
Dewey wasn’t moving.
The twins fell to their knees next to him. Della slid a little, her momentum carrying her a little further than Donald’s. Up close, they could see the blood trickling from a small wound on his forehead, staining his white feathers red.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god,” Della mumbled. “What do we do ?”
“Is he okay?” Webby’s voice called from somewhere behind them.
Donald, without looking at his sister, said, “Well, first of all, we stay calm.” He turned his head toward Webby, blocking her view of Dewey’s face. “He’ll be fine, Webs. Why don’t you go back to the Sunch- the plane?”
“He’s hurt, isn’t he?” Webby called back. “You’re lying! He’s hurt and you’re -”
Launchpad had, after a significant look from Donald, picked Webby up and started carrying her back toward the plane. She stopped talking to focus on struggling against him.
“Dew?” Donald said, gently checking Dewey over for other injuries. “Dewey, can you hear me?”
Dewey groaned. It wasn’t a particularly happy or comfortable sound, but at least he was moderately conscious. “M’ fine , dad.”
That drew a choked sound from Della. Donald couldn’t blame her.
“Dewey, buddy, come back to me,” Donald said. Dewey opened one eye a sliver, his gaze moving from Donald to Della and back.
“Ow.”
“Yeah, kiddo, that was a hell of a fall,” Della said, a slightly hysterical laugh at the edge of her tone. “I bet it smarts.”
“Did it look cool?” Dewey asked. Donald let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding - if Dewey was concerned about looking cool the fall couldn’t have been as bad as it looked. Even Dewey wouldn’t try to save face in front of Donald, not over something like this.
“Oh, yeah,” Donald replied, smiling reflexively with relief. “The coolest.”
“Donald -” Della was frowning at him, her eyes narrowed.
“He’s okay, Della,” said Donald. He pulls Dewey toward him, carefully lifting him up to carry him back to the plane where they could patch him up properly. “Let’s put you back together, eh, Dewey?”
“Yeah, Uncle Donald,” said Dewey. “Sounds like a plan.”
--
The biggest joke in the triplets’ lives was that, in between adventuring and alien invasions and moms coming back from the dead and uncles going mysteriously missing for weeks, they still went to school every day.
Mrs Beakley had been homeschooling Webby her whole life, and had offered to extend the same education to the boys, but Donald had turned her down. They needed a little bit of normalcy, a little bit of real life tucked in between the crazy. (He’d almost convinced her to enroll Webby, too, but they’d decided that she needed a little more time to get used to interacting with people her own age first.)
Donald only regretted that choice a little bit, because school was also the one thing that came the hardest to his kids.
“Lou, I got another email from your teacher,” he said, settling in across the dining room table (shortways) from Louie.
“I didn’t do it,” Louie replied without looking up from his phone.
“Yeah, bud, that’s the problem,” said Donald. He frowned. “Louie, put your phone down. Talk to me . Why didn’t you do your math packet?”
“It was too hard.”
“Yeah, that’s crap.” Louie’s eyes snapped up to meet Donald’s. Donald had always been careful to watch his mouth around the boys, so the (slight) profanity caught his attention. “I saw you helping Dewey with it, you knew exactly what you were talking about. Math is usually your best subject, bud. What happened?”
Louie groaned. “I just got distracted, other stuff seemed more fun than some stupid math worksheet.”
“That’s not an acceptable reason for not doing your homework.”
“But I know it all already, Dad!” Louie said, his voice rising from his usual unconcerned tone to something almost resembling a shout. “It’s easy and I know it, so why should I waste my time doing it a thousand more times?”
Donald got up and walked around the table to sit next to Louie. “Because that’s the rules, Lou.”
“It’s so boring,” Louie said. He leaned toward Donald, his phone forgotten on the table. “I’m not like Dewey, it doesn’t help me learn it any better.” He sighed. “And I can’t power though it like Huey does. I just hit this wall once I understand, and then I can’t focus anymore.”
Donald put a hand to Louie’s cheek, sweeping his thumb over its soft feathers. “I’ll help you, then. You can’t just not finish, okay? We’ll figure it out.”
“Thanks, Uncle Donald,” Louie replied, leaning into Donald’s touch. “Thanks.”
--
Huey was determined to learn how to cook. He’d already earned his campout cooking badge, and was now gunning for the regular cooking badge. He’d taken to following Mrs Beakley around while she made meals, asking why and how she did the things she did. One afternoon, he caught Donald by the sleeve.
“Hey, the last requirement for the cooking badge is to cook a family meal with a parent,” he said, a hopeful look on his face. “Do you have time tonight? Or should we do it another day?”
“Yeah,” Donald replied. He swallowed back the urge to cry. “Yeah, Hue, I’ve got time tonight.”
They decided to cook in the houseboat, rather than the mansion’s kitchen. The meal Huey had picked out was simple - pasta with homemade sauce and garlic bread - and left them plenty of time to chat about whatever crossed their minds. They were deep in a conversation about the differences between the Junior Woodchucks of Donald and Della’s days and Huey’s current experience when Huey suddenly went very quiet.
“Something wrong, Huey?” Donald asked, absentmindedly stirring the pasta sauce.
“I just - I’ve missed just hanging out in the houseboat,” said Huey. He frowned at the oven. “Don’t get me wrong, dad, I really love our lives now. But sometimes it’s a lot and I kind of just want to come home.”
“You can always come home, bud,” replied Donald. He was fighting the urge to cry again. “Houseboat’s always open.”
Huey threw his arms around Donald’s waist in a quick hug. “I know. I’ll try to remember.”
Donald kissed the top of Huey’s head. “Good.”
The timer for the pasta dinged, breaking the moment. “Woo! Let’s get this meal finished, Uncle Donald!”
“Sauce is ready to go,” Donald said, laughing. “Let’s do this.”
--
Donald tried not to let Della’s parenting bother him. He tried really, really hard not to let Della’s parenting bother him.
She was trying so hard, after all. And she’d been away for so much of their lives.
Still -
Still, Donald found himself looking out the window despite himself, watching Della give questionable advice about skateboards and trying not to feel sick to his stomach over how the boys clung to her every word. All three of them.
Dewey, who wanted so badly to be like her, who was so much like her that it broke Donald’s heart.
Huey, who was more wary but still taken in by her stories of adventure, who wanted to know everything and anything she could tell him about her years in space.
Even Louie, who was so much less inclined to run into danger, who still came to Donald with bad dreams late at night.
They’d asked where their mother was for the first time when they were three years old, when they were first able to understand what a mother was and that they didn’t have one. Of course they’d latch onto Della’s return with everything they had. Donald had never pretended to be anything but their uncle, a parent but only because Della and her fella hadn’t worked out, because Della had gotten caught up in her own dreams and gone too far.
Della finally getting a chance to be their mom should have been everything he’d ever wanted for them. Still, though, it hurt.
Donald tore his gaze away from the window, unable to watch any longer. He retreated to his old bedroom - a funny leftover piece of the life he’d had before things had fallen to pieces and he’d ended up the father of triplets, rather than a place where he usually spent any time now. But the houseboat was outside, and his sister and the kids were also outside, between the mansion and the boat, so to his childhood room he went.
As soon as he got there, he fell apart. He’d been holding it all back as long as he could stand it, trying not to let Della know how much it hurt to step back and let her parent, trying not to let the boys know he felt like he was losing them. Tears streamed down his face, rolling over his beak and dripping into his lap.
“Hey, Donald, are you in here?” Webby’s voice called as she pulled the door open. “I thought I heard you come up and Granny said -” She froze when she saw him, one hand still on the handle. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” said Donald, wiping tears away with his forearm, “yeah, Webs, I’m fine.”
“C’mon, Bonus Dad,” Webby said, crawling up onto the bed next to him. “You don’t have to lie to me.”
That just set Donald off all over again. He’d nicknamed her his Bonus Kid right after they’d moved in, when she’d been doubting her place in their lives, and they used it on and off all the time, but Donald always started it. Webby had never brought it up first.
“Oh, no.” Webby reached for Donald’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “I’m sorry, should I not have -”
“No, Bonus Kid, it’s okay,” Donald replied, squeezing back. “You’ve never said it first.”
“You’ve never needed me to,” said Webby. “What’s wrong?”
Donald took a deep breath, staring at the wall that bumped up against his sister’s old room. Now that he wasn’t alone, it was a lot easier to block out his nerves over his sister’s return and just enjoy spending a moment with one of his kids. “Nothing anymore. Not now you’re here.”
“Are you sure?” Webby pushed. “You seemed pretty upset. I can go get Uncle Scrooge or Dell-”
“No,” interrupted Donald. He took another slow breath. “No, it’s okay. You kids aren’t going to forget about me now Della’s home, right?”
“No way!” said Webby. She bounced up onto her feet, because that’s what she does . “How could we? You’re Donald Duck! Daring adventurer! Amazingly hard worker! Dedicated dad! You’re, like, the best.”
Donald laughed despite himself. “If you say so, Webby.”
“Well, I do. So there.”