Work Text:
Della is alive.
She’s alive and she’s back. Donald doesn’t bother to fight off the tears when they get her down from the moon of all places. Her hair is long, and her clothes are torn, and he doesn’t care. It’s a miracle she’s alive.
He pulls her close despite the smell, she hasn’t bathed in years, but he’ll be damned if that stops him from embracing his twin for the first time in a decade. Her voice hasn’t changed, and it’s been so long since he last heard it that he almost forgot what it sounded like. He cries harder when she says his name and hugs him back.
Scrooge is there and so are the boys. It’s a big, happy, and tearful reunion. They call the rest of the family and he’s never seen Grandma cry, but she does, and no one begrudges her for it because then they’d all be hypocrites.
Scrooge digs out Della’s old room. Mrs. Beakley has the dust cleared away within a few scant minutes and she’s here - she’s finally home.
…
Della is back for two days and Donald is thrilled, but he starts wondering. If Della is back, where does that leave him?
Scrooge doesn’t need Donald – he’s never needed Donald – he’s always preferred Della and the boys don’t need him now, either. Their mother is back, and they spend the days bouncing around her, curious and excited. They want to know everything about her.
He’s not sure what to make of that.
He’s spent his whole life looking after those boys. They were the sun his world spun around, his anchor in the storm of life, the fuel that kept him going, and now…now they don’t need him.
He feels adrift, unsure of what to do or where to go. Scrooge doesn’t need him and neither do the boys – not anymore. He’s so happy Della is here, that the boys can have their mother and Scrooge his favorite niece.
What use is there for Donald?
…
He leaves.
It’s the middle of the night and the air is warm. The mansion is silent and dark, not a single light to be seen through the many windows. He’s got a backpack full of his clothes and toiletries and he leaves through the front door, leaving behind everything else. Including his family.
…
He hops on a plane and goes to South America for a week.
He doesn’t ever get a call or a text asking where he is.
Panchito and José try to tell him his family still needs him.
He begs to differ.
…
He comes back, and he hears yelling.
He rushes towards it, recognizing the sound of his – her – boys in distress.
He barrels into the living room and sees Huey in the center holding an ancient gem. His brothers are around him, panicking and distressed. Uncle Scrooge and Della are trying to salvage the situation.
He ignores them in favor of the boys. He pushes them aside and kneels down in front of Huey. His hair is slicked back like Dewey’s and he’s wearing his brother’s clothes, but Donald knows unerringly that the duckling in front of him is Huey.
“Huey.” He says putting a hand on his shoulder, before turning his head both ways so he can see the other boys.
He moves his hand from Huey’s shoulder to Dewey’s, who looks like Louie, “Dewey.”
His free hand moves up to Louie’s shoulder, who is dressed like Huey, “Louie.”
He pulls them close, “What’s wrong?”
The artifact glows and he snatches it out of Huey’s hand, afraid it’s activating some kind of curse. But some balls of light leave the kids’ chests and zip around one another before finally reentering their bodies. Donald throws the artifact away without a second thought.
“What happened?! Are you okay?!” He hurriedly checks them all over for wounds, any sign of a curse or affliction.
“Donald!” Scrooge yells over him, “They’re fine.”
Donald turns and snarls at him, “Don’t tell me-”
“Uncle Donald?” He stops at the small voice, a parental wave of worried shock and fierce protectiveness rushing through him. He abandons Scrooge for the boys.
Louie tackles him, and his brothers follow suit. Donald ends up on the floor with all three on top of him. They cry into his chest and he soothes them with soft whispers and promises, “It’s okay, I’ve got you, I’ve got you boys.”
“The artifact switches people’s appearances and voices.” Webby explains quietly from her place next to Scrooge, “You have to call them by their real name to undo it.”
She looks shaken, “We couldn’t tell them apart.”
“We couldn’t break the magic.”
Donald’s eyebrows lifted in surprise and then stayed raised in worry when Webby started talking. Now, they sink down over his eyes and he turns slowly, with rage on his face, up towards his Uncle and twin.
“Are you telling me that you can’t tell them apart?”
Della looks lost. Scrooge doesn’t shy away from the anger, but he does falter under the disappointment, “Aye, Laddie. The boys are too similar. The curse wouldn’t let them tell us their names and we couldn’t guess either. There was no way of telling them apart -”
“Bullshit.” He hisses, “They’re not just three copies of the same duckling. Louie likes money and talking. Huey likes books and research. Dewey likes adventure and pulling dangerous stunts. I thought you would have learned that much by now.”
“Aye laddie, we know that, but they all panic the same way-”
“No, they don’t.” Donald cuts him off with a growl, pulling his boys closer as they start to calm down, “Huey fiddles with his shirt, Dewey starts moving around, and Louie hides in his sweater.”
A sad look overtakes Della’s eyes and Scrooge looks away in shame. Webby rubs her arm.
“You’re not in trouble Webby.” He says when he catches her. She looks surprised but then relaxes and he pulls her into the hug that’s still happening on the floor.
“How did you-?” Della starts to ask.
“I raised them.” He says plainly. For the first time in a week he feels himself anchored once again. He raised them, of course he can tell them apart. They may be triplets but he’s their Uncle Donald and he spent ten years raising them. They’re his boys – not Della’s.
His twin’s shoulders sink, she’s devastated.
There’s still time for her to learn about them, to become their mother, and to be a part of their lives, but right now she’s little more than a distant relative. She made a choice ten years ago and now she’s paying the price.
“Uncle Donald?” Dewey tugs on his sailor suit, “Don’t leave us again.”
“Where did you go?” Huey clings to him tighter.
“Stay here, please.” Louie begs, burrowing into his side.
“Please.” Webby echoes.
“I went to see some friends. I thought I told you to call if you needed me.” Donald says softly.
“We thought you left us, because you didn’t want us anymore.” Louie whines.
“No, baby, never.” Donald promises, “I love you boys so much, I could never not want you.”
The boys don’t leave him for the rest of the night, he lets them pile into his bed even though they’re too old to be sleeping with him anymore. They hold onto one another the entire night and Donald knows where he belongs now. Right where he’s always been. By his boys’ side.