#anyway baby Huey stole my heart in this

[astrodances]

First Night (Should’ve)

Huey is right - Donald is rich in love.

Look at that though, three stories in and I'm already writing mini-arcs for my one-shot collection. That's a new personal record. XD There's one more chapter to come for this arc. Want a tiny hint about it? I've already posted the chapter name in the table of contents. ;)

Even though these chapters all stand on their own, I kinda picture this chapter as what Donald's thinking about when he's standing by the pool before Scrooge comes to talk to him in the last chapter. So many first nights. Next chapter will have a...similar theme.

See ya then!

Donald should’ve been happy, he really should have.

Sure, he’d been fired just under a week ago for blowing up company property (so he left the engine running on the tugboat—he was new on the job!), and he’d spent the past week bouncing between motels and José and Panchito’s couch while barely having enough to buy food, and his sister had been lost to the cosmic grasp of the stars right before all that.

But his yet-to-be-born nephews were safe, and he’d fixed up the tugboat enough to deem it habitable for the four of them as he continued to work on it. (The fact that his ex-employer had let him keep it, wreck or no wreck, still astounded him.)

It was the most triumphant Donald had been in a while.

But it fell on an empty soul.

Instead of celebrating their first night in their new home, Donald sat dejected at the edge of the booth in the dining area, his sailor cap within elbow’s reach on the table next to him. The moon peered through the window over his shoulder at the carriage in front of him, lighting up the three eggs that were never meant to be his, not like this. Outside, each knock of the waves against the hull hushed his thoughts to no avail.

He should’ve been happy. The boys would have a house to grow up in now.

But it should’ve been a home.

Loneliness had certainly made a home in Donald’s heart, and it seemed his old friend had moved onto the houseboat with them. He hunched forward towards the carriage, pushing it back and forth in time with the waves and the silence as his mind struggled to stay awake. Stay in the light.

Houseboat or not, Donald knew this was all wrong.

He should’ve been in the mansion right now, with Della and Unc- Scrooge flanking him as they all gaped at the three little bundles of joy that would be greeting them any day now.

He should’ve been getting ready to be a true uncle, not a de facto father figure.

He should’ve been supporting his sister as she got ready to begin the greatest adventure of her life.

He should’ve...he should’ve...

An ugly sob tore its way from Donald’s beak as he fell towards the carriage, his forehead resting against his arms on its edge. With sparse furnishings, the houseboat reverberated with his cries.

Should’ve was for a perfect world, and if there was anything he’d learned in life, it was that perfect wasn’t meant for him.

Perhaps this was what he was meant for—missing his sister and uncle in a foreign boat while planning how to go about raising three orphans for the next eighteen years.

No family, just misfortune.

He wasn’t cut out for this. Donald loved his nephews, and perhaps this was his purpose now, but he was going to fail. He had no clue what he was doing. He was going to fail the boys, and Scrooge, and Della, and–

Bap!

Something tapped Donald’s head, making him pop up in alert mode. Sniffling back his tears, he jerked his neck back and forth before his eyes finally landed on the intruder to his lonely night—a tiny duckling staring wide-eyed up at him, a piece of eggshell capping his noggin.

Holy duck, they’re hatching!

The thought halted all of Donald’s senses as the little one in front of him waved a yellow wing further and further forward until it made contact with Donald’s arm on the carriage. He watched the wing with fascination. This was real. They were here.

Well, one of them was.

Shaking out of the void of his mind, Donald looked to the other two eggs. A tiny fist had punched through the side of the middle one, but the far one remained undisturbed.

As he kept an eye on them (the middle one was really tearing through his shell), his attention shifted back to the hatched triplet. He carefully lifted the remnant of shell from his head and dared to brush his fingers across the tuft of feathers sticking up. They were fuzzy and soft, and if love had texture, this would be it.

Donald’s heart melted as the duckling reached for his wrist, and he lowered his hand slowly. The most the newborn could do was pat his wrist, but doing so made him giggle. Donald was ready to leave his hand there all night just to hear that sound.

As the firstborn continued to play with his limb, he used his other hand to pick bits of egg away from the second duckling, who had finally broken out of his shell and was looking every which way he could at the world around him.

Donald envied him; everything held equal fascination and potential to his new eyes. No hurt or fear, just a fresh curiosity for the start of his own adventure.

Just like Della.

The sudden reminder that this was supposed to be Della’s moment, that these were Della’s kids, brought a fresh wave of tears to Donald’s eyes, and his hand faltered. He wanted to be happy for the boys—he was happy—but he’d never missed her more than he did right then.

He stroked the feathers on the middle duckling’s head, unsure if he was trying to reassure him or himself.

Tonight it began.

Once the third triplet hatched, the adventure of a lifetime would begin for all four of them.

It left Donald in a strange limbo, being aware of this milestone. It reminded him of counting down to the turn of the century, those last ten seconds before the 1900s were gone altogether and the 2000s began, whether he was ready for them or not. A reminder to savor these moments, because his life was about to permanently change.

He decided to focus on keeping the first two ducklings entertained since the third was taking his sweet, steady time, and wondering about what this night should’ve been like was wearing down his nerves.

By the time the third duckling opened his sleepy eyes to the world over forty minutes later, the moon had wandered out of view from the window. Donald had fetched three baby blankets from a box, and now that all three boys were here, he set to work on swaddling each one with a nimble touch. With each blanket, the boys got their names: Huey, Dewey, and Louie. Just like Della had always planned.

Being wrapped up seemed to calm the ducklings' energy, so Donald sat back down and, with some juggling, came to hold all three of them in his arms, taking care to support their tiny frames. They looked so cute when tired, so much so that he couldn't resist nuzzling them closer and thinking, if just for a split second, Wow, I'm the luckiest duck in the world.

Because maybe his sister was lost in space. Maybe he didn't have his uncle's mansion to call home anymore, or Scrooge to have by his side through this new chapter in their lives, or even just a steady job to put bread on the table. Maybe the future, for all intents and purposes, was bleak.

But despite all the heartbreak, Donald still had love. The three tiny miracles in front of him were proof of that.

And that was all he needed to keep going.