AUTHOR'S NOTE: LadyAriaa and others seem to enjoy the domestic, Drake-struggles-with-civilianness moments of DWD along with me, so I decided to bump this up to next in line. I originally wrote this for the Darkwing Duck/Duck Avenger crossover fic I have planned, but I needed to rework that entire thing so this was moved here so it wouldn't be wasted. Shoutout to sponsors of the Single Dad's Club, they'll be getting their own drabble soon, so stay tuned! Hope y'all enjoy the longest drabble thus far!


At first glance, the house that stood at 537 Avian Way was as plain and nondescript as any other on the street. It had a station wagon in a driveway, it had a flower garden under the front window, and it had a beautiful interior that would make any family want to move in immediately.

That is, once Drake Mallard, Mr. Clean-and-Tidy, had his way with it.

He was hosting the monthly Single Dad's Club meeting today, and heaven forbid his guests were to walk into a disheveled mess of a house. That's why since the crack of dawn… well, actually since his 10:00 arousal, he, Gosalyn, and Launchpad had been working nonstop preparing the house for their noon arrival. And there was so much to do. Dishes to clean, tables to wipe down, furniture to dust, food to prepare.

Certain children's bedrooms to declutter.

That had been the hardest part. If gallivanting around the city every night as Darkwing Duck was hard work, convincing Gosalyn to clean her room was impossible work. You might as well tell a fish to get out of the water and walk. It won't because it can't. But Drake wouldn't give up. He was her father, and darn it, she would get her room clean, or the ground-ening would be more than nigh.

Launchpad heard the back and forth arguing from the living room, and grimaced at its ugliness. He slinked off to the kitchen, hoping to find solace from their fight in the potato salad he was making. It was Herb Muddlefoot's famous recipe, but he wouldn't dare tell Drake that. Drake couldn't stand the Muddlefoots, the thorns in his side from the house next door.

A door swung open forcefully upstairs, and the loud noise caused Launchpad's grip on the salt to slip. He tried to wrestle the container back under control as it bounced around his swiping hands, but it plopped, open end first, into the bowl of potato salad. Launchpad quickly grabbed the salt container and yanked it out, salt cascading all over the counter as he righted the container swift as a cat. He wouldn't deny it was a textbook-quality crash, but it could have happened anywhere other than the masterpiece he'd been slaving over.

The kitchen doors were kicked open practically off their hinges, and Drake stomped in, grumbling incoherently. Launchpad may not have been the straightest-flying plane in the hangar, but he could read people remarkably well, and it was obvious to him how stressed and frustrated Drake was. The feathers on his head were disheveled. Sweat shone through his shirt in all the right (or in this case wrong) places. His right eye was slightly bloodshot. At least Launchpad thought it was. It was twitching too much for him to get a clear view.

And the weirdest part? This was the third time he hosted a meeting of the Single Dad's Club. Even with the experience of hosting their hangouts twice before, it still put him on edge like nothing else he ever faced as St. Canard's flapping terror.

Launchpad could understand. Drake felt a lot of pressure being a host, something that was still a new experience in his previously solitary life. All Drake wanted was to have his guests walk into a clean house, a welcoming space, to give them some assurance that he had everything under control. Because that's what Drake liked. A hero was always in control. But right now, Drake looked like no hero, so Launchpad took it upon himself to help his buddy regain his control.

As he sheepishly scraped the molehill of salt off his potato salad, being careful not to draw Drake's attention to it, he broke the ice. "Uhhh, how's it going in Gos's room, DW?"

Drake plopped himself at the dining table and let out a scowl that was caked in his frustration. "I don't get it, Launchpad. I don't get what's so difficult about keeping her room tidy! I never had that trouble when I was a kid!"

Launchpad disposed of the salt mound down the sink and started to stir in the salt that remained. "Well, it's her own environment, DW. She's gotta have a reason for keeping her room like that."

"Yeah, like killing my last nerves," Drake spat back, and slumped over the table.

"You never know, maybe she'll surprise you," Launchpad assured his friend. Drake suddenly began to laugh manically, all his stress being channeled into the giggles he now found himself unable to stop. Anyone else might've been offended, but Launchpad took this in stride. He knew his friend didn't mean any real harm.

As his giggles slowed, Drake managed to choke out, "Are we talking about the same daughter of mine?"

Launchpad walked over to Drake and patted him on his shoulder. "You're doing a good job, DW. They're gonna have a great time." Launchpad's kind encouragement brought a smile to Drake's beak, and he managed to take a deep breath in and out.

"Thanks, LP," Drake mumbled.

"You just gotta refocus yourself, DW. After all, what's a little housecleaning compared to the awesome threats you come up against?"

Drake's face lit up a bit. "You're right. I can do this!" He hopped up onto his chair with newfound confidence. "I face down venomous villains every day! This party of pals is a mere pittance!" Straightening his clothes, he bounced out of the kitchen with much more pep than he entered with. Launchpad smiled, pride surging through him for helping his best friend.

His eyes turned back to the potato salad, and he marched over to it and stuck his finger in the cold mass, ready to taste it for seasoning. As his finger entered his mouth, the saltiness erupted from the smooth mixture, and Launchpad was suddenly sputtering furiously, trying to remove that horrible travesty from his mouth. The salt disappeared from his taste buds, and Launchpad blushed as he realized that his blunder earlier had rendered the potato salad a total wash.

A solution formed in his mind after a pause, and he jogged to the telephone by the kitchen window to put it into action. He would fix this right up and no one would be the wiser.

"Binkie, it's Launchpad. Could you spare some potato salad?"


Drake and Gosalyn talked things out calmly, and with some compromises, the two were able to transform her room into a space much more habitable than before. With that chore out of the way, the Mallard residence was ready to host the Single Dad's Club. Drake sat in the living room looking much more put together now, having showered and changed his shirt. He was excited to see his compatriots again, and he hummed to himself to enhance his happy mood.

The doorbell rang, alerting everyone to the arrival of their guests. As Drake opened the door, all his previous anxieties melted away when he laid eyes on his guests. Donald Duck and Goofy stood in the porch, spirits high, Donald with his identical triplet nephews, Huey, Dewey, and Louie, and Goofy, with his spirited son, Max.

"Howdy-doo, Drake-aroo. Ahyuck!" Goofy greeted.

"How ya doin'?" Donald waved at Drake.

"Just peachy," Drake responded, and he ushered the group inside. The kids instantly ran upstairs to their host for the day, Gosalyn, while the adults were led into the kitchen where food was waiting.