"You're not our mom!"
The words echoed in Donald's head hours after they'd been shouted in anger. The argument had been over whether or not the kids could go with Scrooge on his latest adventure. Donald had said no because the last adventure hadn't gone so well, they were still exhausted from it, and they'd been giving him a lot of attitude recently, all of which were most likely connected. But the kids had protested, and then Scrooge had to go and take their side, and the argument was as good as lost, though Donald wasn't about to admit that (rule #1 of parenting: never give in to arguments about a punishment).
And then that gem had spilled out of Dewey's mouth.
And Donald had just gone numb. No, numb wasn't the right word-there was a hollow place in his chest where his feelings used to be. No anger, no happiness, no love, no nothing. As a parent, Donald had gone through a lot of trying times, but this? This was the final straw.
He'd turned on his heels and walked out of the mansion and into the houseboat, probably slamming the doors a little too hard behind him. Donald had to give the boys credit-he'd never seen anybody with white feathers go so pale. But it didn't make Dewey's words sting any less.
Donald knew that he wasn't their mother (or father, for that matter). He was reminded of that fact every time they addressed him as "Uncle Donald" (not that he wanted them to call him Dad). He wished he could give them their parents; he really did. He'd lost count of how many nights he'd spent laying in bed, mourning the loss of that maternal figure in their lives.
But that didn't mean he didn't try. God, how he tried. Donald Duck, who hadn't been able to hold down a job for more than three months before or after the Navy, who'd spent most of his adult years traipsing the globe with his uncle and sister hunting for treasure and fighting off unscrupulous villains, who hadn't yet gotten around to learning how to be an adult, had suddenly had to fill the roles of both mother and father to three baby boys, and he threw himself into the task like he'd never had before. His bookcase was still full of parenting books and very little else, he hadn't talked to any of his old friends in years...he'd missed out on a lifetime caring for those boys, and he'd do it again in an instant.
But now…
The boys did seem to like Scrooge better, these days. And he could provide for them in ways that Donald never could. Living with Scrooge, his nephews would never know hunger, or cold, or the feeling of having to wear too-tight clothes. They would get a first-class education accompanying him on all of his adventures and watching him run his businesses, and he'd surely be able to afford to send them to college, regardless of any earned scholarships.
There was nothing holding Donald here. There was no reason he couldn't sign the kids over to Scrooge and take off to explore the world in his houseboat, like he'd always planned.
...Except, back when that had been the plan, it had been with Della and Scrooge at his side.
Donald put his head in his hands, the hot chocolate he had made earlier with shaking hands sitting cold and forgotten on the table before him. The boys were now running around who knows where with Scrooge, getting into who knows what trouble, probably wishing they'd grown up with him rather than their mother's brother.
There was a quiet knock at the door. Donald ignored it, figuring that it was just the wind, or his imagination, but then he heard it again.
Donald slowly pulled his head of out his hands and dragged himself to the door.
And there was Dewey, looking at him with those big, tear-filled eyes that always made Donald want to destroy whoever had done that to him.
"Uncle Donald?" he said, his voice tiny.
Donald opened his arms, and Dewey rushed into them.
"I'm sorry, Unca Donald," Dewey said between hiccuping sobs. "I didn't mean it."
"I know," Donald soothed, holding his nephew tighter. And he did know. Dewey was just a kid, and it's not like what he said wasn't true. It was only natural for a boy his age to think about how his mother was gone, and how his only parental figure was his uncle, and how those two roles were usually not equal.
Dewey sniffled. "We didn't go with Uncle Scrooge," he said. "And we promise to try to be better."
"Thank you," Donald said, giving his nephew another squeeze before pulling away. "Where are your brothers?"
Dewey reluctantly let go and went to the door, motioning to his brothers to come inside.
"We're really sorry, Uncle Donald," Huey said.
"Yeah, Dewey didn't mean it," Louie added.
"I know," Donald said, pulling all three of his nephews into a hug.
Donald could feel that hollow place in his chest begin to fill back up with love and forgiveness. They would get through this, like they'd gotten through everything else life had thrown at them over the last ten years. And they would come out all the stronger for it.
Author's Note: I'd like to say a huge thanks to everyone who's read Ducktober, whether you read every chapter or just picked out the ones that sounded most interesting to you. I'd also like to give a special thanks to everyone who's left kudos, and an extra special thank you to everyone who's taken the time to leave a review. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go catch up on my sleep.