DuckTales One-Shots!

Baby ducks

Donald held the 2-week-old sleeping triplets in his arms. He still couldn't get over the fact that they were technically his now, as Della was probably never going to come back.

Not only that, but...the boys were extremely small. He had never seen anything so tiny and alive.

Louie, the smallest one, made whimpering sounds in his sleep. The poor infant was probably dreaming of something that was frightening him.

Dewey kicked his brothers as he slept. The kid never seemed to stop moving or twitching.

And Huey was calm and quiet. Not a peep out of him.

Donald gently put the boys into their crib and left the room. Not a minute after he left, he heard one of the boys wailing. He went back into the room and looked into the crib.

Louie had woken up and noticed he was no longer being held. Donald picked him back up, and the little duckling looked up at him with watery blue eyes.

"It's okay, no one's hurting you, Lou," Donald said in a soft voice.

Louie still whimpered, but he didn't cry when Donald put him back in the crib. Donald left the room once more and came back with a bottle for Louie.

"You're fine, see?" Donald said, as he was feeding him. "You'll be okay."

Louie yawned and curled up into a ball when he finished his bottle. Donald put him back in the crib to see that Dewey was awake and babbling.

"Go to sleep, Dewey," he said.

Dewey continued babbling, and he began kicking the air again. He accidentally kicked Louie in the face, which woke him up again and caused him to cry.

"Dewford Duck, you little..." Donald grumbled, picking up Louie again.

Dewey started crying, too; he hadn't heard Donald raising his voice before. Huey was startled awake and was crying his soft, quiet wail.

Donald picked up them up, and rocked them back to sleep. When they were finally asleep, he put them back in the crib and headed to his own room. He caught sight of himself in his mirror.

He looked very tired. Dark circles had appeared around his eyes in the weeks the boys had been out in the world. He hadn't run a comb through his hair, either, and it seemed like years since he'd done so. And, though maybe this was his imagination, he looked a little thin.

Those kids'll be the death of me, he thought. I shouldn't be doing all this baby work by myself.

A photo of Della before her disappearance caught his eye. He took it off of his desktop and threw it across the room. It was her fault he was stuck taking care of her kids.

What he wouldn't give to have her back...