ShinyMachoke
Hitmonchan Defense Squad
- Location
- USA
- Pronouns
- He/they
AO3
Fanfiction.net
Summary
Donald takes his nephews out to watch a meteor shower. He can't help but be reminded of his sister.
Takes place before the show (either by a year or months).
Themes
Angst, grieving, guilt, fluff, family, some comic relief
It was far too late to be out on a school night, but Uncle Donald promised the boys that they could stay home the next day. It was late enough in the school year that their homework load was trivial. Besides, tomorrow was Friday. Why not treat his nephews to a fun nighttime event followed by a three day weekend?
The triplets ambled up the steep hill, damp grass clinging to their webbed feet. The boys clustered together despite the ample space of the field, their uncle following only a few paces behind. Louie wondered aloud if they’d be attacked by chupacabras lying in wait in the surrounding woods. In response, Dewey swung his flashlight while shouting “Kiai!”, frantically spinning and kicking in place in an effort to defend his family from any would-be alien cryptid attackers- only nearly blinding (and almost whacking) his younger brother instead.
Huey, dutifully marching onward, slowed his stride just enough so that he wouldn’t trail ahead of his siblings. The eldest triplet requested his brothers to cut it out, that they were almost at their destination. He rolled his eyes at their antics good-naturedly, adjusting the straps of the lumpy canvas backpack strapped to his back. Donald offered to carry his nephew’s burden, but Huey only cited a Junior Woodchucks mantra about self sufficiency and knowing one’s limits.
Donald smiled proudly; he’d signed all three up for Junior Woodchucks, but only Huey eagerly took to it and remained. The red-clad boy craved structure and responsibility, and Donald was pleased to see the marked improvement over his nephew’s tendency to worry neurotically.
A behavior that stemmed from their less than stable living situation.
Donald quickly put that thought of his mind. He also suppressed his concern over the looming summer vacation adding another layer of difficulty to his perpetual job hunt. Extracurricular activities were no substitute for daycare. This was supposed to be a fun, special night, just he and the boys. Donald merely had to make sure his little family made it to their destination in one piece. A simple task.
“We’re here!” Huey announced once they made it to the top of the hill. He stomped his foot triumphantly to the ground, chest out, hands on his hips.
“About time,” Louie griped. He immediately fished out his Nintendo 3DS, covered in scratches and peeling Pokemon stickers, not even caring about the beautiful star-studded sky above them.
Dewey jumped onto a nearby stump, posing on one leg reminiscent of a karate master. “I bet I look like a movie poster. Hey, shine the flashlight behind me and take a pic!”
“Boys!” Donald called to his nephews, though he mostly directed his statement towards Dewey. “It’s dark out, I don’t want you running around and getting hurt!” Earlier on their trek, Donald nearly tripped on a gopher burrow. He grumbled under his breath at the memory. Knowing his luck, he would have stumbled right into it, twisted his ankle, and rolled down the hill in a comedic, yet painful fashion, extra flashlights, batteries, and other supplies flying in his wake.
Before the most energetic triplet could protest, Huey piped up. “According to Astro Daily, the meteor shower should be visible in approximately...” he checked his LED watch, then continued. “...seven minutes!”
Dewey did a forward flip off the stump, causing his uncle to wince. “Aw man, that’s sooo far off! What are we gonna do until then?”
“Well, we can look through the telescope the meantime.” Huey was in the process of putting said telescope’s tripod together. He had been saving his allowance to purchase it, but Donald surprised him with it for the triplets’ birthday a few months prior. Donald was fortunate that he scraped together just enough money from his temporary stint as a yacht painter.
“Maybe we can spot a foreign government probe,” Louie said without glancing up from his game.
“Or aliens who’ll probe our butts!” Dewey exclaimed.
Annoyed, Huey removed his Junior Woodchucks guidebook from under his hat, opened it to the bookmarked page on celestial bodies, and presented the book to his brothers. “There’s way more to outer space than... than butt-probing aliens! Which aren’t real! Probably. Hey, maybe you guys can find some of the constellations visible at this time of year while I do the final calibrations?”
Dewey looked at the book quizzingly, then towards the sky. “Those are just guys made of dots and lines! How’re we supposed to find those?”
“Hey, if a meteor crashed into earth, how much do you think a chunk of it would be worth?” Louie piped up.
The triplets continued their light banter as Huey made a few final adjustments to the telescope. To Donald’s relief, the boys were quick to start taking turns peering through the telescope, engaged in charting out the celestial wonders not visible to the naked eye. Despite their differing dispositions, they were still on the same wavelength. It was the nature of siblings who were multiples, after all.
Look to the stars, my darling baby boys...
No.
No no no no.
Donald’s breath hitched. The tight pressure clogging his throat since they first began their outing swelled, threatening to choke him.
He had tried to prepare himself. The week leading up to tonight, he would venture daily out onto the deck of the houseboat after the boys were fast asleep. Donald would unfold an aged vinyl chair, with its faded, tattered surface and rusted metal legs. He’d take a seat, facing the vast ocean. He would then close his eyes, breathe in a long lungful of salty air to steel himself, then will himself to face the dark, star-studded sky.
Then, he’d sob.
Never a fully cathartic cry, it would wake the boys. He could only indulge in restrained weeping, enough for the hot tears to soak his cheeks and mat his feathers. Enough for the deep ache in his chest to gradually recede but never completely vanish. Donald figured that if he could force himself to look to the night sky, the final resting place of his dear sister and best friend, he could become desensitized. Back when the boys were merely hatchlings, even something as innocuous as a baby blanket with a star pattern stung his eyes and clutched his throat. Time was a bandage that patched the hole in his heart. Time, and the caring and love for his nephews. Della’s children.
Though he managed to keep his eyes dry by the final night, this conditioning was all for naught. Mumbling about allergies, Donald swiftly took a package of travel-size tissues from his bag and stole away from the boys. They barely acknowledged his departure. He hoped that the cacophony of spring peepers and his nephews’ exclamations of astral wonderment would drown out his anguish.
Judging by the kids’ excited cheers, the meteor shower had begun. Donald crammed a wad of tissues against his bill. He breathed quick and shallow. They were completely oblivious to the fact that they were marveling towards their mother’s final resting place.
Every time Donald closed his eyes, he imagined the horrors Della faced in her final moments.
How long did she suffer?
Did she perish on impact in the cosmic storm?
Was she knocked even further off course, suffering a slow, agonizing death, alone and full of regrets?
Della was so smart. So stupid. Brave, impulsive, funny, reckless, loving. Stubborn beyond belief. How many times did her temperamental twin believe she died, only to see her walk away from danger completely unscathed?
Is there a chance she could still be...
Something slammed into Donald’s back and grasped tightly around his neck. Letting out a hoarse squawk, Donald pinwheeled his arms and just barely managed to not fall beak-first into the ground. He recognized Dewey’s excitable cheers, the blue-clad nephew swinging from his uncle’s neck.
“That was uh-mazing!”
Dewey then flung himself off his uncle, landing into a smooth somersault. Donald said nothing, more focused on trying to collect himself than scolding his nephew’s horseplay.
“See, I told you,” Huey said, joining the two in a more dignified manner. “What did you think, Uncle Donald?”
Donald blew his nose and blinked blearily. “Breathtaking,” he quietly garbled.
Louie strode to Donald’s other side in silence, hands in his hoodie pockets. He observed his uncle through narrowed eyes. “You don’t have allergies.”
Donald nervously tugged at his shirt collar. Taken aback by Louie’s bluntness, he muttered incoherently, averting eye contact.
“M-maybe there’s, uh, a plant. Yeah, a new kind of plant! That Uncle Donald is allergic to?” Huey cleared his throat. “According to the Junior Woodchucks, climate change has caused some plant life to dispel pollen at off times of the year. There’s a possibility of them mutating, too. Isn’t that right, Uncle Donald?”
Donald just nodded numbly while rubbing the back of his neck. He met Huey’s gaze. Even through his tear-blurred vision and limited light, he saw how the duckling’s bill formed a small smile beneath troubled eyes. Knowing eyes.
A knot of guilt twisted in Donald’s stomach. Ever since the nephews were still covered in soft, yellow down, Donald referred to Huey as the oldest brother. An innocent statement meant to show the boys that their uncle recognized their individuality. Huey took his status as the eldest to heart, always striving to be the “responsible one”. If he had even the slightest inkling that something worried his family, even his parental figure, he’d try to get to the root of the problem. At least, until Donald’s insistent avoidance drove Huey to redirect instead.
Was Huey aware of Donald’s recent attempts as desensitizing himself under the night sky? Perhaps Louie caught on too, as frighteningly persceptive as he could be. No doubt if one or both brothers were aware, Dewey would be too. Though hyperactive, he could be quite empathetic to others’ feelings, internalizing their ails.
If they knew, how aware were they that Donald sacrificed his own comfort for tonight to give his boys an unforgettable experience?
Donald tried so hard to shield his pain from the triplets. But they weren’t babies anymore and before long they would become teenagers. Clever as they were collectively, it was only a matter of time before they figured out certain truths.
“Could we have snacks now, Uncle Donald?” Louie asked, his scrutiny forgotten.
“I’ll help set!” Dewey offered. Right away he rummaged through Donald’s bag, pulling out a large blanket.
“I brought the brownies we made earlier!”
Huey joined his siblings in setting up their simple picnic. The three brothers each took a corner of the blanket, followed by Donald, who kept his head low. Surely, the boys wanted to chatter about the shooting stars they just witnessed. After the blanket was stretched to straightness and laid down flat, Huey, Dewey, and Louie sat in a tight circle right in the middle of the blanket, eating their brownies. They turned to their uncle expectantly.
“Hey Uncle Donald, got any cool ghost stories?” Dewey asked, cheeks puffed with brownie.
Donald had just rummaged out a lantern from his bag. “Oh you want a... ghost story?” Though he approached his nephews calmly, his mind raced. Donald knew plenty of ghost stories. He lived them . But the boys couldn’t know this part about him.
Louie shrugged. “Well, it doesn’t have to be a ghost story. But it should be engaging enough to grip our short, modern-day attention spans.” He held up his 3DS for emphasis.
Donald set the lantern down in the middle of the circle the boys had formed and sat down with them. He smiled. “Have I ever told you kids about the time me and my college buddies got lost in Peru, and had a run-in with el chullachaqui ?”
“Chulla-wuaaa?” Dewey said with his eyebrows askew.
“Is that like a chupacabra?” Louie questioned.
“Oh! A shapeshifter from Peruvian folklore!” blurted Huey. Already he had found the page to this oddly specific piece of knowledge in his trusty Junior Woodchucks guidebook. “Wait, they’re real?”
Donald leaned back on his palms. “Well, whether you believe this tale or not is up to you. But I can understand if you don’t wanna hear it...”
“Tell us, please!”
“We wanna hear it!”
“You were probably drunk.”
Donald suddenly jerked forward, slamming his hands onto the ground. All three nephews jumped, hugging each other, half-eaten desserts scattered on the blanket. Their uncle grinned deviously before beginning the story. It was an abridged version based on true events, with flourishes and dramatic pauses to keep the boys enthralled.
In this moment, Donald could forget about the his pain, the stars, the endless night sky that was his sister’s sprawling grave. He had his remaining family, gathered around the soft, milky glow of the battery-powered lantern. His treasure, more valuable than the spoils claimed in his many past adventures.
To Donald, his nephews were his personal little galaxy.
Notes
I friggin' love Ducktales '17 and am really glad I managed to write fic for it (I have a trillion ideas but may only write a few ever). The title is a variation of a line from David Bowie's "Space Oddity". There's also a They Might Be Giants reference as a treat.
Fanfiction.net
Summary
Donald takes his nephews out to watch a meteor shower. He can't help but be reminded of his sister.
Takes place before the show (either by a year or months).
Themes
Angst, grieving, guilt, fluff, family, some comic relief
It was far too late to be out on a school night, but Uncle Donald promised the boys that they could stay home the next day. It was late enough in the school year that their homework load was trivial. Besides, tomorrow was Friday. Why not treat his nephews to a fun nighttime event followed by a three day weekend?
The triplets ambled up the steep hill, damp grass clinging to their webbed feet. The boys clustered together despite the ample space of the field, their uncle following only a few paces behind. Louie wondered aloud if they’d be attacked by chupacabras lying in wait in the surrounding woods. In response, Dewey swung his flashlight while shouting “Kiai!”, frantically spinning and kicking in place in an effort to defend his family from any would-be alien cryptid attackers- only nearly blinding (and almost whacking) his younger brother instead.
Huey, dutifully marching onward, slowed his stride just enough so that he wouldn’t trail ahead of his siblings. The eldest triplet requested his brothers to cut it out, that they were almost at their destination. He rolled his eyes at their antics good-naturedly, adjusting the straps of the lumpy canvas backpack strapped to his back. Donald offered to carry his nephew’s burden, but Huey only cited a Junior Woodchucks mantra about self sufficiency and knowing one’s limits.
Donald smiled proudly; he’d signed all three up for Junior Woodchucks, but only Huey eagerly took to it and remained. The red-clad boy craved structure and responsibility, and Donald was pleased to see the marked improvement over his nephew’s tendency to worry neurotically.
A behavior that stemmed from their less than stable living situation.
Donald quickly put that thought of his mind. He also suppressed his concern over the looming summer vacation adding another layer of difficulty to his perpetual job hunt. Extracurricular activities were no substitute for daycare. This was supposed to be a fun, special night, just he and the boys. Donald merely had to make sure his little family made it to their destination in one piece. A simple task.
“We’re here!” Huey announced once they made it to the top of the hill. He stomped his foot triumphantly to the ground, chest out, hands on his hips.
“About time,” Louie griped. He immediately fished out his Nintendo 3DS, covered in scratches and peeling Pokemon stickers, not even caring about the beautiful star-studded sky above them.
Dewey jumped onto a nearby stump, posing on one leg reminiscent of a karate master. “I bet I look like a movie poster. Hey, shine the flashlight behind me and take a pic!”
“Boys!” Donald called to his nephews, though he mostly directed his statement towards Dewey. “It’s dark out, I don’t want you running around and getting hurt!” Earlier on their trek, Donald nearly tripped on a gopher burrow. He grumbled under his breath at the memory. Knowing his luck, he would have stumbled right into it, twisted his ankle, and rolled down the hill in a comedic, yet painful fashion, extra flashlights, batteries, and other supplies flying in his wake.
Before the most energetic triplet could protest, Huey piped up. “According to Astro Daily, the meteor shower should be visible in approximately...” he checked his LED watch, then continued. “...seven minutes!”
Dewey did a forward flip off the stump, causing his uncle to wince. “Aw man, that’s sooo far off! What are we gonna do until then?”
“Well, we can look through the telescope the meantime.” Huey was in the process of putting said telescope’s tripod together. He had been saving his allowance to purchase it, but Donald surprised him with it for the triplets’ birthday a few months prior. Donald was fortunate that he scraped together just enough money from his temporary stint as a yacht painter.
“Maybe we can spot a foreign government probe,” Louie said without glancing up from his game.
“Or aliens who’ll probe our butts!” Dewey exclaimed.
Annoyed, Huey removed his Junior Woodchucks guidebook from under his hat, opened it to the bookmarked page on celestial bodies, and presented the book to his brothers. “There’s way more to outer space than... than butt-probing aliens! Which aren’t real! Probably. Hey, maybe you guys can find some of the constellations visible at this time of year while I do the final calibrations?”
Dewey looked at the book quizzingly, then towards the sky. “Those are just guys made of dots and lines! How’re we supposed to find those?”
“Hey, if a meteor crashed into earth, how much do you think a chunk of it would be worth?” Louie piped up.
The triplets continued their light banter as Huey made a few final adjustments to the telescope. To Donald’s relief, the boys were quick to start taking turns peering through the telescope, engaged in charting out the celestial wonders not visible to the naked eye. Despite their differing dispositions, they were still on the same wavelength. It was the nature of siblings who were multiples, after all.
Look to the stars, my darling baby boys...
No.
No no no no.
Donald’s breath hitched. The tight pressure clogging his throat since they first began their outing swelled, threatening to choke him.
He had tried to prepare himself. The week leading up to tonight, he would venture daily out onto the deck of the houseboat after the boys were fast asleep. Donald would unfold an aged vinyl chair, with its faded, tattered surface and rusted metal legs. He’d take a seat, facing the vast ocean. He would then close his eyes, breathe in a long lungful of salty air to steel himself, then will himself to face the dark, star-studded sky.
Then, he’d sob.
Never a fully cathartic cry, it would wake the boys. He could only indulge in restrained weeping, enough for the hot tears to soak his cheeks and mat his feathers. Enough for the deep ache in his chest to gradually recede but never completely vanish. Donald figured that if he could force himself to look to the night sky, the final resting place of his dear sister and best friend, he could become desensitized. Back when the boys were merely hatchlings, even something as innocuous as a baby blanket with a star pattern stung his eyes and clutched his throat. Time was a bandage that patched the hole in his heart. Time, and the caring and love for his nephews. Della’s children.
Though he managed to keep his eyes dry by the final night, this conditioning was all for naught. Mumbling about allergies, Donald swiftly took a package of travel-size tissues from his bag and stole away from the boys. They barely acknowledged his departure. He hoped that the cacophony of spring peepers and his nephews’ exclamations of astral wonderment would drown out his anguish.
Judging by the kids’ excited cheers, the meteor shower had begun. Donald crammed a wad of tissues against his bill. He breathed quick and shallow. They were completely oblivious to the fact that they were marveling towards their mother’s final resting place.
Every time Donald closed his eyes, he imagined the horrors Della faced in her final moments.
How long did she suffer?
Did she perish on impact in the cosmic storm?
Was she knocked even further off course, suffering a slow, agonizing death, alone and full of regrets?
Della was so smart. So stupid. Brave, impulsive, funny, reckless, loving. Stubborn beyond belief. How many times did her temperamental twin believe she died, only to see her walk away from danger completely unscathed?
Is there a chance she could still be...
Something slammed into Donald’s back and grasped tightly around his neck. Letting out a hoarse squawk, Donald pinwheeled his arms and just barely managed to not fall beak-first into the ground. He recognized Dewey’s excitable cheers, the blue-clad nephew swinging from his uncle’s neck.
“That was uh-mazing!”
Dewey then flung himself off his uncle, landing into a smooth somersault. Donald said nothing, more focused on trying to collect himself than scolding his nephew’s horseplay.
“See, I told you,” Huey said, joining the two in a more dignified manner. “What did you think, Uncle Donald?”
Donald blew his nose and blinked blearily. “Breathtaking,” he quietly garbled.
Louie strode to Donald’s other side in silence, hands in his hoodie pockets. He observed his uncle through narrowed eyes. “You don’t have allergies.”
Donald nervously tugged at his shirt collar. Taken aback by Louie’s bluntness, he muttered incoherently, averting eye contact.
“M-maybe there’s, uh, a plant. Yeah, a new kind of plant! That Uncle Donald is allergic to?” Huey cleared his throat. “According to the Junior Woodchucks, climate change has caused some plant life to dispel pollen at off times of the year. There’s a possibility of them mutating, too. Isn’t that right, Uncle Donald?”
Donald just nodded numbly while rubbing the back of his neck. He met Huey’s gaze. Even through his tear-blurred vision and limited light, he saw how the duckling’s bill formed a small smile beneath troubled eyes. Knowing eyes.
A knot of guilt twisted in Donald’s stomach. Ever since the nephews were still covered in soft, yellow down, Donald referred to Huey as the oldest brother. An innocent statement meant to show the boys that their uncle recognized their individuality. Huey took his status as the eldest to heart, always striving to be the “responsible one”. If he had even the slightest inkling that something worried his family, even his parental figure, he’d try to get to the root of the problem. At least, until Donald’s insistent avoidance drove Huey to redirect instead.
Was Huey aware of Donald’s recent attempts as desensitizing himself under the night sky? Perhaps Louie caught on too, as frighteningly persceptive as he could be. No doubt if one or both brothers were aware, Dewey would be too. Though hyperactive, he could be quite empathetic to others’ feelings, internalizing their ails.
If they knew, how aware were they that Donald sacrificed his own comfort for tonight to give his boys an unforgettable experience?
Donald tried so hard to shield his pain from the triplets. But they weren’t babies anymore and before long they would become teenagers. Clever as they were collectively, it was only a matter of time before they figured out certain truths.
“Could we have snacks now, Uncle Donald?” Louie asked, his scrutiny forgotten.
“I’ll help set!” Dewey offered. Right away he rummaged through Donald’s bag, pulling out a large blanket.
“I brought the brownies we made earlier!”
Huey joined his siblings in setting up their simple picnic. The three brothers each took a corner of the blanket, followed by Donald, who kept his head low. Surely, the boys wanted to chatter about the shooting stars they just witnessed. After the blanket was stretched to straightness and laid down flat, Huey, Dewey, and Louie sat in a tight circle right in the middle of the blanket, eating their brownies. They turned to their uncle expectantly.
“Hey Uncle Donald, got any cool ghost stories?” Dewey asked, cheeks puffed with brownie.
Donald had just rummaged out a lantern from his bag. “Oh you want a... ghost story?” Though he approached his nephews calmly, his mind raced. Donald knew plenty of ghost stories. He lived them . But the boys couldn’t know this part about him.
Louie shrugged. “Well, it doesn’t have to be a ghost story. But it should be engaging enough to grip our short, modern-day attention spans.” He held up his 3DS for emphasis.
Donald set the lantern down in the middle of the circle the boys had formed and sat down with them. He smiled. “Have I ever told you kids about the time me and my college buddies got lost in Peru, and had a run-in with el chullachaqui ?”
“Chulla-wuaaa?” Dewey said with his eyebrows askew.
“Is that like a chupacabra?” Louie questioned.
“Oh! A shapeshifter from Peruvian folklore!” blurted Huey. Already he had found the page to this oddly specific piece of knowledge in his trusty Junior Woodchucks guidebook. “Wait, they’re real?”
Donald leaned back on his palms. “Well, whether you believe this tale or not is up to you. But I can understand if you don’t wanna hear it...”
“Tell us, please!”
“We wanna hear it!”
“You were probably drunk.”
Donald suddenly jerked forward, slamming his hands onto the ground. All three nephews jumped, hugging each other, half-eaten desserts scattered on the blanket. Their uncle grinned deviously before beginning the story. It was an abridged version based on true events, with flourishes and dramatic pauses to keep the boys enthralled.
In this moment, Donald could forget about the his pain, the stars, the endless night sky that was his sister’s sprawling grave. He had his remaining family, gathered around the soft, milky glow of the battery-powered lantern. His treasure, more valuable than the spoils claimed in his many past adventures.
To Donald, his nephews were his personal little galaxy.
Notes
I friggin' love Ducktales '17 and am really glad I managed to write fic for it (I have a trillion ideas but may only write a few ever). The title is a variation of a line from David Bowie's "Space Oddity". There's also a They Might Be Giants reference as a treat.
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