Chapter Text
The things the triplets didn’t know about their mom could fill a book. But just a book, since it wasn’t like they knew anything much to begin with, so to even consider a book was realistic but also an ultimately unattainable thing. It was one of those books locked away in the white house. It surely existed, but actually finding and reading it was so out of the realm of possibility it wasn’t so much as considered half the time. Their mom’s name was Della Duck, she was Uncle Donald’s sister. That was as far into the book as they were allowed to read.
But their Uncle? They had a feeling what they didn’t know could fill a bookshelf. Not a library, let’s not get carried away here, but there was this constant feeling that, as weird as it was sometimes to consider, there was much more to their Uncle than there at first seemed to be. It was a mystery, it was something to figure out, and when the summers got a bit too boring, and scheming ran out or there were no Junior Woodchuck meetings or campouts to attend, the concept of a mystery was the most alluring thing in the world. And piece by piece, the trio would become determined to figure out what secrets their Uncle held.
oOo
“I’m thinking… he lost his job.”
“Pfft, nah, the houseboat wouldn’t be floating if that happened. I bet he burned his hand on the stove.”
“Not a bad guess, but he’s totally actually fighting somebody. Somebody came in, tried to rob the boat, but then Donald pounced on him and now they’re in a fight, but they’re so evenly matched we have to help Donald out, and then we’ll be able to get a raise to our allowances for our efforts!”
Huey and Louie gave Dewey a look. Dewey crossed his arms.
“Hey, it could happen!”
“But that would mean we’d have to intervene.” Louie pointed out. “Personally, I’m fine just waiting for the storm to end.
The three looked out to their houseboat as it splashed back and forth in the water, making the neighboring boats in the marina sway. Anybody who would bother to get out and shout at their uncle had long since found different marinas to dock at or had simply gotten used to it. The few people who had tried to confront Uncle Donald would find that the anger that caused the waves was terrifying when you met it face to face and it was directed at you, especially when the conversation you were attempting to have was totally unintelligible.
They stood there for a while, but the rocking didn’t stop and Huey started to shuffle his feet, and the other two were already groaning by the time he opened his mouth, knowing what he was going to say.
“My needles are in the houseboat.” Huey says. “I need to practice for my sewing patch.”
Louie’s groan in particular was loud as he led the way down to the deck to the boat, the other two following after him. They were all used to the slightly-perilous crossing from the dock to the boat, making the leap at the right time to avoid falling in. Dewey stumbled a bit, nearly slipping and falling, but Huey managed to grab his arm in time. A shame, really. Louie wouldn’t’ve minded something to laugh at before they had to confront whatever was going on with their uncle today.
They opened the door, and were greeted home from school by the very enraged squawking of their uncle. They snuck past him to their room first, putting backpacks down and taking out various homework. Louie flipped to a page titled simply ‘things to buy when i’m rich’ and further underlined the already underlined ‘earplugs’. Dewey snickled upon seeing that and swiped the pen from his brother’s hand and underlined it a few times himself. Huey caught sight of it and smiled too, but then turned and looked at the closed door.
“Well, let’s see what’s up today.” He said, like they were walking to their doom, though such theatrics were ultimately pointless. They had passed Uncle Donald on their way in and now as they reopened the door, the same sight greeted them, unchanged. He had gotten to the point in his outburst where whatever had even been the point and cause of it was wholly forgotten as the duck just screamed and shouted, jumping up and down. Nothing was broken, a small miracle that seemed to happen with every-increasing frequency.
“Hey Uncle Donald.” Huey said, finally letting their presence be known as he got to the dining table, putting fabric and worksheets and needles and thread down, claiming a third of the space. Dewey put some homework up too, even though they all knew he was only going to do some of it before eventually convincing Donald to let him run off to the beach or something. Louie walked past them all to the couch, flopping down and picking up the remote.
For a heartbeat the furious expression on Donald’s face was directed towards them, but none of them so much as flinched, knowing that a moment later it’d become the tired but happy to see them face of their Uncle.
“Hi boys.” Donald said, more sigh than words as he rubbed a hand down his face, like he was wiping the anger off. “How was school?”
“Good.” They chorused with various levels of honesty. Donald let out another sigh, this one longer as he leaned on the kitchen counter like he was moments away from falling over. He looked tired. He usually did, but today it was particularly noticeable. “Do you boys need any help?”
“No, nothing really tough today.” Huey replied brightly. Dewey was frowning and squinting at his homework as if that’d help, but didn’t contradict Huey. It was just math afterall, and if he needed help he could ask Louie. Heck, for the right price Louie’d even do the math homework, even using his nondominant hand and getting a few wrong to throw the teacher off from the little scheme.
Uncle Donald nodded, looking distracted as he picked up his phone from the floor of the boat. It was still rocking slightly from side to side and would for a few more minutes. Their uncles phone was in one piece, and had somehow managed to survive tantrum after tantrum. Louie said that it was because of how old it was. Dewey had once tried breaking it himself once, throwing it around on the sidewalk, but it wasn’t so much as undented. Donald regarded this immortal device with that exhausted look.
“I’ll be right back.” He said, already typing something into his phone again, the hard and upset edge starting to creep back in. The trio were quiet until the door closed behind their uncle.
“Phone, why didn’t I guess phone?” Huey said out loud.
“Lost his job is still on the table.” Louie pointed out smugly. “Should’ve tried to get you guys to bet money on it.”
The afternoon carried on in almost quiet. Louie sat on the couch, Ottoman Empire playing as he drifted in and out of naps, every-so-often taking a sip from the Dr. Pep he’d opened yesterday and saved half of for today. Huey finished his homework fairly quickly and had moved on to practicing his sewing, a seam ripper at the ready and picked up frequently, always following a frustrated groan that was ever-increasing in volume. Dewey had doodles all over the margins of his homework, only having completed maybe three of the problems before giving up and was now trying to do tricks with a yo-yo. Louie would critic him every-so-often, and Dewey would always reply ‘I’ve got this’ before breaking a glass and quickly throwing the evidence into the ocean.
Donald returned after a couple hours, feathers rustled and teeth still clenched, phone in such a tight grip that a weaker device would give up the ghost. The triplets gave a few scattered ‘welcome back’s, Huey’s coming after the others, barely looking up from his handiwork. Uncle Donald grabbed a glass from the cupboard, not noticing how his boys all held their breath, praying that he wouldn’t notice the missing one. He didn’t, filling the cup with water and pulling a generous amount of ice-cubes in it, refilling the ice-tray while he was at it. Both Dewey and Louie noticed how their Uncle rested his knuckles against the cold glass more than he actually drank from it.
“What was that all about?” Dewey finally asked, unable to wait and see if Donald would eventually give up the information on his own.
“Nothing to worry about.” Uncle Donald assured them. Probably a money problem then. Dewey was now the one wearing a smug smile, directed to Louie who just rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the TV. Not a lost job. Their Uncle always told them if he lost a job.
He pulled out the laptop and went off to the deck, in the right spot that he could look through the window and see them. It was probably finances or something. The boys were well aware of their living situation, but for whatever reason their Uncle Donald was always careful to not show them the numbers and such, always working on that stuff away from their curious eyes. Dewey started work on the rest of the homework, eventually giving in and calling for his brother’s help that Louie reluctantly gave, sitting next to the other duck and trying to re-explain what the teacher had said during class.
Huey made a sound like he was being strangled, and the other two watched as he ripped through his stitches like they had personally wronged him. There was a rather sizable pile of loose threads from all the other attempts. He was glaring at the piece of fabric in his hand, plucking out the loose thread ends and adding them to the pile. There were various little threads clinging to the feathers on his hand that Huey didn’t bother trying to get off.
“Uh, you okay over there?” Louie raised an eyebrow.
“I’m fine!” Huey snapped, slamming a hand on the table. Dewey muffled a laugh as best he could, which earned the fiery gaze to be directed to him. “It’s just some stitches. It shouldn’t be a problem!” Huey went on, and smacked the table again - hand landing on a pin. He drew his hand back sharply with a small yelp that quickly evolved into a full blown scream as he flipped the table.
“Abort, abort, emergency protocol ‘Uncle’s Lost It’ activate!” Dewey whispered, grabbing Louie’s arm and pulling away from the fallen table and volatile brother, leaving his homework to fend for itself.
“How are baby pictures of us going to calm down Huey?” Louie pointed out.
“You’re right. Well, if there’s no other choice, guess we’ll have to put him down.” Dewey said dramatically, looking at the utensil drawer.
The door to the houseboat slammed open, their Uncle returning with the laptop tucked under his arm. His eyes were wide, body language stiff and tense as he looked around, assessing the situation. Dewey, one hand rifling through the utensil drawer and pulling out a butter knife while the other hand still held onto the loose arm of Louie’s hoodie. Louie stood next to Dewey and waved at his uncle, the other arm retracted into his hoodie. And Huey was standing in front of his tipped over chair, scattered papers and sewing supplies strewn about his feet, and screaming one long and continuous shout, fists shaking, hat having fallen off his head at some point.
“Huey?!” Donald shouted, louder than Huey’s scream. Huey managed to stop screaming, but with the way his face was screwed up it was like it physically hurt him to do so and the shaking of his fists grew stronger. The laptop was thrown on the couch as the Uncle rushed over. “What happened? What’s wrong? Are you okay?!”
“I’m fine!” Huey grit out again, eyes getting shiny with tears. Donald was upon him in a moment, wrapping his arms around the little duck. Huey latched onto him right away, hands breaking out of their tight fists to grab onto the back of Donald’s shirt. Huey screamed again, this time muffled up as it was shouted into his Uncle’s shoulder. Dewey looked over at Louie, holding up the butter knife and mouthing ‘do we still need this’. Louie shrugged and after a long moment’s consideration, Dewey put the knife away.
Eventually Huey pulled away from his uncle, furiously wiping at his red-rimmed eyes, the shaking of his fists now just a mild tremble. Seeing as things were now safe, the other two set about picking up some of the fallen homework assignments.
“Do you think ‘my brother blew up and destroyed my homework’ is a good enough excuse?” Dewey asked, regarding his incomplete worksheet with distaste. Huey gave a short laugh at that.
“Maybe if you say it was Uncle Donald they will.” Louie suggested.
“What happened?” Donald said again, now that Huey had calmed down significantly.
“It’s nothing.” Was Huey’s first response, but Donald sat back and folded his arms in a way that clearly said he was willing to wait there all night if that was what it took. “I just… I’ve been trying to get these stitches right for a while now and I just… can’t.” Huey admitted, looking at his hands. There was a bit of red on his feathers from where he’d accidentally stabbed himself with the pin. Donald jumped up, running over to the bathroom and coming back a second later with antibacterial spray and a bandaid.
“Do you need help?” Uncle Donald asked.
“Do you know how to do this?” Huey asked right back with clear doubt in his voice, picking up the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook from where it had fallen and flipping back to the page about sewing, showing it to his Uncle.
“Uh, no,” Donald admitted, “But I’ll give it a try.” And with a look of pure determination on his face, picked up one of Huey’s extra needles.
Hours later found the two of them on the deck of the ship. Dewey and Louie had gone to bed a bit ago but Donald had allowed Huey to stay up until he could do the stitch well. About an hour or two ago they’d finally managed to do the stitch right, followed by a large amount of celebration. While Huey practiced, Uncle Donald had gotten out some old ripped jackets and shirts that needed some mending, and they spend the time in relative and comfortable silence. There’s a few new band-aids around their fingers from the earlier attempts, and Uncle Donald had come pretty close to having another tantrum.
Huey regarded his work proudly, pleased with how it was finally coming out, and found himself having to stifle a yawn. It was later than he usually went to bed, and Donald was usually stricter about bedtimes, but he also knew he wouldn't have been able to sleep well if he hadn’t been able to do this. He hadn’t been sleeping well the past couple nights already, continuously getting back up and staring at the page over and over again, trying to figure out where he kept going wrong.
Uncle Donald yawned too, the tiredness of his eyes seeping into his body and making him sag into his chair. Huey considered his uncle as the duck shook himself in an effort to stay awake and went back to mending the ruined shirt sleeve, ripped from another one of his tantrums. They’d all become rather good at fixing things that had broken.
“Hey, Uncle Donald?” Huey asked, setting his stuff down on the table. He’d done well enough today, and he could probably practice more tomorrow morning, just in time for the next Junior Woodchuck meeting.
“Mmm?” Donald hummed, staying focused on his work.
“Did mom get angry too? Like you do?”
For a moment Huey thought Donald wouldn’t say anything. He stared at Huey, blinking slowly, and then closing his eyes, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms.
“Not like I do. Della’s anger was different.” His Uncle’s voice was quiet, soft, in a way that it very rarely was, and Huey found himself leaning forward. “She wasn’t explosive like I am. It took a lot to get her riled up like that. Except for me. It seemed like half the time we were yelling at each other.” A small smile tugged at the very edges of Uncle Donald’s bill. “When you boys fight, it always reminds me of her. Makes it hard to break you guys up.”
“Oh.” Huey said, not knowing what else there was to say. He could remember one time when he and Dewey had been bickering and their Uncle had walked in and just stood in the doorway for a moment before saying anything.
“I was hoping it’d skip a generation, but I think it rarely does.” Donald continued. His eyes were still closed, head tilted to the side, brow furrowed ever-so-slightly. “I’ve had the worst case of it in generations, but everybody has it to some degree. Uncle S-... My uncle had it, Della had it, and it looks like you have it.”
“Did your parents have it?... and what’s ‘it’?”
“My uncle and mom used to call it the ‘Black Anger’, named after the first in our family line to have it.” Donald supplied. He leaned forward again, opening his eyes after rubbing his hand down his face. “C’mon, we should both be getting to bed.”
Huey followed his uncle into the houseboat, not asking about the unanswered question, knowing he was already lucky to have gotten as much information about their family as he did today. Before Huey entered his room, Donald knelt down and kissed his forehead like he used to. All three of the boys had made it clear they no longer wanted him to do that, but Huey was too tired to make a fuss.
“If your anger starts to become a problem, you know you can talk to me, right?” Uncle Donald said, and Huey nodded.
The other two triplets were unsurprisingly asleep, though it would’ve been equally unsurprising if there were still awake too. Huey, despite practically hearing his pillow calling to him, held off a little longer as he pulled out his notebook. He flipped to the rough family tree he had hidden in the middle, adding his ‘Great Uncle S’ next to the unnamed Grandma and making little black x’s next to all of relatives Uncle Donald had mentioned having had the anger, putting one next to his as well after a moment’s hesitation.
In the morning he’d share what he learned with his brothers, but for tonight this new and precious information was his alone.