Disclaimer: I don't own Ducktales!

Title: Road Trip

Summary: tfw your Uncle wants you out of the house, makes you take the niece and nephews with you.

...

Scrooge set a slip of paper into Donald's hand as he shoved his nephew out the door with a smile on his face. "'Ere's the address. I'm sure you'll be able to find 'er without any trouble."

Donald struggles, but the old bird has a cast iron grip. "Wait, at least give me a day to-"

"Can't!" he chirped. "It'll be gone by then. Very rare totem, you know. I was lucky I managed to pinch it up this early."

He doesn't believe that for a second. Scrooge is the richest duck in the world. If he really wanted something, you'd be hard-pressed to tell him no. "Is this really the best way you could think of to get me out of the house?"

They're at the main steps now. Donald's car is parked near the gates. "Ah, but this'll hit two birds with one stone. I'll get some free time, and a nice bit fer the garage."

"So you admit this is just a tactic to get the house to yourself?"

"I never said it wasn't, Donald. Pay attention."

Donald drums his fingers on the hood of the car while Scrooge makes a last-minute phone call. He really should've expected this. It's nothing new for the old duck, after all, and nothing could change a McDuck from their ways.

Case in point: his nephews. Huey carrying the Junior Woodchuck guidebook (he paged through it on long road trips), Louie tapping the keys to his phone (he was, for lack of a better term, his financial wingbird on long road trips), and Dewey holding his Ipod, freshly charged (he was the music on long road trips). Scrooge makes a noise of disgust and plucks the phone from Louie's hands, a quip about enjoying the scenery on the tip of his tongue, but Louie snatches it back just as quickly.

"Excuse me," he huffed. "But I'm finding us a suitable hotel, if you don't mind."

"Ooh, make sure it has a pool!" Dewey shook his shoulder a bit.

Louie pointed a finger gun his way. "Noted."

Donald jumps when a finger taps him on the arm, turning to find Beakley a smidge too close for comfort. "Oh. Heya, Mrs. B. Don't worry about the luggage and whatnot- that's what the boys are for."

Beakley let out a quiet chuckle, nudging her granddaughter forward. "I was more curious to see if you had room for a plus one."

"Plus one?" Donald echoes, looking at Webby. "You want to come?"

Webby nods. A lot. Like. Probably too many nods there. "Yes, please! I've never been on a real road trip before. I mean, I've been on adventure trips, but that's different. You don't do road trips in tanks." She bounced on her feet. "I wanna get stuck in traffic! And sleep in a cheap motel! And, and- and other stuff that'll be really boring in hindsight, but sound super appealing right now!"

"Well..." Donald drags the word out, looking up from her pleading face to Beakley, who was perfectly neutral, eyebrow raised. 'I'm allowing this, but if she comes back injured or with lice, you're dead meat', she seemed to be telling him. "There's always room up front."

Webby let out a squeal, giving him a quick hug. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Duck! Thank you!"

"Donald. Just Donald."

"I get to go!" Webby called to the three boys as they passed. Louie held his hand up for a distracted high-five. Dewey bumped fists. Huey hooted and pumped an arm for victory. It warmed Donald's heart to see them so supportive.

The seat order never changes. Never for long road trips. Huey takes a window to look at the outdoors, Louie takes a window so he can lean his back on the armrest with his feet on the seat, unintentionally hitting the window button at odd intervals, and Dewey takes up the middle so he can fiddle with the music.

"We used to fight for the front seat," Huey tells Webby as she buckles up. "But it got pretty intense, so we're not allowed anymore."

"Somebody chucked me into the ocean," Dewey adds, with a pointed look at Huey.

"I was angry," Huey says, in lieu of an apology. "We all know how I get when I'm angry."

"Scary?"

"Yes. That. Thanks, Louie."

"Anytime."

Donald eases the minivan out of the expansive driveway. They all watch in silence as the giant gates close. Scrooge lackadaisically waves goodbye, shutting the door tightly behind him. He could've bothered to put on some actual clothes, now that Donald thought about it.

Dewey holds his arms out. "Okay, wait, but we're ignoring the important questions here." He leaned over the raised armrest, looking at Webby with a serious expression. "Have you ever listened to Hamilton?"

"Listened? I mean, I've read about him, but..."

"He means the musical," Louie says flatly. "He's absolutely bananas for Hamilton."

"Have you?" Dewey cried. "Have you heard the most amazing musical to ever exist, ever?"

"No?" Webby slowly shook her head. "I listen to a lot of classical. Cello music especially."

"Why?"

"Because I like the sound of cello. That's why I asked to learn in the first place."

"Touche." Huey patted Dewey on the head. "He once tried to learn violin. It went overboard."

"I gave it a fitting funeral! Like the Vikings used to do."

"You tossed a violin into the sea?" Webby stared at Dewey like he was a stranger. "What kind of monster does that?"

"One who's paying me back when he's older," Donald chimed in, glancing at the backseat trio from the mirror.

"One who's definitely gonna pay their Uncle Donald back when they're older." Dewey waved his ipod in Webby's face. "And has great musical taste!"

"Dewey, I know you're really passionate about Hamilton, but maybe you oughta ease her into it?" Huey asked.

"Maybe I oughta what?" Dewey replied as he clicked Yorktown. "Louie, you gotta sing Mulligan. You just gotta."

Louie heaved a long sigh, sucking a breath in through his teeth. "Again?"

"Please, Louie." Huey reached over to push the phone flat, as if it were a door to be opened. "We all know he's gonna keep re-playing it until you do."

"Fine, fine." He went back to typing, a small smile coming onto him, unbidden. "Whatever."

"Uncle Don- Dewey!" Louie reached out to turn the volume down, only to get swatted away. "Turn it down, Dewford!"

"Look around, look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now!" Dewey wailed, Webby in tow. "How can you ask me to turn this down?" he yelled. "This is the best part of the song!"

"This is the fifth time you've listened to it in an hour," Louie argued. "Webby, would you- thank you. Uncle Donald, we've got two runner-ups for the hotel."

"Go for the one with the pool!"

"Both of them have pools, Dew."

"Niiice."

"One has roaches," the youngest brother explained, scrolling down a page of reviews. "And the other has, well, more roaches. But it's closer to the address."

Donald purses his lips. "How many roaches are we talking, here?"

"The first one is just one or two on the bathroom floors. The second is, well..." Louie make an noncommittal noise.

"Plug in the first one," Donald affirms.

Louie salutes. "Aye, aye, cap'n."

"Wait. No." Huey tried to snatch the phone from him, but having Dewey in the middle made it practically impossible. "Be more descriptive. How many roaches are we talking?"

"Just stay outta the bathroom and you'll be fine."

The noise the oldest triplet made told them it was not fine, thank you very much. Dewey reached over and turned the music up.

"So this is what a cheap hotel is like," Webby breathes as she hops onto a squeaky bed. Donald flinched at the reminder of his lack of wealth. "It's even mustier than I expected! Hey, how about we see about finding a black light and-"

"I want to sleep tonight, Webs."

"You can always close your eyes while we fiddle with it."

Louie's eyes flicker up to her blankly, then back down to his phone, then to the bed. He pulls the charger out of his hoodie pocket and sets it up, then sets up Dewey's ipod charger when he hands it to him. Huey curls up beside him, still flipping through pages of the guidebook he's long-memorized. Webby fiddles with her feet and hands, excited.

"I'm gonna go get dinner," Donald utters as he sets the travel bag down in the floor. He points at them. "I'm leaving Huey in charge. And the only reason I'm allowing this is because I know our plus one can kill any intruders."

"It'd be an honor to murder someone to protect my friends, sir."

"Uh...huh." The duck looked a bit concerned at that, but he hadn't expected any less from Bentina's granddaughter. "This'll only take me five minutes. Stay in the hotel."

Dewey raised his hand.

"No, you can't go swimming. The pool is closed."

Dewey lowered his hand.

The hotel door swung shut. The four ducklings fell into an awkward silence.

"You know," Webby started, with an awkward yet devious smile. "If you're that gung-ho about swimming, we could make it over the fence from the roof."

The middle triplet's eyes darted to her. "Really?"

"Well, yeah." She shrugged. "I could give you a quick crash course on proper falling techniques."

Dewey yanked her off the bed, smiling ear to ear. "Let's do it!"

"Hey, now! As the brother in charge-" Huey started. Dewey pushed him playfully as he passed, sprawling him out across the covers. The older brother adopted a deadpan expression. "Oh, who am I kidding? I'm not in charge of anything."

"Let's go watch." Louie slipped off the side, unplugging his phone as he went. "This is totally gonna go viral."

"Our siblings might die, Louis."

"Don't call me Louis. I hate Louis. And Webby knows what she's doing." He patted the older boy's shoulder. "Trust in Webby."

"I do trust Webby," said Huey grimly. "It's Dewey I'm worried about."

"Dewford Deuteronomy Duck! Don't you dare!"

Huey flinched at the use of his brother's full name, but Louie stood firm, trying to keep his arm steady. Donald sprinted past them both, blocking the camera as Dewey and Webby came tumbling into the deep end, creating a splash that sprayed Donald and Louie both. Huey was somehow spared- they all chalked it up to karma.

"Dewford!" Donald repeated as the duo swam to the edge. "I oughta kill you both! You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry, Mr. Duck!" Webby called, but didn't look all that sorry.

Dewey dabbed. "YOLO, Uncle Donald! It's a lifestyle!"

"Wow," Louie deadpanned, watching through the wet and blurry camera lens as their Uncle chased after the boy, who'd wisely taken off in a sprinting fashion. "I can't believe Dewey's dead."

Donald collected the soggy children like he would an almost forgotten purse, hoisting them both up by their midsections. He glared at the free ones, jerking his beak to their hotel room door, which sat wide open. Quacking came from him, but the words were lacking pronunciation of any form.

"I think we broke him?" Webby said.

"Nah," Dewey said. "He gets like this, sometimes. It's how we learned to cuss."

"Corner," Donald growled, setting Dewey on one part of the bed. He set Webby directly on the other side, Huey and Louie moving between them. "And corner." He took in a deep breath, rubbing his temples. "Shower. Stress. Too old for this."

"Uh-oh," Huey whispered. "He's on the grumbling level. You're only a level away from getting grounded for an entire year."

"We only saw that level once," Dewey muttered to Webby, watching his Uncle warily. "When he found Louie playing with a box cutter."

Louie shuddered. "I was never the same."

They all went about their business as the shower gurgled to life, recognizing their ever-thinning luck. Webby, still very much soaked to the bone, leaned her chin on Louie's shoulder as she watched the duckling work, pointing out a mathematical error when she spotted it. Huey flipped to the section on avoiding bed bugs. Dewey wriggled his leg and tried to decide if it was worth the risk to jump out of bed and go for a real swim.

"Uh-oh," he said instead. "Don't look now, Huey, but we got ourselves a potential war on the horizon."

"A war?" Huey pondered, lifting his head. Dewey pointed at the foot of the bed, to the place where a decent-sized cockroach had made itself at home. Their eldest brother let out a shriek, yanking his legs up to his chest. "Kill it! Kill it with fire!"

"Seriously?" Was Webby's input, her eyebrows lifting high. "It's just a bug."

"But just look at the way it's moving!" Huey waggled his hands at it. "It's clearly evil!"

"Could you keep it down?" Louie snapped. "I'm trying to get us enough wiggle room for ice cream on the way home."

"War is never silent, Louie," Dewey advised, watching the roach crawl its way up one leg at a time. "And I think it's about to take its first prisoner."

"Good for the roach."

Huey made a wheezing noise.

"Uh, Lou-Lou?"

Louie sighed. "Yes?"

"Look down."

He did. Louie let out an inhuman screech, phone flying out of his hands. "WhenIsaidgoodfortheroachIdidn'tmeangoodfortheroachtocrawlonme," he gurgled, holding his hands up like someone had pointed a shotgun at him. "Somebody please get it off of me. I will owe them my life. Satan, this is a good time to snag a free soul."

"It's just a bug," Webby reiterated, confused. "I help Granny squish any rogue ones that get into the mansion. It's no biggie."

"I'm a hostage of war, Webby!" Louie cried. "Free me of my insect imprisonment!"

"I'll do it for you, bro!" Dewey yelped, snatching the insect off his hoodie. He held it between his cupped hands; the roach, shocked by the sudden movement, had frozen. "See, little guy? We don't gotta be enemies."

"Die!" Huey roared, slamming his guidebook down on it. He instantly recoiled. "There's bug guts on my book!"

"Ow!" Dewey replied, hissing in a pained breath. "What the fudge, Hubert!"

"It was evil!" He flipped the book over, finding the soldier's remains smeared across the back of it. Tears sprung into his eyes almost instantly. His voice dropped into a whisper. "And now it's all over my book."

"Nonononono!" Louie wrapped his arms around Huey. "Don't you dare cry, you bug-squishing jerk! You'll get all of us crying, you know you will!" He glared at Dewey. "A little help, Dewford?"

Dewey was shaking his hands and pouting. "Let him cry, for all I care. He hurt me."

"But if he starts, we'll- whelp, never mind, the waterworks are flowing." Louie flopped back on the bed, then rolled onto his stomach, groaning. "I hate all of you."

Webby reached out to pat his back. "If it helps, I think it's a cute triplet quirk. That you cry together. It's weirdly poetic, too."

"I want to die," Louie said, then sniffled.

"Howdy, fella," the seller greeted, shaking Donald's hand. "How's it going?"

"Two of my children jumped off a roof last night," Donald responded plainly. "Because they wanted to go swimming in the outdoor pool."

"Sounds rough, buddy." He patted the duck on the shoulder. "The totem's in the garage."

It took Donald almost ten minutes to get the hunk of rock into the front seat, stopping to catch his breath along the way. Donald didn't want any possible harm to come to the kids, sending Webby to sit in the back with the boys, who had played rock, paper, scissors to see who would double-seat with her.

"No fair," Louie griped as Donald buckled the stupid thing in. "I always have to share."

"You're the youngest," Dewey boasted smugly. "Them's the facts."

"If it's such a big deal, I can always hang out on the floor."

"No," Louie says, just as Donald says, "Don't even think about it!" The youngest triplet sunk down in his chair, mildly ashamed of himself. "I just don't like sitting this way, that's all."

"This is safer," Huey reminds him, not for the first time. Louie rolls his eyes. Dewey switches the ipod on, blaring Burn as they turn out of the seller's driveway, who waved after them, smiling just a bit too wide.

"I feel like I've missed some context!" Webby yells. "Why is Eliza mad at Hamilton?"

"I'm not allowed to play Say No to This in the car," Dewey yells back. "I get too passionate. I'll show you when we get home."

"After you're ungrounded," Donald added, giving him a stern look. "Both of you."

"Yes, Uncle Donald."

"Yes, Mr. Duck."

"Donald. Just Donald."

"Yes, sir."

Donald heaved a long sigh. "Oh, forget it."

They turn onto a main road, coming to a halt at a red light. Donald hit the turn signal.

"Uh, Mr. Duck?" Webby prompts. "I think that totem might be cursed."

Donald squinted curiously at the stone monstrosity currently strapped in beside him. Knowing his Uncle, it wouldn't surprise him. "And what makes you think that?"

"Well, there's two ghouls following the car. I think that's evidence enough."

"There's what?" He twisted around in his seat, watching as the boys did the same. Sure enough, two ghostly beings were rapidly catching up with them. Sighing, Donald turned around and laid on the horn. "I knew that guy was iffy."

Louie yanked Webby down into the seat as they swerved to the right, Huey doing the same with Dewey, who had begun to bounce on his feet. Huey pulled Dewey's seatbelt tight, just in case. Donald made several loud, angry quacking sounds (which the triplets privately translated into swear words) as he swerved through several lanes of traffic, the ghouls hot on their tail.

"Ooh, I think one of them has a sword!" Webby exclaimed, eyes peering over the back of the seat. She was the only backseat duckling not currently sliding low to the floor. "Can I hop onto the roof? I've always wanted to do a fight scene on a car."

"No!" Donald yelped, then changed tactics. "Webby, do you know anything about this totem?"

Webby held her hands up in a lazy shrug, swaying with the van. "I've studied objects from faraway lands. Not so much a hunk of rock a city over."

Donald let out a particularly severe 'WAAAAAK' and flipped a u-turn, almost slamming into a semi along the way.

"Uncle Donald!" Huey gasped. "Such language!"

"Forget the language!" Dewey yelled, waving his hands in the air. "This is awesome!"

"We're all gonna die!" Louie inputted, looking ill. "I haven't even made my first million yet! It's not fair!"

Webby slapped his arm. "We're not gonna die."

"We're not gonna die!" Donald echoed, with far more passion. "Because we're gonna get outta this so I can kill your Great Uncle!"

This was far from the older duck's first rodeo, though it was the first in quite some time, especially when factoring in the city streets, car, and children. He drove, fast-paced and reckless, for around ten minutes, spinning around in circles and ducking through gaps so small he could hear the paint scratch and the ducklings would yelp; half from excitement, half from terror.

"Look, I can't do this much longer," he told them apologetically. "I don't want a police ticket. I'mma see if breaking this thing'll get them to leave."

"How are you going to-" Louie started nervously.

"Hold on!" Donald said, right before swerving, passenger-side-first, into a fire hydrant. The airbags deployed, sprinkling the air with rainbow-colored dust. There's a vacant pause as they all waited for- well, he wasn't sure. The ghouls? There wasn't much two Casper wannabes could do right now that would shake them after an accident, no matter how minor.

"They're gone," Dewey whispered finally, hesitantly peering over the back of the van. "They're gone, Uncle Donald."

"Good for them," Louie mumbled darkly, his beak squished up against the seat. He was the only duckling who'd been thrown forward.

Donald kicked open his door to air the car out properly, ignoring the throb his head gave from clenching his teeth. "Everybody okay?" Affirmative mumbles. Dewey held up a thumb. "Good. Louie?"

"Yeah?"

"Do we still have enough extra for that ice cream?"

"Y'see this?" Donald demanded, gesturing with his free hand, knowing full well that his Great Uncle couldn't see anything. "This is what makes people stop talking to you."

"I thought the seller would give ya' warnin'," Scrooge tries to justify, but there's really no justification for any of this nonsense, and they both recognized it. "Alright, alright, you got me on this'un. But you really shoulda expected this type of thing."

"Crazy old bird."

"I'm two of those things, true." There's an awkward pause. "Listen, Donald. I'll pay fer the repairs and the second night in the hotel. S'only fair."

"You better," Donald threatened, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. His vanilla cone was beginning to melt. "And don't you cheap out on me, Scrooge."

"I won't, I won't." He imagined the duck making a placating motion. "I'll get ye' the best mechanic I'm willin' to pay fer."

Disgruntled, Donald hung up, handing the phone back to Louie, who quickly lost it to Webby. "Seriously?"

Webby sheepishly held up her's. The screen was cracked. "Just a quick call, I promise."

Louie let out a long-suffering sigh. "Fine. But you better give me a bite of your blizzard."

She handed it over as she flipped through the contacts. Neither was particularly familiar to her- sharing or having a list to flip through. Webby's a bit surprised at how quickly the girl answers, seeing how it's Louie's phone. "Hey, Lena? It's Webby."

There's a short pause. "I can hear that. Why're you calling from-"

"It's a long story and I'm running out of ice cream to barter," she answered. She could hear seagulls squawking in the background. "Why are you always near the ocean when I call?"

"I have an aesthetic," Lena told her simply, tucking one arm behind her back. "So, what's up?"

"Well, you know how I said we'd hang out tomorrow?"

"That's a thing we agreed upon, yes."

"I can't. I'm sorry."

"Boo, that sucks," Lena says, but doesn't sound particularly upset. "Why the sudden change? Should I be concerned, or..."

"Naw, we're okay." Webby spooned herself some of Louie's sundae as revenge for him taking too much. "There were some ghouls involved, and the car got totaled. We lost the totem too. The trip was basically for nothing."

"It wasn't for nothing," Dewey argued, jabbing his spoon at her like a weapon. "I dived off a roof! And you got to hear the best musical to ever exist, and we survived the duck-bug war together!"

"We did all that stuff too," Webby added to the phone.

"Uh...huh." Lena sounded contemplative. "Well, I'm sure ya'll're feeling pretty worn out from that. We can re-schedule tomorrow."

"I got a strawberry blizzard. You want some?"

"No. Triple chocolate is clearly superior. G'night, Anglibeth."

Webby giggled a bit, pacified. "G'night, Brittania."

There are no frantic roof-jumps that night, thanks in part to Donald not leaving the room, but mostly because of the physical exhaustion hitting a fire hydrant tended to give a duck. Donald paid for the hotel the next morning (internally grateful he wouldn't have to worry about the money itself for the first time in many years), herding them all out the door.

Parked near the door was their van. It was in perfect condition. Lena sat on the hood, legs crossed.

"What can I say?" she said as she slipped off, wiping some imaginary dust off her sweater. "I know people."

Webby let out a loud squeal and sprinting over to give the girl a hug, to the obvious surprise of Lena. Huey inspected the passenger side door. "There's not even a scratch on it! And is that- it is."

The totem. Unhurt.

"I know people," Lena reiterated, with a modest shrug. "And I also happen to know a couple of heavy duty glue bottles."

"The ghouls?" Donald asked.

"I'm not nearly good enough to fix that puppy up properly." She gently pried Webby off her midsection. "I've been keeping watch the past hour, and nothing's showed up, so I think we're in the clear."

"Goody." The older duck looked torn between relief that all was well and irritation that his Great Uncle would still get what he wanted. He turned to Lena. "Now, where am I gonna seat you?"

"It's no big deal. I can walk."

"Car." Donald pointed. "Now."

"You really should know better than that, Lena." Huey pulled himself onto the hood to see better. "Uncle Donald adopts anyone younger than him."

"He really does," Louie added. "He barely knows Webby and she's already his newest niece."

Lena raised an eyebrow. "I don't want to be-"

"Lena, you listen to your new Uncle." Donald demanded, pointing more sternly. "Backseat, young lady."

"Alright, alright!" She lifted her hands up. "I hear you. Jeez."

"Quick question," says Dewey. "Do you like Hamilton?"

Lena stared at him blankly. "Who doesn't like Hamilton?"

Lena ends up between Huey and Dewey, if only because no one was sure if they wanted to see the carnage that would unfold of Webby and Lena playing car games together. The teenager lounges her arms back in the seat and swaps between Angelica and Lafayette, taking the time to scold the boy for not having Congratulations on there as well. Louie very passionately sings along with Mulligan, while Huey hums along as Philip. Dewey belts out everything else, Webby close behind, so they stop for water bottles halfway back, putting it on Scrooge's tab.

Author's Note: I didn't expect this to be nearly as long as it is, actually, but it was a heckuva lot of fun. Also, I have no idea how Angelibeth is spelled, rip me, if anyone could possibly tell me that would be wonderful.

Fun Fact- the roof-diving scene was inspired by Christopher Titus, and it's one of the few comedy bits of his I can recall from when I found him funny. I also originally planned such a scene for a Camp Camp work, wherein Nikki dove off a hotel roof and into the outdoor pool while Max video-taped it, Neil pondered the physics involved, and David had a heart attack. But I couldn't imagine a scenario that would lead to all of them at a hotel and holding said video camera in the first place, and it fit Dewey and Webby so well, so it slipped into this'un instead. =)

-Mandaree1

(Note: I know all of two musicals. I do not have the ability within me to rightfully judge Hamilton as the best of the musicals. I just feel like Dewey would be really into old ducks singing about fighting wars and making names for themselves.)

Happy Thanksgiving! Or, if you're not into that sort of thing, happy Thursday!