Disclaimer: I don't own Ducktales!

Title: Vices

Summary: There's a pattern to these things. Uncle Donald gets a job. A good job. A great job, even. He holds onto it almost desperately, working overtime without asking for pay and doing everything short of kissing his boss's feet to show how much he appreciates it. Uncle Donald loses said job, be it from cutbacks or from his temper or something else entirely. Uncle Donald goes drinking.

Warnings: Alcohol

...

It's not common enough to be expected, but it's not uncommon enough to be unexpected.

There's a pattern to these things. Uncle Donald gets a job. A good job. A great job, even. He holds onto it almost desperately, working overtime without asking for pay and doing everything short of kissing his boss's feet to show how much he appreciates it. Uncle Donald loses said job, be it from cutbacks or from his temper or something else entirely. Uncle Donald goes drinking. Uncle Donald comes home late, clothes in various states of disarray, and proceeds to fall flat on his beak. Sometimes, if he's lucky, he hits the couch.

He's rarely lucky.

Huey shuts his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook and slips it under his hat. As much as he'd deny it, this is one of the things that isn't written somewhere inside its hallowed pages. At least, not like this. But there's a line between reality and family, and Huey would rather deal with the latter than call social services and risk losing Uncle Donald forever.

"Dewey," he says, instead of something more sensible. "Can you tuck him in? I'll make dinner."

And Dewey, rather than question it, will always nod and slip Uncle Donald onto his shoulders. Louie stops him long enough to dig through his pockets, nose wrinkling against the smell, and retrieve his smartphone. Their brother isn't nearly strong enough to lift Uncle Donald off the floor, but he doesn't stir as he's dragged through the houseboat like a limp dishrag. He never does.

Huey grabs the bread and deli meats while Louie calls up the person Uncle Donald has an interview with in the morning. It's probably wrong of him to be impressed by how he smoozes his way into a re-scheduling, complete with some quaking pleas about their dear Uncle's health, sugaring it with mentions of how he had done it behind his back, terrified of how ill he had suddenly become.

Louie's good at what he does. They all are.

Dewey comes out without any of his usual energy, but they don't expect him to spring up after carrying a full-grown duck around. Huey hands him the first sandwich. The smell of cooking irritates Uncle Donald's senses. Not to mention the rule against using the stove.

They eat in silence. The smell of alcohol tinges the air, making the food hard to swallow, but they carry on like nothing has occurred. Tomorrow, Uncle Donald will inevitably stumble out, haggard and achy, and apologize. They'll say they forgive him. Louie will suggest ice cream as a payment for their forgiveness. Huey will smack him on the arm. Uncle Donald will take them anyway. It's the same tired story.

The countdown until the next bad night starts again.

Author's Note: This was entirely inspired by that one Tumblr post about the triplets having to take care of Donald during his depressive times and how that wasn't something kids should have to do and I immediately went "Hmm... how can I make this... worse..."

-Mandaree1