A/n: Am I the only one who thinks part of the reason why people find Donald so hard to understand is because he actually has a thick accent that gets garbled in to alter the sounds of words? But if he tried an accent out (like the Scottish one he was raised with) he would be much easier to understand?

Summary: Donald finds himself the guardian of his nephews and faced with all three crying at once late in the night he is faced with his own doubt about if he really can look after them. Dad Donald Fluff.

Uncle Donald

Donald winced as he stood over the crib that Della's boys were lying in, moments like these, when he knew they were only crying for comfort and he knew he didn't have enough arms to hold them and it wasn't him they were crying for, he felt like he was lost at sea, struggling to stay afloat, he couldn't do this, he could scarcely function himself, he'd frequently miss meals, he'd over-sleep, sometimes intervention was in order just to keep him healthy, but now here he was the duck with the worst luck in the world, a retired Navy Sergeant, a once globe-trotting adventurer, now the sole guardian of his three one-year-old nephews, hearing them crying for their mother and feeling his sleep-deprived mind caving in and wanting to just cry as well.

'Donald Fauntleroy Duck!' He berated himself forcing his mind to straighten. 'You are the one that Della left them with, not Gladstone with his good luck, not Grandma with her actual parenting experience, not Uncle Scrooge with his secure home and finances, you! This is the reason why your luck has always been so terrible, it was saving itself up for these boys to be entrusted to you, so man the duck up, Seaman Duck, and look after them the way that Della believed that you could!'

With his renewed sense of determination, he reached down into the crib and hoisted them into his arms one by one, Louie, Huey and Dewey.

Louie he tucked between his upper right arm and his chest, Huey was tucked in identically on the left, and Dewey he held in the middle in his hands, for now he could manage doing this, but they were growing very quickly, and Donald resolved to get back into shape, these boys didn't need a lazy uncle, they needed an uncle who could look after them, who would be able to keep up with all three of them and keep them safe.

He took them out into the living area of the house-boat and settled down into an armchair, concentrating on the boys through his still sleepy mind. 'It's alright, boys, Uncle Donald's here.' He gave a quiet sigh as he held them close. 'I'm going to keep you boys safe, don't worry.'

Now, how to comfort them back to sleep? He couldn't remember how Della had done it, nor how Grandma used to do it, all he could remember was…

'Baloo baleerie, baloo baleerie, baloo baleerie, baloo balee.'

The boys began to quieten, and Donald relaxed back into the armchair allowing them to rest on him in mostly lying positions, resigning himself to the fact that he was going to have a long night being stuck in this chair underneath the three precious forms of his nephews, he continued singing as gently as he could.

'Gang awa' peerie faeries, gang awa' peerie faeries, gang awa' peerie faeries, frae oor ben noo.'

He yawned, watching as sleep began to take hold of the boys again, their tears gone now, he gave a smile.

'Baloo baleerie, baloo baleerie, baloo baleerie, baloo balee.

Doun come the bonnie angels, doun come the bonnie angels, doun come the bonnie angels, tae oor ben noo.'

He couldn't quite recall where he had learnt this lullaby, he was remembering a woman's accented voice but that's all he could recall, after a moment of thought it finally clicked into place and he felt himself feel happy again.

He'd always asked questions about his parents, ever since their tragic deaths when he and Della had been little, but a part of him could still remember his mother, her voice soft, gentle and loving, it was a side of his mother that he hadn't been told much about, most of what he'd heard had been how her temper had been fierce enough to send whole armies running, the he had her temper and it'd lead him into trouble later in life, but if really was true then he would be able to look after the boys, because he was he was like his mother and he knew she had been a wonderful and loving person, so he could do this.

He gazed at the boys in his arms and smiled gently, they would be fine.

'Baloo baleerie, baloo baleerie, baloo baleerie, baloo balee.

Sleep saft my baby, sleep soft my baby, sleep saft my baby, in oor ben noo.

Baloo baleerie, baloo baleerie, baloo baleerie baloo balee.'

Donald gave another yawn, the boys were fast asleep again and he closed his heavy-lidded eyes smiling contentedly, knowing now that he could do this, that he would be fine, that they'd all be just fine.