Disclaimer: I don't own Ducktales!

Title: Glass of Water

Summary: Scrooge just wanted a glass of water, but now he's playing taxi for a herd of sleepy kids.

...

Scrooge may have many years ahead of him, but that certainly didn't mean he was as spry as he used to be. He needed time between adventures to rest up. Depending on what they'd last done, it can take him anywhere from a few hours to a few days.

He hates it. He hates it with every fiber of his being. He wants to be up and moving. He wants to spend time with the kids, tell them stories and watch bad movies and eat snacks. Scrooge wants to do a lot of things when he gets back, but he usually ends up gimping off to his room and sleeping for heaven-knows-how-long. In a way, it's a blessing when thirst drives him out into the hallway, even if Scrooge has to hold tight to his cane those first few steps.

Scrooge knows full well that he has numerous jugs of filtered water throughout the mansion, stowed away in case of emergencies. He also knows he doesn't care, grabbing a cup and drinking from the tap. Three full glasses later an uncomfortably bloated sensation settles in his belly, signaling to Scrooge that he should probably back off.

As he hobbled into the main living room, he found himself stopping in front of the couch. Louie had curled himself into a tiny ball on one of the cushions, protecting the remote from imaginary invaders. Scrooge fished his pocket watch out, suddenly uncertain of the time, but his eyes hadn't deceived him. Two in the morning. They'd only been home for perhaps an hour.

"Louie." He poked the boy with his cane. "Laddie."

Louie grunted.

"Ye gotta get ta' bed. That's no place fer a duck to be sleepin'."

He reached back and pulled his hood over his face, silently telling him to go away.

Scrooge sighed. "Alright, fine."

Louie ends up hanging like a dead weight, Scrooge's hand securely holding him to his side like a wayward purse. He's heading up the hall when he hears another bout of snoring, this time from the metal rectangle above his head.

"Webbigail," he prompted mildly. "What're yew doin' in the vent?"

He doesn't think the girl is fully awake, but she answers just fine. "'M protected from enemies... misser McDuck."

"What enemies?" Scrooge asked, confused.

Webby doesn't respond.

Scrooge slammed the vent with the end of his cane, letting it fall open. He sent the more curved part in, hooking the girl's collar and dragging her out into open air. "I donnae think that's very safe, lassie," he grumbled as he tucked her into his spare arm, letting her settle against his chest. If she didn't feel safe, there was a slight chance she may just try and attack. "Ye and Louie make a fine pair. What happened to sleepin' in yer beds like everyone else?"

It occurred to the old man that maybe, just maybe, the universe might be ducking with him when he almost tripped over Dewey, the triplet in the middle of the hallway, face-down. He went over his good shoulder, and off Scrooge went. By the time he found Huey lounging on one of the window seats overlooking the boat in his pool, he'd had enough. He bent down, grabbed the boy's shirt with his teeth, and set about arranging him in the middle of the chaos so he wouldn't fall along the way.

Scrooge pulled the comforter to his bed back with his foot, nudging it along with displeased grunts, then haphazardly dropped the four children on the far right side. That done, he slumped face-first into his pillow and promptly fell asleep.

Webby cracked open an eyelid. She whispered to avoid urging his ire. "He forgot the blanket."

Louie rolled over, inadvertently smacking her in the face. "If only he'd forgotten your mouth."

"Louie," Huey scolded as he grabbed the blanket, flinging it over them with very little grace. "G'night, e'erybody. Love you."

Author's Note: Here, have some random cute fluff with Scrooge carrying sleepy kids like they're going out of style.

-Mandaree1