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Chapter Text

Goofy leaned over the giant pot, inhaling the spicy steam. His great-great-great-great-grandma Goofinia’s famous Hot Chili Pepper stew was almost ready, and the whole gang was chomping at the bit for it. He gave the red-hot concoction a good stir, its aroma so potent it made his eyes water. He glanced at the counter, a little uneasy. An open bag of flour sat right next to a box of matches. Not the best combo.

Suddenly, a whoop and a holler burst from the living room. "YEE-HAW!" It was Max. A second later, he heard Pluto whimpering, followed by Daisy’s voice. "Max, quit it! You're being too loud!" Goofy’s eyes darted from the flour to the matches. Another gleeful shriek from Max, and he tossed his apron in a panic, bolting out of the kitchen.

"Maxie, that's enough, son!" he said, his voice a mix of a lecture and a laugh. He found his boy riding Pluto like a bucking bronco around the coffee table. The table was loaded with chips and dips, and the rest of the crew, Mickey, Minnie, Donald, and Daisy, were watching the whole scene in a mix of amusement and annoyance.

"But, Dad, Pluto's loving it! Right, boy?" Max pulled on one of Pluto's floppy ears. Pluto just let out a grumpy grunt.

Goofy planted himself in front of them, a big old roadblock. He scooped up his son and lifted him right off the poor dog. Pluto didn't waste a second, scrambling under Mickey’s chair.

Mickey just chuckled, reaching down to pet his dog. "You love playing with Max, don't you, pal?"

Pluto whimpered in response.

"Dad, how come we don't have a pet?" Max whined as his dad put him down on the floor. He pouted, kicking at a loose chip.

"Because, son, a pet is a big responsibility, and you couldn't even handle taking care of Old Stuffed Bear," Goofy said, pointing to the couch. The bear sat propped up against a pillow, its arm held on by messy stitches that looked like a spiderweb.

"Come on, Dad, that was a joint liability," Max argued. He was referring to the day they had both, in a heated tug-of-war debate about Santa, ripped the bear's arm off.

Minnie giggled, reaching over to pinch Max's cheek. "Aw, look at the little lawyer, just like his Uncle Mickey."

Mickey let out a big sigh, grabbing a handful of chips. "Well, he better not be a failure, too."

Minnie placed a comforting hand on his arm. "Don't say that about yourself," she said softly.

"I'm just being real," Mickey mumbled. He reached for another chip, his hand hovering over the dip. "I haven't won a single case since I opened my office. Now, my phone's not ringing off the hook, and I even had to work for Pete of all people on Christmas."

Daisy, who was absorbed in a Fashionably Feathered magazine, lowered the glossy pages and snagged a chip. She dunked it into a bowl of creamy onion dip and said, "I heard Pete's opening a used car lot in Spoonerville. So you'll be rid of him soon."

"From 'Crazy Pete's Tree Lot' to selling lemons to suckers?" Mickey scoffed. "Sounds like a real step up."

"I almost forgot he has a family in Spoonerville," Minnie said wistfully. "He's been working in Mousetown for a while now."

"He showed me a picture of his kid,” Mickey mumbled into his dip. “The boy looks just like him. I'm telling you, that kid's gonna be the next generation's supervillain."

"I wonder how Peg looks these days?” Minnie mused with a smile. “She was always in such good shape in high school."

"Ah-hyuck! She was the head cheerleader back in them good old days," Goofy said with a big smile, leaning over the table. "We was the best cheerleading team of '72."

Daisy flipped a page, a sly grin on her face. "Don't you worry," she said to Minnie, "she won't be fit for about nine months."

Minnie's jaw dropped. "Peg's pregnant?!" she shrieked.

Mickey frowned at Daisy, his chip frozen in mid-air. "How do you know all the juicy gossip?"

"I'm a journalist, sweetie," Daisy said with a smirk, popping the chip into her mouth. "It comes with the territory."

Max scooted under the table and grabbed Pluto's paws, sliding the trembling dog out from his hiding spot. He plopped him onto a skateboard next to Daisy, who immediately grimaced and moved her chair. "No, Max, go play somewhere else," she said, irritated.

"Maxie, don't you dare torture poor Pluto," Minnie added, her tone all business.

"I'm not torturing him!" Max shot back. "I'm just giving him a royal chariot ride!" He gave Pluto a big push, and the dog went flying around the living room like a race car. Pluto yelped, his legs flailing as he tried to put on the brakes.

Goofy quickly grabbed the board, stopping it just before it hit the wall. He gave Max a look, and Max tried to act all innocent, but his grin gave him away. Pluto took off like a rocket, running straight for the front door.

Goofy knelt down, holding the skateboard. "Be careful with this, son," he said, his voice soft. "It's real special." The rest of the gang looked at Goofy with a mix of sadness and understanding. They all knew that skateboard used to belong to Penny.

"You know what's worse than working for Pete?" Minnie picked up the conversation again. "Working for Mortimer."

Daisy took a sip of her soda and shrugged. "I don't know, I thought it was a decent way to get some extra cash."

"Yeah, well," Minnie shot back, "it's not so great when it's your only source of cash."

Five years ago, Minnie had been a brilliant and respected lawyer, but she had walked away from it all. Her friends still thought she did it to help Goofy with Max, but the truth was, her heart was never in it. Being a lawyer was Mickey's dream, and she had been so lovestruck she had gone into the same field in college just to be with him. She wanted to find her own calling, something that was truly hers. But five years later, she was still floundering, taking on odd jobs with no real career to show for her efforts.

Goofy looked over at his quiet friend, a worried look on his face. "Say, Donald, you haven't said a peep all night."

The response he received was a loud snore.

Daisy reached across the table and swatted her boyfriend on the head with her magazine. Donald yelped, and Max giggled. Goofy raised an eyebrow at his son, and Max instantly zipped his lips.

"Sorry." Donald yawned, rubbing his head. "I'm just so beat after having those three devils for two whole weeks."

"Don't say that!" Daisy said, flipping through her magazine. "Didn't you love their Christmas present? I mean, the boys made you your dream boat out of their own skis!"

Donald groaned. "You mean the boat that busted on the very first hill and had me buried under a mountain of snow for hours?"

Mickey laughed, grabbing another chip. "Hey, it was a boat built by six-year-olds. That's on you, pal!"

Donald slammed his hand on the table, rattling the chips in their bowls. "I've had those monsters for way too long," he squawked. "They've basically lived with me more than their own parents. It's time to put a stop to this."

"Della's a real go-getter," Daisy said, pushing the bowl of chips away from her so she wouldn’t be tempted to eat another one. "Once she and Mr. Duck get into that space program, those kids are gonna be back with you for good."

"Not if I put my foot down," Donald grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

Just then, Max came zipping through the living room on the skateboard, barely missing the coffee table before plowing right into the back of Daisy’s chair. She jumped up, her face a mask of annoyance. "Max! You don't ride skateboards in the house. You play outside! Goofy, control your kid!"

"Sorry, Daisy," Goofy said, marching over to his son. He took the skateboard and put it back in the closet.

Max gave Daisy a sad look before his head drooped and his shoulders slumped.

Minnie went to him and gave him a hug. "Daisy, come on," she said softly. "He’s just a kid."

Donald snorted. "Daisy hates kids."

Daisy gasped, her hands flying to her hips. "I do not hate kids! I cook for your atrocious nephews, don't I?"

"You tolerate them at best," Donald shot back. "Come on, Daisy, you've never done anything with the triplets, or Max, for that matter."

Daisy looked genuinely offended. "That's not true!" She turned to the six-year-old. "Tell him, Max."

Max’s only response was to hide his face in Minnie’s skirt.

Goofy scrambled for the remote, his eyes wide as saucers. "It's showtime, fellas!" he hollered, cranking up the volume. The giant clock on the TV screen was ticking down. Max rushed to the screen, his face practically glued to it, and started counting backward at the top of his lungs. Minnie scooted closer to Mickey on the couch, and Daisy yanked Donald's chair over to hers.

"Three!" Max roared.

"Two!" the whole gang shouted in unison.

"One! Happy New Year!"

A chorus of cheers and the pop of party poppers filled the room. Mickey and Minnie kissed, and Daisy and Donald followed. Goofy leaned down, planted a big kiss on Max's head, and pulled his son into a tight hug.

Mickey stood up, holding his glass high with a determined look in his eyes. "My New Year's resolution for '87 is to win at least one case!" he declared.

Minnie smiled, raising her own glass. "And mine," she said with a hopeful glimmer, "is to find a job I'm truly passionate about."

Donald pointed Daisy’s magazine at her. "Daisy's resolution is to do anything that doesn't involve kids," he quipped.

Daisy shot him a glare. "Oh, yeah? Well, my resolution is to take over the Junior Woodchucks, how's that for ya?" she said with a smirk. "And yours, Donald, is to learn how to say no to Della."

Donald's eyes went wide. "My New Year's resolution is to NEVER babysit those triplets again!" he announced emphatically.

Max bounced on the balls of his feet. "My resolution is to get my dad to get us a pet!"

Minnie gave him a side hug and turned to Goofy. "What about you, Goofy? What's your resolution?"

"Same as last year," Goofy said with a gentle smile. "Keep Maxie happy."

"Then buy me a pet!" Max insisted, tugging on his dad's arm.

"Tell you what," Goofy said, looking down at his son. "If you can take care of your own stuff..."

Suddenly, a series of frantic, loud barks from outside shattered the celebratory mood. It wasn't the usual playful yapping; it was an alarming, panicked sound. The gang rushed to the front door and threw it open.

Pluto was on the lawn, barking furiously at the kitchen. A plume of black smoke billowed from the kitchen window, and an ominous orange glow pulsed from within. The fire was already spreading, licking at the walls and climbing toward the upstairs windows.

"My kitchen!" Goofy cried out, his face a mask of pure terror. He spun around and rushed back inside the house.

"Goofy, no!" Mickey yelled, running after him. "The whole house is burning!"

Goofy ignored him, his mind fixed on one thing. He raced to the closet and pulled out Penny's old skateboard. He watched in dismay as the flames began to creep into the living room, devouring the furniture. Mickey grabbed his arm. "Let's get out!"

Goofy’s eyes scanned the burning room. He spotted Old Stuffed Bear on the couch and grabbed it, too. He stared at the raging fire, a look of despair on his face, as Mickey and Donald, who had now joined them, pulled him out of the burning house.

Outside, Goofy saw Max in Minnie’s arms, clutching his new snowboard, a Christmas present from Santa. His eyes were wide with a mix of fear and horror as he stared at the inferno. Goofy looked back at the house, a house that held so many memories. It was the house Carol had given Penny as a graduation present, the house where they had lived together. Now it was gone.

Dread filled him as he wondered what Carol would do if she knew. He looked at Max, a sudden fear gripping his heart. Would she try to take Max from him again?

Chapter Text

"Cool! Our new house has wheels!" Max hollered, his eyes wide with excitement. He zipped in a frantic circle around the small trailer, Pluto barking happily at his heels. The little trailer was the only thing in the dusty lot, dwarfed by the two looming buildings on either side. The setting sun cast long shadows, turning the ground a grim shade of gray.

Behind them, Goofy sighed, staring at the tiny trailer. His friends stood in a little clump, looking at the grim lot and the tiny box on wheels. Their expressions ranged from sheer disbelief to a look of mouth-agape shock.

"Well, it's cozy, Goofy," Mickey said, his voice weak as he patted his friend's back. "And think of the gas savings!"

"It's so... well, it's a very good use of space!" Minnie said with a wide, unnatural smile.

"Yeah," Donald chimed in. "And you'll never have to worry about a leaky roof! The whole thing is a roof!" He nudged a speechless Daisy, urging her to offer her two cents. She just glared at him.

"Don't worry, Goofy," Mickey tried again. "I'm sure it looks great on the inside."

Max bounded inside the trailer, his eyes wide with excitement. "Radical!" he yelled, throwing his arms out. "Dad, our bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom are all in one room!" He spun in a circle, beaming at the clever layout.

Goofy turned to his friends, a tear welling up in his eye. "Our bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom are all in one room,” he repeated in a weepy voice.

"On the bright side," Minnie said, trying to be helpful, "we can always hang a nice, colorful curtain for a little privacy in the bathroom."

Max bounced. "I want the top bed, Dad!" he shouted, pointing to a shelf above a flimsy bed that looked like a large, wobbly plank.

"Two guys lived here?" Donald said, disbelief in his voice. "I'm not sure how. Did they take turns breathing?"

"Well," Goofy said, scratching his head. "They were two college fellars who said they used it for 'research trips'."

Mickey smirked. "College fellas, huh? I have a pretty strong hunch that 'research' involved a lot more than textbooks."

Daisy eyed the kitchen with a critical eye, her nose scrunched up. She opened a drawer and her eyes widened in disgust. Tucked away in the corner was a crumpled plastic bag with some dried green leaves and a couple of lumpy, hand-rolled cigarette butts. She slammed the drawer shut.

"Okay, I've kept my mouth shut, but Goofy, you're not serious," she grumbled. "You can't live in this dump, especially with a kid."

"This isn't a dump!" Max said, indignant. "This is the coolest house ever, and it's got wheels!"

Daisy rolled her eyes, grabbed Goofy's arm, and dragged him outside. She looked him in the eye and hissed, "Are you out of your mind?"

"Gawrsh, Daisy," Goofy's voice cracked. "I know it ain't much, but it's what we got." He looked back at the trailer, his shoulders slumped. "The house insurance money went to cover all them legal fees 'cause I was charged with... well, 'our son'."

"Arson," Daisy corrected, her tone as dull as a cloudy day.

"My groundskeeping job just ain't enough to get us a new house or rebuild the old one," Goofy continued. "Besides, Maxie's happy. He thinks this here's an adventure."

"Maxie's six!" Daisy scoffed, her arms crossed tight. "He doesn't know any better. He thinks if he makes a wish at 11:11, it'll come true."

Goofy's eyes went wide as he gasped. "It isn’t?"

Daisy just rolled her eyes.

"Goofy," Minnie said softly, joining them outside with Mickey and Donald. "If it's a money issue, I don't mind you two staying at my place. I know it's not much, but at least it's a house."

Goofy's sad eyes crinkled into a smile. "No, thank you, Minnie. We can manage." He knew all too well that Minnie was barely making ends meet herself.

He'd already stayed with Mickey for a week, but Max's boundless energy was too much for Mickey and poor Pluto, who'd been turned into Max's personal servant. Staying with Donald was out of the question, since his three nephews were three times as wild as Max. And Daisy, with her job as a traveling reporter, was never home long enough to even consider.

"We'll help you make this place spiffy, right fellas?" Mickey piped up, trying to lighten the mood. Minnie and Donald nodded eagerly. Daisy just sighed and gave a small, reluctant nod.

~*~*~*~*

The next day, the gang showed up to help Goofy move his belongings. It didn't take long. All he had were the few things he’d managed to save from the fire and a couple of bags of hand-me-down clothes from the local thrift store.

Daisy nudged Donald, watching Goofy carry in a stack of folded blankets. "It's a good thing he only has a few things, where else would he even put them?"

Donald sighed. "The only thing he managed to save from the house is a teddy bear and a skateboard. If only he'd grabbed the coffee can full of his life savings he hides under the kitchen sink. You know, the one he thinks we don't know about."

Daisy almost tripped over a snowboard. "Oh, yeah," she muttered, "and they managed to save this useless thing, too."

"It's not useless!" Max yelled, indignant. "This is my present from Santa! The One-of-a-Kind, Carbon-Fiber, Torque-Rod, Snappy-Flex, Tip-to-Tail, Rail-to-Rail, Wooden Core, Twin-Directional Snowboard!"

Goofy walked past with a red curtain, giving Max a big wink. "With adjustable forward-lean, high-backed, skid-plate, scooper-toe, step-in bindings! Ah-yuck!"

Max high-fived him, grinning from ear to ear. "Yeah!" he hollered.

Minnie pulled a beautiful yellow curtain from a box. "C'mon, everybody!" she announced. "Let's give this place a little sparkle!"

Minnie and Daisy worked on hanging the bright curtains, while Mickey tackled a loose wire on the oven. Goofy installed a red curtain for the shower. Donald lugged in two thick mattresses and covered them with green blankets, turning the flimsy bed and the large shelf into something resembling comfortable sleeping spots. Meanwhile, Max and Pluto were busy scrubbing the old tennis table the college kids had left behind, which would now serve as their new kitchen table.

In a short amount of time, the trailer felt as homey as possible. Goofy and Max sat at the door, waving goodbye to the gang as they drove off. Goofy looked down at his son, his face falling with a pang of sadness. "Are you happy, Maxie?" he asked softly.

Max smiled and leaned his head on his dad's shoulder. "It was sad losing my stuff in the fire," he said, "but I am happy, Dad."

Goofy pulled him into a tight hug. As he held his son close, a gentle cough made them look up. Standing before them were their neighbors from Christmas Eve. The man was holding a large box, while his wife carried a hot platter covered with a dish towel. Their daughter held a green night light and her little brother's hand.

"Jimmy!" Max exclaimed, running toward the younger boy.

Jimmy smiled and held out a tiny toy car. "I brought you one of my carses. My truckses, too!" He pointed at the box his dad was holding. “They’re in there.”

"Thanks, Jimmy!" Max said, taking the car. “Hey, wanna see my new house?”

Jimmy’s eyes lit up. “Yeah!” They walked inside the trailer. "Wow!"

"Pretty cool, huh?" Max replied proudly. "It's like one room with every room in it."

Goofy accepted the box, while Jimmy’s mother walked inside with the hot platter. He looked at his neighbor, a wave of gratitude washing over him as he remembered the family was struggling after the man had been laid off. "You didn't have to do all this," he said softly.

The man smiled warmly. "You were there for us on Christmas Eve. It's time to repay the favor." He patted the box. "We've got some plates in there, and some of my old clothes. We packed some of our daughter's unisex stuff for Max, too."

Goofy's eyes grew foggy with tears. The girl, who looked older than Max, handed Goofy the green night light with a gentle smile.

Her father pulled her into a hug, ruffling her blonde hair. "We'd love to stay, but we can't leave the other kids with Mrs. McLasky for too long."

"Gawrsh, thank you so much," Goofy said, still in awe of their kindness.

Chapter Text

"Now, Donald," Daisy whispered, smoothing down her perfectly coiffed feathers, "remember the plan. Enthusiastic, but not too enthusiastic. I care about the children. Deeply."

Donald, trying his best not to snort, just nodded. "Got it, Dee. 'Deeply'."

They stood in front of a small, slightly dusty office with a hand-painted sign: "Junior Woodchucks Headquarters." Inside, behind a mountain of merit badge sashes and what looked like a petrified squirrel, sat a stern-looking man with a monocle.

"Good morning!" Daisy chirped, practically vibrating with fake sincerity. "I'm Daisy Duck, and I'm here to volunteer my services to the Junior Woodchucks!" She beamed, a smile so wide it nearly reached her ears.

Chief Ranger Higgins peered over his monocle. "Indeed. And what makes you believe you're qualified to guide the impressionable youth of Mouseton?"

"Oh, Chief Ranger Higgins," Daisy gushed, placing a hand on her chest. "I simply adore children. Their boundless energy, their innocent curiosity, their... adorable little faces! I believe in fostering their growth, nurturing their budding talents, and teaching them the importance of... well, everything good!"

Donald let out a suspicious cough that sounded suspiciously like a suppressed quack of laughter. Daisy shot him a dagger look.

Chief Ranger Higgins raised an eyebrow. "And what specific experience do you have with children, Ms. Duck?"

Daisy paused, her smile faltering for a millisecond. "Why, I've had ample experience with my... my boyfriend’s delightful nephews," she said, practically gritting her teeth. She conveniently forgot to mention that most of that "experience" involved yelling at them to stop tracking mud into her apartment.

"Indeed," Higgins said, slowly flipping through a thick manual. "And your knowledge of the Junior Woodchucks Guidebook?"

Daisy blinked. "The... what now?"

Unable to hold it in, Donald let out a loud, sputtering laugh. Daisy elbowed him hard.

Chief Ranger Higgins sighed, pushing a stack of forms across the desk. "Ms. Duck, our Junior Woodchucks are a dedicated organization built on the principles of the Guidebook, rigorous outdoor training, and a genuine, unconditional love for nature and our fellow creatures." He gestured vaguely to the petrified squirrel. "Your enthusiasm, while... commendable, appears to be rather surface-level."

Daisy’s jaw tightened. "Surface-level? I'll have you know I'm a journalist! I get to the bottom of everything. If I can expose corruption in city hall, I can certainly get to the bottom of your little guidebook."

Higgins simply stared at her. "I see. Well, perhaps starting with a basic understanding of our motto, 'We live by the laws of nature and the rules of the Woodchucks,' might be a more appropriate first step."

Daisy snatched the forms, her face a storm cloud. "Fine! Whatever!" she snapped, stomping out of the office.

Donald managed to catch up. "So, 'deeply caring' didn't quite cut it, huh, Dee?" he chuckled.

Daisy glared at him. "This is so not funny, Donald" She smacked the forms in her hand on his face. "Next year, my resolution is to just stay home and be fabulous."

Donald rubbed his beak. "Dee, you don't need any of that stuff. You can fulfill your resolution with my nephews. You can take Max, too."

Daisy's eyes lit up. "You know what, Donald? You're right! Friends' kids are way better than a bunch of strangers' kids." She started to pace, her energy level through the roof. "And I can add my nieces to the mix, too! I can teach them all about nature and the outdoors. It's perfect! And voilà, I've got my own Junior Woodchucks soirée!"

Donald gave her a look. "It's not exactly a soirée, Dee. It's a scout-organization."

"Who cares?" Daisy said, a sly smile spreading across her face. "I told you I'm gonna nail my New Year's resolution."

Just then, Della Duck strode up the sidewalk, a huge, beaming grin on her face. She pulled out a brochure with a flashy rocket on the cover. "Donald! Daisy! I have amazing news! Mr. Duck and I have been accepted into a two-week space program! It's an incredible opportunity!"

Daisy nudged Donald. "Now's your chance," she whispered.

He took a deep breath, shot a determined glance at Daisy, and said, "Della, that sounds great. But no."

Della's smile vanished so fast it was a little scary. "What do you mean, 'no'?" she demanded.

"I mean, no more babysitting," Donald said, holding his ground. "You want to dump your kids on someone? Try Mom."

"But Mom won't have them after they painted her antique tea set with glitter glue and then used her prize-winning rose bushes as goalposts!" Della protested.

"News flash," Donald shot back, "neither will I."

Della's eyes filled with tears. "But Donald, come on, you love the kids!"

"Yes," he said, "but I love them from a safe distance." He gestured down the sidewalk. "Besides, shouldn't you be working on the Duck family reunion at your place?"

Della looked at him, completely blank. "That thing? That's not for another two months and two weeks."

"Last time, it took me and Mom five months to plan it, and it was a raging success," Donald said, a rare hint of pride in his voice. "I say you and Mr. Duck better get cracking."

He held out his arm to Daisy, who took it proudly. They walked away, leaving a fuming Della fanning herself on the sidewalk.

~*~*~*~*~

Della burst into the house, her face a thundercloud. Her husband, Mr. Duck, sat comfortably in a large armchair, the newspaper held up in front of his face.

"He's out!" she declared, throwing her hands up in frustration.

Mr. Duck slowly lowered his paper. "What do you mean, he's out?" he asked, his voice calm.

"Donald's out!" Della repeated, pacing angrily. "He won't take the kids. How are we supposed to go to the space program now?"

Mr. Duck shrugged, unfazed. "What about your parents?"

Della snorted. "My mom won't have them in the house after the last time. Remember that 'indoor hurricane' they created?" She looked around at her perfectly clean living room, a grateful sigh escaping her lips. "Speaking of hurricanes, thank goodness school is back in session."

"I know," Mr. Duck agreed, turning a page. "For eight hours a day, they're the school's problem."

Della scratched her head, a thoughtful look on her face. "We need to find someone desperate enough to take them in."

"No one would watch them in their own house, hon," Mr. Duck said with a chuckle. "Our boys are a force of nature."

A lightbulb seemed to go off in Della's head. "Well, if they won't watch them in their own house, they could watch them in our house," she said, a wicked smile spreading across her face. "We just need to find someone who’s in desperate need for a roof."

~*~*~*~*~

"Ah-yuck, sure thing, Della, me and Maxie would love to babysit your house… I mean your boys," Goofy said over the phone.

Della hung up the receiver and gave her husband a smug smile. "And that, my sweet hubby, is how you do it."

Just then, a tornado of naughty boys stormed into the house. Huey, Dewey, and Louie were a whirlwind of noise and chaos, bickering and knocking things over.

"Boys!" Della shrieked. "Make room in your room! Max is coming to stay for the next two weeks!"

"The trailer trash?" Huey asked, a grimace on his face.

Della's eyes went wide with horror. "What did you just say?"

"That's what they call him at school," Louie clarified.

"That is not nice," Della said, her voice stern. "You boys better not be saying that to your little buddy."

"We won't!" Dewey said, giving his brothers a mischievous look. "Come on, fellas, let's set up the house before Max gets here." They all shared a quick, conspiratorial wink and scurried away.

Della sighed, a dreamy look on her face. "Ah, my boys are so well-behaved. They're going to clean up the house for their friend."

Mr. Duck stared at her, a single eyebrow raised. "Whatever you say, dear."

Chapter Text

Goofy was trying to cram the few clothes they owned into a tiny duffle bag when Max shuffled into the trailer. The little guy's shoulders were slumped, and his head was down.

"How was school, son?" he asked cheerfully, taking the precious skateboard and trying to stuff it in too.

Max plopped down at the tennis table, sadly poking at the net. "The kids at school think our new house is lame, Dad," he mumbled.

"Sorry to hear that, Maxie," Goofy said, his face scrunched up as he was still trying to shove the skateboard into the tiny, overstuffed bag.

"All my friends hate me now," Max sighed.

Goofy dropped the duffle bag and looked at his son. Seeing Max so miserable broke his heart. He walked over toward him and patted him on the shoulder. "Gawrsh, son," he said softly, "if they only liked ya 'cause of what ya got, they weren't your friends to begin with."

"But nobody would talk to me today," Max said. "They all just made fun of me."

Goofy didn't know what to say to that. He looked at the duffle bag and a grin spread across his face. "Ah-yuck, well, for the next two weeks, we're gonna be bunking down in a real house."

Max's face lit up. "Really?"

"Yep," Goofy said, hoisting the duffle bag onto his shoulder. "We're staying at your Auntie Della's house."

Max's face fell. "Aw, not with Huey, Dewey, and Louie," he whined.

"Come on, son, you love Della's boys," Goofy said, motioning for Max to grab his backpack.

Putting on his backpack with a huff, Max walked with his dad outside the trailer. "Della doesn't even love her boys. She can't resist dropping them off on anyone any chance she gets," he grumbled under his breath, hoping his dad wouldn't hear him, even though his big ears caught every word.

Goofy simply smiled as they headed out, locking the trailer behind them.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The Ducks’ front door swung open, and there stood Della and Mr. Duck, both in full astronaut gear. The helmets were tucked under their arms, but the smiles on their faces were so ridiculously cheerful they might as well have been floating in zero gravity.

"Goofy! Max! You made it!" Della chirped, pulling Goofy into a zero-G hug. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! You're a lifesaver!"

"Ah-yuck, no problem, Della," Goofy said, grinning.

"Now," Della said, her voice dropping to a serious tone as she held up a finger, "I've got some instructions for you. The boys are... well, they're a little creative."

Max winced. He knew exactly what "creative" meant.

"If you see a banana peel, don't step on it," Della continued, "It's probably made of wax and coated with a thin layer of butter. Also, if you wake up with your eyebrows missing, they're probably on Donald, so just don't say anything. And if you hear a strange clicking sound in the middle of the night, don't worry, it's just them replacing the smoke detector with a whoopee cushion."

Goofy just nodded along, his eyes wide with fascination.

"Oh, and the toaster," Della said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Sometimes it likes to launch toast so high it gets stuck on the ceiling fan. Just use the broom handle to dislodge it. And if the TV remote suddenly changes to the language channel, that means they've filled the batteries with sand. Just keep a spare set handy."

Max was starting to sweat. This wasn't a house; it was a combat zone.

Della bent down and pinched Max's cheek. "You'll be sleeping in the boys' room, sweetie! There's a duffel bed all ready for you."

Mr. Duck clapped Goofy on the shoulder. "Goof, you'll be in our room. It's got a big, comfy bed and a lock on the door." He leaned in to whisper, "Always lock the door."

As Della and Mr. Duck zipped off down the street, Max grabbed his dad's hand. "Dad, please, can I sleep in your room?"

Goofy gave him a reassuring pat on the head. "Now, Maxie, don't you be silly. Them boys clearly want you to have a sleepover with them! Won't that be a hoot, having a two-week sleepover?"

"Not with those lunatics," Max grumbled under his breath.

Walking into the house, Goofy stretched happily, a huge grin spreading across his face. He tossed the duffle bag onto the floor and plopped onto the couch with a contented sigh. He grabbed a remote and started flipping through channels with a look of pure bliss. "Ah, I miss having a TV." He sat up, his eyes wide. "Lookie here, Maxie, they got cable!"

Max, however, was on high alert. He eyed the room with suspicion, anticipating an attack at any moment. He spotted a fireplace poker and grabbed it, clutching it like a sword as he cautiously moved through the living room, ready to face the three hoodlums.

He entered the kitchen, the fireplace poker held high like a medieval weapon. The room was a little too quiet. His eyes darted around, searching for a sign of danger. The cereal cabinet was open, a box of "Kwik-O's" hanging unsteadily from the top shelf. It was the oldest trick in the book. A string tied to the door, a box perched on top, ready to topple down and shower him in soggy, stale cereal.

Max scoffed. He was way too smart for that. He was about to close the cabinet when he heard a faint giggle.

He spun around, poker raised, but there was no one there. The giggle came again, louder this time, from the cabinet. He squinted, leaning in slowly, just a bit. He could see a small note taped to the inside of the cabinet door. He carefully reached in to grab it, but the moment his fingers touched the note, the Kwik-O's box flew open, and a spring-loaded boxing glove shot out and bonked him squarely on the nose.

BONK!

Max stumbled back, dropping the poker and clutching his nose. He heard the sound of triumphant cackling coming from the hallway. He glared at the ceiling, his face burning red.

"Oh, boy, we got him where we want him!" Huey's voice rang out. Dewey and Louie exploded in laughter.

Max grabbed the fireplace poker, he was a one-man special ops unit. The sound of muffled giggles echoed from the back of the house, a siren song for a righteous soldier. He moved stealthily, his sneakers squeaking just a little too loudly on the polished floor, a minor tactical misstep he'd have to correct later. The giggling grew louder, leading him to a large wooden door.

He pushed it open just enough to peek inside. It was a study, could be Mr. Duck’s office, and it was a shrine to all things nerdy. The walls were lined with books, from floor to ceiling, and a giant desk sat in the middle, covered in papers and what looked like a blueprint for a giant slingshot. Max took a single, cautious step inside.

"I know you're in here, nerds!" he called out, the fireplace poker held high like a battle standard. He scanned the room, looking for the obvious trap. His eyes landed on the bookshelf. Two little duck feet, wearing oversized sneakers, were just visible behind a particularly dusty set of encyclopedias. Max smirked. He could see the whole thing in his head: they’d jump out, yell "surprise," and probably throw something gross at him.

He tiptoed toward the bookshelf, his poker ready. "Just so you know, I’m not scared of you guys," he whispered, as if talking to a ghost. He was about to pounce when his eyes flickered to the ceiling. A long, thin fishing wire was stretched across the room, tied to a bucket dangling precariously over the doorway. The bucket was labeled "TRASH."

Max scoffed internally. Amateurs.

He changed his course, walking away from the bookshelf and toward the bucket, his eyes on the wire. He reached up, grabbed the wire, and gave it a hard tug. The bucket tipped, and a shower of shredded paper and old rubber bands fell to the floor.

"Aw, bogus!" Huey's voice yelled from behind the books. "He ruined it!" Dewey cried out. "He wasn't supposed to see it!" Louie whined.

Max smiled, a wicked glint in his eye. He walked over to the bookshelf and, with one swift motion, yanked the encyclopedias away. The three boys tumbled out, all tangled in a mess of blankets and a single, very long string. They lay there, a pile of feathers and frustration.

"Awesome," Max said, walking toward them. He used the fireplace poker to pin down each of their little duck feet, one by one. The tip of the poker pressed against their sneakers, holding them in place.

"Hey!" Louie whined, "let us go!"

"Not so fast, losers," Max said, standing over them like a conquering hero. "You guys can't even set up a simple prank without messing it up."

"It's a two-stage plan!" Huey protested. "You weren't supposed to pull the string!"

"It was a diversion!" Dewey added.

"Yeah, a diversion for me," Max said, grinning. "Now you three are all stuck."

The triplets struggled, but they were no match for the fireplace poker. "You're not playing fair!" Dewey complained.

"All's fair in love and war, guys," Max said, a victorious smile on his face. "This is a win-win situation for me. I get to play with the poker, and you get to stay put. Now, who's got a snack? I'm starving."

"Son! What are you doing?"

"Uh-oh," Max whimpered, looking at the door of the study. His dad was standing there, his face a mask of pure terror.

"Maxie," Goofy said disappointedly, shaking a finger. "That's no way to treat your cousins!"

"They're not my cousins!" Max protested, still holding them down.

"Ah-yuck, yes they are. Donald's like a brother to me, so his nephews are my nephews, which makes them your cousins."

Huey pouted up at Goofy, his eyes wide and innocent. "We were just welcoming him into the house, Unca Goofy."

"We were gonna have a slumber party!" Dewey added, his lip trembling.

"Please don't punish him, Unca Goofy," Louie said sweetly. "We love our cousin Maxie!"

A tear welled up in Goofy's eye. "Aw, you poor, sweet boys," he cried, dropping to his knees. He grabbed all three of them in a giant hug. "Don't you worry, Maxie won't hurt you no more." Max rolled his eyes at that.

Goofy looked around at the mess of shredded paper and rubber bands. "Now, someone's gotta clean this up."

"We'll do it, Unca Goofy!" Huey said in a sugary-sweet voice.

Goofy looked at Max. "You should clean up, son. After all, you made that mess."

Max's jaw dropped. He looked from his father's stern face to the triplets, who were trying their best to stifle their laughter. "But, Dad…"

"No buts about it, Maxie-boy," Goofy said. "You should treat your cousins right." He stood up, holding the triplets in his arms like a bunch of kittens. "Now, I'm gonna whip up a nice, tasty dinner for us, and then it's off to bed for you fellars. Ya all gotta get up for school tomorrow."

The triplets stuck their tongues out at Max, who was seething. He stood there for a moment, deciding that getting mad wouldn't help. He'd get even instead.

~*~*~*~*~

"Okay, boys, my famous Goop-a-roni is all done," Goofy said cheerfully, walking into the dining room with a steaming giant bowl. Max watched as Huey, Dewey, and Louie took their seats, all with angelic smiles that screamed trouble.

"Now, dig in, fellars!" Goofy said, setting down the bowl of macaroni and cheese.

The triplets waited for Max to make the first move. Knowing this was a trap, he picked up his fork and poked at his mac and cheese, eyeing the boys from across the table. They were all sitting perfectly still, their hands on their laps, just waiting for the right moment to strike.

Louie, who was the closest to Max, coughed politely. Max didn't move. Louie coughed again, this time with a little more gusto. Max ignored him. Finally, Louie let out a loud, theatrical sneeze, and as he did, his hand darted out and flicked a spoonful of Goop-a-roni at Max.

Max ducked just in time, and the glob of mac and cheese splattered harmlessly on the wall behind him. "Hey!" he yelled.

Goofy turned to him, a confused look on his face. "What's wrong, Maxie? Don't you like your dinner?"

"He's throwing food, Unca Goofy!" Dewey cried, pointing at the food stain on the wall.

"I didn't do it!" Max protested. "Louie threw it at me!"

Louie held up perfectly clean hands. "I don't know what's he's talking about."

Goofy just chuckled. "Now, son, nobody's throwing no food."

Max glared at the triplets, who were trying to stifle their giggles. He wasn't going to let this go. He decided to fight back. He waited for the right moment, and when Huey was about to take a bite, Max launched a meatball from his spoon right at Huey's face.

The meatball flew through the air, but Huey leaned to the side, and the meatball landed squarely on Goofy's nose.

Goofy's eyes crossed as he stared at the meatball. "Well, I'll be," he said, and then, without missing a beat, he slurped it right off his nose. "Mighty tasty!"

The triplets burst out laughing, and Max threw his fork down in frustration. "I hate you guys!" he yelled.

Goofy's face turned serious. "Now, that's enough of that, Max. I don't know what's gotten into you, but you're not acting right."

"He started it!" Max said, pointing at Louie.

Huey, with a look of pure innocence, looked at Goofy. "Unca Goofy, he said he's not hungry."

"Yeah," Dewey added, "he said he's too full from all the food he's been throwing."

Goofy sighed, shaking his head. "Well, I reckon if ya got all that energy for throwing food, you got all the energy to wash the dishes afterward."

Max's eyes widened in horror. "But Dad, they started it!"

"Now, Maxie, don't you talk back to your pop," Goofy said, his voice firm but kind. "You can't be throwing food and then expecting others to clean up your mess. Now, you get to scrubbing."

Max looked at the triplets, who were all high-fiving each other under the table. He was so mad he could barely speak. As he stormed off to the kitchen, he heard his dad's voice. "Aw, don't worry, boys, more for us!"

"Hooray!" The triplets cheered gleefully.

Glaring at the dirty pots and pans in the sink, Max vowed he'd get his revenge tonight.

~*~*~*~*~

Huey, Dewey, and Louie stood in front of the mirror, brushing their teeth with oversized brushes and laughing so hard they were almost falling over.

"He was so mad!" Dewey said, his voice muffled by the foam.

"Yeah!" Huey added, "He's gonna be washing dishes all night!"

Louie giggled. "I can't wait for what we're gonna do after school tomorrow!"

"Me neither!" Dewey said. "I'm already working on the blueprints for a super-soaker water ambush!"

"I'll be thinking of something good during Math class!" Louie said.

The three boys finished brushing their teeth and headed to their room, still snickering and chattering excitedly about their plans for tomorrow. They were almost to the bedroom when they saw Max, trudging up the stairs with his backpack slung over his shoulder, his face a mask of annoyance.

"Hey, Maxie!" Huey called out, a huge grin on his face. "Hope you had fun doing the dishes!"

Max just glared at them, his eyes narrowed into slits as he stomped past them to the bathroom. He didn't say a word, which the triplets took as a sign of their complete victory. They walked into their room, still laughing.

The triplets threw themselves into their beds, exhausted from their day of mischief. But as they lay there, they started to feel... strange. Their sheets felt sticky, and a weird, sweet smell filled the air. "Hey, what's going on?" Dewey asked, trying to get out of bed. But he couldn't. His sheets were stuck to his pajamas.

"I'm stuck!" Huey yelled.

"Me too!" Louie cried. "My whole body is stuck!"

The three of them struggled, pulling and tugging at the sheets, but it was no use. They were completely stuck.

"Having some trouble, boys?"

They looked toward the doorway. Leaning against the doorframe, Max held a spatula in one hand, a smirk on his face.

"What did you do?" Huey demanded.

"While you guys were enjoying dinner," Max said, holding up the spatula, "I found this in the kitchen." He held up the spatula. "Then I found this." He pointed to a small bottle of pancake syrup on a nearby table. "I slathered your beds with it."

The triplets groaned in unison.

"This is so not fair," Dewey moaned.

"You're totally right," Max said with a triumphant smile. His grin faltered slightly as he glanced at his duffle bag, inspecting it for any hidden surprises. He nodded to himself, satisfied that it was clean.

"Oh no," Dewey whispered, his eyes wide. "We forgot to put the frogs in his duffle bag."

Max carefully arranged his duffle bed and then lay down on it, letting out a contented sigh. "Night, boys," he said, closing his eyes with a victorious smile.

Chapter Text

Mickey stared at the silent phone on his desk. He picked it up, wiped a speck of dust off the receiver, and then put it back down with a frustrated little thud. The office was quiet, save for the gentle snoring of Pluto, who was curled up on a dog bed next to the desk.

"Gosh, Pluto, pal," Mickey mumbled, leaning his chin on his hand. "I don't get it. Not a single phone call for months. I thought for sure someone would need a good lawyer today! Maybe a landlord dispute, or a contract mix-up..."

Pluto's tail gave a lazy thump-thump-thump against the floor, his way of listening.

"I just don't know what I'm doing wrong," Mickey continued, his voice full of self-pity. He patted a stack of law books. "I studied all this stuff, took the bar exam... I was gonna be a hotshot lawyer, ya know? A real big-time legal beagle! But look at me, sitting here with nothing to do but talk to a sleepy dog."

He sank a little lower in his chair. "Some days, I just feel like I made a wrong turn somewhere. Maybe I should've stuck with being a steamboat captain..."

Just then, the phone rang, making both Mickey and Pluto jump. His eyes lit up, and he straightened up in his chair, an optimistic smile spreading across his face. He snatched the phone up on the second ring. "Hello! Mickey Mouse, Attorney at Law, how can I help you?"

"Yeah, is this the pizza place? I ordered a large pepperoni an hour ago, and it's still not here!"

Mickey's smile vanished. "Oh. Uh... no, sir, this isn't the pizza place. This is a law office."

"A law office?" the voice grumbled. "Well, that's just swell. So you can't help me with my cold pizza?"

"Not really," Mickey said, his shoulders slumping. "But I could probably help you sue the pizza place for breach of contract!"

There was a moment of silence on the other end, followed by a loud click as the person hung up.

Mickey sighed, slowly placing the receiver back on the hook.

A soft knock came from his door, and his ears drooped. "Gosh, Pluto," he mumbled, "you think it's the pizza guy, back for legal advice?"

He shuffled to the door and opened it, a half-hearted smile on his face. The smile dissolved into a look of horror. Standing there was a tall, stern woman with red hair pulled into a severe bun. She wore thick glasses that made her eyes look like two magnifying glasses and had a strict, no-nonsense expression that was downright terrifying. It was Carol, Goofy's petrifying sister-in-law.

"Oh... uh, hello, Mrs. Miller," he said in a squeaky voice.

She just looked past him, her eyes scanning his office. Standing next to her was a teenage girl who looked like she'd been yanked straight out of a Molly Ringwald movie. She had a mountain of permed hair held in place by a neon headband. She wore a baggy, off-the-shoulder sweatshirt, acid-wash jeans that were rolled up at the ankles, and white sneakers with the laces untied. She was chewing gum with a rhythmic smack-smack-smack and blowing a giant bubble that popped right in Mickey's face.

He stared at the gum on his nose, then at Carol's unforgiving expression, and finally at the girl, who looked like she'd rather be anywhere else in the world.

"We need to talk," Carol said dryly. "It's about that good-for-nothing brother-in-law of mine."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Max trudged home from school, his backpack feeling like a hundred pounds on his shoulders. The walk was a marathon, thanks to the "cool kids" who made him run. The boys had shoved him into a trash can, and the girls had chased him, chanting "trailer trash has cooties." It was a real riot, apparently. He'd also learned that week that being a "trailer trash" meant you could only read books about garbage trucks and that his dad was a big, goofy joke. His homeroom teacher, Ms. Crabtree, with a face as sour as her name, just sat at her desk, sipping from a mug and sighing. He was pretty sure she didn't care about anything except waiting for the end of the month and her paycheck.

"Another day, another trip to the trash can," Max muttered, kicking a stone. "I just don't get why living in a trailer is such a big deal."

He reached the Ducks' house and stopped short, his eyes narrowed. The lawn was silent, the windows were dark, and the front door was closed. It was a little too quiet. He knew the creeps had gotten out of school early while he was trying to get out of the trash can. They must have set up new traps for him.

He cautiously looked around, ready for any sudden surprises. They were waiting for him, that’s for sure.

His sneakers crunched on the gravel as he inched his way up the front walk. Suddenly, a flash of red. Max dove behind a giant clay pot, his heart pounding. He peeked out just as a small, red-clad figure ducked behind a rosebush. Gotcha. He had him. He crept around the bush and pounced, grabbing a handful of Huey's jacket.

"Aha!" Max said, his voice a triumphant whisper. "I knew it was you!"

Huey just stood there, a strange, placid smile on his face. "Hey, Maxie," he said, his voice unusually calm. "You caught me."

Max narrowed his eyes. "Okay, what's the deal? Are there a bunch of ropes tied to the roof? Is there a net hidden in the tree?"

"You're too smart for us, Max," Huey said with a sigh. "We thought we had you, but you figured it out."

Max's chest puffed up with pride. "Yeah, I did. So what's the gag?"

"It's a sprinkler ambush," Huey said, shrugging his shoulders. "Louie's in the bushes, and Dewey's on the lawn."

Max looked at the perfectly manicured lawn, then at the bushes, and a triumphant smirk spread across his face. "Oh, I get it," he said, feeling a surge of pure victory. "I'm supposed to go over there, and you guys are gonna turn the sprinklers on and get me all wet, right?"

"That's the plan," Huey said, a small, subtle smile on his face. "But since you already figured it out, you can just go inside. The coast is clear."

Feeling like a genius, Max let go of Huey and walked toward the front door. "Nice try, guys," he said, chuckling to himself. He reached for the kitchen doorknob, but it wouldn't turn. It was locked. He looked back at the yard, and that's when he heard the sound.

Woosh!

A giant, inflatable water slide suddenly inflated, blocking his way to the door. The sprinklers went off, soaking him from head to toe. Confetti canons went off, covering him in a rainbow of colors. The sprinkler ambush was a decoy.

Huey, Dewey, and Louie all came out of their hiding spots, their faces red with laughter.

"Looks like you got soaked, Maxie!" Huey yelled.

"Yeah!" Dewey said, his voice high with glee. "We're not just sprinkler ambushers! We're sprinkler, confetti, and inflatable slide ambushers!"

Soaked and covered in confetti, Max's defeated look transformed into a grin when he spotted his aunt and Mickey on the sidewalk.

"Hi, Aunt Carol!" he yelled, running toward her.

But his aunt just looked at him, her face a storm cloud. "Max," she said, her voice stern. "You're all wet."

Max came to a screeching halt, his arms outstretched for a hug. He quickly placed them behind his back. "Yeah," he mumbled, looking down at his soggy clothes. "I, uh, was just... h-hanging out in the yard."

"Hi, cos," Debbie said, popping her gum.

"Hi, Debbie," he muttered under his breath. He had a long and painful history with his older cousin, who had babysat him a few times. He still remembered the time she'd tried to choke him with baby powder.

Mickey cleared his throat, a look of discomfort on his face. "Say, Max, is your dad back from work?"

"Yeah," Max said, looking back at the house. "He usually gets here before us."

"Well, you need to change your clothes right now before you catch a cold," Carol said, her voice sharp. She turned and walked toward the house, Debbie trailing after her.

Mickey watched them go, shaking his head. "Gosh, that Carol can be a real pain," he grumbled to himself. "Poor Goofy."

Max looked at Mickey, then at his aunt's receding back. He wondered why everyone hated his aunt when Debbie was the real psycho.

Suddenly, a bucket of green slime dropped from the rooftop, landing on his head. "Gotcha!" the triplets yelled, their faces a mix of glee and triumph. Max froze, the slime dripping down his face. A wicked smile spread across his face.

"Oh, it is so on," he said, and with a yell, he charged after them, ready for battle.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Goofy hummed to himself as he whipped up a batch of "Hi Dad" soup, a special request from the triplets. They'd have a blast spelling out their names and all the new words they'd learned in school last night. Max had pulled him aside and showed him his empty bowl, where the alphabet noodles had spelled out "I love you." It made Goofy's heart flutter, and he couldn’t sleep all night. It had been ten days since he and Max moved into the Ducks' house, and the triplets were absolutely gaga for his cooking.

The doorbell rang, and Goofy paused, a spoonful of soup in midair. "Gawrsh, why would the boys be a-ringin' the bell?" he mumbled to himself. He'd left the kitchen door unlocked on purpose, since the boys always came in that way. He went to check it, only to find it locked. A frown formed on his face; had he locked it by mistake?

Drying his hands, he went to the front door, his smile already in place. "Gawrsh, sorry I kept ya waitin', boys, don't know how that kitchen door got all locked up."

But when he opened it, his smile froze on his face. Standing there, like a sentry at a fortress, was Carol, her expression was as severe as ever.

"Hello, Goofy," she said flatly.

"H-hello there, Carol," he stammered, his smile stretched unnaturally tight.

Next to her, Debbie gave a little wave. "Hi, Uncle Goofy."

His smile finally reached his eyes. "Hi-ya, Debbie! My, my, you sure did get all growed up!"

Carol stepped inside, her eyes scanning the house. "We need to talk." Debbie trailed in behind her. Mickey gave Goofy a quick, apologetic look as he followed them in.

"You burned down my house!" Carol stated, grabbing a duck-shaped antique vase and turning it over in her hands as if checking for dust. "You didn't even bother to tell me! I had to find out from your neighbor!"

"My neighbor?" Goofy asked, scratching his head.

"She means Pete," Mickey said with a glare.

"But Pete went back to Spoonerville on New Year's," Goofy said, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Mickey shook his head. "He didn't. I saw him leave the day after."

Carol slammed the vase down on a side table. "Focus, please!" she said, her eyes narrowing. "Imagine my shock when he told me my nephew was living in some tin can on wheels!"

"Ah-yuck, he's been living here in this house," he said, gesturing around the room.

"Temporarily," Carol retorted, picking up a framed photograph of Della and Donald when they were children. "But then you'll just move him back to that tiny trailer. And while you were scallywagging here, he was getting soaking wet outside without supervision!"

"It was just them kids a-playin'," Goofy said, his voice soft. "That's all."

"I never approved of you as a husband to my sister, and I still see you as unfit to be a father to her son," Carol said with contempt. "You're irresponsible, you're clumsy, and you can't even keep your own son out of trouble."

She moved forward, putting her face right in his. "I'm taking Max to live with me. I've already hired a lawyer. He's twice as efficient as that friend of yours from the last time we faced each other in court."

"Now, now, Mrs. Miller, let's not be hasty," Mickey said, stepping forward. "There's no need to take Max away from his dad."

"These are family matters. You don't have a say in it." Carol shot him a glare. "Debbie, outside. Now," she ordered, and Debbie, who had been inspecting a 1000-piece puzzle, quickly followed her mother.

Goofy turned to Mickey, his eyes wide with panic. "Oh, my gosh, what am I a-gonna do?" he cried, grabbing his friend by the shoulders. "Ya gotta help me! Will ya represent me in court?"

Mickey's eyes lit up, a mix of shock and delight on his face. "Gosh, Goofy, you want me to be your lawyer?"

Goofy's shoulders slumped. "You're the only one I can afford."

Mickey’s face fell. "Oh."

"You're gonna do it for free, right, Mick? 'Cause I don't really have any money on me."

Mickey sighed, a hint of resignation in his voice. "Sure, pal."

Chapter Text

Goofy sat on the couch, his head in his hands, staring at the floor. The Ducks' living room, normally so bright and cheerful, felt heavy with silence. Mickey eyed the pictures lining the walls, recording the triplets' adventures, from space camp to mountain climbing. Over the fireplace hung a large family portrait of the Duck clan, including Scrooge McDuck himself. Donald sat stiffly in an armchair, tapping his foot. Daisy paced back and forth, her hands on her hips, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

Minnie stood with her arms crossed, her worried gaze fixed on a duck-shaped vase on the mantelpiece. "I just can't believe Carol would do this," she said. "To try and take Max away from you... it's just so cruel."

Goofy let out a low groan. "Gawrsh, I don't know what I'm a-gonna do. She's got a lawyer and everything. She said he's twice as good as you, Minnie." He glanced at Mickey, who was now sitting in a corner, staring at his shoes. "Do you think there’s a chance I can win custody again?"

Mickey lifted his head, about to say something reassuring, when Daisy stopped pacing and put her hands on her hips. "Minnie," she said, her voice blunt and direct. "You should represent Goofy."

Minnie's eyes widened. "Daisy, I... I can't. I'm not a lawyer anymore."

"But you were so good at it!" Daisy insisted, gesturing wildly with her hands. She turned to Mickey, her voice dropping. "No offense, Mickey, but you've never won a case in your life."

Mickey flinched, his face a mix of hurt and sadness.

"That's not true, Daisy!" Minnie rushed to his defense, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I wouldn't have won my last case if it wasn't for Mickey's help!"

Daisy scoffed. "Minnie, even when your heart wasn't in it, you still managed to win that case and prove the Phantom Blot's innocence. It was a miracle! We're talking about Penny's cruel sister here. She's the type who'd hire the most expensive lawyer she could find. To be frank, Goofy doesn't stand a chance of winning this, not with him living in a trailer and having caused the arson himself."

A new silence filled the room, one that was thick and heavy with unspoken dread.

"Carol doesn't know about that," Mickey said quietly, but his voice was full of doubt. "But I guess her lawyer will find it out if he digs into Goofy's history."

Daisy nodded, her eyes on the big family portrait. "That's why you need Minnie, Goofy. You need a lawyer who's going to fight for you and win."

Mickey looked down at the floor, a dejected look on his face. He felt Goofy's hand on his shoulder and looked up. Goofy had a genuine smile that reached his eyes.

"Thanks, Daisy," he said, his voice as cheerful as ever. "But I'll go with Mickey. I believe in ya, pal."

Daisy just sighed, her eyes falling on a framed photo of Della and her husband in their pilot uniforms. "Suit yourself, Goofy," she said, her voice dry. "I just hope Max will be around when I get back in April."

"When's your flight?" Minnie asked, a worried frown on her face.

"The day after tomorrow at noon," Daisy said. "My boss is sending me to some jungle to write a story on a rare butterfly."

Minnie turned to Donald, who had been eerily silent, his frown deepening with every second he stared at the kitchen door. "Donald, you've been so quiet. What's wrong?"

"One of the boys is in the kitchen," he growled. "I just saw a tiny green bundle sneaking in!"

"No, they must be asleep," Goofy said, his face a picture of confusion. "It's a school night."

Donald shot him a look that could curdle milk. "They're always up to something!" He stomped into the kitchen, his voice rising. "I'll bet my last sea shanty they're..." He opened the door and his face turned beet red.

Louie had pushed the kitchen table aside and stacked a chair on top, a dangerous ladder to temptation. The freezer door was wide open, and he was trying to get a bucket of ice cream.

"Louie! What are you doing?!" Donald yelled, his voice a furious squawk.

Startled, Louie lost his grip on the ice cream bucket. It landed on the floor with a splat, sending a wave of frozen sugar across the tiles. "Oops," he said, giving a sheepish grin.

"Why aren't you sleeping like the others?" Donald demanded, his hands on his hips.

"None of us are asleep!" Louie said defensively. "We were having a 'prankventure' in the bedroom!"

Donald stared at the mess, then at Louie's unapologetic face. "A prankventure?" he muttered, a defeated sigh escaping his lips. He picked up the boy and carried him upstairs. "I don't even want to know."

Donald trudged up the stairs, Louie still in his arms. Just as he reached the landing, a torrent of yelling erupted from the boys' bedroom.

"You guys are such jerks!" Max's voice bellowed, full of furious indignation. "You totally wrecked my duffle bed!"

"It's our duffle bed, airhead!" Huey's voice retorted.

"Yeah!" Dewey's yell drifted from inside the room. "Bet you don't even own one of your own!"

With a tired eye-roll, Donald looked down at Louie, who was squirming in his arms. "Why can't you boys just get along?" he muttered.

Louie just shrugged.

Donald continued toward the room, but then Max's voice came again, this time with a venomous edge. "I hate you! You're the biggest creeps in the whole world!"

"Well, the whole school hates you, so what's new?" Huey shot back. "I've never met a single person who likes you. You're a total dweeb!"

"I hope your stupid aunt takes you away!" Dewey's voice, full of cruel glee, joined in. "Bet your dad will be way happier with you gone!"

Donald's temper flared. He took a quick step toward the door, knowing this was getting out of hand.

"At least my dad wants me around!" Max yelled. "Your parents hate you so much, they couldn't wait to fly to Mars to get away from you!"

The insult hung in the air, a thick silence following in its wake. Donald felt the tension in Louie's small body as his nephew stiffened in his arms.

Max's voice continued, a chillingly calm fury now replacing his anger. "My dad and my aunt are fighting to have me. But your parents and your uncle are fighting over who gets to give you away."

"You're making stuff up!" Huey's voice was tight.

Max's response came without hesitation. "Do you know what your Uncle Donald's New Year's resolution is?"

Donald felt a jolt of panic. He pushed the bedroom door open, about to yell at Max to stop, but it was too late.

"He said he's never going to babysit you again because he doesn't want you!"

"Max!" Donald roared, the word a mix of outrage and pure, panicked dread.

Donald stood frozen inside the room. Huey and Dewey stared at him, their faces pale with shock. They looked like they'd been hit by a truck, their toy robots and comic books a mess on the floor. In Donald's arms, Louie pulled away, his eyes wide and stung. For a moment, the three boys weren't plotting pranksters; they were just three little kids who'd just had their biggest fear confirmed.

Donald's gaze fell on Max, who was now just standing there. "Max," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "I think it's best you sleep with your dad tonight."

"Cool!" he grumbled. "That's what I wanted from the beginning!" He strode out of the room, leaving the demolished duffle bed on the floor.

As Max's footsteps faded, Louie looked up at Donald, his eyes glistening. "Is it true, Unca Donald?" he said in a small voice. "You don't like us?"

Heart aching, Donald knelt on the floor, pulling all three of them into a tight hug. "Oh, boys, no! Of course not!" he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you with all my heart!"

Huey pulled back, a look of annoyance on his face. "Yeah, but you're forced to have us in your house because Mom and Dad don't want us."

"I bet even Grandma doesn't want us in her house," Louie said sadly. "We haven't been there in ages."

"It's not that we don't like you," Donald said, his voice softening. "It's just that... well, we care about our furniture, too. Your pranks have broken more things than a hurricane, and you've ruined a lot of your grandma's antiques and things."

Huey, Dewey, and Louie looked at each other, a little embarrassed.

Donald guided them to sit on the edge of one of the three beds, pushing aside a baseball mitt and a stack of trading cards. He sat beside them, his hand resting on Louie's head. "Look, I know you guys are going through a tough time," he said gently. "Tell you what. Your folks will be back in three days. How about I stick around here with you until they get back?"

"Hooray!" The boys cheered and squeezed him in a group hug. As they pulled back, Huey gave him a nasty look. "And Max can go back to that crummy trailer where he belongs."

"Now boys," Donald said, his expression serious. "You'd better play nice with Max. He's your..."

The three of them sighed in unison. "We know, he's our cousin," they droned.

"Cousin? I was gonna say friend," Donald said, a thoughtful expression on his face. He looked up at the ceiling, a wistful smile on his face. "Cousin. I like that."

Chapter Text

Donald watched from the kitchen doorway as his nephews flew into their parents' arms the second they walked through the door. The boys looked so genuinely happy to see their mom and dad, their faces lit up with pure joy. They immediately began dragging Della and their dad into the living room, pointing enthusiastically at the tidy house.

"Look, Mom! Look, Dad!" Huey exclaimed, gesturing with wild abandon. "The house is sparkling clean!"

"Nothing's broken!" Dewey chimed in.

"Everything is intact!" Louie added, jumping up and down.

Mr. Duck raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's a first."

Della gushed, kneeling down to hug her boys. "My sweet little angels! You finally picked up a broom!"

Donald twisted his beak. Picked up a broom? I picked up a broom. And a dustpan, and a mop, and a roll of duct tape to fix all the holes. At least the boys were gracious enough not to mess it up after he spent three days cleaning the place.

"Are you happy, Mom? Do you like the house?" Dewey asked, a tremor of uncertainty in his voice.

The question broke Donald's heart. He knew the boys were still shaken from Max's cruel words the other night. They were trying so hard to please their parents, to prove they were worth staying for.

Della smiled warmly. "Of course I'm happy, sweetie."

Mr. Duck sat on the couch with a sigh of contentment. "The house has never been cleaner. You did well, kiddos."

The triplets high-fived each other, their faces beaming with relief. "All right!" they yelled in unison.

Della looked up and seemed surprised to see Donald in the house. "Donald? Where's Goofy?"

"He went back to his place with Max three days ago," Donald said. "I took over watching the boys."

Della just nodded distractedly, her face lighting up as she unzipped her luggage. She pulled out a handful of souvenirs and handed them to the boys. "Here you go, my little astronauts! Souvenirs from the space station!"

Louie held up a commemorative coffee mug with a picture of a satellite on it. "Thanks, Mom!"

"And I got you a limited edition keychain that looks just like the main thruster!" Della said, handing a small, metallic object to Dewey.

"Wow, thanks, Mom," he said, trying to sound excited.

Huey held up a patch with the space program logo on it. "Cool! Thanks, Mom!" he exclaimed, his eyes already darting to his brothers. He leaned in and whispered, "We could use this to plug up the toilet..."

Donald cleared his throat loudly. The boys' heads snapped to him, and they ducked them in embarrassment. "Or not," Huey muttered, a sheepish look on his face.

Oblivious to the exchange, Della plopped down on the couch next to her husband, who was now fully engrossed in what was on TV. She began to ramble about the space program, her voice full of excitement. "You guys wouldn't believe it! The gravity simulator was incredible! And the freeze-dried ice cream? Oh my gosh, so delicious! You have to try it! We've met so many cool people, too. There's this one scientist, Dr. Quack, who works on..."

Donald stood in the kitchen doorway, growing more and more impatient with every passing second. He sighed loudly, hoping to get his sister's attention. "Uh, Della... word?" he said, nodding toward the kitchen.

Della looked displeased at being interrupted. She reluctantly stood up and walked into the kitchen with him, leaving the boys to settle on the couch next to their dad. Donald frowned at her, his hands on his hips.

"Look, Della," he began, his voice low. "While you two were gone, the boys got into some trouble. They've been a handful, and a lot of it is because they feel... neglected."

Della's eyes widened. "Neglected? What are you talking about, Donald? I send them postcards! We called every night!"

"It's not the same," Donald said, shaking his head. "They're just kids. They miss you. They miss their dad. They’ve been locked in a nonstop prank war with Max that took a seriously ugly turn until I stepped in."

"Well, that's what you're for, isn't it?" Della retorted. "You're their uncle! They have you to watch them while we're gone!"

Donald's face flushed with anger. "That's not what I'm saying! I love those boys, but they need their parents. They need to know that you care about them more than your next big adventure."

"More than my next adventure?" Della scoffed, running a hand through her hair. "I'm a role model for them! I'm doing this for their future!"

"Are you?" Donald's voice was sharp. "Because all they see is you leaving. They think you don't love them because they break things, which is why they've been trying to clean this house nonstop. They think this is the only way for you to love them, that if they're clean and tidy you'll actually stay for more than a couple of weeks."

Della stared at him, her eyes wide with shock. "They think... they think that's why we leave?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "That's not... that's not true! I love my boys more than anything!"

"Then you need to show them," Donald said, his voice softening. "They're just kids, Della. They need their mom. They need to know they're loved, even when they're not perfect."

Tears welled in Della's eyes. She looked down at her hands, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "I didn't know," she whispered, her voice filled with guilt. "I didn't know."

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You just need to spend more time with them," he said, his voice quiet. "They need you to be there."

Without a second pause, she rushed out of the kitchen and into the living room, where the boys were snuggled against their dad. She swooped them into a tight hug, showering them with kisses.

"Boys, you know I love you, right?" she said, her voice trembling.

The triplets looked confused, but they nodded in unison. "Yes, Mom."

"I don't want you to change who you are for me," she said, pulling back to look at their faces. "I love you just the way you are! You are my little angels, even if you do ruin everything in the house. Never change, dears."

Donald’s beak hit the floor with a clatter. "Uh, Della?" he stammered, his eyes wide with horror.

Huey's eyes lit up. "You mean it's okay to play pranks?"

"Of course!" Della said, ruffling his feathers.

"Della!" Donald exclaimed in terror.

The boys yelled, "Hooray!" They grabbed their presents and started running toward their room. "C'mon, I'll show you how we can make this junk useful!" Huey yelled to his brothers.

Before they could get away, Donald stood in front of them like a wall, glaring down with a look of pure fury. The boys scurried behind their mom, peeking out at their uncle.

"Mom, look, Unca Donald's scaring us!" Louie whispered.

Della glared at Donald, her hands on her hips. "Why are you scaring my angels?"

He smacked his face with his palm, a defeated look on his face. "That's not what I meant when I said 'spend time with them'!" he grumbled. "I meant do something productive! Something that doesn't involve destroying the house!"

Mr. Duck looked up from the TV screen. "How about planning the Duck Family Reunion?" he suggested. "It's already February, we need to start planning."

"Right!" Donald said, his eyes lighting up. "The Duck Family Reunion! You can organize it together!" He smiled at the boys. "You can help your mom get ready for it, just like I did with my mom at the last family reunion five years ago."

Della grimaced at the thought, but then she sighed, a small smile on her face. "What do you say, boys? Would you help Mommy plan this silly yet for some reason sacred event?"

"Can we think of games?" Dewey said, his eyes wide with excitement. "Like treasure hunt ideas?"

"I don’t know," Della said. "There were never any games at those reunions. It was mostly family members gossiping and eating."

"Boring," Dewey said, a pout on his face.

"But Della, remember the last family reunion?" Donald said. "We showed Phantom Blot’s trial on TV, and the whole family was invested. Maybe adding games would make it more fun."

She looked like she was considering it. "Maybe. Besides, most of our cousins have children now, so it won't be a bad idea to have games for them."

Mr. Duck added, "And the grown-ups!"

Della's eyes lit up. "Ooh, I remember when I was a kid! My mom and I used to go to those mother-daughter sleepovers and play all sorts of fun games!"

"But Mom, we're not daughters," Louie said.

"We can call it 'mother-children' games," Della said, grinning.

"That's cool!" Huey said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Can we come up with ideas for the games?"

"Get cracking!" Della said.

The boys cheered and ran up to their room, leaving Donald and Della standing in the living room.

"I'm proud of you, Della," Donald said, smiling. "That's a good thing you're…"

He was cut off abruptly as she grabbed him by the collar. Her face was a mask of fury, her teeth gritted. "Damn you, Donald! Look what you did!"

Donald blinked, confused. "What?" he squeaked.

"I'm not cut out for this!" she shrieked, letting go of his collar and gesturing wildly at the room. "I don't know how to plan a gathering for hundreds of relatives! Do you know what that means?!"

Mr. Duck spoke from his armchair. "You can ask your mom to help you."

Della's face twisted in a panicked grimace. "I weaseled my way out of helping her when it was her turn. She'll throw it in my face if I ask now!"

Donald thought for a moment. "You can ask Minnie. She's got a good taste, and she's been talking about having nothing to do lately."

"Yes! I can dump it all on Minnie!"

"No," Donald said slowly, as if talking to a particularly dense parrot. "You're going to ask her to help you. You're doing all the work; she's just helping."

Della groaned and sank onto the couch. "This is so not my thing," she mumbled, a defeated look on her face. "I'm a pilot! I fly rockets! I don't plan parties!"

Chapter Text

Goofy sat at his tennis table, the few crumpled bills of his monthly salary scattered before him. He stared at the meager pile, a frown on his face. He'd gone and spent almost all of it to fix that old dungy oven. He sighed, rubbing his chin. "Gawrsh, why'd we need an oven anyway?" he muttered. His ancestors didn't have one; they cooked their vittles over a good old fashioned wood fire. It was better that way, didn't need no "temperature control" or "electric currents."

And why did they need all them groceries anyway? He could have just caught a few fish and cooked them over the fire. They didn't need no fancy groceries. He could have gotten some berries from a bush, they didn't need no ice cream or no sugar.

And why did he have to go and get Maxie that red getup for Valentine's Day? Why do six-year-olds need to concern themselves with Valentine's Day anyway? He definitely didn't have to get that fancy tweed blazer with them leather elbow patches just to fit in with them highfaluting faculty at the high school he was working in.

"What a waste!" he grumbled to himself.

"Dad!" Max's voice thundered through the trailer, and Goofy hurriedly swept his meager pile of cash off the table and into his pocket.

"Ah-yuck, hi-ya, Maxie!" he said, trying to act natural. "How was school?"

Max jumped up and down, a giant grin on his face. "I've got a friend, Dad!"

"That's great, Maxie!" He knew his boy had been struggling to make friends ever since they moved into the trailer park, which had only their trailer and a lot of empty lots.

"Wanna meet him?"

"You betcha!" Goofy said, glancing excitedly at the door.

Max pointed at the empty space next to him. "Here he is!"

Goofy stared hard at the space. There was no one there. He rubbed his eyes, but it was no use. "Say, son, either that friend of yours is mighty clean or he's wearing one of them invisibility hats, a-hyuck!"

"No, Dad, he's standing right here!" Max insisted, pointing with both hands at the same empty spot.

He stared between his son and the empty space, wondering if he should get the boy tested, until it dawned on him. Max had an imaginary friend, just like he did when he was a youngster. Ah, good old Irving. He was a heck of a skittles player. Goofy put a relaxed smile on his face. "Well, son, introduce us. What's your little friend's name?"

"This is Moophus, Dad. He's a cow," Max said, holding up his arm as if to side-hug his imaginary friend.

"A cow, eh? He looks like a well-rounded individual!" Goofy said, and then laughed at his own joke.

"What's that, Moophus?" Max asked, leaning in as if to listen. He looked at his dad, his smile gone. "Moophus said he's not amused."

"A talking cow!" Goofy said, his eyes wide. "That's some friend you've got there, son."

"Dad, can I and Moophus play outside with the skateboard?"

"All right, but watch out..." Goofy stopped before he called as Max started to walk away. "Wait, Max!" He looked with a sinking heart at Max's pants, ripped in the knee. "What happened to your pants?"

Max scratched his temple awkwardly. "I, uh, fell."

Goofy shook his head. "Gawrsh, Max, we're a-runnin' out of pants for ya, son. Your Valentine's Day getup had a juice stain on the red jacket and a tear in the britches that I just can't a-fix."

Max looked down with a grimace. "I'm sorry, Dad. I'll be more careful."

He watched Max head outside with his skateboard and let out a sigh. They were down to just one pair of non-ripped pants. Goofy knew he had to get a needle and thread to sew patches on the others, and that meant a much-needed visit to Minnie's.

~*~*~*~*~*~

At recess, Max found his usual spot under the slide, his back to the chaotic playground. He leaned in conspiratorially, whispering to the air beside him. "Well, Moophus, only a couple more minutes, and we'll survive recess unscathed. Usually, this is the perfect time for Biff to toss me in the trash."

A girl with a brown side-pony and a cute purple dress was holding court, explaining the lyrics to "Papa Don't Preach" by Madonna. She claimed the song was about a dad getting mad because his daughter was trying to teach him how to use a VCR. Max nodded to himself. That made sense.

"That's Hilary," he whispered to Moophus. "She thinks she's so cool because her nanny packs her waffles for lunch." Max leaned against the steps of the slide and wished he had some waffles right now. Maybe he could ask his dad if he could make them in the trailer, like he used to back when they had a real home.

He stiffened as he saw a blonde boy with his sleeves rolled up to his shoulders sauntering by. "That's Biff over there, Moophus. He's the reason my pants keep getting ripped. He always pushes me down the stairs, and he's the reason my red clothes were a mess." Max's shoulders slumped. "I didn't want to tell Dad, you know? He's got enough on his plate with Aunt Carol trying to take me away. He doesn't need to know about what's going on in school."

The shrill ring of the bell cut through the air. "Recess is over, everyone! Back to class!" the teacher yelled, her voice a sharp command.

Max spotted the triplets huddled together by the door, giggling. "Moophus," he whispered, "bet they're gonna pull a prank on the teacher."

Huey looked up and caught Max staring and mouthed a "What?" Max just rolled his eyes and walked toward the classroom.

The second the teacher turned her back, Dewey pulled a string hidden in the curtain folds. Suddenly, a glitter bomb exploded, covering the entire classroom in a rainbow of sparkles. The kids erupted in laughter, and even Max couldn't help but let out a chuckle. The teacher, her hair and face now caked in glitter, looked furious.

"Huey, Dewey, Louie!" she shrieked, her voice trembling with rage. "Principal's office! NOW!"

Dewey held out a hand to his brothers. "We'll take the stairs," he said nonchalantly. "It's a faster getaway."

"You guys go on ahead," Huey said, adjusting his collar. "I'll handle the paperwork."

Louie sighed dramatically. "This is getting old. I was hoping for something with a little more flair."

The three of them just shrugged, their heads held high as they walked out of the room. "Told you, Moophus," Max whispered, his eyes on the retreating trio. "They're used to it."

With her hair now sparkling with glitter, Hilary turned to Max. "Hey, trailer trash, who are you talking to?"

Max knew ignoring her would only make her madder, and he was right. Her face flushed with anger. "Ugh, you're such a dweeb!" she yelled, stomping her foot.

~*~*~*~*~

Max exited the school building and started down the stairs when he suddenly felt a sharp shove from behind. He stumbled forward, his arms flailing, and landed hard on his knees. A sickening rip echoed as his pants tore. Max winced, a wave of despair washing over him as he looked at the fresh tear. His dad would not be happy about this.

"Whoa, that was some fall," a voice said. Max looked up to see the triplets standing over him, their hands in their pockets.

He glared at them. "You guys did that!"

"It wasn't us," Dewey said, shaking his head.

Louie pointed a finger at a figure at the top of the stairs. "It’s probably him."

Max turned around, and there was Biff, a smug grin on his face. "Looks like someone can't stand on his own two feet!" he jeered, laughing.

Hilary, who had just walked over, saw the rip in Max's pants. "Aww," she said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Ask your dad to buy you new pants." She then exploded into laughter, and Biff joined in. Other students who walked by joined them too. Nothing was more fun than laughing at the penniless trailer boy.

Max angrily stood up, dusting off his ripped pants and wincing when the cut on his knee burned. He looked at the triplets, who were still standing there, looking at him.

"Why aren't you laughing?" Max asked resentfully. "I thought you three lived for this kind of thing."

Huey shrugged. "It wasn't funny."

Max stared at them for a second, then turned and began to limp away, his knee throbbing from the fall. "Man," he whispered to Moophus, who was silently "walking" next to him. "Dad won't like this."

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Aw, Maxie, what did you do?" Goofy said, his eyes scanning the rip in Max's pants and the angry bruise on his knee.

"I'm sorry," Max mumbled, looking away in shame.

"Does it hurt, son?" Goofy asked, rushing to the kitchen sink. He wet a rag and pressed it gently to Max's wound. "Don't you worry, we'll get that all patched up." He helped Max take off his ripped pants, revealing a pair of Spiderman underwear. He sat his son on their rusty green couch and cleaned the wound with soap and water. "This'll help it feel better in no time."

"But these are my last good pants," Max whimpered, tears welling up in his eyes.

Goofy dabbed the wound with the wet rag, then he smeared it with some leftover butter and wrapped it in a piece of paper towel and taped it with scotch tape. "Don't you worry your head about that," he said. "I already fixed one of them other pairs for ya."

"Fixed it?" Max asked suspiciously.

"Yep," Goofy said with a huge grin, walking over to a cardboard box where he kept their clothes. He pulled out a pair of pants and held them up. Max stared in horror at the ugly patch his dad had sewed over the rip, a lumpy, misshapen square of what looked like a flannel shirt.

"Oh, Dad, I can't wear that to school," Max said weakly. He could already hear the snide comments from Hilary. Biff would definitely rip it off, and Huey, Dewey, and Louie would probably use it in their next prank, like making it the target for a game of darts.

"Why not?" Goofy said, a confused look on his face.

Max just shook his head. "Please, Dad," he begged, his voice cracking. "Can't we get new pants?"

He watched his dad bite his lower lip, a sure sign he was thinking about money, and Max knew they didn't have much. But he was tired of being a walking punchline. "Please, Dad! I'll do anything! I'll do all the chores! I'll be good forever!"

Goofy let out a long, defeated sigh. "All right, Maxie," he said, the words barely a whisper. "We'll get ya some new pants."

Releasing a relieved sigh, Max turned and high-fived Moophus. Then, he threw his arms around his dad, hugging him tightly. "You're the best dad in the whole world!" he said, a genuine smile on his face.

Goofy gently ruffled his hair. "Anything to make you happy, son."

Max looked up with a grin. "Dad, can you also make me some waffles? Like you used to for breakfast back in our old house?"

Goofy frowned. "I don't have all the ingredients for homemade waffles. It's your choice, son. Pants or waffles?"

"Pants! Definitely pants!"

~*~*~*~*~

Minnie’s house was a colorful mess. There were threads and fabrics of every color scattered across the living room, and glitter and sequins seemed to have a life of their own, clinging to every surface. Minnie and Della were fully absorbed in a month-long mission to prepare for the Duck Family Reunion. With Minnie's recent joblessness and Della’s generous budget, they had all the time and resources in the world.

Minnie held up a small, shimmering bow. "What about a Bow-tique corner?" she suggested, her eyes sparkling. "I could help the girls decorate things with bows, and the boys with bowties!"

Della considered it briefly, then nodded. "Do it! It's genius!"

Just then, a sad, timid knock came from the door. Minnie opened it to find Goofy, his shoulders slumped like a wilted flower, holding out her sewing kit. "Goofy! You can keep it," she said, her voice soft with concern. "I have more."

"What's the point, Minnie?" he sighed, his voice defeated. "Maxie wants new pants, but I can't afford 'em. He also wants waffles, and I made him choose between the two."

Goofy let out a long, mournful wail, grabbing Minnie in a crushing hug. She gasped, struggling to breathe. "I'm already failing my New Year's resolution," he sobbed into her shoulder. "I can't make my little boy happy!"

"Oh, Goofy, don't say that!" Minnie gasped, her voice coming out as a strangled squeak. She managed to pat him on the arm, her feet dangling just above the floor. "I have some of Mickey's old pants he was going to donate to Goodwill. I can alter them to be Max's size."

Goofy's wails instantly ceased. He released her from his grip and his eyes lit up with hope. "Without them ugly patches?"

Minnie, now sprawled on the floor, took a moment to catch her breath. A nervous smile spread across her face. "Without patches! I can make them look brand new."

"Minnie, could you finish one before tomorrow?" Goofy begged. "Maxie's got no good pants for school."

She glanced helplessly at Della, who was deep in her notebook, scribbling furiously. Then she looked back at Goofy's hopeful face. "Of course."

Goofy gave her another bone-crushing hug. "Thank you, Minnie. You've been a godsend." He smiled down at her, his eyes filled with gratitude. "You've always been there for me and Max, ever since he was a little baby."

Minnie blushed. "Well, I love Max so much. He means the world to me."

Goofy thanked her again, then shuffled out the door. Minnie sighed and walked back to Della, a nervous smile on her face. "Uh, Della, bad news. We'll have to postpone working on the reunion until tomorrow."

"WHAT?!" Della shrieked, her pen clattering against her notebook.

Minnie winced. "I have to alter a pair of pants for Max. The poor boy doesn't have a good pair for school tomorrow." She was glad that with Della being a mom herself, she'd understand the pants-less crisis of a child.

Della sighed. "Fine. I'm glad my kids don't need pants, being ducks and all."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Minnie walked toward Goofy's trailer, the evening air cool and crisp. In one hand, she carried a sewing bag; in the other, a plate of warm, homemade waffles. She found Max in the small yard, his skateboard a blur under his feet.

"Maxie! Why aren't you asleep yet?" she called.

"Dad's still making dinner!" he yelled back, not missing a beat. "Aunt Minnie, look!" He did a trick, flipping the board and landing on it perfectly.

Minnie clapped. "Wow, Max! You're getting pretty good!"

"Thanks," he said, kicking the board up into his hand. "It's 'cause I don't have a lot of other toys besides this skateboard and that old bear. Moophus loves it, though."

Minnie paused. "Moophus?"

Max pointed to the empty space beside him. "My new friend."

Minnie stared, but she quickly caught on. "Oh! Uh, hi, Moophus! Your hair looks lovely."

"He doesn't have hair. He's a cow."

"My bad," Minnie said with a giggle. "Okay, I'll just go inside now."

As she walked toward the trailer door, Max's nose twitched. "What's that smell, Aunt Minnie?"

Minnie smiled and held out the plate of waffles. "I made a little something. Would you like a piece?"

Max's eyes lit up. "Yeah! Can I share it with Moophus?"

"Of course," Minnie said warmly. "There's plenty for everyone."

She walked into the trailer and found Goofy stirring a pot of soup. "Hi, Goofy," she said. "Max is getting really good at skateboarding."

"Yeah," Goofy said with a sigh. "He plays with that thing all day."

Minnie grinned. "Like mother, like son."

Goofy's face clouded, and a familiar sadness filled his eyes. Minnie sighed, knowing he didn't like anyone mentioning Penny. "Does Max even know the skateboard belonged to his mom?" she asked softly.

Goofy shook his head, then quickly changed the subject. "Say, is that a plate of waffles you have there, Minnie?"

She didn't like that he was avoiding the topic of his late wife, but she knew better than to push. She set the plate on the tennis table. "I thought Max would love some waffles with his dinner," she said gently.

A heartwarming smile crossed Goofy's lips. "Thanks, Minnie," he whispered. "That's awful nice of ya."

She smiled and pulled the pants out of her bag. "Here are Max's new pants," she said. "And I'll make more later."

A wide grin spread across Goofy's face. "Maxie, come on in! Look what Aunt Minnie did for ya!"

Max walked in, the skateboard tucked under his arm, and stared at the pants. They looked brand new, the denim a crisp blue without a single patch in sight. He couldn't believe it. "These are for me?" he exclaimed, his voice full of disbelief.

Minnie smiled. "Yes, sweetie. All for you."

She handed him the pants, and he held them up, inspecting them closely. The denim was a crisp blue, with no signs of wear or a single patch. A look of profound gratitude, one that seemed too heavy for a six-year-old, crossed his face. He threw himself into her embrace, hugging her tightly. "I love you, Aunt Minnie!" he whispered.

Her heart fluttered. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close and burying her face in his hair. "I love you too, Maxie," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She held him for a long moment, wishing she could protect him from the world's cruelty.

Max pulled back. "Do you wanna see me and Moophus fly out the window and jump over the moon?"

"What's that, sweetie?" she asked, her brow furrowed in concern.

Goofy laughed. "A-hyuck! Heck yeah!"

Minnie turned to him, her eyes wide. "Wait, Goofy, what?!"

Max slid the yellow curtains back and opened the giant window.

"Max, honey, what are you going to do?" Minnie pleaded

He walked to the trailer door and placed his skateboard on the floor. "C'mon, Moophus, ride with me," he said, a determined look on his face.

"Max, wait!" she shrieked, her eyes widening in panic.

Max pushed off, skating onto a piece of wood tilted against a bucket. He used it to jump onto the tennis table, then launched himself through the open window, flying into the air. To Minnie’s eyes, it looked like he was flying, a yellow blur against the dark sky. He landed perfectly on the ground outside the trailer, a triumphant grin on his face.

"Well, I'll be," Goofy said, his eyes wide with pride. "They did fly over the moon."

Chapter Text

Della paced the living room, smoothing the front of her brand-new pilot jumpsuit. She'd bought it specifically for the Duck Family Reunion, a day that ranked slightly below a root canal on her list of fun things to do. Having to endure her extended family's bickering, gossiping, and criticisms was exactly as appealing as it sounded. She had transformed the house into an indoor funfair, a move she knew would send the elder Ducks into a tailspin. Their usual over-the-top, black-tie galas had nothing on this. Even the food appetizers were going to be served in miniature rocket ships that her boys had chosen. Speaking of her little future astronauts…

"Boys! Are you ready?" Della called out, her three angels descended the stairs in matching pilot uniforms, each in his favorite color.

Della walked over to adjust Huey's red pilot hat, a proud smile on her face. That smile lasted about two and a half seconds before her eye started to twitch. She'd just spotted Dewey with a slingshot, aiming a wad of paper at Louie, who was trying to light a fire under the table with a magnifying glass.

"What do you think you're doing?" she shrieked, her voice reaching a pitch that could shatter glass.

Snatching the magnifying glass from Louie, Donald snickered. "You're the one who told them to be themselves," he said, holding up the fire-starter for Della to see. "Turns out, 'themselves' are the spawns of Satan."

Mr. Duck, who was busy pulling a net filled with whoopie cushions from the ceiling, frowned. "Are you calling me Satan?" he asked, his expression completely deadpan before going back to disarming the glitter bombs he'd found hidden in the light fixtures. Della was just grateful Donald and her husband were busy neutralizing the pranks her clever little demons had set up.

The doorbell rang, a sharp, insistent chime that made Della shriek. She smoothed her pilot jumpsuit again and fidgeted with her blonde hair. "I'm not ready!" she whispered to her brother.

Donald peered out the window. "Relax, it's just Mom and Dad."

Della shrieked again, a little louder this time. "Mom!" she whimpered. "She's gonna criticize everything from the wallpaper to the way I breathe!"

Before she could melt into a puddle of anxiety, Huey, Dewey, and Louie threw the door open. "Grandma! Grandpa!" they squealed in unison, jumping into their grandparents' embrace. Their grandpa slipped a crisp ten-dollar bill into each of their pockets.

Donald’s beak dropped. "Since when did you become so generous, Dad?"

His father shrugged. "I'm just playing the part of a typical grandpa."

Hortense’s eyes, squinting in disdain, eyed Della's pilot uniform as if it were a costume from a bargain bin. "Please tell me this is an April Fools' joke," she said, "and that ye'll be changing into a proper outfit." Her comment stung even more because she was dressed in a pristine tweed suit, the kind Princess Diana wore for her royal visits.

Della jutted her chin out. "Today is about having fun, Mom, and as the host, I'm dressed for the part."

"Aye," her mom deadpanned, "as a clown."

Della gritted her teeth, a forced smile plastered on her face. She watched in silent satisfaction as her mom took a step toward a cleverly hidden tripwire made of fishing line and tinsel. But then Mr. Duck stepped in, cutting the line and saving his mother-in-law from an embarrassing fall.

"And have ye invited yer Uncle Scrooge?" Hortense asked.

"Obviously I did, Mom, but he didn't call me back," Della said. "Uncle Scrooge has more important things to worry about than coming to these stupid reunions."

"Interesting ye say that, when these reunions are his fault to begin with," her mom replied, her eyes narrowing as she stood in front of a conspicuously empty stand. "And why isn't there anything here?"

"That's Minnie's corner," Della said, a nervous laugh escaping her lips. "She's supposed to be here any minute."

"You and your brother are always bringing outsiders to our family reunion!" her mom huffed.

"Minnie's just here for business," Della said defensively. "She's not a guest. She’s like the clown or magician you hire for a kid’s birthday party."

"Aye," her mom commented, her eyes fixed on the miniature rocket ships filled with hot dogs. "It is a child’s birthday party all right."

Della rushed to the phone on the table and picked up the receiver, her fingers nervously fiddling with the cord. The phone rang once, twice, three times, but Minnie didn't pick up. Della let out a high-pitched, nervous giggle. "See?" she said, her voice strained. "She didn’t pick up! That’s a good sign! It means she's on her way!"

~*~*~*~*~*~

Minnie stood on the front steps of Della's house, a large bag filled with bows and bowties in her hand. "Hurry up, Max!" she called, watching him drag another bag up the driveway. "Della will have a meltdown if I'm late!"

Max dragged the bag onto the steps with a huff. "She'll wig out more if she sees me," he said, his eyes filled with anxiety. "I shouldn't be here, Aunt Minnie. I'm not a duck."

"Neither am I," Minnie said with a tender smile, pinching his cheek. "But Della needs my Bow-tique corner, and I need my little helper." She then rang the doorbell, a cheerful chime echoing through the house.

The door snapped open, and Della's terrified face appeared in the doorway. "Where have you been?" she demanded, her voice a low, gravelly rumble that would have been perfect for a horror movie trailer.

"Don't worry, we're here," Minnie said reassuringly.

"We?" Della questioned, her voice a high squeak.

Minnie looked to her side but found Max hiding behind her. She gently brought him out to stand before Della, who stared at him as if he were a three-eyed alien from a B-movie. Della forced a wide, unnerving grin. "Max!" she said in an exaggerated, high-pitched voice. "So glad to see you here! And look, you're wearing new pants."

Max frowned at the last comment. "I'm just here to help Aunt Minnie, Mrs. D. I won't touch anything," he promised.

Della pulled him into a choking hug. "Don't be silly," she said in a strained, nervous tone. "You can play with the other kids. Now come on, take that bag inside."

As Max dragged the large bag into the house, Della stood in front of Minnie and hissed, "Why did you bring him?"

"I felt bad for him," Minnie whispered. "He doesn't have a friend at school and made up some imaginary one. I thought with all these kids, he'd find someone to click with."

Della sighed dramatically. "I don't mind the poor boy being here, but Mom is already on my case for letting you into the reunion. She'll wig out if she sees him."

"It'll be all right," Minnie said, trying to sound reassuring.

"Della!" a voice bellowed from behind Minnie, and she turned to see a man approaching with a woman who was dragging a resisting little boy along.

Della let out a huff. "Ah, that's Cousin Fethry, and Mary Duck with her son Dugan. Go set up your corner, Minnie, I'll start the boring ritual of meet and greet."

Minnie carried the bags inside, heading toward the corner where Max was standing. She let out a sympathetic sigh when she saw he was soaking wet.

"It's the triplets," he grumbled.

"I figured," she said, nodding. She pulled out the dry, clean clothes they had brought in case the triplets pulled a new prank on him.

Minnie began arranging her Bow-tique corner as Max went to the bathroom to change. She draped a soft, pink tablecloth over the empty stand, then arranged a collection of colorful ribbons and glittery bows in small, wicker baskets. She set up a small mirror with a tiny sign that read, "Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who's the prettiest of them all?" A rack held an assortment of bowties, each one more extravagant than the last.

As she worked, a voice broke her concentration. "What do ye think ye're doing with all this glittery nonsense?"

Minnie turned to see Hortense, her face a mask of disapproval. "Just setting up my corner, Mrs. Duck," Minnie said politely, offering a small smile.

Hortense peered at the table. "Ye think wee bairns would be interested in this glittery nonsense at a family reunion?" she scoffed. Just then, a smile replaced her scowl. "Look there, it's the geese!" she said, her voice softening. A tall man with a friendly face, a woman with a kind smile, and a little girl with pretty ponytails on each side of her head approached.

"Gus Goose, his wife Marilla, and their little girl Lily," Hortense said, introducing them.

Minnie shook their hands. "Minnie Mouse, pleased to meet you all."

Gus beamed. "Howdy, ma'am! It's mighty nice to be here."

Marilla nodded. "We're just so happy to be here. Grandma Duck sends her love."

Lily's eyes widened as she took in the Bow-tique corner. "Can I help you, ma'am?" she asked.

Minnie's heart melted. "I don't mind, if your parents are okay with it," she said.

Marilla smiled. "Go ahead, honey, but be good."

As they left, Lily said in her cute country accent, "I just love bows so much!"

Minnie was glad to have a polite little helper who appreciated her craft.

Just then, Max appeared, a little shy in his new clothes, a blue shirt and a pair of the pants Minnie had altered for him. She had managed to make him ten pairs of pants that were stylish and on-trend with the other kids' clothes. She knew how much he was struggling to make friends at school, and she hoped this would help him fit in.

She put a hand on his shoulder. "Max, this is Lily. She's going to help us with the corner. Lily, this is my favorite little helper, Max."

"Hi," Lily said with a small wave. "Pleased to meet you, Max."

Max shoved his hands in his pockets. "Hi-ya, Lily," he said, offering a poor imitation of his dad’s accent.

Lily giggled. "That's a funny way to say hi."

"It's just what my dad says," Max explained with a shrug. "I prefer 'sup.'"

"Oh," Lily said, her eyes wide. "That's neat. We say 'howdy' back on the farm. Grandma Duck says it's polite."

Minnie watched as Lily and Max started to talk, a warm feeling spreading through her chest. She had been a huge part of Max’s life ever since he was a baby, helping Goofy raise him whenever possible. She wanted nothing but to see him happy, and seeing him get along so well with another kid made her heart soar.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The triplets, bored out of their minds, decided to liven things up. They huddled together in a corner, their mischief-filled grins a silent agreement. Dewey, the master planner, whispered the final details of their latest prank. Their target was their four-year-old cousin, Dugan, who was currently mesmerized by a balloon.

Huey created a distraction, making a funny face that sent Dugan into a fit of giggles. While Dugan was distracted, Dewey and Louie crept up behind him, each holding a bucket. They tipped the buckets over, and a cascade of confetti and glitter rained down on Dugan, covering him from head to toe.

Dugan simply laughed, his tiny body shaking with joy. He looked up at the triplets, his face a sparkling canvas. "You made it rain!" he shrieked, jumping up and down in his colorful mess.

All of a sudden, his mom, Mary, saw him, and her eyes widened in horror. "Dugan! What happened to you?" she shrieked, rushing to his side. "You're covered in glitter!" She glared at Mr. Duck, who was standing nearby. "Control your children, sir! This is unacceptable!"

Mr. Duck sighed, a stern look on his face. "Huey, Dewey, Louie, behave yourselves. This day is important to your mother." He pointed at Max, who was helping Minnie tie bows on little children. "If only you could be like Max. Now that's a good kid."

A pang of jealousy shot through the triplets. They looked at Max, who was smiling and laughing with Cousin Lily. They watched as their dad’s face softened. "His dad must be so proud of him for being such a nice, helpful boy."

Louie's face fell, and he asked in an insecure voice, "Aren't you proud of us, Dad?"

Mr. Duck's expression remained stern. "Today? Not really." He turned and walked away, leaving the boys to glare at Max in anger.

"Why is he even here?" Huey seethed. "He's not family!"

"Yeah," Dewey said, a bitter look on his face. "He shouldn't have come."

The boys watched as their mom reluctantly stood in the middle of the living room, nudged forward by their Uncle Donald. Della nervously rubbed the front of her pilot uniform and glanced awkwardly at her mom. "Hi, everyone," she started. "Welcome to the family reunion. I, uh, hope you have a good time. We have some... games planned. And some food. It's, um, nice to see you all." She trailed off, a strained smile on her face.

The crowd, a mix of yawning adults and restless children, looked completely disinterested.

That’s when the triplets decided to take action. "Go, Mom!" Huey yelled.

"You can do it, Mom!" Dewey shouted.

"We love you, Mom!" Louie cheered.

Della looked at them, her eyes wide with gratitude. She took a deep breath, and her entire demeanor changed. "Alright, party people!" she announced, her voice confident and strong. "Gather 'round, because this ain't your grandma's family reunion!"

A ripple of excitement went through the room.

"That's right, we're doing things a little different. This year, we're getting physical! This year, we're having a blast! Because, let's face it, all we want to do is have fun!"

A few people cheered.

"First up, for the grown-ups, we have the 'Duck Family Trivia Throwdown'! Grab a partner and get ready to test your knowledge on everything from Uncle Scrooge’s earliest treasure hunts to how many times Donald has been fired."

"Thanks, sis," Donald interjected with a grimace.

"The winner gets bragging rights for a whole year," Della said, her voice full of confidence. "And for those who are a little more competitive, we have the 'Pilot's Challenge'! We've got paper airplanes, and the goal is to make them fly through the hoops hanging from the ceiling."

She then turned to the kids. "And for all you little dudes and dudettes, we've got Minnie's Bow-tique Corner, where you can get the coolest bows and bowties. Later, we'll have a scavenger hunt that will have you searching high and low for clues. I even had a professional planner come up with it so that my boys could play too!"

"After all that hard work," she continued, "it's time for lunch! And since we're all busy bees, we're serving up some classic grub: pizza! From now until we run out, there will be hot pizzas coming out of the kitchen with all your favorite toppings!"

The crowd, especially those Della’s age and their children, erupted in cheers. But amidst the applause, the triplets heard a few dissenting whispers. They saw Grandma Hortense and Great-Aunt Daphne shaking their heads in disapproval.

"This is ridiculous," Hortense grumbled. "A funfair in a house? What next, a petting zoo?"

"Honestly, Hortense," Aunt Matilda said, looking thrilled. "This is wonderful! I applaud my niece of shaking things up."

Huey puffed out his chest. "You got it, Aunt Matilda!" he said, giving her a thumbs-up. "You're, like, a total babe with a youthful soul!"

Aunt Matilda blushed, a wide smile spreading across her face.

Feeling a need to at least look like they were participating, the boys ambled over to Minnie's Bow-tique. Max was already there, his bowtie worn askew like a rebellious fashion statement. Lily had bows clipped all over her dress. They watched as Max and Lily helped a couple of girls choose their perfect hair accessories.

Once the girls left, Dewey walked up to Minnie, a hint of disdain in his voice. "So, what's this corner all about?"

Minnie smiled. "For a fancy gathering like this, you gentlemen need to look the part. You'll need a unique bowtie. Just tell my assistants what you like, and they'll help you find the perfect one."

The boys gave Max a seething look. "We don't need his help," Huey said, pointing at Lily. "We want her to help us."

Lily's face brightened, and she happily brought over a box of bowties.

As she and his brothers tried on different styles, Louie glanced over at Max, watching Minnie was patting his shoulder as he grumbled a "Not like I wanted to help them anyway" to her.

Louie felt a pang of guilt. He walked over to Max and said in a hushed voice, "Hey. Could you help me?"

"Go on, Max. Show him the other collection," Minnie said encouragingly.

Max sighed but led Louie to the other side of the table. "You can wear it like this," he said, holding a bowtie up to Louie's head. "It's a new style."

Louie giggled. "That's crazy. What about this?" he asked, holding a green bowtie.

"Cool," Max said, taking the bowtie and showing him how to wear it around his neck. "You can also wear it on your head, or as a bracelet."

Louie was delighted. "I like how you're wearing yours," he said, admiring Max's bowtie. "Can you do that for me?"

Max attempted to help him, but just as he started, Huey and Dewey scowled and snatched the bowtie from his hand. "Let's go, Louie," Dewey said, pulling him away.

The triplets went to a quiet space under the stairs.

"What were you doing talking to him?" Huey demanded.

"Lily was busy helping you guys," Louie said defensively. "And I wanted a bowtie."

"Remember what he said about Mom and Dad?" Dewey hissed. "He thinks they hate us. What kind of thing is that to say?"

Louie admitted softly, "It was a mean thing to say."

"He's a mean kid," Huey said. "And you shouldn't be friends with him."

A sharp scream cut through the noise, and the triplets glanced out from under the stairs. Their little cousin, Dugan, had somehow gotten into the Duck Family Trivia Throwdown game, knocking over the buzzer and scattering all the question cards. Della looked frustrated especially when she received seething comments from the family elders. The boys felt bad for their mom.

Mr. Duck and Uncle Donald appeared in front of the boys, their faces stern. "Did you boys do this?" Uncle Donald demanded, his voice low.

"We did nothing!" Huey exclaimed.

"You boys are always behind the mayhem," Donald retorted.

"I spent the whole day clearing your pranks," Mr. Duck added, his face a grimace of annoyance.

From across the room, they heard their Aunt Daphne loudly criticize the reunion. "This funfair idea was a mistake! This whole thing is a disaster!"

Just then, Max appeared, a smile on his face. He quickly gathered the scattered question cards and the broken buzzer. "I can fix this," he announced. He used a piece of tape from Minnie's corner to fix the buzzer and then announced to the crowd, "Hey everyone, how about we play a new game? 'Duck Family Charades'! One of you can act out the questions, and others have to guess them!"

The crowd cheered, delighted with the new idea. Della's face lit up, and she gave Max a grateful kiss on the cheek.

"Goofy's kid is very clever," Mr. Duck said to Donald.

Donald glared at his boys. "Your boys are also clever, but they use their cleverness for evil."

The triplets looked down, their resentment and jealousy of Max taking over. Suddenly, their mom appeared.

"Boys, please," she begged, her voice strained. "Take your cousin Dugan to your room until the adult games are over. Once it's time for the Mother/Children Scavenger Hunt, I'll announce it on the microphone, and you can come down."

"Why should we be stuck in a room with Dugan while Max gets to stay down here?" Huey complained.

"Yeah," Dewey added, his voice bitter. "Let Max take him outside. He's not even part of the family."

Their mom's expression hardened. "Boys, behave yourselves, or I swear I'll make you do all the laundry for a month!" she hissed. They knew she meant it because she hated doing laundry.

The boys flinched and said in unison, "Yes, Mom."

They found Dugan in Minnie's Bowtique, with Max helping him put on a bowtie.

"C'mon, Dugan, we're going to our room," Huey said, annoyed.

Dugan pouted. "But I wanna stay with Max."

"No, you're coming with us," Dewey said impatiently, grabbing Dugan's arm.

Dugan screamed, and his mom rushed over. "What do you think you're doing to my boy?" she chided, glaring at Dewey.

"We want to play with him upstairs in our room," Dewey said, trying to sound innocent.

"I wanna stay with Max!" Dugan whined.

Minnie, sensing the tension, intervened. "Max, why don't you go with the boys upstairs? Lily can help me with the corner."

Max gave the sweltering triplets a reluctant stare, then sighed. "Fine." Little Dugan grabbed his hand, and they followed the triplets upstairs.

The triplets led Max and Dugan into their room. The first thing Dugan did was gasp. Their room was a toy store on steroids. Video game consoles were stacked high, board games lined the walls, and action figures were still in their boxes.

"Wow!" the four-year-old said, his eyes wide. "So many toys!"

The triplets, however, were not interested in his joy. They noticed Max standing awkwardly by the door, his gaze darting between their comic books and action figures. A mischievous glance passed between them.

"Miss our room, Max?" Huey said, a smirk on his face. "You used to love playing with our toys when you and your dad stayed over. We've got every video game ever made."

Max just glared at the floor.

"And our allowance is bigger than your dad's paycheck," Dewey added.

Max flinched at that. He looked up, his eyes a mixture of hurt and anger. "That's not cool, guys," he said.

"What?" Huey said, feigning innocence. "We're just saying. We've got it all. You don't have anything."

"Yeah," Dewey said. "You're just a charity case."

Max’s eyes narrowed. "I'm not."

"Then what are you doing here?" Louie asked. "You're not family. You're just here for the free food and games."

A smirk played on Max's lips. "Well, your mom is clearly glad I'm here. She loved it when I saved the day down there." The triplets hated the smug smile on his face. "And your dad told me he wishes you three were more like me."

"Yeah?" Huey said, his voice dripping with contempt. "I'd hang myself before I become like you, you trailer trash!"

Max just shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. "Sing another song, guys. So what if I live in a trailer?"

The boys' eyes darted around the room, searching for a new weapon.

"Hey, Max," Dewey said, a cruel smile on his face. "Those pants you're wearing, are they from the 'Poor Kids' Outlet'?"

Max's smirk widened. "Actually," he said, "they were Uncle Mickey's pants. Which means I'm wearing grown-up clothes, not baby clothes like you three."

Suddenly, a voice boomed from the microphone downstairs, "Attention, everyone! The Mother/Children Scavenger Hunt is about to begin!"

"Hooray!" the triplets yelled in unison. "Let's go, Dugan!"

Max followed them toward the door, but Huey blocked his path. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked cruelly.

"Your mom said I could play too," Max said, defensive.

Dewey scoffed. "Yeah, but this scavenger hunt is called the 'Mother/Children Scavenger Hunt.' I don't see your mom anywhere."

Max just stood there, staring at them, his eyes wide in shock. He looked at the floor, and when he looked up again, his eyes were glistening with unshed tears. The boys dragged their little cousin Dugan away, but Louie lingered for a moment. He tried to say something, but the words wouldn't come out. Face burning with pain and anger, Max rubbed his eyes aggressively and shoved Louie out of his way before storming out of the room.

Louie rubbed his stinging shoulder and mumbled, "They went too far."

~*~*~*~*~

Minnie beamed at the success of her Bowtique. She grinned as she watched a dozen children cover themselves in her bows and bowties. She was just about to tidy up when she noticed Louie standing beside her, a somber expression on his face and no bowtie in sight.

"My assistant, Lily, went off to play," Minnie said with a smile. "Now it's my turn to help you find the perfect bowtie."

Louie shook his head. "Miss Mouse?" he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Max is crying in the bathroom."

Minnie's chest tightened. "What? Why?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.

Louie took Minnie's hand and pulled her toward the stairs, his grip surprisingly firm for a boy his size. "It's better if you talk to him," he mumbled, his gaze fixed on the floor before he rushed back into the crowd.

Minnie stared at Louie's retreating back, a mix of concern and confusion swirling in her mind. Taking a deep breath, she walked toward the upstairs bathroom. She knocked gently on the door. "Max? It's Minnie. Can I come in?"

A muffled "yes" came from inside. Minnie opened the door and found Max sitting on the closed toilet, his knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around them, and his chin resting on his knees. His eyes were red with tears.

Minnie crouched in front of him. "Max, sweetie, what is it?" she whispered.

"No one likes me," he whimpered.

"That's not true," Minnie said softly.

"Yes, it is," Max insisted. "Everyone at school hates me, and Huey, Dewey, and Louie are lucky. They have this big family. It's just me and my dad."

Minnie's heart ached for him. She stood up, lifted him into her arms, and sat down on the closed toilet, settling him on her lap. She began stroking his hair in a soothing motion. "You have a big family, too, honey. You have aunts who love you so much, like me and Aunt Daisy. You have uncles who love you, too, like Uncle Mickey and Uncle Donald. And you have the best dad in the world, isn't that right?"

Max sniffed, his face pressed against her chest, and nodded.

"Come on," Minnie said, gently running a hand through his hair. "The children's game is about to start. All the kids are going to play."

Max pulled away slightly, his face still streaked with tears. "I can't play with them," he whispered.

"Why not?" she asked, her voice soft and confused.

"It's called the 'Mother/Children' game," he said, his voice cracking.

Minnie's heart twisted painfully in her chest. She had no words. She simply held him, stroking his hair, her own eyes welling up with tears. The silence stretched between them, filled with Max's quiet sobs. Then, a small, sad smile broke through her tears. "Max," she whispered, "how about I play with you?"

"I don't think it's allowed," he mumbled.

"Oh, sure, it's allowed."

He looked up at her. "You think it's okay?"

She kissed his forehead. "Of course, it's okay, honey. Now come on, let's go win this thing!" She stood up and set him on the floor. They both went to the sink, where Minnie pulled out a step stool for him to stand on. They washed their faces and then stared at their reflections in the mirror, their eyes still red.

"We look like pandas," Max said, a small smile on his face.

Minnie laughed, gently taking his hand, and led him out of the bathroom and down the stairs.

Teams of mothers and children lined up. Donald stood in front of them, going over the rules of the scavenger hunt. Minnie pulled Della aside and whispered, "We want to play, too."

"Of course! Here," Della said, pulling a couple of white sashes from a nearby box. "Take a team color." She then yelled to Donald, "Repeat the rules! We have a new team!"

Minnie looked over and saw Louie smiling at her, tugging on his red sash. His two brothers stood beside him, grumbling. Minnie returned the gesture in silent gratitude. She put on her white sash and helped Max with his, and then they stood next to Marilla and Lily.

Lily grinned at Max, showing him her blue sash. Max gave her a genuine smile in return.

As Donald attempted to repeat the rules, a mom in the front row complained, "Can we have someone else say the rules? I could barely understand him."

Donald snapped back, "Hey! I'm speaking English here, lady!"

The mother just looked at Della and said, "Not a word."

Mr. Duck, with a sigh, took the microphone from Donald's hand. "Alright, everyone," he announced, his voice clear and calm as Donald fumed beside him. "The rules for the Mother/Children Scavenger Hunt are simple. Each team has a list of ten clues. You must find all ten items on your list to win."

He then began to list the rules, "Read the clues carefully. Every clue leads you to a new item. Stay with your partner at all times. No splitting up! No pushing, no running, and no cheating. The last clue will lead you to the room with the treasure!"

As soon as Mr. Duck finished, the room erupted into a frenzy of activity. Kids and their moms began searching everywhere, looking under tables and even in people's cups of juice and tea. The older generation grumbled, especially Aunt Daphne, who made a series of snide remarks.

"Honestly," she said to her husband. "This is a disgrace."

Aunt Matilda, however, was having a blast, happily helping a team of children look for clues.

Della grinned, pulling a crumpled paper from her pocket. "Alright, team! Our first clue!" She read the clue aloud:

I have hands, but I can't clap. I have a face, but I can't smile. I tell you when to run, and when to relax for a while. Find me in the living room, where the family's been, and find the next clue under my chin.

"The clock!" Huey yelled.

They raced to the grandfather clock in the living room. Della, with a proud smile, watched them. "Look at my brilliant boys!" she said to Mr. Duck who smiled affectionately at his boys. Louie reached under the clock's face and pulled out another clue.

"We did it, Mom!" he said, a grin on his face.

"Of course you did, honey," Della said, ruffling his hair. "You're all geniuses."

She took the new clue and read it aloud:

I have a spine, but no bones. I tell you stories, but have no mouth. You can find me in the kitchen, where Mr. Duck hides his books and no one knows.

"The cookbook!" Dewey said excitedly.

They sprinted to the kitchen, Della a few steps behind. She found them in a mess, with flour and sugar all over the place.

"Boys!" she shrieked. "What do you think you're doing?"

"We're trying to find the cookbook!" Dewey said, his face covered in flour.

Della sighed, a smile playing on her lips. "It's not in the cupboard, boys. Your dad hides them where no one would think to look." She walked to the pantry and opened the spice rack. She pulled out a small, old, and very greasy book. "Right here." She opened the book, and a folded piece of paper fell out. "Now, this is a good one, listen carefully."

I'm in a room full of bubbles and steam, But I'm not a dream. I have a faucet, but no mouth, And I tell you how to wash your hands while you look at the clues under me, you might find some weird things.

The boys groaned. "The bathroom," Louie said.

They raced to the upstairs bathroom, Della trailing behind. They found the clue under the sink, along with a few lost toys and a rubber duck. The new clue read:

I have a bed, but I never sleep. I have a plug, but I'm not a plant. I give you power, but I don't move.

"The wall socket!" Huey yelled, and they ran back downstairs.

They searched the house for a wall socket, and when they found one, they pulled out the clue. It was a riddle.

I'm in a room where two people lie, With all their dreams and secrets high. I have two pillows and a soft white cover, And a treasure you'll find where no one would ever.

The boys stared at the clue, their faces a mixture of confusion and excitement.

"It's Mom and Dad's room!" Dewey yelled.

They all raced upstairs. Della was grinning ear to ear, proud of how well her boys were doing.

But when they got to the room, they found the door wide open. They walked in slowly, their hearts pounding in their chests. They saw Minnie and Max pulling a box out from under the bed.

"What are you doing?" Huey demanded, his voice full of anger.

"We won!" Max said, his face beaming. "We found the treasure!"

Minnie smiled. "This scavenger hunt was a blast!"

The triplets stared in disbelief. They had been so close. All they wanted was for their mom to be proud of them, to see their hard work and skill. But she was clapping her hands, walking toward Max, and giving him a high-five. "Wonderful! You guys won!" she exclaimed happily, ruffling his hair.

Feeling a wave of desperation and resentment, Huey exploded. "This isn't fair! They're cheaters!"

Della's brow furrowed. "Huey! That's not a nice thing to say."

Dewey backed up his brother. "Yes! She's not his mom. That's cheating!"

Della gasped, horrified. "Dewey!"

Louie noticed Max's shoulders slump as Minnie pulled him into a hug. His head was bowed, and he was staring at his feet, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Louie's heart twisted with a sharp ache of regret. He decided to stand up to his brothers. "Max won the game," he said, his voice firm. "We lost, fellas. We should accept that."

"Huey and Dewey, apologize to Max right now," Della said, her voice firm.

Huey, a mix of hurt and anger bubbling inside him, stormed out of the room. "Huey!" Della yelled, following him. He threw himself onto his bed, burying his face in his hands as quiet sobs began to shake his body. Della sat next to him and gently touched his trembling shoulder.

"Honey, what is it?" she asked softly.

He looked up at her, his eyes red and tear-filled. "You think he's the golden boy," he choked out. "But he says mean things to us. He said you and Dad would rather go to Mars than stay with us." He looked past her and saw Dewey and Louie standing in the doorway, their faces dejected.

Della's heart shattered, looking at the wounded faces of her boys.

“Do you wish Max was your son, Mom, instead of us?” Louie asked in hushed tones.

Della shook her head. “Of course not. Me and your dad love you boys more than anyone else.”

"But Dad said he wishes we were more like Max," Dewey mumbled from the doorway, his own eyes welling up with tears.

"Your dad must have been angry and he shouldn't have said that," she said, her voice trembling. "It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. You three are my boys. You're my brilliant, clever, and mischievous little angels. I love you more than all the stars in the universe. I'm so proud of you, and I wouldn't trade you for anything. Not for all the gold in the world, and not even for a trip to Mars."

Dewey and Louie rushed into her arms, and she pulled them into a tight embrace. She extended an arm for Huey, a tearful smile on her face.

Huey looked up at her hesitantly, then leaned into her embrace. As their mom hugged them tight, the boys felt a sense of comfort and safety they wished could last forever.

Mr. Duck watched from the doorway, a soft smile on his face. "This," he murmured to himself, "is a picture-perfect moment, the kind you see in a movie. I just have to be in it."

He walked over to his family, and the boys noticed the decorative box in his arms.

"Dad, what are you doing with Max's treasure?" Louie asked, his voice filled with confusion.

"He told me it's for you," Mr. Duck answered, holding it out to them.

"But Max won," Louie said, still confused.

"He said he's not part of the Duck family," Mr. Duck explained, "and that it wouldn't be fair if he won it."

The triplets looked at each other, a silent understanding passing between them. Louie left his mom’s embrace and took hold of the box. "Come on, fellas," he said to his brothers. "Let's do the right thing."

Dewey came to help him carry it, and they both looked at their oldest brother. Huey glanced at his mom, who smiled encouragingly at him. With a final, determined nod, he joined his brothers. Together, the three of them carried the box to Minnie's Bowtique, where they found only Lily, meticulously organizing a pile of bows.

"Hey, where's Max?" Louie asked.

"Miss Minnie is taking him home," Lily replied. "She asked me to take over the Bowtique until she gets back."

The boys hoisted the decorative box and hurried outside, spotting Minnie and Max walking down the sidewalk. "Max! Max! Wait up!" they yelled, their voices a chorus of hurried pants.

Minnie and Max turned around as the triplets reached them, breathless. "You forgot your treasure," Huey said, holding out the box.

Max glared at them. "It's not mine," he said, his voice still filled with hurt. "I was cheating, right?"

Huey winced in embarrassment. "You won fair and square," Louie maintained. "This is your treasure."

"Take it!" Dewey urged.

Minnie placed a gentle hand on Max's shoulder. "The boys had to carry this all the way out here to give it to you," she said tenderly. "Accepting it is the right thing to do."

Max looked at them suspiciously. "But I'm not a relative. I shouldn't have been in the reunion to begin with."

Huey scoffed. "What are you talking about? We're cousins, remember?"

"No, we're not," Max said, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, we are!" Dewey insisted. "Now take your treasure or we'll carry it all the way to your place."

Max glanced at the box, his eyes lingering on the promise of candy. "Tell you what," he said, a glint in his eye. "Since we're cousins and all, how about we share the treasure between us?"

They looked at each other, their faces a mixture of surprise and delight. "Really?" Dewey asked.

"Sure," Max shrugged.

They lowered the box to the sidewalk, the sound of the candy jostling inside like a siren's call. Louie said, "We'll count, and then we dig in."

"Each man for himself!" Dewey said excitedly.

All four boys counted to three, and then they attacked the box. A flurry of hands grabbed at the candy, a whirlwind of laughter and playful shoves filling the air. Max, with his quick reflexes, managed to snatch two KitKat bars, while Dewey and Louie fought over a third. Huey, however, was faster. He grabbed the last one and held it up triumphantly. "Mine!" he yelled, a mischievous grin on his face.

Minnie, watching the scene unfold, put her hands on her hips. "How about we move this box back to the house?" she suggested. "You can share the candy with the rest of the kids."

"NOOOO!" the boys yelled in unison, hugging their candy protectively.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Hey, Mom! We're back!" came a chorus of voices, and Della looked up to see her three boys staggering into the living room, their arms loaded with candy. Bags of every size and color were overflowing with sweets.

Della's eyebrows shot up. "You didn't find Max, so you just hogged all the candy?" she asked with a grin.

The boys gasped in mock offense. "How low do you think of us?" Huey said, clutching a bag of gummies to his chest.

"I would've probably done that," Della shrugged.

"He decided to share the candy with us," Dewey said, a little too quickly.

"Right," Della said, her grin widening. "Put that candy in your room now, we're having lunch."

Just then, a truck from the local pizza place pulled up, and soon the living room and dining room were filled with the aroma of pizza. Box after box was stacked on the tables, and the whole family dug in happily.

Cousin Gus leaned back in his chair, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "This is the best family reunion we've had in a long time. We had a lot of fun, thanks, Della."

She beamed with pride. Her Aunt Matilda came over and gave her a big hug. "Och, a bonnie job ye've done, lass," Matilda said. "Ye've brought a wee bit of magic to this gathering. A fine hostess ye are, indeed."

Della looked pointedly at her mom. "Anything to say, Mommy dearest?"

Hortense rolled her eyes. "Well, it was unconventional, but… no one is complaining…"

"I'm complaining," Aunt Daphne interrupted, her mouth full of pizza.

Della's dad, Quackmore, asked, "So, where will the next family reunion be?"

Hortense looked at her son Donald, whose eyes widened in terror. "You know who should host this event," he snapped. "The person who started it in the first place!"

Eyes stared at each other for a long moment, and then everyone said in unison.

"Scrooge McDuck!"

Chapter Text

Pictures taken by Doofus Drake (Take that, Donald!)

The inside of Daisy’s fabulous purple tent was a sanctuary of style in a sea of… well, mud. She twirled, admiring her commander outfit in a full-length mirror she had a Junior Woodchuck lug in for her. The tailored khaki uniform, cinched at the waist, was practically a couture piece. The badges, not that she'd actually earned any of the little embroidered monstrosities, were strategically placed to accentuate her décolletage. She smoothed a perfectly manicured nail over a shiny brass button.

"Magnificent," she whispered to her reflection. She’d be the first to fulfill her new year resolution. Winning was a craving that pulsed through her veins like a perfectly shaken martini. She was not, however, a fan of "getting back to nature." Not after her last journalistic endeavor. The story about a "rare jungle butterfly" was a lovely little piece of fiction she'd concocted for the commoners, her friends.

She had actually been sent to the jungle to write a scathing expose on a new, highly dangerous breed of mosquito. One that could, according to her editor, transmit a new, debilitating disease that made its victims break out in song and spontaneously perform show tunes from obscure 1920s musicals. It was a harrowing two months. She nearly lost her life, and frankly, her sanity. The final straw was when she found herself belting out a surprisingly heartfelt rendition of "Tea for Two" while clinging to a vine, a swarm of the villainous insects hot on her heels. The only thing more terrifying than the thought of turning into a singing, dancing public nuisance was the humiliation of it all.

She would win this thing, and she would do it with style. And she would do it without singing a single show tune. A perfectly plucked eyebrow raised, she added a new rule to her long list of don'ts for the little ones: singing was strictly forbidden.

The sounds of chaos outside were a clear indication that the little hooligans were up to no good. Daisy sighed dramatically. Time to bring some much-needed order to their spoiled, little lives. She did love order, after all. It was a concept her own childhood was entirely unfamiliar with. Her dad, Otto Duck, was a professional eccentric, and her mom was hard of hearing, which meant Daisy and her sister were left to their own devices. And let's be honest, two young girls left to their own devices in a house of chaos rarely led to anything but more chaos.

Looking out at the pint-sized delinquents wrestling in the dirt, Daisy almost reconsidered her life choices. She mentally pictured Donald's smug "I told you so, you child-hater," and the thought alone was enough to make her want to set a new world record for fastest enrollment in a wilderness survival course.

"ENOUGH!" she shrieked, her voice cutting through the mayhem. She glared at the gaggle of six-year-olds she was now officially responsible for. She really should have signed up to coach older children, but according to her list of contacts, every single person she knew had apparently decided to have kids in the exact same year.

Dewey practically leapt to his feet. "Max wants to hog the good marshmallow stick!"

Max jumped up. "Nuh-uh! He's lying! He's the one who wants the only good rope for climbing. And Louie wants a portable TV!"

Huey came to his brother's defense. "That's because the Woodchuck book says a little comfort is good for the spirit!"

Daisy’s patience snapped completely. She took a deep breath, but before she could scream again, a bright flash went off. She blinked, her vision spotted, and looked down to see a chubby little duck holding a camera. He smiled, a camera-sized grin on his face.

"My mom said I should capture moments from this outing to remember."

Daisy glared. "Does this look like a moment anyone would want to remember?" She nodded pointedly at his camera. "And by the way, I'll need the negatives of that to approve the pictures. You wouldn't want those getting out to the public."

He saluted. "Sure thing, ma'am."

"It's Commander Daisy to you... uh, what's your name?"

"Doofus Drake, age seven, at your service, Commander Daisy."

"Seven? Fantastic. At least we have a slightly older child here." Daisy clapped her hands together. "Now, everyone stand up in a line for a troop check."

All the kids lined up, and Doofus squinted at Max. "How come you don't have a beak like the rest of us?"

"I'm unique that way," Max replied.

Daisy held up her clipboard, her eyes scanning the names. So, her personal army of mayhem consisted of her nieces, April, May, and June, whose mother had practically thrown them at her with a tearful "have fun!" and a sigh of relief. Then there were Della’s boys, Huey, Dewey, and Louie, a trio that left their parents desperately in need of a breather.

Then there was Max, whom she had to physically pry from his dad's death grip. Goofy might as well get used to the fact that Max would not be living with him, seeing as the boy's aunt had a much better chance of winning custody than Daisy's good friend, unfortunately.

Next up was Gus's daughter, Lily, looking refreshingly adorable with her two ponytails and blue ribbons. And finally, there was Doofus Drake, their little cameraman.

Which reminded her. "Doofus, set the camera on that large rock. Let's capture this kodak moment."

She stood behind the line of kids, admiring their Junior Woodchuck hats. With her looking spiffy in her new camping gear, this photo was going to be perfect. Just seconds before the timer went off, Max and the nephews started making ridiculous faces and poses. Daisy snapped at them, and the camera flashed. Damn it!

After demanding they take another photo, Daisy gave a harsh talking-to to Max, Huey, Dewey, and Louie. Then, afraid the others would follow their naughty lead, she directed her speech to them as well. They all posed for the photo, and thankfully, it went smoothly.

Daisy liked the idea of taking pictures. She was surprised she hadn't thought of it herself. After all, she needed evidence to shut Donald's beak up. Plus, she loved photography, it was the only thing she'd inherited from her dad, and it was an essential part of being a reporter.

~*~*~*~*~

Daisy stood before a pile of ropes, the official Junior Woodchuck Knot-Tying Handbook clutched in her impeccably manicured hand. "Now, for this badge, we will be mastering the art of the bowline knot," she announced, reading from the book. "It's an essential skill for securing a line to an object, such as a rock... or an anchor."

Lily's hand shot up. "Commander Daisy! This is gonna be easy!" she said in a sweet country twang. "Miss Minnie Mouse, she taught me how to tie all sorts of fancy bows. This here's just like that, ain't it?"

"Oh, honey. Unless you're planning on tying a bow around a tree to save a fallen comrade, I'm afraid it's not exactly the same. One is for tying things together; the other is for making them look pretty for a few hours before being discarded." She handed Lily a thick piece of rope.

While Lily worked earnestly on her knot, Daisy's eyes darted to Donald's nephews. She had to admit, the boys were naturals. Their small hands worked with practiced ease, forming perfect, secure loops. Within a minute, Huey was already demonstrating the knot to the others, and Dewey and Louie, with a mischievous grin, had gone to assist Doofus, whose knot looked less like a secure loop and more like a bird’s nest that had lost a fight with a blender. Max and Lily were also doing well, their knots looking sturdy and reliable.

Her nieces, however, were another story.

Daisy walked over to their corner, where a knot-tying session had devolved into a full-on sibling therapy session.

"I just don't see the point," May whined, holding up her rope. "What am I supposed to do, use this to tie my backpack shut? I have zippers for that."

April was trying a new technique, using her teeth to tighten the rope. "Maybe if we just put a lot of duct tape on it, it'll hold."

"You guys," June said softly, her brow furrowed with concern. "We have to try for Aunt Daisy."

April gave up on the duct tape method. "Oh, please. This is all just for a photo op anyway. Have you seen her new uniform? She's not exactly dressed for the wilderness."

June sighed, looking at her fumbled rope. "But it would be so nice to earn a badge. And the rope looks so sad and tangled like this."

Daisy cleared her throat, and the girls all stiffened.

"Having some trouble, girls?" She walked over to her nieces, her hands on her hips, a disapproving look etched on her face.  

April gave her a tight smile. "Just strategizing, Commander. We're considering a few 'alternative' solutions to the problem."

"Right," Daisy said, her eyebrow arched. "Well, I'm sorry to say the only approved solution is the one I just demonstrated. Unless you’re planning on duct-taping your way out of a bear encounter, I'd suggest you stick to the plan."

The girls pouted. "Yes, Commander Daisy."

After the rope lesson ended with succuss and spontaneous pictures were taken, Daisy's thoughts turned to the next badge: compass navigation. She headed for her fabulous purple tent, her mind already on the perfectly angled photos she'd take of the children following her lead. When she got there, she stopped cold.

Louie was attempting to switch out her imported face cream with a dollop of mud. Huey was carefully balancing a bucket of confetti on the top of the tent flap, setting a string from it to the zipper. And Dewey was holding a garden hose aimed at a water-filled balloon tied to the ceiling, ready to launch.

"BOYS!" she shrieked, and the three of them froze in place like a trio of statues in a chaotic museum exhibit. Daisy tried to keep her temper in check, but when her eyes landed on her very expensive face cream, her calm shattered into a million little pieces.

"What in the name of all that is holy are you doing? Is nothing sacred? Not my face cream? Not the sanctity of my personal space? Did your parents not teach you about boundaries? Are you allergic to not causing trouble for five minutes? You're supposed to be in training, not in a criminal-mastermind-in-training program! Now, out! All of you! I'm going to get my compasses, and when I come back, I expect to see you all standing perfectly still outside!"

The boys scrambled out of the tent in record time.

With a weary sigh, she walked towards the portable dresser to inspect her face cream, which Louie had so thoughtfully ruined with his dirty little hands. Just then, a subtle splash of water hit her boots. She looked down at a patch of fresh mud, her new camping gear now officially baptized in dirt. Her eyes went wide. She looked up at the ceiling of the tent, and there it was: a water balloon hanging precariously, ready to fall.

"Damn it," she muttered, but it was already too late.

The balloon plummeted and splattered on her head. As if on cue, a hidden string snapped, and a torrent of colorful paper rained down on her. She was now covered in confetti, water, and mud. Daisy screamed, a long, dramatic shriek of pure outrage. As if summoned by the sound, Doofus rushed into the tent, a wide smile on his face. He held up his camera and snapped a picture.

Horrified, Daisy looked at herself in the mirror. The perfect vision she was this morning had officially become a muddy, confetti-covered mess. Fumes of rage billowed from her ears as she marched outside and found the mischievous trio about to pull a prank on sweet, unaware Lily.

"Why, you little…"

SPLAT!

A new freezing splash of water hit the side of her head. It dripped down her neck, soaking her hair even further and instantly ruining her already ruined brand-new uniform.

With a slow head turn that belonged in a horror movie, she saw Max behind the bushes with a sling and an apologetic look. "Sorry, Commander Daisy. I was aiming at Huey, who was about to turn Lily's ponytails into a tangled knot of burrs. I didn't mean to hit you."

Lily gasped, looking over her shoulder and seeing Huey with a handful of tiny, spiky burrs. She quickly stepped away.

Daisy's carefully constructed calm shattered. She glared at the trio, a vein throbbing in her neck. "That's it! You three pint-sized anarchists! This isn't just a uniform, it's a custom-tailored ensemble! Do you have any idea how much imported fabric costs?"

"I think it cost one water balloon," Dewey answered.

Daisy took a menacing step forward, and Dewey wisely vanished behind Huey.

"I'm trying to teach you valuable skills," she ranted, running a hand through her now-drenched hair. "But all you want to do is cause havoc! You're attacking innocent people like a mini-sized militia. If I were your mother, I'd lock you up in juvie until you learned what it's like to be civilized."

The three boys looked up at her, stunned and shattered.

"Ouch, Aunt Daisy," June whispered. "That was a little harsh, don't you think?"

"The Commander's right," Max said from his place behind the bush, glaring at Huey, Dewey, and Louie. "Glad someone else told them off and it's not just me for a change."

Daisy snapped her furious stare at him. "Oh, pipe down, Max, don't act like you're innocent. My more drenched left side is living proof. You'll get your own scolding after I'm done with these three crooks."

Max gulped and slowly slid back into the safety of the bush.

Turning her attention back to the boy-triplets, she saw them looking at the ground. Dewey's lip quivered slightly, Louie's eyes were glassy, and Huey seemed to want to disappear. She wanted to scold them more, wanted to put these little rascals in their place, but seeing their crestfallen expressions, a wave of stomach-sinking regret washed over her. The look of sadness on their faces was worse than any ruined uniform.

She sighed. "You know what? I'm going to change into something cute and dry. I want you all to stand in line and wait for my return. We're going to learn about the compass."

Turning around, she heard Max sigh in relief from behind the bush. "Stand in line with the others, Max!" she snapped.

"Aye aye, Commander!" He jumped from his hiding place and bolted to the others, knocking Doofus to the ground before the boy could capture another Kodak moment.

~*~*~*~*~

The rest of the day was filled with a quiet, strained tension. The boys kept to themselves, working on their tasks with an uncharacteristic seriousness, and Daisy kept her distance.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in soft shades of orange and pink, she finally gathered her courage. She walked over to their tent and, with a heavy sigh, poked her head inside.

"Boys?" she said, her voice softer than she'd intended.

Huey looked up from his guidebook, his expression still solemn. "Yeah, Commander Daisy?"

"I... I'm sorry," she said, the words feeling foreign and heavy on her tongue. "I shouldn't have said those things. It's just... I'm a bit out of my element here, and... well, that outfit was expensive."

Dewey looked up, absently tracing patterns in the dirt with his toe. "It's okay, Commander Daisy. We just... we thought you wanted to play."

She felt a genuine pang in her chest. "Oh. I see. Well... maybe tomorrow we can have a little bit of fun, too. No water balloons, though."

Louie shrugged. "Okay."

She gave a small, awkward smile and left them to it, a strange sense of relief washing over her.

Looking at the rest of her troop, Daisy watched as Max and Doofus slipped into their tent. The four girls zipped up their adorable rainbow tent, giggling as they went. She felt a wave of pride as the fire she taught them to build crackled, filling the night air with warmth. The day might have started with tantrums and ruined outfits, but it would be ending with the sweet promise of gooey marshmallows and scary camp stories.

~*~*~*~*~

Daisy tossed and turned in her sleeping bag. Somehow, Lily's horror story about a killer scarecrow who terrorized the farm's prize-winning cabbages had her unsettled to her core. A noise from outside the tent had her sitting bolt upright.

"Oh, for the love of all that is... not a terrifying scarecrow," she muttered to herself.

She had to be brave. She was the commander, after all, and her troop of six- and seven-year-olds was depending on her. She slowly unzipped her tent, a flashlight in hand, determined to face whatever creature of the night was out there.

The "creature of the night" to her relief turned out to be Max, sitting on one of the small logs that surrounded the put-down fire. He was staring at the unlit pit, looking too sad for a boy his age.

"Max, what are you doing out here?" Daisy asked in annoyance. She was definitely not in the mood for another water balloon attack, intentional or not.

He looked up, his expression hollow. "Do you think Uncle Mickey's going to win?"

Daisy paused, taken aback. "What are you talking about?"

"April's story," he said quietly, looking back at the unlit fire pit. "You know, the mouse who was taken away from his parents by an alive Cabbage Patch Kid. It got me thinking... what if I end up being taken away from Dad by my aunt?"

Daisy felt a jolt in her stomach. "Max, why would you ask me that? That's a... that's a grown-up thing."

"Because you tell it like it is," he said, looking her in the eye again. "You're always honest. You never baby me like the other grown-ups. You yell at me when I do something wrong, and you don't pretend everything's okay when it's not."

Okay, so much for being the "Cool Commander." Apparently, her reputation among the children was "the Yelling-At Aunt." Daisy took a deep, weary breath, and carefully sat down on the rough log beside him, her silky robe creasing in a way that would make a less determined woman cry.

"Look, Max," she said quietly. "I'm going to tell you the truth because you asked for it, but you're not going to like it." She paused, searching for the right words. "I think you'll probably end up going with your aunt. She's... well, she's more responsible." Daisy swallowed hard. "But... for what it's worth, I hope you stay with your dad."

Max just nodded slowly, looking away from her, his hands clenching into fists on his knees.

"I'm sorry," Daisy said. The sentiment wasn't for the truth she'd just given him, but for the entire rotten, unfair situation.

He shook his head. "I asked for the truth."

"And who knows, maybe your aunt, whom I've never met personally, but I'm sure she's really lovely," if by lovely she meant a total monster, "would let you sleep over at your dad's on weekends and holidays. Those are the best times anyway, much better than school days."

He gave a lopsided smile. "Obviously."

She smiled back, and in a moment of uncharacteristic warmth, pulled him into a side hug. He leaned in, his head resting on her shoulder. The warm, fluttery sensation in her chest was weirding her out. She had to end this now.

Before she could pull away, he jumped to his feet first. "Commander, look!" He pointed at a few fireflies dancing around over the campfire embers. Max reached out a hand and caught one, its tiny light pulsing in his palm. He held it up, and they both looked at it in quiet awe. A camera flash erupted in front of them. Doofus grinned at them as he captured a nice moment that Daisy thought she should save for Goofy. She'd probably send it to him right after the custody papers were finalized, as a lovely little keepsake.

Now that was a cynical thought.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The next morning, a different kind of calm settled over the campsite. Daisy, a new woman, had gathered her troops for the day's activity: building and painting birdhouses. It was a wholesome, outdoorsy task, the kind that screamed "I love children!"

She handed a hammer and a nail to Louie, who stared at the tools with an expression of profound dismay. "This is... work," he stated, as if he'd just discovered a new form of manual labor.

Daisy offered him a wry smile. "Darling, that's why it's called a 'project' and not 'nap time.' Now, let's get building."

"Can we make ours look like spaceships?" Dewey piped up. "Mom and Dad would love them!"

"Yeah, the official Woodchuck Guidebook has a chapter on futuristic dwellings!" Huey added.

Daisy sighed. "Boys, as a journalist, I can tell you that a bird's housing needs are a lot more... grounded. A bird is not going to fly into a miniature spaceship. It's not aerodynamically sound, and frankly, I don't want to get into the existential debate of what constitutes a proper home with a finch. We're sticking to the classic design."

Suddenly, a loud "WHACK!" followed by a high-pitched wail broke the peace. Doofus had hammered his thumb instead of a nail. Daisy decided to try the side-hug thing again. It worked well with Max the previous night. She knelt down and wrapped a comforting arm around him.

"Oh, sweetie," she cooed, "Let's get that looked at…"

He wailed, a torrent of tears and snot erupting from his face and soaking into her brand new, perfectly pink top. The other kids stopped what they were doing, their eyes wide, waiting for the storm. The snot was... a lot. But instead of losing her mind, Daisy slowly and calmly stood up.

"I'm going to go change," she announced, her voice eerily calm.

She returned a few minutes later, now in a cute purple top, her smile a little more fixed. She supervised the remaining projects with a newfound sense of grim determination. She watched in silent satisfaction as her troop of youngsters thoroughly built perfect little birdhouses.

Huey pointed at his finished creation. "Commander Daisy, look! It's done!"

Daisy held up the birdhouse, her hands carefully avoiding the fresh paint. "It's magnificent. You've truly captured the essence of suburban birding." She hung it on the hook on the branch with a piece of twine. "See, Huey? You're perfectly capable of making something useful that doesn't involve a prank."

A sudden flash of light made them both jump. Daisy shielded her eyes, her smile immediately vanishing.

"That’s Doofus again," Max said with a grin.

Chapter Text

Donald's peaceful morning was interrupted by a jarring ring of the doorbell. "Who could that be?" he grumbled, waddling to the door. When he swung it open, there was no one in sight. Only a peculiar pink envelope lay on the ground. A romantic gesture? His heart fluttered. Daisy had been bragging all week about her successful camping trip and how she'd already achieved her New Year's resolution. Meanwhile, he'd miserably failed his by babysitting his nephews for three days while their parents were away, a task he'd sworn he'd never repeat. Could this be her way of apologizing for her gloating? He carefully picked up the envelope and gave it a smooch.

His hope deflated the moment he opened the envelope and saw "Della" scrawled at the bottom. "Oh, phooey!" he fumed. He should have known Daisy would never stoop to apologizing to him. He scratched his head. Why would Della, of all people, write a letter instead of just calling? He began to read, his eyes widening with each word.

Dear Donald,

I am sending your angel nephews, Louie, Huey, and Dewey, to stay with you while their father is in the hospital. A giant firecracker exploded under his chair. The little darlings are SO playful. I hope you enjoy them.

Your cousin, Della.

"Cousin?" Donald sputtered. "And why is she writing to me as if I don't know who my devil nephews are?" He fumed, his face turning a shade of angry purple. "Wait... this isn't Della's handwriting!" He stomped his foot. "It's probably a prank from the demonic trio!"

Just then, a vulgar pounding erupted on the door. Donald marched over, ready to unleash his fury. The moment his hand touched the doorknob, a jolt of electricity surged through him. He yelped, a flash of white filling his vision as he crumpled to the floor. "Blast it all! It's them!" he raged.

He managed to swing the door open, his voice a furious bellow as he prepared to unleash a torrent of insults on the rascals. But when he looked left and right, the street was empty. He walked back inside, shaking his head, only to be greeted by a red bucket of water falling squarely on his head. He spluttered, the bucket blocking his vision as it slid down over his face.

"Hello, Unca Donald!" a chorus of tiny voices chirped.

He ripped the bucket off and gasped. There they were, the three little demons, standing before him, pretending to look innocent.

He tossed the bucket aside and marched to seize the pink letter on the floor, waving it in front of their faces. “Did you write this?”

They shook their heads no. "The nice lady wrote it when Mom rushed with Dad and the ambulance."

"You sent your dad to the hospital and you still had the nerve to prank me?" Donald asked with a glare.

The three simply shrugged.

Donald simply sighed.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Three days had passed and no word from Della. Donald paced in his living room, holding a phone to his ear. "Are ye sure, ma?" he asked, his voice strained. "Della hasn't called?"

"No, son," Hortense replied gruffly, but he could hear the concern in her voice. "Yer da's been to every hospital in Duckburg. There's no sign of them anywhere."

"I've called every hospital in Mouseton. Now I'm waiting for Daisy to watch the boys, and I'm heading to their house now. Maybe they came back and are too tired to call."

"Och, if only ye kids stayed in Duckburg," his mother grumbled. "Why would ye live so far away?"

"Ma, it's only a one-hour drive," Donald said sarcastically.

"I'll call yer uncle and aunt," she said. "Maybe they've heard from them."

"Call me if you learn anything," Donald said.

"Ye, too," she replied before the line went dead.

Just as he put the phone down, the doorbell rang. He rushed to open the door, but his foot caught on an invisible thread stretched across the floor. He flailed his arms, and a bucket of ice cubes plummeted from above, showering him in a chilling cascade.

The stinging ice cubes bit at his skin, and he shrieked, "Boys! Really?!"

Laughter echoed from the upstairs landing. He shook his head, a groan escaping his lips, and opened the door.

Daisy stood there, a bored expression on her face. "And now I'm regretting this," she said flatly, her eyes raking over his drenched, shivering form.

He grabbed her hands. "Thanks, Dee. I owe you a fashion magazine," he said, rushing past her and out the door.

"You owe me more than that, Donald Duck!" she yelled after him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

With a spare key clutched in his trembling hand, Donald stood before his sister's front door. He took a deep breath before he twisted the key in the lock. The door clicked open, and he stepped inside, his heart sinking at the sight before him. The living room was a disaster zone. A charred, splintered recliner sat in the middle of the floor, a gaping hole where the seat used to be. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burnt wood and sulfur.

He walked through the house, his gaze sweeping over the wreckage. He searched every room, every cupboard, every drawer, hoping to find a note, a clue, anything to explain what had happened. But there was nothing. No frantic scribbles on the back of an envelope, no post-it note on the fridge. Just silence and a lingering sense of chaos. The boys' room was tidy, their beds made, their toys neatly arranged on the shelves.

Defeated, he returned home, the key to his sister's house now a heavy weight in his hand. He stepped inside and found the triplets tied to the dining room chairs, their beaks gagged with pieces of cloth. Daisy sat on the couch, flipping through a space magazine. "Your sister doesn't own a good magazine," she muttered, not looking up.

He stared at her, then at the boys. "What happened here?" he squawked, rushing to untie the triplets.

She sighed, her eyes still on the magazine. "They wanted to play 'Duck, Duck, Goose.' And I wanted peace and quiet."

"And you tied them up?" he said, his voice a mixture of shock and disbelief.

"It was self-defense," she said, shrugging her shoulders. She finally looked at him, her eyes softening slightly. "Did you find anything?"

He shook his head, a look of despair on his face. "Nothing. Just a broken chair and a bunch of burnt wood. I don't know what to do."

"You'll figure it out," she said.

As Donald finished untying the triplets, Huey tugged at his arm. "Unca Donald," he said, "are Mom and Dad coming home?"

Louie and Dewey stared up at him, their faces a mix of hope and weariness. They shot angry stares at Daisy, who was still flipping through her magazine.

Donald sighed, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. He knelt down, putting a gentle hand on each of their shoulders. "Not tonight, boys. You'll be staying with me for a while."

"Did they go back to Mars?" Huey asked, his voice small.

"What? No," Donald said, his confusion turning to anger. He stood up and hissed at Daisy, "They must have gone to another space program."

Daisy raised an eyebrow. "Without telling you?"

"I'm going to the nearest NASA field office first thing tomorrow morning," Donald said, his voice filled with determination. "It's a long drive, so can you stay with the boys until I get back?"

She shook her head. "Sorry, Donald. My boss wants me to cover an important event tomorrow. He's already upset I took a week off for the Junior Woodchucks."

"Please, Daisy," Donald begged, his voice cracking. "I just want to make sure my sister's okay."

She appeared ready to protest, but a flicker of sympathy crossed her face. She sighed, relenting. "Fine. But you owe me big time."

"NOOOO!" the boys screamed in unison.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Donald stormed into the NASA field office, his webbed feet slapping against the polished floor. He ignored the receptionist's surprised squawk and made a beeline for the nearest uniformed officer. "I need to see someone in charge," he demanded, his voice trembling with a mix of fury and fear. "My sister, Della Duck, and her husband... they've disappeared."

The officer raised her eyebrow. "Sir, you'll need to calm down. I can't help you unless you tell me who you are and what this is about."

"I'm Donald Duck, and I'm telling you my sister is a pilot for a private space company, and she's gone!" he quacked, his voice rising in desperation.

Just then, a woman in a lab coat emerged from a nearby office. "What's all this commotion?" she asked, her voice calm but firm. She looked at Donald, a bewildered expression on her face. "Do I know you?"

His heart pounded in his chest. "I’m here about my sister, Della Duck? I haven’t heard from her in four days now."

The woman’s eyes widened. A look of horror spread across her face as the pieces fell into place. "Oh, no," she mumbled. "I was supposed to call you."

Donald's blood ran cold. "What?" he croaked. "Did you see my sister? Is she okay?"

"My name is Dr. Evelyn Reed, " the woman said. "You sister and her husband were here a few days ago."

Dr. Reed immediately pulled up the mission file on her computer. She turned the screen to face Donald, revealing a detailed flight plan and a picture of the crew: Della and her husband, looking tense in their flight suits.

"They've been working on a top-secret project for a private space exploration company funded by an eccentric billionaire," Dr. Reed explained. "The project involves a new kind of rocket, one that can reach the moon in a fraction of the time it takes today's rockets. And they were chosen as the primary test pilots for its first flight."

Donald stared at the screen, furious that Della hadn't told him, yet a part of him was also in awe. "But I thought Mr. Duck was in the hospital?"

"He was," Dr. Reed replied. "They were contacted while they were there. The test flight was moved up unexpectedly, and it would have been unheard of to miss the opportunity of a lifetime."

Dr. Reed’s expression softened. "Della desperately wanted to tell you herself, but the launch was moved up unexpectedly. She reached out to me, pleading with me to let her family know. I promised I would, but in the chaos of the moment, the message never got through."

Donald stared at the screen, a complex mix of emotions churning inside him: anger at the secrecy, relief that they were okay, and an overwhelming surge of pride. Della had gone to the moon, fulfilling her lifelong dream. Yet, this pride was tinged with a deep sadness. The thought of the boys at home, unaware their parents had left and might not be back for a long time, was what truly broke his heart.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Donald drove home in silence, a jumble of emotions churning within him. He grappled with whether to tell the boys now, on a school night, or wait until they got home tomorrow.

As he walked into the house, he found Daisy tied to a dining room chair with a jump rope, a frustrated look on her face. The triplets were dancing around her in a victory circle, a single water balloon held aloft like a trophy. Donald felt a scream of frustration well up inside him. He wanted to unleash a storm of anger, but the image of Della and her husband staring out from the cockpit of their rocket flashed in his mind, and he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Boys, go wash up for dinner," he said, his voice softer than he intended. "You have to go to bed early for school." The boys, sensing the shift in his tone, hesitated for a moment before scurrying upstairs.

He untied Daisy, who immediately began to berate him. "Donald! Those little monsters are out of control! You need to punish them! This is unacceptable!"

Donald just stared at her, his eyes filled with a sadness she hadn't seen before. Daisy stopped her rant, her expression softening. "Donald, what's wrong? Did you find some news about Della?"

Donald took a deep breath. "She's fine," he said, a small, sad smile on his face. "She's just gone to the moon." He then told her everything: the secret project, the sudden departure, and Dr. Reed's mistake.

Daisy listened quietly, her anger completely gone. When he finished, she simply pulled him into a hug.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Donald sat at the tennis table in Goofy’s trailer, staring blankly at the green tabletop. Goofy, humming a cheerful tune, was at a makeshift grill, flipping meatballs. The sizzle and pop of the food did little to lift Donald’s spirits.

"Goofy," Donald said, his voice barely a whisper, "what's it like being a single parent?"

Goofy paused, a spatula in his hand. He looked at Donald, his smile gone. "It can be a bit of a challenge at times, you know? You put your kid's needs over yours, but you do it because you love them." He went back to his cooking, humming again.

Donald stared down at the table, his eyes tracing a faint crack in the green paint. "I love the boys," he muttered. "And I didn't mind having them over for weeks, even months. But now, with their parents finally going to space, their stay will be... much longer. Maybe permanent. And I'm not sure I'm cut out for this."

Goofy flipped a meatball. "Sure you are, Donald. You've probably been there for them more than their own parents." He grinned. "Say, you want some meatballs to get your mind off things?"

"Sure, why not?" Donald said, his voice flat.

Suddenly, two very hot meatballs flew through the air, hitting Donald squarely in the eyes. He yelped, rubbing his eyes furiously. "Hey! What's the big idea?!"

Goofy chuckled. "That's how Maxie and I eat 'em."

Just then, Max rushed into the trailer, dropping his schoolbag to the floor. "All right! It's Wednesday!" he yelled, grabbing a paddle and hurrying towards the table.

Goofy tossed a meatball at Max, who opened his mouth and caught it. He tossed another, which Max hit with his paddle. Goofy returned the shot with his own paddle, catching the meatball in his mouth.

Beak hanging open, Donald stared at the father and son playing tennis with their food, and he sighed. Maybe he had come to the wrong place for parenting advice.

~*~*~*~*~

Donald's heart sank as he stepped through the front door. his foot snagged on a nearly invisible tripwire. He flailed his arms wildly, his eyes going wide with panic as a large net dropped from the ceiling, entangling him in its ropes. The net tightened as it hit the floor, trapping him completely.

He opened his beak to release a flood of fury, but before he could, he saw three familiar faces peering down at him from the top of the stairs.

"This is an intervention, Unca Donald," Huey said with a serious scowl.

"We know you're hiding the truth from us," Dewey added, his expression grim.

"Where are Mom and Dad?" Louie asked, his voice a whisper.

Donald stared at them, his anger evaporating into a profound sadness. He sighed, the fight draining out of him. "Let me go," he said gently, "and we'll talk."

The boys rushed down the stairs and quickly untied the ropes. Donald stood up and looked down at them. The boys were trying to be brave, but their trembling beaks and watery eyes betrayed their fear. He led them to the couch and sat down, pulling Louie onto his knee. Huey and Dewey sat on either side of him.

"Boys," Donald said, his voice barely a whisper, "your parents went on a secret mission to the moon."

The triplets looked at each other, their eyes wide with confusion.

"When are they coming back?" Dewey whispered.

Donald shook his head. "I don't know. It's their first trip to space, and those usually take years."

"Why didn't they say goodbye?" Louie mumbled, his voice muffled by Donald's shirt.

Donald hugged him close. "Everything happened so fast," he said, his own voice cracking. "They didn't even have time for a phone call."

"They did choose space over us," Huey said, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

Donald pulled all of his nephews closer. "Now, boys, your parents are astronauts. It's their job. But know that they do love you. Your mom told you that she loved you and never wanted you to change who you are, remember?"

The boys nodded solemnly.

"And hey," Donald said, a hopeful smile on his face. "Your parents went on a secret mission to space. How cool is that, huh? How many kids do you know could say that about their parents?"

That earned him a small smile from the boys. Huey wiped his eyes and said, "Yeah, no one at school has a parent with a cool job."

"Yep," Dewey nodded. "Not Biff, not Hilary, and especially not Max."

"There you go," Donald said, a sense of hope filling his chest.

Louie hugged him tight. "Unca Donald," he said, "I'm glad we have you to stay with while they’re gone."

Donald hugged them all closer. "Me too, boys. Me too."

Chapter Text

Mickey's heart hammered against his ribs in a frantic drumbeat against the strained silence of the New Jersey courthouse. Beside him, Goofy wrung his hat in his hands, his long ears drooping. "Gawrsh, Mickey," Goofy said with a nervous tremor. "My innards are twitching worse than an Oc-ter-puss flopping out of the boat."

Mickey forced a calming smile, though his own knees felt like jelly. "Just breathe, just breathe. We've got this. Just gotta tell the judge the truth." He straightened his tie, feeling the knot constrict more than just his neck.

"The truth is I’m a plumb wreck," Goofy whimpered. "What if they take Maxie away?"

"They won't!" Mickey insisted, trying to project more confidence than he felt. "You're a good dad, Goofy. I’m sure the judge will see that."

A sneering voice, as smooth as polished chrome but as grating as fingernails on a chalkboard, sliced through Mickey's carefully constructed calm. "Well, if it isn't Mickey Mouse, slumming it in family court."

Mickey's ears swiveled, his blood running cold. He hadn't heard that voice in years, but he'd recognize its obnoxious timbre anywhere. He turned, and there he was: Mortimer Mouse, dressed in a tailored suit, a smirk plastered across his annoying face.

"Mortimer," Mickey managed, his voice tight.

Mortimer chuckled. "In the flesh, Mickey-boy. And I am delighted to inform you that I represent Mrs. Miller in this domestic squabble." He gave a puff of air across his knuckles and lightly dusted his perfectly tailored lapel. "I have, by the way, never lost a case in my ten-year illustrious legal career. Tell me, Mickey, how many cases have you won?"

Goofy puffed up indignantly. "Mickey never had a client before me! That's why he ain't won or lost any!"

Mickey squeezed his eyes shut. "Thanks, pal," he muttered through gritted teeth.

Mortimer laughed. "Oh, Mickey, you truly do pick the most charming associates. This will be even easier than I anticipated." He gave a dismissive wave and glided through the large double doors leading into the courtroom.

Mickey looked down, feeling the overwhelming challenge that lay ahead.

"Gawrsh, Mick, are ya alright? You look a little... green."

Mickey's already fragile confidence was shaken to its core. But he couldn't let Goofy see that. He forced another smile. "I'm fine. Just... ready to get this over with."

They stepped into the courtroom, the large wooden doors closing behind them with a heavy thud. The room was grand and imposing, with high ceilings and a stern-looking judge seated behind a massive bench. Across the room, Mickey's gaze landed on Mortimer, who was deep in conversation with Carol in a pristine suit. Her face was a mask of cold displeasure as she looked at them. Mickey glanced at Goofy, whose expressive face contorted with a mixture of sadness and hurt.

The hearing began, and Mickey found himself on the back foot from the start. Mortimer was a shark, circling his prey with a condescending smile. He produced a series of enlarged photographs: a scorched patch of land where the house once stood, the charred remains of Goofy’s home.

"Mr. Goof," Mortimer began. "Is it not true that the house you so carelessly set ablaze was, in fact, a graduation gift given to your late wife, Penny, by her sister, my client, Mrs. Carol Miller?"

Goofy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Yes," he whispered in distress.

"And is it not also true, Mr. Goof, that you and your son now reside in a small, cramped trailer, where little Max is forced to sleep on a makeshift shelf above your bed?"

Another sad "yes" was given.

Mickey's heart sank as Mortimer kept going. "Furthermore, Mr. Goof, you have not the financial means to provide Max with new clothes, new toys, or even the ingredients to make him waffles, a food he so dearly loves."

Goofy turned Mickey. "How did he know that?" he hissed in confusion.

"And I have it on good authority that because of his current living conditions, he has been getting bullied at school. Other children are calling him 'trailer trash.' Is this a healthy environment for a six-year-old boy?"

The judge adjusted his reading glasses and looked down at Goofy with a frown. "Mr. Goof, while I am sympathetic to your circumstances, the court's priority is the child's well-being. I will give you a chance to improve your living conditions. If, within the next four weeks, you cannot provide a more stable and suitable home for your son, I will have no choice but to grant Mrs. Miller temporary custody of Max."

The judge's gavel hit the block, and the first session was over. Mickey felt his knees buckle as he stared at the floor, his mind reeling. They had four weeks. It was a daunting task, but Mickey knew he couldn't fail his friend.

He helped Goofy up from the courtroom bench. "Say, Mickey," Goofy mumbled, stuffing his hat into his pocket. "I think I gotta take a little trip to the graveyard."

Mickey nodded, giving his friend a comforting pat on the shoulder.

As they started toward the exit, a smug, low laugh stopped them dead in their tracks. "Leaving so soon, Mouse?"

Mortimer Mouse blocked their path, adjusting the cuff links on his suit. He wore the triumphant sneer of a man who had just crushed a kitten. "I must say, Mickey, that was painful to watch," he said. "Four weeks? That's barely enough time to update your resume, let alone find your client a home that isn't a mobile blight on the neighborhood. You really should have known better than to take on a case this far above your pay grade." He then turned his attention to Goofy. "And you, Mr. Goof. I genuinely suggest you consider a more seasoned advocate before the next session. This little fellow here is a nice mouse, but a novice, sadly."

Before Mickey could launch a retort, which would surely have been ineffective anyway, Carol Miller approached. She didn't spare Mickey a glance, focusing her cold stare entirely on Goofy.

"Next time we see each other in court," she said. "I need you to bring Max. Nothing of his belongings. I can buy him better things."

Goofy's chin quivered, but he held her gaze. A sudden, quiet sadness settled over his face. "Carol," he said softly. "Do you wanna join us and see Penny?"

Carol appeared taken aback by the invitation; her composure wavered for a split second. She regained control immediately and gave a quiet, curt nod.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Mickey stood a respectful distance away, his eyes fixed on the moss-covered granite. The headstone was simple, bearing a gold plaque that read: Penny Goof. 1955 – 1981.

Goofy knelt directly in front of the stone and carefully placed a small bouquet of wildflowers he’d picked from a patch near the gate.

"Hi-ya, Penny," he murmured, gently tracing the engraving of her name. "We’re doing well, me and Maxie. Boy’s growing up. He’s in school now, first grade, taking math and science and English." A weak smile touched his face. "He loves to play with your skateboard. He's a natural little fellar, and an excellent tennis player, just like you. We've been playin' tennis every day, just like you and me did back in them good old days." He let out a soft, sad chuckle, his expression growing wistful. "Max takes after you a lot. Even his voice is getting very much like yours, all raspy and gravelly."

Heart aching for his friend, Mickey glanced at Carol Miller. She stood a few feet away, arms folded tightly across her chest, watching the intimate scene with a cold, detached stare. Her face was entirely unreadable until she finally let out a sharp sigh.

"Listen, Goofy," she said. "I don’t doubt that you loved my sister, despite my objections to the marriage." She paused, her gaze hardening. "I know that you also love Max. And I want you to think rationally about his welfare. Don't you think he deserves to live in a two-story house with a family? To go to the best schools, wear the best clothes, and be assigned into elite sport clubs to foster his athletic talents?"

Mickey watched as Goofy, still kneeling before Penny’s gravestone, clenched his jaw, his eyes getting misty.

"I will ensure that Max gets to the best universities and fulfills his potential," Carol went on. "You, of all people, know how hard it is not to have a college degree."

Goofy's gloved hand clutched the cold edge of the gravestone, and Mickey wished he could have shielded him against Carol's verbal assault.

"Think about it," she pressed, sounding more like a CEO closing a deal than an aunt fighting for her nephew. "Let's settle this peacefully. I will allow you to visit him at my house, and even take him out on weekends, provided he always sleeps in my house. I don't want him near that filthy trailer."

Mickey watched her walk away and then moved to pat Goofy’s rigid shoulder. "Don't worry, pal, I think I can…"

Goofy shrugged his hand off. "What's the point, Mick?"

Mickey stepped back, surprised by the gruff reaction that felt so foreign on his friend. "What?"

Goofy stood up and let out a weary sigh, then pinched the bridge of his nose. "Maybe it’s best Max lives with Carol."

The words stung Mickey, hurting deep within his soul. He swallowed hard, looking down at the new shoes he’d bought specifically for today, hoping to look sharp. Even the sharpest shoes in the world couldn't suddenly make him a veteran lawyer capable of winning this case. "Look, Goofy, I know I'm not the best choice to represent you, but I'm trying."

"It ain’t you, Mickey," Goofy interrupted, turning away to stare at the distant tree line. "Shucks, this pickle we're in is too much for me and you put together. Who are we fooling? I can't go up against all that money she's got."

"But no one loves Max more than you."

Goofy turned to face him, his eyes glistening with pain. "But is it enough?" His voice was thick with self-doubt. "My New Year's resolution was to make Max happy."

"He is happy," Mickey insisted.

"Is he?" Goofy challenged, his voice cracking. "He's stuck living in a rusty old trailer. Kids pick on him at school. I can't fix his pants right without putting them shameful patches on them, and that one time he asked for waffles, I couldn’t make them for him 'cause I ain't got the flour."

With his heart twisting, Mickey watched Goofy inhale a shaky breath, his gaze sweeping frantically between the overcast sky and his late wife’s gravestone. "I think it's time to face them facts, Mick," he said in a heartbroken voice. "Max should move in with Carol."

Mickey stared at him, his jaw tightening into a rigid line. He pressed his lips together, swallowing the wave of panic and sadness that threatened to overwhelm him, then stared fixedly at the name on the tombstone, letting the stone-cold resolve settle in his gut.

Not yet, he thought fiercely. I'm not giving up.