Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

T'was a few nights before Christmas, and all through the house, a good number of creatures were making quite a racket, including three siblings, a psychiatrist, and at least one mouse (it should probably be mentioned that there was also a policeman standing by the doorway, looking rather annoyed, but that doesn't exactly rhyme, now does it?).

"Has anyone seen my stocking?" yelled a Scouse voice from the living room. "I need to hang it by the chimney with care!"

"Check the box of decorations in the foyer!" came a reply from the kitchen. "I think Dot's is also in there!"

At that, a small, furry child in a blue sweater and a santa hat came skidding into the front hallway. He looked up at the policeman at the door and grinned, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

"Hello there, Mr. Policeman!"

The man smiled tightly. "Hello, sonny. I'm, uh... Detective Jones. Tell me, are your parents home?"

The kid shook their head. "'fraid not. Hey, do you know where my stocking is?"

"Uh, no?"

"Kind of a shitty detective then, aren't you?" they commented, turning to rummage around in a box beside the staircase.

"I—"

He was cut off as the kid procured two stockings from the box. "Found 'em! Thanks, Mr. Detective!"

The man was left in stunned silence as he ran off.

A few minutes later, after a series of baffling noises from the kitchen, a white mouse strolled out into the foyer.

He looked up at the policeman with disdain. "Can I help you, sir?"

Before the man could reply, another kid, this one in brown slacks, ran out of the kitchen. His tail was smoking slightly, looking charred. "Brain, have you seen Dot? I need her help," he panted frantically as a smoke alarm began to sound. 

The mouse sighed. "I believe she is decorating gingerbread men with Pinky in the dining room."

"Cool, thanks." He ran back the way he came.

Eye twitching, the man stared at the rodent. "As I was saying... would you happen to be the owner of this household?"

"Certainly not. I am simply here with my friend to assist with holiday preparation and decoration."

"Well then," the man muttered. "Who is the adult in charge of this household?"

"If you find out, please do let me know," deadpanned the mouse as he walked away.

The man took a deep breath and repressed the urge to scream as the boy in the slacks from earlier sauntered back out of the kitchen again, now looking completely composed.

He stopped in front of the man and crossed his arms. "Hey, uhhhhhh, you got a warrant?"

"What— no, I—"

"Cuz if you don't have a warrant, then you have no business bein' in my house."

Flashing what he hoped was a trustworthy smile, his gold tooth twinkling, the man crouched down to be at eye-level with the boy. "Come now, I'm not here to get anybody in trouble, I just want to make sure that everyone is stayin' safe this Christmas. Seein' if they have proper security and all that."

"Oh, well, you needn't worry then. We've got the best security system you can get," the boy explained.

"Oh yeah? And that would be?"

"My siblings." He grinned cockily and then honked the man's nose.

He yelped and shot up, fuming. "Will you just get me a responsible adult, you little—!"

The boy shrugged. "If you insist..." He took a deep breath. "SCRATCHY! THE POLICE WANT A WORD WITH YOU!"

The man's ears were ringing like silver bells. He glared at the boy, who smiled sweetly back at him.

"You have a wonderful holiday season, officer," he said, spinning on his heel and heading into the living room.

The man sputtered.

Eventually, an actual, real, adult human man walked down the stairs.

"Good evening, officer. How may I help you?" he asked, his accent thick. 

The policeman took a deep breath. "Yes, hello. I was just checking it to make sure that everyone is staying safe and secure this Christmas. A lot of robberies happen around this time of year, you know."

The man with the accent nodded. "Ja, ja. I have heard. You do what you can, I guess, put locks on the doors and timers on the lights."

"Are you going anywhere this year?"

"Oh, ja, Paris! I have family there who I am going to stay with. I'm leaving tomorrow, in fact!"

"Paris tomorrow, huh? That sounds... wonderful."

A loud boom then sounded from the dining room, causing both men to jump.

"Oh boy," the man with the accent said. "I should probably go see what happened back there. You have a good night, sir." He hurried off.

The policeman opened the door, a sly grin on his face. "Oh, I will."

He was still grinning as he slid into the front seat of the unmarked van in the driveway.

Meanwhile, back in the house, the Warners were bidding farewell to their friends.

"Have a good time in Paris, Scratchy!" said Dot as she brushed the remnants of the powdered sugar explosion off her skirt.

"Thank you, Dot. Are you sure you three will be alright, home alone for Christmas?"

"You could always come and stay with me and Brain at the lab!" Pinky offered, munching on a piece of gingerbread.

Yakko waved them off. "Thanks, but y'all have already done so much. Besides, we'll be fine. It's Christmas! What could possibly go wrong?"

Chapter Text

"Can we watch it? Please?" chorused Wakko and Dot, both of them making puppy eyes at their older brother.

Yakko sighed and placed the VHS tape on the counter in front of them. "I'm trying to be a responsible adult here, sibs," he muttered.

Dot snatched up the tape and began to saunter towards the living room. "We all know you're not one, sweetie. Besides, we all just spent the evening jumping on the beds and eating unhealthy amounts of sugar near bedtime. What difference will one inappropriate, violent gangster movie make?"

Annoyedly trying to suppress a grin, Yakko rolled his eyes and followed her, with Wakko right behind him.

They all plopped themselves down, each one settling into their usual seat on the couch. Dot had already put the tape into the player, and she twirled the remote in her hand before clicking play.

"I still don't understand what made you two want to watch this," the eldest commented as the movie, a black and white film he had never heard of, began.

Dot draped herself over her brother dramatically. "Oh Yakko... it's the charm of it all, the brave, debonair protagonists and their cunning, beautiful love interests, the acts of daring and love and betrayal! How could you not want to watch it?"

"Need I reiterate that this is a gangster movie that is probably as old as we are?"

"Hey, I'm just here for the violence," said Wakko.

Yakko shrugged and turned back to the movie as the title card flashed across the screen:

Angels With Filthy Souls

He made a face. What sort of movie was this? Was it actually going to be good? Leaning back into the cushions, he settled in to watch, and promptly began to doze off.

He awoke to the sounds of gunshots and an angry gangster.

"Keep the change, ya filthy animal!" the man onscreen said.

Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Yakko looked over at his siblings, who were both staring at the screen with rapt attention. He was both proud and disappointed that they were so interested in what appeared to have been a gruesome murder. 

The three of them startled when a blinding light shone in through the window. Dot cursed loudly, earning a light swat from Yakko.

"Watch your fucking language," he scolded.

She swatted him back. "What's with the sudden light?"

"I had Brain install a timer system on our Christmas lights so we wouldn't have to turn them on and off every night!"

"Did he do something to the lights themselves? Like for a takin’-over-the-world thing?" Wakko asked. Their voice was muffled by the hat they had pulled down over their face.

"I guess so!"

A few houses away, an unmarked van sat idling on the side of the road. Inside, two men were sat, both looking nothing short of elated.

"That plan of yours to dress up as a policeman to figure out who was gonna be away was genius, Larry!" the taller of the two said.

"I know, right? Nothing like a bunch of upper-middle-class families to blindly trust the police," the other, Larry, chuckled. "Or anyone they think is police... 'cept for the one kid, he was weird, asked me if I had a warrant— oh, Bart, watch this!"

"What is is?"

"House to your left, seven-six-nine, in three, two—"

The lights to the house flickered on.

"Yeah, I'm that good. And seven-seven-four right about... now!"

Again, the lights came on right on cue.

This continued for another few minutes.

Eventually, there was only one house on the block not lit up.

"That's the one..." Larry murmured reverently. "The holy grail of hits."

"It's a big house!"

"Exactly. A house that size has to be full of valuables, ripe for the stealing. Oh, and here come their lights in three, two—!"

The two men screamed a little when the lights came on.

"Why are they so bright?" cried Bart, shielding his eyes.

"That's how you know they're rich! Only someone loaded could afford lights with that many lumens!"

"Well then let's go rob them!"

They hopped out of the van and scurried over to the house. "Lights be damned. We'll head in through the basement," Larry instructed as they approached.

"Hey, did you guys hear that?" Wakko asked.

Dot picked up the remote and paused the movie. "Hear what?"

A sudden rattling came from the basement.

"That."

Yakko sprung up. "You two stay here." He hurried to the top of the stairs to the basement and peered down. Through the curtain on the door's window, he could see what looked like two figures standing outside, silhouetted by the offensively-bright lights.

He slammed a hand on the light switch next to him, turning on the lightbulb outside the basement door. That seemed to elicit sounds of confusion and panic, and he didn't know whether to feel happy or worried about that.

He spun around and ran back into the living room to see his siblings peeking out the front window.

"There are two shady-looking figures running away from our house and getting into an unmarked van," Dot narrated. "How absolutely not suspicious."

The three of them pulled away from the window as the van began to drive.

Yakko scratched the back of his head. "Alright, so... did someone just try to break into our house?"

Chapter Text

Yakko squinted at the script in his hands, eyes darting across the page, before he slapped it with the back of his hand. "A-ha! I told you! One of us has to do the aftershave gag!"

"Really?" Wakko frowned and hoisted himself up onto the bathroom counter. He grabbed the script from his brother. "Who's gonna do it, then?"

"Not it!" Yakko and Dot exclaimed in unison, both of them raising a hand to touch their nose as quickly as possible.

Wakko narrowed their eyes at their siblings.

"You snooze you lose, oh sibling of mine," sung Yakko, patting them on the shoulder and handing them the bottle of aftershave. "And what the script says, goes."

"We've literally never abided by that," Dot said as she walked over to the window and rested her elbows on the sill. "Also, nobody tell him that aren't scripts in fanfics," she added under her breath.

She gazed serenely out the window at the road outside, choosing to ignore Wakko's yell as he slapped his face with the aftershave. The sky was filled with puffy clouds, and she could see a few birds flitting around in the neighbours' yards. Directly across from her, she could see commotion inside their neighbour's living room, probably some sort of Christmas get-together, she assumed. Everything seemed calm and right in the world.

Wait.

Weren't the Johnsons supposed to be in Florida right now?

She looked over at their driveway to see a familiar unmarked van sitting there, confirming her suspicions.

"Hey, guys?" she called back at her siblings, interrupting their conversation about the physics of aftershave on someone who hadn't shaved. "Come here."

The two of them hurried over next to her and peered out the window like she was.

"What are we looking at?"

She pointed across the road. "There, at the Johnson's, there's somebody inside."

"Aren't the Johnsons on vacation in Florida?" Yakko asked.

"That's what I thought, too," Dot confirmed. "Also, look what's in the driveway."

Her siblings both let out gasps.

"Those bastards! First they try to break into our house and now they're—" Yakko pulled out a set of binoculars from his hammerspace and looked through the front window. "—straight-up robbing our neighbours!"

Wakko looked taken aback. "They're robbing the place? Let me see!"

Yakko handed him the binoculars and steeled his gaze at the men inside the neighbours’ house. "Well, sibs, what do you say we go make ourselves some new special friends?"

The two youngest cheered. 

"What's the plan, then? Should we just head over there and start malleting them?" Dot asked.

"No, I have a better idea. Let's really screw with these Scrooges," Yakko replied. He held out a hand. "Wak, phone me."

Wakko burped up their phone (earning a gag from Dot) and handed it to their brother.

"Alright, let's do this," he said, dialing a number. He cleared his throat and grinned. "Ja, hello?"

"Hey, Bart, shut up!" Larry hissed, pausing his pillaging to walk over to the answering machine.

"This is Doctor Otto von Scratchansniff, your across-the-street neighbour? I was just wondering if you could do me a favour and check if mein garage door is open? I am oh so very worried that I forgot to close it before I left for Paris, and all of this anxiety is about to ruin mein vacation..." came a voice from the answering machine, one that Larry recognized instantly. "Anyway, have a wonderful holiday season. Buh-bye."

Larry could have sworn he heard snickering before the caller hung up, but he was too excited to care. "I know that accent! That's the man that lives in the house across the street!" he exclaimed. "He is gone!"

"Then who turned on the light when we were there last night?" asked Bart, not convinced.

"He must just have a better security system than I thought. But that doesn't matter! That house is sitting empty and it is ripe for the picking!"

"And the guy's a doctor, he said?"

"Sounds like it. Guess that's how he's got enough to live in a house like that."

"I guess."

Larry raised the crowbar he had been using to knock stuff off shelves. "Tonight we ride, Bart. Tonight we ride."

And tonight they rode indeed. They rode all the way to the house they were so eager to rob, bags upon bags sitting in the back of the van, waiting expectantly to be filled with stolen goodies, one unoccupied house away from containing untold riches.

"Hold on, what the fuck is going on?"

The two burglars looked at the house in sheer confusion. Through the drawn curtains they could see what appeared to be a party in full swing. Figures walked by the window and danced around the room, casting silhouettes against the fabric covering the windows. The faint sounds of Christmas songs could be heard coming from inside.

Bart looked at his partner, who was fuming. "Looks like it isn't so empty after all."

"There— there's no way! He said he was gone," Larry growled. "This has to be a trick of some sort.

He pulled the van into gear and began to drive away.

"We're coming back here tomorrow to sus this thing out during the day. There's gotta be something going on, and I'm robbing this damn house even if it kills me."

Inside, the Warners were laughing and dancing around manically, having the time of their lives.

In true Wakko fashion, the middlest sibling had constructed a series of moveable contraptions made of mannequins and twine, which were able to be controlled by the siblings by yanking at the strings tied around their paws. He'd also attached a cutout of Michael Jordan to a toy train, which was slowly making a lap around the room.

"I knew stealing that cutout from the Space Jam premier was a good idea!" he exclaimed.

The three of them continued to dance around the room, jerking their strings and singing loudly to the carols playing from the speaker on the table.

"This must look pretty convincing..." Dot asserted after a while. "What if it scares them off for good?"

Yakko twirled around and jerked the string on his left arm. "Fear not, sister sib! The siren song of a rich-ass doctor's house is too much for any robber worth their salt to resist. Besides, as far as those idiots know, Scratchy owns the place and is currently in Paris. They'll probably put this up to some wild security measure."

"And so they'll be back!" Wakko exclaimed, hopping over to their sister excitedly. "And we can really show them what for!"

Dot grinned. "Alright, then. Sounds like a plan."

Chapter Text

"I have to do it again?" Wakko asked, looking at the bottle of aftershave in Yakko's hands with contempt.

The eldest sibling nodded, cheerily humming along to the tune of White Christmas tinnily playing out of the radio beside them.

Wakko frowned. "Why can't Dot do it?"

"She would never," he replied just as she walked into the bathroom, saying, "I would never."

Wakko pouted and blew a raspberry at her, and she blew one right back.

Yakko placed the bottle on the counter and moved to stand in the door frame. "Well, I'd love to stay and watch this play out, but I need to go get groceries. You two be good, try not to burn the place down, and don't do anything I wouldn't do, capeesh?"

His sibs both rolled their eyes. He blew them a kiss and strolled out of the room, whistling to the song as he went.

With a sinister grin, Dot picked up the bottle.

Larry and Bart's van quietly rolled to a stop a little ways away from the house. The two men glared at the building, silent and seemingly empty now in stark contrast to the commotion of the night before.

"Larry, I'm tellin' ya, this isn't a good idea." Bart muttered, eyeing what appeared to a be a light on in one of the rooms. "I don't care what you say, there's no way that party was a fake, there's gotta be someone still livin' there."

"Well if you're so damn sure about that, why don't you go check it out and prove yourself right?" exclaimed Larry, giving his partner a shove.

Bart sighed and hopped out of the van into the crisp winter air. He slowly made his way over to the house, glancing at its windows with trepidation, wondering if someone inside was watching his every move.

"Hey, get a move on, will ya!"

He turned around to see Larry leaning out of the van's side window, gesturing for him to hurry it up.

With a slightly brisker pace, he eventually made it around to the back door of the house. He wasn't stupid enough to try the front door, that was for sure, and they didn't have much luck with the basement door the first time around, so back door it was.

Taking a few worried glances at his surroundings, he reached for the door handle and jiggled it.

Dot looked up from her magazine, eyes narrowing. "Wakko, did you hear that?"

Ears perking up, Wakko set down his pencil crayon and pushed himself from his stomach onto his knees just as another rattling sound came from the kitchen.

"Sounds like the door," he said. "Maybe it's Yakko back from the store?"

She shook her head. "It's only been like twenty minutes, there's no way. Plus, he has keys for the front door. Why would he be trying to come in through the kitchen?"

The two of them shared a glance and then popped up in the kitchen.

The youngest pulled the curtain aside a hair and peered out to see someone dressed in dark clothes rattling their doorknob aggressively.

She turned around and nodded at Wakko, who dashed back into the living room and reappeared a second later with the remote.

He grinned and pressed play.

The sound of the movie carried into the kitchen, loud enough for the man outside to hear. “Hey, I tell ya what I’m gonna give you, Snakes. I’m gonna give you to the count of ten to get your ugly, yella, no-good keister off my property, before I pump your guts full’a lead!”

“Alright Johnny, I’m sorry. I’m goin’!”

Wakko handed the remote to Dot and procured their gag bag with a flourish, reaching inside it to pull out a string of firecrackers and a lighter. They winked at Dot, who held up her hand to count down.

“One, two… ten!”

A click of the lighter and the firecrackers were ablaze, popping and crackling as loud as can be in tandem with the film's gunshots.

They both began to cackle as they heard the scream of terror from outside, their laughter blending in with the movie's as they listened gleefully to the robber's fearful retreat.

By the time the firecrackers were burnt out, they were both wiping tears from their eyes.

In all his years being a criminal, Bart had never been shot at.

He hoped beyond all hope that it would never happen again.

Panting, he stumbled back up to the van, practically falling into his seat. He'd hightailed it out of there as fast as he could, and now he felt like he was about to pass out.

"What the fuck just happened?" Larry asked.

"Gangsters— inside— shootin' at each other—" he gasped. "Shootin' at me!"

"Seriously? People were shooting at each other?"

"Yeah, man! I— I think one of them might have killed another one! We need to get outta here!"

Larry shook his head. "Nah, nah, we gotta stay here. What if there was a murder? We might be able to get a look at the perp, and y'know, if the cops get up in our business at some point, wouldn't it be nice to have somethin' to tell 'em? Somethin' to maybe make our lives a little easier?"

Bart nodded slowly. "I guess..."

"We'll stay here, lie low, see what we can see, alright?"

"Alright."

Larry leaned back in his seat and smiled.

Yakko rolled up to the checkout and began to place his items on the conveyor belt, still humming the carol from earlier.

He didn't notice the weird look the cashier was giving him as she began to scan the items until she spoke to him. 

"This sure is a lot of food, young man..."

"Yeah?" he replied, raising an eyebrow at her.

"You having a party?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business, but no."

"Then why are you purchasing nine frozen pizzas, among other things?"

He stared at her. "My sibling has a big appetite," he explained flatly.

She narrowed her eyes and continued to scan the food. "Where is your father?"

He held back a snort. "Ma'am, I wish I knew."

"Your mother, then?"

The toon sighed internally. She really wasn't going to let this go, huh?

"She's, uhhhh, outside," he lied. "She wants a growing boy like me to learn some independence."

The cashier nodded, looking slightly less suspicious.

Yakko rolled his eyes, quickly paying for the groceries and heading outside, whistling once again as he began the walk home.

For fuck's sake, he was tired of having this stupid song stuck in his head.

A short stroll and one grocery-spilling mishap later, he arrived back at the house. Once inside, he pulled off his scarf and placed the bags in the kitchen before sauntering into the living room. His siblings were both relaxing in there, Dot reclined on the couch reading a magazine and Wakko laying on their stomach on the floor doodling.

"Heya sibs, get into any trouble while I was gone?" he asked.

"We convinced a guy that he was being shot at," Dot answered without looking up from her page.

Yakko nodded. "Nice. I'm gonna go decorate the tree. You two wanna help?"

"Yes please!" exclaimed Wakko. They sprung to their feet and raced over to the tree.

Dot flipped the page. "Give me a minute, I'm almost done here."

With a shrug, Yakko walked over to the tree, grabbing a box of ornaments off the coffee table as he went. "Join us once you're finished, then," he said, pulling out a shiny red ball and moving to hang it on a branch.

"Was that a kid that just went in there?" Larry asked incredulously. "Didn't you say there were gangsters inside?"

Bart nodded intensely, leaning forward to look out the windshield at the house, which had just been entered by what looked like a teenager wearing brown slacks and a green scarf holding a pair of grocery bags. "There are, I swear! I heard 'em!"

Larry's eyes narrowed. "I think you might've been fooled by a kid, Bart. C'mon."

He hopped out of the van, gesturing for the other burglar to do the same, and stealthily made his way over to the side of the house.

"Look here, idiot," he hissed, glancing in a window. "There're fucking children in there!"

Through the window was the boy in the slacks, decorating a Christmas tree, and what looked to be another kid in a blue sweater doing the same thing on the other side.

"Those're the kids I saw when I was here that first day! The little bastards must be the ones doin' all of this! They're fucking home alone!"

Yakko nearly startled when he noticed something, or rather someone, in the reflection of the ornament he was hanging on the tree.

By now he knew exactly who it was. He made eye contact with the man's reflection, which smiled at him, gold tooth shining, before looking up suddenly.

"Hey, dad, can you come help me with this?" he asked loudly, taking a step away from the tree and out of view of the window.

Wakko's head popped out from behind the tree. "I hate to break it to you, big brother, but we don't have a dad."

Yakko pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, no shit. Now be quiet and both of you get over here," he stage-whispered.

The two of them hopped over to where he was standing.

"What's going on?" asked Dot.

"The robbers are back, and I'm pretty sure they just saw me and Wakko."

"Are they still here?"

"I dunno, lemme see." Not wanting to go back over to the window, he pulled out a stethoscope and pressed it up against the wall. After a few seconds, his brows raised.

"What is it?" Wakko questioned, already pulling out a stethoscope of their own, as did Dot.

The sound from outside was muffled but still discernible.

"They're just a couple'a kids! Nothin' we can't handle, and besides, they'll probably be pissin' their pants in terror the second they see us. It'll be a piece of cake! So whaddya say? We hit this place at nine?"

The siblings pulled away from the wall, stashing the stethoscopes and looking at each other knowingly.

"I think you know what that means, sibs," he said, placing his hands on his hips and puffing his chest out. "It's time to prepare for war...ners."

Chapter Text

Wakko unrolled a piece of paper, labeled "Battle Plan" out in front of him. Yakko and Dot ooh'd and ah'd at the many crude but colourful crayon drawings upon it, nodding thoughtfully. 

"This is our house, sibs," Yakko said after a moment of inspection. "And it's time to defend it." 

They cheered, and the three of them dashed out of the room, so fast they left small dust clouds in their wake. 

Yakko made his way outside, duel-wielding a bucket of water and a hose. He dumped the bucket down the front steps with the world's least remorseful "oops!" and then skipped his way to the back to pour water down the basement stairwell. 

Inside, Dot had just pulled a red-hot loop of metal from the grill and headed to the front door, passing by Wakko, who was carrying some nails, a shingle, and a pail of roofing tar.

They strung a rope from the attic window to the treehouse out back, which they had just built to have something to string the rope to. 

Dot attached some glue-covered cling wrap to a door while Yakko wheeled up a box fan and every pillow in the house's worth of feathers. They grinned at each other, and outside they could hear Wakko whistling a festive tune as they tied twine around a few paint cans and dragged them to the stairs. 

They stood around the microwave as their mac and cheese heated up. 

They were ready. 

Outside, the robbers slowly pulled up across the road. 

"It's time," Larry said, parking the car. The two of them hopped up, and Larry rubbed his hands together. 

"How'd'y'wanna get in?" Bart asked, looking at the incredibly brightly lit house. He blinked and shook his head. 

"We go in the back door. Who knows? Maybe the two of 'em will let us in, ya never know," Larry replied. 

"Yeah. They're kids. Kids are stupid."

"Let's go, then."

The three Warner sat around the table, each with a plate of macaroni in front of them. Wakko, without hesitation, moved to shove the whole plate in his mouth, but froze when Yakko held up a hand.

"Uh-uh-uh-uh-uh! We have to say grace first."

"Grace." Dot supplied, eyeing her pasta. 

Yakko shot her a look. She stuck her tongue out at him but bowed her head, pressing her hands together.  

Yakko and Wakko did the same, and Yakko nodded. "Bless the highly nutritional microwave mac and cheese meal, and the people who sold it on sale. Amen."

"Touching," Dot said, and Wakko wiped a tear from their eye.

Just then, the old grandfather clock began to ring out. 

The three of them shot up, though Wakko still scarfed down the plate as they gathered nearer each other. 

"Alright, it's time to go," Yakko whispered. "Wakko, are you in the kitchen?"

"Yup. And I got my Red Ryder Carbine Action 200-Shot Range Model air rifle all ready to go."

"Christ, Wakko, you'll shoot your eye out with that. Dot, you know what you're doing?"

"Of course I do." She looked offended he'd assume anything else. "I'm offended you'd assume anything else."

He sighed. "Well. Stay safe?"

"Stay safe? You two're the ones getting to stay here and do most of the fun, violent stuff."

"Well, then next time make sure they actually see you at some point and we'll make Wakko the secret weapon they don't know about."

"Oh, dry up." She paused and then pulled a small white box out, handing it to Yakko. "Just in case."

He nodded. "Alright, sibs. Let's do this."

Wakko positioned himself in the kitchen, holding the BB gun tightly as he heard the sound of footsteps in the snow approaching the door. 

There was a knock, then a voice. 

"Merry Christmas, little fellas. We know that you're in there, and that you're all alone." 

"Yeah, open up," said a different voice. It paused for a split second, as if brainstorming. "It's— it's Santy Claus and his elf!"

There were some titters from outside. Wakko neared the door and kneeled, slowly sticking the barrel of the rifle out the cat flap. 

"Just let us in, kid, and we can—"

Wakko pulled the trigger, successfully shooting one of them. And if their cries of pain were anything to go off of, they'd hit his nuts. 

After a few seconds of commotion outside, the cat flap pushed open, and in poked a man's head. 

He came face to face with the end of Wakko's gun. The toon smiled. "Hello!" he said, before shooting the man square in the forehead. 

The man roared and yanked his head back outside. Wakko hopped up into the air, laughing and pumping their fists excitedly before scurrying out of the kitchen. 

Bart stumbled away from the door, clutching his forehead. "They're armed!" he shouted. 

"Yeah, no shit! Enough of this, I'm going to the front, you go to the back. 

Bart nodded and stumbled to the basement stair, while Larry, grumbling incomprehensibly, hobbled around to the front. He stared up at the front door, grinned maliciously, and took a step onto the stairs. 

His foot immediately flew out from under him and sent him sprawling onto his back. He groaned in pain, sitting up to see a shiny layer of ice covering the front steps. 

"Those little bastards," he spat, pushing himself to his feet. 

Meanwhile, in the back, Bart approached the basement steps with the confidence of a man who didn't know what was coming his way. He hefted his crowbar and stepped down onto the first stair, only to be sent tumbling down the entire flight when his shoe shot out from under him, throwing him into a double somersault down the stairs and into the door. He lay there for a moment, dazed, before limply raising his crowbar and hooking it on the door. He weakly tried to pull himself up, only to slip on the thick layer of ice at the base of the stairs, landing flat on his stomach. The crowbar swung there for a moment, before promptly slipping off and slamming into his head. He let out a whimper. 

After a long moment, he pushed himself to his hands and knees and then hooked the crowbar over the doorknob, slowly using it to pull himself up. It wasn't long before he lost traction, though, and once again he began to flail and slip. He skidded on the ice like it was lubricated plexiglass, until eventually managing to brace his feet against the walls of the stairwell. He let out a sigh of relief before shoving his crowbar into the doorframe. 

It didn't budge. 

He pulled it back out and then slammed it back in. When that didn't work, he tried wrenching it, almost falling on the ice again. When that didn't work, he tried the doorknob. 

It was unlocked. 

"Huh," he muttered, pushing open the door and looking around suspiciously. He spotted the light switch dangling from the ceiling and hurried over to it, hoping to get a better look at the basement when it wasn't nearly pitch dark. 

He wrapped his hand around the cord and pulled. Strangely, nothing turned on, and if he was being honest, he had to tug that thing way too hard to—

He looked up, realization dawning, to see an anvil falling from the laundry chute above him. 

Larry had managed to pull himself up the front steps, hanging onto the railing for dear life. Panting, he walked up to the house's enormous, fancy door and, without notice to the red glow emanating from the doorknob, reached to open it. 

The sizzle of the metal burning his palm reached his ears before he could even register the pain. He ripped his hand away, screaming, flailing backwards and tumbling back down the stairs. Palm still smoking, he scrambled over to the snowbank on the side of the path and stuck his hand in, letting out a relieved exhale as steam rose from the snow as it cooled off his hand. 

He pulled his hand out to see an ornate 'W' burned into his skin. 

"Why, those little—"

Yakko and Wakko looked out the window at the man curled over in the snow of the front yard, clutching his hand. It was surprising how little the glass muffled his loud string of expletives, so foul that Yakko raised an eyebrow. 

"Wow. I didn't even know all of those." He nodded in appreciation, deciding he was impressed. 

Just then, they heard a loud holler from the basement, followed immediately by a set of hard thumps. 

Wakko smiled. "Sounds like he wasn't watching his step."

"You're messed up, little bro. I love it," Yakko commented. 

They turned back to look out the window to see the man in the front stumble to his feet and begin to trudge his way over to the back again. 

They looked at each other and grinned. Perfect. 

Grumbling, Larry made his way up to the back door. Cautiously, he kicked at the cat flap a few times, and then gently tested the doorknob. All seemed normal. 

He laughed, pleased. “You’re dead, kids.” He grabbed the door and pushed it open. 

He didn’t even have time to register the click of some mechanism activated before his head was blasted by a blowtorch hung up next to the door. 

Hat roaring with flames, he screamed and reeled back from the door, diving into the snow and sticking his entire head in. 

After a long moment of simply sitting there as his head steamed and hissed in the snowbank, he crawled to his feet. He gently touched the top of his head and hissed as he felt the part where his toque and hair had been burnt away. 

He turned around to glare at the door, as if it had orchestrated the whole scheme. It, being a door, did nothing. 

“Alright, that’s it.” He sprinted at the door and rammed his shoulder into it. It flew open, ripping the blowtorch contraption apart and sending it flying. Unfortunately, he'd given himself too much oomph, and he tumbled to the ground, skidding across the kitchen tile and coming to a stop at the feet of the kid in the brown pants. He looked up at the boy, who looked down at him and then stuck out his tongue and waved his hands by his head in a clear "neener-neener" gesture, before bolting into the next room, leaving a little cloud of dust in Larry's face. 

Coughing, he pushed himself to his feet and ran after him. "I'm gonna get you, you little maggot!" he yelled. 

"Oh, I'm so scared!" the kid yelled back. As Larry entered the hallway, the kid stuck his head out of a door. "Come and get me!" he taunted. 

Larry lunged into the room, only to be clotheslined by something cold and sticky. He ripped it off his face to see the kid standing a few feet away, laughing his ass off. He growled and took a step toward him, only to freeze as his leg pulled on something. 

He looked away from the kid to see a large box fan begin to spin, having just had a stopper ripped away from it, and a deluge of feathers exploded into his face, covering him completely in a layer of white down. 

As he desperately spat feathers out of his mouth, the kid ran by him and out the door, laughing even harder. 

Shoeless, bleeding, and with feet covered in tar, Bart hobbled around the side of the house. The basement was a no go, but maybe...

There! An open window, right in front of their Christmas tree! 

"I'm comin' in, Larry!" he shouted. 

He grinned and shimmied the window up farther, enough for him to swing himself up on the window sill and hop down. 

He did not expect to hop down directly onto a bunch of loose glass ornaments. However, the shards of glass popping beneath his feet had immediately made themselves known. He screeched and stumbled away, trying (and failing) to not put too much pressure on his feet. 

He hobbled into the foyer, just as Larry did the same. The two looked each other up and down, and Larry frowned. 

"What happened to your face?" he asked. 

"Why are you dressed like a chicken?" Bart countered. 

Suddenly, a voice came from the top of the stairs beside them. "Do you two give up yet?"

They looked up to see the two kids, grinning mischievously. The taller one leaned against the banister nonchalantly. "Or are you hungry for more?" he asked. 

"Hungry?" said the smaller one. 

He shrugged. "We need to avoid copyright infringement somehow."

"Shut up!" Larry yelled up at them. They looked down, snickered, and dashed away. Face contorting in rage, Larry began up the stairs, Bart right behind him. 

All of a sudden, a paint can appeared out of nowhere, swinging in an arc directly at them. 

"Duck!" Larry threw himself to the floor just as the can whipped over his head. 

"What?" Bart did not duck. The can collided with his face, flinging him back down the stairs. 

Larry shot up. "I'll get 'em for ya, Bart!" he exclaimed, only to turn to see a second can just as it was about to collide with his nose. 

Shit. 

He flew back, landing smack on top of Bart in a position reminiscent of something you'd see in an action movie with two attractive leads in a tense will-they-won't-they relationship where their development is only furthered through unintentional intimate moments, his face directly over top of Bart's. 

"Ooh, I think you're missin' some teeth..." Bart said. 

Larry stuck a hand into his mouth. "My gold tooth! Those little fuckers are gonna pay for this!" He rolled off of Bart and stood up, rushing up the stairs. 

Yakko and Wakko cackled as they bolted away from the stairs. 

"Paint cans, what a classic!" Wakko said, wiping a tear from their eye.

They scurried into the bedroom, hearing loud yelling from the stairwell of threats involving what sounded like "cajones" and "motor oil". Yakko picked up the phone and punched in 9-1-1. 

He cleared his throat. "Hello," he said, voice deep. "My house is being robbed. My address is 769 Lincoln Boulevard. The name's Johnson." Satisfied, he hung up and gestured for Wakko to follow as he dashed back out of the room. 

The two of them jumped over the fishing line stretched taut across the hall, looking back to see the two robbers at the top of the stairs. 

“There they are!” Larry exclaimed. He ran after them, only to trip on the wire and faceplant into the floor. 

The Warners ran for the attic just as Bart dove over Larry’s limp form. Wakko made it to the stairs, and Yakko wasn’t far behind, but just as he reached the first step, he felt something pull him back and turned around to see the tall robber, splayed across the floor, holding onto his pant leg. 

"Gotcha now, you little slimeball!" Bart exclaimed. 

"Yakko!" Wakko cried. 

Frantically, Yakko tried to pull his leg free, but to no avail. The robber reached his other hand to grab onto his ankle, and Yakko looked around, desperately trying to figure out what to do. 

A lightbulb appeared above his head, and he stuck a hand into his pocket, pulling out a small white box. 

“Wanna see our pet?” he asked, turning around and lifting the lid off of the box. 

Something huge and horrifying and green sprung out, roaring in Bart’s face. 

Bart scrambled back and screamed, pulling out his crowbar and swinging it wildly. While he didn't manage to hit the creature, he did connect with Larry's stomach (the poor guy hadn’t even fully stood up yet), causing him to double over. 

The second he was free, Yakko bolted up the stairs, Wakko right in front of him. 

They sprinted into the attic, each diving out the window and grabbing onto a set of bike handlebars, which had been slung over a taut rope, tied to the treehouse in the yard (they'd built the treehouse for the occasion, so they'd have something to zipline to). Whooping, they zipped through its entrance and tumbled to a stop against the back wall. 

Meanwhile, inside, Bart and Larry stumbled their way into the attic and over to the window. 

"Where'd they go?" asked Larry, looking out the window in confusion. 

"Maybe they jumped?" Bart suggested. 

"Hey, poor man’s Bonnie and Clyde, we're over here!" Yakko hollered, waving from the door of the treehouse. "Better come get us before we call the police!"

"Let's get 'em!" Bart exclaimed, but Larry grabbed his collar before he could turn and run. 

"Wait, wait, that's just what they want us to do! Go back down through their funhouse so we get all tore up."

"But they're calling the police!"

"From a treehouse? C'mon." Larry hoisted himself onto the windowsill and grabbed the rope. 

"Out the window?" Bart sounded hesitant. 

"Yeah, why? You scared? C'mon, get out here."

The two began to shimmy along the rope, Bart nervously looking down and whimpering every few seconds only to get kicked by Larry. 

They'd barely made it five feet when they heard a voice from the treehouse. 

"Hey fellas!"

They looked up to see the slacks kid, leaning up against the doorway and grinning widely. "Check this out!" he said. 

The smaller kid stepped up to the rope and produced a comically large pair of garden shears from behind his back. 

"Go back, go back!" Larry yelled frantically, but it was too late. They snipped the rope, and Larry and Bart hung there for a second, blood draining from their faces, before swinging down smack into the brick siding of the house with a definite thump. The two of them slid down the wall and collapsed in the snow, groaning. 

Yakko and Wakko cheered and scrambled down the treehouse ladder, sprinting past the two towards the other side of the street. As they arrived on their neighbours’ lawn, they turned around to see the two robbers not far behind them. 

They stuck their tongues out and blew raspberries. “We’re gonna call the cops!” Wakko exclaimed. 

Laughing, they ran around the side of their neighbours’ house, throwing open the cellar door and climbing down the stairs towards the basement. 

“Let’s get ‘em!” Larry said, but Bart put out a hand to stop him. 

“Waitwaitwait, they want us to follow ‘em.” His lips curled into a smile. “I got a better idea, c’mon.”

In the house, Yakko and Wakko waded through the knee-deep water flooding the basement, hopping onto the staircase and clambering up them. Yakko pulled open the door at the top only to be met with two menacing grins. 

"Hiya, pals," Larry purred. 

Bart grabbed the two of them, yanking them through the door and hanging them up on the coat hooks, Wakko by their sweater and Yakko by his belt. Yakko crossed his arms, clearly unhappy with that decision. 

"Y'know, I've never regretted not wearing a shirt more than I am right now," he said. 

"Shut it!" Larry snapped. "We've outsmarted you this time, you little maggots."

Bart rubbed his hands together. "What're we gonna do to 'em, Larry?"

Larry smiled cruelly. "Exactly what they did to us... we're gonna burn their heads with a blowtorch."

“And smash their faces with an anvil!”

“Maybe slap their little faces with swingin’ paint cans!”

"And stick nails through their feet!"

"But first, I'll bite each of their fingers off, one by one and—" He paused. "Why are you two smiling?"

His answer was a mallet to the back of the head. 

Bart watched Larry crumple to the floor and then turned his gaze to the toon girl standing behind him, holding a giant hammer and staring at him with a wild grin. "There's another one?" he exclaimed. 

"Sure is, buster!" Dot said, jumping up and driving the mallet into his dome, sending him straight to the floor beside Larry. 

"Impeccable timing, sis," Yakko said, hopping down from the coat hanger. "And your form was just stunning."

"Yeah!" Wakko agreed. "You really showed those guys!"

Dot fluttered her eyelashes. "Aww, you really know how to flatter a girl." She hoisted her mallet. "Shall we get out of here before the police arrive?"

Yakko nodded. "Absolutely. Nobody out there wants an extended witness interrogation scene."

The Warners, once again safe and snug in their own home, watched through the window as the police wrestled the bandits out of their neighbours' house. 

"Well, sibs," Yakko said. "We did it. We beat up two middle-aged men on Christmas Eve." 

"Just what I've always wanted," replied Wakko, sticking his tongue out. 

As the two bandits were being stuffed into the police car, they looked over at the Warners' house. The three of them waved. This did not seem to amuse the bandits. 

A few doors down, they could also see another scene unfolding: an old man hugged what appeared to be his son and his granddaughter, tears in his eyes. Though the Warners couldn’t hear what he was saying, it seemed he was happy to see them. 

“Aww, how lovely,” Dot said. “It’s a shame we didn’t intersect with that plotline at all.”

As the police drove away, they walked to the kitchen. Yakko bent down as they passed in front of the stairs, seeing a glint of gold on the floor. He picked it up to see that it was a gold tooth. He smiled and popped it into his pocket. 

In the kitchen, Dot picked up a plate of cookies and a glass of milk and carried it back to the living room, setting it by the fireplace where their three stockings hung. 

She stood back, satisfied. "Well boys, we may not have parents to wish to come home Christmas morning, but I still think we've learned the true meaning of Christmas today."

"Incredible and comedic acts of violence?" Yakko guessed. 

"No, getting spend time and do things with the ones you love!"

"Such as incredible and comedic acts of violence?" asked Wakko. 

She nodded. "Exactly."

Not long after, the three of them snuggled into bed, anticipating the visions of sugarplums that were soon sure to be dancing in their heads. 

"Goodnight, guys," Wakko said, burying deeper under the covers. "Merry Christmas."

"Night," replied Dot, already half asleep. 

"Oh, that reminds me!" Yakko said, sitting up. He pulled out a script, scanning down it with his finger. 

Their contract, he knew, had one last stipulation, to deliver a reference, rhymed with the narration. 

So Yakko did exclaim, as he turned out the light, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"