Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They didn't even notice when the exit slammed shut. When the door was sealed up. When their freedom was stolen away. At that moment, as far as they were concerned, they were free to do as they pleased. In a sense, they were. No one had stopped them before; they weren't too worried about this new place to play. Sure, it wasn't too exciting—the inside of the tower was plain, and terribly dark, with only a single dingy light bulb hanging from the ceiling—but anything could be improved with a bit of arguably controlled chaos. Were they not already caught up in their petty sibling squabble, it would have been the first thing to break. Or perhaps the only, considering the tower's barren interior. 

By the time they realized the door had closed, they didn't really know what time it was. Their prison had no windows—but then, what water tower did? The Warners weren't stupid; they were technically child actors, and they knew the rumours. If companies were willing to lock young human actors away, there would be no question about three rambunctious toons. Well, maybe the small question of their sheer destructive ability. They weren't stupid, but they also weren't overly concerned. They would be let out soon. Everyone else had.

・

Yakko first knew something wasn't quite right when he woke up on the floor. Actually, that part was normal. To wake up having crashed somewhere questionable wasn't anything new. They had practically taken over the lot in their mere five years of existence, and they knew it. Wakko's personal favourite always seemed to be the studio commissary cabinets; it wasn't hard to guess why. The water tower floor wasn't strange in that normal way, but instead because when he sat up he noticed something he hadn't entirely expected: the door was still closed. He was beginning to appreciate that they hadn't smashed that light bulb after all. 

He sat there a while, just watching the door as though it might open at any moment. He didn't have anywhere to be. No light came from behind the door, but whether that was because it was dark out or the door was just that thick he couldn't recall. He pulled a pocket watch from his hammerspace and promptly frowned when the front opened. Of course it was unwound. In his defense, he hadn't exactly anticipated needing it, nor did he remember picking it up in the first place. He’d probably snatched it from some abercrombie and promptly forgotten about it. After a moment of contemplation, he begrudgingly found himself winding it anyway, pulling the watch's crown and setting it to a time he figured it might be. At the very least, he could count the hours from now, regardless of how wrong his guess might be.

Literally watching the seconds tick by wasn't the most exciting use of his time, but at least now he could tell exactly how much time he was wasting. Sure, it was probably way off, but it was better than nothing. He felt like he'd slept all night, but with the constant (however dim) light overhead, there really was no way of knowing. He didn't actually know how long actors tended to be put away for, but it had to be longer for toons. Never long enough that they were missed, though. Sighing and tucking the watch away, he stood, careful not to wake his siblings as he started toward the door. 

When he got close, he stopped short, tucked his hands into his pockets, and simply stared. They hadn't been locked up before, nor did they know anyone who had, though the former was likely because security rarely caught them in the first place. If he had to guess, he doubted it was usually for very long, if only because someone who was locked away wasn't someone who was making the company any money. He was pretty sure none of their Warner cartoons would ever see the light of day, and they didn't even have any left on contract to make. The only ones they'd done that had even released, to his knowledge, were the ones they'd filmed with Buddy. But now, they weren't making the studio money. So what would they still need them for?

He reached up to wrap his hand around the door's handwheel, and hesitated. He was just being hasty. He was overreacting. It had probably only been a few hours; this was normal. Sure, they didn't have an active cartoon contract anymore, but they were toons. Toons didn't leave the studio system. They would come to let them out soon. Still, his hand lingered on the door. He knew it would be locked, but part of him wanted to try to open it anyway; at least to find out what time it was. 

His grip tightened, and he turned to instead regard the sleeping pile of siblings he’d left behind on the floor. The noise might wake them, and then he’d have to explain himself. Worse, they would then have to find out with him whether it would even open. He doubted it would, but it couldn’t hurt to imagine...right? Slowly, he made himself let go and again stared at the metal door. It would open when they were wanted. He didn't allow himself to dwell on what that in particular might mean.

For the first time since they'd entered, Yakko gave the tower a brief look around. There wasn't much to see, but they'd been a tad distracted with their quarrel before falling asleep. He stepped away from the door, running a gloved hand along the metal wall and observing the dust that came off on his fingers. The tower was older than they were—he couldn't remember a time it wasn't standing—but it couldn't have been by much. It was dustier than he would have guessed; he didn't think it had been drained that long ago.

He didn't need to keep walking to see that the rest of the tower was the same; it wasn't that big, after all. Rather than fret over their supposed wrong-doings, Yakko returned to the edge of the interior, lowering himself to the floor and curling back into a circle next to sleeping siblings. They had the right idea, sleeping through their "sentence". They would need the energy to sew more chaos later on. That was the flaw with the studio's little stunts like this; giving them a space to go wild until they crashed just let them charge up in peace for another bout. Realistically, it had only been a few hours, and would be only a few hours more. He'd show Plotz just how zany they could be on a full night's rest, come their release.

Chapter Text

Release didn't come. Yakko knew his watch was wrong, but he still felt a strange sense of dread about opening it. If he opened it, he still wouldn't know what time it was, but he would know how long it had been since he last checked, which was always less time than he would have guessed. He wondered several times whether it was working correctly or if his internal clock was already that out of whack, but decided against fiddling with their only method of timekeeping. He felt the need to constantly check it, though he hesitated to tell his siblings he had it at all. Maybe if they didn't realize how much time was passing, they wouldn't worry. He didn't know the longest amount of time the studio had locked someone up for. They were probably setting a record with this, but that was to be expected. They were toons; they could handle it.

He didn't recall falling asleep, but he awoke to the tower adorned with scattered toys and other objects clearly originating from his brother's gag-bag. A half-finished Tinkertoy construction now sat in the centre of the tower, a small pile of marbles and pick-up sticks inviting disaster on the floor nearby. Wakko himself was lounged by the opposite wall, laying on his front and focused on what looked to be a colouring book. Clearly, he'd had a disagreement with the yo-yo that was tangled around him, but seemed to have already accepted his fate. Dot didn't look like she'd even tried to help, seated next to him with her legs crossed and her head in a magazine, a candle placed between them for additional light. As much as the constant light from the single ceiling bulb annoyed him, Yakko supposed it wasn't actually very practical. He stretched as he sat up, watching his siblings fondly for a time. He wondered how long ago they'd woken up. Fleetingly, he wondered if they'd tried the door.

He reached into his pants' pocket to grab the watch from his hammerspace. It couldn’t be helped. He flipped up the cover to see he'd slept an extra four hours. Maybe it hadn't been morning after all, and he'd woken up in the middle of the night. Or, maybe that stupid light was already messing with him. He supposed it didn't really matter. He would have been tempted to shatter the bulb were it not so important. But that was okay. They wouldn't be needing it for that much longer, anyway. Yakko figured he could live with it for a few more hours; a few more days even, if that's how long it took until the studio got tired of this little stunt. He was about ready for the joke to end.

Shutting the pocket watch and tucking it back away, he made his way to his siblings' makeshift reading corner. Careful not to trip on the marbles that littered the floor, he gently slid the candle away from the wall, making room to sit between them on the floor. Neither acknowledged him, but Dot shifted to lean against his shoulder as she read. Either she was still tired, or he'd accidentally moved her reading light a little too far away. He pulled out a newspaper he must have grabbed from somewhere at one point, laying it on the floor to let the candlelight illuminate it, and curiously glanced toward his brother. “Lose a fight?”

Wakko startled slightly, subsequently drawing over the line and turning to him with a scowl. A little toon working on a colouring book and entangled in a yo-yo—how intimidating. Yakko couldn’t help but grin. “No,” Wakko huffed, pulling out a different colour crayon as though that could fix it. “It’s my new fashion statement, can’t you tell?”

“Oh, it’s a statement all right,” Dot remarked without looking up from her magazine, earning them both another look from their brother.

“Looks great, Wak.” Yakko patted his head mockingly, deciding to leave him be in favour of unfolding his paper.

Wednesday, June 20, 1934. Staring at the date of his paper, Yakko quickly realized he didn't remember picking it up. He wondered if he'd bought it that same week. Was it even still June? He couldn't remember. A stolen look at Dot's magazine told him she was reading the June issue of some kind of series—not that he knew when she'd got hers, either. So, it was probably June. Or at least near June. He wasn't sure why it mattered so much; he could just get another paper once they were let out again.

He continued to stare at the date on the paper, though it had faded to the back of his mind. He wondered what they'd do when they got out. Or, more likely, what the studio would have them do. Plotz had cancelled their contract immediately after screening the last cartoon on it. Yakko wouldn't admit it, but he'd been disappointed. Wakko had gotten to direct, and they'd never had more fun on set. Sure, Memlo was a riot, but sometimes it was nice to not be screamed at during filming. The studio hadn't seemed to like any of their work, but that was their problem. Even with Memlo yelling at them the entire time to “just follow the script” or “stop eating the props,” they still weren't happy with any of their cartoons. He supposed they were bound to get cut off eventually, though he wasn't sure exactly why. He knew the studio didn't like them. Everyone did—it wasn't a secret. Still, the only thing he could think that they must have done wrong was simply have fun. That was too much for Plotz, apparently.

He must have been spacing out a while before Dot spoke up. "You forget how to read?"

Yakko jumped slightly, tearing his eyes from the date on the paper to look at her. "Huh?"

"You've been on that page forever."

He stole a glance at his paper, then back at Dot. "Yeah." He had.

"Well, then don't look at me. I'm not going to re-teach you."

What? Oh. "I was just...thinking." He couldn't help but look past her at the door. Dot followed suit, and for a moment they just stared in silence.

Wakko broke it. "D'you think they forgot about us?"

Yakko didn't hesitate, and even scoffed, though it lacked his usual humour. "Not a chance, sib." No, they had been far too destructive for that. Come to think of it, that had probably been a contributing factor in their reputation with the studio. It figured. "They're just mad, that's all." There was no way they'd been forgotten. Therefore, they wouldn't keep them here forever. "Just give ol' Plotzy some time to cool down, huh?" He only needed to convince them, not himself. If he just kept yakking, they could all forget about it until it was over. Besides, he already knew they would be fine. They would come to get them soon. They would come to let them out soon. They would get to see the sun again soon.

Right?

Chapter Text

Dot glared up at the lonely light bulb hanging from the ceiling. She had initially thought it rather cute. Not in the same way that she was, nor anywhere close to her level, but a quaint little light for an otherwise dingy room. Now? She couldn't think of anything she despised more. It tormented her. It never turned off; it was the same useless amount of light every time she looked at it. She hadn't a clue how long they'd been waiting here, but every time she woke up it was always that same dreary light. It never got brighter. It never dimmed. It never stopped. It wasn't even enough light to read by, even with their somewhat decent low-light vision. That wasn't entirely true—the words were only barely legible, but it didn't exactly make for a comfortable read. It didn't help that the ceiling was so high. She hated it.

She'd woken up a bit ago. She didn't know how long; it wasn't like she had a way to keep the time. At least, she was usually pretty sure she'd woken up. She hadn't said anything, but the last couple of times she'd awoken, she honestly couldn't tell. Her dreams were about the tower. Her days were spent in the tower. All the while beneath that cursed light. It should have scared her not knowing if she was awake or not. She should have been worried she was forgetting what it looked like outside. That she was losing her sense of reality. But all she was was mad. Mad at the light, she supposed. Who cared? But no, she was awake this time. She knew. Yakko had stepped on her tail. It had of course been an accident, and he'd apologized, but that didn't mean she wasn't still mad. Mad at the light. Mad at her brothers. Dot was just mad.

Despite her uncertainty about the time, she was pretty sure she'd slept maybe two or three times. That didn't necessarily mean that that many days had passed, but that was on how many occasions they'd all slept. And even though she kept sleeping, Dot was tired. So tired.

Yakko kept on yakking, making excuses she didn't ask for, and frankly, didn't want to hear. Wakko had been making nothing short of a mess of the only living space they had, and then falling asleep without cleaning any of it up. She honestly didn't know how he did it. It was all so grating, and she just wanted out.

Rolling to her side and forcing herself to look away from the ceiling, she spotted Wakko curled up on the other side of the tower. Most of the fun ended once Wakko crashed—every new object he pulled out was entertainment enough, for a time. They didn’t really know what time it was, but sometimes they would join him in sleeping, and that was what she had been considering to be a “night”: when they all slept at once. Or at least when they tried to—she had trouble actually falling asleep under the constant light. It wasn't exactly helping her mood.

Wakko's daily item from "yesterday" had been some playing cards, and they'd sat around a candle and played whatever games came to mind. Hearts, eights, "throw-the-cards-at-Wakko"...it was fun, but it got monotonous after a while. As much as she enjoyed spending time with her brothers, she at least wanted to know how much time that was. At most, she wanted to go outside; maybe lay in the summer sun awhile. But she couldn't, because she was stuck in here. They all were. They hadn't tried the door—at least, she hadn't—there would be no point. There was nothing funny about this.

・

Eventually, Dot sat up and rubbed her eyes. She glanced to her other side to where Yakko was sitting, having already woken up. He looked to be playing a game of solitaire with the deck Wakko had neglected to put away. He probably wasn't, though; and not only because Wakko had more than likely eaten too many cards for it to be feasible. Knowing him, he'd likely forgotten he was staring at the cards ages ago, and was just sitting there spacing out. He'd been doing it a lot, she'd noticed. It was better than trying to talk her ear off every chance he got, though recently that was the only time he seemed like he was actually there.

She sighed and turned back around, pulling out her mirror and brush to try to tame the mess her fur had become in the "night". She propped the mirror on its stand and stared. Dot had to admit, she looked about as bad as she felt. Well, that was what she aimed to remedy.

For a time, she sat, brushing out her fur in an attempt to get it more-or-less resembling the crescent shape it was supposed to, and less like the jumbled mess it was. In the end, it kind of looked like both. Of course she couldn't have something so simple. She tucked the brush away again, planting her head on her hand and glaring at her reflection. She doubted anyone other than her brothers would even see her today, but the thought only made her angrier. If they ever got out of here again like Yakko wouldn't stop saying, she had to look her best when she malleted the studio executives into the ground.

Peering instead at her brother through the mirror's reflection, she watched him for a bit rather than pouting over her appearance. He was staring at the half-completed card game on the floor, unmoving. Clearly, he wasn't thinking about the game. She wondered if his thoughts just echoed the spiels he would go on—if he was still trying to convince himself this was all some sort of mistake. Dot didn't have that much faith, but she didn't tell him that. He thought he was helping, and that was enough for her to keep quiet about it, no matter how much it irritated her.

When he finally shook himself out of it and pulled something from his pocket, she turned to make her way over. She only had to take a few steps before Dot realized what he had. When she saw it, she wasn't mad anymore. She was livid.

For a moment, she stood there and glared at it. This entire time—she couldn't even know how long—he'd had a watch. He'd had a watch, and he hadn't told them. She ought to be furious. She was; she had a right to be. This was unacceptable. This was a betrayal. She seethed, and the fur she'd finally almost perfected bristled as she watched him wind the crown of his little secret. Finally, she snapped. Dot returned the favour; she stomped on her brother's tail. 

Yakko cried out, whirling on her with an incredulous look. He was smart to try to hide it as he recoiled, but Dot was smarter, and snatched the watch before he could void it. She wanted to yell at him, but more than anything she just wanted to know what time it was.

She glared through tears at the watch's face. Eleven o'clock. Eleven. Eleven what…? Knowing was supposed to make her happy. It was supposed to fix everything. She thought it would help, but it was still just meaningless. Was it morning or night? What day was it? How long had they been here? She still didn’t know, and that was agonizing.

She'd had enough. Dot squeezed the watch in her hand; it was too important. Instead, she reached down to blindly grab a marble that a certain someone had left out, and threw it.

The bulb shattered. Suddenly, they were in darkness.

It took her a moment to catch her breath—she was still furious, but with that awful light finally out, she'd never felt so relieved. She heaved a breath, wiping tears from her eyes while they couldn't see her do it. Finally, she could relax.

After a few moments, Yakko lit a candle. She didn't mind that; it was much less harsh, and unlike the bulb, they could actually put it out. He was staring at her. Wakko was, too; she had to imagine her outburst must have woken him up.

She ignored their gazes, and tried to keep her expression hard when she looked down at Yakko. "How long?" For once, he seemed to have trouble responding. Dot wasn't having it. She snapped the cover shut and shoved the watch in his face, her grip kept tight lest he try to take it back. "How long? "

He had the gall to look uncomfortable. He ought to be. "I don't know."

She didn't believe him. She couldn't. "Yes, you do." He had to.

Her heart sank when he shook his head. "Three days?" He didn't sound very confident. "Maybe four. I don't know. I don't know."

She lowered the watch and just stared at him. No, he definitely didn't. This time he wasn’t lying. She flipped up the cover to look again in the candlelight, hating how she relished in knowing the exact amount of seconds she'd been arguing with her brother. "You didn't tell us." It wasn't a question. Still, it demanded an answer.

“I...didn't want you to worry." 

Dot gave him a curious look. She knew that already. He'd spent the past, what, four days trying to convince them that it hadn't actually been that long; that the door might still open. She'd figured out pretty quickly that he'd been lying, though she wondered if he even knew that himself.

She watched the seconds tick by in silence, and her gaze softened. She was still mad, of course, but she could understand his intent. That, and smashing the light that plagued her every arguable waking moment had definitely helped. She was tired of being mad.

Yakko had the sense to flick his tail out of her way when she sat down beside him to finish winding the crown. It didn't surprise her when Wakko sat on her other side to watch. For the first time since they'd arrived, they all watched the clock tick together. For the first time since they’d arrived, they all knew what time it was. 

"It's not the actual time," Yakko admitted after a few minutes of watching. "I just guessed."

She should have still been angry, but by now Dot was just tired. She honestly couldn’t bring herself to care. None of this was his fault; he was just scared. They all were, but Dot wasn't going to admit that. She doubted he would either. Knowing what fake time it was was still considerably better than not knowing at all.

・

Eventually, Dot had an idea. She passed the watch to Wakko and pulled out a sheet of paper, holding out her hand until Yakko got the hint to hand her a fountain pen. He was good at pulling things like that; hers always leaked ink everywhere when she tried. Twisting it open, she marked three lines in the top corner of the page, hesitating before adding a fourth. She exchanged a look with them both before grabbing the tally paper, taking it to the edge of the tower and carefully avoiding the glass shards that littered the floor. Pulling out some tape, and stuck it to the wall. 

Dot turned to give Yakko a look, but it wasn't as sharp as she would have liked. "No more secrets." Yakko only held up his hands guiltily in response. It would have to do.

They joined her by the wall, and gazed upon their new makeshift calendar. Looking thoughtful, Wakko motioned for her to give him the tape. When she complied, he tore off several pieces, taping the pocket watch open on the wall next to the page, followed by the tape wheel itself.

Each other was all they had. If they couldn't even trust each other, what would they have then?

Chapter Text

Wakko's gag-bag was nothing short of a miracle. Every day he would pull out something new he didn't remember putting in, and they would spend the day finding ways to be entertained by it. It wasn't always just one object, of course. It would depend. Out of a strange desperation, they'd also started to be more organized, even if it was all fake. Dot had started listing their favourite items and things to do, almost like a shopping list. Yakko had used his newspaper (and other documents he'd found lying around his hammerspace) to work out enough information to be able to pull them a real calendar. It wasn’t like they had anything else to do. The calendar didn't have any pictures—that would have been much too complicated—but it was only its utility they wanted it for anyway. It didn't have to be pretty. They were pretending it was July 7, if only because they'd been there about that many days. Both papers had gone on the wall. 

Wakko was contributing in other ways, but he wanted to help with the wall too. Not only did he have a surplus of random things collected already, but he liked to think he was good at pulling new things. It was usually more difficult the more complicated the item was. Yakko had fountain pens and other niche intricacies like that almost perfected, but in general, hammerspace was more Wakko and Dot's expertise. Dot was especially good at the fancier things, while Wakko himself was a master of both general hoarding and, of course, all things edible. Or not—it didn't actually make much difference to him. He'd eat it all. 

According to their communal pocket watch, it was early afternoon. Not that any other timekeeping really mattered. Not until they got out. Wakko had found a whole bed (and accompanying table) in his bag, so they'd set it up to share; it hadn't exactly been a dream to fall asleep on the cold hard floor every night. It hadn't been that long, all things considered, but that was their routine. They would wake up, Wakko would have breakfast, and then he would look for something fun to do. Today, that thing was a puzzle. 

They were still sitting in a circle around it, but Wakko was taking a break. He wanted something to put on the wall, too. That, and they weren't actually going to be able to finish it; he'd already eaten a piece or two. His project wasn't overly complicated, but he was planning on pulling something to light it up a bit. Light bulbs weren't hard to make by any means, but under the circumstances, it wouldn't have been ideal to just put up a new one. The power control wasn't hooked up to the inside of the tower; rather, some odd afterthought that must have been left over from when it had been drained. He was also pretty sure Dot would have destroyed him herself if he replaced it, even if he could have done so safely.

Candles were a much safer bet. They could be lit and put out easily, and he wouldn't be shocked or malleted for using one. All he'd had to do was draw up a basic sconce design, and from there it was easy to pull. Well, it was easy regardless. He didn't have to draw and design it first, but where was the fun in that? He probably could have figured out some toon way to stick a nail in the metal wall, but frankly it was easier and more reliable just to stick a magnet on the back. He turned the summoned sconce in his hands, finally pulling a candle and lighting it using the flame from the one already on the floor.

"There," he said when he was finished, holding it up for his siblings to see.

Both glanced up from their puzzle, and Yakko tilted his head. “Where?”

Dot didn’t look impressed, though he was pretty sure it was directed at Yakko rather than him.

“For the wall," Wakko answered anyway, turning it to show them the magnet. "It's a candle holder."

"Can't you hold it yourself?" Yakko joked as Dot swiped a puzzle piece right out of his hand. 

Wakko knew he was just kidding, but still his ears slightly drooped. "I wanted to help."

He didn’t wait for any response. Instead, he stood, making his way to said wall of documents, and stuck his sconce a safe distance from both the papers and the watch, but close enough that the candlelight could reach them. Stepping back, he admired their collective work. Dot’s list, Yakko’s calendar, and Wakko’s light. It wasn’t much to be proud of, but he was anyway. It was kind of like a big fridge, if only in the sense that important things were pinned there. The food part he could do himself.

It gave him an idea. He lifted his hat to grab his bag from underneath, setting it on the ground and beginning to rummage for what he thought he remembered having. It wasn't very organized, but he didn't mind. He was kind of glad to have such a large collection of things, especially considering their situation. The mess didn't really bother him all that much; he would much rather have to spend some time looking for something than not have it at all, and this something was an item he was thankful to have.

Tossing a sink aside into the pile of rejects, he finally pulled out what he had been looking for, tail wagging. His camera. Or, not his camera, but the one he'd snatched from some man who'd been pestering them. It was his now.

Turning it over, the frame counter rested at eleven. At least a couple of those he knew he'd taken, but the first few were a mystery. They weren't his photos, after all. He should have felt bad for taking the camera, but knowing how glad he was to have it now, he certainly didn't regret it. He had moments that were important to him, too. He deserved to remember them. 

He raised the camera to his face, alternating looking between the two windows and pointing it at the sad little wall he so desperately wanted to find pride in. He'd previously taken some pictures outside, and they'd looked okay in both of the camera’s little windows. The photographer-man had probably set up most of the settings before Wakko even got a hold of it. That was fine; it was less work for him. He wasn't a photographer, after all…but he was a fiddler. He played around with a few of the knobs anyway, making sure the picture still looked right in both windows. Only, it didn't look right.

He lowered the camera, staring at the wall. He was proud of it, and he was proud to have contributed to it, but…it was a wall. A wall with two pieces of paper and a pocket watch haphazardly taped on, and lit by a candle on a magnet. It wasn't much to be proud of. It was all they had, sure, but was this really something he wanted to remember?

Frowning, he quietly paced until his siblings once again caught his eye. He couldn't tell if they were talking about the puzzle or something else, but Yakko was gesturing with a piece in his hand, and Dot didn't look too pleased about it. Not that that narrowed it down. Despite himself, Wakko smiled. The wall wasn't all they had; they always had each other, for better or for worse. That was something important. Something he was proud to have. Something worth remembering.

He raised the camera to his face again, framing his siblings in the rangefinder and again tweaking the knobs with the numbers he didn't know the meanings of. It was dark, but what did he expect? The camera didn't have a flashlight taped onto the side. Food for thought, if any of them were capable of pulling batteries. If they were, they most certainly would have done so by now. He certainly couldn’t do it. Candles would have to continue to do.

Finally, he was satisfied with the settings he didn't understand. Hopefully he hoped he hadn't ruined any of them. Taking a few steps back and framing their squabble, he tried to hold it in position as he stepped to where he hoped was in frame. After only a moment's hesitation, he pressed the shutter. 

He turned back around after, glancing up at his siblings as he wound the film forward a frame. They hadn't seemed to notice his photo; Dot was now actively trying to take the puzzle piece away from their brother, who for some reason refused to hand it over. He hoped they hadn't been caught blurred in the picture. 

With the film advanced, he looked back down at his camera. Twelve exposures. That was, what, twenty-four pictures left? He could take twenty-four more photos before he would need more film. He glanced at the calendar on the wall, and wondered when the camera had even been loaded. Film expired at some point, didn't it? He would have to finish off the roll and get it developed sometime soon.

Lost in this thought, Wakko didn't realize what he was doing until he was already there. His camera put away absentmindedly, he stood before the door. The handwheel was higher up than he was tall, and he stared at it. He could just turn it.

A week was too long; the studio had certainly unlocked it by now and had just forgotten to tell them. That, or it had never been locked in the first place. Or, maybe he was really just asleep. Every day was a dream; he couldn't tell the difference anyway. This was all just some nightmare. He would wake up soon, and then he could make sure this never actually happened.

The story he told himself kept changing, but Wakko just kept standing there. He would like to go outside now. He reached above his head to grab the wheel. He wasn't sure if he was just that out of it, or if his siblings had fallen silent behind him, but it didn't matter. The door was going to open. He was going to open it.

He pulled, but the wheel was too high up. He paused, frustrated. After a moment, he instead leaped directly onto the side of the wheel, dragging it down with his weight. His heart leaped with him when it jerked downward, but it just as quickly caught at the bottom, throwing him off. It was turning. It was going to open. He was going to go outside. It shouldn't have been so exciting.

He leaped up again, but this time it didn't budge. Just a fluke. He just needed to try again. Again he pulled out his gag-bag, dumping it on the floor and retrieving a stool from it. There. Now he could reach. Now he could open the door. He grasped it once more, this time level with the wheel, and pulled downward. 

To no avail. 

That was okay. Maybe he had been turning it the wrong direction. After a moment's hesitation, he pulled the other side of the handwheel. Again it turned, and again it hitched after only a quarter rotation. He felt frozen with his hands still on the wheel. It was supposed to open. He was supposed to open it. 

Heart racing, he yanked it back the other way, the clang as it once again refused to turn any further ringing in his ears. He kept tugging, ignoring the stinging in his eyes. He would give the camera back after; he just wanted to go to the store and get his pictures first. Was that too much to ask? He would give it all back; he just had to get outside to do it. Was it his fault they were here in the first place? If he hadn't taken all these things that were in his bag, would he be allowed outside? He could get rid of them. He could fix this.

Wakko hopped off his stool. He was shaking. He fell to his knees to rummage in his bag, but instead caught his siblings' gazes. Their expressions were unreadable at a distance, but they were watching him, unmoving. They didn't look happy. Were they unhappy because of him? He could fix that. He didn't want them to be sad. He could open the door. That would make them happy again.

He forgot about the bag. Instead, he summoned his mallet. He didn't know how many times he hit the door with it, but he barely registered the noise. No one stopped him. The studio hadn't forgotten about them; he knew Yakko was right on that front. He couldn't hear the busy road by the studio, nor any activity on the lot, but he couldn't imagine they couldn't hear him. They would have to open the door. Whether it would eventually be out of guilt or annoyance, he didn't care. 

He didn't know how long he stood there, repeatedly malletting the door, but still nothing came of it. That was all right; he had other methods. He felt like he was watching from afar as he went through his options, exhausting them one by one. His mallet didn't make a dent. He knew by the first blast of dynamite that it, too, was hopeless, but that didn't stop him from using up the whole stash. The tower couldn't have actually been that strong; it would have worked were he not a toon. Were he not a toon, he wouldn't have had it in the first place. Were they not toons, they wouldn't have been allowed to have been put away. But they were. And here they were.

The door charred but stood strong, but even just the repeated sound was almost unbearable. Someone had to hear him. Someone had to hear him and just didn't care. They couldn't be that high up. If they would only unlock the door, he would apologize. If they would only open the door, he would give everything back. If they would only let them out, he could figure out what they'd done wrong. He could make amends. 

He was jerked back to reality when a hand landed on his shoulder. Still, he remained where he was, sitting out of breath on the stool in front of the door, numbly staring up at it. He was more-so drained than anything else. Though, he realized there were tears in his eyes when he saw them in Yakko's as well. There was only so much time to look at his brother before he was pulled into an embrace, quickly joined on his other side by their sister. He didn't let on about Yakko's distress. He didn't acknowledge how Dot's grip shook. He didn't do anything at all; Wakko just sat on his stool, the anchor of their embrace, and stared at the door. The door that was locked. The door that was keeping them here. Had been keeping them here for an entire week. 

How much longer? How much longer until the studio decided they weren't worthless?

He felt he didn't want to know the answer. All he wanted now was sleep.

Chapter Text

By definition, this was torture. Yakko would know—he had a dictionary. For what was probably days, he lounged on the bed, slogging through it as though it were some fantastical story. And as far as he was concerned, compared to the last week of his life, it was. 

He hadn't actually read the whole thing through. Not yet, anyway. It turned out that even a dictionary had some interesting content. He'd never expected to be combing through one for entertainment, but nor did he expect it to actually be entertaining. So far, he had only fully read through the language history section at the start. However, it hadn't taken nearly as long as he would have hoped. How was he supposed to make it last forever if the good parts only took a few days?

He didn't want the book to end, so he just stopped reading it. He didn't know how long ago; he hadn't wound the watch in a while. He didn't want to know. He really just wanted to lay there.

Their makeshift schedule had all but dissolved. Yakko stopped winding the watch. Wakko stopped summoning games. Dot stopped keeping track. He supposed it was ultimately his fault. Without the proper time, there couldn't be a schedule to keep, after all. He wondered how long it had been since the watch had stopped. Had he been laying here, facedown on the bed with a dictionary over his head, for days? Or only hours?

He didn't want to think about the door. He hadn't gotten out of bed since that night, and he didn't want to. He was concerned about his siblings, of course, but there was nothing he could do. There was nothing he could do. He could talk and talk, but what was there left to say? "Sorry I lied"? "Sorry I let this happen"? "Sorry we're never getting out of here"? It was all true, but he wouldn't say it out loud. For their own sakes, he said nothing. He supposed that didn't mean he couldn't check on them anyway. Not that he saw the point.

For the first time in a while, he propped himself up on his elbows, ignoring the book as it toppled off his head. He blinked in the darkness, orienting himself despite it. Reluctantly, he pulled a candle, lazily striking a match and dousing it in his hammerspace.

He placed the light down on the bedside table, followed by his head in his hands, sitting in silence. Staring at the floor in silence. Every moment since their attempt had been silent; the last sound he remembered hearing was the ringing of metal. Of the door. Even long after the echo had faded, it still sounded in his mind.

He shook his head in a vain attempt to quell the ringing, pretending the room didn't spin when he stood. In the flickering light, he could just barely make out someone sitting against the wall not too far away, and that was good enough for him. Leaving the candle on the table, he made his way over to slide down the wall next to his sibling. 

Unless Wakko had removed his hat, Yakko was quite sure he'd sat down next to Dot. Perhaps she could use a hat, though. Her fur was a mess, which was a bit odd for her, though he couldn't say he blamed her. Although it was summer, he swore his fur had started to thicken out some since they'd been here, almost as though it were winter instead; he was just glad the tower wasn't too warm. He supposed he wouldn't want to deal with that amount of upkeep either.

He didn't quite feel like talking, but he wasn't too good at anything else. "What'cha doin'?" A stupid question, really. She was very clearly aimlessly shuffling playing cards between her hands, staring off into space like any reasonable toon who'd recently realized the extent of their imprisonment.

"Guess," she growled softly. 

"Ooh, my favourite!" He ignored her cross glare, kicking one leg over the other and playing up his confusion. "Let's see, you're practicing your dressage for the Olympics? Studying an ancient civilization? Finally looking at last year’s taxes?”

He had to admit, rattling off nonsense at least made him feel a bit better, if not her. No, certainly not her. She wasn't even acknowledging his increasingly outlandish guesses. He was about to find something else to say when she interrupted his thoughts.

"Oh, give it a rest, will you?" She riffled the cards rather sharply, and a number of them spilled onto the floor. "I'm not in the mood."

'And you think I am?' he thought bitterly, ears pinning back. He didn't make any such comment aloud; he'd much rather keep his head attached. Besides, he understood where she was coming from, but she shouldn't blame him for trying. Her irritation was contagious, however, and he felt frustrated with himself for even entertaining the thought. Of course he couldn't hope to fix anything; how silly of him to think he could lighten the mood. 

Not trusting himself not to start a full-on argument, he stayed sitting next to his sister for what could have been seconds or minutes, folding his arms and crossly lashing his tail in silence. He'd intended to check on her, not draw her ire. 

By now he dreaded the answer, but forced himself to ask anyway. "Are you, like…okay?"

Dot didn't have any such hesitation. "Are you?"

He supposed he didn't have an answer. He didn't know why he expected her to. "Touché."

He didn't bother her further; he didn't have any reason to. Often he found entertainment in annoying her, but she had a point. He just wasn't in the mood.

He'd been kidding himself for days trying to convince them that everything would be fine. He'd known the door would be locked, but to be certain had been devastating. They'd been here a week, and the studio didn't want them back. Worse, wouldn't even let them out. Buddy had gone off to work on some farm after he was fired. Something told him the company would be saying the same thing about them, on the off chance that someone cared enough to ask. 

He wondered what he could have done differently to have just been fired instead of whatever hell this was supposed to be. Genuine torture, he surmised. In both senses of the phrase, he'd have much preferred to have been let go. 

He hauled himself to his paws, shaking the thought from his head. Giving the room a once-over, he kicked himself for feeling a spike of worry when he didn't immediately spot Wakko. His brother wasn’t missing; if he was, it would have been a good thing. It would mean he’d escaped. He hadn’t. Yakko didn't have that much hope.

“Where’s Wakko?” he asked. 

“How should I know?”

So much for not starting a fight. He supposed there wasn’t really much place to hide in the tower anyway. He hadn't needed to ask, but she didn't need to snark him for it either. 

Looking around again, he sauntered around to the other side of the bed, crouching down next to it when Wakko wasn't there. Sighing, he knocked gently on the bedpost. “Can I come in?”

He waited five seconds for an answer, then ten, before ducking under the bed skirt and shuffling his way underneath the bed. It took more effort than he anticipated, but he struggled, and Wakko watched, until at last he was able to flip over and lean his shoulders against the wall. Out of breath, he finally looked sidelong at his brother, but he had already turned away. Fine. More time to recover from his ridiculous workout. He hadn't even heard Wakko scramble under here. Had it really been so easy?

Once he felt a little less like he was dying, he shook out his now dust-covered fur, and instantly regretted it when his head hit the frame. He slid further down the wall with a frustrated growl when he noticed Wakko watching, but the lack of laughter shook him out of it. Figuratively, of course—he wasn't about to try that again.

"What'cha doin'?" he tried for the second time that day, gingerly rubbing a hand over the top of his head.

Wakko shrugged. At least, he thought he did. It was kind of hard to tell in the dark.  

"Sounds fun." He scooted closer, trying to make out what he had in his hands. "Mind if I join you?"

Wakko didn't acknowledge him this time, but he didn't move away either, which Yakko took as a positive. He rested his head on his brother's shoulder, watching him idly fiddle in his lap with what he was pretty sure was the yo-yo. It didn't look too terribly exciting. But then, neither was endlessly shuffling playing cards. He could have argued reading the dictionary wasn't exactly riveting either, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying the read. That was partly why he'd stopped; he didn't deserve to be. The studio had taught him that.

"Are you winning?"

He didn't expect an answer to his joke question. Dot hadn't taken too kindly to his antics, though Wakko looked half-asleep rather than annoyed. 

"No," he answered anyway, and in the minute of silence that followed, Yakko thought that would be the end of it. "We've lost everything."

That wasn't what he meant. Yakko struggled to wrap his arm around his brother's shoulders, just about whacking himself in the face in the process, and pulled him closer.

"Hey, not everything." But he knew what he meant. He sighed when Wakko leaned into the embrace. "I don't plan on losing you two."

・

He only realized he'd drifted off when he awoke with an arm dead asleep around his brother. Using the other arm to push himself up, he was quickly reminded why he'd been lounged back in the first place, hitting his head for the third time and quietly growling his frustration. Carefully, he weaved his arm out from behind Wakko, who seemed to have also fallen asleep, leaning against him as he waited for the static to fade. 

He looked to where he knew his face to be in the darkness, but even in sleep he imagined it was blank. Dot had always had a bit of a temper, so he wasn't surprised in the least that she'd told him off. Wakko, on the other hand, didn't really express any emotion at all. He was just there. Yakko supposed he could understand that. He didn't quite know what he was feeling, either. It certainly wasn't anything good.

Taking caution this time, he crawled out from underneath the bed, careful not to disturb his brother. He stretched when he cleared it, thankful for once for how high the roof was. If he'd hit his head one more time he'd have given it a piece of his mind. Turning to where Dot had been seated, he opened his eyes to darkness. Perhaps more than a nap, then, if his candle had burnt out. But time didn't matter. Not here. 

He didn't bother lighting another, and instead wandered toward the wall, running his hand along it and following its curve. Just because. It felt like his mind was running on overdrive, but that none of the thoughts were actually reaching his head. Like something time-sensitive was happening and he couldn't remember what. Like he was supposed to be doing something important. He knew he wasn't. He couldn't. But that didn't stop the feeling.

He turned when he felt his hand brush the paper taped on the wall, backtracking with his other hand the way he'd come lest he continue on and trip over his sister. What a way to go that would be. 

He was so bored. He paced, and that was something, but it wasn't enough. He had his dictionary, and probably other material stashed away, but he didn't want to read it. It wasn't that he lacked things to do, it was that he didn't want to do them. It was an unsolvable loop of a puzzle in his head. He just didn't feel like it. Nothing would change whether he did something or not. Time wouldn't even pass, because they'd stopped keeping it. He was just so desperately bored, but still refused to do anything about it. What would be the point?

He didn't remember deciding to faceplant on the bed, but here he was again. What exactly was he waiting for? The door? There was no need to wait for it. It wasn't going to open. 

He wondered what he'd do for eternity. It wasn't a question he fancied answering, but there wasn't much else to do considering he didn't feel up to anything worthwhile. Perhaps that was it, then. Nothing. 

They wouldn't die here, but he almost wished they could. 

Anything was better than this. 

Chapter Text

Wakko wasn't crying. Not anymore, anyway. He usually tried not to until his brother was asleep. It wasn't that it was a secret; he just wanted to be left alone. He appreciated the intent, but by now had heard enough of Yakko's fanciful stories of escape.

The tower was all there was for them now. But it didn't have to be all bad. 

Out of habit, he perked his ears, sliding out from under the bed when he determined his brother to still be asleep. He struck a match and held it up to peer at him, asleep on the bed and surrounded by what he could only assume was his emptied hammerspace. It was mostly things like books and papers, but he spotted his brother's paddleball amongst the mess as well. 

The modest pile made Wakko feel even more like a bottomless void of a toon. He was, of course, but sometimes it was weird having a theoretically endless collection of pointless objects in his own personal abyss. But without it, where would they be now?

Maybe it was a weird time to realize it, but it made him feel...important. That wasn't to say that his siblings weren't, but Wakko aimed to prove it. They were here forever. Did they really want to spend it moping around?

He left his brother to sleep, and stepped toward the wall they'd adorned, lighting his sconce and looking up at it. The watch was closed, but it was easy to guess why, considering he didn't hear it ticking. No one had wound it; why would they have? He reached up to grab it, pulling off the tape and flipping it open. He didn't know what time it was, but nor was it all that important.

He set the watch randomly to midday, eyeing the calendar above him as he wound. Up to July 7 had been crossed off. That was when he'd tried the door; when he'd ruined everything. He wondered how long he'd been sulking for. He wondered if it mattered. 

Why should it? There was no reason he had to know for sure. 

When the watch wouldn't wind any further, he swapped it out for the calendar and gave it a hard stare. It wasn't anything fancy. It didn't even have a top; it was more or less just a notepad of months stapled together. He supposed that was all they needed, but it wasn't very exciting. 

Grabbing a crayon, he tapped the page. He'd tried the door on the seventh, so what day was it now? It sounded like a riddle, but there wasn't any way to find the answer. Therefore, there wasn't really a right answer so much as there was a decision to make. 

It felt like forever ago, but with still forever left to go, did it really matter? 

It wasn't exactly crucial information, but time hadn't stopped just because they'd stopped caring about it. He didn't necessarily want to pretend it had. 

He ended up crossing off about a week, settling on the sixteenth. A Monday seemed like an appropriate start to the rest of their unnatural lives. It wasn't that he had hope per-say; he just couldn't live like this forever. Something had to change.

There wasn't any hurry; he had an eternity to spare. 

Rummaging through his gag-bag, he grabbed the first board game he found. It was a newer one, too; the one he'd picked up just a few months or so ago. He remembered because he'd bought it himself. Maybe it was a little silly, and probably something that only he cared about, but he'd found it exciting to have a game even newer than he was. With a head-start on cognition but no experience to back it up, life was...odd. Confusing. That was one thing he liked about being a kid toon; people usually didn't expect him to know things he had no way of knowing. Well, they did, but at least he had an excuse they could comprehend.

He used to look forward to reaching the age he was drawn as, whatever that even was. He wasn’t sure what he had to look forward to now. 

Small steps. He was excited to play his board game; that was enough for now.

Opening the box, he dumped its contents onto the floor and grabbed the instructions. Rules for playing the great game 'Sorry!'. How great could it be if they had to say so on the front? Though, so long as it was even mildly entertaining, he supposed he wasn't in any position to complain.

It didn't really seem meant for only one player, but that was probably the case for most board games, really. It did have a rules section for one player though, so at least they considered it, if only barely. It was playable. He wouldn't have cared either way.

He set up some pieces on the board, drawing cards and referencing the rule booklet as he went along. It didn't take long to figure out the basics, even if he was playing alone. The instructions written on each card were largely to thank for that. It was something to learn; something to do other than feel sorry for himself. He felt guilty to admit, even only to himself, that he was actually having fun. He felt bad being happy when he didn't do anything to deserve it, like he was doing something he wasn't supposed to do. But he wasn't. Who was going to stop him—Plotz?

He played a couple solo rounds until he was practically an expert, alternating between the solo rules and playing against himself. It wasn't terribly exciting, but even the small amount of strategy took his mind off things, and he found it calming. That was, until a hand on his shoulder startled him. He bristled in surprise, and he would have jumped to his feet had Dot not slung herself over his shoulder to peer at the game.

"What's that?" she asked in a hushed tone. He could only guess that their brother must still be asleep.

"Board game I bought," he answered when he recovered, leaning away to shake her off. "Wanna play?"

She slumped down adjacent to him in response, eyeing the board quizzically. 

"It's new," he explained, dumping the pieces off and gathering the cards to reshuffle.

"So it's not missing any pieces?"

"Not yet." He usually preferred to keep unique games intact. Usually. The least he could do was play them first.

He passed her the red pieces, sitting up straighter when she took them. When she mimicked him by setting them on her start tile, he placed the deck in its spot and urged her to draw a card. She caught on quite quickly, but it was hard not to when every card reminded them how to play. That was probably good, because he was sure his explanations weren’t making any sense. 

It was more interaction than he'd had in a while, and he could feel it dragging him out of his sullen state. It was almost exciting, even though he was only talking to his sister. That, or he was just giddy at the fact that he was in the lead, tail beating against the ground as he watched her scowl at the board. 

They hardly even had to reference the rules until their game was almost done. 

"You can't do that," he said when she moved to grab her piece.

She moved it anyway. "Why not?"

"It's in the rules." He was the only one who'd read them, after all.

"Since when do we follow the rules?"

Cheater. "Put it back."

Dot hesitated, then snatched the rule booklet from his side, flipping it open to skim through. She tried to push him away when he leaned over to see, but he stubbornly pushed back and turned the page, pointing triumphantly at the paper.

"Detailed rules, rule E! 'The exact number'! Put it back!"

She shoved him back to his spot with a pout, and he failed to hide his grin as he toppled over. 

When he sat back up, she undid the move, but she didn't look too pleased about it. "All right, fine. Sorry."

“It was a five, not a ‘sorry!’.”

The silence hardly lasted seconds before she snickered, and they both couldn't help but burst out laughing. Wakko hadn't had this much fun in weeks. He hadn't been this happy in weeks. He was confident Dot hadn't either. She was happy; he'd made her laugh. He was helping.

・

It had seemed like the round was almost over, but they learned after a shuffle how quickly that could change. It was less linear than expected, but of course couldn’t even hold a candle to their chaos.

After a number of swaps and only minimal progress, they were still giggling sparingly by the time Yakko woke up. They tried not to stare as he took a seat on Wakko's other side, glancing at them both and tilting his head at the board. His fur was a bit disheveled, though to be fair he'd only just rolled out of bed. 

Wakko faltered from moving his piece, sharing a look with Dot. "Hey. Want to play?"

Yakko shook his head, nearly toppling over in his fatigue. "I'll watch." That was probably for the best with how sleepy he looked.

Wakko resumed his move, and their game continued. He was pretty sure Yakko was watching rather than falling back asleep by the time their game was almost over. He hadn’t fallen over, so that was something. He practically forgot his brother was even watching when he finally drew a seven.

He hardly registered his victory until he counted it out. Ears perking up, he split the move perfectly between his remaining pieces, pointing at the board as though it would further emphasize his victory.

"Ha! I win!" 

Dot didn't look as angry as he expected, and she rolled her eyes as she moved her pieces back to the start. "That's because you hoarded the rulesheet the entire game." 

"Only because you were cheating."

"I barely know how to play!" she protested with a grin. Wakko returned it. He'd missed that. 

As they moved their pieces back to the beginning, Dot grabbed the yellow pieces from the box and passed them idly to Yakko. He had no choice but to take them, and Wakko couldn't help but give his tail a slight wag. Playing together was fun, and it made them happy. Much happier than they'd been recently. Even if they had to force their brother to play it with them, they would all smile today.

Wakko motioned for him to draw a card. He grimaced back, but they soon went around the board until at last someone was able to start out a piece.

"This is fun," Yakko snarked, finally moving the first piece after three uneventful rounds.

Wakko shrugged, sticking out his tongue in a small smile.

“Beats feeling sorry for yourself,” Dot said with a pointed look. Yakko seemed like he was about to say something before Dot interrupted with a laugh. She passed him the card she'd drawn for him to read, knocking over his piece with her own. "On second thought, continue. You're right—this is fun!"

Wakko delighted in his brother's soft smile as he discarded her card for her. Mischievous as always, but warm; not the worried, strained one he'd seen before. His half-baked plan was working. 

All three earned a laugh when Yakko immediately drew another starter card on his next turn, exchanging a challenging glance with Dot as they alternated stealing each other's place on the board. Wakko wasn't winning the game, but he still considered this a great success. 

・

It stayed that way until Yakko drew a "Sorry!" midway through. He paused to read it. That was normal; it was still a new game, and the instructions being written on each card was quite convenient. He read the card aloud, moving his last start piece to replace one of Wakko's. "Sorry!"

"No, you're not," Wakko joked, taking his piece back. 

Yakko seemed surprised by this, looking back at the card. After a moment, Dot moved to discard it for him when he spoke. "Yeah, I am." He wasn't talking about the game.

They stared at him, not sure what to say. They hadn't really talked about their situation directly before. They hadn't really wanted to.

"Why?" Wakko didn't think that was the right thing to say, but he couldn't think of much else.

"Uhh-I don't know," he drawled hesitantly. "I guess...I should have done something."

"Like what?" Dot interjected. She didn't seem mad, but she didn't sound particularly happy, either. Not that Wakko was an expert on telling the difference.

Yakko didn't seem to have an answer. "I don't know."

"Me neither, so what are you sorry for?"

As far as they were aware, there was nothing they could have done, but Wakko wasn't going to be the one to say that out loud. No one had done anything because there was nothing to be done. They hadn't known something would happen—how could they have known how to stop it?

He couldn't undo what had already been done. They were here now, and he couldn't fix that, but he could still do his part.

He discarded his brother's card for him before taking his own turn, then reached into his hammerspace to open a jar of peanuts on the floor next to him, inviting Dot to take her turn. 

Their game quickly continued, their hangup briskly forgotten, and their snack jar steadily depleting. Wakko tried to take his time for once in the interest of sharing. 

"Are these real?" Yakko asked when he grabbed a couple after his next turn.

Wakko eyed the jar thoughtfully. He had a lot of food stored away, both perishable and not. But some things, primarily foods good for a gag, were just easy pulls. He never really thought about whether he had it or not, he just grabbed what he wanted. 

"I don't know," he admitted, turning it around in search of any incriminating text. "Does it matter?" 

Yakko looked thoughtful, but shrugged. "Guess not. Just curious."

"I think I've still got the cake from that meeting we crashed, if you want something real."

Dot cringed when she finished moving her piece. "You mean the one back in April? Yuck!"

Wako nodded enthusiastically. They laughed, and he relished in the sound. 

"Uhh-I'm good. Thanks, though."

・

    They'd lost track of how many rounds they'd played by the time Wakko was struggling to stay awake. Dot was of course keeping a tally of how many rounds she'd won, however. Eventually, she finally relented to stop playing with the promise that they could play it again when they woke up—probably because it wasn't much of a challenge playing against someone already half asleep. Wakko wasn't sure if it was the game itself she liked, or if she just enjoyed winning. He would have to see what other games he had stashed away for when they inevitably got tired of this one. 

At last, they curled up in a pile on the bed. He couldn't believe how much he'd missed this. It wasn't that he hadn't wanted to spend time with his siblings, he just didn't want to see them so down. He couldn't quite accept their situation either; he didn't want to. However, there was no harm in learning to live with it. After all, it was already proving worthwhile. 

It wasn't quite acceptance, but it was a start.

Chapter Text

The Warners were already close, but their situation drove them ever closer. Each day, they took turns winding the watch, and Dot even let her brothers contribute to their list of games—provided their ideas went through her first, of course. It didn't exactly matter to them anymore, but Yakko insisted they try to stick to some sort of schedule. He said it was to make sure they could keep the clock wound, but Dot wasn't so sure.

Like before, they would play games and do things from their now collaborative list, occasionally asking Wakko what else he had stored in his bag. He was the most reliable in that regard, but they sometimes shared that responsibility as well. Yakko would teach them to play paddle ball or read them his dictionary, or more rarely the real books he had on hand. He even still had his copies of almost all of their previous scripts. They re-enacted some of them occasionally, complete with yelling at each other like Memlo always had; that was what a normal filming process had been for them. It was nice to do something that felt normal, even if that normal was being shouted at for everything and nothing at once. 

Dot begrudgingly taught Wakko how to use his yo-yo without getting tangled in it, though in her opinion watching him try to get out had been half the fun. She couldn't tell if they were just indulging her, or if they genuinely found it entertaining, but she'd shown them her magazines and they'd done each other's makeup not for the first time. Their only stipulation was that she had some method to get it out of their fur after. She did, of course; she wasn't an amateur. Wakko had even surprised her by teaching her to pull new makeup. So long as it meant she would find less bites taken out of hers, she didn't bother to ask why he was so good at it. 

Each day was relatively the same, and Dot tried not to feel too bad when those days turned into weeks. Before she knew it, it was allegedly September, and she couldn't help but feel like she was wasting away. That, or simply losing her mind—whichever came first, were either even possible. Perhaps they had always been halfway there. She would have given anything to see the sun again; to see just about anything other than the tower wall, really. She'd happily take a field trip to a public restroom over another day in here. 

Sometimes she wondered what she'd have done to prepare had she known—aside from trying to prevent it, of course. She'd have brought more books, maybe. More things to do. Something to make the tower less monotonous and plain. They often left some things out, so at least it didn't look exactly like a prison. A basketball net hung by the door, and they usually didn't bother putting away the cushions on the floor unless they planned on using the space. They were much more comfortable than sitting on the floor, that was for sure; often now they wouldn't even make it to bed, the cushions were so comfortable. Jungle green wouldn't have been her first choice colour-wise, but she wasn't about to complain about such luxury. 

She'd been lounging on her cushion one afternoon, watching her brothers play a game of war when Yakko brought it up.

"Ah, today's labour day," he said suddenly, interrupting the tangent that Dot had only been half listening to, and taking the card he'd won that round. 

They knew it wasn't, but it was probably close enough. "So?" she asked anyway.

He shrugged, then drew his next card. "So, it's a holiday."

"Hardly." If he wanted to get technical, sure. In her opinion, it was more of a joke than a holiday—something to do with not working, supposedly, but if that were the case, she’d never seen anyone on the lot take the hint. They'd never been allowed to celebrate, and that sure wasn't about to change now. 

He chuckled at that. "And how. What about Hallowe'en, then?"

"What about it?" Wakko asked. 

"Well...shouldn't we do something?" They both flipped three cards. "Something to look forward to?"

Wakko perked up, but Dot was still skeptical. "Oh, sure. I'll just ask ever-so-kindly for them to let us out for a night—that'll work like a dream."

"No, no, no. I'm certain our dear brother has something up his sleeve, right Wakko? Candy, probably? Pumpkins? What else do people do?"

Wakko tilted his head. "Like a party?"

Yakko shrugged once again. "Sure. Why not?"

It was a nice thought, but she was having trouble processing that they'd even be here that long—that they already had. 

・

Dot had all but forgotten about their arbitrary plans by the time October was nearing its end; she'd been too busy trying to distract herself from how near-identical each day had become. Her days slogged on for what felt like forever, but she was always surprised to see weeks had passed when she looked at the calendar. That was the benefit of actually keeping track of time, she supposed, but it didn't feel like she was accomplishing anything. Was she supposed to be? It felt like she was trying to get to some date far in the future by wasting her days away, though she knew that wasn't the case. She couldn't even look forward to Sundays off anymore; they were the same as any other day, and often she forgot what day it even was if it didn't have some constant.

This would be the rest of their foreseeable lives, but their forever had an end, surely. Perhaps someday they'd be completely forgotten, and someone new would find them here. It was a nice thought, but one so far removed from her own comprehension that it was almost meaningless. They'd barely been alive for half a decade; she couldn't yet begin to imagine another year.

"You're not going to eat that whole thing, are you?" she asked when she looked up from her book. 

Wakko, seated on his own cushion, had apparently procured a pumpkin almost as big as he was when she wasn't looking. It looked way too heavy to sit on his lap, and he instead leaned over where it sat in front of him, struggling to remove from it a large knife that Yakko surely didn't know he had. 

"Not yet."

She tucked a bookmark into the pages, setting her story aside, and resting her chin on her fists to watch. Bracing his foot on the side of the pumpkin, Wakko pulled on the knife's handle until he was able to yank it free. He continued to cut with some effort, and Dot couldn't help but to glance at Yakko, who'd fallen asleep on his own cushion, dictionary slowly falling out of his hands. 

Weapons—non-slapstick ones that could actually harm someone—generally weren't something they could pull. She didn't doubt he'd spent enough time in the commissary to have swiped a real one, though; it looked too useful to have been makeshift.

"Does Yakko know you have that?"

Wakko stuck his tongue out as he worked, focusing on cutting a crude circle around the stem. "Can't stop me." 

He was probably right. She grinned and gave their brother's leg a kick. 

Yakko jerked awake, gripping his book so tightly she thought he might puncture it through his gloves. Wakko paused to glare at her, but she smiled back sweetly as Yakko shook himself awake. It didn't do much to fix the flattened fur on the side of his face, and she stifled a laugh when he turned to her with an annoyed growl. "What's the big idea?"

"Yours," she said, gesturing with her head toward Wakko.

He'd finished his circle and set the knife on the ground, trying pitifully to pull the top of the pumpkin off by the stem. Dot was content to watch the show, but Yakko moved to sit on the floor next to him, waving him away and picking up the knife. He went over Wakko's work on an angle, shooing him away each time he leaned too close, only allowing him to try once he was finished. He tucked it away in his hammerspace rather than back on the floor, and Dot blinked innocently back at Wakko's dirty look. 

The studio usually had some jack-o'-lanterns around this time of year, whether as props or decoration, but they'd never carved one themselves before. Wakko twisted the top off with ease this time, wagging his tail and peering inside excitedly. "Eww!" He removed a glove, reached inside, and ripped out a clump of seeds to prove his point. Dot had to agree. 

“You wanna help, Dot?” Yakko asked. 

She grimaced when Wakko turned to grin at her, tossing the entire handful of pulp into his mouth. "Maybe later."

"It's good," Wakko added, biting off the other glove and all but diving in head first to claw out another handful of gunk from the pumpkin.

"I'll take your word for it." 

Yakko followed suit, albeit less enthusiastically, scooping the contents into a bowl that Wakko was emptying just as quickly. 

"This'd be easier with a knife, you know," Wakko said pointedly, shoveling another handful of seeds into his mouth and reaching into the pumpkin for a turn. 

Yakko didn't even look at him, busy untangling a string of pumpkin from his claws. "You think so, huh?” 

As if on cue, the pulp Wakko had been yanking on came loose. Dot was glad she'd declined to help when it flew straight at Yakko's face. 

Wakko rolled onto his back with laughter. "Yup!"

Dot rolled her eyes when Yakko retaliated, and soon they were chasing each other with the bowl of pumpkin guts, ducking and laughing around the cushions where Dot sat. She supposed it was nice that they'd found something fun to do, but couldn't they have at least found something less gross?

She should have known better; her sentiment tripled when she felt something strike the back of her head. Their laughter stopped, replaced by her growl. 

She calmly turned to face them. Yakko was quick to point at his brother, staring back blankly. She smiled sweetly before she pounced, ripping the bowl from his grasp and promptly knocking off Wakko's hat to dump it over his head. He only laughed, and she shielded her face with the bowl when he shook it out, bits of pumpkin flying every which way. She wasn't going to enjoy trying to groom out her fur later, that was for sure. 

Yakko eventually convinced her to give the bowl back without much further incident, and she returned to her cushion, cleaning the stuff out of her fur as best she could while they finished cleaning out their pumpkin. By the time she pulled out her comb, Wakko was looking far too giddy at having gotten his knife back, stabbing haphazardly into the front in the vague shape of a triangle. Yakko had backed up a bit from when she'd last looked; she couldn't say she blamed him.  

Despite her better judgement, she moved closer after a brisk comb through, watching her brother gleefully stab at the gourd in a fashion she could only assume would somehow end up forming a face. She leaned over to look as he pulled the knife back out, using his hand to push in the triangle he'd cut.

"Can I try?" 

He handed her the knife, and she swore Yakko looked even more apprehensive, were it possible. Wakko was right, though; he couldn't stop her without a good excuse. She was the one with the knife, after all. 

She’d thought he was just being dramatic, but was surprised at the effort it took to stab the knife through the pumpkin. It did make it more exciting, though; not like cutting through a cake. No, instead it was something of a game they played to stress out their brother as much as possible—a game he wasn't in on. That was what made it fun. 

They made several more in the days leading up to their first holiday, taking turns carving and cleaning out the pumpkins Wakko continued to provide, and situating them semi-randomly around the tower. Well, it wasn't their first holiday. Technically, it wasn't even their first holiday in the tower. It was the first holiday that mattered in the tower, and that was all Dot cared about. It didn't have to be perfect, it just had to be fun. That was seeming like a success, so far. 

By the time of Hallowe'en, it didn't bother her anymore that their calendar and clock were wrong. She tried not to think of what they would be doing were they out there, or what everyone else might be doing. Dressing up in unique costumes, decorating the lot in orange and black, wandering around collecting candy...certainly not sitting in a dark room that had become their new home, surrounded by fourteen constantly lit jack-o'-lanterns that made the whole tower smell like the inside of a pumpkin. It definitely smelled like Hallowe'en, but she'd begun to wonder if it would smell like anything else ever again. It would be a nice change were there some escape from it, but no, this was her life now. She wouldn't need any fancy perfume if she smelled like a pumpkin for as long as she lived. 

Wakko didn't just smell like one, either. When she turned around in the evening, he was already sitting directly in the centre of the tower in a pumpkin with holes cut out for his arms and legs, and another through which his tail wouldn't stop sweeping the floor. He looked so pleased with himself, yet Dot was sure it was too heavy for him to stand up in, and burst into laughter at the sight. He called it his costume, and refused to share anything from the candy bag he'd procured unless she wore one too.

Despite how much time she'd had to consider it, Dot hadn't thought that far ahead. For whatever reason, she hadn't exactly anticipated needing one this year. She still had her princess outfit from the year prior, and Yakko just threw on some chef clothes from a previous sketch. What a sense of fashion her brothers had, truly. 

Once they both looked ridiculous and Dot at least decent, he graciously shared with them handfuls from his collection. Apparently he'd planned to run around and set up different spots they would have to "trick-or-treat" at together, but Dot was content to laugh at how silly he looked just trying to stand up in the pumpkin he was too stubborn to step out of. He even tried to show them how he pulled the candy he hadn't outright stolen from the commissary.

It wasn't quite what they were used to, but it was a nice change of pace. Ignoring labour day, just like most companies did anyway, this was their first holiday in the tower. It should have been sad, but Wakko had fixed that. It was kind of nice; especially compared to how their last few months had gone. Aside from being hilarious, it was actually rather sweet how much trouble he'd gone through just to give them some semblance of…well, perhaps not normalcy, but something familiar. Something that almost made this hell feel like home. She'd have to consider returning the favour.